Story 4: Pocket Full of Posey
Prologue
A cry reaches me in the night.
A soft hand touches me.
Gentle, beautiful lips kiss me goodnight.
I wasn’t expecting it.
I don’t even know if I wanted it.
But then I wanted it all over again.
I craved that soft hand.
I dreamed of those lips.
And I look at it all. And I don’t know what to do.
I want to tell the world of the happiness that I found.
I want to believe that it is possible.
But hope has constantly been my downfall.
And I see how things progress. That fact that it is slowly does not worry me.
How shy she seems is scary.
I don’t want to hope for no reason.
But I am happy and despite all other things.
I hope to retain that happiness.
Pocket Full of Posey
“The government is preparing to make serious revenue cuts as the baby boom generation is left with the daunting task of taking on a problem that they have left dormant for well too long. Congressmen, governors, and senators have all banded together to find a solution to a crisis that they ignored for too many years, worried that such measures as it would take would spell certain political doom. Now, however, the threat of bankruptcy to an entire nation is yet more threatening. On the eve of the biggest project since...”
Congressman Callahan had completely tuned out the radio by this point. It was fairly amusing that the press had finally decided to scratch the surface of this “problem” enough that the government had finally needed to look like it was taking action in this “time of crisis” as the papers loved to call it. In actuality major plans had been implemented years and years ago in order to keep the economy in check at the time when the baby boomers were supposed to retire. The baby boomers had, in fact, helped to surplus the nation and drag it forcibly out of a four trillion-dollar national debt. It was a plan started by the Bush administration, but thoughts of what would be done when they retired went all the way back to the Regan years.
Callahan remembered being cut in on the solution in those early years. The problem had been discovered through various analyzing bodies in the government a few short years after Regan’s first term as president. The working population had sky rocketed and worries of what happened when such a huge class retired had already begun. A solution was needed. The national debt was compiling miserably and even though all the evidence said it wouldn’t work, Regan pushed his idea of trickle down economics until it could not be stopped. Ideas began to pile up about what should be done. Taxes were raised under the pretense of various research experiments, which were not made very public in the first place. The money, which supposedly went to various research such as the reproduction system of the fruit fly and other meaningless projects, was actually being stockpiled and completely unaccounted for as far as where it actually went. Every dollar of that money was set aside in hopes that, in time, it would be enough to support the mass retirement later on. Sadly it became very apparent that it would be nowhere near enough to compensate for both the incredible loss of workers and the compensation that would be expected to be paid. Something more desperate needed to be done. One day, in late 1986, Callahan was asked to follow a man through the capital building for a meeting of the utmost importance. He was led through twists and turns that he was not even aware existed in the building and through a door which opened into a room that had nothing but six chairs, an oval table, and sitting on the oval table a jar with a black discoloration on its bottom. Sitting in the chairs sat five other men with one sear left for him. The collage of important personalities was amazing. Sitting at the head of the table was the vice-president of the United States. Two of the highest-ranking generals sat to either side of him and then two other men who he did not really recognize.
The polite voice of the vice-president cut into his thoughts. “Have a seat Congressman.” Callahan sat down; a bit nervous and intimidated to be in the presence of such power. “How were you elected Congressman?”
Callahan wasn’t quite sure where this was going but he knew his answer. “By a landslide sir.”
“And you have maintained that population for several years, correct?”
“Yes sir.” Callahan didn’t know where this was going, but did enjoy the chance to brag a little.
Abruptly the focus of the conversation shifted as the vice-president reached out and pushed the jar slightly closer to the Congressman. “Do you have any idea what you see inside this jar?”
He examined the jar for a moment. “Not a clue sir.”
“It is the final and most desperate solution to a problem that becomes worse each day that it is ignored.” The man looked straight into Callahan’s eyes. “It is the problem of funding this ‘baby boom’ generation in their retirement, it is the problem of preventing an economic crisis caused simply by the distrust in the American Government to handle such a situation, and as far as the rest of the world knows, it no longer exists.”
Callahan looked up a bit abruptly, “The problem sir?”
The vice-president looked around the room slowly. “The problem does not exist, and neither does the solution.” Now he addressed everyone at the table. “I have shown this jar to all of you. None of you has claimed to know what it is. Before I tell you, you must all understand that this meeting is not taking place, this room is not here, and this jar was never anything but sand. That needs to be extremely clear before we continue. You have all been brought here because you are the most powerful, the most popular, and the most secretive people in the entire government.” He grabbed the jar from in front of Callahan and slid it once again to the center of the table. “Gentlemen, in this jar sits the last cultured specimen on earth of the Bubonic Plague.”
Through the entire crowd there ran a hushed shiver, the other five men, including Callahan stared acutely yet somewhat doubtfully at the black specks sitting idly in the jar.
One high ranking colonel turned to the vice-president, his eyes littered with doubt, “Mr. Vice-President, may I inquire as to why you would use such a disease, and how this will solve our problems?”
` Callahan watched as the smile slowly crept across the vice-president’s face. “Because colonel, of all the diseases to ever lay waste to the human race, the black plague was the worst, it killed millions, and the only doctors left on this earth with intimate knowledge of the disease are controlled by the United States government, they are controlled by us. Before what has happened can be properly targeted we will have achieved our goal.”
