On the other hand, his altercation with Arnie Kott had admittedly caused him to probe into the Esterhazy child’s folio . . . so there was a small but finite causal connective.
Reading the folio through, he was struck once more by the bizarre relationship which it implied. Here they were, carrying on a sexual union years after their marriage had terminated. Why had they gotten divorced? Perhaps there had been a serious power-clash between them; Anne Esterhazy was clearly a domineering type of female with strong masculine components, what Jung called the “animusridden” woman. In successfully dealing with such a type, one had to play a definite role; one had to capture the position of authority right off the bat and never relinquish it. One had to be the ancestral spokesman, or else be quickly defeated.
Dr. Glaub put the folio away and then sauntered down the corridor to the playroom. He located Mrs. Esterhazy; she was playing beanbag with her boy. Walking over, he stood observing them until she became aware of him and paused.
“Hello, Dr. Glaub,” she said cheerfully.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Esterhazy. Um, when you’re finished visiting, may I see you in my office?”
It was rewarding to see the woman’s competent, selfsatisfied expression wilt with concern. “Of course, Dr. Glaub.”
Twenty minutes later he sat facing her across his desk.
“Mrs. Esterhazy, when your boy first came to Camp B-G, there was a good deal of doubt as to the nature of his problem. It was believed for some time that it lay in the realm of mental disturbance, possibly a traumatic neurosis or–”
The woman broke in, firmly. “Doctor, you’re going to tell me that since Sam has no problems except his defective learning ability, he is not to remain here; is that correct?”
“And the physical problem,” Dr. Glaub said.
“But that is not your concern.”
He made a gesture of resignation and agreement.
“When do I have to take him home?” She was whitefaced and trembling; her hands gripped her purse, clutched at it.
“Oh, three or four days. A week.”
Chewing her knuckle, Mrs. Esterhazy stared blindly down at the carpet of the office. Time passed. Then in a quavering voice she said, “Doctor, as you perhaps know, I have been active for some time in fighting a bill now before the UN which would close Camp B-G.” Her voice gained strength. “If I am forced to remove Sam, I will withdraw my assistance in this matter, and you can be certain that the bill will be passed. And I will inform Susan Haynes as to the reason why I am withdrawing my assistance.”
A slow cold wave of shock passed over Dr. Milton Glaub’s mind. He could think of nothing to say.
“You understand, Doctor?” Mrs. Esterhazy said.
He managed to nod.
Rising to her feet, Mrs. Esterhazy said, “Doctor, I have been in politics a long time. Arnie Kott considers me a do-gooder, an amateur, but I am not. Believe me, in certain areas I am quite shrewd politically.”
“Yes,” Dr. Glaub said, “I see that you are.” Automatically he too rose; he escorted her to the door of the office.
“Please don’t ever bring up this issue about Sam again,” the woman said, as she opened the door. “I find it too painful. It is much easier for me to regard him as anomalous.” She faced him squarely. “It is not within my capacity to think of him as retarded.” Turning, she walked swiftly off.
That did not work out too well, Dr. Glaub said to himself as he shakily closed his office door. The woman is obviously sadistic–strong hostility drives coupled with out-and-out aggression.
Seating himself at his desk he lit a cigarette and puffed at it despondently as he struggled to collect his aplomb.
When Jack Bohlen reached the bottom of the descent ramp he saw no sign of Manfred. Several children trotted by, no doubt on their way to their Teachers. He began to roam about, wondering where the boy had gone. And why so quickly? It was not good.
Ahead, a group of children had collected around a Teacher, a tall, white-haired, bushy-browed gentleman whom Jack recognized as Mark Twain. Manfred, however, was not among them.
As Jack started to walk past the Mark Twain it broke off its monolog to the children, puffed several times at its cigar, and called after Jack, “My friend, can I be of any assistance to you?”
Pausing, Jack said, “I’m looking for a little boy I brought here with me.”
“I know all the young fellows,” the Mark Twain Teaching Machine answered. “What is his name?”
“Manfred Steiner.” He described the boy as the teaching machine listened alertly.
“Hmm,” it said, when he had finished. It smoked for a moment and then once more lowered its cigar. “I believe you will find that young man over colloquizing with the Roman emperor Tiberius. Or at least so I am informed by the authorities in whose care this organization has been entrusted; I speak of the master circuit, sir.”
Tiberius. He had not realized that such figures were represented here at the Public School: the base and deranged personages of history. Evidently from his expression the Mark Twain understood his thoughts.
“Here in the school,” it informed him, “as examples not to be emulated but to be avoided with the most scrupulous zeal, you will find, sir, as you make your peregrinations about these halls, that many rascals, pirates, and scamps are on display, sermonizing in dolorous and lamentable tones their edifying histories for the enlightenment of the young.” The Mark Twain, again puffing on its cigar, winked at him. Disconcerted, Jack hurried on.
At the Immanuel Kant he halted to ask directions. Several pupils, in their teens, stood aside for him.
“The Tiberius,” it told him in heavily accented English, “can be found down that way.” It pointed with absolute authority; it did not have any doubts, and Jack hurried at once down that particular hail.
A moment later he found himself approaching the slight, white-haired, fragile-looking figure of the Roman emperor. It seemed to be musing as he came up to it, but before he could speak it turned its head in his direction.
“The boy whom you are searching for has passed on. He was yours, was he? An exceeding attractive youth.” Then it was silent, as if communing within itself. Actually, Jack knew, it was reconnecting itself with the master circuit of the school, which was now utilizing all the teaching machines in an attempt to locate Manfred for him. “He is talking to no one at this moment,” the Tiberius said presently.
Jack went on, then. A sightless, middle-aged female figure smiled past him; he did not know who it was, and no children were conversing with it. But all at once it said, “The boy you want is with Philip the Second of Spain.” It pointed to the corridor to the right, and then it said in a peculiar voice, “Kindly hurry; we would appreciate it if you would remove him from the school as soon as possible. Thank you very much.” It snapped off into silence. Jack hurried down the hall which it had pointed out.
Almost at once he turned a corridor and found himself before the bearded, ascetic figure of Philip the Second. Manfred was not there, but some intangible quality of his essence seemed still to hover in this area.
“He has only now departed, dear sir,” the teaching machine said. Its voice held the same note of peculiar urgency as had the female figure’s, a moment ago. “Kindly find him and remove him; it would be appreciated.”
Without waiting any longer, Jack plunged down the corridor, a chill fear biting at him as he ran.
“. . . Much appreciated,” a seated, white-robed figure said, as he passed it. And then, as he passed a gray-haired man in a frock coat, it, too, took up the school’s urgent litany. “. . . Soon as possible.”
He turned the corner. And there was Manfred.
The boy was alone, seated on the floor, resting against the wall, his head down, apparently deep in thought.
Bending down, Jack said, “Why did you run off?”
The boy gave no response. Jack touched him, but still there was no reaction.
“Are you all right?” Jack asked him.
All at once the boy stirred, rose to his feet, and stood facing Jack.
“What is it?” Jack demanded.
There was no answer. But the boy’s face was clouded with a blurred, distorted emotion that found no outlet; he gazed at Jack as if not seeing him. Totally absorbed in himself, unable to break out into the outside world.
“What happened?” Jack said. But he knew that he would never find out; no way existed for the creature before him to express itself. There was only silence, the total absence of communication between the two of them, the emptiness that could not be filled.