were at least twenty ribbons on his chest.
“How did you make out?” he asked. He was smiling a little.
I shrugged. “OK, I guess.”
The major shook his head in wonderment. “They told me it’s been going on for years. How the hell did you guys do it?” He shook his head in admiration.
“I think it’s bullshit,” I said. “I never saw Frank take a dime off anybody. Just some guys pissed off about being recalled to active duty.”
“Yeah,” the major said. “But down at Fort Lee they’re cutting orders to fly about a hundred of those guys to New York to testify before a grand jury. That’s not bullshit.” He gazed at me smilingly for a moment. “What outfit were you in against the Germans?”
“Fourth Armored,” I said.
“You’ve got a Bronze Star on your record,” the major said. “Not much but something.” He had the Silver Star and Purple Heart among the ribbons on his chest.
“No, it wasn’t,” I said. “I evacuated French civilians under shellfire. I don’t think I ever killed a German.”
The major nodded. “Not much,” he agreed. “But it’s more than those kids ever did. So if I can help, let me know. OK?”
“Thanks,” I said.
And as I got up to go, the major said angrily almost to himself, “Those two bastards started to ask me questions, and I told them to go fuck themselves. They thought I might be in on that shit.” He shook his head. “OK,” he said, “just watch your ass.”
Being an amateur criminal really doesn’t pay. I started reacting to things like a murderer in a film showing the tortures of psychological guilt. Every time the doorbell to my apartment rang at an unusual time my heart really jumped. I thought it was the cops or the FBI. And of course, it was just one of the neighbors, one of Vallie’s friends, dropping by to chat or borrow something. At the office the FBI agents dropped by a couple of times a week, usually with some young guy that they were obviously identifying me to. I figured it was some reservist who had paid his way into the six months’ program. One time Hannon came in to chat, and I went downstairs to a luncheonette to get coffee and sandwiches for us and the major. As we sat around chatting, Hannon said to me in the nicest way imaginable, “You’re a good guy, Merlyn, I really hate the idea of sending you to jail. But you know, I’ve sent a lot of nice guys to jail. I always think what a shame. If they’d just helped themselves a little bit.”
The major leaned back in his chair to watch my reaction. I just shrugged and ate my sandwich. My attitude was that it was pointless to give any answer to such remarks. It would lead to a general discussion about the whole bribe business. In any general discussion I might say something that in some way could help the investigation. So I said nothing. I asked the major if I could have a couple of days off to help my wife with the Christmas shopping. There was not really that much work and we had a new civilian in the office to replace Frank Alcore and he could mind the store while I was out. The major said sure. Also, Hannon had been dumb. His remark about sending a lot of nice guys to jail was dumb. He was too young to have sent a lot of nice guys or bad guys to jail. I had him tabbed for a rookie, a nice rookie, but not the guy that was going to send me to jail. And if he did, I would be his first one.
We chatted a bit and Hannon left. The major was looking at me with a new respect. And then he said, “Even if they can’t pin anything on you, I suggest you look for a new job.”
Christmas was always a big thing with Vallie. She loved shopping for presents for her mother and father and the kids and me and her brothers and sisters. And this particular Christmas she had more money to spend than she had ever had before. The two boys had bicycles waiting for them in their closet. She had a great imported Irish wool buttoned sweater for her father and an equally expensive Irish lace shawl for her mother. I don’t know what she had for me. She always kept that a secret. And I had to keep my present a secret from her. My present for her had been no problem. I had bought, for cash, a small diamond ring, the first piece of real jewelry ~d ever given her. I’d never given her an engagement ring. In those long ago years neither one of us believed in that kind of bourgeois nonsense. After ten years she had changed, and I didn’t really give a damn one way or the other. I knew it would make her happy.
So on Christmas Eve the kids helped her decorate the tree while I did some work in the kitchen. Valerie still had no idea of the trouble I was in at my job. I wrote some pages on my novel and then went in to admire the tree. It was all silver with red and blue and golden bells gilded over with rough silvery braiding. On the top was a luminous star. Vallie never used electric lights. She hated them on a Christmas tree.
The kids were all excited, and it took us a long time to get them to bed and stay there. They kept sneaking out, and we didn’t dare get tough with them, not Christmas Eve. Finally they wore out and fell asleep. I gave them a final check. They had on their fresh pajamas for Santa Claus, and they had all been bathed and their hair brushed. They looked so beautiful that I couldn’t believe they were my kids, that they belonged to me. At that moment I really loved Value. I felt that I was really lucky.
I went back into the living room. Value was stacking gaily wrapped Christmas packages bright with Christmas seals beneath the tree. There seemed to be an enormous number of them. I went and got my package for her and put it under the tree.
“I couldn’t get you much,” I said slyly. “Only one little present.” I knew she would never suspect that she was getting a real diamond ring.
She smiled at me and gave me a kiss. She never cared really what she got for Christmas, she loved buying presents for others, for the kids especially and then for me and her family. Her father and mother and brothers and sisters. The kids got four or five presents. And there was one super-duper bicycle that I was sorry she had bought. It was a two-wheeled bike for my oldest son, and I was sorry because I would have to put it together. And I didn’t have the faintest idea how.
Vallie opened a bottle of wine and made some sandwiches. I opened the huge carton that held the different parts of the bicycle. I spread everything out over the living-room floor, plus three sheets of printed instructions and diagrams. I took one look and said, “I give up.”
“Don’t be silly,” Vallie said. She sat down cross-legged on the floor, sipping wine and studying the diagrams. Then she started to work. I was the idiot helper. I went and got the screwdriver and the wrench and held the necessary parts so that she could screw them together. It was nearly three o’clock in the morning before we finally got the damn thing whole. By that time we had finished the wine and we were nervous wrecks. And we knew the kids would spring out of bed as soon as they woke up. We’d get only about four hours’ sleep. And then we would have to drive to Vallie’s parents’ house for a long day of celebration and excitement.
“We’d better get to bed,” I said.
Vallie spread out on the floor. “I think I’ll just sleep here,” she said.
I lay down beside her, and then we both rolled over on our sides so that we could hug each other tight. We lay there blissfully tired and content. At that moment there was aloud knock on the door. Value got up quickly, a look of surprise on her face, and glanced at me questioningly.
In a fraction of a second my guilty mind built a whole scenario. It was, of course, the FBI. They had deliberately waited until Christmas Eve, until I was psychologically off guard. They were here with a search-and- arrest warrant. They would find the fifteen thousand dollars I had hidden in the house and take me away to jail. They would offer to let me spend Christmas with my wife and kids if I confessed. Otherwise I would be humiliated: Vallie would hate me for getting arrested on Christmas. The kids would cry, they would be traumatized forever.
I must have looked sick because Vallie said to me, “What’s wrong?” Again there was a loud knocking on the door. Vallie went out of the living room and down the hail to answer it. I could hear her talking to someone, and I went out to take my medicine. She was coming back down the hail and turning into the kitchen. In her arms were four bottles of milk.
“It was the milkman,” she said. “He delivered early so that he could get back to his family before his kids woke up. He saw the lights under our door, so he knocked to wish us a Merry Christmas. He’s a nice man.” She went into the kitchen.
I followed her in and sat weakly in one of the chairs. Vallie sat on my lap. “I’ll bet you thought it was some crazy neighbor or crook,” she said. “You always think the worst will happen.” She kissed me fondly. “Let’s go to
