Balance Wheel

by Taylor Caldwell

  “The Connington won’t pay as big a price for that damn Burnsley land!” shouted Jochen.

  “But, with the sale of the river property to the city, and the amount the Connington will pay us for the Burnsley land, we’ll have almost the same profit,” said Charles. “And we won’t have a ruined waterfront, either.” He looked at Jochen. “Why do you want to ruin the view? Why do you want the city covered with smoke? Haven’t you any pride in your home town, Joe?”

  Wilhelm sat in his chair, thin, dark, and exquisite. “Charles is right. He’s usually right. So, I vote with him, when and if this thing ever gets to a vote.”

  Jochen was breathing heavily. His color was almost apoplectic. So, old Charlie had been sneaking behind his back, had he? There was no help for him, Jochen, in Wilhelm. But there was that half-witted Fred—Jochen turned to Friederich. “Look here,” he said roughly. “You have some intelligence, Fred. Look at it sensibly. We can’t be sure the Connington would want that Burnsley property. They might get mad at us for even suggesting it. Old Charlie saves all his cash; he’s a miser. He has enough if he doesn’t do another day’s work in his life. A miser. But some of us aren’t so unconcerned about money. Some of us think of our city, and what it will mean for the Connington to be here. More employment More business. More money for everybody.”

  “The Wittmann Civic Park,” said Charles gently.

  Jochen glanced at him, and it was a murderous glance. “You! I don’t know what you’ve got up your sleeve, but I bet it wouldn’t bear inspection.” He turned again to Friederich, over whom he had such enormous and obscure influence. “Let’s have some sense here, Fred. You could do a lot of work among the men the Connington would bring here.”

  “And you might talk to the Connington about the Pinkertons, too,” interjected Charles. “You remember the strike-breakers you got here in 1910, Joe, when I took Jimmy to Europe? A nasty business, wasn’t it? I couldn’t do anything about it, you thought. But Friederich cabled me. You remember cabling me, don’t you, Friederich, asking me for help, and telling me about it?”

  “I remember,” said Friederich, bitterly. He gave Jochen a hating look. “And you cabled back, Karl, that the strike-breakers were to be called off, and that I was to do all the negotiating with and for the men, about the union.”

  “I do detest disorders,” said Wilhelm. “I was against the strike-breakers from the beginning, as you know, Jochen. However, I think we weren’t talking about that just now. It is not like you, Charles, to be irrelevant.”

  “I’m not in the least irrelevant,” said Charles blandly. Jochen sat there, furious and already defeated. “Let us get to a vote, and get it over with. I vote ‘no’ to letting the Connington have our land. Well, Joe, what about you?”

  “I vote ‘yes’!” bellowed Jochen. He appeared about to burst with rage. “And if any one of you has any intelligence, you’ll vote ‘yes’ too!”

  “Then, I haven’t any ‘intelligence,’” said Wilhelm, aloofly. “I vote ‘no.’”

  Friederich was silent. This disconcerted Charles. Friederich was unclenching and clenching his hands in that distraught way of his.

  “Friederich,” said Charles. “You don’t want the Pinkertons here, do you? You know the reputation of the Pinkertons.”

  “You don’t give a damn about the Pinkertons!” exclaimed Jochen. “Don’t dance around Fred, in your sly way. You’re quite ready to sell the Burnsley property to them, aren’t you, Pinkertons or not? You’re a stinking hypocrite, Charlie!”

  Charles saw that the situation was becoming difficult. How had he been so stupid as to overlook this contingency? Mr. Parker, who had been taking notes unobtrusively down at the foot of the table, paused in his writing and regarded Charles with disturbed sympathy.

  Then Charles spoke carefully: “You’re wrong. I do care about the Pinkertons. And I’m hoping that Friederich might do something about organizing a union among the Connington men.”

  That settled it. Friederich blurted out: “I vote with Karl. No.”

  Jochen was aghast. He flung himself against the back of his chair. He glared at each of his brothers in turn. “I can’t believe it,” he said, finally, as if stunned. “All that money. You can’t push a thing like that aside, without decent consideration. And none of the considerations you’ve advanced, any of you, have any sense. It—it’s ridiculous. Grown men don’t act this way.”

