A Creed for the Third Millennium (58 page)

'I
don't suppose Mary and Martha
will be home until at least tomorrow,' said James.

'Oh, poor things! To think that they'll
hear without us there to help them,' said Mama, who had not shed a
tear.

'I'll make some coffee,' said Miriam,
disappearing to the kitchen because she was unable to sit down, unable to let
herself think, unable to look at those three beloved faces.

'What are we going to do?' asked Mama,
not of James but of Andrew, standing near her with his hand on her
shoulder.

'We carry on. The work isn't finished,
it's only begun. So we carry on.'

James shivered. 'Oh, Drew! It will be so
hard without Joshua to guide us!'

'No. It will be easier.'

'Yes,' said James after a moment. 'Yes,
it will!'

They sat, the mother and the two
brothers, in a perfect understanding.

Mary and Martha were on a train when they
heard the news. Though at the time Mary had not
appreciated Andrew's high-handed treatment of herself and Martha, she had had
time to cool down while she struggled to catch the train, especially because she
was coping with Martha as well; now that they were safely on board, she found
herself more inclined to thank Drew than to hate him.

The train dawdled, as trains had a habit
of doing, and because of the March of the Millennium it was nearly empty. At
nine in the evening they drew into Philadelphia, and stopped yet again. The
platform was utterly deserted, it lay there in all its stagnant dreary
indignity, swept clean of humanity, but not of humanity's detritus. Beautifully
and ornately painted on the waiting room's outside wall was a huge despairing
cry from some human soul beyond Joshua Christian's help: gravity sucks! Oh, poor
mortal bird! thought Mary from out of her aching heart; you too?

The station's public address system was
reeling out words in a professional announcing voice that came across loud and
clear, emanating not from the station master's office but from the local NBC
radio affiliate.

Mary and Martha sat alone in their long
carriage and heard the voice talking about the dead Dr Joshua
Christian.

Martha slumped against Mary, heavy and
limp, but not fainted. Mary put her arms about the toneless shoulders and
listened to the loudspeaker voice without surprise. The train started again
almost at once, as if the man who operated it preferred to be somewhere away
from that remorseless public address system.

I knew, thought Mary. I knew this morning
that I would never see him again. And I didn't want to be with
them
when
they heard. Let the boys and Miriam deal with Mama. I shall resign. I cannot
bear any more. All I truly wanted was to travel, and they denied me.
He
denied me. The only person I have ever loved does not love me, can never love me.
He
claimed her without even wanting her.

'Oh, Mary how can I live?' asked Martha,
her face folded against that spare flat unstimulated bosom.

'The same as the rest of us,' said Mary.
'Forever in his shadow.'

Dr Charles Miller, vascular surgeon, to
his wife, while preparing for bed: 'He
crucified
himself, I tell you! And
I keep asking myself, is that how we made him feel? Is that truly how we made
him feel? As if he had to die for us? Oh, God! Oh, God!'

Dr Ignatius O'Brien, plastic surgeon, to
his male lover, in an Arlington studio apartment: 'I don't think my flesh will
ever stop crawling! At first I thought he was still alive, because his eyes
looked down with such a world of bitter pain and knowing life in them — I tell
you, I cannot believe that his eyes have died along with the rest of
him.'

Dr Samuel Feinstein, general physician,
to his spinsterly middle-aged secretary in their Walter Reed office: 'Well, at
least this time they can't blame it on the Jews, Ida! If I was a Christian I'd
probably know right off whether what Dr Christian did was blasphemy or
martyrdom, but I don't and I never will. But do you know what really scared the
shit out of me? The Carriol woman standing there with a big smile on her face
saying something like, "Well done, Jay See! I couldn't have dreamed up a better
end to the operation myself, Messiah!" Oh, Ida, do you suppose he
was?'

Dr Mark Ampleforth, specialist in shock
and exposure, to his eighteen-year-old fiancee, during a meeting originally
planned to discuss their impending marriage: 'Listen, Susie, when I'm upset I
know I talk in my sleep. But it's all total
gobbledygook, honest! So if you do happen to hear me talking, don't for God's
sake believe anything I say, okay?'

Dr Horace Percy, psychiatrist, to his own
analyst, in his analyst's office, at the beginning of a hastily convened
session: 'Gruesome, Martin! The hollow man from Holloman, codpiece stuffed with
straw. Did you hear The Man tonight? A creed for the third millennium, yet! A
new opiate for the masses, more like!'

Dr Barney Williams, anaesthetist, to his
wife, over the dinner table: 'The poor, poor bastard! All alone in that awful
place, and with the guts to die like that. It must have taken an hour after he
managed to hang himself up there. Oh, and his face…!'

Miss Emilia Massimo, general nurse and
captain in the U.S. Air Force, to her male lover, defending her inability to get
in the mood: 'I will never be able to forget it as long as I live, Charlie. You
know how those pictures of Jesus always have eyes that follow you around the
room? Well, that's what his eyes did. I laid him out when we got back here, so I
moved all around him. And wherever I went, his eyes just followed me. Followed
me…'

Mrs Lurline Brown, nurse specialist
intensive care and major in the U.S. Army, to her minister: 'Oh, Reverend Jones,
it was meant that I be there! I come from that country, and every time I go
back, I have a mystical experience. Now I know why! So I just told my brothers
and my husband, you go on over there to that old island and you get his cross.
He is the new Redeemer! Hallelujah!
Hallelujah!'

Two days later a hard-pressed and
grieving Tibor Reece remembered something he had
neglected to do, and issued orders. As a result of those orders, three dour
middle-aged professional Marines in a Marine helicopter were dispatched the same
day to Pocahontas Island, in Pamlico Sound, North Carolina. Their orders were to
go into the courtyard of the only house on the island, there locate a stone
shed, enter it, remove any large wooden beams of any kind it might happen to be
sheltering, take them outside the environs of the house into a no-risk,
no-defacement area, pour gasoline on the beams, and wait until they were burned
to ashes.

