cheat me out of the property. It doesn’t
belong
to us, you see. We’ve got to give it back. We’ve got to set things right, between us and the land, between us and other people.
“Father said that was nonsense, that he’d bought the land perfectly honestly. In fact, he thought that my ideas were crazy. They all did, even Mildred. We had a big scene about it that last night. It was terrible, with Jerry and Zinnie trying to turn him against me, and Mildred in the middle, trying to make peace. Poor Mildred, she was always in the middle. And I guess she was right, I
wasn’t
making too much sense. If I had been, I’d have realized that Father was a sick man. Whether I was right or wrong—and of course I
was
right—Father couldn’t stand that kind of a family ruction.”
I turned off the highway to the right, onto a road whichcurved back through an underpass, across flat fields, past a giant hedge of eucalyptus trees. The trees looked ancient and sorrowful; the fields were empty.
chapter
4
C ARL sat tense and quiet in the seat beside me. After a while he said:
“Did you know that words can kill, Mr. Archer? You can kill an old man by arguing with him. I did it to my father. At least,” he added on a different note, “I’ve thought for the last six months that I was responsible. Father died in his bath that night. When Dr. Grantland examined him, he said he’d had a heart attack, brought on by overexcitement. I blamed myself for his death. Jerry and Zinnie blamed me, too. Is it any wonder I blew my top? I thought I was a parricide.
“But now I don’t know,” he said. “When I found out about Dr. Grantland, it started me thinking back all over again. Why should I go by the word of a man like that? He hasn’t even the right to call himself a doctor. It’s the strain of not knowing that I can’t stand. You see, if Father died of a heart attack, then I’m responsible.”
“Not necessarily. Old men die every day.”
“Don’t try to confuse me,” he said peremptorily. “I can see the issue quite clearly. If Father died of a heart attack, I killed him with my words, and I’m a murderer. But if he died of something else, then someone else is the murderer. And Dr. Grantland is covering up for them.”
I was pretty certain by now that I was listening to paranoid delusions. I handled them with kid gloves:
“That doesn’t sound too likely, Carl. Why don’t you give it a rest for now? Think about something else.”
“I can’t!” he cried. “You’ve got to help me get at the truth. You promised to help me.”
“I will—” I started to say.
Carl grabbed my right elbow. The car veered onto the shoulder, churning gravel. I braked, wrestling the wheel and Carl’s clutching hands. The car came to a stop at a tilt, one side in the shallow ditch. I shook him off.
“That was a smart thing to do.”
He was careless or unaware of what had happened. “You’ve got to believe me,” he said. “Somebody’s got to believe me.”
“You don’t believe yourself. You’ve told me two stories already. How many others are there?”
“You’re calling me a liar.”
“No. But your thinking needs some shaking out. You’re the only one who can do that. And the hospital is the place to do it in.”
The buildings of the great hospital were visible ahead, in the gap between two hills. We noticed them at the same time. Carl said:
“No. I’m not going back there. You promised to help me, but you don’t intend to. You’re just like all the others. So I’ll have to do it myself.”
“Do what?”
“Find out the truth. Find out who killed my father, and bring him to justice.”
I said as gently as possible: “You’re talking a little wild, kid. Now you keep your half of the bargain, and I’ll keep mine. You go back in and get well, I’ll see what I can find out.”
“You’re only trying to humor me. You don’t intend to do anything.”
“Don’t I?”
He was silent. By way of
belong
to us, you see. We’ve got to give it back. We’ve got to set things right, between us and the land, between us and other people.
“Father said that was nonsense, that he’d bought the land perfectly honestly. In fact, he thought that my ideas were crazy. They all did, even Mildred. We had a big scene about it that last night. It was terrible, with Jerry and Zinnie trying to turn him against me, and Mildred in the middle, trying to make peace. Poor Mildred, she was always in the middle. And I guess she was right, I
wasn’t
making too much sense. If I had been, I’d have realized that Father was a sick man. Whether I was right or wrong—and of course I
was
right—Father couldn’t stand that kind of a family ruction.”
I turned off the highway to the right, onto a road whichcurved back through an underpass, across flat fields, past a giant hedge of eucalyptus trees. The trees looked ancient and sorrowful; the fields were empty.
chapter
4
C ARL sat tense and quiet in the seat beside me. After a while he said:
“Did you know that words can kill, Mr. Archer? You can kill an old man by arguing with him. I did it to my father. At least,” he added on a different note, “I’ve thought for the last six months that I was responsible. Father died in his bath that night. When Dr. Grantland examined him, he said he’d had a heart attack, brought on by overexcitement. I blamed myself for his death. Jerry and Zinnie blamed me, too. Is it any wonder I blew my top? I thought I was a parricide.
“But now I don’t know,” he said. “When I found out about Dr. Grantland, it started me thinking back all over again. Why should I go by the word of a man like that? He hasn’t even the right to call himself a doctor. It’s the strain of not knowing that I can’t stand. You see, if Father died of a heart attack, then I’m responsible.”
“Not necessarily. Old men die every day.”
“Don’t try to confuse me,” he said peremptorily. “I can see the issue quite clearly. If Father died of a heart attack, I killed him with my words, and I’m a murderer. But if he died of something else, then someone else is the murderer. And Dr. Grantland is covering up for them.”
I was pretty certain by now that I was listening to paranoid delusions. I handled them with kid gloves:
“That doesn’t sound too likely, Carl. Why don’t you give it a rest for now? Think about something else.”
“I can’t!” he cried. “You’ve got to help me get at the truth. You promised to help me.”
“I will—” I started to say.
Carl grabbed my right elbow. The car veered onto the shoulder, churning gravel. I braked, wrestling the wheel and Carl’s clutching hands. The car came to a stop at a tilt, one side in the shallow ditch. I shook him off.
“That was a smart thing to do.”
He was careless or unaware of what had happened. “You’ve got to believe me,” he said. “Somebody’s got to believe me.”
“You don’t believe yourself. You’ve told me two stories already. How many others are there?”
“You’re calling me a liar.”
“No. But your thinking needs some shaking out. You’re the only one who can do that. And the hospital is the place to do it in.”
The buildings of the great hospital were visible ahead, in the gap between two hills. We noticed them at the same time. Carl said:
“No. I’m not going back there. You promised to help me, but you don’t intend to. You’re just like all the others. So I’ll have to do it myself.”
“Do what?”
“Find out the truth. Find out who killed my father, and bring him to justice.”
I said as gently as possible: “You’re talking a little wild, kid. Now you keep your half of the bargain, and I’ll keep mine. You go back in and get well, I’ll see what I can find out.”
“You’re only trying to humor me. You don’t intend to do anything.”
“Don’t I?”
He was silent. By way of
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