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.He only smiled and I had such a feeling for that guy I had to curse him all over again.We let the wind push us into the shore.It was all deer-tracked.It wasn’t lake bottom and it wasn’t earth.It was something in between.We went up to that farmhouse and I made up my mind I was telling him in there.But that damn house was too empty.It smelled empty.Not a stick of furniture left.I couldn’t say a thing.We went back to the boat and I was so worked up I had the crazy idea Art was sitting in it watching.That did it.I told him how Art wanted me to go fishing with him.“It’s part of my job being your pal, Jim,” I said, “Art wants one big happy family.” He listened and he said I shouldn’t let it worry me.He said, “I think it’s a good thing you’re in Washington.” — “Yeh,” I said, “I’ll be a good influence on Art Kincell.” He laughed and said that wasn’t as impossible as I thought.The wind was all labor, he said.And Art had always traveled with the wind.He said, “Billy, we need every good union man we can get in Washington.” That was too much for me.I asked him what would he think of a guy who’d paid out good USTW money to a strikebreaking agency.He said he’d have to know more details before knowing what to think.I told him all about the Albrand strike in Duluth and Harry Holmgren’s strategy and the deal we made with the finks.He only shook his head.“It’s the old story,” he said.I asked him what he meant and he said, “The old story of the means and the end.Harry figures he has to win by hook or crook.” — “Would you have done it, Jim?” I asked him and he said, “No.” He said he was the kind of fool who believed the means had to match the end.For God’s sake, I see now why I’ve gone into all this God damn detail about that fishing trip.It’s the same thing.The same thing as that hunting trip.The same God damn thing.Means and end.He wouldn’t take a million-dollar southern campaign because it was wrapped up with Art Kincell.But okay to be a friendly witness.To work with labor-haters and headline-hunters.Aw, why should I knock him.Who am I to knock him? Who’s perfect? Nobody, not even a Jim Tooker.Poor Jim, he should’ve gone along with Art.Poor Jim, he paid with his life.That trip, that fishing trip.With the birds screeching and feeding on the fish in that dying lake.Even when we returned the oars, you could still feel it.The loneliness of it, the deserted farmhouse with the chopped-down apple trees.That was a day for opening my heart.I told him about Annabelle.The first time I’d ever mentioned her to anybody.I had to tell him.All that loneliness and darkness got me down.There’s only one life we’ve got and too many kinds of dying.Turn that recorder off.I’ve said enough.Stop.Turn it back on.I’ll have a drink.The hell with what’s past.Billy, why don’t you give me something on Annabelle? What was her second name?Annabelle in the past.That’s her second name.Get me?All right, all right.Do you want to talk about that southern campaign after the war?That’s dead stuff.How about the war? Got to have something about my war record.There was a war, remember? I was over-age but they took me.I wasn’t married.I was in it.Australia, New Guinea, the Philippines.Buck private, private first class, corporal, sergeant.But I don’t want no crap about being a war hero.I was never in battle except the battle for pom-pom in Manila and in case you don’t know what pom-pom is, go outside this office and look at that secretary of yours.Rear view.Billy, you seem irritated with me today.You know why? You know too much about me and you want to know more.Everything.If I was a Roman Catholic, you’d be my confessor.I’m your public relations confessor, Billy.Do you remember our first conversation? You said you didn’t want a sugar-coated job.You said you wanted the truth about your life and career.It’s the only sound approach for our eventual goals.Certainly, an autobiography and a series of articles in a magazine of national circulation.Perhaps a TV series, too.Okay, okay, I’m with you.The straight truth it is but I’ll have to go over all this stuff or it’ll hang me.After the war —Some details, please.I gave you the detail.The battle for pom-pom.The other battle I was in was the battle of the black market.This was 1946 when a pack of American butts was selling for two bucks.You don’t want that stuff, do you?Yes, for my own information.We’ll have to have a chapter on your war record, remember.Okay, what I did in the Army was run a sawmill.I ran a sawmill in Manila.A city where half the people were living like rats in refugee huts.Scavenging old burned boards and pieces of tin to build themselves a place to sleep.That sawmill was a gold mine.What I did was supply a bunch of Filipino lumber dealers with lumber.I had a second looey on my tail out on Cavite.That’s where the sawmill was.But he liked the mestizas.No cheap pom-pom for him.My dealers supplied the mestizas.We did a swell business.Cut three days for the army, four days for the black market [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]