‘Your sister Anne sounds a depressing cynic.’
‘My sister Anne is beautiful, intelligent, witty and talented. But she said any woman who wanted to be independent automatically
cut herself off from men in the male-oriented society we live in today because this society ensured that men could only cope
with its own plastic fantasies of womankind; she said that by the time our society had raised these poor guys to fight wars
and chase the godalmighty dollar they just had no energy left to face any woman smarter than an animated doll. Anne said that
until society changed, men’s attitudes to women wouldn’t change, but she saw no hope of change while the world was preoccupied
with war and materialism. She told me to pray for a better world.’
‘And did you?’
‘No, I decided to leave it all to her. She’s a nun now, although whether she became a nun to pray for a better world or because
she thought no man was good enough for her, I’m damned if I can decide. Every Christmas I go up to Massachusetts to see her,
and every Christmas I get drunk out of my mind with rage. Anne says I’m jealous of God. Maybe she’s right. Christ! Have another
drink.’
‘Okay. Kevin, this sister of yours—’
‘Oh yes, it’s just another one of those run-of-the-mill till-death-dous-part sibling relationships, nothing unusual, nothing
sensational, but I was so pleased when her marriage broke up – it was after the war and I’d bought this house and she was
going to come and live with me – I had the attic all fixed up – she used to paint, Christ, I liked her paintings, I wanted
Neil to buy one, but you know Neil, he probably thought it wasn’t a good investment—’
‘Yeah. He would.’
‘Then Anne went into the convent so there I was with the attic fully
converted for artistic use and no artist to put in it. That was when I embarked on my illustrious line of caretakers. I didn’t
need a caretaker, of course, but no one seemed to think my behaviour in the least extraordinary. It just shows that if you
act with enough confidence people accept your actions without questioning them. Incredible. Did
no one
find it odd that I kept a caretaker? Apparently not … I can’t think why I’m telling you all this. I usually keep my mouth
shut about my more bizarre behaviour.’
‘I don’t think it’s bizarre. Did you ever find anyone who measured up to Anne?’
‘No, of course not. And even if I had I’d have been incapable of doing anything except treating her as a sister. God, isn’t
life hell! More ice?’
‘Thanks. Say Kevin, talking of your caretakers, is anyone using your attic at the moment?’
‘No, as a matter of fact I’ve just had the most godawful crisis. My last caretaker fell in love with me. I can’t tell you
what a mess it was. I had someone living here at the time – a most unusual departure from routine because I can’t stand anyone
getting under my feet when I’m trying to write – and in a reckless moment I went to bed with both of them – not together,
of course, I’m much too old for orgies – but then, God damn it, the two of them got together and compared notes and all hell
broke loose. The stupid thing was that Betty – my caretaker – was the one I really enjoyed living with – or not living with,
if you follow me – but of course it was no good in bed, while my other house-guest … well, you can guess the rest. The truth
of the whole matter is that I’m incapable of sustaining a close personal relationship with either sex. It’s a defect of my
communications system. I communicate by writing, not by loving. My so-called talent’s just a profitable way of handling a
huge inadequacy.’
‘Christ, Kevin, if everyone inadequate wrote your kind of plays I’d go down on my knees and pray for a whole lot more inadequate
people in the world!’
‘What shameless flattery! I love it. Have another drink.’
I laugh and he laughs with me. Can I really be laughing? Yes, I am. I mustn’t think of Vicky, though, or I’ll start hurting
again. Oh God.
‘Now tell me why you wanted to know whether the attic was free,’ says Kevin, topping up our glasses again.
‘I was wondering if I could rent it from you for a while. I’ve nowhere to go. I promise I’ll keep to myself and not be a nuisance.’
‘That’s okay, I’ll heave you out if you get tiresome. Yes, of course you can have the attic. Stay as long as you want. I think
I may have reached the end of my long line of caretakers.’
‘How much rent shall I pay you?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Buy me a bottle of bourbon occasionally to replace the ones your stepfather drinks.’
‘How often does Cornelius come here?’
‘About once a month. After Sam died Neil and I decided we both found it comforting to talk occasionally to an old friend of
well over thirty years’ standing. One gets appallingly sentimental, you know, once one’s past fifty.’
‘Christ, I wonder what Cornelius will think when he hears I’ve moved in here!’
‘The worst, of course,’ says Kevin poker-faced.
