I’ve paid my debt to society, she thought humorously, standing there. I’ve served my time ... It would be rather foolish to wipe it all out in a sudden peeve.
Lane suddenly put down his glass, and said, as if realising what her thoughts had been earlier: ‘After all, dear
1
- his voice was gentle - ‘we can’t go to bed until Susan is in, and safely in her room.’
Normally, that wouldn’t be true. But Estelle had to admit, now, that the awareness of Susan not being home had been there in the back of her mind, restraining her from being totally outraged by her husband’s behaviour. Tonight - she had to admit it
Susan, failing to find them up, would undoubtedly come bursting into the bedroom; and it would be unfortunate if they were in some compromising man-woman relation. Fact was, these jabbers were a little bit - just a little - naive. Not in some things, but they were not really up to the adult male-female business.
‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said. And her face showed that the concession, though grudgingly given, was real.
Lane gave her a quick glance; and he, now, was relieved. In
his eyes was an awareness that something of her ten-year anger had faded with that agreement. He said quickly, as if he felt the instant need to take advantage of what he must have decided was surrender: ‘Dear, why don’t you go to bed, and when I’ve had my little meeting with Susan, I’ll join you?
’
The woman hesitated. Then: ‘Your little meeting?’ she echoed. The prospect seemed to be wearying to her.
Lane said, anxious to please, ‘I’ll make it very gentle. First a nice reunion. The very light suggestion, next, that it’s wrong for a young lady to be out so late. And then the intimation that now that I’m home, she can withdraw from this gang.’ He spread his hands. ‘After all, she’s still only a teenager. It seems very simple to me.’
Estelle shook her head, and sighed. “The same, going-to-have- his-own-way, John Lane. Never a doubt in your mind that you have the answer to a problem you’ve never even taken the trouble to understand.’
Slowly, Lane walked back to where his glass rested. He picked it up, and he was visibly fighting a return of irritation. He took a long sip of the brown liquid, and evidently had control of himself again. “Now, see here, darling, I just have to tell you that you cannot protect Susan from having a talk with her father. So why don’t you go to bed?’
Estelle’s
m
ann
er
stiffened in a kind of surprised understanding. ‘Oh,’ she said, and her eyes lighted, ‘so that’s what you’ve missed in all that Mr Reid and I tried to say.’
‘Missed?’ Lane’s tone was puzzled.
‘Susan doesn’t need any protection from me,’ the woman said, simply.
Lane stared at her, puzzled.
‘
1 guess I
don't
get it. What are you talking about?’
The wife said, ‘The outfits will protect Susan.’
The husband’s determined face took on a strange, blank expression. Her words must have been totally incomprehensible, for he just stood there, blinking a little.
The wife continued, and her voice had an arguing quality in it as if she was trying to penetrate his fog. She said, ‘Don’t you see, honey? The outfits are established. No single person can resist them. Not you ... Not anyone.’
That reached the man. He was suddenly immensely astonished. He said, ‘You’ve been arguing with me for
my
protection?’ He spoke slowly.
A pause. Lane had put his glass down again, and on his face, now, was a look. It was as if the meaning of her words was tangling inside him with all of those steely, positive ideas by
which he conducted his life. The conflict, whatever its form, was brief. The firm lips tightened decisively. He said, grimly, ‘Now,
I know the situation is serious. I’ll... talk to Susan.’
Estelle sighed, ‘I must have said the wrong thing. Please . . , let me put it in simple words. Outfits are raising the children of Spaceport, and have been doing so for the past eight and a half years.’
Lane shook his head. He was impatient, but also smiling in a tolerant, superior fashion. ‘I began to get the picture. Some idiots have started another fad and the kids are living it up.’
The woman was also impatient, suddenly. ‘The idiots were those who went out into the universe, and left their children here to fend for themselves, and never gave them another thought.’ Lane said in an even tone, ‘I thought I left my daughter in a beautiful home, to be cared for by her mother and a daily school schedule that would keep her out of trouble.’
The woman’s color was high. ‘What you
thought,
and the reality, are not related. The school and the mother were not enough - get it! In fact
’
-she was calmer - ‘it is believed that the presence of some type fathers is probably as harmful to a child as his absence.’
‘My
type?’ Lane asked.
There was that in his tone which made her give him a sharp, searching look. And then she was suddenly griefy, and she said, ‘Don’t you hurt Susan.’
The surprise of that brought a halt to whatever hardness was building up in the man. He was taken aback. ‘Hurt my own daughter! Of course, I won’t hurt her. I love her very dearly. Her picture and yours were always on my desk on every ship I commanded.’
