The Puzzled Heart Read online

  With the conclusion of her undergraduate seminar, Kate made her way to her office in preparation for meeting Reed and (or primarily, as she hardly admitted to herself) for rescuing poor, deserted Banny. A young man was waiting for her outside her office door.

  “I might be some help in your search for the kidnappers,” he said.

  “Come in.” Kate opened the door, beckoning to him. “I haven’t much time at the moment, but let’s introduce ourselves anyway.”

  “My name is Morton Weldon,” he said, offering his hand, which Kate shook. “I know your name. I won’t take long now.” Seating himself, he reached into his backpack and extracted a piece of paper. “This may help some; I hope so.” He handed Kate the paper. Glancing at it, she saw it was a list, with campus addresses.

  “I’m gay,” Mr. Weldon said. “Out-of-the-closet gay. No earring, but determination. I’ve had a lot of very nasty letters, disgusting signs in my room and on my door after I locked it, and not too long ago, a letter with a bullet in it and a note saying it should be in me.”

  Kate’s horror must have shown on her face.

  “Yes, it’s interesting what the administration decides not to look into. There are acceptable targets of everything this side of actual physical violence and then there are unacceptable targets. Maybe we can talk about it sometime. I got mad enough at all this to get together a list of the worst homophobes. Of course, anyone who was acting alone and in secret wouldn’t be on my list. But in my opinion, college bigots rarely act alone or in secret. So I thought there might be a connection between the homophobes and the right-wing kidnappers. Anyway, check it out.” And, zippering up his backpack, he rose to go.

  “Thank you,” Kate said. “I hope we can talk again when I am not in a hurry. Will you make an appointment or come back in an office hour?”

  “Sure. My name’s on the list there, with my number, so you can call too if you want some clarification. Ciao.”

  “By the way,” Kate said, stopping him at the door, “how did you hear about all this so fast? You’re not in any of my classes.”

  “No. But a good friend of mine is one of your graduate students. Admires you, too. So I thought I’d stop in and do what I could. Ciao again.”

  Stunned for a moment, Kate at last gathered up her belongings to head homeward. In the hall she encountered a male colleague.

  “I know, you’re leaving,” he said, glancing at Kate’s briefcase. “I just wanted to tell you about a friend of mine who teaches religion in the Midwest. She’s prominent in her field, and gives the large introductory lecture course on the history of Christianity—mostly freshmen. The students fill out teacher evaluations. You should have seen some of the evaluations from the Christian right. They gave her zero, and wrote things like ‘blasphemer’; ‘She only spent a week on Jesus’ life’; ‘She doesn’t think the Bible is God’s truth,’ and so on. This is in one of the country’s outstanding universities. I just thought I’d pass it on. I guess we should have known since Oklahoma City that the right, and particularly the militia on the right, are not a bunch of law-abiding dissenters, but I think it’s getting just a little bit hairy, don’t you? Kidnapping, I ask you!” And he hurried down the hall, not unlike, Kate thought, Alice’s rabbit in happier times.

  Reed, having picked up the car at the garage, met Kate at home, where she awaited him in front of their building. The doorman opened the car door for her, and, clinging to Banny, she joined Reed. As he drove away in a great swooping and illegal U-turn, she stroked Banny.

  “There is no way we can keep her,” Reed said. “No way.”

  “I know.” Kate stroked the puppy, who was settling down in her lap. “Harriet left a letter for me with the doorman; it says, ‘To be read en route.’ Shall I begin now?”

  “Every word from Harriet is to be treasured,” Reed said.

  “Dear Kate and Reed,” Kate read aloud. “While you have been spreading the news of the recent exciting events in your life, I have not deserted the trail. Upon leaving you yesterday evening, I sought out the mother of Dorothy Hedge and that naughty letter-writing student. It turns out that the woman is here from Georgia, where she normally resides, and is visiting her son. I had to betray my deepest convictions and return to the role of spy, the role you, dear Kate, found so unsympathetic. I expressed opinions I would die rather than embrace, but I did it rather well, not overdoing it, just sounding right-wing, weepy (so much more convincing than emphatic rhetoric), and determined to get my own back on the filthy liberals who had ruined our country. I told her I was related to one of the dead at Waco. I had a story ready should she demand it, but she didn’t. She seemed relieved to have met someone in New York who thought as she did. Despite the few right-wing, homophobic students, I can’t believe she found many converts here; it must, at any rate, be uphill work.”

