Darby placed his arm about the Italian and let him sob.
When two days later Dominetti and the marshal left, something of Darby left with them. For several hours he wandered the grounds, up through the orchard, out to the overlook, and back behind the grand maison and its outside outbuildings. He stared down the old logging road. The imprint of the mobsters’ car’s tires was still visible. That wasn’t good. Hopefully after a rain, they’d fade away.
3. Dante, Paradiso, Canto 1.
Chapter 10
Whatever free time Darby thought he had, evaporated the next morning.
“You’re in for a shock this time,” Linda greeted him at breakfast. “A lady’s book club has booked the Inn for the evening. They plan to stay overnight. You’re going to have to be on your toes as well as on your best behavior,” she teased. “Better have something up your sleeve to say! They’re a sharp group, and the liberal warden among them will go for your jugular! She’s something! Let me tell you. You could opt out, except Garnett told them that you’d be here, and what a wonderful conversationalist you are. How’s that for friendship?”
“I can think of several words to say,” he smiled. “Tell me more.”
“Well, they like politics and social issues. They love to travel. Bore one another with pictures of children and grandchildren. They talk about where their kids are going to school, where they’ve vacationed last. Where to find great jewelry at bargain prices, antiques. Who’s divorcing whom! Other than that, they chat about their favorite menus, authors, and always exchange books,” she hummed with good humor. “You’ll survive it, I assure you. They’re just girls, doing what girls do. And don’t get that look in your eye! They’re well heeled, but ladies! There’ll be no Celeste in this crowd. She was a temptress, wasn’t she?”
“You know too much!”
“No! You can always spot a woman on the hunt. They’re eyes and lips give them away, even when they’re only studying you. You’ll be safe.”
“You had me hopeful there for a minute.”
“Just be prepared. I wouldn’t come in for dinner until you have to,” she gave him a knowing look. She smiled before filling his cup with more coffee. “Seriously, Darby, just be your charming self, that’s all.”
Being one’s charming self was hardly a reassuring thought. Darby wandered back to the cottage to peruse its bookshelves. His two favorite women philosophers were Hannah Arendt and Simone de Beauvoir. He’d often incorporated their concepts into his lectures and had urged his conservative female students to read them. So, also, some of the guys. He began scanning the bookcase. Huh! There was Arendt’s The Human Condition and The Life of the Mind shelved right alongside Plato’s Complete Works and Heidegger’s Being and Time. He looked for de Beauvoir’s The Second Sex, but it wasn’t to be found. Maybe Garnett had it in his office, or in the living room. But whether the erstwhile book club’s appetite cared for such fare, would remain to be seen.
More to his sorrow was Dominetti’s conundrum about good and evil. Why do good people do bad things? Simply writing it off as a facet of inordinate pride or lustful concupiscence missed the point. Nietzsche was closer to the truth with his doctrine of resentment, or Dostoevsky with his horror of humankind’s perversity. Then, of course, there was Arendt herself, who, after the Eichmann trial, stunned the world with her catch phrase: “the banality of evil.” He shook his head. Why do good people do bad things? Out of perversity for certain, yet out of mindless indifference, too. Still, the most disgusting explanation was the one scientists labeled: “the absence of serotonin uptake inhibitors in one’s brain.” But what if closer to the truth people err and make mistakes just because they’re human? Just because “we’re mammals,” he told himself, Homo sapiens with egos and libidos?
Toward five o’clock, a Lincoln Continental, followed by a sleek black sedan, pulled up in front of the Villa and disgorged its cargo of book club members. Darby watched from the Garden as a group of four emerged from the Continental and three from the sedan. Amid laughter and shivers of cold, the women made their way good-naturedly to the entrance. A part of him wanted to assist carrying in their bags, but another voice advised leaving well enough alone. What if the warden resented the offer of a “gallant male” to assist them? Of course there’d be others who’d be grateful. The male in him wanted to help. But his Socratic muse urged caution! Better to walk back to the cottage and read before dinner.
As the hour arrived, Darby entered through the rear hallway door to reach the dining room. On a stand near the stairwell, he noticed a stack of new, glossy covered, hardbacks. He paused to read the covers of several: Goddesses in Everywoman, its tenth anniversary printing; Betty Frieden’s The Feminine Mystique; a collection of essays entitled: Women’s Ways of Knowing; and Susan Douglas’s best-seller: The Mommy Myth. In a separate pile on the floor lay more stacks: bestsellers by Baldacci, Greg Isles, Nora Roberts, Dorothea Benton Frank, Jan Karon, Sandra Brown, and others. A nice mix, he thought. Maybe it would be a pleasant evening after all!
As he entered the dining room, he was surprised to find the table surrounded by the club’s members, all standing as he walked in. “Good evening, Professor!” they chimed, as if on cue. They laughed and watched while he slipped between their chairs and the breakfront to take his seat at the head of the table. Darby lifted his hands, palms up, in gratitude of their respect. “I hate to think what might be coming!” he smiled. “But I approve of the start. Please, be seated!”
All took their seats amidst an immediate outbreak of amiable chatter and glances toward him. Then all grew silent.
He