Establishment (20 page)

“Will you state your profession?” Jay said.

“My profession? But I just told you.”

“Please answer the question.”

Barbara sighed. “Very well. I am a writer. I am also a housewife. I am also a mother. I practice all three professions, and I suspect that all of them are professions more constructive in the life of this nation than that of being a congressman—”

“The witness,” Hood interrupted, “will confine herself to answering the questions asked of her!”

“For heaven's sake,” Baxter whispered, “don't antagonize them.”

“I see the witness has a sense of humor,” Jay acknowledged. “This is hardly the place for it. Now I want you to consider my next question thoughtfully. Are you now or have you ever been a member of the Communist Party?”

Barbara did not pause to consider it. “I am not and I never have been a member of the Communist Party.”

“I see,” Jay said. He turned to Drake, who took a sheaf of papers out of his breast pocket and spread them on the table in front of him. He studied the papers for a long moment, pursing his lips.

“Mrs. Cohen,” Drake said, “where were you residing in the month of May nineteen thirty-nine?”

Here it comes
, Barbara thought, almost relieved. “I was living in Paris.”

“I see. And what was the nature of your residence there? I mean, were you a tourist, a student?”

“I was a journalist. I was the Paris correspondent for
Manhattan Magazine
.”

“And what were your duties in that position?”

“I wrote a weekly newsletter. I commented on styles, on new books, on plays that opened, art exhibits—that sort of thing.”

“Then you say you were not a political reporter?”

“I'm afraid not.”

“Now is it not true that in May of nineteen thirty-nine, you were persuaded by two French communists, Claude Limoget and his wife, Camille Limoget, to undertake a communist mission for them?”

“The way you put it,” Barbara replied, “is an obvious attempt to turn my previous answer into a lie.”

“Will you answer the question!”

“And your information comes from my book,” Barbara cried, almost shouting. “I made no secret of it. My book was widely read. It was a book club selection. Thousands of people know exactly what happened.”

“Are you going to refuse to answer the question?” Dixon insisted.

“Barbara, please,” Baxter whispered, “answer the question.”

“I am not refusing to answer the question. I shall answer it. But since you are making a record, I do not want the record to indicate that you have discovered some secret in my life.” She felt herself getting angry and excited, and she told herself,
No, that's no good. Very calm, Barbara, very calm.

“Please answer the question,” Jay said.

“Yes, I undertook a mission for them. But it was not a communist mission.”

“How would you characterize it?” Dixon demanded. “According to your own book, you went into Germany to contact the Communist Party.”

“Claude and Camille Limoget were communists. They made no secret of it,” Barbara said quietly.

“Will you speak up!”

“I said that the Limogets were communists. I was not. That is why they came to me. They told me that the Communist Party in France had lost all contact with the Communist Party in Germany, that it was desperately important to have some kind of contact, and that as a journalist with no communist connections, I could safely enter Germany.”

“You say you were not a communist, yet you were willing to enter Nazi Germany at the risk of your life to attempt this contact?”

“I did not consider that I was risking my life. I was a journalist, and my editor was delighted at the thought that I might send some stories out of Germany.”

“But you undertook this mission for the Communist Party of France?” Dixon insisted.

“Yes.”

“And was it successful?”

“No,” Barbara said softly. “The man was dead.”

“Please speak up!”

“No.”

“And still you deny that you were ever a member of the Communist Party?”

“I was never a member of the Communist Party.”

Dixon leaned back and smiled slightly.

“It's all right,” Baxter whispered. “They're just making smoke. It's all right.”

Donald Jay unfolded his arms. “Do you know Harry Bridges?” he asked Barbara.

“I know who he is. I don't know him personally.”

“In nineteen thirty-four, Mrs. Cohen, during the incident on the San Francisco waterfront that is remembered as ‘Bloody Thursday,' did you work at a communist first-aid station?”