Callahan was very disturbed by the implications involved, he stood up nervously. “Pardon me sir but, are you suggesting what I think you are suggesting?” His voice became a little harsher. “Are you implying a holocaust of this generation?”
“No.” Was the vice-president’s quick response. “I am telling you, all of you, that if nothing else works this is our last resort. I am telling you that if we have no other choice we will exchange a small percentage of a generation for the future well being of this country and its economy. Understand gentlemen that you have been brought here for two purposes. Primarily, you are here to see that this measure does not need to be taken. You are here to implement ideas that will take care of this problem without having to eliminate anyone. But you are also here to carry out such an action if necessary.” He turned back to face Callahan directly. “Congressman, you are here to represent us, both inside and outside the government. You are here to push plans through and deny our existence. You were chosen because you think quickly and clearly.” He looked hard at Callahan. “You were chosen because with my help, you can remain in Congress or wherever else you want, as long as you want.”
Callahan remembered that moment very clearly, he sat back and savored the memory for a moment, savored that promise of nearly limitless power. That was of course what had initially made him comply, it is what had allowed him to turn a blind eye to compassion and let him analyze the situation coldly and harshly. Such a view, with emotion set aside brought him to the conclusion that if all else did fail the survival of a healthy country was more important than the survival of a small percentage of one generation.
But in the early days just after that meeting, which he reminded himself had never happened, Callahan had worked desperately with the other four men to find a different solution, one that would not end in death. Callahan missed countless votes in Congress that would surly have kept anyone else from being re-elected, yet year after year he held his position strongly with hardly any opposition. And year after year, day after day the five men worked tirelessly to find a new solution to this problem. Any idea that seemed even slightly viable was pieced apart and analyzed until it was completely eliminated as a possibility. So many taxes, they implemented so many taxes under so many pretences, the lies never seemed to stop. Everything they did was covered up, usually via the vice-president, sometimes through Callahan, but they were always very carefully laid out lies that were often not very public in the first place. In this way when once of these things were questioned publicly they could be simply passed off as “government research projects”. Callahan chuckled at the memories they had made in the room that never existed, at the table without legs, with the jar that was nothing but sand holding a disease that was but a mere memory. The jar sat there each day as a reminder of what would happen if they failed. So many times they thought they had the solution; so many times a sudden sigh of relief became a loud curve as they went over something that seemed so perfect and found the fatal flaw.
Callahan recalled a morning when all seemed lost. Like so many days before the five men sat at the oval table with nothing in front of them but the jar, speckled black inside. Slowly each one of them produced various notebooks; they contained any and every idea that had been produced by the group. Callahan set his atop the table and, like everyone else's that day, left it closed. A closed notebook meant that to begin with at least that person had nothing to contribute. In the years since the first meeting at least one of them had always begun with their book open. It was a day of despair; each man looked from one to another and finally all eyes settled on the jar. It really wasn’t much to look at when he thought back on it. It was a simple jelly jar used by millions of mothers each day to preserve their homemade jelly. At its bottom lay a clear vaseline-like substance, and spread throughout it at random intervals like small black stones grew the virus. Before that day it had only seemed like the mild foreshadowing of something that could be avoided given enough time. But that day it was a very real plague and solution to a problem that we all realized we otherwise might not be able to solve. When Callahan watched it in that early morning (which he tell only by his watch on this day that would never be observed) it was as though he really could feel it growing, it was like he could see the pain that it would cause; as though he was watching the black disease ridden bodies pile up in front of him. Each member had felt exactly the same way that day; Callahan remembered seeing the same defeated look on their faces as he felt on his. Then he remembered his resilience for that very last time. He remembered vowing that he would not let such a catastrophe happen, remembered vowing that there must be another way and that they would find it that day.
Callahan had stood up fearlessly in that room. “We are not going to let this happen, not today, not ever, that plague stays right where it is.” he yelled in defiance, “and we find another way, and we will find it today.”
The charisma that had made him a congressman echoed throughout the room and affected even these nearly emotionless men. Slowly the colonel began to speak, “Today is a very good day to start fresh, let us keep the note books closed and discuss until we come up with a real solution, not a partial solution but something that will work permanently.” The others nodded silently and Callahan could see the quiet determination on all their faces. “Ok.” Callahan began. “Let us start with what we know will not work. We know that taxes won’t work, we just can’t raise enough money without raising suspicion.”
“And so what if some real suspicion was raised. We’ve covered up the taxes before, we can do it again.” It was an army man who spoke - Callahan didn’t remember his exact rank, an admiral perhaps - his ideas were sometimes wild but his contributions worked to a great advantage. Unfortunately, this time he was dead wrong.
Callahan spoke before anyone else could. “It would not work; if even the slightest idea of what was happening got out we would have the insurmountable task of trying to explain to the American public why their hard-earned money was funding another generation that could not support itself.”
“So why don’t we just come out and say that they are helping other members of their nation?”
“Oh yeah and how about we ask a couple million people to kill themselves so that these people can live!? The American public just would not go for something like that, we might as well label it the Fund Our Victims of too much sex act or maybe the whole government could come out in favor of abortion as a means of population control.” Callahan was hot by this point, he refused to let all his work go to waste because of a bad idea. Not to mention that he had a political career to think of.
