A God in Ruins Part 1

A G.o.d In Ruins.

by Leon Uris.

TROUBLESOME MESA, COLORADOAUTUMN, 2008

A Catholic orphan of sixty years is not apt to forget the day he first learned that he was born Jewish. It would not have been that bombastic an event, except that I am running for the presidency of the United States. The 2008 election is less than a week away.Earlier in the day, my in-close staff looked at one another around the conference table. We digested the numbers. Not only were we going to win, there was no way we were going to lose. Thank G.o.d, none of the staff prematurely uttered the words "Mr. President."This morning was ten thousand years ago.I'm Quinn Patrick O'Connell, governor of Colorado and the Democratic candidate for president. The voters know I was adopted through the Catholic bureaucracy by the ranchers Dan and Siobhan O'Connell.My dad and I were Irish enough, at each other's throats. Thanks to my mom, we all had peace and a large measure of love before he was set down in his grave.All things being equal, it appeared that I would be the second Roman Catholic president in American history. Unknown to me until earlier this day, I would be the first Jewish president as well.

Nothing compares to the constant melancholy thirst of the orphan to find his birth parents. It is the apparatus that forms us and rules us.Aye, there was always someone out there, a faceless king and queen in a chilled haze, taunting.Ben Horowitz, my half brother, had been searching for me, haunted, for over a half century. Today he found me.Tomorrow at one o'clock Rocky Mountain time I must share my fate with the American people. You haven't heard of Rocky time? Some of the networks haven't, either. Lot of s.p.a.ce but small market.The second half of the last century held the years that the Jews became one of the prime forces in American life. Politically, there had been a mess of Jewish congressmen, senators, mayors, and governors of enormous popularity and power. None had won the big enchilada. I suppose the buck stops here.Had I been elected governor as Alexander Horowitz, I'd have been just as good for my state. However, the discovery of my birth parents a week before the presidential election could well set off a series of tragic events from the darkness where those who will hate me lay in wait.How do I bring this to you, folks? In the last few hours I have written, "my fellow Americans" twenty-six times, "a funny thing happened to me on the way to Was.h.i.+ngton" twenty-one times, and "the American people have the right to know" three dozen times. My wastebasket overfloweth.Don't cry, little Susie, there will be a Christmas tree on the White House lawn.No, the White House kitchen will not be kosher. My love of Carnegie tongue and pastrami is not of a religious nature.By presidential decree, the wearing of a yarmulke is optional.Israel will not become our fifty-first state.

To tell the truth, my countrymen, I simply do not know what this means in my future. O'Connell was a h.e.l.l of a good governor, but we are in uncharted waters.I'm getting a little fuzzy. I can see into the bedroom, where Rita is sprawled in the deep part of a power nap. Rita and our bedroom and her attire are all blended with Colorado hush tones, so soft and light in texture. At the ranch Rita liked to wear those full and colorful skirts like a Mexican woman at fiesta. As she lays there a bit rumpled, I can see up her thighs. I'd give my horse and saddle to be able to crawl alongside her. But then, I'd never finish my Was.h.i.+ngton's farewell to the troops speech.On the other hand, Rita and I have made the wildest gung ho love when we were under the deepest stress.Write your speech, son, you've got to "face the nation" tomorrow, Rocky Mountain time.Straight narrative, no intertwining B.S. or politicizing. Explain the O'Connell ne Horowitz phenomenon. Truth, baby, truth. At least truth will not come back to haunt you.Strange, I should be thinking of Greer at this moment. Rita is the most sensual soul mate one could pray for. We have loved one another without compromise for nearly thirty years. Yet, is it possible that Greer is really the love of my life?I'd have never come this far in the campaign without Greer Little's genius. I would have been tossed into the boneyard of candidates never heard from again. She organized, she raised money, she knew the political operatives, and she masterminded my "miracle" campaign.I was struck by the realization that Greer would leave soon, and I felt the same kind of agony as when we broke up years before. I had needed to see Greer on some business, and knocked and entered her room. She had been on the bed with Rita, pa.s.sed-out drunk. Rita had held her and soothed her as though she were a little girl, and Rita had put her finger to her lips to tell me to be quiet.

Well, there was life without Greer, but there could be no life without Rita. Yet it still hurts.I watch the hours flow in the pa.s.sageway behind me like the tick of a suppressed bomb about to be released. I am through with a draft. I write another.As the hours to dawn tick off, it all seems to come down to the same basic questions. Am I telling the truth? Do the American people have the civility and the decency to take the truth and rise with it?Why me, Lord? Haven't I had enough of your pranks? Isn't slamming the White House door in my face just a little much, even for Your Holiness? I'm at the landing over the reception foyer of the White House. The Marine band drums up "Hail to the Chief" and the major of the guard proclaims, "The president of the United States and Mrs. Horowitz." Oh, come on now, Lord. Aren't you carrying this a little too far?Well, all the stories of the good Irish lives are best pa.s.sed on around the old campfire from schanachie to schanachie, and I'll not spare you mine.In actual fact, my own beginnings began at the end of World War II, when my future adopted father, Daniel Timothy O'Connell, returned from the Pacific with a couple of rows of ribbons and a decided limp.BROOKLYN, AUTUMN 1945The war to end all wars had ended. The Military Air Transport DC-3 groaned as the cables stretched in a turn, and a piece of the plane's skin flapped against the pilot's window. The tail swung. A queasy contingent of soldiers, sailors, and a few Marines were losing the battle with their equilibrium.Staff Sergeant Daniel Timothy O'Connell tried to suck oxygen from thewilted air as beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. The sergeantmumbled into his beard that he had come all the way from San Diego without puking and d.a.m.ned if he was going to puke in front of a planeload of swab jockeys and dog faces.In the c.o.c.kpit a pair of MATS women flew the craft, adding to his discomfort. "Guadalca.n.a.l," he continued mumbling, "Tarawa, Saipan, Okinawa, only to crash ten miles from home!"Crossing the United States was no simple matter. There was no commercial air service to and from San Diego. MATS, which took as many discharged veterans as it could, had hundreds on their waiting list.O'Connell had caught a train from San Diego to L.A. From there, two different airlines making nine stops over a twelve hour period landed him at Wright-Patterson Field outside Dayton.There was a delay of several hours before another MATS plane could get him to the East Coast. He checked in and segued into a bar just outside the gates and sashayed in with a sailor he had teamed up with named Gross. Marines seldom used first names, so Gross was Gross.They entered the Blue Lady lounge to see a half dozen women lined up at one end of the bar."Could be a B-joint," O'Connell said. "Got your dough safe?""Money belt.""You see," O'Connell went on, "they know a lot of GIs are coming through Wright-Patterson Field loaded with back pay and that we have to be out of town soon.""I know you'll protect me," Gross said."Jim Beam with a Jim Beam backup." "A couple of ladies would like totreat you boys." "I'll bet they would." "Hey, take off your pack andstand at ease," the bartender said. "I'm Army, myself. These are a lonely wives club. Some of them have been without for two years. Just women without men. They work at Wright Patterson"You know," Gross said, "I might settle in here for a few days.""Yeah, only after we find a Western Union and you wire home the money you're carrying.""You going to stay?" Gross asked."No," O'Connell answered."I mean, look at them, their eager little bodies twitching.""It's a duty thing," the Marine snapped."With me, too," Gross said. "G.o.d would never forgive me if I just upped and ignored His perfect works of beauty.""I haven't seen my sweetheart in over three years," Dan said, becoming serious. "So pick a filly and let's get your money home."With Gross on the way to wonderland on the arm of a happy sad lady with two kids, Dan O'Connell returned to MATS at Wright-Patterson Field. He had been b.u.mped by an officer.In a race down the train platform he got aboard a train to Pittsburgh with no time to spare for the overnight ride to New York. Dan was up before daylight, a hundred dreams all fusing. How does one play out his homecoming scene?Siobhan Logan rushed into Dan's arms while her brother, Father Sean Logan, remained a step behind. Scan smiled widely as they embraced. He had seen them as teenagers, young adults, same pose, only this time she screamed for joy.Dan's testy hip and knee made itself felt when he dropped his sea bag to en curl her and spin her about."Oh, Dan, your leg, I'm sorry.""I'm still big enough to hold up a drunk in either hand. Siobhan!Siobhan! Oh, you are so beautiful."Dan spotted Father Sean advancing timidly. He wore a Roman collar.Ordained and everything.