Silence, As if they had arrived at an impasse. The woman looked resigned, even a little tired - as if the unaccustomed argument had been too much for her. But it was she who finally spoke. ‘All right,’ she said. She turned way, and moved toward the bedroom.
‘ ’Night,’ Lane called after her.
She did not reply, did not turn. As the man watched,
‘
he disappeared into the hallway toward her bedroom. Lane now carried his drink to a table beside a chair. He had to adjust the light for his own way of sitting. But presently he was in the chair, and he picked up the newspaper that was there, and he began impatiently to read.
Time
went by. One section of the paper was discarded, and fell to the right side of the chair. More time. Lane pushed the paper aside, climbed to his feet, and deliberately walked over to the bar and in the same deliberate fashion made himself another drink. Then back to the chair. Another section of the newspaper struck the floor and lay there.
A lot of anger had built up. He let the paper drop, reached to his collar with both hands, and loosened it with a jerk. Down came the hands, picked up the paper from his lap, but instead of reading, he glanced at his watch. His jaw automatically tightened as he saw that it was eleven fifty-eight.
Abruptly, he tossed the rest of the paper to the floor, and holding the liquor glass tightly, as if it were an extension of his fist, brought it up to his mouth and forced a sip through his clenched mouth. It was as he set the glass down that he heard a sound.
Footsteps were coming up the walk outside. Lane stood up and went to the window beside the bar. It was the kind of plastic that could be adjusted to admit light in either direction, separately or together, and at the moment it was adjusted so that what light there was outside could come in. As Lane peered out, he heard muffled voices. A female soprano with a lot of youthfulness in it, and a husky male voice that was harder to evaluate in terms of age.
Now, he could see them on the front porch. There was a light over the door. A tall - five foot six - slender, blonde girl of unmistakable teen-age appearance and a strongly built boy of perhaps eighteen, also a blond, were standing with their arms around each other. It was not a close embrace: more like a dancing closeness.
The girl kissed the boy on the left cheek, and said softly,
f
’Night, Lee.’
The boy kissed the girl on the right cheek, and said tenderly, 'Good-night, sweet moocher.'
Whereupon,' he released her. He stepped closer to the house, out of Lane’s line of sight. There was a sound of a key in the lock. The click of it came to him from inside the house. So, a moment later, did the noise of the door itself opening. Lane stayed at the window. The boy stepped into view again. He
handed the girl what must have been the key. Whatever it was, she slipped it into her purse. Now, she disappeared from Lane’s view, and there was the sound of the front door closing. The boy turned, walked rapidly toward the street, let himself out of the gate, and went off to the right.
There were small sounds coming from the entrance hallway. Lane made his way across the den to the door that led to the hallway, which was broad here, almost as big as a small, longer- than-wide room. He stopped; and it was evident, then, that the carpet floor had muffled his approach. Because Susan was already in the hallway, and her back was to
him
.
A kitten lay asleep on the big chair, which stood just to the right of entrance hall doorway. She bent down, and gently picked it up, cuddling it in her arms. Still holding the kitten, she turned, saw Lane - and stopped, teetering. Then:
‘Dad!’ She came forward a little shyly, and, still holding the kitten, put one arm around his neck and shoulder, pressed against him, and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Oh, dad, you are back. At last.’
Something of the previous hour’s rigidity went out of Lane. Awkwardly, he put his arms around her, and was about to kiss her on the lips, when she turned her right cheek to him, and said, ‘The right cheek, dad. Boyfriends and parents kiss a girl’s right cheek. Other girls and younger kids kiss her left cheek. You might as well learn right now.’
Lane was taken by surprise. He completed his kiss, his lips involuntarily pressing her right cheek exactly on the spot that she held out for him. He would have stepped back and away, then, but she still had her arm around his neck, and her blue eyes were misty.
‘Oh, dad,’ she whispered, I’m so glad you’re back. I missed you.’
Lane was recovering. A lot of the anger was gone, and there was a touch of mist in his eyes, also. He spoke gruffly, ‘So am I, my dear. And this time it’s for good, I hope you’ll be glad to know. We’ll all three of us have a normal family life for a change.’
Susan, who had been maneuvering the kitten, balancing it, preventing it from falling by nuzzling it against his chest, brought her other arm down, and picked up the kitten in both hands. She held it up to his face. ‘Dad, meet Fuzzy.’ She pressed the little animal against his cheek. ‘She’ll be up on your lap a lot if you’re really going to be home, so you might
as
well get aquainted, and learn to love each other.
’
In order to deal with the kitten, Lane released Susan from his
embrace. With one palm he lifted the kitten out of her hands. With the other he caught Susan by the arm and drew her into the den.
‘I want to talk to you for a minute, Susan,’
Susan suppressed a yawn. ‘I want to talk to you for a thousand hours, dad. But not too much tonight. I can scarcely keep my scanners open.’
