A morning market took place each Thursday through Saturday, in the middle of Lafayette Park. Merchants displayed their vegetables, cheese, yogurt, fish, goats, and venison in orderly stalls made of wood and colorful cloths. Other booths stocked and sold the spoils of the depopulated city: furniture, fine art, jewelry, and Cheerios. The diversion-deprived San Franciscans reveled in the whirl of the bright-hued bazaar. In crowded paths amongst the stalls, people joked and gossiped with an ease that belied their lives' dire situation. Occasionally, explosions rumbled in the distance; and then, all motion stopped and the busy crowds fell glum and silent. But in moments, with brazen speed, gayety returned, and the buyers and sellers resumed the sacredly mundane work of daily life. The continued existence of the bustling market was an act of defiance, a brave proclamation that San Francisco remained true to itself, to its inner joy, despite encirclement by a bold and rapacious antagonist. Though the war was never far away and its spectre and victims were ever-present, the people of the Queen City splendidly clung to their civilized pleasures.
Before the siege, the market was set up outside the Shambles, on a part of the flat land that was now the Angeleno camp. The market had been the center of trade for the Bay Area and the Coast from Monterey to Eugene. The militia kept order and helped build booths; city-owned wagons pulled the citizens’ goods through a mercantile tunnel.
Though invisible throughout the process, the Wentworths facilitated every detail of the “Outside Market,” for they knew it promoted their precinct’s wealth. By controlling the market, the energy supply, and the only armed force in the city, the Wentworths secured their preeminence, generation after generation. In peacetime, the Wentworths were like shadows in the life of the city. They avoided publicity and left the putative governance of the city to the City Council. This charade was laid bare when the ALA attacked and the chancellor disbanded the City Council, then, along with his brothers, took over direct supervision of all aspects of San Francisco.
Councilman Spicer strolled through the sun-drenched crowd. He enjoyed the friendly salutations of the women. His boyish pleasure at their notice spawned even more feminine attention. The women shoppers allowed his touchy hellos, for he brightened the crowd. It was known that he liked to touch women’s buttocks, and in the crowded market, those who wished favors gave him this privilege. All San Francisco recognized the accommodating councilman, but here, in the market, was his core constituency. Spicer was a great friend to the marketplace merchants, because he helped keep their taxes artificially low. He lapped up the many sweet words that, in return, came his way. The people in the market disliked the war more than any other segment of society. The scarcity of goods, Wentworth-enforced price controls, and the loss of the Outside Market disrupted the core activity of their lives. Councilman Spicer lowered his head seriously and listened to every complaint, comment, or request; he decided on the spot, but did not reveal, which of these beckonings could be easily satisfied and made note to accommodate the “low hanging fruit.” The rest he let fall away. Of course, all the while he gave politic assurances of serious consideration.
On this fine day, with its deep-blue sky and high clouds, the councilman's joy sprang from a warmth deep within him. The women noticed and commented, "You'd think the war was over!" "Have you ever seen a bigger smile?" "The councilman is so happy, he must be in love!" Certainly, it did not occur to anyone that the councilman exulted at a prospect for someone other than himself.
But such was the case. As he walked among the stalls and shoppers, having a good word for everyone, the immanent freedom of his niece filled Spicer's heart. He imagined that within a week, he would walk through these same aromatic stalls with Irma on his arm, just as when she was a child. She would be safe and comfortable; he would have her companionship. It would all soon come to pass. Spicer did not doubt Todd Wentworth's guarantee that Irma would have right of choice. She could turn on her heel and walk out, taking all she wished to take from him. Spicer had no doubt that the young Wentworth, too, found Irma's condition unjust, and would do all that was needed to improve her situation. As he walked and prattled, the councilman paid particular attention to the jewelers’ wares, hoping to find the grandest bauble for her Liberty Day gift. It must be sapphires, he told himself.