Just at that moment the colonel stepped in. He was a consistently calm man, and very determined. His ideas were rarely contributed, but they were the best when they were. “Gentlemen, calm down. We’ve got a lot to do today and less than twenty-four hours to do it in. The congressman is right, no more taxes, besides raising suspicions we also don’t want to choke every nickel out of the American people; the regular government does that well enough already. But we do need more ideas, the question is what will work. We have spent enough time on what might work or what partially works we need something brand new. Now, any original ideas that you have, start spitting them out, whether they look like they are going somewhere or not does not matter, just get them out in the open so they can be discussed. “The colonel laid his hands on the table, there was a momentary pause as the group collected itself, both as individuals and as one mind (asymmetrical as it might have been).
Callahan remembered the silence that had followed. Every moment of it had seemed like another step toward barbarism, like another step away from civility and the human race. He recalled the spinning emptiness of his mind and how it bit at him like the plague from the jar. He remembered hearing his own voice mumble out something that echoed infinitely through his own head and would not let him understand it. He remembered hearing another voice intrude on the silence of his head.
“That just might work.”
Callahan’s head straightened, his ears perked, his eyes focused, and his mind desperately tried to recall what he had said. He remembered that moment now, remembered the panic screaming through his own head as he heard the echo of what he had said still, and still had no idea of what it was. Even now he sometimes could not remember what he had said that had peaked such interest from the rest of the group. He had still been pondering what he had said when he realized that all four of the other men were now discussing the idea with incredible excitement. He focused in on the conversation hoping that it would tell him what he had said. By this point the conversation was in full swing, it seemed to Callahan that he may have solved the problem almost with no involvement, but he still needed to know what he had said to spark such hope, and just as he really started to concentrate he was addressed.
“I’ve got to hand it to you Callahan, it’s crazy, but it just might be crazy enough to work.” It was the colonel speaking. “We might actually be able to pull off a large tax on cigarettes, and certainly they have been due for a lawsuit for quite some time.”
The admiral to the colonel's left shook his head in agreement, he was still deep in thought turning the idea over in his head. “Tax cigarettes, then sue the companies.” It was the only time Callahan could remember what he had said, he needed to recall that mumble to remember his own words, hearing them from his own mouth never actually happened. Then the admiral had said everything that had given his real hope. “It has promise.” He had said thoughtfully.
Callahan jumped back into the conversation not wanting to admit that he only now knew his own idea. “It needs to be done just right though. A separate added tax for cigarettes will be simple enough, no one will bother to question where the money is going, but a lawsuit will be much more difficult.”
The colonel's voice once again interrupted Callahan’s thoughts. “Let’s get the simple task out of the way first, so that all our energies can be focused on the larger problem without interference. Congressman, where do we start?”
All eyes had shifted to Callahan then, but by this time he was very used to it. When the best of the ideas were finally disgust into action all their eyes had always turned to him to tell them what it would take to get the idea from the paper of their note books to the reality of law. Through the years that they had worked together he had become an expert in disguising taxes and pushing them through the intense process of paper to law. The easiest part in the last few years; all he had needed to do was tell the now president that this bill or that was a part of the solution. It made things slightly easier and it seemed as though the man would continue his presidency for another four years. This bill would be the easiest to draw up, all they needed to do was perform some simple calculations to produce the right percentage that would both seem somewhat fair and would bring in the revenues they needed. Callahan told the members as much and for the next two days the walls of the non-existent room heard nothing but the sound of pencil and eraser on paper. The memory of the sound had been so precious to Callahan. Outside it had been scratching and a light rubbing, inside, his mind screamed with numbers and solutions, words and clauses. It had been pure excitement as the lead of his pencil ran like liquid, drenching page after page with its priceless silver. Each day, each page seemed like a single moment, when once again the jar and its black spots were no longer threatening and seemed to be of no danger at all.
Finally the day came when all notebooks were open and all hands lay idle. It had been two days since they had spoken and now it was time to present their findings. Though the routine was similar in so many to so many times before, there was an air that had previously not been there, it was an air of real accomplishment, they all knew they were very close to a real solution. In all these times the notebooks were always slid uniformly to the same man; Callahan was always that man. Each time had always been the same; he would take the notebooks and spread them in a line in front of him. The notebooks carried all the ideas each man had about the given subject. Callahan sat back in his chair, remembering so vividly each separate notebook. In all previous attempts he had taken the best ideas from each and grouped them together. It was always his job to word the ideas into a bill. It was easy to remember what they had each said on that day; they had all been the same. “Fifteen percent; you write the fancy words.” Each one, word for word the same, and his had the same number and the fancy words already started.
“Two days.” Was all that he needed to say. They all knew the routine; they would break for a short time in which Callahan would write up the bill. The next time they met it was a short almost victory-like meeting and Callahan was off to begin pushing the bill. It had been the same thing so many times in the past, Callahan knew just how to present the bills, he knew just how to get around the wrong questions and just how to incite the correct excitement it was a routine that the other members of Congress had begun to get used to and by now they all just accepted the passage of some of the most ridiculous taxes and laws merely because Callahan knew just how to suggest them so that they seemed harmless, somewhat useful, and of course the president backed all of his ideas which helped out tremendously. But this one would be easier to pass, he wouldn’t have to convince so much, this proposition was practical, it had real value to it. Unfortunately, it also had something that none of the other bills had had; substance, and along with substance always came scrutiny. That meant that this bill would take longer to pass even though it would be much easier.
