Christopher Buckley - Boomsday

“What kind of a sound?”

“A sort of grinding, mechanical sound. Then I heard Mother shrieking and expostulating. I zipped myself up and turned and saw that the car was rolling down toward the edge of the cliff. And I ran.”

“Can you show us?”

“I was more, shall we say, fit in those days. I ran toward the car. Mother was continuing her shrieking, and I think trying to turn the car, also doing something with the transmission. She went over before I could reach her. It was dreadful. I still remember the sound of the car.…?It’s a moment that has stayed with me all my life. As you can imagine.”

“But if the transmission somehow slipped out of park, wouldn’t it have gone into reverse?”

“One would think,” Gideon said. “Yes.”

“And yet the sheriff’s report states that the transmission was in drive when the car landed.”

“Yes,” Gideon said, patting his vest pocket for his watch, “I can only surmise that Mother, in her panic, managed to shift into drive. She was not very adept at driving to begin with.”

“The sheriff’s report also indicated that the parking brake was off.”

“Yes,” Gideon said, “I believe that was accounted for by the impact of the landing. It’s nearly four hundred feet down. Don’t stand too close.”

“Did you kill your mother?”

“No, ma’am,” Gideon said. “But I do appreciate your candor, and I appreciate your having come all this way to put this matter to rest.”

“ Is it at rest? Some people around here we’ve talked to still seem to have doubts.”

“Well…” Gideon smiled. “I would say to you, let them come forward and present their evidence. I don’t think they will, for evil shunneth the light and hideth its face at noon. No, I did not kill her. In fact, this is part of the reason I find myself a candidate for the presidency. There are those who are advocating that we drive our dear old mothers and fathers off cliffs. Surely there must be some better way of resolving our Social Security and Medicare problems, critical as they may be.”

Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick…

Gideon watched the broadcast with his campaign staff at headquarters. When it ended, the place erupted in whoops and hollers. (Most of the staff was from the South.) His press secretary, Teeley, gave a thumbs-up, despite the bit with the aging coroner, who told the 60 Minutes correspondent, “I don’t think we’re evah really going to get to the bottom of what happened that day at Frenchman’s Bluff.” Gideon was accepting congratulations and pats on the back when his aide thrust forward and said that there was a call from a Ms. Tolstoy.

“Who?” Gideon said.

“Something about a gold watch.…?Reverend? Are you all right? Should I fetch some bicarbonate?”

Cass had watched 60 Minutes with Terry and Randy. Randy said, “He came off rather well, I thought. I still think he did the old girl in.”

“No,” Cass said. “He didn’t. But there’s something missing to it. Whatever. He came off well. He defused it.”

Randy said, “I’ll bet my guy Speck could find out if he sent her off that cliff.”

Cass said, “Now, now-we’re not going negative, remember?”

“Not yet, anyway,” Terry muttered.

“I thought the plan,” Randy said, “was to scare the shit out of the U30s?” U30s was their shorthand for the under-thirty voters they were after. It sounded like a German submarine.

“It’s not the same thing,” Terry said.

“We’re going negative against Boomers, not individual candidates,” Cass said. “We need a symbol. I’m tired of doing photo ops in front of the Social Security building.”

“We could trash a few more golf courses,” Terry said.

“Been there, burned that.”

Cass’s cell phone rang. She took the call.

“I guess the Today show watches Sixty Minutes. They’d like the senator”-she sighed-“to return to Bosnia.”

Terry said, “Must be Presidential Candidates Acting Badly in Vehicles Week. Didn’t Peacham run over a deer one weekend at Camp David while he was giving the president of Latvia a tour?”

“Racoon.”

Randy said, “So. Are we going back to Bosnia? You did say the U30s rather liked the idea that we were ‘doing the deed.’”

“Why not,” Terry said. “Cass could give you a hand job while you drive into a minefield. Very presidential.”

“I don’t think so,” said Cass.

“Too bad,” Terry said. “Could have been our PT-109 moment.”

“And in Washington tonight, a stunning announcement from the Vatican. We go now to our correspondent, Wendy Wong.”

“Brian, a senior Vatican official at the Holy See’s embassy in Washington today issued a stern warning to Americans not to vote for any candidate who supports legalizing suicide-or, as it has come to be called, Voluntary Transitioning.

“The warning came from Monsignor Massimo Montefeltro, Rome’s second-highest-ranking official in the United States, a man said by observers to be close to Pope Jean-Claude the First.

“Montefeltro today threatened the most severe sanction that the church can issue, a so-called bull of excommunication, which effectively bars a Catholic from the sacraments. He issued the warning at a press conference:

“‘Legal suicide, or Transitioning, as its proponents call it, is absolutely contrary to all Catholic moral teaching. The holy father has been watching the political developments in America. Therefore he is, regretfully, compelled to issue a bull of excommunication. This would take effect against any American Catholic who votes for, or who supports, any candidate advocating legal suicide’…

“Strong words.…?Brian?”

“Wendy, why is it called a ‘bull’?”

“The name derives from bullae, the wax or lead seals that popes used in the old days to seal proclamations. In any language, Brian, it spells ‘tough medicine.’”

“Thank you, Wendy. In the Middle East today, a spontaneous display of affection between Israelies and Palestinians.…”

Monsignor Montefeltro’s discomfort at the press conference was much commented upon. Some Vaticanisti suggested that it hinted at a theological divide between him and Rome.

Cass and Terry were at campaign headquarters going over campaign Boomer attack ads when Randy called. He sounded frantic. He was in Minnesota on his way to a fund-raiser. Cass had insisted he hold at least a few, for appearance’ sake.

“What the hell’s going on?” he demanded.

“What are you talking about?”

“I just got a call from some Reuters reporter. She said the pope had just attacked me?”

“What?” Cass said. “Don’t talk to anyone until I call you back.”

Terry was already online. “Holy shit.”

Cass read over his shoulder. “You got ‘holy’ right. Where did this come from?”

“Sort that out later. Now what?” Terry said. “Do we denounce the pope?”

Cass thought. “At least he’s French. I better stuff a sock in Randy’s mouth. He’s got that old-WASP thing about Catholics. Calls them ‘papists.’”

“I’ve had four more calls,” Randy said. “I’m not going to take this from some old Frog in a miter-”

“Just stonewall , Randy.”

“I am. But they’re going to pounce on me at the fund-raiser. What do I tell them? What I’d like to tell them is the pope can go jump into the Tiber. What business is it of his-”

“You have the greatest respect for the pope-”

“I do not. I’m Episcopalian. Not very practicing, but-”

“Randy. Shut up. You’re looking forward to a vigorous debate…you-”

“I’m not here to debate the pope, for God’s sake.”