And tomorrow, like Avice, she had meant to pour out her heart to this wonderful woman, this Magda Hansen, who was so sympathetic and understanding and made such fabulous suggestions for getting around obstinate husbands, and . .
How the hell had Avice brought herself to consult Mrs. Hansen, anyway? Avice with her impenetrable shell of
self-possession, her tinkly laugh, her air of not giving a fart about anyone or anything-she must have been driven to the breaking-point.
Come to think of it, 1 haven’t heard from her in over three weeks! I should have called up. . .
She reached for a cigarette, the latest of far too many today, and glanced towards the door. Wasn’t Morton going to come in?
Obviously not. But then, he so often didn’t, Just made straight for his den, which she was forbidden to enter unless he was present.
One of these days I’m going to walk in there and smear shit all over all the things he prizes more than me. And then I’ll shoot myself right in the middle of it, the messiest way possible, through the roof of my mouth. See how he likes coming home and finding that lot to clear up!
She turned her attention, with an effort, back to the TV, knowing at the bottom of her mind that she never would.
Stomach grumbling from the sandwich and glass of milk he had gulped down on his way home, at the wrong time owing to his hasty departure from California-at least as far as his metabolism was concerned-Morton Clarke wiped his face as he entered his den and closed the door. Tight. With a careful double-check of the locks.
Should have remained a bachelor. No life for a married man, my career.
But, having married, one must stay married. They were instantly suspicious, in the security force, of anyone who changed his mind on such an important matter . . .
He sat down before his desk, which was more of an electronic console because this was his only permissible outlet for personal initiative once he had dedicated his life to the security of his country. Sometimes he thought of himself as akin to a mediaeval monk, sustained only by recollection of a pledge he had given while in full and sober possession of his faculties when the Rule of his order became intolerable. Yes; he must not give way to private preferences, to personal predilections. This afternoon, at the reserved area, he had come perilously close to doing so when he picked up that rock and .uttered that fierce remark to Turpin: “Did you see that go into orbit?”
What went into orbit, these days, from the United States, was the minimum necessary to preserve the nation
from the unceasing hostility of the rest of the world: That had been drilled into him ever since back in college, he had first become aware of the b,wReoning commitment within his mind, and realized he was going to find fulfilment only in working for the safety and salvation of his native land.
He raised his eyes to the one item he permitted to decorate his sanctum. It wasn’t-as one might have expected-Old Gory. or even a photo of Prexy. He knew too much about the workings of modern American government to have chosen anything of that sort. No: He had fixed to the wall where he could see it any time he looked up something that reminded him of the penalities you had to pay for freedom: a newspaper cutting, glassed and framed from the Chinese official Paper Red Ranner. and it showed a North Vietnamese official press photo of a captured American plot being led on a rope halter through the streets of Hanoi. He couldn’t read the caption but a friend of his had translated it for him. and a tvped summary had been pasted “nder the actual cutting. it said that because this man had committed the crime of bombing Angkor Wat he was plainly a hopeless case for re-education-quote/unquote-and hence had been condemned to public ignominy.
Shit! What good are a bunch of ancient ruins when men’s minds are In chains?
Sight of that picture, as always. re-stimulated him to the ever-greater urgency of his task. He drew a deep breath and started to punch the various keyboards set into his desk First off: tnti-bilg checks.