The Hormone Factory (17 page)

“I am going to jail. I won’t deny a thing, I won’t assist in any investigation whatsoever, and I’ll pay the ultimate price. And only you will ever know that I’m atoning not just for my own sins, but also for yours. On one condition, mind, and don’t you ever forget it: these indiscretions of yours have got to stop. If, while I’m in the slammer, or later, once I’m out again, I ever get a whiff indicating you’re still fooling around with those girls at work, I won’t rest until I’ve sent you and the whole caboodle down the tubes. And believe me, if you ever so much as lift a finger to touch some innocent thing, I will make it my business to find out about it. I want you to swear, both on the graves of our coldhearted parents and on your Rivka’s goodness, that from now on you’ll never lay a finger on any of the girls in the factory.”

His words seemed to be coming from very far away. I stared at him, and after a pause, I said, “I swear, on the graves of our coldhearted parents and on the goodness of my wife.”

Aaron nodded and swung himself out of bed. I extended a hand to help him up, but he shrugged it off. “And another thing, Motke,” he said, unbuttoning his tattered and torn shirt, “after today I’ll have nothing more to do with you. You are my brother no longer. Once I’ve done my time, I am never coming back to this shithole. And you’d better make sure that Rosie gets whatever she needs. Now I’m going to get washed, and then you may escort me to the police station, and after that, we’ll each be a man without a brother.”

Without wasting another glance at me, he disappeared into the bathroom.

28 …

After dropping off Aaron at the police station, which he’d entered without bidding me goodbye, I rushed back to the office. I didn’t have time to stop and think about the morning’s events; the ship was still floundering, with a huge gash in the hull.

First I rang the doctor in Nijmegen and informed him of what had happened. I managed to assuage his panic, assuring him that I wouldn’t breathe a word to anyone about Aaron’s testosterone overdose. I pressured him not to tell Professor Levine about it either. This seemed to calm him down. The poor quack must have felt duty-bound as a scientist to fill the professor in, but at the same time he was scared shitless of Levine’s wrath. My directive relieved him of that obligation. It’s astonishing, really, how people will agree to a request if you make them believe it’s an order. It’s rare that they’ll find the strength to resist an assertive demand and hang on to their own sense of what’s right.

After putting down the phone I asked Agnes to gather together the office personnel who had witnessed Rosie’s escape and heard my brother’s brute bellowing of the previous day. Standing in the hall, I gave a short speech in which I apologized for Aaron and his transgression, brought about, I explained, by a harmful concoction of medications. He was already locked away
in a cell, I told them, awaiting punishment. Moreover, I said, my brother was racked with remorse and wished more than anything that the dreadful episode had never happened. I sent the employees back to their desks, but not before warning that this was to be the last word spoken about this affair, and that I would not stand for any gossip. I also asked them to do all they could to nip in the bud any rumors undoubtedly already circulating on the outside.

“Farmacom belongs to us all,” I said in conclusion, “and slander and scandalmongering affects all of you just as much as it affects my own family. Blackening the name of the firm is tantamount to besmirching your own. I hope and trust that by pulling together we can rid Farmacom of this blot on its otherwise sterling reputation. I thank you sincerely.”

There was a smattering of applause from the white-coated employees, and some quiet chatter as they returned to their desks.

I shut myself into my office and asked Agnes for a cup of coffee, hoping it would help me get over my exhaustion. Aaron’s tongue-lashing had cast a pall, robbing me of the will to go back to work. I was tempted, just for an instant, to throw in the towel, to leave it all behind, the damn factory, Levine, my children, even my “trophy wife,” and make a break for it. How would it feel to flee this doomed continent like a thief in the night, and to go live the good life somewhere else, on a white sandy beach in some exotic locale among the noble savages?

I took a sip of strong coffee and considered what else remained to be done that morning.

I was about to spring into action when Agnes rang to say the priest was there, demanding to speak to me immediately. Annoyed, I told her to think of some excuse to get rid of him.
“Just make an appointment with him for some time next week,” I suggested, and was about to put down the receiver.

