"Nope. I was thinking about something else. Pride. Real pride. Things
to be proud of. One's you. You weren't born behind any eight-ball.
You've got ten times the brains of Phil, here, and me put together.
You're in there fighting. And you're a guy--one of the guys who run
about three in a hundred--who can look at a yid like me and not see
that two thousand year old, imaginary eight-ball. I appreciate that.
I'm proud some people can be like that."
"Don't be childish."
"I'm not. I'm just pointing out that--potentially--you're valuable. I
have no value. You--and the guys like you--can probably figure out the
stuff we need to go on fighting for freedom. You can probably lick the
new tyranny, and maybe even without carving holes in the country and
paying out the best young blood. And then we'll have a chance to go on
with the liberty scrap. That's what you can do. It means a lot to guys
like me--who never had a chance to draw one free-and-equal breath in
his life. Not you as a person. You as ideas. So all right. That's that.
Maybe you hate your job. Maybe it's a wrong thing. Maybe all the world
has left, for now, is a choice among wrong ways. Personally--if that's
so--I take our choice. America's. I'm no Stephen Decatur--but that's
how my feelings go."
"If you don't mind," Paul said, "I'd just as soon be spared the
patriotic harangue."
"Sure. I'm through. And you're coming in, soon, now." Dave let go of
the ledge, pulled back his shirt sleeve, and peered at his wrist watch.
"You're coming in--or I'm bailing out. In five minutes, Paul, my son,
if you don't get off--I take off."
I was listening to Dave's voice and a terrible fear possessed me. But
Paul heard only the shouting of agony within himself. "Wiseguy," he
said.
Dave smiled a slow, gentle smile. "Wiseguy? Maybe so. But how long this
wiseguy lives--is up to you, now."
"Do you think I believe you? Do you think I'm so stupid?"
"I mean it." Dave looked up from his watch and his eyes fixed on Paul.
"I'm not kidding, son."
I could see the color change in Paul's cheeks. He'd been pale. He
became ghostly. He locked eyes with Dave Berne.
The slightest stir moved the hot, early-evening air.
People sat at windows and on roofs; people stood in penthouse gardens
with highballs and binoculars, enjoying the sensation, making a new
ritual of it. A flashbulb blazed up and died in the instant, on a
setback, across and down the street, where some news cameraman with a
telephoto lens was getting a shot for his tabloid.
"I have," Dave said quietly, "about two hundred seconds left."
"What a cheap thing to do!" Paul spoke harshly.
Dave smiled even more and he nodded. "It's all I have--my life.
Cheap--I said so."
Paul stood up.
It was horrifying. He'd been sitting that long while. His arms were
cramped. His legs must have been asleep. He tottered to his feet,
rocked on the near-motionless air, careened his arms, stamped, glanced
down with a round and dreadful focus of his eyes, caught his balance,
and looked triumphantly at Dave.
"You're kind of forcing my hand," he said.
Dave stood up, too, then--very quickly, and without tottering. Stood
up--and looked at his watch. "I mean, too, of course, Paul, that if you
go--I'll also go. I'll try for you--and standing, like this--we'll go
together. You see--you have no choice but to go in, or take me along.
And there's only about a minute left."
I went closer. "Dave, for the love of God!" My voice was a cackle.
"If this thing has to be gone through with--I'm the guy. After all,
Dave--I've only got a little bit left anyhow! Get down, for Christ's
sake--and let me get up--"
Dave hardly glanced at me. "Be quiet, Phil. Stay where you are." He
turned again to look at Paul.
And there they stood, swaying slightly, their eyes, their wills
fastened together in conflict over the simple stake of life and of
death. They defied each other--against the pale-blue heat of the
evening sky. A murmur came up from the street, a muddled sob, as the
watchers noted the change of position, the new precariousness, and
sensed the imminence of climax. The sound boiled and grew and beat the
bricks all the way up from the infested thoroughfare.
"Half a minute," Dave said, above the susurration.