The man looks at his wife with pleading eyes asking for her to intercede on his behalf, and she looks at him with confusion and concern.
What is it, Harry? Youre suddenly so distant. You never want to be with us. You—
Thats not true, Belinda. I just dont feel well and I—
I dont know, Harry, it seems strange to me that you suddenly are so sick you cant be with your family and you have never had a sick day in your life—on the verge of tears, trembling slightly, hugging herself.
But, Belinda—reaching for her, she jerking away—
No, Harry, please dont touch me. I dont know what youre doing to be so ‘tired’ but I know its not from spending time with us.
I told you over and over I have to stay late at the office because Im just not getting my work done, I have no choice.
Well, obviously your choice is not to be with your family la—
(ah yes, the children. Two little girls … lets see … yes, about 5 and 6 and as cute as buttons or pins or whatever little girls are as cute as)
The two little girls back away, their heads and eyes downcast, their little girl worlds crumbling one little brick at a time, cracks and fissures in the mortar, bits of stone being chipped away, tears rolling silently from their suffering eyes, little girl arms and cheeks twitching, clinging to each other for safety for surely the Heavens and God Himself will hurl a lightening bolt of punishment for being so bad that mummy and daddy are fighting, clinging ever so desperately, backing away more and more, hoping they can escape the wrath of Heaven and God Almighty but what can they do as they watch dear mummy and daddy engaged in mortal combat and where will it all end …
… thats all it is, Belinda, theres no great mystery. I just am exhausted.
Not too exhausted to ‘work’ all the time.
Oh, how many times do I have to tell you, its because it takes me so long to do a simple job. I cant tell y—
Obviously! Comeon girls, get your things together.
Okay, Mummy.
The little cutie pies put their backpacks on and start walking toward the door, walking in a wide arc around their dear daddy. Dear daddy watches as his wife shoots him a last despairing look before leaving the house and starting on the trip to Disneyland.
Do you feel left out in the cold Barnard? You feeling disenfranchised? You feeling tortured and tormented by the very system you help perpetuate? That efficient monstrosity of attrition calculated on the fact that if people are continually turned down eventually they lack the energy to continue to try and get what is rightfully theirs, rights that were established by the Congress of the United States and aborted by slime-balls like you. How much longer will you have the energy to show up at your office and take your place in the building, of brick walls erected to destroy people like me? Perhaps soon that very system will eliminate you because you have expended your energy. Oh how ironic, how poetic. Struggle Barnard. Struggle to get out of bed in the morning, struggle to shower, to shave, to somehow get into your clothes and then hope you have enough time for a cup of coffee to help you drive to work and take your place in the system of assassins. Perhaps youll hang on your own petard. Perhaps you will watch your devoted wife and cute little girls walk out of the house never to return. Think of the frantic phone calls youll make to her family, the pleading for just one word. Think. Theyre on their way to Disneyland and a fun filled day of squeals and laughter while you struggle to get work done, work that should have been all wrapped up last week but here it is, on your desk at home waiting for you … waiting for you Barnard. Better get in there before the opportunity to deny another veteran his rightful benefits fritters away.
The man is so moved by the plight of Mr Barnard that he is as yet unaware that he is home, jacket hung in the closet, tie off, collar unbuttoned, stretched out in his chair with a remote in his hand. Is the television on? He doesn’t know. It is of no importance for nothing can intrude itself upon his consciousness at the moment. The remote seems to keep him in balance, to help him concentrate on his thoughts, for as long as it is solidly in his hand he searches for nothing outside himself.