“I already tried that, but he says it can’t wait,” she replied. Then I heard her shout
“No!”
and at the same time my office door flew open. The clergyman, normally so sedate and cautious, burst into my room, slamming the door behind him. His pasty face was flushed bright red, he had a wild look in his eyes, and his black cassock was buttoned askew. He leaned against the shut door, as if hoping to keep out the bogeyman that was on his tail.

“Father,” I greeted him, mustering a feeble smile with some difficulty. The last thing I needed right now was a sermon from the padre.

“Mr. De Paauw,” he panted, slowly detaching himself from the door and advancing toward my desk, “I must speak to you urgently.”

I pointed to the chair in front of my desk and invited him to say what was on his mind, adding that I didn’t have much time. Unlike his customary delivery, which entailed beating around the bush for as long as possible, he came straight to the point. “The unspeakable events that took place in this establishment yesterday are the talk of the town.”

He drummed his bony fingers together more restlessly than ever. “The town is all abuzz about your brother’s brutal attack on that little Jewish girl. People are furious, and are spreading the most horrific stories. They say the girl was grievously harmed, and that she has died of her injuries.” As he repeated these rumors, he leaned conspiratorially closer.

“That’s nonsense,” I replied. “I personally saw her yesterday, at the police station, where she was filing her complaint. She’s had a nasty shock, but other than that she’s quite unharmed. Don’t you know how these stories get spread?”

“Mr. De Paauw, the rumor about the little Jew girl is only one of the stories going around. They’re saying this is just the tip of the iceberg.” He opened his eyes as wide as saucers to stress the gravity of the situation. “Supposedly there’s plenty of other improper cavorting going on here. Not just on the part of your brother, but”—waving his forefinger in the air, he swallowed in his peculiar way—“it’s said that you yourself have frequently taken advantage of these young women. I had heard the rumors before but never paid much attention to them, as I told you in our last conversation. I thought it behooved me, however, to inform you of the gossip. Furthermore, the angry mood out there alarms me; I fear that even I may feel the repercussions too.”

He paused to give these last words extra weight. So, the truth was coming out at last.

“I therefore thought it advisable,” he continued, “to discuss with you how we can put out this fire before it consumes us both.”

I looked at him sternly. The padre’s knickers were all in a twist, it seemed, because this whole cock-up was threatening to expose his own illicit dilly-dallying with his Catholic flock. And what, he was now expecting
me
to help him get out of trouble?

“Reverend,” I said, “am I to understand that you have not always been able to keep your hands to yourself, and are now afraid it may come to light on account of my brother’s transgression?”

The man’s face grew scarlet; he hung his head and made the sign of the cross as if to ward off my words, which had just hurled his sins out into the universe, and nodded almost imperceptibly.

“So? What do you want from
me
? How am
I
supposed to help you with that?” I steamed.

“Well, we are both in the same boat, aren’t we, Mr. De Paauw?” he lisped, glancing up. “I came here so that we might, as it were, join forces.”

“In the same boat? You and I?” I asked. “I don’t quite see it that way, Father. I gather that you have not been able to control yourself with your parishioners. In my case, however, we’re talking about mere rumors. The chief of police himself admitted to me yesterday that there is no evidence to support the accusation of one of my employees, Bertha, also one of your flock, who I’m sure is the source of these rumors insofar as they pertain to me. I do understand that this is an unpleasant situation, but I don’t see how I can be of help to you. It seems to me that it would make more sense for you to appeal to the mayor, who may be able to put his influence to good effect.”

The padre’s face went white as a sheet; he scrunched up his eyes and sucked in his thin lips. His normally beatific expression twisted into a pained grimace.

“You are mistaken, Mr. De Paauw. For years I have been hearing over and over again about quite a goodly number of youngsters in my flock being forced into having sexual intercourse with you, or other carnal practices. Here, in this room, on
that
sofa”—here he pointed accusingly at the Cozy Corner—“all kinds of lewd scenes have played out; my own occasional trespasses pale in comparison. I have always defended you until now, but that can change in a heartbeat,” he concluded, trying to muster a threatening scowl. Then he looked at me expectantly, as if he trusted I’d be badly shaken by his words.

