The officer lamely said, "I'm sorry. Very sorry." And then,
defensively, "A warning shot was fired. He didn't stop. This area
is under full martial law and the sound truck announced it to
everybody--" He saw that she wasn't listening, was staring in
disbelief. He got out of the jeep and lit a cigarette and waited.
Groff beckoned him to one side. "What happened?" he asked.
"Shot for looting," the captain said brusquely. "He was in a roped-off
prohibited area. He didn't halt. The kid was absolutely right."
"Kid?" asked Groff. The captain had told him more than he had intended
to, and realized it now. "Somebody panicked?"
"Who are you, mister?" the captain asked.
"Not a reporter. I've got a factory in Brooklyn. I knew the man."
"Close friend?"
"Hated his guts."
The captain was shocked and reacted with the truth. "As a matter of
fact," he said in a low voice, "maybe it shouldn't have happened. But
we're legally in the clear. Was he important?"
"Very. But I don't think you'll find anybody who'll press an
investigation."
The captain took a deep, relieved drag on his cigarette and flipped it
away. "What about his wife?" he asked. "Is she going to keep this stuff
up?"
"I'll do what I can," Groff said. He went over to the jeep and the
staring woman.
"Polly," he said.
She turned and told him in a dry, controlled voice: "I'm all right.
It's just so strange to think that it's--over. Him and his bragging,
him and his plans, him and his tramps. It's over. I suppose you miss
a tumor when they cut it out of you. That's the way I miss him." She
sagged against Groff in a half-faint. He led her to a chair where she
sat like a stick. The captain, in a businesslike way, asked Cioni,
"Just where's this church?"
Cioni told him and the jeep rolled away.
"No, no, no," Sharon Froman was saying faintly.
Then she smiled and said to Groff: "Girl backed the wrong horse, didn't
she? Mickey, how'd you like to meet Congressman Akslund first thing in
the morning? Artie's gone, one with the martyrs, but Akslund's still
going to need expert advice on the reconstruction. I've got an in
there."
"Keep it," said Groff, and put his arm around Polly.
She turned to Dick McCue. Her smile was becoming ghastly. She said,
"Got a kind word for an old friend, Dick? We've had some fun together.
Shall bygones be bygones?"
"No," said Dick McCue. "If you keep bothering me I'll take out your
upper plate and step on it."
Her hand flew to her mouth. There was a bark of laughter from Mrs.
Goudeket. "You thought nobody knew? You thought you could see through
everybody, Miss Sharon Froman, but nobody could see through you? We
all know you have an upper plate. We all know you'll never finish your
book or hold a man. We all see through you because we all see through
each other, but we know also that we're seen through. That makes us
sometimes kind to each other--we have to be. But you, you have to think
you're perfect and that if anybody sees anything less than perfect in
you it's because they're fools."
The '47 Dodge rolled slowly into the motor pool. A scared young voice
asked: "Is this the place I'm supposed to leave the car?"
"I guess so," Mr. Cioni said.
The young soldier climbed out wearily. "Boy," he said, and wiped his
brow. "I'm supposed to wait here until they come by on patrol and pick
me up."
Groff moved out of earshot of the women. "Hear about the shooting?" he
asked quietly.
The soldier shuddered. "Heck, I'm the guy that did it. Had no choice. A
cop shoots if somebody runs and doesn't stop, doesn't he? Well, I was
supposed to be a cop." And he added defensively and illogically, "How
could I check the sighting leaf in the dark?"
That told the story. Of course he could have checked the sighting
leaf in the dark by the clicks if he had known enough about it. Artie
Chesbro, struck down in full career by a quarter-trained child who had
not meant to kill. Something--God? Chance? Compensation?--had laid a
finger briefly on the balances and dressed them. The world was saved
from Artie Chesbro--until the next one came along.
"Get in the car," Mrs. Goudeket grunted, sliding behind the wheel.
"Come on, Polly," Groff said. She leaned against him on the short walk;
a certain excitement--compounded of a feeling for her and of a sense
of challenging opportunity--began to tingle through him. She sensed it
and smiled; it would be nice, she thought. In the back of the car she
dropped her head on his shoulder and was asleep.
Dick McCue got in beside Mrs. Goudeket and slammed the door.
"Mrs. G.?" asked Sharon Froman. "You can't _mean_ this?"
Mrs. Goudeket snorted, put the car in gear and ground off down the road
to Goudeket's Green Acres.
"Bitch," said Sharon softly. She walked over to the motor pool man.
"You're Mr. Cioni, aren't you? Somebody said you were a plumbing
engineer."
"Just a plumber," said Mr. Cioni modestly, but flattered.
"There's going to be a lot of work for you before long."
"Oughtta do pretty well out of it. The shop's hardly touched. My wife,
thank God, hardly knew it was happening. She's an invalid."
"How terrible! But shouldn't somebody be taking care of her? I'm a sort
of practical nurse, you know--"
"Well, say, that would be--"
Sharon Froman was very tired. Even while she moved through the pickup
ritual for perhaps the twentieth time a crazy, spinning maggot grew
in her head that she really ought to throw herself on the ground and
scream; it was the only sensible thing to do. With a great deal of
effort she resisted and forced out the foolish idea, knowing it would
come back.
Mrs. Goudeket twisted the wheel of the car hard, to avoid a fallen
telephone pole. "Such a thing, such a thing," she muttered as she
avoided the muddy shoulder.
"Only a telephone pole, Mrs. G.," said Dick McCue.
"No, I meant that no-good, that Sharon, that there should be a girl
like that." She shook her head.
"And always will be," said Groff, with Polly's head pleasantly pressing
his shoulder, her nearness making him feel confident and quiet. "But
that's not what's important. The Sharons and the--the--"--he didn't
utter Chesbro's name because Polly might not be asleep--"the others,
they're the ones the pessimists and cynics are always thinking about,
pointing at, making a thing of. But I'm going to remember something
else out of all this. Starkman. That doctor almost ready to drop on
his feet. The kids who did the diving. All the dozens and dozens who
were _there_ when they were needed. Fast. With both hands and with
everything they had."
"It's a fact," said Dick McCue. "It's as if when things are okay,
everyone just sort of buys and sells and takes care of his own and
locks the front door. But when there's a real jam they, I don't know,
they get bigger. Most of them, anyway."
"Yep," said Groff quietly. "That's why, in spite of the unholy mess,
this town isn't licked. That's why, even though I could forget
Hebertown and locate somewhere else, I don't think I'm going to. Maybe
I ought to have my head examined, but I'm sort of--proud of this place."
"You going to be welcome," said Mrs. Goudeket, smiling at the clearing
road ahead. "You going to be very welcome."
* * * * *
_A Savage Flood Changed Their World_
It was a pleasant little town in the Northeast. It had never been
hurricane country. When they heard that Diane was coming, they couldn't
really believe it would harm them. And the hurricane itself didn't
touch them.
But the rains caused by the hurricane ravaged their little town as
viciously as the worst artillery attack could have done.
This is a powerful and tremendously graphic novel of people trapped in
that town: and how they learned what a flood really means.
And how they found out what they themselves were like.