富贵弄人 听读名著| 第4章A

2022-07-24 18:31:4730:54 62
声音简介

On Wednesday, as Chance was dressing, the phone rang. He heard the voice of Rand: “Good morning, Chauncey. Mrs. Rand wanted me to wish you good morning for her too, since she won’t be at home today. She had to fly to Denver. But there’s another reason I called. The President will address the annual meeting of the Financial Institute today; he is flying to New York and has just telephoned me from his plane. He knows I am ill and that, as the chairman, I won’t be able to preside over the meeting as scheduled. But as I am feeling somewhat better today, the President has graciously decided to visit me before the luncheon. It’s nice of him, don’t you think? Well, he’s going to land at Kennedy and then come over to Manhattan by helicopter. We can expect him here in about an hour.” He stopped; Chance could hear his labored breathing. “I want you to meet him, Chauncey. You’ll enjoy it. The President is quite a man, quite a man, and I know that he’ll like and appreciate you. Now listen: the Secret Service people will be here before long to look over the place. It’s strictly routine, something they have to do, no matter what, no matter where. If you don’t mind, my secretary will notify you when they arrive.”

“All right, Benjamin, thank you.”

“Oh, yes, one more thing, Chauncey. I hope you won’t mind … but they will have to search you personally as well. Nowadays, no one in close proximity to the President is allowed to have any sharp objects on his person—so don’t show them your mind, Chauncey, they may take it away from you! See you soon, my friend!” He hung up.

There must be no sharp objects. Chance quickly removed his tie clip and put his comb on the table. But what had Rand meant when he said “your mind”? Chance looked at himself in the mirror. He liked what he saw: his hair glistened, his skin was ruddy, his freshly pressed dark suit fitted his body as bark covers a tree. Pleased, he turned on the TV.

After a while, Rand’s secretary called to say that the President’s men were ready to come up. Four men entered the room, talking and smiling easily, and began to go through it with an assortment of complicated instruments.

Chance sat at the desk, watching TV. Changing channels, he suddenly saw a huge helicopter descending in a field in Central Park. The announcer explained that at that very moment the President of the United States was landing in the heart of New York City.

The Secret Service men stopped working to watch too. “Well, the Boss has arrived,” one of them said. “We better hurry with the other rooms.” Chance was alone when Rand’s secretary called to announce the President’s imminent arrival.

“Thank you,” he said. “I guess I’d better go down right now, don’t you think?” He stammered a bit.

“I think it is time, sir.”

Chance walked downstairs. The Secret Service men were quietly moving around the corridors, the front hall and the elevator entrance. Some stood near the windows of the study; others were in the dining room, the living room, and in front of the library. Chance was searched by an agent, who quickly apologized and then opened the door to the library for him.

Rand approached and patted Chance’s shoulder. “I’m so glad that you’ll have the opportunity to meet the Chief Executive. He’s a fine man, with a sense of justice nicely contained by the law and an excellent judgment of both the pulse and purse of the electorate. I must say, it’s very thoughtful of him to come to visit me now. Don’t you agree?”

Chance agreed.

“What a pity EE isn’t here,” Rand declared. “She’s a great fan of the President and finds him very attractive. She telephoned from Denver, you know.”

Chance said that he knew about EE’s call.

“And you didn’t talk to her? Well, she’ll call again; she’ll want to know your impressions of the President and of how things went. … If I should be asleep, Chauncey, you will speak to her, won’t you, and tell her all about the meeting?”

“I’ll be glad to. I hope you’re feeling well, sir. You do look better.”

Rand moved uneasily in his chair. “It’s all make-up, Chauncey—all make-up. The nurse was here all night and through the morning, and I asked her to fix me up so the President won’t feel I’m going to die during our talk. No one likes a dying man, Chauncey, because few know what death is. All we know is the terror of it. You’re an exception, Chauncey, I can tell. I know that you’re not afraid. That’s what EE and I admire in you: your marvelous balance. You don’t stagger back and forth between fear and hope; you’re a truly peaceful man! Don’t disagree; I’m old enough to be your father. I’ve lived a lot, trembled a lot, was surrounded by little men who forgot that we enter naked and exit naked and that no accountant can audit life in our favor.”

Rand looked pallid. He reached for a pill, swallowed it, and sipped some water from a glass. A phone rang. He picked up the receiver and said briskly: “Mr. Gardiner and I are ready. Show the President into the library.” He replaced the receiver and then removed the glass of water from the desk top, placing it behind him on a bookshelf. “The President is here, Chauncey. He’s on the way.”

Chance remembered seeing the President on a recent television program. In the sunshine of a cloudless day, a military parade had been in progress. The President stood on a raised platform, surrounded by military men in uniforms covered with glittering medals, and by civilians in dark glasses. Below, in the open field, never-ending columns of soldiers marched, their faces riveted upon their leader, who waved his hand. The President’s eyes were veiled with distant thought. He watched the thousands in their ranks, who were reduced by the TV screen to mere mounds of lifeless leaves swept forward by a driving wind. Suddenly, down from the skies, jets swooped in tight, faultless formations. The military observers and the civilians on the reviewing stand barely had time to raise their heads when, like bolts of lightning, the planes streaked past the President, hurling down thunderous booms. The President’s head once more pervaded the screen. He gazed up at the disappearing planes; a fleeting smile softened his face.

