“Have we sold anything this evening?” Charles asked. Alice and Morgan were closing the shop.
“A few things,” she said.
“What was the last one?”
“A Dumas. The Count of Monte Christo.”
“Of course,” Charles said. “The man who finally escapes from prison and revenges himself on the person who put him there.”
“And gets rich, too,” Alice said.
“Very rich, yes. And here is Dorothy. Good night, everyone.”
“What should we say?” Dorothy said. They were sitting at the dining room table, her pen poised above the paper.
“What should we say?” Charles answered. “Dear Judge.”
After a few seconds, “Yes?”
“I started,” Charles said. “You go next.”
“Dear Judge,” she said. “Comma.”
“That doesn’t count.”
“What do we want to say?”
“Let’s look at the options,” Charles said. “Dear Judge, Angelo is a changed man and a model citizen. We feel that society will be completely safe with him at large. There is nothing more that we can do for him.
Please let him go.”
“Next option.”
“Next option… Dear Judge, Angelo has been well behaved, but we don’t know what’s going on inside his head, and it’s rather frightening. We think he should remain under probation.”
“That’s too far in the other direction,” she sighed. “What do we think? What would be the best thing for Angelo?”
Charles stared out the window, through the lace curtains. The street was dark except for all the lights-streetlights, headlights, houselights. “The best thing. Why am I having to decide that for so many people?”
“We asked for this responsibility.”
“We didn’t ask to judge him, just to supervise him.”
“It all goes together,” Dorothy said. She sighed. “I think everything should just stay the same. He could have been in prison. How much mercy should he receive?”
“There is no end to mercy.”
Above the roofs there was no end to the dark.
“What is the best for Angelo?” Dorothy said again.
“Dorothy,” Charles said, slowly, his eyes still on the dark. “I am not God. I don’t know. How can I know?”
“I didn’t say you were God,” she said. “Are you all right, dear?”
“I’m sorry. I was talking to myself.” His eyes were on the black night. “Why did Karen Liu intervene? If we hadn’t found Derek’s papers, we would never have met her.”
“It just happened, dear.”
“What would we do if he were our son?”
“Charles?” She watched him closely, as he still watched out the window. “I can take care of this. I’ll just say that everything has been fine so far, we hope it won’t change, but we don’t want to push one way or the other.”
Charles wiped his forehead and his hand was covered with sweat from it. “That’s fine. That’s what’s best.”
“You seem distracted this afternoon, Derek.”
“A situation at the office, Charles. Somewhat out of control.”
“Is it serious?”
“More than it should have been. I might have overplayed my hand.”
“You often use game metaphors when you talk about your work, Derek.”
“Everything is a game. Everyone is an opponent.”
“I hope I’m not.”
“Only in chess, Charles.”
“I wouldn’t want to play against you in anything more important, Derek.”
“You would be a worthy adversary. But I have more than enough to worry about as it is.”
“You have a very different view of life than I do, Derek. I see human interactions as generally cooperative.”
“Then here’s a game, Charles. Your view of life, or mine? Which would win?”
“Mine doesn’t find value in winning. We could say, Which accomplishes the greatest good, yours or mine?”
“Mine doesn’t find value in the greater good. We need an intersection, Charles, where our views cross.”
“Personal contentment?”
“Personal success.”
“Perhaps, Derek, the winner will be whichever of us believes he is winning.”
“And how do we play, Charles?”
“Just living our lives, Derek.”
“More than that. Let me think, Charles. Perhaps I’ll find the proper game board for our game of lives.”
“And if I don’t want to play?”
“That’s part of my side of the game, to set you to.”