translate to arbic:"It was also of great importance to him to show the many ways in which his
investments had always accompanied and indeed promoted the country’s
growth—even in the midst of the 1929 crash. He went to great lengths to
explain how his ancestors, all the way up to his great-grandfather during the
Jefferson presidency, had married personal gain with the good of the country.
This, Bevel insisted, was at the center of his business practice. “A selfishhand has a short reach,” he would often say. Or, “Profit and common good
are but two sides of the same coin.” Or, “Our prosperity is proof of our
virtue.” Wealth had, for him, an almost transcendental dimension. Nowhere
was this clearer than in his legendary string of triumphs of 1926, he often
repeated. While geared toward profit, his actions had invariably had the
nation’s best interest at heart. Business was a form of patriotism. As a
consequence, his private life had become, increasingly, one with the life of
the nation. This, he said, was not always easy for Mildred.
“She was very reserved. Here’s a confession for you: I was surprised when
she agreed to marry me. Never did I imagine that she would consider getting
involved in all . . . this.” He looked around as if trying to figure out what
“this” truly meant. “I can’t . . . Honestly, I don’t know what I would have
done without Mildred. Where I would be.” There was an unusual depth to
these rather banal words. “She . . . I mean to say . . .”
I found Bevel’s speechlessness to be his greatest show of eloquence up to
that point. The man whose job it was to always be right, the man who never
indulged in the luxury of doubt, was at a loss for words.
“Would you like to stop for a few moments?”
The cushioned silence deepened.
“She saved me. No other way to put it. Saved me with her humanity and
warmth. Saved me by making a home for me. You probably can’t see it now,
but this place,” he rolled his hands in gentle waves around him, “felt like a
home once. Now, with each passing day, it becomes more and more like a
museum. Hard. But this was a soft place not too long ago. She . . . Mildred
had . . . There was always music. She was . . . We should talk about that.
There was always music.” Again, he was at a loss for words. “Beauty. Yes.
She was a lover of beauty. And kindness. Beauty and kindness. That’s what
she loved. And . . . It’s what she brought to the world. She would always . . .”
He stared into the past, and I did not dare bring him back from his reverie.
I was coming to understand why Vanner’s depiction of his wife in the novel
had moved him to write his autobiography in response.
There was a gentle knock on the door. The butler came in with tea, but
Bevel stopped him before he could put down the tray.“There’s two of us.”
“Very good, sir.”
He turned around and left.
“I wish I could have met her,” I said, fearing to spoil what had seemed like
a true moment of candor and, to some extent, intimacy.
“She would have liked you. Sycophants bored her.”
In plain contradiction with the spirit of Bevel’s last sentence, I felt
immensely proud and flattered by it.
“Mildred was blessed with an exceptional clarity of vision. To her, nothing
was ever too complex or mysterious. Her approach to the world was
elementary and, without fail, right. She could see through false complications
and into the simple truths of life. Just as you’re finding a way to distill the
essence of these long conversations of ours onto the page, I believe that, with
my guidance, you shall succeed in capturing Mildred’s spirit as well.”
“Thank you. I’ll do my best.”"