  He narrowed his attention upon Wilhelm, in his intense agitation. “Willie, when I talked to you last week you saw the whole thing my way. You agreed that the offer was not to be refused. You wanted a special meeting called—”

  Charles’ face stiffened. “A little irregular, isn’t it, discussing such a matter privately?”

  But Jochen ignored him. “Well, Willie? What made you change your mind?”

  Wilhelm’s cold urbanity was only slightly disturbed. He lit another of his endless cigarettes, every movement delicate. He puffed rapidly. “Shall we say I changed my mind?”

  “So, Charlie smelled a rat—”

  “I did,” agreed Charles.

  “—and he talked you out of it,” ended Jochen, grimly. “He can always twist you around his little finger. You never see it, but he can do it.”

  “Very quaint,” said Wilhelm lightly. But he had colored. “I am not going to change my mind, again, Jochen. I voted ‘no’ and I mean it.” Almost without interest, he concluded: “And please don’t call me ‘Willie.’”

  Charles saw that the excitable Friederich was deeply uneasy. He was regarding Jochen with his intense fixity of expression. When Jochen turned to him he almost flinched.

  “You, Fred. I want you to consider it again. All that money. And you’ve let this fox of a Charlie talk you out of part of what should be yours.”

  “You’re wrong,” said Charles. “Friederich has only understood his duty towards the people of our city. He knows how the people will feel when our plans for the Wittmann Civic Park are announced.”

  “Shut up about that infernal park!” cried Jochen. “That’s just a scheme of yours! You’ve got something else in mind, and I want to know what it is!”

  Charles turned his head to Friederich. “Have I ever lied to you? Do you believe, too, that I am lying now?”

  “No,” said Friederich, unwillingly. But he gnawed his under lip. “No, Karl, I don’t think you are lying. I think you want the park. And,” he struggled with himself, “I want it, too. But there’s the company to consider. Do we lose much money by refusing the Connington offer?”

  “Very little, if anything. I can strike a good bargain, Friederich. But even more than the bargain is the family’s integrity and reputation.” Charles spread his hands. “You don’t want to change your vote again, do you, Friederich?”

  Friederich again struggled. However, he said: “I gave my vote.”

  Charles looked at Mr. Parker. “You have recorded the votes?”

  Mr. Parker answered: “I have, Mr. Wittmann.”

  “I can’t believe it,” said Jochen, honestly incredulous and shocked.

  Friederich was unhappy. Wilhelm saw this, and was amused. He decided to come to Charles’ rescue, though the issue was already settled. He said: “The city will believe it was all Friederich’s idea—Friederich, the lover of the common man, the worker for the common man’s welfare.” He blew a fine stream of smoke upwards. “Well, the newspaper men are waiting outside. Shall we tell them that Friederich Wittmann, who bleeds for the people, has decided that our property be made into a park for them, or shall we tell them that he has denied them the park?”

  Friederich gave him a savage look. “I believe my vote is recorded,” he said.

  Jochen contemplated his defeat somberly. He contemplated Charles. Then all at once he lost his temper completely. He said to Friederich: “You, too. He winds you around his finger. You’re dingy, smudgy wax in his hands, do you know that?”

  Now Charles could smile, with some return of normal pleasure. It was really too
bad of old Joe to speak like that, even though his adjectives had been very telling. Friederich turned a dull crimson.

  “Wax!” he said. “Yet you let Karl bring in that labor-saving machinery, so that we could discharge fifteen men! Or was that your idea, Jochen?”

  Jochen was dumbfounded. Curse the fool! One never knew when one had him. He had raised no objection to the money-saving involved, though he had protested weakly at the discharging of the tool-makers. What a liar, a hypocrite, a dreamer!

  “I think,” said Charles, amiably, “that it also ought to be thoroughly understood, since we are now wading deep into policy, that Friederich was responsible, in part, for our benefits to the men, in the way of incomes while ill, assistance with medical expenses, and paid vacations. You remember the conferences we had about all that, Friederich?”