With these warm thoughts, Spicer stood in front of a carrot stand, joking bawdily with two matrons. The women were dressed in colorful saris, which were, in those days, highly valued. (The more colorful the fabric, the more valuable; a drabber cloth, even if made of better fiber, was not as dear as the dress with brilliant color.) Spicer was focused on the rapid conversation, but in the back of his mind, the dream of strolling the streets with Irma kept a smile on his face. The happy uncle did not notice when two shadows fell across his person, but his gregarious interlocutors suddenly stopped smiling. Spicer saw apprehension on their formerly beaming faces. He fell silent in midsentence; his grin froze, and he turned around. He found his nose nearly touching the metal-plated chest of Thurston Wentworth. Out of the corner of his small, cautious eye, he saw at his right the hard beauty, Helen. Standing at her husband's side, Helen tilted her head. Her highly piled reddish hair bobbed; her jewels shimmered in the sunlight; the darkness of her broad nipples shaded her thin green dress. She smiled patronizingly at the two women, who wisely went back to their own affairs. Then her slanted amber eyes came to rest purposefully on the councilman's whitening face.
Helen eyed the older man with a mysterious sensuality. "I knew I'd find you here," she said huskily.
Smiling sadly, mockingly, Thurston put a firm hand on Spicer's shoulder. "Indeed." He fixed his killer's eyes on the little councilman's forehead.
Spicer was reminded that he had never liked Thurston's smell. The stench of death clung to the man, to his hair and his beard. At that moment, he wondered how Helen could overlook such an odor. Did they talk about it? Was she olfactorily impaired? Also, Spicer thought as he grimaced from the tight grasp on his shoulder, this malodorous war-lover was brutish for a Wentworth. He was neither thoughtful nor compassionate, but, rather, earthy and mean. Spicer wondered if Helen liked that about him.
The matrons saw they had no business in what was to follow. Abruptly, they said good-bye to Spicer, bowed to the Wentworth, and scurried away. They arrived at one thought, one question: What had the councilman done? The carrot sellers spent the rest of the morning visiting other stalls, recounting what they had seen and speculating on the meaning of the terse encounter.
"You-- you startled me," said Spicer. His smile was meek, his little eyes watery; his heart thumped and he felt cornered. Nonetheless, he kept wondering about their sex life.
"What?" Thurston barked so sharply that Spicer flinched and the color drained from his face. The colonel grinned. He enjoyed seeing fright in the eyes of enemies and his social inferiors. His brother, the chancellor, on more than one occasion had to intervene to stop Thurston's social sadism. The two brothers had had open words on the subject.
"I mean-- I mean--" Spicer stammered
"We think you have a story to tell us," Helen said icily. Her smile dropped. So did Thurston's.
"What do you mean?"
Thurston moved close. "Playing the go-between, are you?"
"A matchmaker," chirped Helen. "You really want to re-think this."
Spicer shrugged. The quickly forming perspiration on his lips, cheeks, and neck betrayed his guilt as much as his fear. But, to his own surprise, he was also angry. He was being menaced, but they were being too cute about it; he resented their playfulness. Surely he deserved more respect than that! Particularly in public. He deserved a brave man's due. People were watching. And this man stank!
Thurston said, "Hooking up my brother with your niece, an enemy of the state, isn't going to win you any friends."
"Or votes, either," Helen added. "It's a loser, all around."
"I don't understand! I-- I--"
"Careful," Thurston warned, raising his huge finger
"No bullshit between friends!" said Helen.
Spicer held his hand over his heart. "Never! I'm not crazy."
"You are," said Helen, in a contrary tone, "arranging a meeting between our brother and your niece."
"Who is as undesirable as they come," Thurston added.
Spicer nodded. His usual means of dealing with confrontation was to evade, obfuscate, and lie, but the veteran charlatan never dissembled when already caught. The light of day had crossed the sneak's plan. Why dig a deeper hole?
Helen and Thurston looked approvingly about the market. He pointed to a fish stand. She nodded. It occurred to Helen that she wished she could shop like the others. Of course, she had more beautiful and varied things than any other woman in San Francisco, not to mention the best of the best produce and meat, but she missed the act of shopping, missed going elbow-to-elbow with others over a table of marked-down merchandise. Perhaps only at that moment did she realize how much she loved shopping. Spicer, of course, noticed her longing and recognized it. Briefly, he thought, She could join Irma and me. We'll all be friends.
