“Pain!”
“We are in agony! We still await our walk in the sun!.”
“You tell us, Reverend!”
“Slowly, slowly, always too slowly we have crawled the crawl, feeding on crumbs of this wealthy gate society. We yet await our walk into the sun!”
“Hallelujah!”
Tonight! “Amos cried.
“Tonight!” was responded.
“We will play the role given us by Yahweh to be full Americans. We
will set aside the injustices for the moment, and we will be Americans
first! We who have suffered the terror of lynchings and dogs and nightsticks and hate-filled policemen .. . we who suffered all this say: we will not be used as monsters to bring down another American community!”
“Amen!”
“Do not let the forces of evil in and out of our community let us be used to do unto another what has been done to us! No matter what our personal experiences with Jews, we just set them aside, for Yahweh has commanded us to save our brothers!”
Silence swept over them.
“We who have been denied the right of full citizenship will not be used to deny that right to others. Let no black man stain himself with the blood of a Jew, because, if the carnage is not stopped, the black man and woman will become the next target. America must exist with all its little communities intact, or it will not exist at all. We must now set our own grievances aside because tonight we are Americans!”
Amos turned away from the bank of microphones into the embrace of his wife and children.
“You said the right thing, Daddy,” his daughter told him.
“The hate is killing us,” Amos whispered.
Milwaukee was quiet. The skin heads of Milwaukee looked time and again for police on the streets. There were none. They grew bolder. A call went out on their web site for an immediate gathering.
Sixty bald heads swathed in black leather and adorned with swastikas
marched toward the Beth El Synagogue singing one of the good old black
shirt songs.
When Jewish blood is dripping from our daggers .. .
breaking news breaking news breaking news
“This is Charlotte Cassidy, CBS, Memphis. Southern Grand Dragon Potter Wesley has called for a four-state convergence of the Klan at Memphis to parade at daybreak. Mr. Wesley! Sir! May I have a few words with you?”
a- t yy
No.
“How many klaverns do you think can make it to Memphis by daylight?”
“What did you hear?” he growled.
“Upward of a thousand Klansmen.”
“I won’t dispute that, and while we’re at it, let me tell you
something. CBS is just another Jew network.”
“I understand that some of your people will be carrying weapons—“
“This is a peaceful march. The KKK does not believe in violence against niggers or kikes. Now, if some folks want to bring along a weapon to defend themselves, ain’t much I can do about that.”
“The KKK show of force,” Charlotte said, “will not be disturbed as long as it remains un destructive says the chief of police. However, a survey of college campuses in the vicinity indicates that the Klan will run head-on into growing ranks of students.”
breaking news breaking news breaking news
San Francisco.
Eric Cardinal Mueller, a dean and often spokesman, took his seat as the cameras honed in on him and the commentator spoke, softly giving the priest’s background.
“It is the never-ending mission of the Church to find truth and speak truth even to the point of admitting Church wrongdoing in the past. No church can survive on lies. Since World War Two our foundations have been rocked by the passive role of the Vatican during the Holocaust. In this search for truth, we are now investigating our role in the Spanish Inquisition.
“Only a half century ago Jewish citizens of Germany cried out in the
night for their neighbors to help them. As they slammed the door in Jewish faces, the gates of Auschwitz were opened.”
“A Kristallnacht is shaping up in the streets of our cities and in our countryside. In the end we have to earn our keep as Christians.
“We are still haunted by the Holocaust. The Holocaust is not a Jewish problem. The Holocaust is a Christian problem. We cannot permit this to happen, for if we do, we will wipe out our own teachings.”
“Turn that goddamned thing off!” Thorn ton snapped. “That goddamn kraut cardinal now wants to slap their guilt on us. Don’t forget, O’Connell is still a Catholic. And the Reverend Amos and his three kids are still Democrats.”
As Thornton received the minute-to-minute reports, Darnell all but hid himself in a corner, shriveling into a fetal position. It was befalling him to empty his head of his life and deeds. Surely, in a showdown Thornton Tomtree would come down on the side of decency. That proposition had kept them in place for over four decades. Why couldn’t he have seen what he saw now?
T3 was doing no more or less than making him an extension of himself. No, he would not curve the course. No, he would not go down graciously.
Yes, he would endanger the nation!
Oh, Lord! Darnell thought. There will be a still photograph to mark the era, like the Marines raising the flag on Iwo Jima, or the little oriental war baby sitting in the middle of the road, or John-John Kennedy saluting his father’s coffin. What will this photograph be? A burning Star of David? Blood on the street? Someone’s stuffed bunny being clutched by a dead infant? What will be our Kristallnacht? Like the Monica LewinskyClinton embrace, the Kristallnacht will bring back an ugly moment.
Dr. Jacob Turnquist did not sit opposite the President with a great deal of comfort. He squirmed.
“As the hard right groups have had a chance to organize, we can expect a renewal of street activities at daybreak. Once these incidents hop from town to town ... I think we’ve reached a danger point.”
That was not what Thornton wanted to hear. He needed to speak to the vice president, to ascertain that the bedrock Christian Coalition was still in place. What was Thornton weighing? Why? How much danger should he allow?
