“Yes,” Lee said from the doorway, “and he deplored it. He hated it.”
“Did he now?” Adam asked.
Lee came into the room. He held his big basting spoon in his right hand, and he cupped his left under the bowl for fear it would drip on the carpet. He came into the room and forgot and waved his spoon and drops of turkey fat fell to the floor. “Now you question it, I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know whether he hated it or I hate it for him.”
“Don’t get so excited,” said Adam. “Seems to me we can’t discuss anything any more but you take it as a personal insult.”
“Maybe the knowledge is too great and maybe men are growing too small,” said Lee. “Maybe, kneeling down to atoms, they’re becoming atom-sized in their souls. Maybe a specialist is only a coward, afraid to look out of his little cage. And think what any specialist misses—the whole world over his fence.”
“We’re only talking about making a living.”
“A living—or money,” Lee said excitedly. “Money’s easy to make if it’s money you want. But with a few exceptions people don’t want money. They want luxury and they want love and they want admiration.”
“All right. But do you have any objection to college? That’s what we’re talking about.”
“I’m sorry,” said Lee. “You’re right, I do seem to get too excited. No, if college is where a man can go to find his relation to his whole world, I don’t object. Is it that? Is it that, Aron?”
“I don’t know,” said Aron.
A hissing sound came from the kitchen. Lee said, “The goddam giblets are boiling over,” and he bolted through the door.
Adam gazed after him affectionately. “What a good man! What a good friend!”
Aron said, “I hope he lives to be a hundred.”
His father chuckled. “How do you know he’s not a hundred now?”
Cal asked, “How is the ice plant doing, Father?”
“Why, all right. Pays for itself and makes a little profit. Why?”
“I thought of a couple of things to make it really pay.”
“Not today,” said Adam quickly. “Monday, if you remember, but not today. You know,” Adam said, “I don’t remember when I’ve felt so good. I feel—well, you might call it fulfilled. Maybe it’s only a good night’s sleep and a good trip to the bathroom. And maybe it’s because we’re all together and at peace.” He smiled at Aron. “We didn’t know what we felt about you until you went away.”
“I was homesick,” Aron confessed. “The first few days I thought I’d die of it.”
Abra came in with a little rush. Her cheeks were pink and she was happy. “Did you notice there’s snow on Mount Toro?” she asked.
“Yes, I saw it,” Adam said. “They say that means a good year to come. And we could use it.”
“I just nibbled,” said Abra. “I wanted to be hungry for here.”
Lee apologized for the dinner like an old fool. He blamed the gas oven which didn’t heat like a good wood stove. He blamed the new breed of turkeys which lacked a something turkeys used to have. But he laughed with them when they told him he was acting like an old woman fishing for compliments.
With the plum pudding Adam opened the champagne, and they treated it with ceremony. A courtliness settled over the table. They proposed toasts. Each one had his health drunk, and Adam made a little speech to Abra when he drank her health.
Her eyes were shining and under the table Aron held her hand. The wine dulled Cal’s nervousness and he was not afraid about his present.
When Adam had finished his plum pudding he said, “I guess we never have had such a good Thanksgiving.”
Cal reached in his jacket pocket, took out the red-ribboned package, and pushed it over in front of his father.
“What’s this?” Adam asked.
“It’s a present.”
Adam was pleased. “Not even Christmas and we have presents. I wonder what it can be!”
“A handkerchief,” said Abra.
Adam slipped off the grubby bow and unfolded the tissue paper. He stared down at the money.
Abra said, “What is it?” and stood up to look. Aron leaned forward. Lee, in the doorway, tried to keep the look of worry from his face. He darted a glance at Cal and saw the light of joy and triumph in his eyes.
Very slowly Adam moved his fingers and fanned the gold certificates. His voice seemed to come from far away. “What is it? What—” He stopped.
Cal swallowed. “It’s—I made it—to give to you—to make up for losing the lettuce.”
Adam raised his head slowly. “You made it? How?”
“Mr. Hamilton—we made it—on beans.” He hurried on, “We bought futures at five cents and when the price jumped—It’s for you, fifteen thousand dollars. It’s for you.”
Adam touched the new bills so that their edges came together, folded the tissue over them and turned the ends up. He looked helplessly at Lee. Cal caught a feeling—a feeling of calamity, of destruction in the air, and a weight of sickness overwhelmed him. He heard his father say, “You’ll have to give it back.”
Almost as remotely his own voice said, “Give it back? Give it back to who?”
“To the people you got it from.”
“The British Purchasing Agency? They can’t take it back. They’re paying twelve and a half cents for beans all over the country.”
“Then give it to the farmers you robbed.”
“Robbed?” Cal cried. “Why, we paid them two cents a pound over the market. We didn’t rob them.” Cal felt suspended in space, and time seemed very slow.
His father took a long time to answer. There seemed to be long spaces between his words. “I send boys out,” he said. “I sign my name and they go out. And some will die and some will lie helpless without arms and legs. Not one will come back untorn. Son, do you think I could take a profit on that?”
“I did it for you,”. Cal said. “I wanted you to have the money to make up your loss.”
“I don’t want the money, Cal. And the lettuce—I don’t think I did that for a profit. It was a kind of game to see if I could get the lettuce there, and I lost. I don’t want the money.”
Cal looked straight ahead. He could feel the eyes of Lee and Aron and Abra crawling on his cheeks. He kept his eyes on his father’s lips.
“I like the idea of a present,” Adam went on. “I thank you for the thought—”
“I’ll put it away. I’ll keep it for you,” Cal broke in.
“No. I won’t want it ever. I would have been so happy if you could have given me—well, what your brother has—pride in the thing he’s doing, gladness in his progress. Money, even clean money, doesn’t stack up with that.” His eyes widened a little and he said, “Have I made you angry, son? Don’t be angry. If you want to give me a present—give me a good life. That would be something I could value.”
Cal felt that he was choking. His forehead streamed with perspiration and he tasted salt on his tongue. He stood up suddenly and his chair fell over. He ran from the room, holding his breath.
Adam called after him, “Don’t be angry, son.”
They let him alone. He sat in his room, his elbows on his desk. He thought he would cry but he did not. He tried to let weeping start but tears could not pass the hot iron in his head.
After a time his breathing steadied and he watched his brain go to work slyly, quietly. He fought the quiet hateful brain down and it slipped aside and went about its work. He fought it more weakly, for hate was seeping all through his body, poisoning every nerve. He could feel himself losing control.
Then there came a point where the control and the fear were gone and his brain cried out in an aching triumph. His hand went to a pencil and he drew tight little spirals one after another on his blotting pad. When Lee came in an hour later there were hundreds of spirals, and they had become smaller and smaller. He did not look up.
Lee closed the door gently. “I brought you some coffee,” he said.
“I don’t want it—yes, I do. Why, thank you, Lee. It’s kind of you to think of it.”
Lee said, “Stop it! Stop it, I tell you!”
“Stop what? What do you want me to stop?”
Lee said uneasily, “I told you once when you asked me that it was all in yourself. I told you you could control it—if you wanted.”
“Control what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Lee said, “Can’t you hear me? Can’t I get through to you? Cal, don’t you know what I’m saying?”