The Last Supper: And Other Stories Read Free Page B

represent Fifth Amendment Communists. Either we serve a client or we don’t, and you can’t serve a Fifth Amendment Communist. The second alternative would be to lie, and then you take your chances with a five-year perjury rap—again with other lawyers. We don’t advise our clients to commit perjury.”
    Suddenly, his voice changed; it became soft and warm and ingratiating. “Now isn’t that a hell of a note, for me to talk to you like that, Harvey. The thing for us to do is to get down to cases and work our way out of this—and come out clean and proper. I’m your attorney, you understand? We’re in a crisis now, and we have no secrets from each other. Suppose we get down to cases. Were you ever a member of the Communist Party?”
    â€œCan he understand?” Crane asked himself. “Can anyone understand? There’s no use getting sore at Jack Henderson. I should be proud and pleased that I have someone like Jack Henderson to stand by me. But how can he understand? Did he ever reel a knot of hunger in his belly? Did he ever know what it means to go for a week with never more than ten cents in your pocket? Did he ever stand on a soup line?” Such thoughts filled him with self-pity, which restored some of the pleasant state of ennoblement he had felt after talking to Jane. Once again, he felt a part of a certain elect, a man of unique sensitivity and experience, apart from other men.
    He sensed that he was being seared now by deep and angry flames, and out of the chaotic flow of his thoughts, there emerged vague currents of creativity, a sense of wonderful things he would write in the future, the drama of hurt and inner suffering, not the, bald, vulgar pain of people who were poor, hungry and cold, but the deeper travail of those who struggled with their own souls and emerged in a victory composed of meekness and humility. And so he said to the lawyer, his voice low and compassionate,
    â€œJack, I’m not here only as a client, but also as a friend. If I seem headstrong, it’s due to a lack of knowledge. Then it’s up to you to put me straight.”
    â€œI’m glad to hear you say that, Harvey. I’m damn glad to hear you say that. Now suppose we talk.”
    Crane talked. He told how he had joined the Communist Party in 1934, of his poverty, his heartsickness and despair—of how suddenly he found friends, comrades, warmth, of how he became a part of a little group of actors and writers who were working for and dreaming of a new kind of theatre——
    â€œIn other words they used you as a dupe for their ends,” Henderson said understandingly. “How long did you remain a member?”
    â€œUntil September of 1935. That was when my first play was produced on Broadway—the first bit of success I ever had. It brought me to my senses, I suppose.”
    â€œAll right—now the thing is this, Harvey. When you were a member of the party, you met with a group. We have to have a list of the people in that group, and when the time comes, you have to be prepared to name them.”
    â€œName them?”
    â€œThat’s right, Harvey.”
    Crane’s face fell. “The truth is, Jack—and you’ve got to believe me—the truth is I don’t remember but one of them. There were only seven or eight in that group, and it is almost twenty years—and I can’t for the life of me recall their names——”
    Henderson’s face hardened. “You said you were leveling with me, Harvey. Do you mean to tell me that you met with a group of people for over a year, and you don’t remember their names?”
    â€œJack, look, I told you I’m talking to you as a friend, and I am. These people were Communists—and none of them except the one I remember are important people today. They were just names, and they faded away. Of course, there were others in the theatre group who are people of some