the government. His black skin knew what all of Kemmler’s Justice Department attorneys would never understand, and what that rioting throng that had stopped his speech did understand, that the Turnerites were out to overthrow inequality, not government but inequality. Now it was too late for these second thoughts. If injustice this was, he must find other means to correct it.
He had finished his sherry, and then realized with a start that not fifteen minutes but twice that time had gone by. He jumped up, went to the door, and opened it. Beggs, who was planted outside, quickly turned.
“Has my son-?” Then he saw Julian, miserably huddled in a chair of the reception room. “Oh, hello, Julian. Come on in.” As Julian brushed past him with only a muttered greeting, Dilman asked Beggs, “How is it going?”
“We got it under control. Only a few handfuls of them hanging around.”
“Good. Tell Tim Flannery to have the car here in fifteen minutes. He can notify the helicopter crew.”
He closed the door carefully, to make certain it was fastened securely, and then he turned to his son. Julian was standing beside the coffee table, patting his checkered sport coat against his dark-gray slacks. His short hair was plastered down and glossy as ever, and his thyroid eyes were fixed on the sherry decanter.
Dilman indicated the decanter. “Want some?”
“No.”
“All right, sit down. We don’t have much time. Let’s talk.”
Defiantly, Julian remained on his feet, but once Dilman had settled on the couch, the boy yanked a chair nearer the coffee table and lowered himself into it.
“I don’t know what we’re supposed to talk about,” Julian said sullenly.
“We’ll see… Were you out there in that mob?”
“For a while. When the guys with the signs started infiltrating in, I decided to get out. I went with two of my friends back to my room.”
“Did you know this was going to happen?”
“If you did what they hoped you wouldn’t, yes, I knew it would happen. Everyone’s been steamed up since Hurley was arrested.”
“Have the other students been giving you a rough time?”
Julian examined his polished nails. “Not especially. I told them I didn’t know what you’d do. I told them if you did the banning, I was against it, and on their side.”
“I see.”
“I don’t have to listen to white men,” Julian said angrily. “I make my own decisions.”
Dilman picked up his unsmoked cigar. “Maybe I’m not listening to white men or colored men either. Maybe, in my position, I have a higher responsibility. Maybe I’m listening to the Constitution.”
“Oh, sure.”
Dilman knew that he could not continue to be high-minded and pretentious. He was dealing with his son, who was once more disillusioned with him and, in effect, disowning their relationship. “You know my feelings about the law, Julian. Possibly it would help if you’d transmit them to your friends.”
“Help who?” said Julian. “I’ll be lucky if I can find anybody to speak to me.”
Dilman’s heart ached. He put the cigar down again. “Do you want to transfer out of here, Julian?”
“A month ago, yes. Now, no. Not now. I’ll show them I belong to me.”
Dilman sighed audibly. The time had come. It was the wrong time, but then, perhaps, there would never be a right time to speak what was foremost in his mind. “Are you sure you belong only to yourself, Julian? Are you sure of that?”
Julian’s bulging eyes left the examination of his fingernails. He glanced suspiciously at his father. “What does that mean?”
“Do you have any allegiance elsewhere? I know you’re an officer in the student end of the Crispus Society-”
“That crud. Are you serious? I joined them before I grew up.”
“And after you grew up, Julian, what else did you join?”
Julian’s brow wrinkled, once more wary, and his pointed English shoe dug at the carpet. “What else did I join? I don’t get you, Dad.”
Dilman edged forward toward his son, until his knee hit the coffee table. “All right, cards on the table, Julian. I forget how many days ago-the night after the FBI caught Hurley-I received a call from the young man you so much admire-from Leroy Poole-pleading Jefferson Hurley’s case for self-defense and begging me not to ban the Turnerites. I said I’d have to ban them. Do you know what he said?” He watched his suspicious son carefully now. “He said to me, ‘You indict the Turnerites for criminal subversion, and you indict your own son.’ He said ‘Julian is one of us, stealing information from the Crispus people, getting statistics about persecutions in places like Hattiesburg.’ To that effect. That’s what he said.”
Julian’s face was filled with wrath. “Leroy Poole?
“That and more. Yes, Julian. And I told him he was a rotten liar. He said, ‘Okay, ask Julian.’ ” He paused. “I’m here, Julian. I am asking you.”
“Asking me what? You mean you even listened one minute to that sonofabitchin’ smelly satchel-mouth? Him? He said all that?”
Dilman had never heard his son use such language before. Yet he was relieved by the boy’s indignation. “I’m quoting him almost exactly. I told you I did not believe him. I came here to make sure.”
Julian was on his feet, agitatedly wringing his hands. “That bastard, that dirty troublemaker.”
“Julian, I wouldn’t press this further, but obviously there’s a lot at stake for both of us. Were you ever, even for a day, for a minute, a secret member of that Turnerite Group? Just give me a simple yes or no, and that’s it.”
“No, I never was. I swear to it. Now are you happy?”
Dilman stood up. “I’m not happy. But I feel better. I’m glad you had the good sense for which I always gave you credit.”
“I never belonged,” said Julian shrilly, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t think they’re righter than you are.”
“I’m not interested, Julian. Thanks. Be well. I’ll see you soon in Washington.”
He tried to go to the door, but Julian blocked his way. “Dad, you can be President or whatever, but there’s a lot who put more faith in Jeff Hurley’s ideas than yours.”
“I told you I’m not interested.” He went around his son to the door.
“You’d better be, you’d just better be!” his son shouted.
He refused to be baited or engaged further. He had come here to ask his son for a plain answer. He had heard his son’s answer and it was satisfactory. That shone bright as a jewel on a dismal day. He would not allow this tiny gem of happiness to be tarnished so soon.
FOR RELEASE AT 8:00 P.M. EDT
Office of the White House Press Secretary
THE WHITE HOUSE
PRESIDENT DILMAN RETURNED FROM NEW YORK CITY AT 6:30 P.M. HE SPENT A HALF HOUR CONFERRING IN HIS OFFICE WITH ATTORNEY GENERAL KEMMLER AND SECRETARY OF HEALTH, EDUCATION AND WELFARE MRS. CUMMINS.
AT 7:15 P.M. THE PRESIDENT MET WITH THE REVEREND PAUL SPINGER AND DIRECTORS OF THE CRISPUS SOCIETY. FOLLOWING THE MEETING, THE PRESIDENT MADE AN IMPROMPTU STATEMENT TO THE PRESS.
PRESIDENT DILMAN: The unfortunate incident that took place on the campus of Trafford University this morning, after my announcement of the banning of the Turnerite Group, underlines the necessity…
“ ‘-for every American citizen to be alerted to the subversive dangers of extremism, from wherever it originates,’ President Dilman told the White House press corps gathered about him in the West Wing lobby earlier this evening. Showing no ill effects from the egg-throwing episode at Trafford, which is creating controversial headlines abroad, the President went on calmly to tell his listeners that he was taking further steps to align Negro moderates alongside-”
