it. How is it going to look for a minister of the Gospel to admit that he’s been no better than a peeping Tom? You’re going to degrade yourself. You may even destroy yourself.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t think so, Father Benbow. If you recall, it was a fellow minister who turned in Jimmy Swaggart, and he suffered no ill for it. But that isn’t part of my plan. You see, I have numerous friends in the fourth estate. There are ways of leaking information. Why, Father, I wouldn’t even be involved. Somebody else. And, far from destroying myself, I know for a certainty that the news media will be grateful. Indeed-grateful.”
David felt a strong urge to pitch Krieg off the balcony. The impulse was brief. Later, on reliving the scene, Benbow had to admit to himself that the real reason he hadn’t done it was that the fall probably wouldn’t have killed the bastard. David was deeply ashamed to realize that the very moral consideration of murder had had nothing to do with his holding back.
At this point, at least all the cards were on the table. David now knew clearly what the stakes were. And Krieg seemed to hold all the aces. Yet David was not quite ready to throw in his hand.
But first he had to buy some time.
Benbow did his best to introduce a tone of surrender, submission, entreaty to his voice, as he stated that this could, indeed, be an unrefusable offer, but that these revelations had come unexpectedly, that he’d need time to consider all the ramifications of signing with P.G.
Krieg countered that Benbow had had plenty of time-years-to weigh every possible consequence. This was decision time.
Benbow, affecting to try to be as reasonable as possible, acknowledged that Krieg was, of course, free to act now, spread the slander, and ruin Benbow’s careers, marriage, life. But, he said, it was clear Krieg had not gone to all that trouble and expense for the purpose of defamation of character, but rather as a most impressive bargaining chip, in order to force Benbow’s signing with P.G. Since Krieg had already waited years, as he himself had admitted, what was so difficult about giving him just a little more time? After all, Krieg wanted Benbow’s signature on a contract, not his head on a pike. The head was destined for hanging only if the signature was not forthcoming.
With some reluctance, yet with the acknowledgment that basically Benbow’s point was well taken, Krieg agreed to wait a bit longer. But, he warned, his patience had worn thin; an affirmative response had better damn well be forthcoming, or. .
Finally, in a pretense of some sort of conciliation, Krieg assured that the destruction of David’s reputation was the furthest thing from his intention. So there need be no fear of a premature revelation. On the other hand, David must know the consequences of an ultimate rejection of the contract. There could and should be no doubt that Krieg was ready and able to make public David’s secrets. To reckon otherwise would be to risk certain destruction.
The Reverend Father David Benbow returned to his rectory a sober and worried man. Martha detected the mood but could not pierce the curtain David had drawn about himself.
Martha was not the only one puzzled by David’s uncharacteristic transformation. Pamela had never seen her lover in such an unremittingly dark frame of mind. It affected their total relationship. They barely spoke, and on those occasions when they did, he would become lost in thought at any point in a conversation. She took special pains with dinners; he scarcely touched them.
And, as a unique event, he had become impotent, at least with respect to her. She had no means of knowing he remained sexually active with his wife.
Pamela was convinced by the evidence that overwhelmed her that her affair with David Benbow was over, presently and permanently. She scarcely paid attention to the words David used to tell her.
He knew what was wrong, of course. Krieg’s threat was so imminent and far-reaching that it exacerbated Benbow’s guilt. If it were not for his affair with Pamela, Krieg would have nothing, no hold on him whatever.
There was no way of eradicating the affair retroactively. No way, in the face of all Krieg’s evidence, that David could claim that it had never happened. It got so that every time he was in the presence of, or saw, Pamela his fatal folly was brought home to him ever more forcefully. She became the personification of his downfall. Not that he thought for a moment that the entire mess was Pam’s fault. No, the fault lay in David’s groin. But he could not amputate any of his organs. His sole recourse for any measure of personal peace was to end the affair and see Pam no more.
He did not take too kindly the fact that, after their breakup, she took up with several young men of promise, according to all reports. She seemed to be having a marvelous time while he wavered between helpless hatred for Krieg and the no-win situation of his dilemma. Should he sign and risk his career or refuse and risk his career? And what of his soul?
Like Professor Henry Higgins, he was indignant that his erstwhile protege was using the devices and maneuvers he’d taught her. Under his guidance she had grown from being an ugly duckling with a distracting and disconcerting nervous tic to become a Carmen-like seductress. In quick order, Pam narrowed the field, singling out a promising bank executive several years her junior. After a brief engagement, they were married-not by the Reverend David Benbow.
Her marriage threw David into an even deeper funk. It was as if his love affair had not only been pronounced dead; it had been entombed.
And for all of this he had Klaus Krieg to thank-overlooking, for the moment, his own culpability for initiating the affair with Pam. For a while, David had been so obsessed with Pam and her happiness in the face of his misery that he had virtually lost sight of Krieg’s ultimatum.
With Pam’s marriage and the ultimate end of their relationship, David recalled with horror that there was some sort of time limit to the ultimatum. Although he hadn’t set any specific date, Krieg had made it clear that David was running out of time.
However, with no recent contact from Krieg, David decided to let bad enough alone. Unless he were blessed by some unforeseen circumstance that would free him from Krieg’s clutches, Benbow would have to sign. It would take no more than a moment or two to sign the stupid contract. So why not wait until there was utterly no more room for maneuvering? Meanwhile, who could tell; something might happen.
Then the invitation arrived. In effect, it was a command performance from Krieg to attend a writers’ workshop at Marygrove College in Detroit.
The invitation was innocent enough. Not unlike many another invitation he’d received, as had other published authors. The difference was the small paragraph explaining the role of Krieg in this conference. It would be meaningless except to someone obligated to Krieg.
David knew. It was time. Unless. .
David’s attention focused on the other three proposed faculty members. He had heard of them. Two of them were first-time authors, but all had garnered good notices.
David studied their names. He had no way of knowing. But, supposing. . just supposing they were in the same or a similar boat as he. It was not inconceivable. Supposing all, or one or another, were being sought by Krieg for his stable. Supposing there was a kindred soul in that group. Could something be worked out? What? Strength in numbers? Together might they not be able to effect the “miracle” that would eliminate Krieg as their tormentor?
Contact with them would have to be discreetly handled.
He couldn’t write or call any of them now. Not without betraying his humiliating situation. Contact would have to be made in person-and even then only circumspectly.
He would have to wait until they had assembled at the college. He would consider it indicative if all the invited accepted. Difficult to think that all would have schedules that permitted attendance at the same workshop. If every one of them accepted and was present, that would indicate the possibility that they were united in a reluctant bond to Klaus Krieg.
Sound them out as judiciously as possible. Who could tell what might transpire? Maybe, just maybe, this dilemma might find a satisfactory conclusion. Maybe God would not have to intervene. Maybe they could do it themselves. Praise God!
18
