Face on the Wall (30 page)

After school Charlene was disappointed to see Annie's part of the house still standing. “Hey, Daddy,” she said, “what happened? Aren't they going to knock it down?”

Bob Gast felt driven into a corner by women. Young or old, they were all the same. Stubborn, demanding, they never let go. “Don't worry, I'll get her out. We'll hire another wrecking company. She'll have to pack up and leave.”

“Well, I wish she'd hurry up. Look, Daddy, here's the catalogue from the swimming-pool company.” Charlene flipped it open so that he could admire the Olympic-sized indoor pool. It was full of jolly swimmers, children, mothers, and fathers. A model in a scanty suit lay on an inflated mattress. A serious swimmer clove the water with a powerful backstroke. There were ladders, slides, diving boards, track lighting, and huge windows, poolside tables and chairs, a garden with tropical plants and gigantic blossoms. The water was aquamarine.

Charlene's father looked for a price. It was nowhere to be seen.

“Lord Fish, Lord Fish!” cried the fisherman, screaming above the tempest, as the towering waves washed over his foundering boat. “My wife has another request.”

For a moment the enchanted fish did not appear above the churning sea. When at last he thrust up his great head he glowered at the fisherman and said, “Your wife rules the world. What more can she ask of met?”

“Oh, Lord Fish, forgive me, but she wants to be pope! She wants to sit on the throne of St. Peter!”

The sea foamed, the sky split with lightning and thunder. The fish hissed his answer, “So it shall be. Your wife is mistress of the Holy See.”

Chapter 45

Build it up with wood and clay,

Wood and clay, wood and clay!

Build it up with wood and clay,

My fair lady!

Mother Goose rhyme

N
ext morning the
Boston Globe
had a color shot of the protesters defying Ted Hawk's enormous demolition machine. In addition, the local TV news ran the story.

Bob Gast was disgusted with the publicity those people were managing to whip up. It was all on the side of Anna Swann. She was supposed to be some kind of heroine for defying his eviction order. He had to keep reminding himself that the law was on his side, not hers. He wrote a huffy letter to the
Globe,
making this point, but of course the damage was done.

Nervously he flipped through the Yellow Pages again, and began calling other wrecking contractors. The first three had read about the confrontation and wanted no part of it. The fourth demolition expert seemed ignorant about the whole thing. Apparently he never read the paper or watched the news on TV.

“I'll pay you overtime if you'll do it late at night,” said Bob Gast.

But late at night or not, Flimnap O'Dougherty was alerted by the shuddering noise of the hydraulic lift and the scream of the chain, as the big machine with its grappling jaw descended from the low-bed trailer. He bounced out of bed in his gypsy caravan, which was hidden in a leafy thicket deep in the woods. Seizing his telephone, he made a call, then raced down the hill. He found Annie standing at her door pulling on her coat, her hair flowing over her nightgown in a tangle.

Behind Flimnap, Annie could see the glaring headlights of the big excavator wobble up and down as it headed around the corner, plowing headlong through a blossoming viburnum bush. Frantically she turned back into the house. “I'll call Uncle Homer. He was going to get a restraining order.”

“I called him already,” said Flimnap. “He's calling Minnie Peck. They're all coming.”

A pale face swam up in the dark. It was Bob Gast. “She's got to get out,” he said angrily to Flimnap, flourishing his copy of the eviction notice as another set of headlights floundered up the driveway.

“Excuse me,” said Flimnap dreamily, reaching out in the dark. “I think you've got something in your ear.” He held it up delicately between finger and thumb. It was an egg.

“What's he doing with an egg in his ear?” said Homer Kelly, looming up beside him, sounding puzzled, trailed by his wife Mary.

“The injunction, Uncle Homer,” cried Annie, as the racket of the huge machine grew louder and its headlights sent a ray streaking through the house, “have you got the injunction?”

“You mean this thing?” Homer extracted a folded paper from his pocket and showed it to Bob Gast. He showed it to Flimnap. He showed it to the wrecking contractor.

It was a contest between two pieces of paper. Homer's paper won.

