Redemption by Howard Fast Read Free Book Online

like a spoiled child. I’m a grown woman of forty-seven years, and I’ll go home and I’ll be all right.”
    â€œYes, of course. And I’m an old man of seventy-eight years, and I care for you whether I was sent there or not. I want you to stay over—let’s say for my sake. I want to make breakfast for you in the morning. I want to know that you’ll be here when I wake up. I’m very seriously asking you to stay.”
    â€œWhy, Ike?”
    â€œBecause you brought me a few days of happiness. Isn’t that enough?”
    â€œThank you, Ike. I want to stay.”
    I took the sweater and put it back in the closet.
    Elizabeth went to the couch and stared at the glowing coals of the fire. I put Bach’s Air on the G String on the stereo, then sat with her on the couch, again with a space between us, watching her. I must have dozed.
    â€œMidnight, Ike,” she said. The fire was out.
    I’m not a good night person. Elizabeth stood up and reached out a hand to help me to my feet. “Stiff and old,” I said. She shook her head.
    â€œDo you need anything?” I asked. “Pajamas?”
    â€œNo, not a thing. You’re very tall. I would be lost in your pajamas.” At the door to my son’s room, she reached out a hand to me and kissed me on my cheek. “Good night, Ike. Bless you.”
    Sometime that night, I suppose close to four o’clock in the morning, I awakened, and there was Elizabeth, in bed with me and sound asleep. She must have crawled in during the night, very quietly and without waking me. I didn’t wake her, and when I awoke again, past nine, she was up and dressed, and the aroma of fresh coffee drifted out of the kitchen.
    She greeted me again with a soft kiss, on my lips this time, informing me that she must get home, change her clothes, and be off to work.
    â€œI have a cook in twice a week, and this is her night. Will you come for a nice, civilized dinner, just the two of us?”
    â€œIke, you will be so tired of me.”
    â€œBut you’ll come?”
    â€œOf course I will. What time?”
    â€œAround six-thirty or so.”
    There was no artifice to her. What was there, you saw—no hint of coyness or pretense. She kissed me again as she departed, leaving me to wonder who was who in this curious relationship that I had stepped into so casually—whether she was groping for a father or shelter or simply someone who treated her as a decent and desirable human being. That she might have fallen in love with an old teacher crossed my mind, but I dropped it immediately, examining myself in the entryway mirror and critically observing the tall, skinny, elderly professorial type—a long lean face, which I had always considered less than attractive, and a decent head of hair that was mostly white. As for my falling in love—well, romantic love was something I had always considered to be an illusion that poured money into the entertainment industry, only a small step above virtual reality.

THREE
    T HE P RICE
    T HE TELEPHONE RANG . It was Charlie Brown. “Believe it or not,” he said, “Harvey Goldberg is delighted. He has secret aspirations for writing a book, with you as coauthor, on the subject of greed as a social force in America. He is free for lunch today, if you choose, or he’ll make himself free on any other day you select. I think you should take him up on it.”
    â€œToday will be fine,” I agreed.
    â€œTwelve-thirty? Same place?”
    â€œI’ll be there.”
    Harvey Goldberg was a fat, jovial man, who wore pince-nez glasses and combed his thin hair across the top of his balding head. When he appeared as a business or market expert on television programs, he wore a hairpiece, but in his day-to-day lecturing, he was content with his natural hair. He chewed nicotine gum to break himself of his cigarette habit, and while he admitted his continuing addiction, he felt