The Spiked Heel

16

They sat on the fire escape of Marge’s apartment, looking out over the monotonous roofs of the factories, listening to the moan of the tugs on the river. The beer bottles rested at their feet, the thick brown glass sweating profusely. He was unusually quiet that night. She lay back in his arms, her hands clasped over his, and she felt the pent-up tension of his silence.

His first reaction to Titanic’s decision had been one of sad resignation. All right, they’d decided against him. He couldn’t understand how or why, but the decision had been made, and there was nothing to be done now but go along with it.

But his resignation had evaporated before a feeling of frustrated rage. Why had they decided against him? Hadn’t they read the figures?

He had gone first to Manelli and cautiously felt him out on the subject. Did Manelli have any idea why Titanic went along with McQuade’s recommendation, even in the face of Griff’s contrary figures? Manelli had not seemed very interested. Manelli still had his job, and that was all that counted as far as he was concerned.

“Who understands the way big outfits operate, Griff?” he’d said. “Do I? Do you? How do I know what happened? Maybe they figured it would all average out in the end. Maybe they prefer a uniform setup for each of their divisions. How do I know?”

Manelli’s disinterested comments had not satisfied him. He had gone then to Langer, the man who’d replaced Manelli as head accountant of the firm. He had shown Langer a copy of his figures and then told him about McQuade’s recommendation and Titanic’s action. Langer had been truly puzzled. It seemed to him that Titanic was making a mistake, but perhaps they had something else in mind. How could you tell with an outfit of this size?

Disgusted, he had sought Aaron’s advice, telling him he had half a mind to challenge Titanic on their decision. If they’d made an error in judgment, shouldn’t someone point it out to them? Aaron did not think so. Someone, perhaps, should point it out to them, but hadn’t Griff gone to Manelli? Didn’t Griff know anything about the chain of command, all those years in the army, hadn’t they taught him anything? Suppose he questioned Titanic, and suppose they did have a damned good reason for disbanding Cost, where would that leave Griff? Griff had remained unconvinced. How could he ever know what Titanic really felt unless he asked them directly?

“Sure,” Aaron had said. “Ask them. And maybe you’ll lose your job in the bargain.”

He had thought about it for the remainder of that week. On Friday, Manelli explained the new scheme of things. Aaron was moving into Valdero’s department, where he would serve as a much-needed assistant. Marge was being tossed into the typing pool. Griff would go back to a job he’d once held in Hengman’s office — that of tracer.

His rage burned itself out, and the resignation came back, a resignation strengthened by the bitterness of despair. He would take whatever they handed out. He still had a job, and, whereas it wasn’t the job he wanted, it was still a job. He had the future to think of.

Wearily, he had set about his new-old duties as tracer. But somehow, there was no joy for him any more. His trips onto the factory floor left him curiously unhappy.

His silence tonight disturbed Marge. She knew he was pained, and the pain spread to include her, too, and she wanted desperately to help him, but she didn’t know quite how.

“What is it, darling?” she asked.

“There’s no sense talking about it,” he said. “Not any more, there isn’t.”

“If you don’t want to,” Marge said.

“It’s just the damned stupidity of it, that’s all,” he said. “I can’t figure it out, Marge.”

“Titanic’s decision?”

“Yes. Marge, this was a case of black and white! All they had to do was read the figures. Damn it, wasn’t there an accountant in all Georgia who could lay those figures alongside McQuade’s recommendation and see that it was unfeasible? That’s what gets me, Marge. The stupidity of it, the enormous stupidity!”

“They’re only human, Griff. Perhaps they made a mistake. If they did, they’ll realize it sooner or later.”

“Yes,” Griff said, “but… Marge, I don’t know what to think any more. Honestly.”

“How do you mean?”

“About Titanic. I’ve… I’ve got this crazy idea in my head.”

“What idea, Griff?”

“That Titanic is like… like the world.”

“The world?”

“Yes. And… and Julien Kahn is a… a country, do you see? And we all live in that country and… and McQuade happens to us.”

“I see, darling,” she said.

