The Troubled Air (46 page)

Archer grinned. “What would you suggest they do—arrest everyone who has a nickel in his possession? Don’t worry, Kitty …” He propelled her gently toward the study. “Nobody’s been killed yet by telephone. It’s probably just a couple of cranks with nothing to do and some loose change in their pockets,”

“It’s scary,” Kitty said. “Right in your own home. That’s why I called Nancy and asked her to come down. She says they’ve been calling Vic, too.”

“I must ring my broker,” Archer said, determined not to take it seriously, “and tell him to buy a hundred shares of telephone stock for me this afternoon. Hi, Nancy,” he said, as he and Kitty went into the study. He kissed Nancy. She was standing against the desk. She had on a trim black suit over a white lace blouse. She was wearing a nice perfume, too. Archer sniffed deeply. “My,” he said, “you smell delicious.”

They all sat down, Kitty on the couch beside him, holding his hand.

“How’re things uptown this bright morning?” Archer asked.

“Confused,” said Nancy. “The kids’re staying home from school today and our nurse left and …”

“What’s the matter?” Archer asked. “They sick?”

“No.” Nancy shook her head. She was wearing a little hat with a veil that was modeled on a bullfighter’s hat and she looked as though she ought to be going to an elegant restaurant for lunch. “Our calls started to come in early. Five-thirty. Then every fifteen minutes from then on. I told Vic to have the company disconnect the phone, but he says he likes to hear what his public has to say. He just stands there and chuckles and calls them the most horrible names back over the phone.”

“That’s an idea,” Archer said. “The technique of counter-terror. Tell them they don’t fool us, they’re Jew-lovers, too.”

“People’re insane,” Nancy said. “Just because you went to that funeral yesterday. And Vic didn’t even go.”

“It wasn’t just because of the funeral, baby,” Archer said quietly. “And people aren’t insane. They’re just horrible.”

“That awful magazine,” Nancy said, sighing. “Did you see the last issue?”

Archer shook his head. “I made a decision this week. No reading matter that has been written later than the eighteenth century.”

“I saw it,” Kitty said. “Those people ought to be put in jail.”

Archer grinned and patted her hand. Nice, simple Kitty, who still thought she lived in a world in which you could call the police.

“Somebody sent a copy to Miss Tully, our nurse,” Nancy said, “and she came in and told me she was going to quit. She wouldn’t even stay overnight. She’s been with us five years and she wept when she said good-bye to the boys, but she said she couldn’t stay in the house of a man who was an enemy of the Church. She’s very devout. The kids howled bloody murder and she must have used five handkerchiefs mopping her own tears, but she wouldn’t even take two weeks’ pay as a bonus from Vic. She said it was dirty money. Happy days in the nursery,” Nancy said grimly. “After I leave here I have an appointment at an agency to interview some more nurses. That aren’t so politically sensitive, I hope. Anyway, we decided to keep the kids home from school today. I was afraid somebody might annoy them on the way. Vic says there’s nothing to worry about and he was all for sending them along as though nothing was happening, but I feel better with them in the house. I must confess I don’t take those calls as calmly as Vic does. Those people sound …” She hesitated. “Demented.”

“I’m sure there’s something that could be done,” Kitty said firmly. “Even if you had to go to the Mayor. It can’t be legal to call up a perfect stranger in his own house and call him the foulest words anyone could imagine. You have no idea, Clement …” She turned to Archer, her lips trembling, “Some of the things they’ve called me over the phone this morning when I told them I was Mrs. Archer.”

“You stay away from the phone from now on, baby,” Archer said. “I’ll answer it or get Gloria.” He grinned. “I’ll tell Gloria she’s free to say anything that comes into her head. They’ll think twice before calling again.”

“I think we all ought to go away some place,” Kitty said. “To the country. Away from phones. Away from these horrible people. Clement …” She appealed to him, holding his hand, “Can’t we get into Vic’s car tomorrow and go out to Connecticut and find a little hotel or even a house? It’s out of season and I’m sure you could get one for almost nothing for a month or two.”

“There’s a little question of work, darling,” Archer said lightly. He felt guilty and cowardly because the idea attracted him so much.

“You could come in on Thursdays,” Kitty said. “Or even two or three days a week. And the rest of the time you could rest and forget about this. You look terribly tired, Clement, and you’re sleeping so badly. I hear you moving around and groaning in your sleep all night long.”

