Read Allegiance for Free Online

promising sign.
    Other men are around, the 4Fs and the older ones, but also the boys in uniform who haven’t shipped out yet, burning with a doomed glory. And there is Suzanne, all by herself. Her friends are getting married and she has nothing to do but knock around the house in Haverford while the Judge mumbles in his study. Of course she wants to get out every once in a while, to see a movie, to ride the wood-embowered Wissahickon trails. If John Hall comes up on leave and stops by, well, they’re old friends. It’s only natural. It’s purely innocent.
    So she says, and I can’t dispute it. The problem is of my making, and even as John Hall’s grinning mug swims before my eyes I know her stories are mostly for my enlightenment and edification. Mostly. Would I rather have a paper doll to call my own than a fickle-minded real, live girl? I consider the possibility and decide against it. I have had enough of paper. What I want is to be out at the club, watching the sun set over the new-cut lawn, to be in a movie theater with her at my side, watching images dance across the screen heedless of the sun’s height.
    I take a sip of my coffee and frown at the bitter taste. I didn’t drink coffee in college, or even law school, and I’ve picked a poor time to start. Sugar has been rationed since May, and laughing stewards in the Court cafeteria tell me not to worry because coffee is next. What I want is to be in a malt shop, hearing the last of an ice cream soda rattle through a striped straw.
    Down the hallway footsteps approach, accompanied by a whistled tune. Justice Black whistles while he walks, but he has taken his family to Alabama, and this is not him, returned early. He whistles a song he calls “All Policemen Have Big Feet,” which I know as “London Bridge.” The one coming down the hall now is more complicated, though still somehow familiar. As I struggle to place it, the chambers door opens.
    The man who enters is someone I have not seen before, but only one of the Justices would walk in so casually. Neatly trimmed silvery hair, a suit of English cut, features that resemble Claude Rains.
    I hurry to switch off the radio. “Are you looking for Justice Black?”
    The man smiles. “No, I wouldn’t think to find my brother Black in chambersat this time of evening. He keeps banker’s hours.” He crosses to the desk and offers a hand; I rise to shake it. “Felix Frankfurter,” he says, the voice lightly accented.
    â€œCaswell Harrison,” I answer. “Justice Black works at home.” I have not seen much of Black, but even so I feel a loyalty to him.
    â€œWorking at home is an easy way to slack off,” Frankfurter says. He touches his lapel. “Like working in casual clothes.”
    I am wearing a suit myself, so I merely nod in response. “And Hugo would not be listening to such jaunty music,” Frankfurter continues. He inclines his head toward the radio. “No, I stopped in to welcome a new colleague. But what are you doing here so late?”
    â€œCerts,” I say. He smiles, and I continue. “It takes me forever to get through them, and at the end I don’t even know if I’ve done it right. It seems a big responsibility.”
    The silvery head nods. “The Court is a place of great responsibility. It is a temple of truth. We who work here must dedicate ourselves to worship and service.” Suddenly he is leaning closer and his eyes are searching mine and the words come louder. “And if you have come here for any other purpose you will be disappointed.”
    I hold his gaze, mystified. “I can assure you I have not, Mr. Justice.”
    For another moment Frankfurter’s face quivers. Then whatever it is leaves him and he smiles again. “Do not worry yourself about the certs. If you’re not scared stiff to begin with, you might as well fold up. But having once plunged in, to