and popped it in my mouth. The sweet spicy juice burst off the lining of my cheeks, sent a tingle through my back teeth.
"If any of your classmates asks you," I said, "you'll kindly tell them this was a routine interview. We did nothing more than discuss your acquaintance with Leroy Fry."
"There was no acquaintance," he said. "I never knew him."
"Then I was sadly misled. We had a fine laugh over it and parted on good terms."
"If this is not an interview, what is it?"
"An offer. Of employment."
He looked me square in the face. Said nothing.
"Before I go on," I said, "I'm to inform you--let me see--that "this position is contingent on the satisfactory execution of your duties as a cadet." Oh, and "should you fail or waver in these duties at any time, the position will cease to be yours." " I glanced over at him before adding, "That is what Colonel Thayer and Captain Hitchcock would have you know."
The names had their intended effect. I would guess that most plebes--even this one, with his large claims on the world--think themselves beneath the notice of their superiors. The moment they learn otherwise is the moment they begin striving to be worthy of that notice.
"There's no pay," I went on. "You'll need to know that. You won't be able to boast about it. None of your classmates may ever know what you're doing until long after you're done with it. And if they do find out, they're likely to curse your name."
He gave me a lazy smile. His gray eyes glistened. "An irresistible offer, Mr. Landor. Please tell me more."
"Mr. Poe, when I was a constable in New York City, not so long ago, I relied more than I care to say on news. Not the kind that comes from newspapers, but the kind that comes from people. Now, the people who brought this news were almost never what you'd call well bred. You wouldn't have them over to dinner or go to concerts with them, or indeed be seen anywhere in public with them. Out-and-out criminals, mostly--thieves, fences, scratchers. For two bits, they'd auction off their children and sell their mothers--invent mothers they didn't have. And I don't know of a single policeman who could have done his job without them."
Poe's head was bowed over his hands as the import of this worked its way through. Then, sounding each syllable very slowly, as though he were waiting for its echo, he said:
"You wish me to be an informer."
" A n observer, Mr. Poe. In other words, I wish you to be what you already are."
"And what is it I am to observe?"
"I can't tell you." "Why not?"
"Because I don't yet know myself," I said.
I jumped up then--made straight for the blackboard.
"Would you mind, Mr. Poe, if I told you a story? When I was a boy, my father took me to a midnight camp meeting in Indiana. He was gathering some news of his own. We saw these beautiful young women sobbing and groaning, shrieking themselves blue in the face. What a noise! The preacher--fine upstanding gentleman--got them so worked up that after a while they fainted dead on their feet. One after another, like dead trees.
I remember thinking how lucky they had people ready to catch them, because they never looked to see where they were falling. All except one: she was different. Her head... turned a little just before she dropped. She wanted to be sure, you see, who would catch her. And who was the lucky fellow? Why, the preacher himself! Welcoming her into the kingdom of God."
I passed my hand along the blackboard, felt its rasp against my palm.
"Six months later," I said, "the preacher ran off with her. After first taking care to kill his wife. He didn't want to be a bigamist, you see. They were caught just a few miles south of the Canadian border. No one had any inkling they were lovers. No one but me, I suppose, and even I didn't... I didn't know it, I only saw it. Before I knew what I was seeing."
I turned back and found him studying me with the driest of smiles.
"And in that moment," said Poe, "a vocation was born."
It
"If any of your classmates asks you," I said, "you'll kindly tell them this was a routine interview. We did nothing more than discuss your acquaintance with Leroy Fry."
"There was no acquaintance," he said. "I never knew him."
"Then I was sadly misled. We had a fine laugh over it and parted on good terms."
"If this is not an interview, what is it?"
"An offer. Of employment."
He looked me square in the face. Said nothing.
"Before I go on," I said, "I'm to inform you--let me see--that "this position is contingent on the satisfactory execution of your duties as a cadet." Oh, and "should you fail or waver in these duties at any time, the position will cease to be yours." " I glanced over at him before adding, "That is what Colonel Thayer and Captain Hitchcock would have you know."
The names had their intended effect. I would guess that most plebes--even this one, with his large claims on the world--think themselves beneath the notice of their superiors. The moment they learn otherwise is the moment they begin striving to be worthy of that notice.
"There's no pay," I went on. "You'll need to know that. You won't be able to boast about it. None of your classmates may ever know what you're doing until long after you're done with it. And if they do find out, they're likely to curse your name."
He gave me a lazy smile. His gray eyes glistened. "An irresistible offer, Mr. Landor. Please tell me more."
"Mr. Poe, when I was a constable in New York City, not so long ago, I relied more than I care to say on news. Not the kind that comes from newspapers, but the kind that comes from people. Now, the people who brought this news were almost never what you'd call well bred. You wouldn't have them over to dinner or go to concerts with them, or indeed be seen anywhere in public with them. Out-and-out criminals, mostly--thieves, fences, scratchers. For two bits, they'd auction off their children and sell their mothers--invent mothers they didn't have. And I don't know of a single policeman who could have done his job without them."
Poe's head was bowed over his hands as the import of this worked its way through. Then, sounding each syllable very slowly, as though he were waiting for its echo, he said:
"You wish me to be an informer."
" A n observer, Mr. Poe. In other words, I wish you to be what you already are."
"And what is it I am to observe?"
"I can't tell you." "Why not?"
"Because I don't yet know myself," I said.
I jumped up then--made straight for the blackboard.
"Would you mind, Mr. Poe, if I told you a story? When I was a boy, my father took me to a midnight camp meeting in Indiana. He was gathering some news of his own. We saw these beautiful young women sobbing and groaning, shrieking themselves blue in the face. What a noise! The preacher--fine upstanding gentleman--got them so worked up that after a while they fainted dead on their feet. One after another, like dead trees.
I remember thinking how lucky they had people ready to catch them, because they never looked to see where they were falling. All except one: she was different. Her head... turned a little just before she dropped. She wanted to be sure, you see, who would catch her. And who was the lucky fellow? Why, the preacher himself! Welcoming her into the kingdom of God."
I passed my hand along the blackboard, felt its rasp against my palm.
"Six months later," I said, "the preacher ran off with her. After first taking care to kill his wife. He didn't want to be a bigamist, you see. They were caught just a few miles south of the Canadian border. No one had any inkling they were lovers. No one but me, I suppose, and even I didn't... I didn't know it, I only saw it. Before I knew what I was seeing."
I turned back and found him studying me with the driest of smiles.
"And in that moment," said Poe, "a vocation was born."
It
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