“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “this is not, as you know, a regularly scheduled meeting, but as a matter of some urgency I have two announcements to make.”
They were all there, the familiar faces, except for the half dozen on duty in the compound. Allen Trask would do a good job of briefing them later.
“You all know that one of our guests, a man by the name of Henry Brown, escaped our custody after beating one of the trusties unconscious. He will of course be rather severely punished for that infraction.”
The staff members laughed. They knew what he
meant.
“First we have to catch him.”
Again laughter.
“We always do.” Clifford loved the way his audience responded, this time with applause. He remembered their first escapee, a very tall man with bushy hair, who had broken his leg stumbling through the underbrush heading downhill toward the road. Eventually he had had to call for help. The dogs found him. The fellows hadn’t even bothered to return him to his room. They were under instructions. Do the same thing as you would with a horse that had a broken leg.
“In the present instance, we believe the man still to be on the premises. His wife, who accompanied him to Cliffhaven, is being kept secure for him—”
He nodded in response to the laughter.
“—in the lockers. There’s a staff member in the locker building, just in case. In the meantime, as you will learn in a moment, I have a plan to regain control of this individual that will involve all of you. And that will, as usual, succeed.”
He held his hands up to acknowledge their approbation, and then moved them in such a way as to bring a silence that was absolute to the large room.
“You all know that keeping a diary or daily record of any kind in Cliffhaven is forbidden.”
There were nods here and there. Clifford took the time to look at each part of the audience.
“Several months ago,” he continued, “I asked at a meeting of the entire staff whether anyone was keeping a diary. Everyone answered in the negative. One person in this room was lying.”
He noticed eyes darting glances.
“Though I am not present here a good deal of the time, I know sooner or later everything that goes on in my absence. Does anyone doubt that?”
Clifford, who was well read in history as well as genetics, knew that the respect and admiration of his staff was not enough. He wanted what Napoleon had with his troops. Adulation.
“I had proof presented to me that George Whittaker, who I had entrusted to manage Cliffhaven, had covertly committed treason against that trust by keeping a self-serving diary to whitewash himself should Cliffhaven ever be defeated by its enemies.”
Staff members looked around to see where George Whittaker was sitting.
“You won’t find George in this room,” Clifford said quietly. Perhaps Whittaker had been popular with some of the people. He had to be certain his decision was accepted by all.
“Cliffhaven,” he said, “is the beginning of a national movement. I am sure you are all proud that Cliffhaven is the single most successful experiment of its kind in the history of the United States.”
He allowed them to applaud. Were some not doing so? As he glanced around the room, he saw the last ones join in, till everyone was clapping. Then he continued, “With the discovery of Mr. Whittaker’s treachery, I had no alternative but to accept his immediate…resignation.”
They were waiting for the rest, he could see that. “Our collective security—I am speaking of everyone in this room, in this enterprise—is dependent on complete trust. The question then was: Could I trust George Whittaker as an ex-employee on the outside? Something I know—and which you may have guessed—is that our enemies on the outside would gladly pay great sums of money to get someone like George Whittaker working for them, even testifying falsely against our cause. That thought may or may not have crossed George Whittaker’s mind. Indeed, it may have crossed the minds of one or another of you. If that is the case, you must know my response. I have a huge investment in Cliffhaven, monetary as well as ideological. I will not see it jeopardized by anyone…” Clifford looked around the room to emphasize the point. “For any reason.”
They needed the lesson.
“As a consequence of an action he initiated—keeping that self-serving diary—George Whittaker stepped across the line. Therefore, he is no longer with us, not in Cliffhaven, not anywhere.”
They understood.
“His treason has been punished. I hope it is the last case of that kind I will ever see here.”
He studied their faces. The meeting, he judged, had been valuable.
“Now,” Mr. Clifford said, “for some good news. It is my pleasure to introduce you to the new manager of Cliffhaven, Mr. Daniel Pitz.”
The applause was sporadic. Mr. Clifford let a slight frown cloud his visage. The applause increased, and increased again until it became unanimous and loud. Dan, getting up on the platform next to Mr. Clifford, drew the conclusion that some of the staff had liked Whittaker. Or maybe they were just scared, working in a place that seemed not to tolerate ex-employees. Whittaker was a fool for having kept a diary where it could be found.
