The Institute

27

Next day Sam was back with another nut for her to crack. It seemed that Sol Novak, of Novak Bros., a subsidiary in Akron, wanted to incorporate, but had to have her O.K.

“It’s important for ARMALCO protection,” Sam told her, “because the partnership, as it stands, is a two-for-one thing, two shares to Sol for every share for his brother, Al. Maybe it’s for straight, on the up and up; but maybe Sol’s gypping Al. We can’t leave things to chance. On our end, we can’t have anything out of line or we’re wide open if we get sued. So, much as I hate to bother you, Hortense—”

She didn’t answer, at least in words. All she did was scream. Just open her mouth and let out ghastly bleats, one after the other. But they got fainter and fainter until she was gasping them out. Then she subsided a bit.

“I see it now,” she said. “It’s all clear. It means I have to die. Whom the gods would destroy, they don’t make mad any more. They let them dream and then make the dream come true. I had that dream every night. I got so I knew it by heart, knew what was coming each time. He was dead; my husband was dead. And I was the richest woman on earth. I had a yacht like Jackie Onassis’s, a mansion like Jane Du Pont’s, a coat like Frances Vanderbilt’s. I could have whatever I wanted just by waving my hand, anything I wanted, anything at all. Then, pretty soon, I would wake up and he would be in the other bed, snoring. But during the dream I was happy, so happy I wanted to fly!”

“Horty, stop talking like that!” Mrs. Mendenhall cut in. “You know that’s not true at all. You never dreamed things like that!”

“I know what I dreamed!”

“Let her talk!” I snapped, “if she’s to have peace with herself, she has to.”

“Debentures — what are they? And corporation. I don’t even know what that is!”

“Incorporation,” Sam corrected.

“Incarceration — of me, why don’t you say? Well, why don’t you? I’m the prisoner of my dream, and it’s going to kill me. Oh yes; I know what’s in store for me.”

It went on and on but at last ran down from her getting exhausted and shutting up. Then Sam and I once more walked out in the hall. A bench was there and we sat down, he mopping his brow which was wet. Then he broke out: “So she dreamed he was dead, so what? We knew that, and it didn’t bother her then. She just thought it was funny.”

“How do you know what she thought?” In spite of myself, in spite of liking Sam, I sounded a little peevish.

“All I know is what she said.”

“To you? She discussed her dream?”

“No, not to me. To her mother. And Mrs. Mendenhall, at a certain stage in her day, talks. She kept dreaming Mr. Garrett was dead, and that made her filthy rich.”

“There’s no law against it that I know of.”

“And there’s no reason for it — except one.” I didn’t ask him what reason. I was afraid to. But he saved me the trouble. “She wanted him dead,” he growled.

That kind of put an end to the discussion, at least of Hortense’s dream. Perhaps to change the subject, Sam asked me: “When are you coming to work?”

“Work?” I said. “What do you mean, work?”

“For the Institute. Well, you started it, didn’t you? And you picked Davis who’s making a God-awful mess of it. He’s got the while place in an uproar. All he knows is one scheme after the other. He’s a born troublemaker, not fit to run anything. So, when are you coming to work?”

“I haven’t been asked yet.”

“I’m asking you.”

“And you’re in charge? That’s news to me.”

“O.K., you win. The one person in charge, I’m afraid to ask, God help me. It’s come to that. She’s the only one who can say, and saying something might kill her.”

“Listen, she’s still desperately ill.”

“That’s not all she is.”

He sat shaking his head, but we both knew we weren’t telling it like it was, or any part of what it was. The whole story, the reason she’d popped out with the dream and all the rest of it, was told by the line, “to Teddy Rodriguez, one million.” We sat there for some time, not talking about it. Then I popped out with what was bugging me, sort of crying on his shoulder, as he had been crying on mine. “Sam,” I said, “what’s got into her? All right, she’s ill. She’s weak from what happened to her. She’s not herself. That we know. But it started before that. It started the night he told her, the night Mr. Garrett let her know where she got off, that she couldn’t have a divorce and told her why. That night she disappeared. I fell asleep with her beside me, and when I woke up she was gone. Since then, things haven’t been the same. She doesn’t even know me, not the way she did. Something’s gnawing at her more than the dream she would have — in Wilmington, remember. Once she met me, she didn’t have any such dream, that I promise you.”

“It was handled wrong — the child.”

“How do you mean, handled wrong?”

“Keeping the news from her. That was Mrs. Mendenhall’s idea. At a certain time of day, Mrs. M. isn’t very bright. She should have been told right away.”

“It was handled O.K.”

“Oh? You think so?”

“She shouldn’t have been told.”

“You mean, her condition wouldn’t have permitted it?”

“She was barely conscious, Sam.”

“Then, I take it back.”

“Something’s griping her.”

“By the name of Teddy Rodriguez.”

“Yes.”

This went on for several days, her talking about the dream, how it gave her no peace, how it was going to kill her. Then all of a sudden, she harpooned me with it.

“So they want you back!” she screamed. “Why don’t you go back, then? What’s stopping you? They’ll pay you enough, won’t they?”

“O.K.,” I said after a moment. “Since you put it that way, I have to think about it. I did start it; that’s true. I did persuade Mr. Garrett to name it for you. I’ll let you know.”

“Name it for me? I’m talking about ARMALCO!”

“ARMALCO? I don’t get it.”

“You could be president of it! You could take him off my back — that Sam Dent. He’s sitting right there. You could tell me what I think, and then I could tell him. You could, if you had any consideration.”

“Who says I could be president of ARMALCO?”

“My husband did — Mr. Garrett.”

“He told you? That I am fit to be president of—?”

“Do I have to shout? Are you deaf? He did nothing but talk about how smart you were and how he had ‘plans for you’ and—”

“I have to think about it.”

“There’s one condition, though.”

Sam looked at me. I said: “No conditions, Hortense. If I’m to be president of ARMALCO and tell you what you think, I’ll make the conditions, not you.”

“I’ll make them! I’ll make them.”

“We’re back to Teddy Rodriguez,” growled Sam, in the hall as we walked to the elevator.”

“You think she’s the condition?”

“You’re to knuckle under after accepting the presidency of ARMALCO and refuse to pay that million. It’ll be her way of handling Teddy — and of handling you.”

“I don’t hold still too well for handling.”

“For your million and that job, you might.”