The utter collapse of this Profoundly criminal Bush conspiracy will come none too soon for people like me... The massive plundering of the U.S. Treasury and all its resources has been almost on a scale that is criminally insane, and has literally destroyed the lives of millions of American people and American families. Exactly. You and me, sport -- we are the ones who are going to suffer, and suffer massively. This is going to be just like the Book of Revelation said it was going to be -- the end of the world as we knew it.
Hunter S. Thompson
"The Nation's Capital"
29 July 2003
Fear And Loafing At The Republican National Convention
by
Justice Putnam
VII
That night I dreamed again. Some beds are made of feathers or cotton, that bed was stuffed with dreams.
I dreamed I was in Ethiopia, walking across the plains with a multitude of starving people. Their bellies were round and bloated huge from hunger. Their eyes seemed just as round and protruding from their faces. The children were so small and shrunken; their bodies seemed to be merely vessels on which those huge sets of eyes moved about. Those eyes stared at me, but they stared through me too. They were looking at Death. Death was coming across the plains, getting closer with each passing moment.
Then I heard a familiar voice. Turning, I saw Cole Stanyan walking toward us, followed by a small group of well-dressed Americans. They were wearing neatly ironed clothes, smoking cigarettes and carrying cameras. Cole was speaking to them as they stepped over starving people,
"Think positive!" he cried out, "Nothing is impossible!" Cole was selling a weight loss program. Pointing to starving people, he suggested to his followers, "You too can enjoy a thin and active life by joining my, COLE STANYAN EVERYBODY LOSES WEIGHT LOSS CLINIC!"
Lou Dobbs made his way to the front of the crowd and asked,
"Cole, do you think I can lose too?"
Suddenly, everything rushed away. The starving Ethiopians, Cole Stanyan and his followers all became tiny figures on the dusty, orange horizon.
I found myself standing barefoot beside a kneeling man,
"What's wrong?" I asked, reaching down to touch his shoulder. I felt a warmth move up my arm and into my heart, as the man looked up at me.
I saw that he was Jesus. I knew he was Jesus from all the paintings I had seen. He was holding a tiny, dead lamb against his chest. The lamb appeared to have been shot. The man stood and faced me. Blood trickled onto his bare stomach,
"I feel it all!" he said, "All of it! Nothing passes that does not pass through me!"
The man continued to cry for a very long time. I felt water rise up to my ankles and over my knees. When the water had gotten to our waists the man looked about himself and let out a painful groan,
"I must go now!" he said, "I must go! I cannot stay in one place for very long or my tears will drown the Earth! Bless you," he said, as he turned and walked away.
VIII
That morning in the Sunrise Café, I could not help but be reminded of the starving children and the dead lamb; the dream kept coming back to me.
While sitting at the counter and watching reflections in the malt machine, I saw the same young woman who had served me the day before. Her nametag read,
"Kristen, At Your Service!"
She stood talking to a young man in a military uniform,
"You don't have to," she said in a soft voice, "until next week."
"What would you have me do?" he retorted, "My Country calls, I must go!" He leaned forward, kissed her on the cheek and walked out.
"What a jerk." She whispered as a tear slipped from her eye. Kristen walked toward me with a pot of coffee in her hand. Raising it she asked,
"More?"
"I don't drink coffee, remember?"
"Oh, health reasons, right?"
"Right, uh, yes." Was my only response. When I said, 'yes,' I meant something like, 'Kristen, you're beautiful, could we have dinner together?' All Kristen heard was, 'yes, health reasons.' I had to try again.
I stared at her for a moment as she stood with her back to me. Her orange and white waitress dress fit tightly on her trim hips. Nothing like a woman in uniform, I thought to myself. Then I suddenly called out her name,
"Kristen?"
She walked toward me,
"Yes sir?"
"Do you think coffee is bad for you?"
"I don't know, but why ask me?"
"You look so healthy, you look radiant!" I answered with a smile. I had regained my confidence. I went on, "I mean, you look so beautiful, and if you drink coffee, someone as beautiful as you, well, it's got to be good for people!"