We laugh again, and again I’m amazed that laughter’s possible. I feel very grateful to Kevin but I don’t know how to show
it except by not outstaying my welcome. I get up to leave.
‘Where are you off to now?’ says Kevin surprised. ‘I thought you said you had nowhere to go.’
‘Well, there’s Fifth Avenue—’
‘Forget it. You’d cut your throat in despair before you were halfway across the threshold. The attic’s in a mess at the moment,
but I do have two guest-rooms. Use one.’
I use one. I sit down alone and think that communication’s like love. It doesn’t matter where, how or with whom you do it
so long as you do it because if you don’t do it you die.
I’m going to live.
I lie on the bed and think: I won’t sleep.
But I do.
[1]
The telephone rang.
‘Scott? Cornelius. The latest development in this godawful crisis is that Sebastian says he wants to go and work in the London
office – he thinks it would be better if he went right away for a while, and personally so do I, I’m all for it, I don’t want
him skulking around here and upsetting Vicky, but of course Alicia’s hysterical at the thought of Sebastian going to live
so far away and she’s been saying some very harsh things about Vicky which I just can’t accept …
‘Life’s tough at home at the moment, let me tell you, and I’m beginning to feel like I’m going crazy. It would all be so much
easier if Alicia and I knew why this marriage has collapsed, but nobody explains, nobody tells us anything, and we’re just
supposed to make guesses as if it was some damned quiz-show …
‘Do you think it’s got something to do with sex? I mean, if two people get on real well together yet still feel they’ve got
to live apart, wouldn’t that imply there was some overriding sexual problem? Christ, that oaf Sebastian! First he walks out
on Elsa, now he walks out on Vicky – the man’s obviously sexually unstable. I never told you this before, Scott, but there
were a couple of incidents years ago, one at Bar Harbor and one right here in New York – what was that you said? Yes, yes,
I know it’s Vicky who’s walked out, I know it looks as if Sebastian’s not the guilty party, but what else could my little
girl do after winding up married to a sex-pervert? What did you say? Oh, cut it out, for Christ’s sake! What do you know about
marriage anyway? You’re just a forty-one-year-old bachelor who never gets involved! The hell with you!’ yelled Cornelius,
having whipped himself into a rage, and slammed down the receiver.
[2]
The phone rang again five minutes later.
‘Hi, Scott it’s me again. Look, I’m sorry I bawled you out just
now – the truth is I’m so miserable I can’t think straight. Vicky’s gone to that apartment of hers in Sutton Place, Alicia’s
not talking to me and I’ve given up trying to confide in Kevin because he’s on Sebastian’s side and just says stupid things
like: “Neil, fuck off, for God’s sake, and mind your own business.” But it
is
my business! It was my grandson who died, wasn’t it, and my daughter whose heart’s been broken, and my wife who … well, let’s
not talk about Alicia. I tried to tell Kevin all that, but he hung up, and then I just felt so down and so upset that I automatically
dialled your number … What was that? Chess? Well, I hate to ask you, Scott, because I know how late it is, but … you will?
That’s wonderful of you, Scott – many, many thanks. God, sometimes I wonder what I’d ever do without you …’
[3]
‘This is about the last private house left on Fifth Avenue, isn’t it?’ said the cab driver five minutes later. ‘Gee, the taxes
must be way high! How does the old guy afford to live there? If I was him I’d sell out to the real estate guys and go live
Miami Beach some place and sit in the sun all day long …’
The driver chattered on, unthinking, unfeeling, unaware that he was no more than a microscopic speck imprisoned in the straitjacket
of time. Scott lived in time too, but
I
was beyond it. Scott saw the shabby interior of the cab and heard the driver’s Hispanic accent, but
I
saw the great gates of the Van Zale mansion and thought as I had so often thought before: ‘Childe Roland to the Dark Tower
came.’
It was Scott too who entered the house when the door was opened, but
I
was right there with him just as I always was, and in my impregnable invisibility I watched his world with detachment from
behind his smiling eyes.
‘Scott! I sure appreciate you coming …’ Cornelius, wearing three sweaters, was hunched over an electric fire at one end of
the library while he read a book by Harold Robbins. The temperature in the room was probably ninety degrees. ‘What are you
drinking, Scott? Coke? 7-Up? Root beer?’
Cornelius was reminding me again of Masaccio’s portrait of St John in his painting ‘The Tribute Money’. According to Masaccio,
St John is beautiful. He has curling golden hair, grey eyes and exquisitely moulded features, but despite these dazzling looks
the face remains hard, the eyelids lowered at a sinister angle.
