Leon Uris - A God In Ruins

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 and 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.”

“Then why am I so overjoyed? Thornton snarled.

“That personality drove you to earning twenty-five billion dollars, the American presidency, and for a fleeting moment you nearly gained control of all the king’s horses and all the king’s men.”

“I had it right here,” he said, showing his fist. Darnell turned his eyes away. “Didn’t I?”

“The people didn’t think so, Thornton. Greed is endemic but when the time came to have the Lincoln Memorial sponsored by Nathan’s hot dogs, they shamed.”

Thornton tried to understand.

“We name our children after our father and mother, or an aunt or a hero. We bury our dead in green lawns and bring fresh flowers to keep their sainted memory. We weep on bad days of remembrance of our family. We toil for them. We are tender to our aged. And we fight them tooth and nail.”