"I don't drink coffee, though," she said.
"You mean, your beauty is natural?!" I stood as I spoke, my arms outstretched and my hands open. I must have looked like an Evangelist. I certainly had learned something from Cole Stanyan.
"Yes, yes I guess." She answered in embarrassment.
"I've got to get to the bottom of this! Such beauty!" I exclaimed a little too loudly. Kristen was frozen in self-consciousness. Her cheeks turned red as she smiled slightly at me. I leaned toward her and spoke softly, "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you, but you're lovely." I looked her in the eyes as I spoke, "Will you meet me at the river when you're off work?"
"Sure," she said, "what's your name?"
"Jacques," I answered, "Jacques Fontaine."
I felt very lucky!
IX
As I was leaving the Sunrise Café, I bumped into Officer McCourt. He was coming through the door with Cole Stanyan,
"Look here Cole, this is that Federal Investigator I was telling you about."
Cole shook my hand for a very long time. A big smile frozen on his face revealed a set of slightly yellowed teeth.
"Pleased to meet you," Cole said. He was wearing a wrinkled, brown suit, "This is our lucky day!"
"It's my lucky day, that's for sure." I responded, thinking of Kristen.
"Well, thank you!" Cole exclaimed, assuming I had complimented him. Cole had that uncanny ability to think that everything and everyone was always complimenting him. Cole was winning, no doubt. Maybe Officer McCourt was right; maybe Cole was a Saint, "You must join us! Have some of the pie!" he continued with great sincerity, "you can't lose with the Apple. Anyway, the price is right, it's on me!"
His smile stretched across his face. I was unable to say no to Cole Stanyan.
During my pie, Cole ate eggs and bacon. He managed to smoke three cigarettes and explain how to refinance the house I didn't even own. Cole was winning and insisting the whole time that Officer McCourt and I were winning also.
"Isn't Cole something!?" Officer McCourt would gush.
"Yes, something." I would respond.
Cole wanted to know what 'my game was.' He wanted to know if I thought he was a 'fraud.' But he never let me answer. He would butt in and say something like, 'I know you're just doing your job!' or 'I'm glad you're here, because I know there are those who would mislead the public.'
There I sat, a former high school history teacher, turned a decreasingly idealistic bureaucrat, at a table with a man who never lost at anything. A man, who kept calling me a real 'winner,' and every time he said that, I felt like I was losing. I finally had enough,
"Cole," I said forcefully, "I think you give people false hope!"
Cole's mouth dropped open, he furrowed his eyebrows,
"False hope," he said sadly, "false hope!" he said angrily, "false hope!!" he shouted.
I was afraid he was going to ask me to spell it.
"False hope." I repeated.
Officer McCourt was stunned. He couldn't believe I had challenged the credibility of Saint Stanyan; the Patron Saint of Real Estate Deals. Cole leaned very close to me,
"You call it, 'false hope,'" he said, regaining his composure, "I have changed people's lives." He reached across the table and put his hand on my shoulder. He looked me dead in the eye and said, "I give them the hope, the faith to become what they long to be!"
Cole sat back as Officer McCourt said, "That's it! That's what he does!"
"Mr. Fontaine," Cole said, "I know you understand me, because you're an ordinary man, a hard-working and honest man. And you want more, don't you?"
As Cole was posing the question, I was watching Kristen,
"Yes, I do want more." I said, and I did too. I wanted more pie, more time, more money and all of Kristen!
"You see, Mr. Fontaine," Cole said intensely, "I want to help you get more! I want you to be a winner!"
Officer McCourt was nodding frantically. Finally, he could restrain himself no longer,
"You'll be a winner," he pointed a finger in my face, "whether you like it or not!"
How reassuring some Police are.
"I saw you looking at that waitress," Cole said with a wink, "I think we understand each other. I'm going to send you a little gift, one that walks and talks." Cole winked again, "If you get my meaning!"
"No, no thanks." I responded, still watching Kristen.