“Vic’ll be able to spend a nice, long spell in the country,” Nancy said grimly. “They dropped him yesterday from Griffith Theatre.” Griffith Theatre was the other program that Vic did regularly. “And he hasn’t been offered a new job in three weeks.”

“We’ll see,” Archer said. “Maybe it’ll all blow over by tomorrow.”

Gloria came into the room. “Mis’ Archer,” she said, “the laundry-man is here in the kitchen. He says he ain’t responsible for putting those holes in the curtains. He wants to talk to you.”

Kitty stood up, moving slowly. “All right,” she said. “I’ll talk to him.”

Nancy and Archer watched Kitty walk heavily and ungracefully after Gloria. Archer rubbed the top of his head thoughtfully.

Nancy lit a cigarette, pushing up her veil to smoke it. “Sorry you came to the Big City, Professor?” she asked. “Do you find yourself longing for the simple, uncomplicated academic life?”

Archer smiled wearily. “I understand,” he said, “that many colleges are now equipped with telephones, too.”

“Are you going to the meeting at the St. Regis tonight?” Nancy was flipping the pages of a magazine, not looking at Archer.

“I believe I am,” Archer said slowly.

“You going to make a speech?”

Archer nodded. “By popular demand.”

“What’re you going to say?”

Archer shrugged. “Who knows? The usual platitudes, I suppose. The same thing that everybody else’ll say. Freedom of opinion, no censorship by accusation or by pressure groups. The same boring guff. What can you say? I suppose the important thing isn’t that you say anything particular but that you’re there.” He went over to the desk and filled a pipe. Nancy stood up, dropping the magazine. She pulled her skirt into place with deft, womanly little movements of her hands. Archer regarded her with pleasure. She looked pretty this afternoon, not worn and hungry as she had looked on the night of Jane’s play.

“That’s quite a hat, Nancy,” Archer said, smiling.

“Clement,” Nancy said absently, ignoring the compliment, “do you think it’ll do any good?”

“What?”

“The meeting.”

Archer shrugged and lit his pipe. “Who knows? Who knows if anything will do any good? Maybe the only thing that would do any good would be if a hole opened up and Russia fell into it. Still, you’ve got to do something.”

“Isn’t it possible, that it’ll do a lot of harm?” Nancy asked quietly, staring at Archer. “The meeting, I mean. Won’t the people who make speeches be attacked more bitterly than ever?”

Archer puffed on his pipe. “Probably,” he said. “It sounds likely.”

“Mightn’t it be wiser,” Nancy asked, “just to keep quiet? Lie low for awhile. Not give them any more targets to shoot at.”

Archer looked sharply at Nancy. “I don’t know,” he said, wondering what Nancy was aiming at, whether she was speaking for herself or whether she and Vic had decided on this together. “I’m a new boy in this league. I’m just an amateur victim. I haven’t got the fine points of martyrdom under control yet.”

Nancy took a step toward him. “Don’t be angry with me, Clement,” she pleaded.

Archer smiled. “I haven’t been angry with you one minute,” he said, “since the day you slipped Vic’s flask out from under the blanket in 1935. I wouldn’t know how to be angry with you if I wanted to.”

Nancy smiled too, but it was nervous and hurried and polite. “They wouldn’t be after you at all,” she said, “if you hadn’t tried to help Vic.”

Now, Archer thought, I have to be very careful. “I tried to help a lot of people, Nancy,” he said softly, remembering Weller and. Motherwell and Atlas and Pokorny. “With varying success. Some of the recipients of my charity,” he said harshly, “are already six feet underground and others may be observed at this very moment hurrying with old wedding rings to the nearest pawnshops.”

“But you went all out for Vic,” Nancy said stubbornly, almost as if she were accusing him. “You risked your job for him. You were going to quit if they fired Vic, weren’t you?”

“I don’t know, Nancy, darling,” Archer said wearily, leaning back against the desk. “It was so long ago, when I was a brave and ignorant young man.”

“I know,” Nancy said. “I know all about it.”

“Maybe it wasn’t for Vic,” Archer said. “Maybe it was for what they call in literary saloons a principle. A medium-sized, old-fashioned principle.”