Lane’s expression hardened a little. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Here - sit down.’
He had brought her into a chair. She sank into it and accepted the kitten when he handed it to her. She stared up at him, face more serious, suddenly. Lane pulled a straight-backed chair over from the library table, and settled himself into it in front of her.
‘How old are you, Susan?’
‘Sixteen.’ There was a faraway look in her eyes. She said without looking at him. ‘It’s bad when a girl has to have the thoughts which have suddenly come into my mind,’
‘Eh?’
You’re not really going to be a booter, are you, dad?’
It was clear from the expression on Lane’s face that the conversation had taken an unexpected turn. But his eyes also showed that he was not a man who allowed any evasiveness to detour him from his set purposes. ‘Booter,’ he said in an even tone. ‘That sounds like one of those labels that somebody slips into another person’s mind — particularly an unwary young person’s - and as soon as it’s been sneaked in, thereafter, that person judges life by the label.’ He finished, ‘I mean, don’t judge me until I’ve said my say.’
Susan nodded. She looked relieved. ‘That’s fair,’ she said. ‘But I’d really rather wait until the dawn light. I can see I’m not up to thinking about what you’re going to say, because I feel confused already.’
‘I’ll make it brief,’ said Lane.
He thereupon explained to her what he had said earlier to his wife: his surprise and disappointment that on the evening of his return, his only daughter had gone out, and remained out until midnight.
‘I was with my outfit,’ said Susan. Her tone indicated that the explanation should take care of his concern. She went on, ‘If, you’re a booter that won’t mean anything, but if you’ll wait a fe
w
days and find out what all this means then it won’t bother you.’
‘We’ve already discussed the word booter,’ Lane replied. ‘It has a special significance which you have accepted and which I don’t accept. So why don’t we remove it from the conversation,
and go on from there.’
The faraway look was back in Susan’s eyes, which were also a little misty again. She said. ‘No matter what happens, dad, remember this jabber loves you as a father, and will never change that.’
'You’re still thinking with the label, I see -
‘
Lane began. And then he stopped. He sat there, with the expression on his face of a person who suddenly feels his first helplessness. He said finally, ‘Dear, we’re just going to have to get past these rote answers you’re giving me.’
Susan nodded. ‘That’s fair,’ she said.
‘
No father rote, no outfit rote. Sack?’
There was a pause. Lane sat, tapping one knee with the fingers of his right hand. His face muscles had tightened considerably, but there was still restraint.
He temporised. ‘I suppose,’ he said, ”sack” means is it all right, or is it okay. But what does jabber mean?’
‘A kid over fourteenth birthday and under nineteenth.’ Susan smiled suddenly, and her whole face showed an amazingly attractive personality shift. The smile had a magnetic brightness to it. Until she smiled, she was pretty. The smile made her a dazzling beauty. She said, still smiling, ‘Jabber® still jabber, dad. Let’s face it. A twenty-minute jab lasts two hours.'
Lane was not about to be diverted. 'What would father rote consist of?
’
‘What you just said,’ she said instantly, ‘about missing me when I wasn’t here. That’s an untruth, and you shouldn’t do untruths - ever.’
‘What’s the lie in it?’ Lane demanded in a dangerous tone. "We’re different generations, dad. We pass each other. We touch hands. You talk to me to find out if
all
is well, to make sure I’m not jumping the coop. Then I go somewhere and you go somewhere else. Togetherness would be boring to me and only
a
duty to you. You couldn’t say your real truths in my presence, and you can see that when I say mine in
your
presence, it just makes you mad, doesn’t it?’
There was a peculiar sound at that point from the hallway. Somebody stifling a cough, or something. Lane climbed stiffly to his feet as Estelle came in. T thought I heard voices,’ she said in an oddly muffled voice of her own. She seemed to be having some physical difficulty, for she stood visibly shaking a little, Lane went over to her in alarm.
‘What’s the matter?’ Her body coninued to shake. ‘May I get you a glass of water?’ She nodded mutely, and he hurried over to the bar. When he returned with the glass, Susan was disappearing
through the den door into the corridor.
‘ ’Night,’ she called over her shoulder.
Estelle had recovered remarkably during those few moments. But she accepted the glass, and took a sip, and then said, ‘I sort've waved Susan to go to bed,’ she announced. She drained the glass, and added, ‘I heard the last part of that conversation, and I thought you’d had enough inter-action with a jabber for one night.’
A strange tenseness had come into her husband’s face as he spoke. Abruptly, he clenched his hands and narrowed his eyes. ‘You were laughing at me. That was what gave you that shuddery look. You were trying to hold it in.’