"Father Scan.""Just Scan."The two men were the closest of pals, and they went their separate ways-Sean to the seminary and Dan to the Brooklyn Police Academy. Both had prayed that Dan would get home. Dan didn't embrace men. A tough handshake, a couple of slaps on the shoulder."I'll take that sea bag," Father Sean said."I can deal with the weight.""Oh, it's not the weight, it's your general awkwardness. See now, with your limp we'd have to attach the bag to your waist and have you drag it, or you could put it back on your shoulder and when you fall down I can pray over you and Siobhan will pa.s.s the plate.""All right, all right-if you've no respect for a wounded veteran!Anyhow, I sent the big trunk home by Railway Express.""I hope it finds its way to you someday," Father Sean said.The Promenade along Brooklyn Heights rarely had enough benches and parking s.p.a.ces these days. Dan was not the only lad from Brooklyn coming home."They're talking about putting a bridge over the Narrows," Siobhan said quickly and shakily, "to Staten Island.""They'll never get a bridge over there."This kiss was fiercely mellow or, as Dan would say in the Marines, "The price of poker has just gone up."Siobhan straightened up and gulped a monster sigh. "We're all but married in name.""Of course.""Then you are behaving stupidly.""What did I do?""It's not what you did. It's what you dol If we are virtually married, I want to do what married people do, now, today," she said."I've thought about it so much," Dan said, "that I want it to be utterly perfect, utterly. I want us to be joined by G.o.d first." "That will take G.o.d two weeks. G.o.d may be patient, but I can't wait that long. I've got a key to a girlfriend's flat. Either we go there now, or I'm going to undress right here, right now."Home! The grand illusion.Everything you remembered had to be perfect to balance the imperfections. A cop from Flatbush. Now, that was a big man in Marine eyes. The only man who really came from a perfect place was his closest and eternal buddy, Justin Quinn.Home! Dan had forgot that his mother's voice ranged between a squeal and shrill. Gooseflesh popped out on his skin when she argued, like someone had run chalk over a "singing" blackboard.Home! Dan remembered those midnight-to-eight walking beats. It could be noon before he could get to the paperwork. The nights brought gunplay and gore. One of his backup partners had been ma.s.sively wounded. A tot murdered in its crib, the mother's throat slashed, and a deranged boyfriend opting to shoot it out. ("That was a bad one. Take a couple days off, Dan .")Home! Until he saw her again, he had clear forgotten about the wart on the end of his aunt's chin.Or how small and crus.h.i.+ng the streets were.Or how tiny his room was.The closeness of s.p.a.ce and people led to a repet.i.tion of life.Now, Justin Quinn had a real home! Justin Quinn had never returned. He had been killed in Saipan, but even the night before his death he had spoken of the beauty of his father's ranch in Colorado. It was the perfection sought by all but experienced by few.A Marine's life can be boring, but there is always a jazzy sparkle when he is polis.h.i.+ng up for sh.o.r.e leave. He and Justin blew through the camp gates. Justin would go to waiting arms.

Dan played it straight with Siobhan for the entire time. But he was a singer and dancer and great teller of jokes. Well now, he did get into an awkward situation or two with the ladies in New Zealand, but nothing he couldn't tell Siobhan of, at a later time.Home. Relatives and friends who spent most of their lives stirring the pot in each other's kitchens and salty old yarn spinners bragging about WWI, the "big" war in France and their blowout in Paree.No Sunday came and went without a wedding or a christening. Hardly a week pa.s.sed without a wake. "How many j.a.ps did you kill, Dan?" "San Diego! That's the end of the earth now!" "Go over your medals one more time, Dan. Which one was for getting wounded?""Is it true what they say about them Asian women?"WELCOME HOME, CLAN read the banner over the entrance of the precinct station. It was a happy event, indeed. The precinct had lost five men to the war.A big cake had been baked and several cases of c.o.ke hustled. (Can you believe it, Dan? c.o.ke is up to a dime a bottle.)Dan's new uniform came compliments of a grateful mayor. He was issued a revolver, a sweet .38 Smith & Wesson Police Special."You know, you can wear your military ribbons on your police uniform.Now, what's that one?""It's called a 'ruptured duck," to signify you are a veteran."The powers that be knew Dan would not be able to take up a walking beat again. He could handle it somewhat, but he'd lose too many suspects and arrests if he had to give chase. Well, no matter, Dan O'Connell was a war hero, and they'd talk about a desk job or perhaps a patrol car and, just maybe, becoming a detective.A rookie named Kofski was on Dan's old beat. He put on his new uniform and bolstered his new pistol for "the walk." Kofski was all thumbs. Dan preferred Irish cops to polacks."The walk" would be a sort of victory lap to reclaim the homage of his protectorate. It started as all walks started, with Dan taking an apple from the Italian vendor.Farther along, they rushed up to a third floor to break up a marital. In the old days, Dan had been an arbitrator, along with the parish priest. Consultation fees, a cup of tea and a slice of pie. Jesus, Kofski, don't just burst in with your baton swinging!A final cuff was made when they nailed a kid heisting hubcaps. Kofski shook the kid real hard and wanted to take him back to the station. Dan had to read quickly whether this boy was too far into the street scene or could still be salvaged. He opted to take the boy to his mother and dad.This chase incident made Dan aware of his limited mobility. Kofski had to run the kid down, and it wasn't easy.In the Corps, he'd been thrown in with all kinds of guys, Texans, farmers, and those wild lads from L.A. He'd only heard of such people and never believed he would live to see them. Won't the nation change at the end of the war? As they left "the walk," Dan wondered if his beat wasn't really the perimeter of a walled graveyard.He sank into a mood of Irish maudlin. The pending mayhem of a large Irish wedding shaped up. A yard filled with clucking hens writing invitations, pinning up, pinning down. A band and step dancers and a tenor and a poet were hired, and even the mayor might make it.As the kitchen calendar was X'd, Dan entombed himself in his tiny room, awaiting his only respite, the daily visit from Father Scan Logan, his forthcoming brother-in-law."Looks like you've had enough of the women, Dan."tet t Egh.

