The Last Gentleman (46 page)

“I want to know what it was you discovered while you were in the, ah, hospital out here last summer.”

“What?”
said Sutter, coming down hard on all four legs of the captain's chair.

The engineer was not disconcerted. “I've finished your casebook. I wish to know whether you meant only that when you're in a bad way things look better than they do ordinarily.”

“Oh,” said Sutter, replacing his feet. “That. I don't remember. That was a long time ago and, as I told you, I attach no importance to that stuff. It was written to be rid of it, excreta, crap, and so intended.”

“I just finished speaking to Kitty.” The engineer drew up another sheriff's chair. “We spoke for two hours. It cost twenty-four dollars. I had to reverse the charges.”

“Good Lord. I can't imagine talking to Kitty for five minutes.”

“We settled a great many things,” said the engineer, frowning—who in hell was Sutter to patronize Kitty?

“Are you getting married?” asked Sutter politely, turning his chair a few degrees but keeping his pale eyes fixed on the brown schematic mountain.

“Yes. After—things are more settled. But that is not why I drove out here this afternoon. I want to know this,” he said, leaning over and grabbing the rim of Sutter's chair so hard that his knuckles turned white. “I want to know why you brought Jamie out here.”

Sutter tried to tear his eyes from the mountain. “You're right. It didn't work, did it?”

“Right? What do you mean? What didn't work?”

Sutter shrugged. “Jamie's little idea of a vacation.”

“Jamie's? But according to what you wrote, it was your idea too. What did you expect him to do?”

“It's not what I expected.”

“Then he expected something?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“He expected something to happen.”

“What? Not get well?”

Sutter shrugged.

“But you brought him out. You must have hoped for something.”

“Only that he might get a little better.”

“Get better?” He watched the other like a hawk. “No, you mean die better, don't you?”

Sutter shrugged and said nothing.

“You didn't answer,” said the engineer after a moment.

Again Sutter's feet hit the floor. “Goddamn it, Barrett, what do you mean by requiring answers from me? Why should I answer you? What are you to me? Christ, if you recall I never solicited your company in the first place.”

“I am asking nevertheless,” said the engineer cheerfully.

“Why me, for Christ's sake?”

“I don't know.”

“What do you take me for, some pissant wise man, ole rebel Sutter whom the yokels back home can't stand and who therefore by your peculiar logic must be onto something just because they're not? You know something, Barrett? There's one thing I've never been able to get the straight of, and that is what it is you want of me. I suspect it is one of two things. You either want me to tell you to fornicate or not to fornicate, but for the life of me I can't tell which it is.”

“Then tell me,” said the engineer smiling.

“I will not tell you.”

“Tell me to be chaste and I will do it. Yes! I will do it easily!” he said, striking the rail softly with his fist. “All you have to do is tell me.”

“I will not tell you.”

“Then tell me not to be chaste.”

“I will not.”

“Why not?”

“Barrett, since when is failure, my failure, a badge of wisdom?”

“I did not think of it that way,” said the engineer, frowning. Suddenly he did see Sutter for the first time as the dismalest failure, a man who had thrown himself away. He marveled at his, the engineer's, being here.

“I know you don't,” said Sutter, not unkindly. “But maybe you better start. For both our sakes. Be done with me. Go stay with Jamie.”

“That's what I'm trying to do,” said the other absently.

“What?”

“Be done with you.”

“I fervently wish you success.”

“Yes,” said the engineer, cheering up. “Yes! You're right. There is no reason why I can't just get up and go about my business, is there?”

“No reason.”

“To answer your earlier question: yes, Kitty and I are getting married.”

“You mentioned it.”

“We spoke of many things.”

“Good.”

“And settled a fair proportion of them.”

“Good.”

“It turns out we see eye to eye on most things.”

“Excellent.”

“It seems that Mr. Vaught has made Lamar a vice-president and that he is going to offer me the position of personnel manager. I actually feel I might do well at it.”