“That'll be thirty-two hundred for our trouble,” said the contractor, handing Gast another piece of paper, while Minnie Peck's friends tumbled out of cars. The installation artist was there, Henry Coombs, along with his wife Lily, who made pretty pictures with dried flowers. They were joined by poet Henrietta Willsey and potter Perry Chestnut. Minnie had also summoned Wally Feather, the' plaster-cast man, and Trudy Tuck, who made ornamental candles. All of them gathered around Gast and Homer and Mary and Annie, and grinned and made rude remarks. Trudy took more pictures.

Nearly insane with anger and frustration, Bob Gast scrawled another check, steam fizzing out of his pen, and abandoned the field. Annie invited her supporters in for a drink.

They were triumphant, noisy with the spirit of the barricades. Mary Kelly was excited too, but she couldn't help hearing a note of hysteria in Annie's loud laugh. “To Annie!” shouted Homer, raising his glass. “Long may she wave!” And in no time at all he had guzzled down three whiskeys, while his wife looked on indulgently and reminded herself to take the wheel when the party was over.

Before long Annie had imbibed at least two whiskeys herself. She was leaping from sofa to sofa. Homer beamed at her, then glanced up at her insane and wonderful wall. Nutty the girl might be, but you had to give her credit for achieving something truly amazing.

When the party broke up, Homer too was standing on one of the sofas, making oracular pronouncements. Mary cut him short and stuffed him into his coat and took him home.

Trudy Tuck wasn't ready to go to bed. She extracted the film from her camera, held it high, and exclaimed loudly, “I'll take it to the
Globe
right now.”

“But Trudy, it's three in the morning,” cried Annie.

“I don't care what time it is. So long, everybody.” Trudy's coat swirled dramatically as she made a rush for the door.

“That's Trudy all over,” said Minnie Peck jealously. “The swashbuckling gesture. Hey, could somebody drive me home” She looked around for Flimnap. “Where's O'Dougherty?”

“He was here a minute ago,” said Annie, looking around too.

“We'll take you,” said Henry Coombs. “You're right on our way.” Henry put down his glass and glanced up at the splendid images on Annie's wall. He had seen them before, at her house-warming party. They had all seen them before. But now the wall was much more complete. Annie's painted storytellers stood in a stately row. They were at once homely and imposing. Behind them their stories romped all over the landscape: Huck and Jim drifting down the Mississippi on their raft, the old witch threatening Hansel and Gretel, Cinderella on her way to the ball, and the emperor in his underwear. The background shimmered with detail.

Annie's friends put on their coats and looked at the wall, admiring it, making suggestions and criticizing—Henry and Lily Coombs, Wally Feather, Minnie Peck, Henrietta Willsey, and Perry Chestnut. Novelist Albert Flood looked at it too, and weaver Lindsay Jiggs, who had driven up too late to see the action. But whether they found fault with her wall or not, whether they approved of Annie's sense of design and choice of subject matter, it represented something they all believed in, something endangered by the might and majesty of the law. Somehow or other it must be saved.

Chapter 46

Wood and clay will wash away,

Wash away, wash away!

Wood and clay will wash away,

My fair lady!

Mother Goose rhyme

B
ut of course Robert Gast eventually found another willing company in the Yellow Pages—Quincy Contractors, Wrecking Demolition Specialists, Serving All New England, Interior Exterior Demolition, 24-Hour Emergency Service, Buildings, Tanks, Towers, Chimneys, Heavy Industrial & Civil Dismantling, Disposal of Debris, Licensed, Bonded, Insured.

Quincy Contractors didn't give a damn about protesters. “We'll mow 'em down,” said the contractor in charge. “Just joking, of course.” But there was a surly undertone in his voice, as though he wasn't joking at all.

Homer tried and failed to get another injunction. “Sorry,” said the judge. “The man's got a deed. He owns the entire building. He has a perfect right to knock it down if he wants to.” Privately he admitted to Homer that Gast was scum, but unfortunately there was no way the law could stop him. “Just go on shaming him before the world,” he suggested kindly. “I don't know what else you can do.”

Once again Annie's supporters answered the summons, along with a lot of strangers who wanted to be part of the best story of the day and see themselves on the evening news. Homer was there too, although he protested to Mary that her niece's problems were taking too much of his time.