"Well, marriage is the one moment in life that a girl can make a kill. It's bound to test your patience. But some fine news! Permission to use the big cathedral came from the cardinal of Brooklyn himself. I've waited for near on three years and have never performed a marriage ceremony. I wanted you and my beloved sister Siobhan to be my first."Dan said it must have cost him a fortune in fees."Never to mind. You don't wear this collar to make money. You appear to be having normal prenuptial jitters.""No doubts, Scan. I love Siobhan fiercely.""Almost as much as you love the Marine Corps," the priest retorted."It's so d.a.m.ned hard to let go!" Dan cried."I'm counseling veterans a good part of the day. Lots of lads are stumbling around. It was for most of you the first taste of life beyond Brooklyn, and no matter what happens, the war will always remain the big event of your life.""It pa.s.sed through my mind to reenlist.""One of the chaplains from the Sixth Marines was with me at a retreat a few months ago. He told me that your battalion lost four commanders in the first day.""Saipan was a s.h.i.+t kicker. So were Guadalca.n.a.l and Tarawa. The worst foxhole is the one you happen to be in when the s.h.i.+t hits the fan.""Did you find something along the way?""Yeah, right in the beginning. On the train on the way to boot camp in San Diego. In Buffalo there was another train of recruits. To join them we had to walk through the station to their platform. The station in Buffalo was scary, high and icy and silent, a walk to the unknown. When the two trains merged they were so full, some recruits were sleeping on the floor. I ended up in a lower bunk with another guy. That's the way fighting for s.p.a.ce had been back home."Later in the trip we slowed down at the tip of daylight. I had the window position that night and rolled the shade up. Outside was a huge green lawn before a beautiful, newly painted station. Dougla.s.s, Kansas. Beyond, I could see nice houses, like Mickey Rooney lived in when he played Andy Hardy.""Weren't you trying to deceive yourself, Dan? Pretending there are perfect places outside Brooklyn? If you knocked on any door in this Kansas place, you'd find Brooklyn once removed.""Well, what have I got here? There are still five of us in our home on top of each other trying to ace each other out of the bathroom. My parents are arguing. Everyday ordinary conversation is argumentative. Some fifteen-year-old niece is knocked up, someone is st.i.tched up from a fight, and the friggin' bed is lumpy.""It sounds like you've been making a plan for a long time.""I want to see Dougla.s.s, Kansas, and a lot of the places my men came from.""That's not a bad idea, but you'll not drive far enough to escape trouble. The virgin you saw at dawn may now show you some pimples on her a.s.s in the midday sun."Dan became excited. "After Dougla.s.s, Kansas, we'll head for Colorado and visit the parents of the one great friend of my life, Justin Quinn. It drives me, Scan. I can't rest until I see Justin's mom and dad and let them know what a powerful Marine their son was. Justin Quinn was the man among us, winning any broad with a glance, winning the division rodeo. Ah, the f.u.c.king fool, trying to win the battle of Saipan by himself. Maybe after that I'll concentrate on settling down. I'm too restless now.""Well, you should be. Your war has been taken away from you. When do you plan to go?""After the wedding.""Does Siobhan know?""Ah, Jaysus, I can't face the tears now."

"Has it occurred to you that she might not want to go? She's very tribal.""Yes, but I have to take the chance."The bachelor's stag party was but three nights away. There would be nearly a hundred cops boozing and relatives all the way from Jersey and just maybe one of those weasly guys with an 8mm projector and dirty films.Siobhan was picking up puzzling vibrations from Dan at a rapid rate. Did he truly want to marry? Was it coming back from a war too emptied out? He spoke little of vicious battles or malaria or dengue fever. From a strange, secret place he'd mutter the name of one of the boys in his platoon. Except for Justin Quinn. He'd talk about Justin."Two more days and I've got you," Siobhan said. "I understand the boys will have a couple of strippers at your stag party. Just remember, you're an officer of the law.""Ah, geez, Siobhan, the captain himself is sending them.""How does Mrs. Jane O'Connell sound?" she asked. "Or should I continue to use Siobhan?""You use Mrs. Daniel Timothy O'Connell. If it was good enough for the liberator of Ireland, it's good enough for the likes of us.""Oh, thank you, milord, but I'll be using my own Christian name.""Look at what the war went and done," Dan retorted. "All you ladies got liberated to work in the defense factories. That doesn't give you the right to throw your husband's fine name out with the garbage."It was wonderful. Dan knew new ways of defusing his woman. The official engagement had many advantages. He could touch her b.r.e.a.s.t.s any time he wished. Every d.a.m.ned time, she liked it! She'd put her hand atop his to make him stay awhile. Having petted her into a weak state, he sprang forth.

"I've got something of great consequence to tell you," he blurted."We're not going to get married!""Of course we're going to get married. Sunday we're getting married.I'm addressing you on a matter after the wedding.""We are still going to Niagara Falls, aren't we, Dan?""Definitely, but not by train," he croaked."I'm not walking!""Will you let me get a word in edgewise!" She became silent. He paced. All of his airtight arguments disappeared in a dim puff. "Well," he managed, "I was of a mind that when we leave Niagara Falls, we continue directly to San Francisco.""Sacred Heart! I may faint!""Siobhan, I tried to hint to you in my letters. I've met too many men from too many places not to realize that this is a great land and life could be wondrous in a way that it never could be here."After a time she whispered, "I've been thinking much the same. Brooklyn is an island. Islands dull the race after time. Maybe I should have told you, but I would say nothing, ever, at the risk of losing you, Dan.""Jaysus, now, isn't that something."Siobhan pulled off her blouse and unhooked her bra. "Kiss them, Dan."He did as told and took her on his lap."There will be a better life for us. You remember the Romero kid over in the eyetalian street? He put his car up on blocks for the duration of the war. He was killed at Iwo.""I know.""My brother Pea.r.s.e knows cars as well as Henry Ford, went and inspected it from b.u.mper to b.u.mper. It's in perfect condition. Father Scan said if someone bought the car, it would help Romero's old man get over his grieving. It's a '41 DeSoto.""Forty-one! Aren't we hoi polloi! Did you steal the money?"

They stopped for a little personal entanglement. It couldn't get too serious in the middle of the day."Anyhow, I got the car for a pittance. Old man Romero wanted me to have it, his son being a fellow police officer and Marine. I, uh, paid seven hundred dollars for it.""Seven hundred dollars! Besides, I never heard of anyone driving across the country. Where would we sleep? Where would we eat? We could be attacked by Indians.""Let me explain, let me explain. I went to the AAA and, being a veteran, they gave me free maps and a book listing motels.""What the devil are motels?""Well, they're not exactly hotels .. . they're motor hotels."They digested it."Do they have toilets?""Yes, toilets and private showers, and we're apt to run into one every hundred miles or so.""Are we coming back?" she whispered shakily."If we don't find something better. But we'll never know unless we try.""Are we fooling ourselves that there is something better than here?""From what I've seen, there is every chance.""How will we live?""I have a New York state bonus, plus severance pay from the Marines, and I've got disability compensation. I've been sending money home, which Dad deposited. Then, you know, gambling is not illegal in the Marine Corps, and I got this knack for poker.""Poker! You used to raid poker games!""And some dice.""You used to raid such games. You got a citation for it!""In the Corps it's perfectly legal, so when you're in the Marines you do as the Marines do."