… wait … suppose he does die? What then? All his agony will be over. Oh no! He cant die. He must stay alive, he absolutely must. He has to pay for all the pain and misery hes caused. He cant get off scot free like that. He must stay alive. Its only just. There has to be at least a semblance of justice somewhere in this world. People like Barnard cant keep getting off the hook like that. Why should they always go free and the rest of us pay with our blood for their crimes? Yeah, we pay, but only after a lifetime of suffering. The VA is supposed to be there to help us but instead they devise this system to frustrate us so we/ll stop trying to get the benefits we deserve, and guys like Barnard happily keep the system going, getting higher ratings and salaries for every one of us they force to discontinue appealing, time after time, board after board, over and over god how can they be so cruel its like the mafia and the teamsters, I have to pay more for the food I eat just because they dont mind killing people, yeah, thats it, you dont give them their graft they simply kill you, just like that, and what are you going to do about it? What can you do about it? Cant fight City Hall. But maybe you can burn it down. And maybe Barnard is just the beginning of it and he/ll just keep burning without dying, oh god, dont let him die, please let him live a long, long life, please, dont let him off the hook so easily—hey wait … yeah … it might be even better. His soul might suffer eternal agony. Maybe the fires of hell are real with cool, refreshing water always just out of reach, torturing him just as he has tortured so many thousands of us. His family would suffer at first, but they/d get over it yeah, yeah, his wife would remarry in a couple of months and she and the kids will forget he ever existed oh how beautiful, how exquisitely frustrating, he wouldnt even be able to haunt her, he couldnt pull any of that spooky spook stuff because she doesnt even know he exists and anyway, he wouldnt know how to haunt her, his specialty is haunting veterans, driving us to the grave well it looks like hes met his match, this is one appeal hes not going to be able to lie his way out of, his sleaze-ball weaseling isnt going to do him any good while hes chewing dirt and hosting worms. I wonder if I should go to the funeral. Pay my last respects. Yeah, sure, listen to some punk eulogize him. No thanks. Oh no, the bad will not be interred with his bones. I/ll see to that. Yes, that would be wonderful. Get a list of every veteran he tortured and send them a copy of the death notice. Be an expensive proposition. All those thousands of copies, envelopes, stamps. Yes, of course, it would be foolish and foolhardy. Im not serious. But still, isnt it pretty to think about? Oh, look at that, it must be the end of the 11oclock news. Should be getting feverish by now. Throw up in the middle of the night. Many times. Ketch so much feels like a hernia. His wife all upset, she should call an ambulance, the doctor, 911, take him to the hospital, bathe his head …
Ah, there, the television has been turned off and he walks with a light tread to the bedroom, undresses, dispensing with his clothing carefully before taking a hot shower. When he stretches out on the bed he is suddenly and overwhelmingly aware that his body is exhausted as it seems to fold into itself and almost dissolve.
Maybe I should call him to see how he is no thats insane …
He turns on his side and is quickly asleep, asleep as noiselessly and dreamlessly as only the innocent experience. In the morning he slowly and comfortably leaves sleep behind him and lies on his back, listening to the song of mockingbirds, smiling, before sitting up and going to the bathroom. There is no urgency in his mind or body. The very air he moves through is light and gentle, caressing and soothing his body, greeting him with the promise of another day of fulfillment.
… true, I could call now … but theres no rush. Its as it is whether I call now or wait a few more minutes. Hmmm, it is a nice morning. Maybe a walk around the block. Why not.
Oh yeah, it is pleasant. Birds sure are enjoying it. All over the lawns. Wow isnt that something. Robins the only ones I s