Dan waved a hand at the group, taking in their faces, wondering if some of them might be sexually useful to him in time.
“Mr. Pitz,” Mr. Clifford said, “has managed several resorts previously and has had a highly successful career. Beyond that…” Dan noticed Clifford was beaming at him now. He hoped the old man wasn’t going to say too much.
“Beyond that, Mr. Pitz has certain unique qualifications for his work at Cliffhaven.”
That’s all, please,
Dan thought.
“I’ll say no more,” Mr. Clifford said. “You’ll all have a chance to meet with him as the days progress. Now, I want to say that just before this meeting I had a talk with Clete, who was superintending the Browns at Cliffhaven. I have come to the conclusion that he was not at fault in Brown’s escape. However, I have told Clete, as I am now telling all of you, when you have your first talks with a new resident it is important to ascertain who might or might not be a troublemaker. Most of our residents give us little or no trouble, as you know. If you think we have picked up a potential troublemaker, let Dan know right away.”
Mr. Clifford saw Oliver Robinson, who had been left in charge of the compound during the meeting, coming in the back of the dining hall. Robinson ran to the rostrum, whispered in Mr. Clifford’s ear. A buzz went through the audience.
“Well, then,” Mr. Clifford said, straightening up, his face showing a tinge of color it had not had before. “It seems that I was correct about Brown not having escaped the area. The guests undergoing punishment in the lockers have been released. Fortunately, only two of them have chosen to go with Mr. Brown to commit whatever further mischief he is up to. But another newcomer, Jacob Fetterman, a young man, seems to be unaccounted for, and a trusty by the name of Blaustein, a previously reliable man, seems to be missing from his clean-up station. I therefore want to put my plan into effect immediately. All together you—under the direction of Messrs. Pitz, Trask, and Robinson—are to form a ring around the outer perimeter of Cliffhaven. You are to be close enough to the next person right and left to be seen by each other. Then on signal, everyone, at a walking pace, is to move forward to the center of the compound. Search every building in your path. If you come upon locked rooms, open them and verify that the occupants are there. Check the roofs. When you are certain that you have examined every hiding place, move on. We will scour the entire grounds, and within an hour Brown, Fetterman, and the two new escapees will be back in our control. I trust no harm has come to that older man, Blaustein, who has been with us for half a year and has performed valuable service.”
Clifford was pleased with himself for having avoided mentioning that one of the new escapees was Brown’s wife. He hated her as if she were a Jew. When they were caught, she would suffer Brown’s fate.
“Well then,” Mr. Clifford said, “let us go and solve our little problem.”
*
With Margaret present Henry felt a renewed determination. His adrenaline was running. He couldn’t believe that he would be thwarted now just because neither Jake nor Shamir had matches. He’d have to go back into the compound to get matches from someone. He glanced at Margaret. Leaving her here meant being separated again.
The sound that intruded on Henry’s thoughts was a racking cough. It was Blaustein tied to the tree.
“You sick, Blaustein?” he asked.
It was Margaret who interjected sharply, “He’s not sick. That’s a smoker’s cough.”
“Jake,” Henry commanded, “look in Blaustein’s pockets.”
Jake did and found the matches.
“Thank God,” Henry said, taking them.
The matchbook cover was damp from Blaustein’s sweat. He struck one match. It flickered for a moment, then went out. The others watched as he felt the matches to see if any were a bit drier, pulled one out, and with his thumb on the match head, struck it. “Pray,” he said.
The match stayed lit. Quickly he lit one torch with it, then with the flaming torch lit the other three torches as he gave them final instructions. Then he said, “Let’s do this as fast as possible.”
“I’ll burn to death,” Blaustein said, strapped to the tree.
“If we untie him,” Jake said, “he’ll run.”
“I won’t, I won’t,” Blaustein pleaded.
“You can’t trust him,” Jake said. “We’re wasting time.”