"How could you know?" Spicer asked with a renewed smile. But his smile dropped when he saw Helen flush. She considered his cheer insolence. The councilman reverted to groveling.
"Todd needs . . ." Thurston began, his eyes half closed, still focused on Spicer's forehead. He had not once made eye contact; he did not like to allow his interlocutor to influence his thoughts by touching his eyes. "Todd needs to focus on the war effort. He is a dreamer. I'm sure as an officer of the state, you agree this is no time to be waylaid by the personal life."
"He's so in love," mocked Helen.
"Don't lead him astray. We want him in the fight. We him undistracted."
"Distractions kill!" Helen emphasized.
"But I won't--"
"Your duty, Councilman, is to stop my brother from valuing his dick over the good of San Francisco."
Spicer nodded rapidly, consciously exaggerating both his grimace and his nod. His eyes fluttered and rolled back in his head. After a moment of fear-spawned faintness, his survival skills took over.
In a tone of false friendship, Helen pleaded, "I know you're his confidant. Break this up, for everyone's sake."
Spicer said feebly, "But how did you know?" Thurston ignored the question and rambled on about duty, about the city's need for Todd, about his brother's weakness. While he held forth, the councilman thought. Unless Irma's jailer had informed--which was unlikely because he almost never left the compound and would never cross Todd Wentworth--the secret must have been revealed that first night. His mind replayed the moments when Todd had solicited his assistance in the dim and smoky Turkish Corner. Using his thief's talent, Spicer framed the image of the room in his mind and slowly studied it. First to his mind's eye was the carnal: the lesbians making out in the corner! Their shadowy images momentarily returned; the old man now saw the high, loose hair, that svelte silhouette, the full, unbridled breasts. The description fit Helen. He caught her eye with that thought in his mind, and it felt right. She wrinkled her nose as the councilman eyed her. So, he thought, the smell does bother her! She tries to wash it away with women’s scent. The likely route revealed itself to him. She had not heard but watched, saw the expressions on their faces--two unlikely companions, speaking seriously and probably behaving furtively. She went back and talked it over with her husband, who would have tied Spicer to Todd's lifelong craving for Irma. He was sure of it. Armed with this new awareness, the old man endured the rest of the harangue. Perhaps in future he could blackmail the faithless wife.
He had not heard Thurston's parting phrase, just found himself staring into the big sun, watching the fun couple disappear into the crowd. His shoulder ached.
#
The battles stopped daily one hour before dusk so that the two armies could retrieve their groaning wounded and haul in their few dead. A golden sunset bathed the city’s mud streets and stone buildings. The guns were silent and the shops closed. People hurried home or towards the blues and folk cafes. The day's fighting over, soldiers crowded the narrow lanes, swaggering toward the green-lit night, toward companionship, drink, and marijuana.
Contrary to the unwinding crowd, Councilman Spicer hurried down the sidewalk, fearful and sweating. He looked about and around for Thurston's spies. He imagined many but saw none. At last he came to his brown stucco house. As he moved through the golden November evening, his imagination grew haunted.
Spicer stumbled eagerly through his door. Once inside, having thrown the bolt, the exhausted councilman leaned against the wall. His eyes were shut tightly; he panted for breath. A motley orange cat rubbed against his leg. After wiping away his facial sweat with a shirtsleeve, he composed himself and moved on. He tripped over the orange cat. Once the gamble has been made, he told himself, you must to follow through. If I pull out on Todd, he could turn on me. Power can never be trusted. One is as crazy as the next. And, this is for Irma. I will take risks for her. What kind of man would I be if fear kept me from abetting her?
He liked the second justification best. He would dwell on his duty to Irma rather than on his fear of Todd. In truth, the motivations were equal, so he saw no harm in emphasizing the one that afforded him the most self-respect. He would be her champion.