a federal offense.”
“Dr. Brown, we want you to think of this place as hospitable.”
“We are not going to stay here.”
“Yes, I know.” Clete glanced at the diners in the room. “They all said that in the beginning. Why don’t we order now?” He handed two menus across. Margaret refused hers.
“You have to eat,” Clete said. “You might as well take advantage of the circumstances. You’ll see how quickly time will pass.”
Henry now found Margaret’s hand under the table, patted it with a minimum of movement. They’d have to play out the string.
A trace of amusement wrinkled the corner of Clete’s mouth. There would come a time when they’d do without touching. “What would you like to start with?” he asked.
I have to think. I’m reacting emotionally. Margaret and I will have to use our heads to get us out of here.
“I can recommend the California avocados,” Clete said. “You can have them with shrimp filling, or neat with lemon. Why don’t I order them with the shrimp for all of us? That’ll set us up for the chef’s special. It’s a fish mousse, it comes with buttered asparagus.” Clete motioned to the waitress and ordered for them.
“While we’re waiting,” Clete said, “let me tell you about some of the other guests. That man you stopped to talk to? Which, by the way, you shouldn’t have done, right? He used to be a prize-winning composer, poor as a churchmouse, then went to Hollywood to do movie scores. We’re all corruptible, right?”
Henry didn’t answer.
“Dr. Brown,” Clete said, “we have four or five other doctors here. We’ve also got some actors. Way over in that corner, see, that’s—he played the lead in—”
“I recognize him,” Margaret said.
That’s right, Henry thought. Play along so he’ll let down his guard.
“Just in front of him,” Clete said, “that man with the prominent nose,” he tittered, “I guess there’re quite a few like that here, he’s from your part of the country—Pelham, I think. He owns a chain of groceries, small chain but lucrative.”
“How long has he been here?” Henry asked.
“I’m not allowed to answer questions like that. Sorry.”
“Hasn’t anyone come looking for him?” Margaret asked.
“We’re very selective in the people we invite here. None of your taxi drivers, you may have noticed, or mom-and-pop candy-store types. No Las Vegas types either. Middle class and up, people who will appreciate the environment.”
“I think you get people who can afford to stay in a place like this,” Henry said.
“And their kids who come looking for them,” Clete added as the appetizers arrived. “Teenagers, young twenties. Sometimes a brother or sister, but mostly younger people.”
Margaret tried to keep her hand from trembling as she squeezed lemon on the avocado. She glanced around.
“I know what you’re thinking, Dr. Brown,” Clete said.
Margaret tried to look at his eyes.
Clete avoided her gaze. To Henry he said, “Not many young people to be seen. They’re kept in a special building near the farm.”
“What farm?” Henry asked.
“You’ll know soon enough.” Clete put his fork down. “We’re not stupid here, Mr. Brown. You Jews sometimes think everybody else is stupid. Everything here is very carefully planned. Mr. Clifford is a genius. Just wait till someone comes looking for you.”
“He will!” Margaret said.
“You mean your son Stanley at Santa Cruz? Sure. You’ll be sorry if he comes looking. You’ll wish you’d had a kid who didn’t give a damn.”
“I don’t know what you do here,” Margaret said, “but whatever it is is inhuman.”
“You’ll have an opportunity to critique the program some weeks from now,” Clete said. “In the meantime, I suggest you eat. You’ll need the nourishment. Your second week is a dry week.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Easy, easy. No water. No liquids. Except for whatever moisture is naturally present in food.
“Dr. Brown, we want you to think of this place as hospitable.”
“We are not going to stay here.”
“Yes, I know.” Clete glanced at the diners in the room. “They all said that in the beginning. Why don’t we order now?” He handed two menus across. Margaret refused hers.
“You have to eat,” Clete said. “You might as well take advantage of the circumstances. You’ll see how quickly time will pass.”
Henry now found Margaret’s hand under the table, patted it with a minimum of movement. They’d have to play out the string.
A trace of amusement wrinkled the corner of Clete’s mouth. There would come a time when they’d do without touching. “What would you like to start with?” he asked.
I have to think. I’m reacting emotionally. Margaret and I will have to use our heads to get us out of here.
“I can recommend the California avocados,” Clete said. “You can have them with shrimp filling, or neat with lemon. Why don’t I order them with the shrimp for all of us? That’ll set us up for the chef’s special. It’s a fish mousse, it comes with buttered asparagus.” Clete motioned to the waitress and ordered for them.
“While we’re waiting,” Clete said, “let me tell you about some of the other guests. That man you stopped to talk to? Which, by the way, you shouldn’t have done, right? He used to be a prize-winning composer, poor as a churchmouse, then went to Hollywood to do movie scores. We’re all corruptible, right?”
Henry didn’t answer.
“Dr. Brown,” Clete said, “we have four or five other doctors here. We’ve also got some actors. Way over in that corner, see, that’s—he played the lead in—”
“I recognize him,” Margaret said.
That’s right, Henry thought. Play along so he’ll let down his guard.
“Just in front of him,” Clete said, “that man with the prominent nose,” he tittered, “I guess there’re quite a few like that here, he’s from your part of the country—Pelham, I think. He owns a chain of groceries, small chain but lucrative.”
“How long has he been here?” Henry asked.
“I’m not allowed to answer questions like that. Sorry.”
“Hasn’t anyone come looking for him?” Margaret asked.
“We’re very selective in the people we invite here. None of your taxi drivers, you may have noticed, or mom-and-pop candy-store types. No Las Vegas types either. Middle class and up, people who will appreciate the environment.”
“I think you get people who can afford to stay in a place like this,” Henry said.
“And their kids who come looking for them,” Clete added as the appetizers arrived. “Teenagers, young twenties. Sometimes a brother or sister, but mostly younger people.”
Margaret tried to keep her hand from trembling as she squeezed lemon on the avocado. She glanced around.
“I know what you’re thinking, Dr. Brown,” Clete said.
Margaret tried to look at his eyes.
Clete avoided her gaze. To Henry he said, “Not many young people to be seen. They’re kept in a special building near the farm.”
“What farm?” Henry asked.
“You’ll know soon enough.” Clete put his fork down. “We’re not stupid here, Mr. Brown. You Jews sometimes think everybody else is stupid. Everything here is very carefully planned. Mr. Clifford is a genius. Just wait till someone comes looking for you.”
“He will!” Margaret said.
“You mean your son Stanley at Santa Cruz? Sure. You’ll be sorry if he comes looking. You’ll wish you’d had a kid who didn’t give a damn.”
“I don’t know what you do here,” Margaret said, “but whatever it is is inhuman.”
“You’ll have an opportunity to critique the program some weeks from now,” Clete said. “In the meantime, I suggest you eat. You’ll need the nourishment. Your second week is a dry week.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Easy, easy. No water. No liquids. Except for whatever moisture is naturally present in food.
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