Callahan nestled himself deeper into his chair, shook his head and let all the disappointment creep over his face one more time, then chuckled just slightly. Hope; there had been so much of it then, it had driven him in the forty-eight hours he had asked for, eight of it had been spent asleep as he had worked day and night to perfect this perfect solution. He remembered the excitement in finally finishing the proposition, and once again tried to revel in the memory of that excitement. He tried to remember the rush of adrenaline, tried to taste the fresher air, tried to submerge himself in the memory of his last true success. As always, it did not work and it did not help, that moment could exist only once; the conclusion was inevitable.
The following days had been nearly as good, the next time that the coalition met Callahan had simply read through the short proposal. It stated nothing more than a simple fifteen percent tax on all cigarettes nationwide, with the profits going to a special education funding committee to be appointed by the president. The wording was a bit flashier at points but in all it was simplistic, which Callahan had hoped would speed it through the system. That afternoon he had presented the bill, most everyone met it with applause and congratulations. Callahan had pushed for a quick acceptance of the bill sitting its many obvious advantages. When Congress broke that afternoon he was met with much congratulations by his fellow colleagues, but he had needed to keep in mind that this was only phase one and that he and his secret colleagues still had much to do. He didn’t have time to push this bill through on his own, he would have to rely on these supporters to help him. So he quickly gathered those who were the strongest supporters of the bill and pulled them aside.
In a short show of confidence, Callahan had said to them, “I’ve got several other projects that need my attention right now, this bill can almost walk itself through the system but I need you to loosely hold its leash.” Of course the idea of being a part of such a project sold the other men immediately, to say they had been a part of something so great, would mean lots of votes and would make them very popular. If you were popular in Washington, you didn’t even need the ten commandments. So Callahan was free to concentrate on part two.
The next morning Callahan found himself once again standing in front of the door to nowhere, he reached out to turn the knob attached to a sealed wall and stepped out of existence where everything important happened. Inside he was greeted by the most important thing there. It lived inside glass never blown. It said nothing, but always yelled at him. He could not see it individually, but just one drove his strength and determination. Now Callahan could still not close his eyes without experiencing the tunnel vision that had haunted him each time he had entered that room. Eventually he had always been able to widen his vision and concentrate on his work. This day had been no different with the exception that it signaled, he had hoped, a miraculous conclusion. The others were already inside, each one with their notebook open and an eager, hungry look in their eyes.
For months the debates went on, idea clashing with idea, idea combining with idea. It was a complex composition, it had been like trying to create the perfect woman, each man describing his plan and each man adding something in, that seemed forgotten because nothing less than perfection would be accepted. Each time it seemed done someone would say, “But there is one thing that bothers me.” And the points were well taken; and issues were rewritten and redirected. The months became a year and they came oh so much closer. The idea was simple enough, all they had to do was allow the public, through some leak of information, to obtain substantial evidence to be able to sue a large tobacco company based upon its refusal to admit the addiction caused by cigarettes. The details were what had worked them so hard. They had slaved to make it flawless to plan out every lost detail so that nothing was left amiss and the entire thing would be carried out with no chance of failure: one hundred percent success was what they needed to guarantee. The work made them oblivious to the outer world, the time had flown by without notice. In that time Callahan was re-elected without leaving that room, the other members’ jobs were secured, the bill began its long walk to the president’s desk, and when they all finally looked up and were pleased; the presidency had changed hands.
Callahan leaned forward and rested his chin on his fist and recalled the shock that situation had created. It was months after the inauguration before any of them had known. He remembered that last meeting. They had all agreed that the plan was now unstoppable. That there was nothing more to worry about. The lawsuit was in place, the tax was a certain success, and nothing short of a miracle could stop those lives from being saved. They left that room with every intention of never leaving this world again. But.. Callahan reflected on the but; perhaps they had somehow known that it would all fall through because the door was closed, but the jar was left untouched inside that other world, where things extinct were allowed to live. The radio’s voice still buzzed in the background, soon it would buzz with headlines of mass death, quick and ugly. Callahan let a sigh leave him, once again dreading how everything had fallen through. The democratic president had never been enlightened and so the bill had been revised to what existed today and the money from the law suit had been distributed, instead of with held, as originally intended. Callahan had vowed not to soil his hands with the matter any longer, the rest of the government had destroyed his work, they could fix it. He rubbed his dimples remembering the twist so years later.
Epilogue
Eight years later he had once again been led to a room that he had before known so well. Once again the room contained five other men. Once again the same man had addressed him and the same men sat before him. But dread had captured his heart the moment he had entered, the man who began to address him would wait for the site to take its effect. He shivered with the memory of the first thing he had seen when the door had opened. The jar, still in the middle of the table, three quarters full with spotted black, and surrounded by identical jars. And the words he had hoped he would one day be able to forget came from that same man. “Gentlemen, none of this exists.”
Callahan remembered the following months like so many stabs to the heart. He remembered the pain of discussing how to spread the plague properly, remembered the cold precise conclusion they had all reached, but mostly, he remembered that ring of death where so many would all fall down.
