Read Online Power, The by Frank M. Robinson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Frank M. Robinson
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disappeared into the raw gash of the earth.
Tanner watched it with a morbid fascination, then glanced at the small crowd gathered on the other side of the grave. There was Petey, in a long, black dress and a heavy veil, leaning on Marge’s arm. Karl Grossman, fat and thoughtful and neatly dressed for once. Harold Van Zandt and Susan and Eddy DeFalco. Professor Scott, wrapped in a muffler and a greatcoat and looking almost ready for the last rites himself. And Commander Nordlund, with an appropriately sorrowful expression on his face that was probably more because of a missed golf game than Olson’s death. Harry Connell and a few other faculty members.
None of Olson’s relatives, outside of Petey, were present.
The priest walked over and said something to Petey and they started for the line of cars on the road a few hundred feet away. The others followed, Tanner with them. Behind him he could hear the soft sound of shovels biting into the dirt.
There had been nine of them at the meeting on Saturday morning, he thought. And that had included one very frightened personality-cripple who had tried to convince the rest of them that the human race was living on borrowed time. Now there were only eight and that was counting another very frightened soul who was slated for elimination.
Himself.
The others hadn’t had much to say to him but he detected an uneasiness about them, a suspicion of each other. They had seemed unnaturally quiet and withdrawn.
He caught up with DeFalco.
“Ed, I want to talk to you a minute.”
DeFalco stopped and took a cigarette out of an ornate case and tapped it against the back of his hand. He didn’t meet Tanner’s eyes.
“Something wrong?”
“Has Connell been saying anything?”
DeFalco lit up and fanned out a stream of smoke from his nostrils, smoke that was shredded by the cold wind. “Sure he has. You knew he would.”
“Do you believe it?”
“No.”
Tanner’s voice shook. “I can’t disprove it. For the same reason that I can’t prove I have a bank account here or that I had a dental appointment yesterday afternoon or that every firm I’ve dealt with in the city no longer carries me on their books. Ed, I’m being isolated!”
DeFalco’s face went perfectly blank. “What do you want me to do about it?” Tanner stared at him. DeFalco’s face was cold and emotionless, the heavy black hair glistening in the dampness, strands of it moving slightly in the wind. A tense, powerful, handsome face—with the eyes of a man who was almost scared to death. “Sure, I believe you, Bill. Somebody’s pulled your records. But how can I help?” He thumbed towards the hill behind them from which came the steady sounds of falling dirt. His voice was jerky. “Olson was curious, he knew too much. And look what the payoff was for him. I don’t believe that a man just sits down and dies. Something got him. And something’s after you. I don’t want to be included in.”
He dropped the butt on the ground and heeled it into the soft earth. His face was distorted in the half-light of the cold, cloudy morning, crawling with the vague shadows of the trees that flickered over it.
“I like this life. I even like it when it’s cold and damp and when it rains. I want to live to be a very old man and sit before a fire and warm my feet and read the books in my library. I may hate your friend’s guts but I don’t want to fight him. I know I couldn’t win.” He stared off into the shadowed paths. “I wish you a lot of luck, Bill. I wish I had more guts but I don’t. And I don’t want to kid either you or me.”
“You’ve changed a lot since Sunday night, haven’t you?”
Something flared briefly in the dark eyes. “So I was sounding off. I was talking to hear myself talk. People do it all the time.” He paused and took a deep breath, like a diver does before hitting the water. “I don’t want to know too much about Olson. I don’t want to know too much about you. I don’t
Tanner watched it with a morbid fascination, then glanced at the small crowd gathered on the other side of the grave. There was Petey, in a long, black dress and a heavy veil, leaning on Marge’s arm. Karl Grossman, fat and thoughtful and neatly dressed for once. Harold Van Zandt and Susan and Eddy DeFalco. Professor Scott, wrapped in a muffler and a greatcoat and looking almost ready for the last rites himself. And Commander Nordlund, with an appropriately sorrowful expression on his face that was probably more because of a missed golf game than Olson’s death. Harry Connell and a few other faculty members.
None of Olson’s relatives, outside of Petey, were present.
The priest walked over and said something to Petey and they started for the line of cars on the road a few hundred feet away. The others followed, Tanner with them. Behind him he could hear the soft sound of shovels biting into the dirt.
There had been nine of them at the meeting on Saturday morning, he thought. And that had included one very frightened personality-cripple who had tried to convince the rest of them that the human race was living on borrowed time. Now there were only eight and that was counting another very frightened soul who was slated for elimination.
Himself.
The others hadn’t had much to say to him but he detected an uneasiness about them, a suspicion of each other. They had seemed unnaturally quiet and withdrawn.
He caught up with DeFalco.
“Ed, I want to talk to you a minute.”
DeFalco stopped and took a cigarette out of an ornate case and tapped it against the back of his hand. He didn’t meet Tanner’s eyes.
“Something wrong?”
“Has Connell been saying anything?”
DeFalco lit up and fanned out a stream of smoke from his nostrils, smoke that was shredded by the cold wind. “Sure he has. You knew he would.”
“Do you believe it?”
“No.”
Tanner’s voice shook. “I can’t disprove it. For the same reason that I can’t prove I have a bank account here or that I had a dental appointment yesterday afternoon or that every firm I’ve dealt with in the city no longer carries me on their books. Ed, I’m being isolated!”
DeFalco’s face went perfectly blank. “What do you want me to do about it?” Tanner stared at him. DeFalco’s face was cold and emotionless, the heavy black hair glistening in the dampness, strands of it moving slightly in the wind. A tense, powerful, handsome face—with the eyes of a man who was almost scared to death. “Sure, I believe you, Bill. Somebody’s pulled your records. But how can I help?” He thumbed towards the hill behind them from which came the steady sounds of falling dirt. His voice was jerky. “Olson was curious, he knew too much. And look what the payoff was for him. I don’t believe that a man just sits down and dies. Something got him. And something’s after you. I don’t want to be included in.”
He dropped the butt on the ground and heeled it into the soft earth. His face was distorted in the half-light of the cold, cloudy morning, crawling with the vague shadows of the trees that flickered over it.
“I like this life. I even like it when it’s cold and damp and when it rains. I want to live to be a very old man and sit before a fire and warm my feet and read the books in my library. I may hate your friend’s guts but I don’t want to fight him. I know I couldn’t win.” He stared off into the shadowed paths. “I wish you a lot of luck, Bill. I wish I had more guts but I don’t. And I don’t want to kid either you or me.”
“You’ve changed a lot since Sunday night, haven’t you?”
Something flared briefly in the dark eyes. “So I was sounding off. I was talking to hear myself talk. People do it all the time.” He paused and took a deep breath, like a diver does before hitting the water. “I don’t want to know too much about Olson. I don’t want to know too much about you. I don’t
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