Ash Wednesday (12 page)

Jim
was
surprised. Not at the free rein, but at the bit that was inserted between his journalistic teeth after he put together his first issue. Too political, was Mr. Matthews's verdict. Too topical, Mr. Oakes's. Matthews's strikeouts and changes were numerous, and drafted in a rude, thick red. The line in an article about proposed housing starts for 1968; —With the expected escalation of the Vietnam Conflict, economists have predicted a small downturn in . . ." was slashed savagely, a huge "
NO!
" emblazoned over it for good measure. When Jim asked Oakes the reason, Oakes smiled uncomfortably.

"That's my comment," he said, "about being too topical. You see, Mr. Matthews really doesn't like any mentions of. . . uh . . . hard news. After all, it is a
company
newsletter, and should be fairly well restricted to what goes on in the company."

Jim was honestly confused. "Mr. Oakes, doesn't what directly affects the company have some bearing on what goes into it?"

"I
don't
think it's necessary to mention Vietnam."

But if Vietnam escalates, there aren't going to be as many housing starts because a lot of prospective home buyers will be going over there."

"Would you just make the change please, Jim?”

“But don't you think—"

Oakes's face hardened. "Jim, let me clarify this. Mr. Matthews and I would prefer to see no mention of Vietnam, race problems, peace movements, hippies, the draft, Eugene McCarthy. Bobby Kennedy, communism, dope, rock and roll music"—he thought for only a moment before adding—"and sex. We make building equipment. We don't make guns or placards or marijuana. Understand?"

Jim didn't answer.

"Okay?"

Finally he nodded. "Okay."

Mr. Oakes leaned forward. "You like your job, Jim?"

He made himself nod. "I like it."

"Good. Because a lot of other people would like it too. Good health coverage, insurance, nice retirement package, decent salary . . ." Oakes smiled again. "Listen, Jim, I'm sorry we had to have this little talk. I like you. You're a bright young guy and you've already added a lot to Linden. But we just have our own ways of doing things."

Jim smiled. It tasted sour. "I understand. I'm sorry about the hassle."

"That's all right then." Oakes stood up and walked Jim to the door of his office. "You know, business is a lot like being married, Jim. You're married, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"It's a partnership, you know? A bond. And there'll be ups and downs, and disagreements galore, but if both parties stick it out, you can have a long and beautiful relationship. 'Till retirement do us part,' huh?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"Well, then." Oakes made his smile even broader. "Enough said?"

Jim nodded. "Enough said. Thanks." And he walked back to his office, his stomach churning with fury, his teeth gritted together so hard he imagined he could hear the enamel crack.

~*~

"Quit?" said Beth that evening as they prepared dinner. "You just
got
the job, Jim."

"I know."

"Why in God's name would you want to quit?"

Jim made the hamburger patties and told Beth about Oakes and the Eve and the Vietnam line. "He threatened me," he concluded. "I didn't even
argue
with him—just disagreed—and the son of a bitch actually
threatened
me."

Beth said nothing. She kept her eyes on the soup she was stirring. Jim stopped patting the cold meat and stared at her. "Did you hear me?"

She nodded. "I heard. So you want to quit."

"Yeah."

Beth sighed and turned to him. "Jim, we're not in school anymore.''

"What's
that
mean?"

She took the burgers and lay them in the electric skillet, speaking over the hissing they made. “It means that this is the real world now. We can't just . . . walk away from things if they don't work out right away."

“You can
always
walk away from shit."

Her voice rose, angry. "Sure you can walk away, but you've got to walk
to
someplace too! What really happened? You were insulted, that's all, because Mr. Oakes wanted things done the way they've always been done. That's his
right
.”

“It's not just that!'' he flared back. "It's just that it's
indicative
.”.

"Indicative of
what?
"

"Of what I've got to look forward to there. Bullshit, repression . . .” He barked a humorless laugh. "Matthews has
already
made cracks about my beard, for Christ's sake."

"You’ve only been there three months," Beth said, turning off the burner. "Can't you give it more time than that?"

"Why? They're not going to change, and I'm damned if I will.”

"Have you got another job, then?"

"You know I haven't."

''Let's eat," she said, putting the burgers and soup bowls in a tray and carrying them into the dining room.

"We're not done talking about this," he said, following her.

"All right," she answered, sitting down and opening her napkin. "See if this finishes it. I teach school"—she ticked off the points on her fingers one by one—"for sixty-two hundred dollars a year. You work at Linden for eleven-five. Our car payment is a hundred dollars a month, our rent is a hundred and seventy-five. Our student loan payments are a hundred and fifty." She paused. "That's over five thousand a year. You quit, we live on my salary. Now, do you think we can even
eat
for a thousand dollars?"