ee do that. Hop around and suddenly bam, they shove their beaks into the ground and tug out a worm. Wonder how they do that? Can they really see it? Bam! just like that. Other birds just peck at the ground, seeds and stuff I guess. Cant be the only ones eat worms. Early bird and all that. Maybe worms are scarce thats why there arent more worm eaters. Lots of bird noises this morning. Mockingbirds are the beauties though. Hey look out! You “stupid squirrel, you almost got killed. Driver didnt even see him. Almost ran right under the car. Youd better stay in that tree buddy. Not safe down here. That jay sure was on his tail. Must have been too close to the nest. Dont mess with the jays there squirrel. Theyre killers. Peck you to death. Nature certainly is strange. Beautiful morning, birds singing, and all kinds of mayhem going on. Not safe to be a small creature around here. Rose bushes are pretty though. Trees too. Hang in for hundreds of years sometimes. They get zapped too. All go sooner or later. Even me. Wonder when that will be? Is that true, such a short time ago I was hoping to go now???? How could I have felt so overwhelmed by … by … whatever I felt so overwhelmed by? Just life. Nothing in particular. No tragic trauma. Just life. No purpose. No reason to bother getting out of bed, go through another day. I felt so dead. Hard—impossible to imagine on a morning like this. Life is sweet, precious, to be savored, nurtured, lived. Thats right, lived. Lets hear it class, Life is for liv—what a difference. Air smells good. Even the traffic has a comfortable sound to it. Fresh cut grass. Good pickings there. Sprinklers in the sun. So pretty. Mist floats. Little puddles for the birds. Really cool. The water. Ahhhh … No need to call now. Plenty of time. No, need to know the time. Get some work done when I get home. I can call whenever I choose. Its all up to me …
All play and no work can make Jack broke. All these years working with computers and never knew the other info on the Internet. Sure I heard, but … anyway its all there. Anonymous. No name change to protect the innocent. No vocal idiosyncrasy to be remembered. No cops and robbers, 007 or Austin Powers. Oh I love you sweet baby. The love of my life. Youre so good to me. You should have been with me this morning. You would have loved it. Beautiful sky. Not too hot, cool enough for you. Trees and bushes blooming. Lots of flowers. Birds, birds, birds. Maybe you heard them. Never stopped. So many lovely colors. Oh yeah, even a dumb squirrel. Damn near ran right under the wheels of a car. Can you believe it? A jay was on his back, screeching and squawking. He was really mad. Must have gotten too close to his nest. Poor squirrel didnt know which was worse, the car or the jay. I/ll give you a treat when I finish this project. Put on Louvre CD and let you browse for a while. It wont take me too much longer …
Good to stretch. Productive morning. Yeah, very good. Wonder what time it is—oh no, not going to get me looking at the clock. Not playing that game. I/ll call when I decide to call. Find out then what happened. Maybe. Hell, he couldve dropped dead on his way to work and they might not know. Well, anyway, no guarantee his office knows anything. Yeah, that sure as hell is true, dont know anything about anything. Like a bunch of crazy Russians, Nyet. Thats all those bastards know, Nyet. What time is it? Nyet. Where is the restroom? Nyet. Thats a nice tie youve got on. Nyet. Thats all they know. From DC to all the states: Nyet, Nyet, Nyet. Wouldnt give you the time of day. Its madness. No, its not. Madness is uncontrollable. This is deliberate, created and perpetuated to frustrate and maim. No cop-out of madness. No relinquishing of responsibility. Its not that they created a monster, they are the monster. Every second of pain, every dream shattered, every life destroyed all a result of their planning. They did it. Still doing it. How can they live with themselves? How can their families? What kind of kids will they raise? Mass murderers? Or kids who just pull the wings off flies? I dont understand this world. So many rotten, evil people with so much control. How does it happen? Why does it happen? How many people have even heard the name Barnard? Its not like Eichmann. Yet whats the difference? Just as evil. Its all so rotten, rotten to the core. Only people like me know his name. And curse it. People who have been cheated, savaged and hounded by this vile inexcusable vermin. How many have been pushed over the edge by his cruelty, spending their lives in some back ward of the VA Psychiatric Hospital, spittle dribbling from their mouths, condemned to live forever in the horror Barnard created, their fragile minds surviving the horrors of war, but unable to accept that the government they defended would not only turn its back on them but tantalize them with lies that breed false hope, which is in reality a system of torture with Barnard the willing perpetrator and perpetuator, how many have already given up and simply laid down and died or struggled to feed themselves and their families, hoping that some day they will be granted what they should already have but they too were eventually destroyed oh you are a rotten son of a bitch, how can anyone treat another human being like this, they did nothing to you yet you delight in torturing them oh I hope there is a hell so you can roast in it oh shit, that rotten bastard, been feeling great and he poisons me we/ll see whats going on.
Mr Barnards office.
Ah … I/d like to speak to Mr Barnard.
Hes out to lunch, can I take a message?
No … no, thats alright. I/ll try again later.
