SLEEP NO MORE
241
a writer, or had other, secret sources of income.
If
she were not a
writer, or did not claim to be a writer, which amounts to the same
thing, the answer would
be
simple. Since she does, however, claim to
be
a writer-and we know that the income of writers is itself hidden
and mysterious-it seems to me you have to ignore the question of
her earning power ,and proceed directly to the question of whether
she was engaged in any secret activities, which is, anyway, the real
question you are interested in. On the other hand, you must already
have some direct evidence of underground activity, otherwise you
would not be investigating Miss Caruso in the first place. The point
is,
that however you look at it, to speculate about her sources of
income is a sheer waste of time."
I sat back and lit another cigarette, quite proud of being so
intelligent and so useful to the investigation without violating a single
moral or political principle. I could now even afford to play the host.
"Won't you have a drink?" I asked my guest.
"No, thanks." I detected a note of disdain in his refusal. I
became uneasy again, for I had obviously misjudged and lost control
of the situation. How stupid of me to expect that Intelligence would
accept a drink in the middle of the afternoon, when he obviously
looked with suspicion at the mere taking of a nap. The only thing
for me to do was to wait meekly for
his
next question.
"What were Miss Caruso's political opinions?" he fired at me.
I was off balance again. We were back to politics, the very center
of my doubt and confusion; and I was once again paralyzed by the
fear of collaborating with any governmental investigation of radical–
ism.
Again I was torn by the moral see-saw of weighing the reasons
for and against cooperating. And they all kept revolving around the
nature of Miss Caruso's guilt- did she simply hold dissident beliefs
or was she a foreign agent-which was the one thing I did not know.
Besides, the distinction between the two is often blurred by the senti–
mentality of the liberal tradition, of which I am in many ways a
prisoner.
Trapped between my doubts and my scruples, I swung back and
forth. The writers' association to which Miss Caruso belonged had
all
the earmarks of a radical organization. But even if I could not
respect the achievement of its members, I certainly had to respect
both
their political and psychological right to convert their frustration