"How much dirty money did you take from them?""We have over nine thousand dollars in total, including the bonus and stuff like that. And don't forget, I get two hundred a month from the government for my wound."Siobhan fumed a bit at the revelations."I've been too many places, Siobhan. I don't want to be another Irish cop all my life."She snapped her bra.s.siere shut and put on her top. "I suppose," she said, "I can always find my way back to Brooklyn if I have to."

FALL 1945Their honeymoon became a sort of pioneer epic. Daniel O'Connell continued to wear his Marine Corps uniform with the "ruptured duck" over his breast pocket, and he speeded up his pace every time they walked past a men's clothing store.Siobhan O'Connell lost her newlywed nervousness. At the end of the day's drive they either found a motel or the usual four-story brick hotel used by traveling salesmen, occupying a corner of the main cross streets of whatever town they were in. The similarity of rooms, the fishy-eyed desk clerks, and stuttering bell boys was striking. They were mid-range, six- to eight dollar-a-night rooms.Siobhan usually waited in the car while Dan signed in at the registration desk. The fishy-eyed clerk guarded the gates to the kingdom like a true centurion. By the time they got to Cleveland, Mrs. Siobhan O'Connell opened her purse and slapped their marriage certificate on the desk.They glowed each morning and even more so when the correct safe dates appeared on the calendar. Siobhan realized that there might be other channels of gratification during the abstention part, but she had a whole life ahead to work on it. For now, though, abstention was h.e.l.l.CHICAGO!

A married buddy, Cliff Romanowski, lived in Chicago. Cliff had lost an arm in the earlier battle of Tarawa. Beautiful reunion. Cliff's wife, Corinne, was six months pregnant and all popped out. Good omen, Siobhan thought.After a homemade dinner featuring Polish sausage, the four went out to paint the town. Dan mustered his bad leg into duty and did a sort of polka, which seemed to be the national dance of Chicago.The wives were deliciously tolerant of their lads' drinking and subsequent h.e.l.l-raising. They all crashed with the daylight.Next day, noticeably slowed, Dan took them to a Greek restaurant, the anxiety of their first meeting converted into nostalgia. At Cliff and Corinne's apartment, they ended up sitting on the floor in a circle, propped up by pillows, and Siobhan's toe trying to creep up inside Dan's pant leg.The Marine Corps. Reminiscence began with the sweat of a double-time hike, then drifted into their patented tomfoolery and soph.o.m.oric behavior. Beer busts were recalled with kindness."And me and O'Connell and Quinn hit the railroad station just as thelast liberty train was leaving. Everything was full, the seats, thefloor, the platform where you could sleep standing up. So the three ofus climbed into the overhead luggage rack, where there was already menlaying end to end. And an hour out of Wellington, the luggage rackcomes cras.h.i.+ng down! The lights went out and I've got to tell you, Ifelt a lot of MarineI"a.s.s!New Zealand had been a never-never land with the bursting scenery, Maoris, flocks on the skyline, colonial ways. Siobhan was tempted to ask about the New Zealand women but held her tongue. It was the night to let their men erupt.Now came the war.".. . remember that little runt?"".. . yeah, Weasel from Arizona."".. . n.o.body thought he'd hold up."

".. . great fighter."".. . little Weasel."".. . remember .. ."".. . geez, I forgot about that bout of malaria." . remember .. . remember ... for G.o.d's sake, remember me, Marine."I was in the Oak Knoll Naval Hospital near Frisco when you guys. .h.i.t that beach at Saipan. I finally found a guy, remember Prentice in Intelligence?" Cliff asked."Yeah, sure do.""He told me what happened to you. All the casualties on the beach. But I think the worst was the day I heard about Justin Quinn," Cliff recalled. "You don't figure a Marine of his quality would catch a stray bullet.""He got hit because he had to deliver a message and there were no phone lines connected yet. It was his own b.l.o.o.d.y fault. He should have waited."Thump, the visit was wearily ended.Dan and Siobhan and Cliff and Corinne would never forget it. After two devastating hangovers, the O'Connells packed the '41 DeSoto and pointed it toward the corn and wheat fields of the Great Plains.Even though it cost a long-distance phone call, Siobhan always made certain there would be food and lodging at the end of the day. Ahead, they moved into an infinity of two-lane roads.It was here that Siobhan learned to drive. When stopped for speeding, she became Everywoman, coyly explaining their newlywed status, and what with her husband home from the war .. ."Never mind, lady, just slow down."They drove through Kansas City, then chose the E-Z Inne on the road out of town because it was offering half-price rooms for veterans. There were a lot of big trucks about and a steak house right next door.

Fooled them! Dan thought to himself as he took a long drink from his purchase from a state bottle store. Actually, a dry state, can you imagine? Must not be many Irish about.He set the gla.s.s on the floor and submerged to the bottom of the tub."Ahhhh!"Siobhan answered his moose call and scrubbed his back as he kept diving and coming up exclaiming "Ahhhh!"At the steak house, the two stared at the extraordinary size of the meat. "Sure, I've never had a piece of meat like this in my icebox," Siobhan said in wonderment."And it cuts with a fork. I wonder what they do to the meat?""It's not what they do," Siobhan said, "it's what we do after we get it."Dan quickly s.h.i.+fted his brown-bagged bottle of bourbon as the sheriff strolled in and took a stool at the counter. In a few minutes, their waiter came and presented them with two bottles of beer, compliments of the sheriff.Ah, now this is living, Dan thought."Notice how nice people are out here?" she noted."Yeah," Dan said so sadly he croaked. "Yeah.""Dan, I'm trying to be patient and understanding. It's not a case of merely getting rid of the war. It will always be with you, but it can no longer dominate our lives. We've big tomorrows to think about, and you have to s.h.i.+ft the Marine Corps and hold it in a place close to your heart but out of the mainstream of our marriage."Dan nodded and watched the big trucks speed past, their sound m.u.f.fled by gla.s.s."Why are we driving south tomorrow?" she asked."I went over and over and over a picture in my mind of you and mestanding before that make-believe little rail station in Dougla.s.s,Kansas. Me, with my arms about you, looking past the lawns to thosebeautiful doll houses"You can't move your hometown because you don't like its location. You are going to great lengths to fool yourself. If we don't go, the memory of it will remain perfect.""I'm afraid to reach Colorado," Dan blurted. "I'm scared of seeing Justin Quinn's parents. My visit might bring them nightmares. They don't know we're coming. I avoided writing them. There is something so final about it.""Yes," she said. "It means you are closing the cover of a book. Not that you can ever forget Justin Quinn.""We were so close, almost as close as you and me, Siobhan. You cannot say or feel that you actually love a man because that is sinful and unhealthy. But you know, we enjoyed horsing around, jumping each other, goosing each other. Strictly correct, you know. With my baritone and his tenor, we could strike our tent silent. And with the two of us ... well, no one ever did anything to my boys. We cleaned out one bar that was clipping. Busted them down like lumberjacks."Her hand slipped into his, and she nodded for him to continue."d.a.m.ned shame. His family has this tremendous spread, as they call it, beyond Denver. Justin Quinn, being the oldest son, was due to take over the ranch. First he was going to the University of Colorado, where he had won a football scholars.h.i.+p.""Calm your fears, Dan. Justin's folks will be eternally grateful for your visit, and we'll be totally comfortable there."No pilgrim's ride up to Jerusalem was ever more ethereal than the one they experienced as Dan piloted the '41 DeSoto around their first taste of an unpaved, washboard, rutted, cliff-side excuse for a road. Every switchback brought more stupendous scenery. Siobhan took her hands from her eyes to look at the vista, gasp, and then take cover again.At last the towns.h.i.+p of TROUBLESOME MESA welcomed them. The West was there. All they needed was a pair of gunmen to face each other down in the dirt street."M/M Ranch?" the gas station owner said.Yes, sir."Huh. Don't hear too much about it these days.""How far is it?""About fifteen miles ... up. Probably take you better part of an hour.Sure you want to drive it today?""Yes.""Well, now," the attendant said, shading his eyes to ascertain the time, "if you get past five o'clock and haven't reached the ranch, turn on back. Otherwise you'll be in stone cold darkness, and we'll probably have to pull you out of a ravine tomorrow."A crude map was drawn, and Dan thanked the attendant profusely. Half numb, Daniel Timothy O'Connell girded himself as the attendant filled his water bags."If you come back tonight, I have a bed for you over the garage. d.a.m.ned hotel folded when the molybdenum mine closed."Half greeting and half guarding, a pair of border collies held them at bay until a man emerged from a large, fancy house."It must be the place," Dan said. "It's exactly as Quinn described it to me." "h.e.l.lo, Marine," the man said, shooing the dogs back. "Can I help you?""Is this the M/M Ranch?"The man laughed. "Used to be a long time ago."Dan studied the man. His skin was dark and he certainly was full of Mexican blood, but he spoke with no accent."I'm looking for the Quinn family. See, uh, Justin Quinn was in my company. He was killed at Saipan. My wife, Siobhan, and I have come to pay respects to his family."A nice-looking woman in her mid-twenties emerged from the house and came alongside her husband. He spoke to her in Spanish, and as he did, her face became grim."I am Pedro Martinez, the caretaker. And this is my wife, Consuelo.Will you please come in? Your name?"