"Come on!" Cole said, " Nobody gets hurt, everybody wins!" Cole paused for a moment, then continued, "I'm talking about tanned, young, town girls, what's wrong with that?"
I did think about it. It didn't sound too bad. But, I still only replied,
"No thanks, Mr. Stanyan."
X
I had almost four hours to kill before my date at the river with Kristen. I began to wander the town's streets. I walked sidewalks lined with plane trees and through old neighborhoods of white wooden houses with big wooden porches. I heard the sounds of televisions waft from the cool shadowy darkness behind screen doors.
On one porch, I saw a woman with her hair in rollers. She was talking with a Mailman,
"It's getting scary now!" she exclaimed, "Bill O'Reilly's been on all day. I worry about my grandkids!"
"Damn those Iranians!" the Mailman said as he handed her a large stack of mail.
"Oh, look!" the Woman said, "Coupons!"
I came upon a great trailer park, a seemingly endless labyrinth of one-way roads weaving around tiny trailers with neat, little yards. Most of the yards were covered with colored stones and pots of dusty, plastic flowers along the borders and on the porch. Low maintenance, I suppose.
Then I was out of the neighborhoods and into the business district; street after street of shops, parking lots, cafes and bookstores. I came upon a newsstand and read the headlines,
"IRANIANS WON'T BACK DOWN!"
"NAVY ON RED ALERT!"
"MISSILES POINTED AT U.S.?"
"PUTIN DARES PRESIDENT!"
"U.S. WON'T BE PUSHED!"
"PREZ TO PUTIN: 'BRING IT ON!'"
There was only one paper that didn't seem interested in the crisis. It's headline read,
"TWO-HEADED BABY BORN TO LOUISIANA COUPLE!"
By noon the sun was very hot. It hung overhead; white and glaring like a 220-watt light bulb in a small empty room. The oily, black pavement steamed in the heat as the delegates and tourists continued their trudging from shop to shop.
As I walked about, thinking of Cole Stanyan, Ethiopia, the Iranians, the Russian missiles and Kristen, I came upon a large convalescent hospital,
"The Shalom Rest Home For The Elders."
A nice name for a place where people got rid of their grandmothers and grandfathers.
Through the windows, I saw the small rooms the old people lived in; bland white rooms with power beds and televisions mounted on the walls. Each room had a small dresser table covered with a lace doily. Upon that sat a trinket or two, and many photographs. They were the Altars of the Old.
Outside on the well-trimmed lawns, dozens of seniors sat in lawn chairs. There was one very old man in a wheel chair, his legs covered with a blanket and his baldhead shinning in the hot sun. He was unshaven with gray and white whiskers sticking out of his wrinkled face. His eyes were milky white as he stared into the distance.
As I walked by, the old man raised a spotted and shaky hand; he was pointing at me and began to groan,
"Wooo...woo....woooooooo!"
"What is it Mr. Goldman?!" a skinny white-haired woman called out from a nearby lawn chair.
"I saw Him!" Mr. Goldman said, "I saw Him!"
"Who?" the old woman asked.
"Death maybe. Or, or maybe God!"
The seniors gazed at Mr. Goldman with wide eyes. Among these old folks, such visions were taken very seriously.
"Was He close?" a man asked.
"Yes, very close!" Mr. Goldman replied.
"What did He look like?" another man questioned.
"He, He was tall and shiny," Mr. Goldman stuttered, "He looked like, He looked like Abraham Lincoln from, from off the copper penny!"
I reached into my pocket and pulled out some change. I located a penny and stared at it for a moment. When I looked up, I saw Mr. Goldman's head had fallen forward, his chin rested against his chest. A young nurse leaned very close to him, her hand holding his wrist, checking for a pulse. After a moment, she looked up and exclaimed,
"He's dead!"
There were a couple of slight gasps from the seniors, and the old woman said,
"Bless you. Bless you Mr. Goldman!"
As I walked away, I heard another senior say,
"I'll be damned! Abraham Lincoln!"
(con't tomorrow)
© 2008 by Justice Putnam
and Mechanisches-Strophe Verlagswesen