  Wilhelm’s amusement was growing. With the utmost solemnity, he remarked: “I think the men are very grateful to Friederich.”

  “So!” shouted Jochen. “It all comes out now! I thought it was all Charlie’s doing. So you had a part in it, did you, Freddie?”

  Confused, badgered, and smarting, Friederich could not speak. Charles said, seriously: “A man can’t do his best work if he is worrying about his family, and the doctors’ bills, or if he will have a job next week. Friederich understood that.”

  Jochen pointed a big blunt finger at Charles and bawled: “He won’t work at all, unless he’s worried about tomorrow! Yes, let’s get into ‘policy,’ before we’re ruined by your scheme, Charlie. Damn it, don’t you know that insecurity is the mother of ambition?”

  Now that the issue of the river property had been disposed of, Charles could speak his mind. “You have a point there,” he smiled.

  Friederich found his voice, and looked revengefully at Charles. “Insecurity, on the contrary, is the breeder of disorder and revolution.”

  Said Wilhelm, lightly: “You Socialists, then, should be breeders of insecurity. You want disorder and revolution, don’t you, so that you’ll come into your own?”

  Friederich stared at this most hated brother. “What do you mean by my ‘own’?”

  “Personal power, that’s what he means,” exclaimed Jochen. “Willie’s right. Power you can’t get, Fred, by working in the orderly and established frame-work of a free society, because you haven’t the brains or resourcefulness.”

  Charles began to feel happier by the moment. Friederich would remember this day. He nodded his head, very slightly. Joe was right, naturally, and Friederich would never forgive him.

  With almost incoherent rage, Friederich replied to Jochen: “What do you mean by a ‘free’ society? A society where a few are oppressively rich, and maintain their riches by exploitation? Where a man can make a fortune while other men remain poor?”

  Jochen could not forget his defeat. Friederich was the weakest of his brothers. He attacked him viciously: “How can a man make a fortune? By having a better idea than his stupider brothers, or more ambition, or more inventiveness, or doing harder work. You Socialists would like to take away incentive. You think that would punish superior men for daring to be brighter than inferior men, such as yourself. But you’re careful about the company, aren’t you, most of the time? You’ll always be careful about that, because you know that your bank accounts would suffer if we were ever fool enough to put your ideas into actual functioning, here!”

  Charles said to himself: Maybe I’ve underestimated Joe’s intelligence. He said, aloud: “Well, Americans have a lot of common sense, Joe, and they’re realistic. We haven’t anything to fear, in spite of some—flighty—ideas.”

  Wilhelm stood up, all languid elegance, and again looked at his watch. “We never have a meeting without its finally degenerating into one of these fruitless arguments. You bore me, I’m afraid. I’m not interested in Friederich’s darling ‘average man.’ In so far as I am concerned, the average man isn’t of importance, nor his squalid average intelligence, or talents.”

  Charles said: “Wait a moment, Wilhelm. There’s no average man, either physically or mentally. That’s muddled thinking, and I’m surprised at you. Each man is an individual, and his problems, to a certain extent, are all unique. That is why a capitalistic-democratic society like ours is the best of all societies.”

  Jochen sneered: “Really, now.”

  But Charles went on, doggedly, for the fear was with him again: “Our society is the best because it makes room for variety, and increases variety.” He looked quickly at Friederich: “I’ve a few ideas, though, and I think they are practical. I think the workers should be encouraged to form some sort of private society within their unions, in which they can create a kind of insurance company protecting themselves against their peculiar hazards. They should pay for all their benefits, themselves, so they’ll have a feeling of personal independence and responsibility. Besides, a free country can’t exist without its people having pride and courage, and working for their own good without the help of Government.”

  Friederich did not know what to say. He was trapped by his fanaticism and torn by his own avarice.

  Jochen said scornfully: “All right, Charlie. To use your own silly expression: You have a point there. Look at Fred. He’s speechless. He can’t say a word, and be consistent with what he’s always raving about. But what of the things you’re already doing for our men, without their lifting a finger for themselves? You’ve made us a laughing stock.”