Theirs not to reason why. They landed,
they entered the courtyard and then the shed, and out of the latter they carried
five dismally ordinary, ancient wooden railroad ties. They bore them to the
middle of the grassy clearing in front of the courtyard wall, and as ordered,
they saturated the beams with gasoline before setting fire to them. The ties
burned well, for they were old and dry and very tired of living. In half an hour
a black patch on the swampy grass was all that remained of them.

The Marines boarded their chopper and
took off. Back at Quantico they reported to their commanding officer that the
mission was accomplished. Their commanding officer reported to his general, and
his general reported to the White House. Mission accomplished,
sir!
Since
no one, least of all Tibor Reece, had asked for a count of the number of beams,
nor mentioned that one of them should be a T-shaped affair made out of two
beams, no one realized that the T-shaped affair made out of two beams was not
burned. It was not burned because it was not there.

The following week, a rather red-faced
scion of an old North Carolina tobacco-growing family telephoned the Department
of the Environment, and regretfully informed his friend in Parks and
Wildlife that his family had decided to withdraw
their offer to donate dear old Pocahontas Island to the nation, thereby also
withdrawing their hope that the President might consider it suitable for a
nearby yet isolated retreat.

'We've had an offer for it we just can't
refuse, a
cash
offer
half as big again
as our original asking
price!' the North Carolinan voice explained. 'To make things even more
complicated, the offer comes from a very big and very powerful black religious
organization. Seems they want to turn the place into a centre of worship. And
since they're more than willing to keep it designated as a bird and wildlife
preserve, we honestly feel we just should not refuse. I'll be real honest with
you, George. We need the money! We need the money bad.'

The Parks man on the Environment end of
the telephone conversation sighed, but he was not unduly upset. He had thought
the possibility of its being picked up as an Executive retreat was nebulous, and
there was nothing in any way unique about it from the Parks and Wildlife point
of view.

However, when next he went upstairs to
report, he did not mention the fact that Environment had lost out on Pocahontas
Island to Mr Harold Magnus, because Mr Harold Magnus had very suddenly and very
unexpectedly been removed from office. The official reason given out was ill
health, but the whole of Environment was buzzing with a mysterious rumour that
somehow or other, Harold Magnus had been involved to his discredit in the death
of Dr Joshua Christian, of all people! The newly appointed Secretary for the
Environment was an Environment professional, a Presidential decision which
delighted the whole Department. Dr Judith Carriol.

So when George in Parks and Wildlife went
upstairs to report the sad news about Pocahontas Island as part of his routine accounting, he
reported it to Dr Judith Carriol.

She went very still, and her eyes, which
he always found unsettling anyway, her eyes just leaped into life. Then she
threw back her head and she laughed, laughed, laughed until she literally cried
and gasped for breath.

'We can of course insist,' he said, at a
loss. 'The offer to us was verbal, but we also have a letter of
intent.'

The paroxysm ended; Dr Carriol pulled a
tissue from her personal drawer and wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

'I
wouldn't dream of insisting,'
she said, gulped, had to suppress another spasm of laughter. 'Oh, dear me, no!
Our interest in that area primarily is in preserving bird and wildlife, and
that's not a problem in this case, is it? In fact, I think this comes as a
blessing in disguise. I can assure you there is no way the President would ever
contemplate asking the nation to acquire the property as a retreat! I happen to
know it isn't a part of this great country he admires or enjoys. Besides, it is
a black religious body which has asked for Pocahontas Island, and I do not think
it would be good Environment policy to wield a big stick, do you? Tell your
friend to go ahead and firm up his sale. You can also tell him not to sweat it
out until closing day. I would bet my life this is one sale that won't fall
through at the last minute!'

And she began laughing again, harder than
ever.

'What I can't understand, Judith,' said
Dr Moshe Chasen to his new Secretary several days later over lunch in the new
Secretary's office, 'is why you ever accepted this position. You can't serve two
masters! You are now a political appointee tied to Tibor Reece forever and a
day. When he leaves the White House, as leave he must sooner or later, even if
he does shoot for a fourth term, you will probably be
asked to leave your political chair, and you won't be asked to resume your
permanent position in Environment. The Secretaryship is not an elected office,
but it's sure as hell political. You can't come back on the permanent staff.
They're very sticky about public servants having political affiliations and
rightly so, in my opinion.' He shrugged. 'Public servants ought to be above
politics. Their elected masters come and go, so they've got to be prepared to
throw their weight behind whatever masters are in power.'

'I didn't know you felt so strongly about
this,' said Dr Carriol, eyes dancing with some secret amusement.

Whatever Dr Chasen might have answered
under the provocation of that amusement was never offered, for Mrs Taverner
buzzed.

'Dr Carriol?'

'Yes, Helena?'

'The President is calling.'

'Oh. Would you explain to him that I'm in
conference at the moment, but that I'll call him back later?'

'Certainly, Dr Carriol.'

Dr Chasen's eyebrows climbed nearly to
his hairline. 'I don't believe it! Judith, Judith, you don't relay messages like
that to the President of the United States! It's tantamount to kiss my
ass!'

'Nonsense,' she said composedly. 'He
wasn't calling on official business. I'm having dinner with him
tonight.'

'I
don't believe it!'

'Why not? He's a free man these days, and
I'm a free woman, as ever. You've just finished telling me that my career as a
public servant is over, that I'm just a political appointee tied to the White
House. So who can object if we have dinner together, appointer and
appointee?'