The Poison Tree (19 page)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then he turned back to me. “I'd forgotten how long he stays in there. I guess that's the nature of life on Wall Street. All about competition and appearance. In the hospital, as long as I don't go on rounds with my underpants on my head, nobody says boo. And at Columbia—well, you know professors dress like slobs. Where was I?”

“Something about a Buick.”

“Oh, yeah, if I drive a crappy car, the Schwartzas are much less likely to break in and look for drugs. I didn't even replace my radio after the last break-in. Why bother? With a radio in your car, you might as well hang out a sign that says, ‘Mug Me!' But when the race war begins, I'll be prepared. That's why I don't use banks, even though your father thinks I'm crazy not to invest in the market. That's what we were talking about before you got here.”

“You were talking about the stock market?” I asked hopefully.

“No, race war! It's inevitable, in my opinion.”

“What does Dad think?”

“He thinks I'm full of shit. But I'm trying to convince him to invest a few thousand with me just the same.”

“But you just said you didn't invest in the stock market.

Malcolm smiled at my simplicity. “No. Not the market. These.” He took out a blue velvet case from his jacket pocket and twitched again. Inside was something that looked like a gold doubloon from a pirate's treasure chest. Or maybe Hannukah geld.

“What's that?”

“The only safe currency in the world: the South African Kruegerrand. Pure gold. Here, don't be afraid—touch it.” I did. I lifted the coin out of its snug blue velvet case; the metal felt heavy and cold.

“You mean this is safer than banks or the stock market?” I asked.

“Of course. When the race riots start, banks are always the first things to go. Gold holds its value, and Johannesburg is the only place left that's safe.”

“Don't they practice apartheid there?”

“Bingo!” Malcolm said with a smile. There was a flake of tobacco on his front tooth. Another swig of Coke washed it away. Finally, he replaced the gun in its holster.

“That isn't loaded, is it, Uncle Malcolm?”

“Not loaded?” he said with a cackle, pulling it out again. “Of course it's
loaded! What the hell's the point of carrying a .38 if it's not loaded? No, if you carry one of these, you'd better be ready to use it.”

There was another loud flush, and my father appeared, dressed in a dark pinstripe suit and pale blue shirt with a white spread collar. There was a mauve silk handkerchief flowing from his breast pocket. He smelled like Pinaud, and while his cheeks seemed unusually rosy, it could have been red from the sting of the aftershave. It didn't necessarily mean he was in a rage.

“Late as always,” Malcolm said, smiling, as my father came into the room.

“All right—what the fuck is going on?” Dad shouted on entering.

His entrance was meant to throw me off guard, and it succeeded.

But I was still full of Adar's bravery and confidence. “Aren't you going to ask me how I like your apartment? I haven't seen it before,” I said, brazenly. “It's a very nice apartment, Dad. Congratulations. I think that's how we ought to begin.”

“Don't be a smartass, Henry.”

“I'm not.”

“You know exactly why you're here!” he snapped.

“How could I?”

“You do, and don't think you're too big for me to take your pants down right here in the living room and strap you right in front of your uncle.”

“Perhaps you'd like to try?” I asked defiantly.

Dad unbuckled his belt and made a strange humming sound. It was a sound that I hadn't heard for a while, but remembered only too well. When I heard that hum, the sound of leather whishing through belt loops inevitably followed.

Malcolm interposed. “For Chrissake, Norman, this is why you called me to come over at 7:00 in the morning—to watch you take a strap to a sixteen year old?”

“All right,” my father said, buckling his belt again. “Now I want to know what's happened, and I want the truth. Don't lie to me.” As an aside to Malcolm, Dad said, “By the way, Malcolm, the boy's a congenital liar.” Then he turned his attention back to me. “How did you get fired after less than two weeks at camp? Two weeks! I want to know what happened up there, and I want to know exactly what happened on the way back.”

I had walked into a trap. In an instant, all my bravado vanished, and my
body went limp. Why hadn't I anticipated where this conversation was going to go? I should have known. But now, it was too late.

“There's really not much to tell. I was at camp, I left, and now I'm back. That's basically it.”

“That's not basically it, you goddamn son of a bitch. How the hell could you get fired? Your first job, too. Jesus Christ!”

“I didn't get fired, not exactly … I … we resigned. We were accused of leaving camp grounds, but it wasn't really true. We never left. So the honorable thing to do was—”

“Honorable? In a pig's eye! You hear that, Malcolm? Honorable! Now tell me why you got fired!”

“I just told you.”

“And I say you're lying. I happen to know the truth—Meyer called me. He said he suspected you and another boy were involved in doing something strange together. Something morally wrong. He said you and this other boy who was older and responsible for a whole cabin of kids, went off together one night. He got fired for neglecting the kids under his charge, and you went off with him. Is that true so far?”

“Yes and no,” I said, hesitating. Then, after a short pause, I added, “No, it isn't.”

My father scoffed. “You see, Malcolm? You see the shit I get from him? ‘Yes and no'; ‘no and yes'. Well ‘yes and no' ain't going to hack it, goddammit. I want the truth!”

Malcolm stepped in again. “Henry, your father deserves an answer. He won't tell you this, but he was really worried when the police called saying they found you in the middle of a field near New Rochelle.”

“The police?” It never occurred to me the police would contact my father. I felt trapped. I felt like I was going to pass out.

“Okay, so this is what happened. Me and this guy I became friends with spent a few hours talking late one night. He was supposed to be in his bunk inside watching the kids, it's true, but they were asleep. Anyway, we walked for a bit and talked. Then we stayed outside, only a few hundred yards from his cabin where his campers were sleeping. He was accused of ‘dereliction of duty', and I felt the right, the proper thing to do was to stick by him and leave, too. That's it; that's what happened.”