“I have no doubt of it.”

“For the first time I feel fairly certain of what I want to do.”

“I'm glad to hear it.”

“We even have a house in mind. Cap'n Andy Mickle's place on South Ridge. Do you know it?”

“Very well indeed.”

“You've been there?”

“A dozen times.”

“Why? Oh. You mean to treat Cap'n Andy?”

“A colossal bore. He bored himself to death. But that's no reflection on the house. An ideal spot. The best view on the ridge.”

The engineer frowned, thinking of the buzzards circling the doleful plain and Cap'n Andy striding the “bridge.” But he quickly brightened. “We've even agreed on the same denomination.”

“The same
what?
”

“Denomination. Church. Kitty has become quite religious. She is convinced of the wisdom of our having the same church home, to use her expression.” The engineer laughed tolerantly, shaking his head at the ways of women, and wiped a merry tolerant little tear from his eye.

“Jesus,” muttered Sutter.

“Eh?” The other cocked his good ear.

“Nothing.”

“You don't fool me, Dr. Vaught. Don't forget that I've read your casebook. Though I do not pretend to understand everything, that part didn't escape me.”

“What part?”

“Your awareness of the prime importance of the religious dimension of life.”

“The religious dimension of life?” Sutter looked at him suspiciously. “Barrett, are you putting me on?”

“No sir.”

“Then if you're not, you're doing something worse.”

“Sir?” asked the engineer politely.

“Never mind.”

“Dr. Vaught,” said the engineer earnestly. “There is one more thing. Then I will leave.”

“What is that?”

“Dr. Vaught, Kitty and I are getting married. I am going to take a good position with your father, settle down on the South Ridge, and, I hope, raise a family.”

“Yes,” said Sutter after a pause.

“I think I'm going to be a pretty fair member of the community. God knows the place could use even a small contribution of good will and understanding.”

“Beyond a doubt. Good will and understanding. Yes. Very good.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“What's wrong with that?”

“Nothing. I think you'll be very happy. In fact I'll go further than that. I don't think you'll have any more trouble with your fugues. And I take it back: I don't think you are kidding me.”

“I see. Dr. Vaught.”

“What?”

“I know you think there is something wrong with if—”

“You do?”

“Yes. I know you think there is everything wrong with it.”

“Nonsense.” Sutter laughed. “Would you rather join me here?”

“No, but—”

“But what?”

“But nothing.” The engineer rose. “There is nothing wrong with it. Truthfully I see now there is nothing wrong with such a life.”

“Right!”

“It is better to do something than do nothing—no reflection, sir.”

“No reflection.”

“It is good to have a family.”

“You are quite right.”

“Better to love and be loved.”

“Absolutely.”

‘To cultivate whatever talents one has.”

“Correct.”

“To make a contribution, however small.”

“However small.”

“To do one's best to promote tolerance and understanding between the races, surely the most pressing need before the country.”

“Beyond question the most pressing need. Tolerance and understanding. Yes.”

The engineer flushed. “Well, isn't it better?”

“Yes.”

“Violence is bad.”

“Violence is not good.”

“It is better to make love to one's wife than to monkey around with a lot of women.”

“A lot better.”

“I am sure I am right.”

“You are right.”

The engineer gazed gloomily at the chuck wagon, a large red dining cottage across the quadrangle. Cookie, a Chinese with a black cap and a queue, came out and seizing the branding iron rang it around the iron triangle.

“You know, Dr. Vaught, I have lived a rather abnormal and solitary life and have tended to get things backwards. My father was a proud and solitary man. I had no other family. For a long time I have had a consuming desire for girls, for the coarsest possible relations with them, without knowing how to treat them as human beings. No doubt, as you suggested, a good part of my nervous condition stems from this abnormal relationship—or lack of relationship—”

“As I suggested? I never suggested any such goddamn thing.”