Nancy came close to him. He could smell her perfume, fresh and not cloying, and see the small lines around her eyes. Her eyes were blue-gray, still very clear and almost childishly bright and wide-open. “Clement,” Nancy said softly, “I wanted to tell you how grateful I am.”

“And all that,” Archer said nervously, not wishing to be thanked.

“All right.” Nancy smiled, recognizing Archer’s self-consciousness. “I won’t praise you. I won’t tell you that you’re a lovely friend and the perfect godfather and that if you only had hair you’d be too good to be true …”

“Nancy, darling …” Archer put the pipe into his mouth defensively. “The old man is in pain.”

“But I have one thing to say,” Nancy said growing very grave again. “About tonight. You’ve done enough. I don’t want you to be hurt. Not for Vic or for me or for anyone else. Think hard, Clement. Tonight may turn out to be very bad. Awful. It may take years to recover from. Or maybe you’ll never be able to recover from it. Think of yourself. Please. If you think you have to go for your own reasons, OK. But not for Vic. Do you hear me, Clement?
Not for Vic.”

Archer stared down at her for a moment, puzzled. Without taking his eyes from the youngish, delicately lined, intense face so close to his, he put his pipe down behind him. Then he took her softly in his arms and kissed her. She was rigid next to him, and her arms around him gripped him with convulsive force.

He kissed her cheek gently again, holding her lightly. There was the sound of Kitty’s slow, heavy footsteps and Kitty came into the room.

Archer patted Nancy’s shoulder, then dropped his arms. “You still smell delicious,” he said, smiling.

The phone rang when they were all in the hall, saying good-bye. Archer picked it up, watching the two women at the open door.

“Archer?” A voice asked.

“Yes. Who is this?”

“None of your God-damn business,” the voice said. “It won’t be long now, brother, that’s all I wanted to say …”

Archer made himself smile because the two women had stopped talking and were watching him.

“We’re going to get you and every bastard like you,” the voice said, not very loud, not very excited, sounding almost as if the man were slightly bored with what he was saying, as though he had said it many times before. “Watch out now, brother, because we …”

Archer hung up. “The man from the telephone company,” he said, going over to the door. “He wants to know if the reception is clear.”

The women didn’t say anything. He stood with his arm around Kitty at the open door, watching Nancy go down the steps, slender, wonderfully pretty and youthful-looking at this distance in her silly, charming hat. Cassandra, he thought, half-humorously, still puzzling over the veiled warning Nancy had given him. Cassandra in silk stockings and a funny hat, going off to hire a children’s nurse after her obscure prophecy. Was Cassandra pretty too, and what occupied her time between warnings?

The telephone was ringing, and he closed the door and went back into the hall with Kitty. He picked up the phone and by the tone of the voice which asked for Clement Archer he knew what it was. He put the phone down on the table and watched it placidly as louder and louder noises came from it.

“At a distance of four feet,” he said mildly to Kitty, who was looking frightened again, “it’s no worse than a bad cold.”

He let the voice shout away, not hearing any of the words, just getting an impression of senseless truculence and exasperation from the instrument. Kitty passed him, almost running, as though even that undistinguishable small flood of mechanical sound was too much for her to bear. Archer watched Kitty disappear into the living room. The man on the phone must have been shouting at the top of his voice, because now and then Archer could just make out words like “Communist” and “bastard.” I wonder, Archer thought, what the fellow who is monitoring this phone is going to make out of this day’s conversation. If he’s a well-brought-up young man with a distaste for profanity and blasphemy, he’s going to have a bad hour or two.

The voice stopped and there was a click on the phone. Archer picked it up and listened for the dial tone. Then he called the operator and asked for the business office.

A crisp, pleasant young woman’s voice spoke in the name of the telephone company, eager for service.

“I’d like to disconnect this phone temporarily,” Archer said, after giving his name and number. “I’m going out of town.”

“Yes, Mr. Archer,” the voice said. “When would you like us to cut the service?”

“Immediately,” Archer said. “As soon as I hang up.”

“Would you like us to have the calls transferred to another number,” the young lady asked, “so that you can get any messages?”

“No, thank you,” Archer said. “I don’t expect any messages.”

“When would you like us to resume service?” the young lady asked.

Never, Archer thought. In the year 2000. On the first date that civilization sets in. “I’ll call you,” Archer said. “I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you, Mr. Archer. Have a pleasant trip.”