Mendenhall came in sallow, a single sheet quivering in his fingers.
“Well!”
Mendenhall cleared his throat, a signal of a coming disaster. “Editorials for tomorrow, one hundred largest markets. Front page, ninety-two. Pro rioters, so long as they protest without destroying property or life .. . twenty. Call for the President to react ... eighty-one. Believe Governor O’Connell .. . seventy eight. Zionist plot.. . three. Postpone election .. . yea, twelve, nay, eighty..
.”
“Shit!” Thornton mumbled.
“Some of the editorials hit pretty hard,” Mendenhall said.
Thornton looked to Turnquist angrily. It was one thing to sit at a conference table espousing his political Princeton wisdom, but quite another to be in the bunker with shells flying all around.
“Vice president is on the phone.”
“Thank God,” Thornton said. “Where the hell did you set down, Matthew?”
“I’m in Tulsa.”
“Bring me up to date.”
“I have canvassed twenty-five of our largest Coalition churches. It’s
a very mixed reading, Mr. President. It seems that O’Connell has made
very significant inroads into our solid front. The women don’t seem to
want guns, many of the men idolize O’Connell as a great hero, school
prayer a non sequitur, and uh, right of choice “What!”
“Well, they’ve always been taking the goddamned pill and visiting abortion clinics. They just feel it shouldn’t be covered up any longer. You’ve got to make a move. All we are doing is reaching now. We have to put men on the street and go on the offensive.”
“I was hoping I could hold up the process until afternoon,” Thornton said. “It crosses a thin line for reelection.”
“It’s very
dangerous,” the vice president insisted.
“How do you stand personally in this!” Thornton demanded.
“We are speaking of a very disturbing image of America creeping in.
Stop them now!”
Thornton slammed the receiver, then picked up another phone. “Find me Lucas de Forest,” he ordered.
It was four-thirty in the morning, a few hours left before the curse of darkness turned into the curse of daylight. He noticed the devastated Darnell Jefferson, an old slave in sorrow. Couple of good shakes and Darnell would be back on board.
“Hello!”
“Mr. President, this is Lucas de Forest.”
“Where the hell are you, Lucas?”
“At FBI headquarters. I’m cleaning out my office.”
“What! I did not fire you.”
“I resigned. I left an envelope for you on your secretary’s desk.”
“Well, I don’t accept the resignation,” Thornton said, alarmed that such news would all but seal his doom. “I’m declaring a national emergency .. . and you must stay.”
Lucas de Forest throbbed, head, heart, joints, eyes. “Are you ready to order Joy Streets into motion?”
“Tomorrow at... say, ten o’clock.”
“Mr. President,” wheezed Lucas, “you are a schmuck.”
“Don’t hang up ... don’t hang up ... all right, Lucas, what do you have in mind?”
“Joy Streets immediately. Phase One and Phase Two simultaneously.
Yea or nay, sir?”
Darnell had uncrumpled himself, went over and took the phone from Thornton’s hand.
The two men locked onto one another with a ferocity never known before.
He handed the phone back to the President.
“I agree,” Tomtree said. He hung up and continued his venomous glare.
“All I needed was a few more hours to make this work right.”
“Sure, boss,” Darnell said. “So, you’ve gotta know when to hold and know when to fold. I’m picking up my chips, Thornton.”
“What? Oh, you mean our heated little discussion? Forget it, pal.
We’ve got a pile of work to do to get the story out straight .. . Darnell, are you listening .. . Darnell, are you really going to leave me? You won’t be so godawful righteous without those humongous T3 checks coming in!” Thornton cried.
“Doesn’t make any difference, man. I’ve given most of the money away, anyhow. Got a spin for you, free. Why don’t you blame Forest de Lucas for the late start on Joy Streets. Overriding your FBI head shows real balls.”
“Do you think we can use it?” Thornton asked earnestly.
“Jesus, I’m all dry,” Darnell said. “Not enough to wad up a good spit in your face.”
What would the photograph of Kristallnacht portray? American hate?
American decency. Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn’s early light?
“I’ve never seen anyone with the will to equal Siobhan’s,” the doctor said.
“Five more days,” Quinn begged.
“I don’t see how. She sinks to a near comatose state then forces herself awake, in unbearable pain and saturated with drugs. She will fight until she has a half hour, an hour of clarity. On one of these slumbers, she is bound to go.”
Quinn sat at the bedside holding her fragile hand. The sun always crossed this room lovely in January. The big mountain outside became diffused and, as the sun inched along, it made a montage of colors, then dipped below the horizon.
Her books were varied, a generations old Bible in both Gaelic and English. They read to her now, Thoreau and Leaves of Grass. She’d nod that she understood and one could not help but feeling their content fortified her.
Siobhan’s eyes fluttered open, scared at first, until Quinn came into focus. “Son.”
“Can you understand me all right, Mom?”
“Yes.”
“Rita and I have to leave tomorrow. We are already two days late. But they’re planning a party for you. Rae and Duncan and Ellie and the baby—Dan Wong O’Connell, named after our dads—will all be here.”
“They should be with you.”
