“Solly,” Savoldi said wistfully, “that was beautiful. You should have been a poet.”
“Miller,” Solly went on, “is just a part of the machine. For all you know, he may be a doll outside school.” Rick raised his eyebrows and Solly said, “You don’t think so, huh, Dadier? Well, you don’t know yet. That little jerk may be supporting his blind grandmother, and he may be the nicest kid in his neighborhood. He gets inside the machine, and he becomes a part of the machine.” Solly paused and tweaked his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Don’t worry about Miller, Dadier. That’s how you go buggy in this joint. Just consider the picture as a whole. You’re like a general worried about one stinking private in the front lines.”
“Solly has a point,” George Katz admitted. “After all, Dadier, it’s the over-all results that count.”
“You won’t get any results here, anyway,” Solly said. “You missed my point completely, Katz.”
“Isn’t that what you were saying, Klein?” he asked.
“No, it’s not what I was saying. Who the hell is talking about results? You think I’m a goddamned dreamer? I’m talking about survival. I’m talking about stomachs without ulcers. Wake up, Katz.”
“I’m sorry I misunderstood you,” Katz said, his face taking on an offended look.
“Miller provoked that profanity exhibition,” Rick said doggedly. “You can’t tell me he didn’t.”
“You should have done what Ironman Clancy does,” Savoldi said.
“Agh, Clancy is a bedbug,” Solly said.
“Still, they don’t curse in his classes.”
“When’s the last time you visited any of his classes? They curse in everybody’s class, even the women’s. Clancy can’t control it anymore than the rest of us,” Solly said.
“Clancy controls it,” Savoldi insisted. “I know he does.”
“You mean he has some method?” Rick asked.
“I suppose you could call it that,” Savoldi said. “It works, anyway.”
George Katz leaned forward curiously. “What does he do, Savoldi?”
“You mean you haven’t heard about Clancy?” Solly asked. “He’s a bedbug.”
“He’s got this box of candies on his desk,” Savoldi said, sipping at his tea. “Only they’re not all candies.”
“What are they?” Rick asked.
“Some of them are candies,” Savoldi said, “but not all of them. He’s got them wrapped like bonbons. You know, the paper twisted on each end.”
“If they’re not candies,” Katz asked, “what...”
“Well, some of them are. But some of them are just little hunks of soap, wrapped up exactly like the candies. The idea is, the kids can’t tell which are the candies and which are the pieces of soap. They’re all wrapped the same, you see. And, take it from me, there’s more soap than there is candy in that box.”
“So what does he do?” Rick persisted.
“When he hears a kid cursing, he brings him up to the desk and offers him a piece of candy. This is established routine, you understand. I mean, he’s got those kids so trained now that they’ll rat on their best friend if they hear him curse. The kid reaches into the box, and then unwraps what he pulled out. If it’s candy, all well and good. Nine times of ten, though, it’s soap. Clancy forces the kid to chew that soap and blow three bubbles before he can spit it out. It works, believe me.”
“But suppose the boy gets candy?” Katz asked. “It seems to me he’d be getting rewarded for swearing.”
“There’s not much candy in the box,” Savoldi said.
“There’s probably no candy at all in the box,” Solly put in. “Maybe Clancy used to have candy in there to start with, and maybe he throws in a hunk every now and then to keep things looking legitimate.”
“They think it’s a big game,” Savoldi said sadly astonished. “They love to watch the guy who’s caught. Three bubbles, the kid has to blow.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to simply establish discipline?” Katz inquired. “This seems like a rather roundabout method.”
“There you go again,” Solly said, pointing at Katz. “You and Dadier, and this other guy, what’s his name? The one with the glasses.”
“Josh Edwards,” Rick supplied.
“Yeah, him. You’ve all got ideas about teaching these kids discipline and manners and whatever the hell. You’re all crazy.”
“I’d like to teach them,” Rick said softly.
“Forget about it. Just oil the machine and let it run in its own fouled-up fashion. Don’t try to get it to produce anything. It wasn’t built for that.”
“I’d still like to teach them,” Rick said, more softly.
If Solly heard him the second time, he showed no indication of it. He walked over to the windows again and hooked his thumbs in his suspenders, looking out.
“Look at that project go up, will you?” he said in amazement.
“They work fast,” Savoldi said, not looking up from his sandwich.
“They’ve got these molds,” Solly expanded, “and they just pour the concrete right into them. They can put up a building in no time.”
“These projects are very good for the city,” George Katz said.
Solly shrugged. “The people who live in them have them looking like craphouses inside of a month.”
“That’s not true,” George Katz said suddenly. “I have some friends in middle-income projects.”
“That’s a different story already,” Solly said. “I’m talking about these low-income jobs. You take most of those, and you’ll see what I mean. They put them up in slum areas, and they expect the project to defeat the surrounding area. It can’t be done.”
Rick said nothing, even though he lived in a low-income project which was in a good neighborhood, and which did not look like a craphouse though it had been standing for more than a year. But he began to wonder about the accuracy of Solly’s observations.
“Some are in good neighborhoods,” Katz said.
“Yeah, some,” Solly agreed. “Some vocational schools are in good neighborhoods, too, but I can’t think of any offhand.” He stared at the construction work in the distance again and said, “That’s a job, all right. Outside all the time. Fresh air.”
“You’re maladjusted,” Savoldi said wearily. “On a day like this, with snow on the ground, I’m damn glad I’ve got an inside job.”
“You talk like a bank teller,” Solly said.
“I wish I was,” Savoldi answered sadly. “All that money.”
“Fresh air,” Solly said, “that’s what a man needs.” He looked down to the snow-covered street, placid and white now that the snow had stopped. “Not the stink that’s in this place.” He sighed and turned away from the window.
“Fresh air,” he said again.
At ten minutes to four that day, when Rick was leaving the building, he met Josh Edwards and Lois Hammond. He studied Josh’s face carefully for a moment, repeating the habit he’d fallen into lately. He forced his eyes away at last and said, “Another day, another dollar.”
“Ah,” Lois said, smiling pertly, “but this has been a very special day, Rick.”
“Oh really? I wasn’t aware. What happened?” “I’ve been put in charge of the newspaper,” Lois said. “Well, well. Are congratulations or condolences in order?” “It’s a very important job,” Lois said primly, sucking in a deep breath and throwing her shoulders back, seemingly completely unaware of what her breasts did whenever she went through such a simple maneuver.
“Well then, congratulations,” Rick said, his eyes lingering on her expanding chest a moment longer than they should have. He turned to Josh and asked, “How were your monsters today, boy?”
“So-so,” Josh answered dully. “I’m getting there.”