Kat went out with Burt. As soon as the door closed behind them, Jackie said, “The great white father! He’s doing it all to help the poor. Honest to God, men, if there’s anything I hate it’s a hypocrite.”
“You messed up pretty good, honey,” Ross said.
“Messed up? What did I mess up? I believe him when he says he doesn’t know anything about what they did to Di. So maybe he’ll go find out who did it and raise hell. Big fat phonies like Burt Lesser get real upset about appearances. They don’t mind stealing as long as it doesn’t look like stealing. Right, Jimmy?”
“Burt has a good reputation in the real estate business.”
“How would he do if he didn’t have Sally Ann’s money in back of him?”
Kat came back in and said, “He isn’t really sore. He’s just sort of hurt, I guess.”
“What a dreadful shame!” Jackie said.
“Honey, I’m taking you home,” Ross said.
“Oh, the hell you are! Not on your life, boy! I’m just beginning to swing.”
Ross smiled and stood up and took her by the wrists. She tried to pull away. He kept smiling. She looked at him gravely. “Really? I’m due to go home?”
“That’s what the man says,” Ross said gently.
She gave a huge shrug and looked over her shoulder at Kat and Jimmy. “All of a sudden it turned into an early night. Goodnight, darlings. The food was nifty, Kat. You call me tomorrow and tell me how horrible I was. Okay?” She yawned and leaned against Ross. “Steer me away, lover.”
After they had gone, Kat sat beside Jimmy on the couch and said, “It got out of hand, I guess.”
“She’s a very direct type gal.”
“When she brought Burt in, you know the crazy thing I did? I started looking around the room for Van, knowing he’d take over and smooth things out. There was just a half a second of looking for him. I didn’t want to have to cope.”
“You coped fine.”
“Did I? I didn’t feel as if I was. Burt handled it pretty well, don’t you think?”
“He kept his dignity.”
“Which is more than you can say for Jackie, bless her.” She yawned and hitched around on the couch to face him more directly. “Jimmy?”
“Yes, dear.”
“What do you know about that Reverend Coombs down in Wister?”
He looked at her in mild surprise. “Why?”
“Oh, nothing special, really. One of the guards at the bank was talking to me about him. He goes down there every Sunday. He said I ought to go down there too.”
Jimmy had the impression she was lying. “You don’t need him, Kat. You don’t need his brand of salvation.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“He’s found a button to push. A new mixture. A kind of militant revivalism. He took over an old school in the piny woods and turned it into a church. He keeps it filled with self-righteous, beat-down people who’ve always hated anybody better off than they are, and he gives them good reasons for the hate, and makes them feel like God’s weapons. They’re going to save all us wicked ones if they have to kill us to save us.”
“Is that why they’ve whipped some people?”
“Yes. And maybe some day they’ll whip the wrong one. I know of at least six cases which never even got into the papers. He works them up to a high pitch every Sunday and at least two evenings a week. They’re the good right arm of the Lord. The Army of the Lord, they call themselves. Full of holy fervor to punish the wicked. Politically they’re way to the right of the Birchers. They’re flat out against perfume, makeup, television, birth control, divorce, big cities, modern painting, fiction, jazz, public swimming, dancing, liquor, movies, magazines, candy, cigarettes. They make public confessions. Anybody who disagrees with them is un-American, a red Communist dupe. I don’t know how sincere Coombs is. If he’s after power, he’s getting it. They’ve cowed a lot of people down in the south county. He gives radio talks now, over WEVS in Everset, and I heard he’s getting a pretty good-sized audience here in Palm City. He’s a stocky guy about fifty, with huge shoulders and a great big head on him and a voice like a trombone. He claims to have spent the first forty years of his life in black sin, started reading the Good Book in jail, saw the light, started preaching on street corners and preached his way all the way across the country back to the swamps where he was born. Wherever he goes, there’s a little herd of the faithful clumping right along with him, carrying weapons, because he claims the Reds are out to get him. There must be a hundred like him, scattered around the country. There’s always a chance one of them will get to be big enough to be genuinely dangerous. I suppose his chance is as good as any of them have. No, Kat. That brand of salvation is not for you. Are you looking for some?”
She looked down at her hands. “I guess not. Not really. You remember, I took that trip home after Van died. I knew the whole world was a dirty fraud. I knew it was all a bad joke on people, without justice or reason or... decency.” She raised her head and looked at him, frowning. “I’m more emotional than logical, Jimmy. The minister up home tried to help me. He’d sit with me and talk and talk and talk and try to make the whole thing logical. He was just fooling around with semantics. There was no logic in a world that could take Van away from me. But I... found my own way to whatever I believe, sort of in spite of him. I sat in a field on a gray stone. The leaves turn early there, you know. ’Licia came running to me with a bright red leaf. I turned it over and over. I wasn’t looking for any deep thoughts or revelations or anything. I was just blue and empty, a woman looking at a leaf. I saw the pattern of the little veins in the leaf and I remembered hearing that no two leaves out of the trillions and trillions on earth are exactly alike. ’Licia had her hand on my knee, small and warm and grubby. I took her hand and turned it over and I looked at the patterns of it, the little pads and lines in the palm. It was unique too, like the leaf.” Kat opened her own hand for him to see.
“It wasn’t like solving a puzzle, Jimmy. And it wasn’t any great blinding flash of comprehension. The leaf was as much a part of some... orderly process as my daughter’s hand, both styled to live and die. I merely realized I wasn’t as empty as I had been. I felt a kind of a comfort. Whatever the leaf was, whatever my daughter’s hand is, even whatever the stone was I was sitting on, I was a piece of all of it, and all of it was a piece of me. And all that... that flow of reality, whatever it might be, it was certainly not something designed to benefit me. I felt ashamed, sort of. I felt I had shown a kind of witless, wicked arrogance to blame life for anything. A leaf could blame the tree for releasing it, and the stone could blame a glacier for carrying it away. You see, there’s no logic in it. It’s a kind of faith, I suppose. It’s my awareness of God, or I guess I should say Godness, because I’m more aware of a process than an entity. That awareness doesn’t make me miss Van any less. But it stops me from despising the other parts of life. It keeps me from poisoning myself. Jimmy. What do you believe in?”
“Me? Not very much. I don’t know. There’s as much chaos as there is order. There’s as much randomness as there is pattern. I believe in accident, mostly. I’m accidentally alive, and by being alive, I’m in the process of death. I believe in luck and good footwork.”
“With no purpose to any of it?”
“None that I can see at the moment.”
“That’s the emptiness I couldn’t endure, Jimmy. I’m too much of a coward to stand so alone.”
She looked at him in a quizzical way which deepened the small horizontal wrinkles above her rusty eyebrows. Her eyes were a shadowy gray in that light, her lips slightly apart. Her nearness was a magnetic field which pulled his mind into illogic, toward the threshold of words and acts which would mean nothing. He stood up quickly and with a great bursting effort, like a swimmer clambering up out of a pool.