“The world is good. I mean, basically good. But somehow, McQuade has managed to fool the world, the same way he fooled us in the beginning. Oh sure, Titanic’s not perfect, but if it knew about somebody like McQuade, wouldn’t it stand up and… and fight to throw him out? The trouble is, it doesn’t know. Only we know, Marge. McQuade’s a power-mad son of a bitch, but, when the world looks at him objectively, they see only the good things he’s done. We are working in a cleaner factory, aren’t we, and we have gotten raises, and oh, Jesus, Jesus…”

“What is it, Griff?”

“It’s McQuade,” he said. “It’s all McQuade. He’s twisted, Marge, twisted with this… this longing for power. He’s taken these good ideas and he’s… he’s managed to turn them around so that they’re bad. And yet, they’re not really bad because everybody has benefited by them. Oh, God damn it, I don’t know what I mean.”

She wished she could help him put it into words. But he had grown silent again, and she thought he would never let it out, keeping it bottled there poisonously forever.

“It’s this, Marge,” he said suddenly.

“Yes, darling?”

“It’s… he’s given the men all these good things like… like toys to play with… like pats on the head. He’s given them as a sort of opiate, he’s drugged everyone so that his power will go unquestioned. He’s here and Titanic is all the way down in Georgia, so he can get away with it. They don’t understand his… his contempt, Marge; that’s it, contempt.

“He has only contempt for people, Marge. He’s given the workers all these wonderful things, but he wouldn’t hesitate to squeeze them lifeless in his fist if he thought his power were in danger. There’s only one important person in McQuade’s scheme of things: McQuade. He has taken Julien Kahn and squeezed it dry, and all so that he can feel his own power. And I think the workers sense his contempt, Marge. Not only those of us who’ve come into close contact with him, but all the others, too. I think they’re suspicious of him, and I think… I think they’re afraid.”

“I see,” Marge said softly.

“There’s the crux of it,” he said sadly. “Fear. We’re all afraid of him. We were afraid of him in the beginning, and we’re still…”

“No, Griff,” she said. “I can’t believe that.”

“It’s true, Marge. We should have stood up to him the day he turned on that hose in the Cutting Room. Our human dignity should have screamed out, and the mob should have thrown him through a window. But we were afraid, all of us. We allowed him to grind one man, and, once he’d done that, he’d ground us all, do you see?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Marge, why do I keep hanging onto this job? I’m stuck in Hengman’s office, and I’m doing a job that no longer interests me, a job I outgrew years ago, but I’m hanging on. Why? Because I’m afraid to leave. I know I have to earn a living, and I’m not sure I’ll get another job so easily at the same salary, and I like that security. So I stick around, even though I know the climate of the business now, and McQuade’s power still scares me.

“I once said that recognizing his power made me feel strong, but it doesn’t really, Marge. It makes me feel angry, but it doesn’t give me the strength to stand up to him. You want to fight, you want to, you want to… but you’re scared.”

She nodded in the darkness, feeling the tenseness of his arms.

“Marge,” he said, almost surprised, “he’s stolen our humanity, the son of a bitch has stolen our humanity. Why the hell won’t we fight him, even now? He’s only a man, Marge. What can one man do to another man? Damn it, isn’t there any sense in fighting for what’s right?”

His question hung on the fetid night air. She lay in the circle of his arms and tilted her head back to look at his face, and she saw him nod his head slowly and deliberately.

“It’s terrible to feel like a coward, Marge. I’m a man who can identify a murderer, but I won’t go to the police. Marge, Marge, we could have stopped him, in the beginning, when the dagger was still hidden behind a smiling face, before his spiked heel came down on the first broken back. But let him steal one man’s dignity, and he’s vanquished us all.”

He paused. “We’re dead now, Marge. The fight has to come from us, but we’re incapable of it. He’s taken our country, Marge, and now he’ll set about proving himself to the world, to Titanic. It’s too late, it’s too late.”

“Not if you feel this way, Griff. It’s not too late if you…”

“I have the feeling he’ll destroy us all, Marge, every single one of us. And we won’t lift a finger to stop him. Oh, Marge, Marge, what’ll he do next? What’ll he do next?”

She heard the words as they tumbled from his mouth, wrenched from somewhere deep within him. She heard the words, and she felt the sudden shudder of his body, and she moved closer against him, wanting to answer him, wanting to reassure him, but she did not know the answer, and his words hung on the night air until their echo chilled her.