"Sergeant .. . rather, Daniel Timothy O'Connell. My wife, Siobhan.""Siobhan is a beautiful name," Consuelo said."It's Irish for Jane. Oh, what a lovely room."The ranch house living room was timbered and high ceilinged, with a river stone fireplace to match. The Pedro fellow seemed concerned as he checked his watch."Can I offer you drinks?" Consuelo asked."No, thanks. I mean, I want to know about Quinn's mother and father.""I have to take you to another part of the ranch," Pedro said. "The problem is that it will be dark before we return, and I won't let you go down to Troublesome on that road at night. You are most welcome to stay here overnight."Siobhan smiled and nodded to Dan."Perhaps, Miss Siobhan, the sergeant and I should make this visit ourselves," Pedro said. "Uh, there is a stream to cross."Pedro was not very good at covering his uneasiness. "Certainly," Siobhan said.Dan and the foreman jeeped down a winding dirt road inside the property until they could hear a faint rush of water. They parked at a tentative wooden bridge across the stream from a ramshackle miner's cabin."Is this what I think it is?" Dan asked, sinking."I'm afraid so," Pedro replied."I may not be able to cross," Dan said suddenly. "My leg might give out on that narrow beam.""I understand.""Like h.e.l.l you understand! Like h.e.l.l you do!" Dan told himself."Shall we go back to the ranch house, then?"Dan did not answer. His choice was to turn and go, but he was unableto. If he walked away, he'd come back. "Let's cross,"he whispered.The shack reeked of mold. Everything inside was broken.

Newspapers had been stuffed in the cracks to keep the cold out. The roof was half down, the windows broken and thick with sludge. Outhouse turned over. It was altogether a place for rats. Dan's eyes studied a place of disemboweled human life. He could not speak, or barely breathe. Dan staggered outside and stared at it, crazed pain in his eyes."The ranch never belonged to the Quinns," Pedro said."Tell me!" Dan cried."There is a large settlement of Serbs between here and Crested b.u.t.te. This ranch was property of the brothers Tarka and Sinja. Tarka Malkovich was the only man I ever saw who could beat an Irishman to the bottom of a bottle. He and his brother were at war with everyone, and each other. They were troublemakers. It was hard for the valley to live with them. Everyone had a beef going with the Malkoviches: the doctor, the sheriff, the feed store. Tarka died of a heart attack, undoubtedly from drink. That was right before the war. Sinja ran the place into the ground in no time flat. The bank evicted him, and the ranch stood unattended for over a year. The bank made me a deal. I was to get the ranch up and running in good shape. When it was sold, the bank promised to stake me to three hundred acres, my own little ranch.""I want to know about Justin Quinn!" Dan interrupted sharply."You should only see the way the water gushes down in the springtime after the winter snowmelt," Pedro said."I want to know about Justin Quinn!"Pedro sighed and said a soft "Amigo." "His father was Roscoe Quinn, a bad, bad hombre. For a time the Malkovich brothers let him sharecrop and mine a claim. Roscoe was a pig," he spat. "He beat his wife and children, and played with his daughter, you know how. Anyhow, Justin was the oldest and grew to be able to handle his father. They say their fights were vicious.""He was a fighter, all right," Dan mumbled.

"Roscoe went into Denver to the cattle show and got p.i.s.s a.s.sed drunk and ended up raping a woman and trying to rob a bank. He's in the state penitentiary in Canon City. Twenty years. The wife and kids went to relatives in Arizona. Justin joined the Marine Corps."Dan's voice cracked, but he knew he had to keep talking, keep thinking. "Well, too bad he didn't get to play out his scholars.h.i.+p at the University ... or ... have all the valley girls falling all over him.""Sergeant Dan, Justin never had a scholars.h.i.+p. He never completed high school. As for the girls, no one wanted to come near the Quinn family."Dan sat by the window all night. "f.u.c.king liar," he said under his voice.Siobhan felt for him in bed, then propped herself up on an elbow. The betrayal had left Dan robbed of his sacred moment. Nothing had ever clutched him so, not even the word of Quinn's death. "f.u.c.king liar.""Why can't you feel for the pain in his life that forced him to live a lie?" she challenged."I do! Poor Quinn! The sonofab.i.t.c.h! We all lie, but nothing like this. Me? Brooklyn cop. Sure, I exaggerated about cuffing gangsters. We all lie. Impressing each other is a craft. But this was a big f.u.c.king lie!""Justin had a lot to lie about."He felt her hand on his shoulder. Oh, Jaysus, that felt fine enough. He turned around and found her b.r.e.a.s.t.s for his head to rest on and breathed uneasily to hold back sobs."He lied from day one about his grand house and prize beef. About his football scholars.h.i.+p. Maybe he wasn't even American. He had kind of dark skin. The Corps was taking in Mexicans and Indians. We had three Navajos. But we never had no blacks in the Corps!""Dan, that's an ugly word, I don't like it."

