Something Happened

'It's high, isn't it?'

'I don't, either. But I worry what would happen to me if I did have to know. They've cut my budget.'

'How much?'

'That's not your business yet.'

'Kagle said they were going to.'

'You're thick with Kagle.'

'It might help.'

'Thicker than with me?'

'He needs me more.'

'I don't need you at all.'

'You'd have to replace me, wouldn't you?'

'No. As far as the company is concerned, no one needs anyone. It goes on by itself. It doesn't need us. We need it.'

'Should I talk to Kagle?'

'Kagle's a damned fool. It doesn't help him to downgrade us. You'll get your raise, if I get mine.'

'I'll talk to him.'

'I'm not begging you to.'

'I'll cut the leg out from under him.'

'That isn't funny,' Green retorts.

'I know.'

My smirk feels alien and bizarre, as though someone else had smirked for me and stuck it on.

'You're supposed to be his friend.'

'It just came out,' I apologize in confusion. 'I didn't even know I was saying it. I'll go talk to him.'

'I haven't asked you to. I don't know why I even care. None of us are going anywhere far. Kagle limps. I'm Jewish. Nobody's sure what you are.'

'I'm nothing. My wife's a devoted Congregationalist.'

'Devotion isn't good enough. She'd have to be a celebrity or very rich. You've got a crippled child of some kind you don't talk about much, haven't you?'

'Brain damaged.'

'Serious?'

'Hopeless.'

'Don't be too sure. I've heard —»

'So have I.'

'I know a doctor —»

'I've seen him.'

'Why —»

'Cut it out, Jack. I mean it.'

'I've been wondering if you had limits,' Green replies. 'I just found out.' He looks sorry, reflective. Green has problems with his children, but none like Derek, which gives me an effective advantage over him I might want to use again. (The kid comes in handy after all, doesn't he?) 'You'll get your raise,' Green tells me finally, 'and I'll probably get mine. I might even let you make your speech this year.'

'I don't believe it.'

'You shouldn't.'

'I won't believe it until I do it.'

'It's part of my strategy. You wouldn't be able to handle this job if they decide to give me Kagle's. I could do better. Better than him. I might be able to make vice-president that way.'

'Kagle's not.'

'Kagle limps and has hair in his nose and ears. Nobody with a limp or a retarded child is ever going to be president.'

'Roosevelt limped.'

'I mean of the company. The company is more particular than the country. They cut my budget. That's what I'm sore about. And I don't trust you. I'll get it back. But I'll have to fight for it. I'll have to grovel. That's the way I have to fight, and that's the part I hate. That's the reason I wouldn't recommend you to replace me. You're not qualified. You can't grovel.'

'I grovel.'

'You grovel, but not gracefully. It's like your fawning.'

'I could learn how.'

'I know how. See Green, Green says. See Green grovel, Green jokes. That's the reason they cut my budget. They like the way I grovel. They cut it every year. Just to see me grovel.'

I will cut it even more, for I know how much of the expensive and truly urgent work we produce is not needed or used. I must remember to seem humble and unexcited and trustworthy. Green is right. Nothing any of us does affects matters much. (We can only affect each other.) It's a honeycomb; we drone. Directors die; they're replaced. I'll retire Ed Phelps. I must look innocent and act reserved. If I feel like kicking my heels, I must kick them in my study at home or in Red Parker's apartment in the city. I must stop using Red Parker's apartment. It shows. What will I do with Red Parker? He's younger than Ed Phelps. I must be nice to everybody. (I must act dumb.)

'What the hell are you so God-damned peppy about these days?' Johnny Brown demands, with one of his light, big-fisted pokes in the arm.

(It isn't difficult to imagine that fist in my face.)

'You,' I jolly him back. 'You're giving me call reports.'

'Have you checked them against the sales figures?'

'These are what count.'

'They're full of shit.'

'As long as they sound good.'

'Don't count on it,' Johnny Brown answers. 'There are better ways the salesmen could spend their time than making up lies like this. I'd know how to handle them. I'd make sure the bastards were out on sales calls all day long. I'd take the chairs out of their offices. They hate writing up these.'

'Arthur Baron wants them for Horace White and Lester Black.'

'Ask him why.'

'The computer breaks down and cries if it doesn't get good news.'

'You're a card.'

I grovel gracefully with Johnny Brown and get the call reports I want for Arthur Baron. I'll get a raise. (My wife and children will have more money.) What will happen to me if Arthur Baron has a stroke soon? (He is overweight and smokes cigarettes, and I don't know a damn thing about his blood pressure, blood lipids, or cholesterol count. I don't even know what blood lipids are, or what they're supposed to do.) Who would look after me if Arthur Baron died? (Who would get his job?) Horace White? I'd hate to have to rely on that stingerless wasp for protection while sleek, Semitic Green with envy was burrowing away at me from below with his quicker mind and brilliant vocabulary and Johnny Brown was bunching his fist to punch me in the jaw. I hope he doesn't. A punch in the jaw would just about ruin me: it would damage not only my face but my reputation for efficiency and authority. It would be much worse for me than kicking Kagle in the leg. I could, conceivably, kick Kagle in the leg and pretend it was a joke or do it when just the two of us were together in his office and not many people would have to know. But everyone in the company would know if Johnny Brown punched me in the jaw. (I wish I were the one who was strong and courageous and he was puny and craven. He makes me feel two feet shorter than I am, and sexually impotent.) How would top management feel about someone in middle management who'd been punched in the jaw and felt sexually impotent? Not good, I think. My wife would lose respect for me. I wouldn't want my children, my neighbors, or even Derek's nurse to find out. No one with a limp, a retarded child, or a punch in the jaw will ever be president of the company or of the world. If someone had punched Richard Nixon in the jaw, he would never have made it to President. Nobody wants a man who's been punched in the jaw. It's hard to put much faith in the intelligence of someone who's been punched in the jaw. It would do me no good if