A cry reaches me in the night.
A soft hand touches me.
Gentle, beautiful lips kiss me goodnight.
I wasn’t expecting it.
I don’t even know if I wanted it.
But then I wanted it all over again.
I craved that soft hand.
I dreamed of those lips.
And I look at it all. And I don’t know what to do.
I want to tell the world of the happiness that I found.
I want to believe that it is possible.
But hope has constantly been my downfall.
And I see how things progress. That fact that it is slowly does not worry me.
How shy she seems is scary.
I don’t want to hope for no reason.
But I am happy and despite all other things.
I hope to retain that happiness.
Pocket Full of Posey
“The government is preparing to make serious revenue cuts as the baby boom generation is left with the daunting task of taking on a problem that they have left dormant for well too long. Congressmen, governors, and senators have all banded together to find a solution to a crisis that they ignored for too many years, worried that such measures as it would take would spell certain political doom. Now, however, the threat of bankruptcy to an entire nation is yet more threatening. On the eve of the biggest project since...”
Congressman Callahan had completely tuned out the radio by this point. It was fairly amusing that the press had finally decided to scratch the surface of this “problem” enough that the government had finally needed to look like it was taking action in this “time of crisis” as the papers loved to call it. In actuality major plans had been implemented years and years ago in order to keep the economy in check at the time when the baby boomers were supposed to retire. The baby boomers had, in fact, helped to surplus the nation and drag it forcibly out of a four trillion-dollar national debt. It was a plan started by the Bush administration, but thoughts of what would be done when they retired went all the way back to the Regan years.
Callahan remembered being cut in on the solution in those early years. The problem had been discovered through various analyzing bodies in the government a few short years after Regan’s first term as president. The working population had sky rocketed and worries of what happened when such a huge class retired had already begun. A solution was needed. The national debt was compiling miserably and even though all the evidence said it wouldn’t work, Regan pushed his idea of trickle down economics until it could not be stopped. Ideas began to pile up about what should be done. Taxes were raised under the pretense of various research experiments, which were not made very public in the first place. The money, which supposedly went to various research such as the reproduction system of the fruit fly and other meaningless projects, was actually being stockpiled and completely unaccounted for as far as where it actually went. Every dollar of that money was set aside in hopes that, in time, it would be enough to support the mass retirement later on. Sadly it became very apparent that it would be nowhere near enough to compensate for both the incredible loss of workers and the compensation that would be expected to be paid. Something more desperate needed to be done. One day, in late 1986, Callahan was asked to follow a man through the capital building for a meeting of the utmost importance. He was led through twists and turns that he was not even aware existed in the building and through a door which opened into a room that had nothing but six chairs, an oval table, and sitting on the oval table a jar with a black discoloration on its bottom. Sitting in the chairs sat five other men with one sear left for him. The collage of important personalities was amazing. Sitting at the head of the table was the vice-president of the United States. Two of the highest-ranking generals sat to either side of him and then two other men who he did not really recognize.
The polite voice of the vice-president cut into his thoughts. “Have a seat Congressman.” Callahan sat down; a bit nervous and intimidated to be in the presence of such power. “How were you elected Congressman?”
Callahan wasn’t quite sure where this was going but he knew his answer. “By a landslide sir.”
“And you have maintained that population for several years, correct?”
“Yes sir.” Callahan didn’t know where this was going, but did enjoy the chance to brag a little.
Abruptly the focus of the conversation shifted as the vice-president reached out and pushed the jar slightly closer to the Congressman. “Do you have any idea what you see inside this jar?”
He examined the jar for a moment. “Not a clue sir.”
“It is the final and most desperate solution to a problem that becomes worse each day that it is ignored.” The man looked straight into Callahan’s eyes. “It is the problem of funding this ‘baby boom’ generation in their retirement, it is the problem of preventing an economic crisis caused simply by the distrust in the American Government to handle such a situation, and as far as the rest of the world knows, it no longer exists.”
Callahan looked up a bit abruptly, “The problem sir?”
The vice-president looked around the room slowly. “The problem does not exist, and neither does the solution.” Now he addressed everyone at the table. “I have shown this jar to all of you. None of you has claimed to know what it is. Before I tell you, you must all understand that this meeting is not taking place, this room is not here, and this jar was never anything but sand. That needs to be extremely clear before we continue. You have all been brought here because you are the most powerful, the most popular, and the most secretive people in the entire government.” He grabbed the jar from in front of Callahan and slid it once again to the center of the table. “Gentlemen, in this jar sits the last cultured specimen on earth of the Bubonic Plague.”
Through the entire crowd there ran a hushed shiver, the other five men, including Callahan stared acutely yet somewhat doubtfully at the black specks sitting idly in the jar.
One high ranking colonel turned to the vice-president, his eyes littered with doubt, “Mr. Vice-President, may I inquire as to why you would use such a disease, and how this will solve our problems?”
` Callahan watched as the smile slowly crept across the vice-president’s face. “Because colonel, of all the diseases to ever lay waste to the human race, the black plague was the worst, it killed millions, and the only doctors left on this earth with intimate knowledge of the disease are controlled by the United States government, they are controlled by us. Before what has happened can be properly targeted we will have achieved our goal.”