“Ha! You come storming in here with some cockamamie story that Rosie was murdered, whereas I can prove to you that she is very much alive and that physically, there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with her. Isn’t that evidence enough, Father,
that you mustn’t believe everything you hear through the grapevine? I have nothing to hide. And I’m not going to atone for anything. My employees know that ugly gossip is not tolerated in our firm. How you deal with it in your parish is
your
problem. And please forgive me, but I am terribly busy right now, as you can surely imagine.”

I stood up to show that, as far as I was concerned, the interview was over. The preacher remained slumped in his chair, defeated. I strode up to where he sat, slipped my hand under his arm, and pulled him to his feet. Then I led him to the door. As I showed him out, I said quietly, “Go see the mayor, surely he’ll be able to help you hush up those nasty rumors. I wish you the best of luck, reverend Father.”

Ignoring my outstretched hand, he turned away brusquely. I quickly shut the door behind him.

29 …

The padre’s visit had dispelled both my somber mood and my exhaustion. I asked Agnes for Rosie’s address and hurried over to her parental home, a ramshackle hut near the tracks. The doorframe was askew and a mezuzah dangled from a loose nail, not to mention the peeling paint on the windowsill; the wood was in an advanced state of decay. The window was so filthy you couldn’t see through it, and it was cracked right up the middle. I knocked. A strident voice yelled something unintelligible, and a few moments later the door was yanked open. A frazzled-looking woman appeared, worn down by poverty like so many of the womenfolk in our dreary town. Her thin frame brought to mind Rosie’s sinewy slenderness, except that, in the mother’s case, all the softness and freshness was missing. She was holding a baby in her large, splayed hands, and I could make out several other children in the dark room.

Seeing me startled her; she took a step back and peered at me suspiciously.

“Good morning,” I began, “are you Mrs. Groen? Rosie’s mother?”

She nodded with obvious reluctance. “My name is De Paauw, I’m the brother of …” I said, rather uncomfortably; “could I have a word with you?”

Grudgingly she moved aside to let me through, and pointed to a chair drawn up to the table in the center of the stuffy room. The children stopped their game and stared at me shyly and wide-eyed as I stepped inside, taking off my hat and unbuttoning my overcoat before sitting down.

“Bram,” the mother barked sharply, upon which the oldest boy, a child of around ten, looked up at her questioningly, “take Berel and the little ones out to the shed.”

The children scrambled obediently to their feet; the boy took the baby from her and they all disappeared through the back door.

“Is Rosie home?” I asked.

The woman shook her head.

“Do you have any idea where she is?” I inquired carefully.

She shrugged.

“I want to apologize to you, in the name of my brother, for what he did to her. I take it you know what happened?”

The woman laughed scathingly.

“There ain’t a dog in this town don’t know what happened. News like that spreads faster ’n fire. Folks lap it up, as long as it’s not their own kids.” She glared at him. “We thought it best for Rosie to go work for you, and not Van der Vlis or Bartelsma. Goyim don’t respect the likes of us, and I’d hoped it would be different over at your place.”

“I am terribly sorry about what happened, and I want you to know I’ll do everything I can to make amends. How is she?”

Again she gave a sullen shrug.

“I would like to speak to her, to apologize to her on my brother’s behalf, and to see what we can do for her.”

My words had quite a different effect from the one I’d expected.

“You know what you can do, Mr. De Paauw?” she said, standing up and placing her hands on her hips. “You can just stay the hell away, as far away from us as possible. We’ve got enough troubles without you coming here bothering us with your smut and filth. Isn’t all the money we make for you, us and our children, enough? Can’t you just be happy being filthy rich? Why do you have to go and drag our kids—the only thing in life we got more of than you—through your scuzzy slime? You’ve got daughters yourself, don’tcha?”

She strode to the door and yanked it open. “Now get out,” she growled. “You’ve taken my darling, my eldest girl, from me, you and your brother. She was such a happy little thing, the apple of my old man’s eye. Now he’s kicked her out of the house. Doesn’t want people talking. See, that’s men for you! And don’t ever come back here again. Leave us the hell alone.”