“No. I know of no communist first-aid station. I had first-aid equipment in my car, bandages and that sort of thing, and we helped longshoremen who were hurt and bleeding.”

“What do you mean by
we
?”

“Myself and a longshoreman.”

“What was his name?”

“I can't remember. That was fourteen years ago.”

Jay walked to the table and picked up a sheet of paper. “I have here a sworn deposition by one Manuel Lopez, a San Francisco longshoreman. I will read it for the record. ‘In July of nineteen thirty-four, on the day known as “Bloody Thursday,” I helped to set up a unit field hospital in a station wagon on Second Street in San Francisco. The station wagon was owned by Barbara Lavette. She worked at the unit hospital. I was then a member of the Communist Party, and I accepted the fact that she was also a member of the Communist Party.' Will you comment on that, Mrs. Cohen?”

“I certainly will,” Barbara said. “It's a bare-faced lie. I never knew a Manuel Lopez. There was no unit field hospital, as he calls it. It was a station wagon with some bandages and iodine and peroxide. It had nothing to do with the Communist Party, and I was certainly not a member of the Communist Party, not then or ever.”

Jay walked over to the table to confer with the committee members, and Barbara whispered to Baxter, “Harvey, what is this crazy thing with this Lopez?”

“You're sure you never knew anyone by that name?”

“I'm absolutely sure.”

“Then for some reason they got him to lie and invent this. I hate to think that they would suborn a witness, but it's possible that they've done just that. Please don't worry. Your answers are frank and straightforward, and I want you to continue that way. As for this Manuel Lopez, if we have to face him in court, I can tear his story to shreds.”

“Court? Harvey, I am not a criminal. What on God's earth is happening here?”

“Barbara, please, please do not get excited. And don't worry. None of this is as bad as it sounds.”

“Oh, Harvey, that is great comfort,” she said bitterly. “None of it is as bad as it sounds.”

Jay stepped away from the table and paced slowly back to his former position. He took a small notebook out of his pocket and studied it thoughtfully. Then he snapped it closed and said, “Mrs. Cohen, did you know a man named Marcel Duboise?”

“Yes.”

“What was your relationship with this man?”

“I loved him. We were to be married.”

“Then you were never married to him?”

“No. He died before we were to be married.”

“I see. What was his occupation?”

“He was a newspaperman. He worked for a French newspaper called
Le Monde
.”

“Did you and Marcel Duboise share the same living quarters in Paris?”

“Do I have to answer that?” she whispered to Baxter.

“It's in your book, Barbara, so it's a matter of public record. You could refuse on the grounds that it isn't pertinent, but why not answer it?”

“Yes,” Barbara said to Jay, “we did.”

“Was Marcel Duboise a member of the Communist Party?”

“No, he was not.”

“Was he a member of the International Army in Spain, the Fifteenth Brigade, I believe it was called?”

“No, he was not. He was in Spain as a reporter for
Le Monde
.” She felt a tightening in her chest. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

“Could we have a brief recess?” Baxter demanded. “My client is under great stress.”

“I think we could recess for fifteen minutes,” Mankin said magnanimously, “if the lady requires it.”

Sitting in a small visitors' lounge, the door closed against reporters, Baxter suggested that they might have the hearing put off to the following day.

“No! Absolutely not,” Barbara declared. “I want to get it over with and get out of this wretched city.”

“Are you sure you're all right?”

“I'm all right, Harvey. But what are they doing to me? They've twisted everything and turned me into some kind of insane red agent. And this Lopez thing. Who is he?”

“I don't know and I don't want you to be disturbed by it. As of this moment, they have no way of connecting you with the Party. That deposition is meaningless. You are telling the truth, and we will stick to that course. I don't think there is much more to this hearing.”

It was small comfort to her, and she was beginning to lose what faith in Harvey Baxter she still possessed. “There is no point in provoking them,” Baxter told her. “Drake is a vindictive man. I should play it very gently, Barbara, and fall back upon the privileges open to you as a woman facing gentlemen.”