Callahan was very disturbed by the implications involved, he stood up nervously. “Pardon me sir but, are you suggesting what I think you are suggesting?” His voice became a little harsher. “Are you implying a holocaust of this generation?”
“No.” Was the vice-president’s quick response. “I am telling you, all of you, that if nothing else works this is our last resort. I am telling you that if we have no other choice we will exchange a small percentage of a generation for the future well being of this country and its economy. Understand gentlemen that you have been brought here for two purposes. Primarily, you are here to see that this measure does not need to be taken. You are here to implement ideas that will take care of this problem without having to eliminate anyone. But you are also here to carry out such an action if necessary.” He turned back to face Callahan directly. “Congressman, you are here to represent us, both inside and outside the government. You are here to push plans through and deny our existence. You were chosen because you think quickly and clearly.” He looked hard at Callahan. “You were chosen because with my help, you can remain in Congress or wherever else you want, as long as you want.”
Callahan remembered that moment very clearly, he sat back and savored the memory for a moment, savored that promise of nearly limitless power. That was of course what had initially made him comply, it is what had allowed him to turn a blind eye to compassion and let him analyze the situation coldly and harshly. Such a view, with emotion set aside brought him to the conclusion that if all else did fail the survival of a healthy country was more important than the survival of a small percentage of one generation.
But in the early days just after that meeting, which he reminded himself had never happened, Callahan had worked desperately with the other four men to find a different solution, one that would not end in death. Callahan missed countless votes in Congress that would surly have kept anyone else from being re-elected, yet year after year he held his position strongly with hardly any opposition. And year after year, day after day the five men worked tirelessly to find a new solution to this problem. Any idea that seemed even slightly viable was pieced apart and analyzed until it was completely eliminated as a possibility. So many taxes, they implemented so many taxes under so many pretences, the lies never seemed to stop. Everything they did was covered up, usually via the vice-president, sometimes through Callahan, but they were always very carefully laid out lies that were often not very public in the first place. In this way when once of these things were questioned publicly they could be simply passed off as “government research projects”. Callahan chuckled at the memories they had made in the room that never existed, at the table without legs, with the jar that was nothing but sand holding a disease that was but a mere memory. The jar sat there each day as a reminder of what would happen if they failed. So many times they thought they had the solution; so many times a sudden sigh of relief became a loud curve as they went over something that seemed so perfect and found the fatal flaw.
Callahan recalled a morning when all seemed lost. Like so many days before the five men sat at the oval table with nothing in front of them but the jar, speckled black inside. Slowly each one of them produced various notebooks; they contained any and every idea that had been produced by the group. Callahan set his atop the table and, like everyone else's that day, left it closed. A closed notebook meant that to begin with at least that person had nothing to contribute. In the years since the first meeting at least one of them had always begun with their book open. It was a day of despair; each man looked from one to another and finally all eyes settled on the jar. It really wasn’t much to look at when he thought back on it. It was a simple jelly jar used by millions of mothers each day to preserve their homemade jelly. At its bottom lay a clear vaseline-like substance, and spread throughout it at random intervals like small black stones grew the virus. Before that day it had only seemed like the mild foreshadowing of something that could be avoided given enough time. But that day it was a very real plague and solution to a problem that we all realized we otherwise might not be able to solve. When Callahan watched it in that early morning (which he tell only by his watch on this day that would never be observed) it was as though he really could feel it growing, it was like he could see the pain that it would cause; as though he was watching the black disease ridden bodies pile up in front of him. Each member had felt exactly the same way that day; Callahan remembered seeing the same defeated look on their faces as he felt on his. Then he remembered his resilience for that very last time. He remembered vowing that he would not let such a catastrophe happen, remembered vowing that there must be another way and that they would find it that day.
Callahan had stood up fearlessly in that room. “We are not going to let this happen, not today, not ever, that plague stays right where it is.” he yelled in defiance, “and we find another way, and we will find it today.”
The charisma that had made him a congressman echoed throughout the room and affected even these nearly emotionless men. Slowly the colonel began to speak, “Today is a very good day to start fresh, let us keep the note books closed and discuss until we come up with a real solution, not a partial solution but something that will work permanently.” The others nodded silently and Callahan could see the quiet determination on all their faces. “Ok.” Callahan began. “Let us start with what we know will not work. We know that taxes won’t work, we just can’t raise enough money without raising suspicion.”
“And so what if some real suspicion was raised. We’ve covered up the taxes before, we can do it again.” It was an army man who spoke - Callahan didn’t remember his exact rank, an admiral perhaps - his ideas were sometimes wild but his contributions worked to a great advantage. Unfortunately, this time he was dead wrong.
Callahan spoke before anyone else could. “It would not work; if even the slightest idea of what was happening got out we would have the insurmountable task of trying to explain to the American public why their hard-earned money was funding another generation that could not support itself.”
“So why don’t we just come out and say that they are helping other members of their nation?”
“Oh yeah and how about we ask a couple million people to kill themselves so that these people can live!? The American public just would not go for something like that, we might as well label it the Fund Our Victims of too much sex act or maybe the whole government could come out in favor of abortion as a means of population control.” Callahan was hot by this point, he refused to let all his work go to waste because of a bad idea. Not to mention that he had a political career to think of.
