Behr-Bleibtreau didn’t call.
Richard Swomley-Wamble called.
“How are you, Henry?” Dick asked distantly.
“You still don’t trust me, do you?”
“Oh, well.”
“It no longer makes any difference whether you trust me or not,” Henry said. There was a catch in his voice.
“Come on, Henry,” Dick Gibson said, “you needn’t cry just yet. We’ve barely started our conversation.”
“I’m a child. Children cry.”
“Very well. Let’s drop it. What’s been happening, Henry?”
“Richard’s my name.”
“Richard, then.”
“I’m active.”
“Your charities?”
“You make it sound ignoble. Please don’t pick on me. Why must we always be so irritable with each other? I’m not saying all of it’s your fault. I’m responsible too. If I’ve been fresh, I apologize. I respect my elders — I do, though I suppose sometimes I say things that gives them the impression I’m conceited or think I know more about life than they do. I know you have experience and maturity, whereas I have only my idealism. Children can be pretty narrow sometimes. Look, I’m really very grateful to you. You took me into the Listening Post when I needed it very badly. I’ll never forget that. I’d really like very much for us to be friends.”
“All right,” Dick said, “so would I.” It was true. He had been uncertain of his ground with Richard from the first; even as he had baited him he felt himself in the wrong. And he had other things to worry about. “What have you been doing?” he asked.
“These past two weeks have been wonderful,” the boy said enthusiastically. “The Mail Baggers have been marvelous. You know, a lot of them just want to be cheered up, or if they do need something it’s usually very small. There’s a woman in Lakeland who’s bedridden. Her TV picture tube blew out last month and she wrote to ask if I could let her have thirty-five dollars to replace it. Thirty-five dollars may not be much to you or me, but when you’re trying to live on just your Social Security payments I guess it can seem like all the money in the world. I didn’t replace the tube but I did get her a new color set.”
“That was very kind of you, Richard.”
“I hope she doesn’t think I throw my money around to impress people. I thought she’d enjoy it.”
“I’m certain she does.”
“There’s just one thing—”
“What’s that?”
“Color sets require adjustment. That can be pretty hard on someone who’s bedridden. The set can’t be too close to the bed because of the radiation. I hope I didn’t make a mistake.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I bought three motorized wheelchairs last week and two hospital beds. I’ve arranged with several mothers who can’t afford it for their children to have music lessons. They rent the instruments and the rental is applied toward the purchase if the kids are still taking lessons two years from now. I put the rest of the money in escrow for them. Another mother wanted dancing lessons for her little girl and I arranged for those too. I bought two gross of imported dashikis and distributed them throughout the inner city. I’m sponsoring a Little League team in the Sarasota ghetto. Everyone will have his own uniform, even the kids on the bench. I bought some bicycles for people who have no way to get to work in the morning. I’m having some people’s plumbing fixed.”
“That was very thoughtful, Richard.”
“It robs people of their dignity when their toilets don’t flush properly.”
“You know, Richard, it sounds to me as though you’ve been spending a lot of money.”
“Oh, well.”
“No, I mean it,” Dick said. “I know you want to help and I realize that three-quarters of a million dollars is a great deal of money, but that money has to last until you’re twenty-one. At the rate you’re spending it might be very close.”
“That’s not a problem,” Richard said quietly.
“Oh?”
“It’s not a problem.”
“What is it, son? Has something happened?”
“Oh, Mr. Gibson,” the boy sobbed, “I’d hoped this call would be a happy one, that we’d just chat about people’s dreams coming true.”
“Well, fine, Richard.”
“No,” the boy said manfully. “I have a duty. I was fooling myself when I thought this could be a happy call.”
“What is it, Richard?”
“I really called to ask people not to write me any more. I won’t be able to help them.”
“I see.”
“I’m sorry if I got their hopes up.”
“What is it, Richard? Isn’t there any three-quarters of a million dollars?”
“Yes,” the boy said, suddenly fierce. “There is. It isn’t that.”
“I see. All right.”
“I can’t have them writing me any more, that’s all. I won’t be picking up my mail. They’d just be wasting their postage, and they can’t afford it.”
“All right,” Dick Gibson said, “I see.”
“I’m being adopted tomorrow,” Richard cried. “When I gave out my real name, some people … They reported me. The courts stepped in. They had the juvenile authorities out here in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
“I’m sorry, Richard,” Dick Gibson said.
“I shouldn’t say this—”
“What, lad?”
“The people who reported me are the ones who’ll be adopting me. I was like a … a finder’s fee.”
“Perhaps they’re nice,” Dick said encouragingly, “just the ones to give you guidance and security and love.”
“They’re pigs, Mr. Gibson.” The boy was crying uncontrollably.
“Don’t cry, Richard.”
“They’re greedy people, Mr. Gibson.”
“Richard, you know if you really dislike them that much you don’t have to stay with them. I’m sure the court would try to fix you up with parents who are more compatible. You don’t have to go with them, son. There’s no law that—”
“I’ve decided not to fight them.”
“But why, Richard? Why, son?”
“It wouldn’t make any difference. Anyone who’d want me now … It wouldn’t make any difference.” The boy blew his nose. He cleared his throat. Dick waited patiently while he got control of himself. “I won’t be calling your program any more,” he said at last. He spoke slowly, with great dignity.
“I see.”
“They won’t let me call the program.”
“I understand.”
“They’re taking the phone out of my room. I won’t have a radio.”
“Oh, son,” Dick said.
“I have to be in bed by eight-thirty every night.”
“Oh, son,” Dick Gibson said, “oh, Henry.” But the boy was no longer on the line.
Then there was a string of calls from some of the unhappiest people in the world.
One man had been laid off for eight months and was unable to find work. His wife and eldest daughter had taken jobs as domestics. He would be a domestic himself, he said, but people were afraid to have a white man in their houses.
A woman called. She’d awakened two hours before. Her husband was not in the house. Her little boy’s bed was empty. Their car was gone. A couple of suitcases were missing. They’d been having trouble lately. Her husband liked to listen to Dick’s program. Perhaps he was listening now. She pleaded with him to return, to call and let her know where he was.