  Kate paused, as Reed had reached the tollbooth on the Henry Hudson Bridge. Banny stirred as the car stopped. Kate soothed her while they waited on line to pay the toll, and resumed her reading of the letter when they were again under way.

  “Harriet ought to take up the writing of fiction,” Reed said. “Do go on; she’s every bit as good as John Grisham.”

  “I didn’t know you read him,” Kate said.

  “Someone left one of his novels in my office. Well, all lawyers are intrigued by this sort of thing, at least at first. Who doesn’t dream of the chance to make millions by putting his litigation experiences into a book? Go on with the letter.”

  Kate, grinning, continued to read: “She told me that she was particularly grateful to have an older woman to help her. Through her son, she was trying to recruit college students, but she seemed to sense that their devotion was likely to be ephemeral, and she wanted some surer workers in the community. She then told me about stalking abortion clinics in the city; I’ll spare you the gruesome details, but it came down to the fact that New York women, joining arms in a kind of barricade, prevented interference with women approaching the clinic. I badly wanted to point out that not all or even most of the women coming to what she insisted on calling ‘abortion clinics’ were coming to the clinics for abortions, but one does have to remember one’s role.

  “I’ll save further tidbits of our enlightening exchange until we meet over some sustaining libation. For now, I’m suggesting you read this letter en route to Dorothy Hedge because, when I asked her if the son was her only child, she was quite forthcoming about Dorothy, about how Dorothy had betrayed the cause and so on, which was what I wanted to hear. But then, she said something that made me prick up my ears. She mentioned the kennel Dorothy runs, and something about the way she put it convinced me that she had been there. It was a slip, and I pretended not to notice. But if they are such enemies, why did she go to see her at her kennel? Well, there are many possible reasons that do not indicate Dorothy’s sympathies with Mama, but I thought I would mention it just so you take care of what you say. Don’t reveal anything about Toni or me, or any plans. My suggestion—and I know how little open you and Reed are to suggestions—is to play it kind of dumb. I don’t mean that you and Reed could ever appear really dumb. But just say, ‘It was such a fright,’ and ‘I’m so grateful to have Reed back,’ and don’t go into any details about anything. I know that you, Kate, had decided to trust her, and your instincts may well have been right. But let’s be more certain before you trust her anymore. Yours in the fight for the good and true, Harriet.”

  “Good letter,” Reed said. “I think she’s suggesting, without quite daring to say it, that we gush on giddily, and I think she’s right.”

  “Can we possibly be convincing as giddy innocents?”

  “We can give it a try. I, for one, have never been kidnapped before. You, for another, have never received a ransom note. I think if we confine ourselves to being a little repetitive about these things, we’ll persuade her, at the same time making believable the fact that we’ve been talking about our adventures to everyone in sight, which, if she is in Mama’s
confidence, she will know.”

  As they turned into Dorothy Hedge’s driveway to the welcoming chorus of barking dogs, Banny roused herself. Kate opened the car door and let Banny run out toward Dorothy, who was coming from the house to meet them. To Kate’s delight, Banny ran back from Dorothy to her and Reed. Kate swooped the puppy up again, and introduced Reed to Dorothy, who shook his hand and congratulated him on his freedom.

  “I know it will be hard to give this little rascal up,” Dorothy said, asking no further questions at the moment. “But you did tell me you weren’t really in a position to have a dog in the city.” Dorothy, Kate was amused to notice, considered keeping a dog in the city comparable to keeping a child in a coal cellar. “Well, come into the kitchen and have a cup of tea.”

