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prejudicial, inflammatory, unsubstantiated statement."

"So many big words!-okay, I withdraw it," Birdsong volunteered before the

commissioner could rule. He grinned. "I guess my honest feelings got the

better of me."

O'Brien looked as if be would object again, then decided not.

As Birdsong and others were well aware, the last exchange would be in the

record, despite withdrawal. Also, reporters at the press table had

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their heads down and were writing busily-something they were not doing

earlier.

Still observing from his spectator's seat, Nim thought: No doubt Davey

Birdsong's comments would be featured in reports next day because the p &

lfp leader was, as usual, making colorful copy.

Among the press group Nim could see the black reporter, Nancy Molineaux.

She had been watching Birdsong intently, not writing but sitting upright

and unmoving; the pose emphasized her high cheekbones, the handsome if

forbidding face, her slim, willowy body. Her expression was thoughtful. Nim

guessed that she too was appreciating Birdsong's performance.

Earlier today Ms. Molineaux and Nim had passed each other briefly outside

the bearing room. When he nodded curtly she raised an eyebrow and gave him

a mocking smile.

Birdsong resumed his questioning. "Tell me, Eric old pal . . . oops, pardon

me!-Mister Humphrey-have you ever heard of conservation?"

"Of course."

"Are you aware there is a widespread belief that projects like Tunipah

would not be needed if you people got behind conservation seriously? I

mean, not just played at conservation in a token way, but sold it-with the

same bard sell you're using right now in trying for permission to build

more plants to make fatter and fatter profits?"

O'Brien was halfway to his feet when Humphrey said, "I'll answer that." The

lawyer subsided.

"In the first place, at Golden State Power & Light we do not try to sell

more electricity; we used to, but we haven't done that kind of selling in

a long time. Instead we urge conservation-very seriously. But conservation,

while helping, will never eliminate steady growth in electrical demand,

which is why we require Tunipah."

Birdsong prompted, "And that's your opinion?"

"Naturally it's my opinion."

"The same kind of prejudiced opinion which asked us to believe you don't

care whether Tunipah makes a profit or not?"

O'Brien objected. "That's a misrepresentation. The witness did not say be

didn't care about profit."

"I'll concede that." Abruptly Birdsong swung to face O'Brien, his body

seeming to expand as his voice rose. "We know all of you at Golden State

care about profits-big, fat, gross, extortionate profits at the expense of

small consumers, the decent working people of this state who pay their

bills and will be stuck with the cost of Tunipah if . . ."

The remainder of the words were drowned in cheers, applause and

foot-stomping from the spectators. Amid it all, the commissioner banged his

gavel, calling, "Order! Order!"

A man who had joined in the cheering and was seated next to Nim

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observed Nim's silence. He inquired belligerently, "Don't you care,

buster?"

"Yes," Nim said. "I care."

Nim realized that if this were a regular court proceeding the chances

were that Birdsong would long since have been cited for contempt. But he

wouldn't be, now or later, because the courtroom setting was a fagade.

Hearings of this kind were allowed, deliberately, to operate loosely with

occasional disorders tolerated. Oscar O'Brien had explained the reasons

at one of his advance briefings.

"Public commissions nowadays are seared shitless that if they don't allow

all and sundry to have an unrestricted chance to say their piece, later

there could be challenges in the courts on grounds that significant

evidence was quashed. If that happened it might mean an overturned

decision, undoing years of work because some nut was ordered to shut up

or a minor argument disallowed. No one wants tbat-including us. So, by

general consent, the demagogues and kooks et al are given their head

along with all the time they want. It makes for dragged out bearings but

in the end is probably shorter."

That, Nim knew, was why the experienced administrative law judge had

shaken his head a few moments ago, advising the young commissioner not

to disallow Birdsong's disputed question.

Something else O'Brien had explained was that lawyers like himself, who

were involved on behalf of applicants, raised fewer objections at this

type of hearing than they would in court. "We save them for something

that's outrageously wrong and ought to be corrected in the record." Nim

suspected that O'Brien's objections during J. Eric Humphrey's

cross-examination by Birdsong were mostly to mollify Humphrey, O'Brien's

boss, who had been reluctant to make this appearance anyway.

Nim was sure that when his own turn came to testify and be cross-ex-

amined, O'Brien would leave him pretty much to fend for himself.

"Let's get back," Davey Birdsong was continuing, "to those huge profits

we were talking about. Now take the effect on consumers' monthly bills

. . ."

For another half hour the p & lfp leader continued his interrogation. He

employed leading, loaded questions unsubstantiated by facts, interrupted

by clowning, but hammering home his contention that profits from Tunipah

would be excessive and were the major motivation. Nim conceded mentally:

While the charge was false, the Goebbels-type repetition was effective.

