Tiger nodded.
“I know,” he said, “It's that way. I understand that.” He paused. “She was a fine girl, Jim, like most of the girls around here. But—well—like most of us, I guess—she was a prisoner of her culture. That’s right, Jim.” He paused. “You understand what I’m saying? Her culture.” He paused, surveying the lad, he saw it had registered. “That’s a powerful, powerful force, Jim—” He went on—“It takes one hell of an extraordinary person, in the USA, to buck his culture. Jim. That’s w'hy it’s going to take so long. Long long. Any progress in any area of human social activity always does. As I said, it’s a wonder it ever does. Look how long it’s taken us to get this far!”
The boy nodded. He finished his pie.
“And how far is that?” Tiger asked. “You said it!” He added.
“What did Surcher send me to see you for?” The boy asked, after a silence.
“Oh—I guess he wanted me to work on you.” He grinned. “I guess that.”
The boy nodded, and grinned a little bit, too.
“I don’t think he’s a bad guy—” Tiger said, “I could be wrong, but I don’t think so.” He paused, thoughtfully. “He’s just up against it.”
“Those other two guys, Folio and Grady I think are their names, they’re pretty mean-looking—”
“I agree with you.”
A pause.
“What did she used to talk with you about, Tiger?” The boy asked.
Tiger thought about it. Memories were flooding back. He sat there looking around his office, giving quite a lot of thought to that. Finally, he turned to the boy again.
“Just about everything,” He said.
“She was great to talk with—” Jim said.
222 Pretty Maids All in a Row “She sure was.”
“Did she ever talk about me?" The boy asked.
Tiger thought hard about that.
“I’ll tell you the truth, Jim—she didn’t’*
The boy shook his head.
“That’s what I figured,” he said.
“She never talked about any boys, for that matter— come to think of it—”
“She didn’t?"
“Uh uh. She didn’t**
Another silence.
“Did she ever tell you what she wanted to be?" Jim asked, finally.
“She had a few ideas—” Tiger said—“Mainly, I think she was interested in Journalism—”
“That’s right. That’s what she told me.” The boy paused —“Like Mona—**
“Mona?" Tiger inquired, “Mona Drake?" He also inquired. "Is she interested in Journalism?" It was a piece of news to him. Certainly.
“Well—it’s one of the things—I know it’s one of the things—" The boy said.
“I thought she was mainly interested in schoolteaching, Jim—’*
“Yeh—maybe you’re right—’*
“She a girl friend of yours?”
“Well—yeh—in a way—I guess—” He paused, looking at Tiger—"I take her out once in a while.”
Tiger nodded.
“She’s a swell girl—’*
“You said it.”
And they fell silent. They had both finished their lunches. Although the boy looked a little better to him Tiger still felt very sorry for him. He would of course do all he possibly could for him, for he hadn’t touched the girl, certainly. He would have some rough hours to go yet with the misguided Captain, he knew, and his band of stalwarts, he also knew. But—in the end—of course—they would spring him loose. They had to. Still, he felt sorry for him. He had a pretty good idea of the ordeal he would have to go through. And why should he have it to go through? What effect would it have on him? Certainly, when he saw Surcher he would tell him bluntly just how he saw things. Would it matter?
Probably not. The man after all had a police mind, and a job to do, and he was jammed up to boot. He was doing his best, and he wanted to* show it. What kind of pressure would build up from all corners, all around him, if he didn’t show it? Tiger, in short, had compassion for him too. A situation like this was a hell of an affair, and scared everybody. He had to explore every suspect, or possible suspect, pretty carefully, thoroughly, Tiger knew it. And unfortunately, Tiger mused, that very unfortunate letter made Jim a sort of suspect. No doubt of it. Most unfortunate. Tiger, within, sighed at the injustice of it.
“Tiger," the boy now said, “What do you think—Who could have done it?”
Slowly, sadly, shaking his head, Tiger told him, “I wish I knew. I’m telling you.” And he stopped there.
“There sure is some nutty jerk running around loose in this place—” The boy said, liMcin there is.”
“You know it,” Tiger told him.
“I sure wish old Surcher knew it!”
“Don’t worry about him.”
“I’m in for it.”
“Well—maybe—but they can’t touch you.”
“Sure of that?”
“Positive.”
The boy sat quietly.
Tiger said nothing.
What could he tell the boy? Nothing. Reassurance got nowhere, essentially, especially in a situation like this, he knew it. His years of work in this field had taught him that, perfectly, and totally. The boy had a rough experience ahead of him, Tiger knew it, what was the point of trying to kid him? He would just have to go through it, for it was unlikely that Surcher would pay too much attention to him, unless he had somehow stumbled across something else, in the interim. Tiger almost shuddered to think what that might be, on his present form. Certainly. He kept on looking at Jim, feeling for him. It would be a unique experience in any event, Tiger thought, trying to find the bright side of it, he could look back upon it later on in life as part of the grand fabric and design of his life. Certainly. Involvement. Tiger knew it. How well he knew it. The human personality was a plant that thrived only in the rich terrain of contact and involvement with other humans, and concern for them. It would always be and had always been. Man hungered for contact. Humans were profoundly social animals. Though, of course, sometimes bizarre ones. Who ran away from this contact, this involvement, this concern, did so at the most terrible cost to his soul, his life, his entire being, in toto. That was the main force, this hunger for contact, which Tiger in fact always tried to stimulate or at least harness whenever he encountered a student with a few problems. Not that all students, in fact, all humans, didn’t have problems. Some, however, could face them, or at least tried to, and just needed some help to. That was it. And it was all really Tiger could do, for to probe deeper, to uncover the depths of some of these problems would take about half a lifetime, at least,’and some luck to boot. Such were these complicated, sometimes brutal, always complicated creatures, redeemed solely and uniquely and only by love. Only that. Human beings. Homo sapiens. Tiger mused, his eyes still on the boy. Here was this young boy, this fine young colored boy, and he would have to endure the pain and the humiliation of the next few hours, that’s all there was to it. No matter how much compassion Tiger felt for him. . . .
“Well, listen—” he said, suddenly, “Don’t let them keep you too long, will you, Jim? We need you.” And he grinned.
The boy grinned, for he loved football. He said, “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thought any more about those offers?” Tiger now said —“The one from State seemed pretty good to me—’’ It wouldn’t do any harm, cheering up the lad.
“What about UCLA?”
“That wasn’t bad—”
“State’s not been doing too well—”