Between grimaces of pain, Wilbur Hewitt made the introductions himself. Nicholas Raymeyer, the captain of the SS Cliffwood, with more than twenty years’ service in the American Scantic Line, and his boatswain, Mr. Jones, congratulated Jack on his timely intervention. The man with the red bow tie turned out to be Louis Thomson, the renowned journalist of the New York Times, a newspaper of which Hewitt confessed to be a fervent reader. Of Sergei Loban, all he said was that, considering he was the liaison officer that the Soviet authorities had provided him, his English was terrible.
“Still, rough manners aside, I have to admit that he performs his duties with surprising efficiency. As for me”—he removed his monocle and pushed out his chest, inserting the thumb on his healthy hand under his armpit—“you’ve probably heard who I am by now. My name’s Wilbur Hewitt, industrialist and graduate of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, financier and head of operations for the launch of the Gorkovsky Avtomobilny Zavod, more commonly known simply as the Avtozavod, the greatest car manufacturing plant in the Soviet Union.” Then he offered Jack a business card on which, under the letterhead, appeared the title “General Manager for Foreign Affairs of the Ford Motor Company, USA.”
“Shall we sit?” the captain suggested.
His tone told Jack that the question was just that, a question, not a suggestion. From his chair, Wilbur Hewitt looked at the seat that remained unoccupied.
“Yes, yes. What’re we to do? Let’s start. As you can see,” he addressed Jack again, “one word from me, and I can mobilize five thousand workers to screw bolts for ten hours, but when it comes to my beloved—”
At that moment, the sound of the dining room door opening interrupted his soliloquy.
“I’m sorry to be late,” a voice said.
Instantly, the men who’d just sat down stood up. Wilbur Hewitt smiled from his chair, filled his glass, and raised it in a toast, giving a giant smile.
“Jack Beilis, I have the pleasure of introducing you to my pride and joy, my only niece, Elizabeth Hewitt.”
Jack managed to stammer, “Pleased to meet you.” Then, he waited for the others to sit, and without taking his eyes off her, he did the same. At the first opportunity, he took a sip of water to try to loosen the knot that gripped his throat. Discovering that the person for whom the all-powerful Wilbur Hewitt was waiting was his niece certainly came as a surprise, but what had really left him speechless was realizing that the young woman of intoxicating beauty who had just walked through the door was the same woman who’d captivated him at the salt-fish market.
Though the surprise was mutual, Elizabeth Hewitt seemed less pleased by their reunion than Jack. The young woman kept her composure just the same and took her seat next to the guest of honor. Jack, meanwhile, barely dared look at her, still embarrassed by his ridiculous performance at the market. He doubted she recognized him, and if she did, it was just a matter of time before she made a mockery of him. Fortunately, at that moment Wilbur Hewitt asked Jack about his skills, making him forget his fears.
“You might not believe it, but this young man is a diamond in the rough,” Hewitt said about Jack. “Kid, I still don’t know how you managed to dismantle the machine I was trapped under. You said you had mechanical expertise, but, by God, in twenty-five years of running factories, I’ve never seen anything like it!”
“Well, to be honest, it was a coincidence, sir. I knew that machine because we repaired a similar model in the workshop where I was employed.” Jack lied about his past in Dearborn to prevent anyone from connecting him to the murder of his landlord.
“A coincidence? Don’t be so modest, kid! That machine was the latest Cleveland model, a technological marvel, and I’m told you dismantled it like someone taking the chain off a bicycle. A guy winning the lottery without buying a ticket would’ve had less luck than me. What do you think, Elizabeth? Am I right or wrong when I say this kid’s a diamond?”
His niece examined Jack with an air of self-satisfaction and smiled. “Uncle dear, I think the morphine they’ve plied you with is making you indulgent. Judging by his appearance, this workman’s more rough than diamond.” She smiled again.
They all laughed at her witty remark. But the tone in which she’d said the word workman cut Jack to the core. For him, working with one’s hands was something nobody should be ashamed of. On the contrary, he was proud to have started out as an operative, just as he was proud to have worked harder than Wilbur Hewitt’s niece could ever imagine. He considered answering back but decided to remain silent. Had it been a man, he would have made him blush with shame for saying those words, but as at the market, her mere presence perturbed him.
The lunch consisted of fresh sea bream dressed in lemon, French wine, and clams. Jack would have preferred a succulent Montana beef hamburger and a cold beer, but he appreciated the elegance of his surroundings and the delicacy of his meal all the same.
For all the shiny silver cutlery, fine crockery, and fragile glassware, what fascinated him the most was Wilbur Hewitt’s niece. Observing her out of the corner of his eye, Jack admired her polite gestures, the exquisiteness with which she handled the cutlery despite the ship’s lurching, and the elegance and distinction of her language. It was an elegance that contrasted with the riotous spontaneity of her uncle, who, though obviously an educated man, expressed himself as if he’d grown up among Brooklyn’s longshoremen.
As he savored the delicious champagne sorbet that the waiters served between courses, Jack imagined himself enjoying the same luxurious life that Wilbur Hewitt led. He examined the executive: his gold monocle, his matching cuff links, his tiepin . . . His impeccable suit alone probably cost more than a year’s salary at Jack’s old job, and the pocket watch he wore on his vest probably double that. Despite his apparent familiarity, Jack got the impression that Hewitt was the kind of man who was not only in complete control of his own life, but also comfortable deciding the fate of others. And he admired that. He didn’t mind admitting that he was attracted to luxurious watches, exotic delicacies, and tailored clothes. But what he really envied was something that only men like Hewitt possessed, and that he longed for with a passion: position. Because if there was one thing Jack had learned from the Depression, it was that, even if the world turned into a wasteland overnight, Hewitt’s kind would never find themselves in Jack’s position: jobless, up to his neck in debt, on the verge of begging for crumbs. That was why ordinary men envied people like Hewitt. For his unobtainable position. That was why they admired and respected him. Jack looked at Elizabeth and took a deep breath. It was also why he was prepared to overcome any obstacle that got in his way to win the respect of others.
He was still absorbed in his thoughts when Elizabeth Hewitt called the waiter over and said something into his ear. The waiter nodded with a severe expression and then disappeared, before returning a few minutes later with a tray of ice, upon which lay a plate of caviar.