Masaccio had caught the humanism of the Renaissance but had
ruthlessly tainted his idealistic vision with the ferocious despotism of the Medicis.
‘It’s cold, isn’t it? Makes me wish I was in Arizona, but God only knows when I’ll see Arizona again. Alicia now tells me
flatly that she hates it and has no intention of spending more than two weeks a year down there in future, so it looks like
my dream of taking an early retirement and going to live at the ranch isn’t going to come to anything …
‘But that doesn’t matter. I’d just about decided anyway that God didn’t intend me to live in Tucson, Arizona, any more than
he intended me to live in Velletria, Ohio. The truth is I don’t know what I’d do down there to keep myself occupied. I guess
I could start an art museum but I can’t see it ever being as much fun as the one here in New York – in fact I can’t see anything
down there being as much fun as anything in New York, and besides … what would I do without the bank? I don’t think after
all I’m cut out for an early retirement …
‘Yes, I admit that when Sam died all I wanted was to work myself into a position where I could give up everything and live
a quiet, peaceful, domestic life with my wife somewhere a long way from New York, but I think I was in some kind of shock
or something, I don’t think I was being realistic. If my asthma forces me to retire eventually, okay, so be it. But until
that happens …
‘Oh, sure I know that money and power are really very unimportant, but banking’s my whole life, and God damn it,
someone’s
got to run the country’s banks, and if God didn’t mean me to be a banker, why did He make me the way I am? If God gives us
specific gifts isn’t it up to us to utilize them to the best of our ability? It seems to me I’ve got a kind of moral duty
to keep working.’
‘Cornelius, your mind never ceases to amaze me once you start to wrap it around metaphysical problems! Let’s get going on
our game of chess.’
Half an hour passed. Two bottles of Coca-Cola were emptied, and the soft glow of the lamp illuminated the ivory figures edging
towards one another across the board.
‘Are you mad at me, Scott?’
‘Why should I be mad at you, Cornelius?’
‘For postponing my retirement.’
‘No. Obviously you want to do what’s best for you and best for the bank. I could hardly expect you to do other than that.’
‘Well, I still want to be fair. I still want … Scott, I’m going to be just about this, and generous. I want to make everyone
happy.’
‘That seems like a praiseworthy aim!’
‘No, seriously, Scott! I mean it. Look, this is the way I see it: I’m fifty-two and unless my health gets much worse I think
I can go on working till I’m sixty. Then I’ll cut down my work-load, retire from banking and just keep on with the Fine Arts
Foundation and the charities – the
good
things, if you follow me—’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘—and I’ll turn the bank over to you. When I’m sixty you’ll still only be forty-nine. The only provision I’d make would be
that you’d pass the bank eventually to my grandsons, but that’s okay, isn’t it? You’ve got no sons of your own, and you can
make them your heirs, just as I’ve made you my heir. I see you as a kind of benign caretaker during a Van Zale interregnum
… but it’s the right solution, isn’t it? You approve?’
‘I approve. Your move, Cornelius.’
The knight sprang forward and sideways. A pawn slipped forward to protect the queen.
‘The real truth of the matter is,’ said Cornelius, ‘that although I wanted to quit directly after Sam died, it just wasn’t
possible. You realized that, didn’t you? I had to get the best man to take care of the bank for my grandsons, but when Sam
died there was a power vacuum – he
was
the best man. And even when you emerged top of the heap in the ensuing manoeuvres among the partners my hands were still
tied because there was no way I could pass over Sebastian without wrecking all my new happiness with Alicia. There would have
been no problem if only he’d been a fool, but of course, as we both know, he’s not. He’s very competent and able. Until now
I just haven’t had an excuse for passing him over, but now …’ Cornelius made an insignificant movement with his rook ‘… now
it’ll be easier.’
‘I understand.’
‘I’ll keep Sebastian in Europe, give him a large expense account and a lot of freedom, and Alicia won’t even realize he’s
been railroaded. In the end I can even give her the illusion he’s been promoted, but it’ll all take time, Scott, and that’s
why I need these extra years so badly. I’ve got to be able to wrap up Sebastian securely before I can pass control to you.
You will be patient, won’t you? It’s in your best interests as well as mine.’
‘Of course.’
‘You’ve been clever with Sebastian, Scott. I’ve noticed what care you’ve always taken to get on well with him. Your move.’