Henry went up to the old man. “Blaustein, if this were medieval times, I’d cut your tongue out and let you go. You better keep up with me so I can keep an eye on you. You try anything and I’ll kill you, understand?”
Blaustein nodded.
Henry unstrapped
the belt from around the tree. Blaustein rubbed his wrists.
Jake was already off with his torch for the far end. Now Shamir ran in the same direction to start at the halfway mark, as the plan called for. In minutes the first mounds of brush would be ignited.
“I’ll go to the end,” Henry said to Margaret. “You start at the halfway mark and work your way back here. Will you be all right?”
“I think I’m going to enjoy being an arsonist. You watch out for him.”
“Come on, Blaustein,” Henry said. “You run ahead. That way.”
And they were off to light the pyres.
19
As the Cliffhaven staff spread out in a fan around the perimeter of the resort, each careful to keep the person on his right and left in view, they looked toward Dan Pitz, standing in the center where most of the group could see him, his arm raised for the start signal. Some of them wondered how he got the job, how Clifford found him. They didn’t envy Dan, those that thought about it, having an escapee on his hands the first day.
Some of the staff members had been at Cliffhaven long enough to remember the man named Matusky, one of the first guests, a broad-shouldered fellow in his forties who had had the gall to wear a skullcap in the dining room; who had defied orders to remove it indoors; and who, finally, when taunted about his special shawl and head-bobbing prayers, had gone berserk, punching out with fists like pig iron at the staff member who had goaded him. It took two or three men to wrestle him to the ground. It was George Whittaker who had stomped his heel into Matusky’s mouth. Just once, but several of the man’s front teeth had come loose and his mouth had filled with blood. Somehow he had struggled to his feet and
then spit a mouthful of blood straight at Whittaker’s
face, yelling “
Petlyura!
” before he was wrestled to the ground again and rendered unconscious with repeated kicks to the head.
Matusky was the first to get more than twenty-four hours in the lockers. When he was let out, four or five staff members had gathered round the locker, expecting to see Matusky crumpled like a sack of potatoes, his trousers drenched in his urine, begging for mercy. Instead, when the locker opened, Matusky stepped out like an enraged bear, opened his fly, took out his thing, and sprayed a stream of piss at the staff members. Each, in turn, backed away from this madman who had let his bladder fill to bursting in order to hose them down, screaming epithets at them in Yiddish, or Hebrew, or Polish, or Russian, or some unknown combination of curses charged with guttural sounds.
And so Matusky, finally chained but not silenced, was the first taken for a ride to the gully. In the building where Mr. Clifford decided to keep score, Matusky’s name was on the first plaque in the left-hand row. It was in that building that Mr. Clifford assembled the guests—there were only twenty or thirty at that time—and showed them the blank plaques waiting for their names if they followed the path of Matusky to defiance and death. Mr. Clifford admonished them to behave and live. But knowing that Jews could not be trusted to keep their word, and that as a people they had a history of useless resistance that stretched from Masada to Warsaw, he decided that discipline had to be reinforced with some chemical help. He arranged for their food to be laced with a small part of the harvest from the marijuana farm.
*
As the young men and women of the staff spread out around the perimeter, Clifford thought that perhaps he should pursue the idea of a sperm bank from the best of these young men, to hasten the process, double the genetic thrust. Suddenly he was impatient with his plan to round up Hebrews. The process was too slow and needed doing on a much larger scale. Craving allies, he thought himself a fool to have counted on a man like Jordan to share his vision or his leadership. All of the great movements were inspired and led by a single person who commanded the compliance of others. His obligation was not to expect others to start compounds modeled on Cliffhaven but to do so himself! The thrill of the idea excited him as he thought of a place he had visited not far from Houston that was as suitable as the Big Sur area. If he were to do it himself—and he would, of that he was now certain—he would simply call it Cliffhaven Two. And now that it had a name, it took on a reality in his mind that caused his heart to beat faster. As soon as this nuisance was over—perhaps tomorrow—he would begin to work on Cliffhaven Two. He must tell Abigail. He wondered if she would like the challenge of actually running such a place, taking her position in history as a woman as he had as a man.