The Last Supper: And Other Stories by Howard Fast Page A

your’re a good enough American to do so.”
    â€œGo to hell,” Anderson said.
    â€œThat doesn’t make sense, Marty. We have been talking to you man to man. The least you can do is talk to us the same way.”
    â€œGo to hell.”
    â€œAfter all,” the other said, “you’re just making a snap decision, Marty. It’s fine for them to build you up to this, and you just tell us to go to hell. Why we could write you down as a commie just for a crack like that, Marty. But we don’t want to, and we don’t think you’re, a commie. That is, we don’t think so right now. We could change our thinking on the subject, because as I said we don’t know everything, but I’m not sure we want to. I’m also not sure you meant what you just said. The, point is, think it over before you say yes or no. This isn’t such a light thing that you can just make a snap judgement.”
    â€œOr look at it from this point of view, Marty. We came to you and asked you to cooperate as a loyal American. It doesn’t raise your stock as a loyal American to tell us to go to hell. Sure, your commie pals gave you a song and dance about informers. There’s nothing they like better than to weep and whine about informers and stool pigeons, as they call anyone with enough guts to cooperate with his government as a loyal American. But maybe we were wrong in thinking of you as a loyal American. I don’t say we were wrong, but maybe we were wrong.”
    â€œWe could be wrong,” the other said. “We have been wrong before.”
    â€œDamned wrong.”
    â€œWe could be so wrong that we don’t even have a leg in the truth of it.”
    â€œThe point is, Marty, that if we’re so wrong, it places certain responsibilities on us. That plant you left isn’t just any plant. It doesn’t only turn out tractors—it turns out parts for tanks—tanks, Marty, t-a-n-k-s-period. Tanks that are going to have to stop the red tide one day and Marty, then a lot of other folks ought to know how wrong we are. They ought to know that there are possibly some loopholes in their thinking, if they’ve been thinking about you as a loyal American.”
    â€œTake the plant manager, Jack Fredericks,” said the other. “He’s pretty damn well concerned about this country of ours. He might just want to know that there’s a man holding down a job in the plant who won’t cooperate with any branch of his government. He might feel damned uneasy about such a man holding down a job.”
    â€œIn fact, he might not want such a man in the plant at all. He might just fire him the hell out.”
    â€œOn the other hand, Marty, you might figure that such a man could find a job somewhere else. But could he—that’s the question. There isn’t a big plant in the city here that hasn’t got a piece of a government contract. It’s a fine thing to be a hero, but what do you do when your kids get hungry?”
    â€œI don’t think Marty looks at it that way.”
    â€œNeither do I,” said the other. “I like Marty. I think Marty’s a hundred percent American. That’s the straight goods, Marty, and that’s why we’re asking you to cooperate with us, to do it the American way.”
    â€œGo to hell and get away from me!” Anderson said.
    A sudden change came over the two young men. Their warmth fell away from them, and they became as cold as the gathering night wind. Their small blue eyes became cold and their pudgy faces set.
    â€œO.K., Marty.”
    â€œYou want it that way, Marty.”
    And then they walked away from him, looking like brothers, walking like brothers, no difference in the way they were dressed, in height or manner of gait. They walked away from him, and there in front of Anderson was his home, his house, his castle, nine thousand dollars, nine hundred dollars down on the G.I. Bill of