  Charles replied mildly: “I’m hoping our men will finally get my idea, themselves—protective brotherhoods, among the unions. But until all workers are unionized, no one single small union can do much for itself without the help of employers.”

  Jochen smiled unpleasantly. “So, we lose money.”

  “Better than having Washington step in with wild theories,” said Charles. “I’ve been reading some of the outbursts of Wilson’s hangers-on. Once we let Government into any scheme of ‘protecting’ the workingman, by penalizing employers, we’re on the way to despotism and personal irresponsibility on the part of hundreds of millions of workers. There’s a middle course, and we’d better take it.”

  Friederich found his voice. He turned malevolently on Charles: “Spoken like a true capitalist. Don’t you think that employers have a duty towards those who help them make their money?” There was no use in ever attacking Jochen. But one could attack Karl without a slashing attack in return.

  Charles answered, slowly: “Let us be sensible about this. I think everyone has a duty towards everyone else. I think I should be respected for employing a man just as much as he should be respected for working for me. It is an honest exchange, an honest relationship. I am a working man, too.”

  Friederich gave him one of his knowing and cunning smiles: “Everything will be resolved satisfactorily when the Government controls the means of production.” His voice took on a note of threat.

  Charles studied Friederich consideringly. “Do you want the Government controlling our shops? If it ever does, you know, our incomes will be controlled, too. And I can assure you that they’ll be much less than what they are now.”

  Friederich’s face changed. “No. They’ll be more.”

  Charles shook his head. “You’re wrong, Fred. Governments, if not sternly controlled by the people, breed whole swarms of incompetent bureaucrats, and bureaucrats are wasteful. Look at the heavy bureaucracy of Germany. It’s Germany’s curse. And its benefits to German workers keep German workers sweating.”

  Jochen had been listening intently. He sneered: “Good old Charlie. Agrees with everyone. After a conference with him, we find we’ve never gotten anywhere, or done anything he didn’t want us to do. So, we’re right back where we started.”

  Wilhelm sighed loudly. “I think the newspaper men are getting restless.”

  But Friederich had fully recovered. Again, in spite of everything, Charles felt Friederich subtly aligning himself with Jochen against him: “Jochen’s methods are not always good. But at least he has definite ideas,
even if they are sometimes wrong. Karl never has. He just drifts. The policy of laissezfaire.”

  Jochen stood up. He put his hand on Friederich’s shoulder. “There, you have it, Fred! If you didn’t have such extreme ideas sometimes, you’d be invaluable to this company. At least, you don’t go around smugly, like Charlie, with his temperate, wishy-washy ways. Always careful. Conciliating.” He looked at Charles, malignantly. “You think you are very smart, don’t you? But one of these days you might, just possibly, of course, be a little too smart.”

  He turned to Friederich: “All right, Fred. Let’s go out and give the newspaper men a happy treat. You can make the announcement.”

  Wilhelm and Charles watched them go. Wilhelm’s frown made fine wrinkles appear in his forehead. He said: “Charles, we had better be careful about those two. Their ideas are as far apart as ideas can ever be, but, fundamentally, they are the same. You think that is a paradox?”

  “No,” said Charles.

  “At the bottom of it all, Charles, they are both ‘oppressors,’ to use Friederich’s vulgar term. And getting down to fundamentals, again: I believe that intrinsically they want to oppress the same people, rule them with the same kind of tyranny, though Friederich calls it Socialism, and Jochen calls it ‘business.’”

  Wilhelm began to laugh. “So, you are letting Friederich take the credit for the Wittmann Civic Park, are you?”

  Charles raised his eyebrows, then laughed, also.

  “I don’t mind,” continued Wilhelm, amused. “I can let him have the credit, if it is of any assistance to you. Except that I design the park, of course.”

  “You can be sure of that.” Charles considered. “Wilhelm, you could be of help to me. And something tells me I’m going to need help.” For a moment he contemplated telling Wilhelm of his shapeless fears. But Wilhelm would only be bored, or politely incredulous.

  Wilhelm said: “Do I not always do what I can for you, Charles, even against my own convictions, sometimes? I believe in you.”

  They moved together towards the door, while Mr. Parker shut his notebook.