  She turned toward the kitchen door and Reed and Kate exchanged a glance that meant: she wants to see what we think and what we plan to do. Their glance confirmed their plan to follow Harriet’s suggestion, and Kate launched into her part as soon as they were seated and Dorothy had put the kettle on.

  “Yes, as you see,” Kate said, attempting to sound breathless, “Reed is back and I can return to my former life with all its blessed calmness.” And she reached out to take Reed’s hand, thinking, I’ll be trying out for the Actors Studio next. Then, after a time, she said, “Thank you.” This for the tea when Dorothy had finally made it; they had remained silent until then, watching the preparation of tea, the pouring of tea into the cups, the slicing of a cake. “What I’m really worried about at the moment,” Kate added, “is Banny. Not for her sake, but for mine. I shall miss her.”

  “Of course you will,” Dorothy said soothingly. Banny slept at their feet. “Perhaps one day you’ll decide to adopt a puppy, perhaps when you stop working and your life becomes more settled. Or perhaps after you have a child.”

  Kate did not exactly look her age, but that any woman might think her capable of childbearing was shocking. Apparently Dorothy realized this. “I’m afraid that sounded like a stupid remark,” she said. “It was a stupid remark, and a conventional one at that. Please let me explain. I’ve seen so many people acquire dogs as substitutes for children. Often they then have a child, and the dog may suffer. I can’t say I approve. But, of course, that is hardly your case. I’m afraid I sometimes go off into one of my speeches without thinking about whom I’m addressing. Do forgive me.”

  Kate avoided looking at Reed. Dorothy’s explanation of her inane remark had a certain cogency, considering her devotion to the canine species; it was, at the same time, unclear whether her first statement or her last reflected her true feelings. And how did those feelings mesh with what she had earlier told Kate?

  Reed put down his cup, and stood up; Banny leaped up against his legs. “I think we’d better go,” he said. “It will be easier for all of us, but especially for Kate, who has known Banny longest, and of course for Banny herself, if we take a rather swift departure.”

  Kate too rose to her feet. Dorothy lifted the puppy up, and held her. “You go ahead then,” she said. “I’ll keep Banny here until she’s called for. And try not to worry about her. She’ll have a lovely life living with Marjorie as her very own pet dog, and being trained for dog shows. You haven’t a thing to worry about. Banny is a beautiful animal; yes she is. Say goodbye, Banny.”

  Kate and Reed, leaving by the kitchen door, could hear the puppy yelping her protests. They got hastily into the car. “You drive,” Reed said. “It will give you something to occupy your mind.” Kate backed up, turning the car around. As they headed out of the driveway, she knew she was going to cry, and suspected that her tears were not entirely for Banny.

  “I feel stupid and helpless,” she said. “We’ve got you back, but now what? I’m terribly tempted to forget the whole thing, and just cling to our ordinary, privileged existence as to a life raft.”

  “I know,” Reed said. “But you don’t mean that. What I can’t figure out is where to go from here. It’s the end of the first act, and we haven’t a clue about the rest of the play. The curtain has fallen, but the audience, thinking it’s all over, has left, and the theatre is empty.”

  “At least we didn’t tell Dorothy anything. Or did we?”

  “We told her we didn’t want her help anymore. Who knows what she’ll make of that? Let’s hope she’ll put our behavior down to sadness over Banny. The question is, now what?”

  Kate, shaking her head, kept her eyes on the road.

  Eight

  BUT the next day, someone appeared with an idea for the second act.

  Reed had called from the office to say he was bringing someone home for a drink, someone who had an idea about the kidnapping. (Kate noticed that he always referred to it as the kidnapping, not my kidnapping, recognizing that it was as much hers as his.) The someone was named Emma Wentworth, and more would be explained when they met.

  Emma Wentworth was the sort of woman whom Kate took to on sight. She had often tried to detail for herself this instant liking and had failed dismally. Or, put more sensibly, she had often come to like, indeed to cherish, women who did not make this kind of first impression. First impressions were notoriously deceptive. Nonetheless, she warmed to Emma, who was large, not fat, but large, imposing in manner and body.

