"Yes," said Akslund. "Show me everything."
Sharon added: "Drop me off at the school. I'll get the police chief to
find a room for us somehow. We'll have work to do."
"Lots of it," Akslund said thoughtfully, looking through the window at
the wreckage.
* * * * *
No cars!
Mrs. Goudeket rubbed her forehead thoughtfully. She had tried two
garages, and no cars for rent. Chief Brayer, they said. He had
_commandeered_ them, if you please, had them driven to a "motor pool."
The couple of cars going through the streets that she had flagged down
were "on missions." See Chief Brayer.
Well, she would see this new dictator, this Hitler of Hebertown. She
reached the schoolhouse, and there, sure enough, was the motor pool
in the teachers' parking lot across the street--a strange collection
of vehicles ranging from a two-ton farm truck to somebody's little
Rambler. There was a man with a clipboard at a table, on guard.
She sniffed and walked into the marble lobby of the school, which
was crowded and noisy with the talk of fifty busy people. There were
two uniformed men at card tables; one was in a fireman's queer, boxy
uniform cap and the other must be this Brayer.
He was talking to a boy scout--at a time like this!--but she waited
until he was finished. Then she burst out, "I've got to have a car. I'm
Mrs. S. Goudeket of Goudeket's Green Acres. I've got to get back to my
place. Now."
The mustached old man looked up. "Sorry, ma'am," he said. "We need all
the cars for public service. Maybe later after some help comes in. Why
don't you--"
"Did you hear who I am?" she yelled.
"I don't give a damn who you are," he yelled back, standing up. "The
town is drowning. People are sick. People are looting and burning.
We're trying to hold it together for a few hours until help comes.
Don't come here grabbing for a car. Go and find something useful to do.
They need help in the hospital, people to make beds and carry slops.
You can do that, or if you don't want to do that you can at least get
out of everybody's way!"
He sat down and turned to a man wearing a handkerchief around his arm
and immediately was in thoughtful, intense conversation with him.
Mrs. Goudeket recoiled a step, then walked slowly from the lobby.
Maybe--maybe he was right. There was Polly, waiting for her.
She said to the girl, "No cars. We should go work in the hospital they
set up for a while, Polly. They need help."
Polly Chesbro nodded. Together they walked to the improvised excuse for
a hospital.
Mrs. Goudeket was thinking: Mr. Goudeket wouldn't have stormed up to
that busy old man. He would have seen that making beds in the hospital
right now is more important than whether Green Acres is in the black
this year. Mr. Goudeket may have been right about more things than I
ever knew before....
She wondered idly how the orange groves in Palestine for which they had
donated year after year were growing.
* * * * *
Ten minutes later Sharon was at the desk, telling Chief Brayer: "You've
got to. He's the head of three committees. He can turn the faucet and a
million, five million dollars runs into Hebertown. Or he can leave the
faucet shut. Think of your town, Chief!"
Brayer sighed and wished Henry were there. At last he beckoned to one
of the deputies and said, "Take two men. Go to the new Fielding place,
that little ranch-house thing on Sullivan. Turn everybody out. We need
it for Congressman Akslund and his, uh, staff. Leave a man there to see
that nobody sneaks back in. Better leave a man there as long as the
Congressman's there, for a guard and in case there are any messages."
"Thanks, Chief," Sharon said warmly. "You're doing the right thing.
I'll just wait here; they'll pick me up. And can you let us have a
guide to show us the way to the house?"
"Sure," said Brayer. "God, it must be smooth to be a congressman!"
* * * * *
They had dropped off the AP man, and Artie could talk freely. "Another
thing I didn't want to say in front of him, Halmer, is the Southern
angle. Those Democrats from Dixie are going to be swarming around
the valley offering sites and tax write-offs and hell knows what to
persuade damaged industries to relocate. This means you build up the
Democratic South and drain strength out of our state. Unemployment and
discontent. We're G.O.P. here, but not by such a margin that a sharp
local depression couldn't put the state over the line. The cities,
frankly, we lost last time but we have the counties as of now. If the
valley isn't saved, Halmer, it might cost us a senator--and you know
what that would mean. Knocking off Bolling and his sixteen years of
seniority and the committee appointments that go with it would be a
very serious thing for us nationally. I'm not exaggerating when I say
that a large, prompt injection of cash is vital to everything you and I
stand for."
Akslund hooded his wise old eyes and nodded.