“I’ll have Rita and Mal, and my brother Ben.”
“How gracious you all are.. ..” Her eyes rolled back and she winced, gripping his hand with what poor, little power she had.
“Bad, Mom?”
“I wouldn’t wish it on Hitler.”
Her pain passed through. “Four generations of O’Connells,” she said. “Now, that is a family .. . that is a ... family.” Siobhan rallied for she knew she’d go under again soon. “Dan’s Chinese great-grandson. Quinn,” she cried, “what of you?”
“God willing, we are beyond middle-ages inquisitions in our Congress. Clinton had to stand naked before the world and take more humiliation than an human being ever had. In the end, it was he and his wife who came through it with courage and dignity. Are you okay, Mom?”
“I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough.”
“I believe in the decency of the American people,” Quinn said.
Siobhan made the tiniest of smiles and indicated he should read her to sleep from one of the books on the bedside table. Quinn knew his mother was starting her journey, fighting to understand the words he spoke, hearing his voice last, as she desired.
“From Generations,” Quinn said, “Ralph Waldo Emerson.” He opened the volume to where it was marked, then closed it and recited. “”Man is a god in ruins,”” he said. “”When men are innocent, life shall be longer and pass into the immortal as gently as we awake from dreams.””
Siobhan nodded.
“”Now, the world would be insane and rabid,”” he went on, ‘”if those disorganizations should last for hundreds of years. It is kept in check by .. . by .. .””
“Death,” she said.
“”It is kept in check by death and infancy. Infancy/ our Daniel Wong
O’Connell, “Infancy is the perpetual Messiah when it comes into the arms of fallen men, and pleads with them to return to paradise.” Mom, I feel great love from the American people and they know I will brook no evil.”
Siobhan’s voice fell so low he had to lay his ear to her lips. “Can I say it, just once?”
Sure. “Mr. President,” she whispered and closed her eyes.
The authors of the Constitution overlooked a January inaugural, too damp and cold for the great American street carnival.
A thousand miles of bunting decorated Washington as icing on a big cake. The National Mall ballooned with science tents and food tents and history tents and technology and discovery and art tents.
And in all the auditoriums came the sounds of America singing, singing gospel and Mormon hymns and rock and samba and, of course, bluegrass. Bagpipes and the horns of Dixieland. There was a dance tent where Irish step dancers followed a Mexican folk dancing group and children’s choruses. There was a gay men’s chorus and drummers from Korea and Hawaii and India.
And in the Kennedy Center the National Sympathy played lofty, patriotic music of the great plains and seacoasts and mountains and cities reaching up as fingers to God.
On they disgorged from Dulles and Reagan Airports and the Union Station until the great statues smiled from their pedestals.
There would be thirty something inaugural balls and the faithful would wait breathlessly for the five minute appearance of the President and First Lady.
As the mood of the great party filtered over the land, a king would grumble with envy of it.
January 19, 2009 Quinn had disciplined himself to be able to sleep anytime, anyplace, for however long he was allowed. Without this, few politicians could survive.
Quinn reached over the bed for Rita. Where am I? Oh, that’s right. Blair House. He flopped back on his pillow, then propped up on an elbow as he caught sight of Rita penning something at the desk. She sat before the window, curtains open, snowflakes falling outside. He watched until she finished.
Rita folded the sheet of paper an
d wrote Quinn on it. She found the suit she had laid out for him and slipped it in his pocket. She drew the curtains and they cuddled in and lay thus until morning .. . each now so aware of the moment they could not speak.
By dawn the snow had stopped. Branches swayed and fluffed off their patches of white.
“The sun is trying to break through,” Rita said, as steam rose on the lawn. “Are you sure you don’t want me at the prayer breakfast?”
“It will be understood.”
“I’ll pray here for Siobhan. You pray for the country.” Rita disappeared into the dressing room to begin her countdown.
Rita had commissioned Stetson to make them a pair of matching Western hats, not too cowboy, not too in your face, but a sort of Clark Gable riverboat gambler hat. Quinn felt very Colorado for the moment.
After the prayer breakfast he would meet the congressional leaders and Rita would join him for traditional tea with the outgoing president.
Pucky, at her most gracious, was as gracious as they came. She schooled Rita to take over the enterprise of operating the White House. During these frosty days, Thornton Tomtree scarcely left his study. No songs to cheer him, no ladies to endear him.
There was the bittersweet moment Darnell Jefferson returned. They were destined to crash on a Noah’s Rock, together. Tom’s BULLDOG held no answers.
“I had control of the greatest single invention in the history of mankind. I thought we’d hit the ground running,” Thornton said. “What the fuck happened?”
“I could sure go for a Bloody Mary,” Darnell said.
“Go ahead. You don’t have to be on the reviewing stand. What the fuck happened?”
The first sip was good, the second sip delicious.
“Well?” Thornton pressed.
“You know, Thornton, people are driven by this machine, our personalities. We obey it even when we don’t know what we are doing. Our personality always tells us we are right. We cannot understand clashing with someone else’s personality who tells us we are wrong. That’s how you became a president. But, hell, your engine took you exactly where you wanted to go.”