Undoubtedly it would receive prominence in the media, and probably

credence, which clearly was among Birdsong's objectives.

"Thank you, Mr. Humphrey," the commissioner said when the GSP & L

chairman stepped down from the witness stand. Eric

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Humphrey nodded an acknowledgment, then departed with evident relief.

Two other GSP & L witnesses followed. Both were specialist engineers.

Their testimony and cross-examination were uneventful but occupied two

full days, after which the hearing was adjourned until Monday of the

following week. Nim, who would have the burden of presenting the main

thrust of GSP & L's case, would be next on the witness stand when

proceedings resumed.

9

Three weeks ago, when Ruth Goldman startled Nim by announcing her

intention to leave home for a while, he considered it likely she would

change her mind. However, Ruth hadn't. Now, on Friday evening, during the

weekend recess of the Tunipab hearings, Nim found himself alone in their

house, Leah and Benjy having been taken by Ruth to their grandparents

across town before her departure. The arrangement was that both children

would remain with the Neubergers until Ruth's return, whenever that might

be.

Ruth had been vague about that, just as she had declined to say where she

was going, or with whom. "Probably it will be two weeks, though it may

be less or more," she had told Nim several days ago.

But there was nothing vague about her attitude toward him; it had been

cool and definite. It was, he thought, as if she bad reached decisions

within herself and all that remained was to implement them. What the

decisions were, and how he would be affected, Nim had no idea. At first

be told himself he should care, but was saddened to find he didn't. At

least, not much. That was why he had raised no protest when Ruth told him

her plans were complete and she would be leaving at the end of the week.

It was uncharacteristic, Nim realized, for him merely to "go along" and

let things drift. By nature he was accustomed to make decisions promptly

and to plan ahead: that ability, applied to his work, had earned him

recognition and advancement. But where his marriage was concerned he

still had a curious reluctance to move, perhaps to face reality. He was

leaving it all to Ruth. If she chose to leave permanently and afterward

seek a divorce, which seemed the natural sequence, he would be

disinclined to fight or even try to dissuade her. However, he would not

take the step himself. Not yet.

He had asked Ruth only yesterday if she was ready to discuss their

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situation, remembering her words: ". . . you and I have only been going

through the motions of being married. We haven't talked about it. But I

think we should. . . Perhaps when I come back."

Why wait? Nim reasoned.

But she had answered in a businesslike tone, "No, I'll tell you when I'm

ready." And that had been the end of it.

Leah and Benjy entered frequently into Nim's thoughts along with the

possibility of divorce. Both children, he knew, would be devasted by the

idea, and he was saddened at the thought of them being hurt. But the fact

was, children survived divorces and Nim had observed many who accepted

a divorce in the family as a simple facet of life. Nor would there be

difficulty about Nim and Leah and Benjy spending time together. He might

even end up seeing more of both children than be did now. It had happened

to other estranged fathers.

But all that must await Ruth's return, he reflected, as he roamed the

empty house on Friday evening.

A half hour ago he had telephoned Leah and Benjy, plowing through the

objections of Aaron Neuberger, who didn't like his telephone to be used,

except for emergencies, on the Sabbath. Nim had let the phone ring and

ring until his father-in-law gave in and answered. "I want to talk to my

kids," Nim insisted bluntly, "and I don't care if it's Mickey Mouse

Tuesday."

When Leah came on the line a few minutes later she reproached him gently.

"Daddy, you've upset Grandfather."

Nim had felt like saying Good! but wisely didn't, and they talked about

school, a forthcoming swim meet and ballet class. No mention of Ruth. He

sensed that Leah knew something was wrong but was uneasy about asking or

knowing.

His conversation with Benjy, which followed, revived the irritation Nim

frequently felt about his in-laws.

"Dad," Benjy had said, "am I going to have a bar mitzvah? Grandfather

said I have to. And Grandmother says if I don't I'll never be a real

Jewish man."

Confound those interfering Neubergers! Couldn't they just be loving

grandparents, taking care of Leah and Benjy for a couple of weeks,

without grabbing the chance to inject propaganda into the children? It

was almost indecent to start working on them with such baste, as well as

intruding on the rights of Nim and Ruth as parents. Nim bad wanted to

bring up that subject himself with Benjy, talking it over quietly,

intelligently, man-to-man, not have it sprung on him suddenly like this.

Well, an inner voice inquired, why didn't you do it? There's been plenty

of time. If you had, you wouldn't be wondering right now how to respond

to Beniy's question.

Nim said sharply, "No one has to have a bar mitzvah. I didn't. And what

your grandmother said is nonsense."

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"Grandfather says there's a lot I'll have to learn." Benjy still sounded