‘This may surprise you, Cornelius, but I genuinely like Sebastian.’
Cornelius laughed good-naturedly at such a fantastic possibility, and said with affection: ‘God, Scott, you’re a smart guy!’
I was aware
of his fingers curling towards the palms of his hands as he stealthily waited for me to make the error which would give him
the upper hand in the game.
More time slipped away. Dawn broke over Central Park and beyond the chink in the heavy drapes the sky changed from black to
navy to azure, and finally to a very pale duck-egg blue. Cornelius’ fine delicate skin was faintly flushed with excitement;
the light glinted on the silver in his hair and was reflected in his shining eyes.
‘Checkmate! I’ve got you, Scott!’
‘Shit!’
Laughter. The king crashed sideways on the board.
‘The moment of truth!’ said Cornelius gleefully.
‘Yes. “Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came.”’
‘I never did understand that story,’ said Cornelius, uncapping two final bottles of Coke. ‘Tell it to me again. This knight
Roland was on a quest, you say, although the reader of the poem is never told what the quest is. Now, isn’t it kind of annoying
that we don’t know exactly what he’s after? Then he reaches the Dark Tower and he thinks: “This is it!” and he sees his ex-companions
watching him from the hillside, but they’re all dead. Which is kind of morbid, if you ask me. So he puts his horn to his lips
and blows and that’s that. But why does Browning end the poem there? I don’t get it at all.’
‘Roland met his destiny by raising the horn to his lips.’
‘But what was his destiny?’
‘Life or death. Perhaps death. When Galahad reached the end of his quest he died. According to T. H. White when you reach
perfection you die because there’s nothing else left to achieve.’
‘Huh! More metaphysical garbage. You’re death-obsessed, Scott – that’s your trouble!’
‘Isn’t everyone, consciously or subconsciously? After all, as Spenser said: “All things do decay and to their end draw near.”’
‘And that’s a goddamned depressing thing to say! I don’t like it when you talk like that – it’s as if there’s someone else
there who’s borrowed your voice … my God, listen to me! What a crazy thing to say – you must have infected me with that morbid
streak of yours! Okay, Scott, we’d better both go and snatch some sleep now, but thanks again for coming. I truly appreciate
it. So long.’
‘So long, Cornelius,’ I said from behind Scott’s eyes, and as I left I thought of that future when I would call on Cornelius
again, I the president of the newly incorporated Sullivan empire, he the retired senior partner hunched in his wheelchair,
his grandsons sacked and scattered among the Wall Street unemployed. ‘Good morning, Scott,’
he would say to me, but in his mind he would call me by my father’s name, for I would be my father’s ghost waiting to usher
him from the lighted hall of life, and in his doomed future he would see the past I had rewritten, my father’s defeat transformed
into a mighty victory and his own triumph erased by the fierce flames of a cataclysmic fire.
[4]
The sunlight streamed through the hospital window on to the bed where Emily lay, recovering from an operation for gallstones.
Emily’s hair was wholly grey now, her face lined and bony through loss of weight.
‘Scott dearest, how sweet of you to come all the way to Velletria for the weekend – I do appreciate it! I’m sorry I sounded
so depressed to you on the phone before I went into hospital. It was strange, but I had this strong premonition that I’d come
here to die, but of course that was just me being silly because I do so hate being in hospital … well, I mustn’t think about
death any more. Tell me your news. Dare I ask how things are in New York?’
‘Better. Sebastian’s left for Europe and Alicia seems to be accepting at last that there’s nothing she can do to patch up
his marriage. Vicky’s decided she must have a home of her own so she’s looking for an apartment big enough to house all the
kids and staff.’
‘I wish I could do something to help that girl, but she seems to be beyond my reach nowadays, just like Cornelius. However
I mustn’t get depressed thinking of Cornelius. I’ve done my best for him and there’s nothing more I can do. But I wish I could
do more for Vicky … and for you too, Scott – oh yes! I often feel I failed you in the past.’
‘Failed me? You? I’ve never heard such nonsense in all my life!’
‘If only I’d been older when I married Steve, old enough for you to regard me as a mother! But you never saw me as a mother,
did you? I was always the fairytale princess, just a few years your senior, and when Steve left I was transformed overnight
into the jilted heroine. I should have said something then, I should have talked to you, I should have sat down with you and
had at least one honest conversation—’
‘Emily, please! Stop crucifying yourself!’