Alongside Night(23)
A man and a woman—two well-known TV-series actors—
were sitting in a shooting set on canvas chairs. “Remember,”
said the male actor, talking sincerely to the cameras, “that just one little ounce of gold bullion can put you away in a federal penitentiary for up to twenty years.”
This made Elliot’s day.
“And the FBI,” said the actress, “now has a twenty-four-hour free hotline to report anyone engaging in black-market speculation. Black-marketeers steal from all of us, and prolong this economic crisis. Don’t help a brownie. If you know of any, remember your patriotic duty and call now.”
An 800 series inward-WATS telephone number was su-80
Alongside Night
perimposed on the screen; in disgust, Elliot changed channels in time to hear the promo for another station’s evening news: “—tape of a mass demonstration on Broadway that ended with violence. This story and others in one minute!”
“Dinner is on!” Phillip called from the dining room. At that moment, however, Elliot would not have budged if the gods had personally offered him ambrosia and nectar. A teletype machine soloed in an overture, then: “Good evening,” said a sandy-haired newsman. “I’m Monahan Scott with the news.
“This morning’s anti-wage/price control march down Broadway by an estimated sixty thousand members of Citizens for a Free Society ended in violence soon after it began when a New York City policeman—apparently without provocation—attacked one of the marchers. Neither the identity of the officer nor that of the demonstrator is known. Frieda Sandwell was there and spoke to one of the demonstrators.”
The picture zoomed in to Columbus Circle with clouds of tear gas chasing demonstrators, one of them retching on the street. Another marcher was seen being clubbed by two policemen. There was a shot of a policeman being kicked in the groin by a woman marcher. The screen then cut to a teen-age boy with a bloody gash over his black head-kerchief, being interviewed by the flawlessly groomed Frieda Sandwell. “Well, we was just goin’ along peacefully,” the boy said, “when this crazy pig yells somethin’, charges into the march, and grabs one of our people.”
“Did you hear what the officer shouted?” asked Frieda Sandwell, shoving a microphone in his mouth.
“It sounded like, ‘Let’s tear the freedom boys!’“
“Hey,” said Phillip, entering the bedroom. “Your dinner’s getting cold.”
Elliot switched off the television and without saying a word followed his friend to supper.
Alongside Night
81
Chapter 9
Phillip was every bit as good a chef as he declared. Elliot was treated royally to a dinner that started with grapefruit halves and tossed green salad, proceeded through fillets of coconut-orange chicken, green beans with almonds, and candied yams, then was topped off by Southern pecan pie served with chickoried café au lait. Elliot complimented Phillip, among other things, on his abilities in matching up ration points.
After dinner, over cognac and cigars (Elliot accepted the former only), Elliot repeated his story for Mr. Gross: how his father’s name had been on a secret arrest list, the plan to leave the country, his trip to find the gold and what he had learned upon his arrival home—even his theory about the possible link between Al and the tzigane cabdriver. He retold the events after his escape from the apartment, finishing up this time by including what he had learned about his part in precipitating a riot. Several times Mr. Gross asked for clarification of a point or for additional information.
Mr. Gross puffed on his cigar one last time, then snuffed it into his ashtray. Elliot noticed himself holding his breath and consciously took in air. Finally, Mr. Gross said, “Have you considered the possibility that your family may already be dead? I don’t ask this to be cruel. When I was your age, I lost my entire family except for one brother—Phillip’s father, whom we lost later—to the Nazis.”
Elliot swallowed, about to answer in the affirmative, then suddenly changed his mind. “I’ve thought about it, Mr. Gross, but I find it inconceivable that the authorities would just kill three private citizens in cold blood.”
“It was inconceivable in 1943, too. But it happened.” Mr. 82
Alongside Night
Gross allowed Elliot to digest the thought for several seconds, then added, “But, to be honest, I think it is likely that all three are still alive at the moment. This is not wishful thinking; there are a number of sound reasons why this should be true. Even so, while we must proceed on the assumption that your family can still be helped, I want you to face the possibility that it may be too late.”