"Well, you never had to walk the beat in the colored neighborhood.""Shut up. You sound like a bigot."Dan wept."I feel for your sorrow," she said. Siobhan slipped on her bathrobe and went out onto the veranda. For the first time she saw the moonlight up a string of mountaintops. Troublesome Mesa lay at the bottom of a glen in a steep, winding valley. Snow blankets and a silver sliver of a stream. What a land, indeed. She'd never known of a place like this."Jesus, I'm sorry," Dan said, coming from the bedroom. "I'm really sorry. That Martinez fellow has been a good, sensitive man. I guess they import a lot of these people from Mexico. It's nice to see a good one, I mean, not just another Mexican who would multiply and go on relief.""Consuelo told me that Pedro served six years in the Navy. He is from an old Colorado family, and he was wounded at Pearl Harbor, or maybe you didn't notice that he's blind in one eye.""I seem to have everything upside down," he said softly."That is because your world has been set upside down. We'll have to set it right, then.""Can I touch you, Siobhan? The blow goes away."She knew now how to fit into his big, strong arms. "Quinn knew that you would come here," she said."You really think that?""Yeah," she said."What does it mean, then?""Hard to say what might have gone 'round in his head. But I know he wanted you to come here."

LATE 1945 --ONWARDThe banker's chair from the turn of the century was worn through in several spots, just as the decrepit First National Bank of Troublesome Mesa had survived the land rushes, the silver crash, and ever-present drought.Mr. Dancy, a Mormon, knew every tree in the valley and beyond. He was strikingly direct. "I was able to close on the Mal kovich boys just in time. Frankly, I couldn't have sold the M/M if I threw in the Brooklyn Bridge. Anyhow, Pedro there comes home from the war, one eye and all, and marries the most beautiful girl on the western slopes. I knew his yahoo days were over, right, Pedro?""I don't even miss it," Pedro answered."Pedro talked me into letting him run the place until after the war, when I could find a buyer. We're going to stake Pedro to a couple hundred acres somewhere.""I'll let you two gentlemen have at it," Pedro added. "I'll be down at the diner, Sergeant Dan."There was talk between Dan and Dancy about the size of the ranch-wellover two thousand acres with bits and pieces all over the mountain, andthe water rights were clean. The house, worth at least eleven thousanddollars, would be part of the deal. They s.h.i.+llied and shallied, Dan'sservice and decorations making their own impact. Dancy had hoped to save the ranch for some Mormon boy returning from the war, but this had a hopping good flavor to it."What're the numbers?" Dan gulped.Dancy studied the ledger. "It's a good ranch and expandable, except for where those crazy Slavs started fencing each other off and cheating with the water.""How much?""Can't tell precisely. There's almost thirty thousand still on the books. I'd have to research the county records, particularly the government land ab.u.t.ting the south. Forty-some thousand would swing it, I'd say."Dan's heart became a cannonball."You were a cop in New York?""In the three days I've ridden with Pedro, I find I can ride a horse without too much discomfort.""Wounded?""Yes, sir. Saipan.""How much can you put in?""I have over nine thousand cash and probably can raise another four or five from my family.""But you don't know doodly egg roll about cattle."Dan lowered his eyes and shrugged."I have an idea," Dancy said. "Do you like Pedro Martinez?""I'd have him in my platoon any day"He used to be a h.e.l.l-raising kid, too generous with money he didn't have, and Mexicans have no inherited family money. Fact is, Sergeant, we have already turned him down for a large loan. They are not too dependable, if you know what I mean.""He's honest, isn't he?""Honest as Jesus. He was in the hospital for almost a year, mostlyblindfolded with sandbags holding his head still. If you don't findG.o.d that way, He isn't there for you. Right now I pay him ten percentof the net and housing. If you were to, say, give him twenty percent, you'd have one of the best cattlemen in Colorado.""Let me talk it over with the wife.""Confidentially, Sergeant, you and I can make a deal, but only if you have someone to train you." Dancy leaned over close. "I'm a man of G.o.d," he said, "and G.o.d tells me the two of you together are well worth the risk."It took time for Daniel Timothy O'Connell to transform from Brooklyn cop to rugged Coloradan. All of about a week. His att.i.tude was a force, a force that wakened him every morning, led him to his knees to thank G.o.d for bringing them to this place.Dan loved boots and cowboy hats and leather chaps. He loved to rope and brand and train his new border collie. He loved life during a challenging blizzard.Dan loved the rodeos and the B.S. that went with cattle trading. He loved the respect. He was a tough man in a tough valley.Sat.u.r.day night in the old mining town, Troublesome Mesa came to life at the Bottomless Mine Saloon. For all the hurrahs, it was peaceful enough to bring the women folk. Dan taught the band a repertoire of Irish ballads to augment the sad-a.s.s country and western songs."It's Irish time!" and Christ, Dan O'Connell moved you to tears with his "Danny Boy." If he only had Justin Quinn singing with him, he always thought.As trust developed between Dan and Pedro, they made a hardworking, clever, aggressive team. Dan had been a platoon sergeant, and men learned to listen to him. He did not have to be told to listen to Pedro.For several months the families lived together. Cautious at first, there was s.p.a.ce enough to grow easy with each other. Siobhan in particular was ecstatic about the entirely new ways of cooking, and she adored Consuelo.

Come springtime, the top priority was to build onto the caretaker's cabin a mile toward Troublesome Creek. To add to the urgency, Consuelo was due to have a second baby.They finished the house in a rush. In the next month or two, every man in the valley pounded nails, making a charming lodgepole log cabin. The Mexican part of the valley pitched in, as did some Mormons and Catholics and Protestants as the finish drew near. A fiesta exploded when they raised the roof! In this time and place they all seemed less threatening to each other. Dan caught the sight of some of the Mormon men nipping booze out of view of their wives. From then on Dan kept a "Mormon" bottle in his cupboard.The Martinez family no sooner moved into their place than Consuelo went into labor and gave birth to wee Pablo. The joy of a new child was tempered by Dan and Siobhan's situation.Once settled, every month for three years Dan waited for her to tell him the good news that she had missed her period. It never happened.As they grew prosperous, the O'Connells became total Coloradans Both of them flew the ranch's twin-engine Cessna, inched out their ranch boundaries, sent money home, were magnificently generous to the church, the school, and even the Mormons. Dan was elected state a.s.semblyman. All that was missing was a baby for their waiting nest.Joy gave way to an ever-present sense of sorrow. Their bed grew colder and colder. When he sang "Danny Boy" these days it was maudlin, and the Bottomless's owner had to caution Dan about getting mean. The day after an apologetic sheriff dumped Dan off, after putting him in the cooler for the night, Siobhan reached the breaking point.Their bed held a half-full suitcase, the French one of the set he had bought her for Christmas."What the h.e.l.l's going on here?""I'm going into Denver. I'll be at the Brown Palace."

"What for?""To get a complete fertility examination." "It's about time," he said. "I pray to G.o.d they are able to find out what is wrong with you and cure it." "I want you to come with me," she said. "Me? You mean, me?"({ tYes, you."I'll have none of that voodoo black-magic quackery.""Very well. I intend to continue on to New York. I've been missing everyone sorely. I haven't seen Father Scan in over three years.""Is this a threat?""No, I want to see them. But I think it's time you face up to the fact that something serious is the matter. Are you scared to go to Denver with me? Is that why you've never suggested it before?"Dan started for the door."One of these nights you are going off one of the hairpin turns, the way you're guzzling."Dan opened the door."Sleep in the guest room," she commanded.He slammed the door but remained in the room."Are you going to a Catholic hospital?" he asked.t*/^rUr course. "Then maybe, well, pack a bag for me, too."The eminent Dr. Leary at St. Anne's Hospital put Siobhan into a regimen to chart her ovulation. It could be months before they had an accurate reading on her.Meanwhile, Dr. Leary got access to Dan's Marine Corps medical records. He had had the usual Marine ailments, cat fever in boot camp, jaundice and malaria after Guadalca.n.a.l, dengue fever at Tarawa, and a blown hip at Saipan. Dan was shocked when Dr. Leary asked him for a specimen of his s.e.m.e.n.