 

“It’s good to see you, Mr. President,” Rand said, rising from his chair to greet a man of medium height who entered the room smiling. “How thoughtful of you to come all this way to look in on a dying man.”

The President embraced him and led him to a chair. “Nonsense, Benjamin. Do sit down, now, and let me see you.” The President seated himself on a sofa and turned to Chance.

“Mr. President,” Rand said, “I want to introduce my dear friend, Mr. Chauncey Gardiner. Mr. Gardiner—the President of the United States of America.” Rand sank into a chair, while the President extended his hand, a wide smile on his face. Remembering that during his TV press conferences, the President always looked straight at the viewers, Chance stared directly into the President’s eyes.

“I’m delighted to meet you, Mr. Gardiner,” the President said, leaning back on a sofa. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Chance wondered how the President could have heard anything about him. “Please do sit down, Mr. Gardiner,” the President said. “Together, let’s reprimand our friend Benjamin for the way he shuts himself up at home. Ben …” he leaned toward the old man—“this country needs you, and I, as your Chief Executive, haven’t authorized you to retire.”

“I am ready for oblivion, Mr. President,” said Rand mildly, “and, what’s more, I’m not complaining; the world parts with Rand, and Rand parts with the world: a fair trade, don’t you agree? Security, tranquillity, a well-deserved rest: all the aims I have pursued will soon be realized.”

“Now be serious, Ben!” The President waved his hand. “I have known you to be a philosopher, but above all you’re a strong, active businessman! Let’s talk about life!” He paused to light a cigarette. “What’s this I hear about your not addressing the meeting of the Financial Institute today?”

“I can’t, Mr. President,” said Rand. “Doctor’s orders. And what’s more,” he added, “I obey pain.”

“Well … yes … after all, it’s just another meeting. And even if you’re not there in person, you’ll be there in spirit. The Institute remains your creation; your life’s stamp is on all its proceedings.”

The men began a long conversation. Chance understood almost nothing of what they were saying, even though they often looked in his direction, as if to invite his participation. Chance thought that they purposely spoke in another language for reasons of secrecy, when suddenly the President addressed him: “And you, Mr. Gardiner? What do you think about the bad season on The Street?”

Chance shrank. He felt that the roots of his thoughts had been suddenly yanked out of their wet earth and thrust, tangled, into the unfriendly air. He stared at the carpet. Finally, he spoke: “In a garden,” he said, “growth has its season. There are spring and summer, but there are also fall and winter. And then spring and summer again. As long as the roots are not severed, all is well and all will be well.” He raised his eyes. Rand was looking at him, nodding. The President seemed quite pleased.

“I must admit, Mr. Gardiner,” the President said, “that what you’ve just said is one of the most refreshing and optimistic statements I’ve heard in a very, very long time.” He rose and stood erect, with his back to the fireplace. “Many of us forget that nature and society are one! Yes, though we have tried to cut ourselves off from nature, we are still part of it. Like nature, our economic system remains, in the long run, stable and rational, and that’s why we must not fear to be at its mercy.” The President hesitated for a moment, then turned to Rand. “We welcome the inevitable seasons of nature, yet we are upset by the seasons of our economy! How foolish of us!” He smiled at Chance. “I envy Mr. Gardiner his good solid sense. This is just what we lack on Capitol Hill.” The President glanced at his watch, then lifted a hand to prevent Rand from rising. “No, no, Ben—you rest. I do hope to see you again soon. When you’re feeling better, you and EE must come to visit us in Washington. And you, Mr. Gardiner … You will also honor me and my family with a visit, won’t you? We’ll all look forward to that!” He embraced Rand, shook hands swiftly with Chance, and strode out the door.

Rand hastily retrieved his glass of water, gulped down another pill, and slumped in his chair. “He is a decent fellow, the President, isn’t he?” he asked Chance.

“Yes,” said Chance, “though he looks taller on television.”

“Oh, he certainly does!” Rand exclaimed. “But remember that he is a political being, who diplomatically waters with kindness every plant on his way, no matter what he really thinks. I do like him! By the way, Chauncey, did you agree with my position on credit and tight money as I presented it to the President?”

“I’m not sure I understood it. That’s why I kept quiet.”

“You said a lot, my dear Chauncey, quite a lot, and it is what you said and how you said it that pleased the President so much. He hears my sort of analysis from everyone, but, yours, unfortunately … seldom if ever at all.”