She stared at him, wondering whether he had lost his mind. “Gentlemen?”

“Only in a manner of speaking,” Baxter tried to explain. “The more you resist them, the more aggressive they will become. Are you sure you are in a condition to continue?”

“How much longer?”

“A half-hour at the most. I imagine this Lopez was their ace in the hole, so the worst is over.”

The reporters watched her curiously as she walked back to the hearing room with Harvey Baxter, but no one spoke to her or asked her any questions. Their aloofness chilled her. The congressmen were already seated and waiting.

“You are still under oath,” Donald Jay reminded her.

Pornay, she realized, was leafing through a copy of her first book, the account of her experiences in France and Germany. Jay looked at Pornay, and Pornay nodded.

“Your husband's name is Bernie Cohen. Is that right?” Jay began.

“Yes.”

“He fought in Spain with the Abraham Lincoln Brigade?”

“Yes.”

“Was the Abraham Lincoln Brigade a communist organization?”

“I don't know.”

“Is your husband now or has he ever been a member of the Communist Party?”

“You don't have to answer that,” Baxter whispered to her.

“I wish to.” And then, raising her voice, she answered, “No, my husband was never a member of the Communist Party. My husband is and was a dedicated Zionist, which is hardly compatible with membership in the Communist Party.”

Jay walked over to the long table, and for a few minutes he and Drake and Pornay talked in whispers. Then he spoke to Mankin. Then he returned to his former position, folded his arms, and said, “You are the chairman of the board of the Lavette Foundation. Is that correct, Mrs. Cohen?”

She whispered to Baxter, “Is that pertinent? Does the foundation come into this?”

“I don't know how. But if you refuse to answer, Barbara, it will just give them a peg to hang something on. Why not?”

“Yes, I am,” Barbara said.

“And what is the purpose of the Lavette Foundation?”

“It is a charitable, nonprofit organization that gives financial grants on a broad spectrum, medical, scientific, and artistic.”

Again Jay consulted with the congressmen. Then he turned to Barbara, stared at her thoughtfully, and then asked almost indifferently, “What is the Hospital of the Sacred Heart?”

She exchanged glances with Baxter, who was evidently as taken by surprise as she was. He shrugged and nodded.

“It's a hospital in the city of Toulouse, in France,” Barbara replied.

“What is your connection with this hospital?”

“Marcel Duboise was taken there after he was wounded in Spain. He died there,” she said softly.

“Will the witness speak up!” Drake snapped.

She repeated her answer.

“Let me phrase the question differently,” Jay said. “What is your connection with this hospital at the present time?”

“What is this all about?” Baxter whispered to her. “How does the hospital come into this? Do you want me to ask for another recess? Perhaps we should talk about this.”

“No, Harvey,” she whispered back. “Let's finish it. The hospital thing is very simple.” And to Jay she said, “The Lavette Foundation made a grant of one hundred thousand dollars to the Hospital of the Sacred Heart in nineteen forty-five. The foundation has also made two subsequent grants to the hospital.”

“And what was the purpose of these grants?”

“To establish a wing of the hospital that would care for the wounded survivors of the Republican army who made their way over the Pyrenees and their families.” Then Barbara added, “And since this goes into your record, I would also like the record to show that before these grants were made, we consulted with the proper authorities, and we have written statements to show that the grants were in the proper purview of the foundation.” She got that out without being interrupted, and she was pleased that she had thought of it. She was in control of herself now, very calm, and to some extent relaxed. Her heart no longer raced. She raised one of her hands and looked at it. It was quite steady.

“Did all of these so-called grants come from the Lavette Foundation?” Jay wanted to know.

“Yes.”

“Were you involved in the raising of any additional funds for the Hospital of the Sacred Heart?”

“Yes. A sum of something over twelve thousand dollars was raised through private subscription for the purchase of penicillin and other medical supplies.”