"It couldn't possibly be! I mean, I, the cause?""This is routine, Mr. O'Connell."Dan grunted in displeasure but did as he was told.A time later, he was called by Dr. Leary and asked to come to Denver alone."I've some difficult news," Dr. Leary said. "It's taken this long because I had to be certain.""She can't bear children," Dan moaned."Your wife is healthy as a heifer.""Then .. .""I want to check something here in your medical record. Camp Matthews, January of 1942," the doctor said."Camp Matthews was the rifle range, a long drive from the base. We stayed there several weeks on weapons training.""Did you get sent to a quarantine tent?""A bunch of us got sick, and there was no regular doctor at Matthews. Yeah, I sure remember now. I had to finish boot camp with a new platoon.""All that jibes with what we feel was an outbreak of mumps.""My face was swollen, funny-like, and I had a lot of pain around my, you know, private parts. Yeah, it was hard to walk.""Did anyone diagnose it as mumps?""We'd had all this cat fever and dysentery; we may have joked about mumps, but you know, it's a kid's disease. I thought I had already had it as a baby.""The record here says, "Possibly mumps."""Isn't that a kid's disease?""It usually is, with no after effects. With an adult there can be.Your s.e.m.e.n is sterile."When was it ever more terrible than the day he learned he'd never sirechildren? No jungle, no lagoon at Tarawa with the j.a.ps shooting at youand you in chest-high water holding your rifle over your head, not Red Beach on Saipan watching your battalion blown to shreds, not even Justin Quinn dying .. .It would be a double slam against Siobhan, for Consuelo had had another perfect baby boy. Carlos was the beauty of the Martinez family.G.o.d! What of poor, dear Siobhan! How crude I've been not realizing that she has suffered even greater than I. He talked it over with a priest in Denver before returning to Troublesome Mesa."Forget about G.o.d for the moment," the priest said. "What did they do during your worst moments in the Corps?""I always told my lads, when you're scared s.h.i.+tless, you're in such pain that death would be a pleasure, or no matter the catastrophe, the only thing you can do is "Be a Marine."""Then be a Marine for that woman of yours."Dan found Siobhan at the Martinez house. She was in the rocking chair, yakking with Consuelo, who was putting up a dinner for the O'Connells as well as her own family.He looked in, but they did not see him. "Be a Marine," he told himself.Siobhan sat in the chair Consuelo used for nursing. She had handed little Carlos to Siobhan to hold while she filled the oven. Siobhan put the child's head on her breast with a longing not to be realized. Then she saw Dan.Dan's hand was never so firm, so filled with meaning, as it grasped her shoulder. "It will be all right, darling," he said.

WAs.h.i.+NGTON, D.C." 2008Yes, it's your president, Thornton Tomtree. A year ago I was considered unbeatable for a second term, but as George Bush and James Earl Carter learned, there is a fickle bent to our voters.At this moment we stand a week before the 2008 election. A bizarre series of events has damaged my candidacy. Lord, is there a man more dismissed than a one-term president?Anyone can pinpoint the time and place when the tide turned against me.It was the Six Shooter Canyon Ma.s.sacre.Immediately following the disaster, my rating bottomed out, then climbed back up as I traveled the country ceaselessly and was able to placate some of the national trauma. I was successful in divorcing myself from direct responsibility for the ma.s.sacre, in the eyes of most of the people.During those hard days, my vice president, former Texas senator Matt Hope, held in line that ma.s.sive group of voters of the Christian conservatives. Taking on Hope as VP. meant I did not have to personally deal with those pompous preacher men guarding the kingdom. Vice President Hope quickly convinced the Christian const.i.tuency they had no place else to go. Certainly, Governor Quinn Patrick O'Connell, a Catholic liberal, represented an unthinkable alternative.

It is election day minus seven. Perhaps I'm grasping, but I sense that the sudden dry-up of news out of O'Connell's headquarters means something. Although we are separated by two thousand miles, I sense a tension and quandary.I had given O'Connell a h.e.l.l of a run. Whatever hope I had was squashed at our "great debate" at the New York City Public Library. During an intermission at the end of the first hour, I was informed of treachery that would send me packing out of office.Well, Thornton Tomtree, how did you get here? How did I get enmeshed in a tragedy that was not of my making? Why have I had to live to the great betrayal?Even back in the 1950s, I never wanted to be much more than a junkyard dog, like my daddy, Henry Tomtree, who knew every sc.r.a.p of metal, every bale of newspaper, and every dead battery and doork.n.o.b in his yard, and who could carry on business without calculator or ledger because he kept everything in his head. Henry Tomtree was the greatest junkyard dog the Northeast states ever had.How old are your first memories? Vaguely, around kindergarten or first grade. I loved the yard so, I didn't have many friends on the outside. Suddenly, I was in big cla.s.srooms with them, boys and girls. One day I was standing before our long hall mirror in our hallway. I remember finding it hard to look at myself. I was different from the other kids. Even looking in the mirror I wanted to defend myself from outside inspections of me.In my early grades I had a terrible time in school. Studies were fine and simple. It was lunch period, the cafeteria, and the playground where I was not spared perpetual taunting.And as they taunted, I ran to my safe place in a corner of the junkyard. It was here that I began to build my empire. I studied my daddy's ways. I fiddled endlessly with physics problems. I became able to play both sides of a chess game in my mind.

If you can't crack a problem through logic, you make an end run. I developed an auxiliary to standard mathematics, my own methods. I slipped in and out of quantum math.All this I had in me, but I could barely hold up my hand in cla.s.s or engage in conversation or, G.o.d forbid, approach a girl. I was interesting, but n.o.body knew the things I was interested in.I was storing so much data and so many formulae that I had to have a place to hold it all. So I created a fantasy place. It was called Bulldog City, although it was really a nation, in an isolated place with mountains encircling it and mountaintop guard posts and missile emplacements. I invented a super laser to knock out incoming missiles and spy planes. I could even hit a satellite when it spied on Bulldog City. Boy, nothing could get in and out, and I commanded the armed forces and quarter backed the football team and sang concerts and all the stuff I couldn't do.My daddy's partner was a Negro named Moses Jefferson. Moses was a spiritual gentleman who did odd jobs until he proved his true worth. Moses entered a secret bid to demolish the old Williams Hotel. His bid was lower than Henry Tomtree's.Moses didn't have the money for a crew and equipment, but subcontracted everything and put them on a profit-sharing plan. He ended up with an enormous cache of sinks, pipes, toilets, bricks, fine old turn-of-the-century urinals, chandeliers, railings, and everything a pet.i.t grand hotel could yield.Henry Tomtree had been skinned, but he got the message. Moses Jefferson possessed the keen mind of a junk dealer. As messy as the yard might appear, a good dealer had it organized in his head, down to a b.u.t.ton. h.e.l.l, better to have Moses in as a partner than as a compet.i.tor.Sorry, that's my phone. "Yes?""We've hit up everybody, Mr. President, but we can't find out what the h.e.l.l's going on with O'Connell."

