Part 24 (1/2)
”Because of you?”
”If they expel Eleanor, you see, they're liable to expel others-they're liable to expel all of them.”
I marveled at the burden of this revelation. ”Including your fiancee,” I said. ”The Disgrace of the Prospective Daughter-in-Law.”
His unexpected half-smile, agitating only a part of his affirming lip, carefully neglected to answer me. ”At any rate it was through Bell that he got a copy of the paper.”
”And saw the ad,” I summed it up.
”Oh, he didn't see it then. He overlooked it while Bell was with him. But when he came home that same night-this was only day before yesterday, you know-he found Nanette pretty stirred up. She'd heard that Eleanor would be dropped from the a.s.semblies. My father said he couldn't approve of it more; he thought the contamination ought to be removed. That made Nanette cry, of course; she's full of histrionics. I suppose he regretted having started her off: he usually does. Anyhow that's when he came upon the ad-turning over the pages while Nanette cried. My father hates tears.”
”It's part of his code,” I defended him.
”I'm sick of hearing about my father's code,” he said dully. ”As far as I'm concerned it's the code of the lion and the Christian. Everyone seems to think my father is the Christian.”
”He gives every impression of being one,” I said.
”When actually he's the lion salivating in the arena, if you want to know the truth. He had it in for me, all right.”
”It doesn't seem such a serious thing,” I said doubtfully. ”One little ad.”
”It does to the ethics committee. The worst of it is my father is a senior member of it. It's pretty embarra.s.sing. And now you can't get a copy of the Sport for love or money. This one's practically irreplaceable,” he said, folding it up and digging it into his pocket. ”It's the file copy. He wanted to know whether I intended to get him disbarred and then to cap it by marrying a dope fiend.”
”And the tennis player in the white shorts?” I asked. ”Will they expel her too?”
”No danger of it. She won a cup for the school.”
”Ah.”
”And more to the point, Snearles has already promised to build them a new gymnasium if they keep her. That's Snearles Contracting, you know.”
”Maybe Bell will build a gymnasium too. Maybe that's what-your father will advise.”
”I've already told you I've stopped regarding my father as a holy of holies.”
”What does that mean?”
”You know exactly what it means. He's not so virtuous as he appears. That Town Island business, for one thing.”
I let this pa.s.s, or tried to. ”And for another thing?”
”Isn't that enough?”
”One act doesn't imply habit,” I said.
”If he can do something once he can do it again.”
I felt myself on uncertain ground, and lowered my eyes.
”I told you I found out about my father's part in those expenditures of your mother's. The money that goes to the caretaker down there. I meant it when I said I always thought he'd kept his nose clean.”
”That's a disgusting expression.”
”Don't be so tender. He's not, believe me.” He had put aside his cigar and was addressing me with the flattering earnestness I had always imagined possible between us, though I had never before seen it. It was like the conversation, I thought, of distant cousins at a rare family occasion-a funeral, perhaps. We had in common certain asymmetrical relations.h.i.+ps.
In response to this mood in him I was soft. ”I don't think your father's implicated in anything,” I said steadily.
”Up to his ears.”
”Did he tell you that?”
”We've been over this ground, haven't we? You know what he told me.”
”No I don't.”
”You know all about it.”
”No.”
”When he asked me if I was trying to get him disbarred with this d.a.m.ned ad I said he deserved it for another cause anyhow.”
”You said that to William?” I cried.
”And when he asked me if I intended marrying a-a 'dope fiend'-good G.o.d!-I asked him whether his reputation was any better.”
”You didn't speak to your father that way!”
”How else was I to speak to him? You think it was easy going through that?” His head twisted away from me, obscurely b.u.t.ting the misty room: a wounded bison in torment. His voice was a blade. ”It killed me to find out about him. It killed me.”
”Your father hasn't done anything. It's all on account of my mother-”
”You do know about it.”
”No,” I said fearfully.
”You told me yourself-on the telephone. You said there was a museum there. A marine museum.”
”I was-only guessing,” I faltered.
”You knew about the estate. Your grandfather's property-where your mother grew up; You knew about it,” he insisted.
”Only after you told me. I thought it had been sold long ago.” I hesitated before I brought out a sudden lump of rage: ”You're the one who knows everything! You're the one who reads my mother's file. You're the son of the trustee!”
He said slowly, ”What my father did isn't in the file.” And then, while resolutely I sought out his look: ”The vital things never are.”
I stiffened.