Charles Wheelan - The Rationing

“I’ll set up the meetings,” the Chief of Staff said.

The Strategist nodded toward the door of the Oval Office, where the Speaker was talking to the Secretary of Defense. “You know what she’s going to do with this,” he said. “This is one big political gift for her. It’s what she’s been waiting for her entire life. She’s going to ride in on a government-issued horse—”

“Yeah, I picked up on that,” the President said tartly.

“I’d say we have about twelve hours before this starts leaking,” the Chief of Staff said.

“That will be a complete clusterfuck,” the Strategist said.

“We need a communications strategy,” the Chief of Staff answered, a new level of weariness creeping into her voice.

“There are already too many people involved,” the President said.

“I know,” the Chief of Staff agreed. “But if this thing leaks and we’re not prepared, the public reaction will be a complete disaster.”

The Strategist chuckled sardonically. “I’ve got our message: ‘Don’t worry, America, only one million of you are at risk of dying.’ Or maybe we should put a more positive spin on it: ‘Three hundred and thirty-nine million Americans probably won’t die.’”

The President smiled, grasping at the humor. “Or we can just loan the Chinese the Sixth Fleet for a while. How bad could that be?”

“I’ll work up something with the Director of Communications,” the Chief of Staff said.

The President nodded in acknowledgment. After a moment he asked the Strategist, “Did I really vote to privatize the Dormigen production?”

The Strategist shrugged. “I can’t remember. It was a huge bill. I have no idea what all was packed in there, but I suspect the Speaker did her research on this one.”

“Yeah.”

AS THE PARTICIPANTS FILED OUT OF THE MEETING, THE President walked to the window of the Oval Office that looked out on the Rose Garden. He did that sometimes, separating himself from the group but not yet ready to sit down at his desk and get back to work. The Majority Leader paused in the doorway and then walked back and joined the President by the window. “Welcome to my world, Mr. President,” he offered. The President looked at him somewhat quizzically, neither welcoming his presence nor sending him away. “The Speaker,” the Majority Leader continued. “I have to deal with her more often than you do. Just about every goddamn day, and sometimes she still amazes me.” The President nodded and smiled slightly, implicitly welcoming the Majority Leader’s presence. “Can I offer you one piece of advice?” the Majority Leader asked.

“About the Speaker?” the President replied.

“Mm-hmm,” the Majority Leader confirmed.

“Wrap her in a carpet and drop her off a boat twenty-five miles out to sea,” the President suggested.

The Majority Leader gave a deep, genuine laugh. “Oh, I’ve felt that urge,” he said, still chuckling. “But I’ll give you a different nautical metaphor. You’ve got to let her run away from the boat.”

“I have no fucking idea what that means,” the President said, albeit with an odd warmth for him.

“You’re not a fisherman?” the Majority Leader asked.

“My idea of fishing consists of going to Whole Foods and buying whatever is on sale,” the President replied. “Now I can’t even go to Whole Foods,” he added.

“If you’re fishing for game fish, like tuna or swordfish,” the Majority Leader explained, “they can take hours to land after you’ve hooked them. If you try to wrestle them into the boat too quickly, you’ll wear yourself out, or break the line.”

“One more reason to buy tuna at Whole Foods.”

“True enough. But if you like the fight, what you learn is that you have to let the fish wear itself out. Sometimes it dives deep, or swims away from the boat. That’s what I mean by letting it run. It doesn’t feel right, to let the fish get farther away from you, but eventually that fish is going to exhaust itself. That’s when you reel it in.”

“I like the idea of putting a hook in the Speaker’s mouth, if that’s what you’re suggesting. Other than that, I still have no idea what the hell you’re talking about,” the President said. His tone was not hostile; rather, it invited the Majority Leader to continue.

“One thing I’ve learned about people like the Speaker is that sometimes it’s better to let them talk than to try and shut them up,” the Majority Leader explained. “We had this nasty fellow back in Pekin. He was an out-and-out racist, but he was generally smart enough to dress up his repugnant thoughts in respectable clothing. He was making all kinds of trouble at the high school—stuff about how our kids needed to be taught by teachers who were ‘culturally similar,’ which was really just veiled talk about race. He didn’t want any black teachers. The problem was, people were starting to listen.”

“And?” the President asked with genuine interest.

“I was president of the school board and I kept trying to figure out how I could shut him up. One day over Sunday supper, my dad says, ‘If you let him talk long enough, people will see him for what he is.’ So I invited the guy to address the Rotary Club, to make a recommendation about what kind of teachers would be most appropriate for Pekin High.”

“That was bold.”

“The first fifteen minutes, I thought I’d made a horrible mistake. He had fancy slides and test score data. Everyone in the room was nodding along. But then he kept going. He started talking about how some races are genetically inferior and should be relegated to certain low-skill professions.”

“He was running away from the boat,” the President offered.

“You’re telling me,” the Majority Leader said, pleased that the President had embraced his metaphor. “I could feel the room turning. The longer he talked, the more mortified they became. I could see it in their eyes. I didn’t even have to offer a rejoinder. At the end of his talk, I just said, ‘Thank you for coming today. I’m pleased you all could get a deeper understanding of Mr. Mason’s views on this subject.’ The guy never caused any serious trouble again.”

“Okay, but the Speaker is wily and we don’t have much time,” the President said. “She could really do a lot of damage here.”

“I agree. But you have to resist the impulse to try to muscle her into the boat,” the Majority Leader warned.

“You’ve caught a lot of tuna in your day, have you?” the President suggested.

“I do pretty well.”

I ARRIVED AT THE NIH OFFICES BEFORE DAWN. SOMEHOW I had lost my key card, and I had to search the lobby for a security guard to buzz me in. “Something’s going on up there,” he said as he tapped his pass on a pad beside the elevator. “They’ve been working all night.” Tie Guy met me at the elevator. He had not shaved in several days and his face had an oily sheen. He was not wearing shoes. “Do you want me to get you a cup of coffee or something?” I asked.

“That’s the last thing I need,” he said. “If I have any more caffeine I might have a heart attack.” I looked around the floor. A few people were working at computers, but most of the people I could see were loitering happily, as if they were working on a group project in graduate school—which, as far as they knew, was broadly similar to what they were doing. A young woman walked toward us, typing intently on her phone. When she noticed Tie Guy she said, “Hey, we’re going out for breakfast. You want to come?”

“No, thanks. I need to review the slides,” he said. We had agreed that Tie Guy would brief me as soon as he was finished analyzing the new data. At eight, the NIH Director would arrive and we would do a more formal briefing for her. The Director and I would then do a briefing at the White House later that morning.