“At any rate,” the engineer went on hurriedly, looking down at the other, “I think I see for the first time the possibility of a happy, useful life.”

“Good. So?”

“Dr. Vaught, why was that man screaming?”

“What man?”

“The man you told me about—the Deke from Vanderbilt—with the lovely wife and children—you know.”

“Oh, Scotty. Christ, Barrett, for somebody with fugues, you've got quite a memory.”

“Yes sir.”

“Don't worry about Scotty. You won't scream. I can assure you, you will not scream.”

“Then it is better not to?”

“Are you asking me?”

“Yes.”

Sutter shrugged.

“You have nothing more to tell me?”

“No, Barrett, nothing.” To his surprise, Sutter answered him quietly, without making a face or cursing.

The engineer laughed with relief. “For the first time I think I really might live like other men—rejoin the human race.”

“I hope you'll all be happy. You and the race, I mean.”

“Oh, I forgot something. It was something Kitty said to tell you. God, I'm selfish.”

“But in the future you're going to be unselfish.”

“What? Oh. Yes,” said the engineer, smiling. He declined to conspire with Sutter's irony. “Kitty said to tell you Lamar was going to take a special course in management at the Harvard Business School.”

“Good Lord, what do I care what Lamar does?”

The engineer kept a wary eye on him. “And that while he is in Boston, Myra is going to stay with Rita in New York.”

“Myra Thigpen? I see. Do you want to know something? It figures.”

“Rita is already gone. Myra is leaving after—afterwards.”

“So Rita is gone.” Sutter gazed into the empty sky, which instead of turning rosy with sunset was simply going out like a light.

As the other watched him, Sutter began idly picking off dudes, sighting the Colt at one after another of the passing women, idly yet with a regardlessness which was alarming. It was a very small thing, no more than that Sutter did not take pains to conceal the pistol from the women, but for some reason the engineer's heart began to pound against his ribs.

“On the other hand,” Sutter was saying between shots, “it is also possible to die without significance and that is hardly an improvement of one's state of life. I knew a man once, not my own patient I am glad to say, who was sitting with his family one Sunday evening watching Lassie, who had befriended a crippled duck and was protecting him from varmints. During the commercial he got up and got out his old army forty-five. When his family asked him what he intended to do, he told them he was going outside to shoot a varmint. So he went outside to the garage and got into the family's second car, a Dodge Dart, and blew the top of his head off. Now that's a lot of damn foolishness, isn't it?”

“Yes sir,” said the engineer, who was now more irritated than frightened by Sutter's antics with the pistol. Nor did he any longer believe Sutter's dire little case histories. “The other thing I want to tell you is that—” he said as Cookie rang second call with the branding iron. “Kitty said to tell you that the, ah, legal difficulties in your case have been cleared up and that—”

“You mean the coast is clear.”

“Yes sir.”

“Poppy has fixed things up and Doc Holliday can come back home to Valdosta.”

“Sir, you have an enormous contribution to make—” began the engineer.

Sutter rose so suddenly that the younger man was afraid he'd made him angry again. But Sutter's attention was elsewhere.

Following his eye, the engineer alighted upon one of the guests who had left the O.K. Corral next door and was presently coming abreast of Doc's cottage. To judge from her Levis, which were stiff and blue, she was a new arrival. The old civil sorrowful air of the East still clung to her; she walked as if she still wore a dress. Though she had hooked her thumbs into her pockets, she had not yet got into the way of making herself free of herself and of swinging her legs like a man. She even wore a cowgirl hat, not at all the thing here, which had fallen down her back and was supported by a string at her throat. But she was abstracted and did not care, and instead of ambling along with the others, she went musing alone, tongue set against her teeth and hissing a solitary little tune. There was about her the wryness and ruefulness of a twenty-eight-year-old who has been staggered by a not quite mortal blow and has her own woman's way of getting over it and in fact has already done so. She knew how to muse along a path and hiss a little tune and keep herself to herself.