Just at that moment the colonel stepped in. He was a consistently calm man, and very determined. His ideas were rarely contributed, but they were the best when they were. “Gentlemen, calm down. We’ve got a lot to do today and less than twenty-four hours to do it in. The congressman is right, no more taxes, besides raising suspicions we also don’t want to choke every nickel out of the American people; the regular government does that well enough already. But we do need more ideas, the question is what will work. We have spent enough time on what might work or what partially works we need something brand new. Now, any original ideas that you have, start spitting them out, whether they look like they are going somewhere or not does not matter, just get them out in the open so they can be discussed. “The colonel laid his hands on the table, there was a momentary pause as the group collected itself, both as individuals and as one mind (asymmetrical as it might have been).
Callahan remembered the silence that had followed. Every moment of it had seemed like another step toward barbarism, like another step away from civility and the human race. He recalled the spinning emptiness of his mind and how it bit at him like the plague from the jar. He remembered hearing his own voice mumble out something that echoed infinitely through his own head and would not let him understand it. He remembered hearing another voice intrude on the silence of his head.
“That just might work.”
Callahan’s head straightened, his ears perked, his eyes focused, and his mind desperately tried to recall what he had said. He remembered that moment now, remembered the panic screaming through his own head as he heard the echo of what he had said still, and still had no idea of what it was. Even now he sometimes could not remember what he had said that had peaked such interest from the rest of the group. He had still been pondering what he had said when he realized that all four of the other men were now discussing the idea with incredible excitement. He focused in on the conversation hoping that it would tell him what he had said. By this point the conversation was in full swing, it seemed to Callahan that he may have solved the problem almost with no involvement, but he still needed to know what he had said to spark such hope, and just as he really started to concentrate he was addressed.
“I’ve got to hand it to you Callahan, it’s crazy, but it just might be crazy enough to work.” It was the colonel speaking. “We might actually be able to pull off a large tax on cigarettes, and certainly they have been due for a lawsuit for quite some time.”
The admiral to the colonel's left shook his head in agreement, he was still deep in thought turning the idea over in his head. “Tax cigarettes, then sue the companies.” It was the only time Callahan could remember what he had said, he needed to recall that mumble to remember his own words, hearing them from his own mouth never actually happened. Then the admiral had said everything that had given his real hope. “It has promise.” He had said thoughtfully.
Callahan jumped back into the conversation not wanting to admit that he only now knew his own idea. “It needs to be done just right though. A separate added tax for cigarettes will be simple enough, no one will bother to question where the money is going, but a lawsuit will be much more difficult.”
The colonel's voice once again interrupted Callahan’s thoughts. “Let’s get the simple task out of the way first, so that all our energies can be focused on the larger problem without interference. Congressman, where do we start?”
All eyes had shifted to Callahan then, but by this time he was very used to it. When the best of the ideas were finally disgust into action all their eyes had always turned to him to tell them what it would take to get the idea from the paper of their note books to the reality of law. Through the years that they had worked together he had become an expert in disguising taxes and pushing them through the intense process of paper to law. The easiest part in the last few years; all he had needed to do was tell the now president that this bill or that was a part of the solution. It made things slightly easier and it seemed as though the man would continue his presidency for another four years. This bill would be the easiest to draw up, all they needed to do was perform some simple calculations to produce the right percentage that would both seem somewhat fair and would bring in the revenues they needed. Callahan told the members as much and for the next two days the walls of the non-existent room heard nothing but the sound of pencil and eraser on paper. The memory of the sound had been so precious to Callahan. Outside it had been scratching and a light rubbing, inside, his mind screamed with numbers and solutions, words and clauses. It had been pure excitement as the lead of his pencil ran like liquid, drenching page after page with its priceless silver. Each day, each page seemed like a single moment, when once again the jar and its black spots were no longer threatening and seemed to be of no danger at all.
Finally the day came when all notebooks were open and all hands lay idle. It had been two days since they had spoken and now it was time to present their findings. Though the routine was similar in so many to so many times before, there was an air that had previously not been there, it was an air of real accomplishment, they all knew they were very close to a real solution. In all these times the notebooks were always slid uniformly to the same man; Callahan was always that man. Each time had always been the same; he would take the notebooks and spread them in a line in front of him. The notebooks carried all the ideas each man had about the given subject. Callahan sat back in his chair, remembering so vividly each separate notebook. In all previous attempts he had taken the best ideas from each and grouped them together. It was always his job to word the ideas into a bill. It was easy to remember what they had each said on that day; they had all been the same. “Fifteen percent; you write the fancy words.” Each one, word for word the same, and his had the same number and the fancy words already started.
“Two days.” Was all that he needed to say. They all knew the routine; they would break for a short time in which Callahan would write up the bill. The next time they met it was a short almost victory-like meeting and Callahan was off to begin pushing the bill. It had been the same thing so many times in the past, Callahan knew just how to present the bills, he knew just how to get around the wrong questions and just how to incite the correct excitement it was a routine that the other members of Congress had begun to get used to and by now they all just accepted the passage of some of the most ridiculous taxes and laws merely because Callahan knew just how to suggest them so that they seemed harmless, somewhat useful, and of course the president backed all of his ideas which helped out tremendously. But this one would be easier to pass, he wouldn’t have to convince so much, this proposition was practical, it had real value to it. Unfortunately, it also had something that none of the other bills had had; substance, and along with substance always came scrutiny. That meant that this bill would take longer to pass even though it would be much easier.