  Emma was also at home in her body, an important factor, and had taken care with her appearance as though she knew how it would, and should, represent her. She wore a dress, fitted on top and at the waist, but with a full skirt, a dress that said: I’m wearing a dress, but I am not wearing a power suit. I have a decent figure for a large woman, but no desire to flaunt my legs nor to worry about where they are when I sit. I am intelligent, competent, reliable, and funny.… Can a first impression have conveyed all that? Well, of course, Reed had brought her home, which said something, and had introduced her as a professor, visiting at Reed’s law school this semester.

  Emma accepted a Scotch, yet another confirmation of Kate’s instinctive liking, and began talking. “Reed has told me about his adventure—in fact he has told everybody, who told everybody else, in the hope of stirring up some answers. I said Reed’s adventure, but the adventure was, in fact, yours, which I consider a vital point. One of my students, having heard the story—somewhat embellished, as I subsequently learned, in the retelling—passed it on to me. I dropped in on Reed because I thought I might be able to help you, not with any particulars, but with what I have learned after study of these right-wing groups, how they operate, and how they can be differentiated one from the other. Reed cut me off at the start of my disquisition and suggested that I tell my theories to you too.”

  “I gave Emma the whole story, including the sordid details,” Reed said. “I thought we could use some advice about those we were trying to flush out, and she might as well know it all.”

  Kate nodded.

  “I’ve been studying right-wing groups,” Emma said, “their motivations and their differences. One of the points we liberals miss is that those on the right agree when it comes to all modern forms of art—whether literature, entertainment, or even music—they all agree that its influence is debilitating, probably evil. As Wendy Steiner has put it”—she opened her notebook—“ ‘for the opponents of the liberal academy, complexity and ambiguity are merely mystifications, and contemporary art in fact compounds social disorder. The world’s ills should be overcome instead by the enforcement of hierarchies and systems inherited from the past, with art’—and of course literature—‘fulfilling its social mission by bolstering and justifying these systems.’* I keep those sentences around to quote, because they sum up neatly the bottom line for those on the far right.”

  “William Bennett, Allan Bloom, and Jesse Helms, in short,” Kate said.

  “Well, yes, as far as their ideas go, if one can accuse Jesse Helms of having anything describable as an idea. But my point to Reed and to you is that however much these right-wing people agree, their actions on behalf of their beliefs are quite distinct. While they would all, for example,
like to have laws passed forbidding the kinds of art and teaching of modern ideas and concepts that undermine what they consider the fundamental values, they fight the likes of you and me, and everyone from those seeking abortions to the National Endowment for the Arts (which they have largely succeeded in eviscerating) in different ways. Much as we would all like to think so, the fact is that relatively few of those on the far right, outside of the militias and, I am tempted to say, those in politics or running for office, condone violent acts or acts such as those committed against Reed.”

  “What about those committed against Kate?” Reed asked.

  “That’s what is interesting. As far as I can discern, feeling against liberal academics runs pretty high, but to kidnap a woman’s husband doesn’t ring true to me as a neoconservative move given all the facts of this case. And I assume I have been given all the facts of the case?”

  Kate looked at Reed, who nodded. “All of them,” he said.

  “Are you saying,” Kate asked, amazement in her voice, “that they will murder a doctor who performs abortions, or organize militias to protect their property from the government, but they wouldn’t set Reed or me up in the way that they did? One is acceptable, the other isn’t?”

  “It’s not quite like that. Let’s leave the militia groups out of this. They are mostly in the West or Midwest and couldn’t possibly be directly involved in this sort of academic maneuver. Remember also, Kate, that those who commit murders—and that includes assassinations—are mentally ill fanatics whom those who wish to have a particular murder committed enlist for their purpose. Ray, Oswald, Sirhan Sirhan—these were all unbalanced fanatics egged on to their murderous acts. They weren’t charter members of right-wing groups.”