I explained a little more fully the errand I was running for Cale Hanniford.
When I had finished he touched his chin with his thumb and forefinger and nodded thoughtfully.
'Mr. Hanniford has lost a daughter,' he said. 'And I have lost a son.'
'Yes.'
'It's so difficult to father children in today's world, Mr. Scudder. Perhaps it was always thus, but it seems to me that the times conspire against us. Oh, I can sympathize fully with Mr. Hanniford, more fully than ever since I have suffered a similar loss.' He turned to gaze at the fire. 'But I fear I have no sympathy for the girl.'
I didn't say anything.
'It's a failing on my part, and I recognize it as such. Man is an imperfect creature. Sometimes it seems to me that religion has no higher function than to sharpen his awareness of the extent of his imperfection. God alone is perfect. Even Man, His greatest handiwork, is hopelessly flawed. A paradox, Mr. Scudder, don't you think?'
'Yes.'
'Not the least of my own flaws is an inability to grieve for Wendy Hanniford. You see, her father no doubt holds my son responsible for the loss of his daughter. And I, in turn, hold his daughter responsible for the loss of my son.'
He got to his feet and approached the fireplace. He stood there for a moment, his back perfectly straight, warming his hands. He turned toward me and seemed on the point of saying something.
Instead, he walked slowly to his chair and sat down again, this time crossing one leg over the other.
He said, 'Are you a Christian, Mr. Scudder?'
'No.'
'A Jew?'
'I have no religion.'
'How sad for you,' he said. 'I asked your religion because the nature of your own beliefs might facilitate your understanding my feelings toward the Hanniford girl. But perhaps I can approach the matter in another way. Do you believe in good and evil, Mr. Scudder?'
'Yes, I do.'
'Do you believe that there is such a thing as evil extant in the world?'
'I know there is.'
He nodded, satisfied. 'So do I,' he said. 'It would be difficult to believe otherwise, whatever one's religious outlook. A glance at a daily newspaper provides evidence enough of the existence of evil.'
He paused, and I thought he was waiting for me to say something. Then he said, 'She was evil.'
'Wendy Hanniford?'
'Yes. An evil, Devil-ridden woman. She took my son away from me, away from his religion, away from God. She led him away from good paths and unto the paths of evil.' His voice was picking up a timbre, and I could imagine his forcefulness in front of a congregation. 'It was my son who killed her.
But it was she who killed something within him, who made it possible for him to kill.' His voice dropped in pitch, and he held his hands palms down at his sides. 'And so I cannot mourn Wendy Hanniford. I can regret that her death came at Richard's hands, I can profoundly regret that he then took his own life, but I cannot mourn your client's daughter.'
He let his hands drop, lowered his head. I couldn't see his eyes, but his face was troubled, wrapped up in chains of good and evil. I thought of the sermon he would preach on Sunday, thought of all the different roads to Hell and all the paving stones therein. I pictured Martin Vanderpoel as a long, lean Sisyphus arduously rolling the boulders into place.
I said, 'Your son was in Manhattan a year and a half ago. That was when he went to work for Burghash Antiques.' He nodded. 'So he left here some six months before he began sharing Wendy Hanniford's apartment.'
'That is correct.'
'But you feel she led him astray.'
'Yes.' He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. 'My son left my home shortly after his high school graduation. I did not approve, but neither did I object violently. I would have wanted Richard to go to college. He was an intelligent boy and would have done well in college. I had hopes, naturally enough, that he might follow me into the ministry. I did not force him in this direction, however. One must determine for oneself whether one has a vocation. I am not fanatical on the subject, Mr. Scudder. I would prefer to see a son of mine as a contented and productive doctor or lawyer or businessman than as a discontented minister of the gospel.
'I realized that Richard had to find himself. That's a fashionable term with the young these days, is it not? He had to find himself. I understood this. I expected that this process of self-discovery would ultimately lead him to enter college after a year or two. I hoped this would occur, but in any event I saw no cause for alarm.
Richard had an honest job, he was living in a decent Christian residence, and I felt that his feet were on a good path. Not perhaps the path he would ultimately pursue, but one that was correct for him at that point in his life.
'Then he met Wendy Hanniford. He lived in sin with her. He became corrupted by her. And, ultimately-'
I remembered a bit of men's-room graffiti: Happiness is when your son marries a boy of his own faith.
Evidently Richie Vanderpoel had functioned as some variety of homosexual without his father ever suspecting anything. Then he moved in with a girl, and his father was shattered.
I said, 'Reverend Vanderpoel, a great many young people live together nowadays without being married.'