Callahan nestled himself deeper into his chair, shook his head and let all the disappointment creep over his face one more time, then chuckled just slightly. Hope; there had been so much of it then, it had driven him in the forty-eight hours he had asked for, eight of it had been spent asleep as he had worked day and night to perfect this perfect solution. He remembered the excitement in finally finishing the proposition, and once again tried to revel in the memory of that excitement. He tried to remember the rush of adrenaline, tried to taste the fresher air, tried to submerge himself in the memory of his last true success. As always, it did not work and it did not help, that moment could exist only once; the conclusion was inevitable.
The following days had been nearly as good, the next time that the coalition met Callahan had simply read through the short proposal. It stated nothing more than a simple fifteen percent tax on all cigarettes nationwide, with the profits going to a special education funding committee to be appointed by the president. The wording was a bit flashier at points but in all it was simplistic, which Callahan had hoped would speed it through the system. That afternoon he had presented the bill, most everyone met it with applause and congratulations. Callahan had pushed for a quick acceptance of the bill sitting its many obvious advantages. When Congress broke that afternoon he was met with much congratulations by his fellow colleagues, but he had needed to keep in mind that this was only phase one and that he and his secret colleagues still had much to do. He didn’t have time to push this bill through on his own, he would have to rely on these supporters to help him. So he quickly gathered those who were the strongest supporters of the bill and pulled them aside.
In a short show of confidence, Callahan had said to them, “I’ve got several other projects that need my attention right now, this bill can almost walk itself through the system but I need you to loosely hold its leash.” Of course the idea of being a part of such a project sold the other men immediately, to say they had been a part of something so great, would mean lots of votes and would make them very popular. If you were popular in Washington, you didn’t even need the ten commandments. So Callahan was free to concentrate on part two.
The next morning Callahan found himself once again standing in front of the door to nowhere, he reached out to turn the knob attached to a sealed wall and stepped out of existence where everything important happened. Inside he was greeted by the most important thing there. It lived inside glass never blown. It said nothing, but always yelled at him. He could not see it individually, but just one drove his strength and determination. Now Callahan could still not close his eyes without experiencing the tunnel vision that had haunted him each time he had entered that room. Eventually he had always been able to widen his vision and concentrate on his work. This day had been no different with the exception that it signaled, he had hoped, a miraculous conclusion. The others were already inside, each one with their notebook open and an eager, hungry look in their eyes.
For months the debates went on, idea clashing with idea, idea combining with idea. It was a complex composition, it had been like trying to create the perfect woman, each man describing his plan and each man adding something in, that seemed forgotten because nothing less than perfection would be accepted. Each time it seemed done someone would say, “But there is one thing that bothers me.” And the points were well taken; and issues were rewritten and redirected. The months became a year and they came oh so much closer. The idea was simple enough, all they had to do was allow the public, through some leak of information, to obtain substantial evidence to be able to sue a large tobacco company based upon its refusal to admit the addiction caused by cigarettes. The details were what had worked them so hard. They had slaved to make it flawless to plan out every lost detail so that nothing was left amiss and the entire thing would be carried out with no chance of failure: one hundred percent success was what they needed to guarantee. The work made them oblivious to the outer world, the time had flown by without notice. In that time Callahan was re-elected without leaving that room, the other members’ jobs were secured, the bill began its long walk to the president’s desk, and when they all finally looked up and were pleased; the presidency had changed hands.
Callahan leaned forward and rested his chin on his fist and recalled the shock that situation had created. It was months after the inauguration before any of them had known. He remembered that last meeting. They had all agreed that the plan was now unstoppable. That there was nothing more to worry about. The lawsuit was in place, the tax was a certain success, and nothing short of a miracle could stop those lives from being saved. They left that room with every intention of never leaving this world again. But.. Callahan reflected on the but; perhaps they had somehow known that it would all fall through because the door was closed, but the jar was left untouched inside that other world, where things extinct were allowed to live. The radio’s voice still buzzed in the background, soon it would buzz with headlines of mass death, quick and ugly. Callahan let a sigh leave him, once again dreading how everything had fallen through. The democratic president had never been enlightened and so the bill had been revised to what existed today and the money from the law suit had been distributed, instead of with held, as originally intended. Callahan had vowed not to soil his hands with the matter any longer, the rest of the government had destroyed his work, they could fix it. He rubbed his dimples remembering the twist so years later.
Epilogue
Eight years later he had once again been led to a room that he had before known so well. Once again the room contained five other men. Once again the same man had addressed him and the same men sat before him. But dread had captured his heart the moment he had entered, the man who began to address him would wait for the site to take its effect. He shivered with the memory of the first thing he had seen when the door had opened. The jar, still in the middle of the table, three quarters full with spotted black, and surrounded by identical jars. And the words he had hoped he would one day be able to forget came from that same man. “Gentlemen, none of this exists.”
Callahan remembered the following months like so many stabs to the heart. He remembered the pain of discussing how to spread the plague properly, remembered the cold precise conclusion they had all reached, but mostly, he remembered that ring of death where so many would all fall down.
posted by David Fuchs (Greg Goble) @ 9:45 PM
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