He stared at the food on the table for a long time before answering. "All right. I'll wait."

"For how long?"

He looked up at her. "Until I find something else.”

“Or until it gets better?"

"It won't get better."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just worry."

"Don't worry. We won't starve."

They didn't. For the next few months Jim made a conscious effort to write only what Matthews and Oakes wanted to read, and did it very well. Oakes commented on it several times, and even Matthews dropped into Jim's cubicle to congratulate him on a job well done.

"A job well done," he told Beth at home, shaking his head and sipping a cold glass of white wine. "God, I can't wait to get out of there."

"Have you been looking?" Beth asked, thumbing through
Newsweek
.

"I've been looking. Plenty of jobs, but they're all in business and industry.
Hell
, they could be
worse
."

"Well, what do you want?" She put the magazine down with a sigh.

"I was a journalism major," he said dryly. "Words are my business, my business is words. It would be very nice to find a newspaper at which I could be Jim Callendar, Boy Reporter. "

"At a hundred bucks a week."

"It's better than selling out."

"Bullshit, selling out. Jim, Linden Industries isn't the Bank of America or Dow or Boeing. Besides, it could be worse. You could've been drafted."

Jim grunted. "Thank God for trick knees. Gonna have to get pretty bad before they take
me
." He finished his wine. "Yeah," he said, "it could be worse. I'm sort of getting used to the crap.''

"That's good."

He looked up quickly. "No! That's
bad
. I don't
want
to get used to it. Next thing you know I'll be
happy
there.”

“And what's wrong with being happy?"

“Maybe 'happy' isn't the word. Maybe it's 'contented.' Or '
satisfied
.' I don't want to be satisfied with that."

Beth shrugged. "Just hang on a little longer. You've seen them at their worst. So why not take the money as long as you want and run?"

"Just so I remember how to run."

"You'll know," said Beth, "when the time comes."

The time did not come for nearly eight years. It was not that Jim did not think about alternatives, for he did. He looked into the possibilities of work in Philadelphia, New York, Boston, even Los Angeles. But the jobs that were available always had something wrong with them, real or imagined. For the truth, which Beth dimly suspected but which Jim would never admit even to himself, was that he did not want to leave Merridale. He was bound to it with long-standing chains of affection. His family had lived there always, he knew the people on the street, the stores where they bought the necessities and pleasures of life. There was a sense of eternity about the town. It was an ageless place whose outer face would change with time but whose heart would remain as it always was, and he had no desire to leave it. On occasion he would travel in his job, and he found the great cities exciting, but ultimately as cold and unfriendly as the steel and glass of their buildings. It was always a relief when the train pulled into Merridale Station and he stepped off, the smell of honeysuckle that covered the embankment strong and sweet and welcoming, Beth waiting in the Toyota to take him back to their apartment.

And later to take him back to their house on Sundale Road.

And still later, Beth waiting, not alone, but with Terry strapped securely into his car seat, muffled in bright blue blankets so that only his face was visible, red and round as a lumpy apple.

Beth had been hesitant when Jim first brought up the idea of having a baby. The school was growing to the extent that rumors were flying of an assistant principalship that would probably be created in a year or two to aid Hatch Road's principal, Mary Spruce. Beth wanted the job. She had not always yearned for an administrative position, but found that the day to day classroom grind was beginning to oppress her, because she could not detach herself from the role of surrogate parent. Her involvement with her students had become emotional as well as tutorial, and the twin giving sapped her energies. Her days were full of loving and caring and teaching, her nights full of planning. If, she felt, she could acquire an administrative job, she would be a step withdrawn from the children, and though she loved the closeness that being in the classroom provided, she retained enough self-awareness to realize that continuing as she was could ultimately prove self-destructive. So when Jim suggested the possibility of a child, her response was guarded.

"I'd like a baby," she said, "but if the job opens up when I'm pregnant, or in the first year, there's no way I'll get it.”

“Why not talk to Mary?" Jim said.

"I couldn't do that."

"Why not? You're friends. Just tell her how you feel. You both know damn well you're the best teacher they've got out there. See what the chances are. Maybe they don't need an assistant for a few years."

Beth talked to Mary, and found her surprisingly open. Mary told her that it could be two, perhaps as many as three, years before the school population warranted an administrative expansion at Hatch, and Beth would certainly be considered. "The board makes the final choice, Beth," Mary said with a smile, "but I'd bet they'd go by my recommendation. And I certainly think you could handle it."

"Even if I took a leave of absence for a couple of years?”

“Why?" Mary took off her bifocals and looked at Beth from sharp,
unglassed
eyes.