Amazingly, the woman had to fight again. She started to quiver. Her face broke into a smile, and then she fought that down by compressing her lips. Finally, she managed to murmur, ‘Darling, forgive me, but I could see you were slightly overwhelmed.’ Lane was outraged. ‘That is absolutely untrue. I was trying to be fair.’
‘All right, all right.’ His wife nodded vigorously. ‘I agree. That’s what you were doing, and I’m glad.’ She gave him a long look. ‘They’re pretty pure, aren’t they - these outfitters?’ There was a struggle visible in the man’s strong, hard face after those words were spoken. He was obviously still furious, but another thought was gaining the upper hand. An I’d-better-bide- my-time thought. He actually took a step backwards, as if he were physically pulling away from a crisis. Nonetheless, when he spoke it was evident that there was no basic surrender.
He said in a level tone, ‘I can see that it’s not only the kids that have had ideas put into their heads. But, still, it is late. It’s been going on for some time. It won’t change tonight. So I’ll just let it pass for now.’
His wife gave him a searching look. “There’s something about your tone of voice, and the set of your jaw that suggests you’re having those old secret reservations. And I have a feeling I’m not going to like what you’re scheming right now, when I finally find out what it is, but
’
- she shrugged - ‘one of the things I came out to tell you is that I’m getting sleepy.’ She shook her head and stared up at him, seductively. You wouldn’t want to come in bed and find me sound asleep, would you?’
Abruptly, the hard muscles in the man’s face relaxed. He smiled, and grabbed her. ‘My same old darling,’ he said, and hugged her.
From somewhere in the region of his neck his wife said in a muffled voice, ‘Ten years older. And every minute of it hurts inside me in
a
way that you’re going to have to make right. So,
don’t waste any time starting in.
’
Lane continued to hold her. ‘Listen!’ he said,
‘
yau go back to bed. And I’ll be there in about one
min
ute and thirty-three scconds.’
'What are you going to do?’ she asked, as she drew away from him,
‘Clean up.’ He indicated the newspaper on the floor, and the bottles on the bar.
Til clear that away in the morning,’ Estelle said. But she was already heading for the door to the hallway.
‘You know I don’t like to leave a mess,’ said her husband.
‘Same old John Lane,’ his wife said as she disappeared through the door and off into the darkness beyond.
Lane was brisk now. He picked up the sections of paper, folded them carefully but quickly, and laid them on the library table. Next, he put the bottles that were on the bar into the cabinet, out of sight. From somewhere a cloth appeared in his hand. He wiped off the bar top. The cloth vanished into a receptacle behind the bar.
The job done, he walked to the door, and stood there, finger on the light switch, taking a last survey of the room. His expression showed that he saw nothing that needed to be done. He pressed the switch, and then for a moment there were vague sounds of him walking down the hall. Pause. A door shut with a click.
Silence.
On another street in a poorer district, the invisible viewer waited before a single story white house: the Jaeger home. It had previously been the house of the couple with whom Bud lived. And so, when Bud and the large boy, Albert, arrived at the gate, the unseen watcher did not explore the environs of the place. It remained just outside the gate, and observed them enter and
go
up to the door.
Bud held back. Whereupon, Albert stepped past him, tried the knob, and found it locked. Without hesitation, he thereupon pressed the doorbell button. A faint h
illing
sound came from inside the house.
A long pause. Finally, the door opened, and
a
thin woman in
a
nightdress with a pale blue robe loosely fastened over it, stood on the threshold. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘It’s you, Bud.’
“Yes, uh, mom,’ said Bud.
To the watcher at the gate, the woman’s voice had implied that she expected someone else.
The woman had thin brown hair. Her face was middle thirties, but lined; and both it and her body expressed sadness and resignation. She spoke again. “Your dad is still out on the town.
You’d better get in here, and into bed, before he discovers how late you’ve been out’
For just a moment, Bud hesitated. During that moment, he communicated with the unseen watcher:
I have to admit I am greatly relieved, my father. But Mr Jaeger's absence tonight only postpones the time when he finds out that 1 am now a member of an outfit.
To the father, the entire existence of such groups for teenagers was an unfortunate event. But he had a more urgent awareness at the moment. He t
e
lepathed:
Hurry! Get inside! I sense someone is coming.
Bud scurried awkwardly past the woman. She retreated into the house, and closed the door. Albert turned and walked to the gate, opened it, stepped onto the sidewalk beyond, and then turned and closed the gate. Standing there, he must have become aware of the distant figure that had just rounded the comer, The big boy’s whole manner spelled out his recognition that the approaching man was Bud Jaeger’s father. He was noticably torn between two feelings: Leave, or wait and see what happened.