Tomtree mumbled "s.h.i.+t" under his breath. "It's two A.M. here, what's that mean in, what the h.e.l.l you call it, Mountain Time?""I think I'd want to keep some people here to cover the monitors and phones and the rest of us pack it in," Darnell said. "The instant O'Connell calls for a news conference, we a.s.semble top staff, watch the conference together, and immediately whack out a counterattack.""No inkling of what the Democrats are up to?""None.""Right," the President said, disappointed. "Darnell, bunk in tonight here at the White House. I, uh, need you to be close by."

PAW TUCKET RHODE ISLANDLATE 1950s TO LATE 1960sHenry Tomtree's junkyard occupied a full block in a semi derelict industrial zone. Long past its heyday. Stacks of crushed autos and chopped-up tires mingled with the new pop harvests of soft drink and beer bottles, broken gla.s.s bins, plastic, and the junk dealer's mainstay-baled-up old newspapers and magazines."A cacophony of smells," Henry would note, breathing in the fumes from the fuel trucks, smoke from a nearby landfill, and oil from the grease pits. Every night the garbage truck fleet parked in a nearby lot, the sky maddened with the mean wings and frenzied yowls of seagulls.When Henry discovered Mo's true worth, the two entered a life-long relations.h.i.+p which was to be carried on by their sons, Thornton Tomtree and Darnell Jefferson.Moses and his family lived in Pawtucket, a very decent lower-middle-cla.s.s city. It had a little less of everything, except for the Pawtucket Red Sox.Henry Tomtree lived a few blocks from Mo in Providence, which was considered to be middle-middle. Providence was a good-sized little city, lovely to look at as it rippled up and down the hills to the sea.Houses seemed newly painted, and the town was filled with educational facilities and boasted a strong cultural life, so as to be a kitchen community for both New York and Boston.Twenty miles down the bay preened Newport, which ranged from tourist all the way to upper-upper. Setting aside the beach town aspects, and other summer garnishments, Newport was a world-cla.s.s port of yacht racing. Here, the main thoroughfare was named America's Cup Way after the trophy won by Yankee sailors for over a century.Moses Jefferson's American ancestry went back further than Henry's and even further than many of the mansion owners of Newport.Mo's family originally came from a Portuguese colony in the Cape Verde Islands off the west coast of Africa. They were never completely slaves but made their livelihood servicing the hundreds of s.h.i.+ps plying the Atlantic routes. Mo's wife, Ruby, continued to clean houses for a few years after he began to work for Tomtree. Oftentimes, she had to leave little Darnell with his daddy at the yard.Thornton Tomtree was a shy lad. Hanging out at the yard was his main form of recreation. As Darnell grew to waddle around on his own, Henry was in an endless checkers war with Mo. No one knows the exact number of boards they went through until Ruby gave her husband a wooden one for his birthday.Throughout grammar school Thornton's attraction to the yard increased. He'd pillage everything before it went to the crusher or was s.h.i.+pped out: instrument panels, was.h.i.+ng machine motors, boat props, lawn mowers, and more used fan belts than GM would need in a year.In the inner-inner area of the yard stood a warehouse where the good stuff was stored: stained-gla.s.s windows from derelict mansions, statuary, copper hardware, scrolled woods, once gleaming banister rails.Inch by inch Thornton and his little helper, Darnell, pushed things around in this warehouse, so he was able to establish a work bench.When Thornton was eleven and Darnell merely nine, Moses and Henry put up a basketball hoop. In the beginning the two daddies had a notion they were more skilled than their sons. The notion was quickly dispelled by Darnell, and there was a swift return to their checkers.An unmentionable thing drew Darnell to the yard: stacks of old Playboy magazines. Darnell got a whooping when Ruby found one under her son's mattress, but that didn't deter him. He thought there was something strange about the magazine-strange as well as invigorating. All the women in the photographs were white women, and none of them had pubic hair. Darnell long believed that this was normal. Years later at a midnight skinny-dipping party, he realized that all women, black and white, had pubic hair. That was about the time the magazine took a courageous position and flat-out showed it.Darnell Jefferson was a born point guard and remained one: quick, graceful, deceptive, and cool, momma, cool. He had a face full of suns.h.i.+ne and was blessed with a silk tongue.Thornton Tomtree grew gangly like his father, with a permanent aura of nerdiness about him, although he was wiry and very strong from slinging bales of newsprint and handling sc.r.a.p metal. It seemed early that shaping Thornton's personality-or lack of it-would become a lifetime mission for Darnell.They went their separate ways to school and were pushed into different social circles, but always they rushed to return to the yard where their joint kingdom lay.Then came the training of Thornton Tomtree, unlikely basketball player. Darnell ran hours of films, depicting how the great centers of the game operated as a hub.Darnell snapped the ball to him a hundred times a day until his reflexes and coordination were brought to their limits."Catch the ball! Pa.s.s to the open man!""How about me getting some shooting time?"

"You ain't no shooter, Thornton. Them that can, does. You are a trench warrior. You're a white maypole with guys hanging all over you. But you are junkyard strong. Plant your a.s.s under the basket and disembowel anyone who tries to get your rebound."Thornton Tomtree was awkward, not dumb. Once he understood the niche Darnell was creating for him, he studied the complexity and possibilities of the game and his particular value.Darnell invited kids into the yard for pickup games which were nonstop verbal a.s.saults on his student, to move his feet, leap, dunk.By the end of the summer Darnell had created a player out of bits and pieces. His strength was under the basket, elbow and knee land. Only one problem. The two were going to different high schools.Thornton changed his address from his home to the junkyard, which allowed him to transfer to Pawtucket High.There were only two white boys trying out for the team, and they became the target of bad intent. At six foot three, Thorn ton was a nice-sized center for a small school. He closed his ears to the jiving. His physical strength tested and proved, Thornton became a legitimate second-string player. Darnell Jefferson's "Frankenstein."Competence on the basketball court was a hard-earned grace. Less difficult was Thornton's quick mastery of all the school's curriculum in math and science.Darnell drilled him in social skills, particularly girls. In time he joined Darnell in reading old Playboys in the yard."How come white women don't have p.u.s.s.ies?" Darnell wondered."I never saw a p.u.s.s.y," Thornton said. "Do your women?""Oh, h.e.l.l yes, but they've never had a picture of a black lady in Playboy."These sessions ended more quickly than Darnell wished.

Thornton would always end with a sigh and a shake of his head and make for his workbench.Without saying it aloud, or even knowing it, Darnell was becoming an intricate part of Thornton's ability to function in the outside world. Darnell preferred shooting baskets, Playboy, fis.h.i.+ng and p.u.s.s.y-speak, but Thornton's enormous devotion to the workbench lured Darnell in. An electronic ding-dong of some sort was explained as a Rube Goldberg-type invention. As he learned enough just through proximity and contact, his large vocabulary became punctuated with scientific terms.A new day of science wizardry was arriving, and Thornton Tomtree was at home with it. Thornton's ding-dong invention was a kind of computer which he called the Bulldog. He never shared the secret of Bulldog City with Darnell, or anyone.Thornton tweaked the curiosity of the technical colleges that loomed large in the region. He established contact with MIT and played complex physics games