(1982) The Almighty Read Free Page B

know who he was.’
    ‘When he died, a great crowd turned up for the funeral. Observing the crowd, someone said, “Just give people what they want, and they’ll show up.” I guess that’s it.’
    ‘That’s it,’ said Armstead.
    ‘So you saw that he was dead.’
    ‘He was dead as a doornail. I’m sure of that.’
    ‘And still you don’t feel free?’
    ‘How can I? He won’t let go. You should have heard what he put in his will, the bastard.’
    ‘Okay, Edward, what did he put in his will that’s upset you so much?’
    ‘He left me everything, except what I wanted.’
    ‘Tell me.’
    Armstead launched into a recital of his visit to Horace Liddington, the contents of the will and the conditional clause about the New York Record. When he finished he was almost asthmatic with anger. He stared at Dr. Scharf, waiting for his reaction.
    ‘You’re a rich man,’ said Dr. Scharf. ‘He made you a rich man. It could have been worse. He could have left it all to the Salvation Army.’
    ‘Come on, Carl, you know what this is all about.’
    ‘Of course I know,’ said Dr. Scharf mildly. Tmjust trying to give you some objectivity about your situation.’
    ‘He always looked down on me, he never respected me,’ said Armstead. ‘Never once did he show confidence in me.’
    ‘It’s hard for big men, self-made men who have everything, to consider their puny sons as their equals, and to trust them.’
    ‘I don’t want to keep repeating myself,’ said Armstead, ‘but this last will of his caps it off. He couldn’t resist, even after he was in the ground, letting me know how he felt. I wanted to be a journalist, a publisher, right from the start, just like he was. He could never find a place for me. When I was a kid, he gave me a menial job on the Record when it was the leading paper, and I was proud and happy and loved it. But instead of moving me up, he moved me away. Shipped me off to his San
    Francisco tabloid. Then to that rag he had in Denver. Then to Chicago, which was better. Just when I thought I’d got going, he brought me back here to New York. Did he give me a position of responsibility? No. He trusted others. Me he made Special Projects officer. What was that? I never did find out. Whenever I came up with a new idea - and in recent years the Record needed new ideas - he would ignore it. When I protested to him - you know, I did stand up and protest to him-‘
    Dr. Scharf nodded. ‘Yes, you did.’
    ‘It got me nowhere. He always exiled me to secondary jobs. He forever had me learning the business - that’s what he’d tell me when I protested: You’ve got to learn the business, Edward, he’d say - but Jesus, here I am fifty-six years old and he still had me learning the business. When he died, I was never more excited or happy. At last I’d have the paper. At last I could show the world. Then, an hour ago, I heard his will, and the provision that unless I could improve the paper he’d destroyed through neglect - unless I could do the impossible -I couldn’t keep the paper. It would be sold off. It would be gone. That was his good-bye message to me.’
    Dr. Scharf tried to speak, but Armstead would not let him. The venom in him was running over. He could not stop spilling out his poisoned past. He remembered how well he had started doing on the Chicago paper, and just when he was getting his identity, his father had recalled him to New York. He had been certain that this was a promotion and a reward, that his father had finally recognized his worth, but instead his father had refused him advancement, had relegated him to a back room with a couple of assistants, and had made believe he didn’t exist.
    ‘That’s when I came to you, Carl. I was desperate. I needed help.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘He had real contempt for me, you know.’
    ‘Well -‘
    ‘He did. Everybody saw how he treated me, and they treated me with the same contempt. On every one of his papers, his editors treated me like a fool, a