Page 18 of The Things We Never Say

“I can’t afford to quit for a few years, but then—Keep it confidential, please.” And Artie raised his hand to indicate that Hoover need not worry about him. After a moment, Hoover, who was looking out the window toward the parking lot, said, “He’s going to win, you know.”

“That’s what I think too,” Artie said.

“When I saw them debate, it came to me—” Hoover turned so that he was looking at Artie. “People want authority. They crave authority. And she doesn’t have the kind they want, and he does. In his cult following kind of way.”

Artie said nothing.

Hoover sat forward and said, “This forcing you to take on Confederate soldiers, I’m sorry. This is what ‘anticipatory obedience’ is. This is how it all happens.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Artie said.

Hoover lifted an eyebrow. “Yeah, right,” he said. He sat silently in his chair and then he said to Artie, “People say, Oh, in four years it will be different. Don’t they know that in four years it could all be over? There might not be an election in four years, Jesus. Listen to what the man has said. He has said to people, You only have to vote this one time. Pay attention!”

“I know. I know.” Artie nodded.

Hoover was gazing at his desk and then he said, “I talked to some other principals about that fight at the soccer game. They’re breaking out everywhere.” He glanced up at Artie.

“Oh God,” Artie said.

Then Hoover rose from his chair as though to indicate that their meeting was over, and Artie thought that the man did not look well. There was a slight grayness to his features, although maybe it was just the light. “See you later,” Artie said.

Walking through the door, Artie heard Hoover say “Hey” with a sense of urgency. Artie turned to him. Hoover stood, tall, with his hands loosely on his hips. “You asked me about free will that night at Anne Merrill’s house a few weeks ago.”

Artie waited.

“What made you ask that?” Hoover looked at him intently.

“Because I wanted to know.”

Hoover kept standing there, looking at Artie. Then he finally turned toward his desk and said, “Well, I just don’t know.”

“Me neither,” Artie said.

Hoover waved him away, saying, “You’re a good man, Artie Dam.”

—

(Two years from now, Hoover Lakeland would stay late at school one day, and when only the janitor was in the building, Hoover would take a pistol from a desk drawer in his office and shoot himself in the head. Weeks later it would be revealed that he had been under investigation by the FBI for harboring illegal immigrants in his home, and he had been, unbeknownst to many in town, receiving death threats. And then a rumor went around that it was Hoover’s mistress who had turned him in to the Immigration and Customs Enforcement agency, angry that he would not leave his wife but would take in their cleaning woman and her husband and child to protect them. The note Hoover left said simply, “I’m done.” Hoover’s suicide made headlines across the country, and when certain newspapers phoned, looking for different faculty members’ responses, Artie did not give them one.)

—

As Artie drove home from school, his unease grew. He wended his way through the angular streets, past the women’s clothing stores, past the butcher shop, along the narrowing road that led to his house. He could not stop the premonition of evil that had come to him while he was talking to Hoover. Artie had gone to Catholic school, and while he had not gone to a Catholic church for many years, the concept of evil had never left him.

But surprisingly—surprising to Artie—Evie did not seem concerned about his conversation with Hoover Lakeland. “Oh, just do it, Artie. Seriously. Assign a few Confederates to anyone who wants one.” She was sitting in a chair in the living room, and Artie went around turning on lamps. “What are you doing?” she asked him.

“Trying to get some light in this room,” he said. And he sat down across from her and watched her. She was gazing off slightly to the side. He told her that Hoover had predicted who would win the election, and Evie shook her head. “I don’t know why you can’t just wait and see,” she said. He kept on watching her, and slowly he began to understand that her reaction to the idea of his teaching about Confederate soldiers had calmed him down a bit. What was the problem with assigning a Confederate soldier to any student who wanted one?

Evie turned to look at him and said, “Do you know what Reg MacDonald said on his deathbed?”

“No.” After a moment Artie said, “How would I know what Reg MacDonald said on his deathbed?”

“I thought maybe Flossie would have told you. He said, ‘Goodbye, sweet world, you are all, every one of you here on Earth, you are all headed for hell.’ ” Evie laughed slightly.

“Why is that funny?” Artie asked.

“It’s not. I’m just telling you what he said.”

“I don’t get it.” Artie leaned forward in his chair.