The phone rang. Rand answered it and then informed Chance that the President and the Secret Service men had departed and that the nurse was waiting with an injection. He embraced Chance and excused himself. Chance went upstairs. When he turned the TV on, he saw the presidential motorcade moving along Fifth Avenue. Small crowds gathered on the sidewalks; the President’s hand waved from the limousine’s window. Chance did not know if he had actually shaken that hand only moments before.

 

The annual meeting of the Financial Institute opened in an atmosphere of expectation and high tension, following the disclosure that morning of the rise in national unemployment to an unprecedented level. Administration officials were reluctant to divulge what measures the President would propose to combat further stagnation of the economy. All of the public news media were on the alert.

In his speech the President reassured the public that no drastic governmental measures were forthcoming, even though there had been another sudden decline in productivity. “There was a time for spring,” he said, “and a time for summer; but, unfortunately, as in a garden of the earth, there is also a time for the inevitable chill and storm of autumn and winter.” The President stressed that as long as the seeds of industry remained firmly embedded in the life of the country, the economy was certain to flourish again.

In the short, informal question-and-answer period, the President revealed that he had “conducted multiplelevel consultations” with members of the “Cabinet, House, and Senate, and also with prominent leaders of the business community.” Here he paid tribute to Benjamin Turnbull Rand, chairman of the Institute, absent because of illness; he added that at Mr. Rand’s home he had engaged in a most fruitful discussion with Rand and with Mr. Chauncey Gardiner on the beneficial effects of inflation. “Inflation would prune the dead limbs of savings, thus enlivening the vigorous trunk of industry.” It was in the context of the President’s speech that Chance’s name first came to the attention of the news media.

 

In the afternoon Rand’s secretary said to Chance: “I have Mr. Tom Courtney of the New York Times on the line. Could you talk to him, sir, just for a few minutes? I think he wants to get some facts about you.”

“I’ll talk to him,” said Chance.

The secretary put Courtney on. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Gardiner; I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t first talked to Mr. Rand.” He paused for effect.

“Mr. Rand is a very sick man,” said Chance.

“Well, yes … Anyway, he mentioned that because of your character and your vision there is a possibility of your joining the board of the First American Financial Corporation. Do you wish to comment on this?”

“No,” said Chance. “Not now.”

Another pause. “Since the New York Times is covering the President’s speech and his visit to New York, we would like to be as exact as possible. Would you care to comment on the nature of the discussion that took place between you, Mr. Rand, and the President?”

“I enjoyed it very much.”

“Good, sir. And so, it seems, did the President. But Mr. Gardiner,” Courtney went on, with feigned easualness, “we at the Times would like very much to update our information on you, if you see what I mean….” He laughed nervously. “To start with, what, for example, is the relationship between your business and that of the First American Financial Corporation?”

“I think you ought to ask Mr. Rand that,” said Chance.

“Yes, of course. But since he is ill, I am taking the liberty of asking you.”

Chance was silent. Courtney waited for an answer.

“I have nothing more to say,” said Chance and hung up.

Courtney leaned back in his chair, frowning. It was getting late. He called his staff, and when they had come in he assumed his old casual manner. “All right, gentlemen. Let’s start with the President’s visit and speech. I talked to Rand. Chauncey Gardiner, the man mentioned by the President, is a businessman, it seems, a financier, and, according to Rand, a strong candidate for one of the vacant seats on the board of the First American Financial Corporation.” He looked at his staffers, who expected to hear more.

“I also talked to Gardiner. Well …” Courtney paused. “He’s very laconic and matter-of-fact. Anyway, we won’t have enough time to round up all the information on Gardiner, so let’s play up his prospective affiliation with Rand, his joining the board of the First American Financial, his advice to the President, and so forth.”

 

Chance watched TV in his room. The President’s speech at the luncheon of the Financial Institute was telecast on several channels; the few remaining programs showed only family games and children’s adventures. Chance ate lunch in his room, continued to watch TV, and was just about to fall asleep when Rand’s secretary called.

“The executives of the THIS EVENING television program have just phoned,” she said excitedly, “and they want you to appear on the show tonight. They apologized for giving you such short notice, but they’ve only just now heard that the Vice President will be unable to appear on the show to discuss the President’s speech. Because Mr. Rand is so ill, he will, of course, also be unable to appear, but he has suggested that you—a financier who has made so favorable an impression on the President—might be willing to come instead.”

Chance could not imagine what being on TV involved. He wanted to see himself reduced to the size of the screen; he wanted to become an image, to dwell inside the set.

The secretary waited on the phone.

“It’s all right with me,” said Chance. “What do I have to do?”

“You don’t have to do anything, sir,” she said cheerfully. “The producer himself will pick you up in time for the show. It’s a live program, so you have to be there half an hour before it goes on. You’ll be THIS EVENING’S main attraction tonight. I’ll call them right back; they’ll be delighted with your acceptance.”

Chance turned on the TV. He wondered whether a person changed before or after appearing on the screen. Would he be changed forever or only during the time of his appearance? What part of himself would he leave behind when he finished the program? Would there be two Chances after the show: one Chance who watched TV and another who appeared on it?

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