Hes at work … Out to lunch … Cant be too sick … Hmm … May not even be sick … Wonder …
Maybe hes not really eating. Could be. Might be sitting in the sun or lying down in the lounge. Yeah. Not eating at all. Maybe hes in the bathroom. Sure. Could be. Wouldnt tell his secretary Im going to spend an hour in the bathroom. Like I said yesterday, best thing might be if hes still alive. This might be the answer to a prayer. Yes. Yes. Oh boy, I know it is. Its all coming together. I can feel it in my bones. Yes. Yes. Yes. Thank you god. It will all come together. Its all in the process. Right now. Yes. Damn, Im starving. Maybe Barnard cant eat, but I can. Haha, I wish I could pass some pickled herring under his nose. Oh, you know what would be great??? oysters. Some nice, gray, slimy oysters. Jiggle them in their shells. Oh god, a real winner, haha, put the oysters on a calfs brain, a nice bowl of brains all wiggling around with oysters, yech, makes me want to puke. Forget about that. Guess should keep it simple and just fry some eels and watch them wiggle in the pan. Yeah, nice and simple. Oh, sometimes I think Im awful. Follow all this with a hot fudge sundae. Oh sir, you are too cruel. Could be. But its not going to stop me from eating. Decisions, decisions. Fix something here or go out? Kinda restless. Walk to the deli would be good. Unwind. Still not too hot. Yeah. Good idea. Stroke of genius. Well, up and atem.
And so it has come to pass that he has shaken off the disappointment and depression and is once again one with the sunshine and light. Can such a man do aught but prevail? Is he not destined to be victorious in all his endeavors?
Hot pastrami or brisket? Decisions, decisions. What am I in the mood for? Whatever. Food here is fresh. Cant be too careful these days. Lot of salmonella and E.coli around. Think I/ll go for the cheese and avocado. Yeah. Sounds good. An ice tea and I am ready for whatever the day has to offer. Yes. Bring on the day. No. Not interested in giants. Hmmm, yeah, maybe clowns. Yeah, they may be in order. Just what the doctor ordered, to coin a phrase. Just the day and whatever comes along with it. I/ll see. Maybe later. If the mood strikes me. It is up to me. Perhaps not in its entirety, not the whole megillah, so to speak, but the actions are of my domain. Results … well, dependent on many factors, basic health, strength of immune system, stress, oh yeah, stress, but certainly not conscience. No problem for Barnard … any of them, those … ah th—no. Emphatically. Not going to aggravate myself because of their inhumanity. Going to enjoy my lunch, the day, the birds, the bees, whatever, and if I am in the mood to call this afternoon I will simply pick up the phone, dial the number and see how our friend is faring. Its all up to me. Right now I am going to slowly eat this sandwich and watch that red-headed waitress. An absolute stroke of genius. Wonder who first thought of it. Brilliant. Mini-skirts on waitresses. Every time they bend over a table theres the thought of heaven. Dont really see that much, actually less
than a pair of shorts. The hint. Expectancy. If she bends just the tiniest bit more. Delicious. Absolutely delicious. Yeah, the sandwich too. But this is more than the food of life. We are talking nitty gritty here. There are some things more important than food: Unless youre starving of course. But there are other things that create greater hunger than the thought of food. When youre satisfied.
Actually a pretty good sandwich. Should really go there more often. Keep forgetting how much I like it. Great ice tea too. Best in town. Dinners pretty good too. Maybe go back tomorrow no, I dont have to look at the clock or not look at the clock. I certainly am not making a big thing out of this.. Its just not important what the time is. I/ll call or I wont call. Its up to me. A little more work first, then do whatever I do.
… yeah, well, it is difficult. Didnt expect this much trouble. Tacky problem, but still … Maybe this way …
Thats enough for today. Not a bad day. Pretty much up to date. O-o-o krist, it feels good to stretch …
Mr Barnard, please.
Im sorry, he had to leave early today.
Oh … Will he be in tomorrow morning?
He said he would. But to tell you the truth, he didnt look so good so Im not sure.
Oh … I see.
Can I take a message?
No, thats alright. Thanks.
Yes thanks … thanks, thanks, ‘thanks a million, a million thanks to you’ … What sweet music to my ears. Didnt look so good. Wonder how bad he looked? Diarrhea? Might be messy by the time he gets home. Oh yes! Yes! Lets hope so. Dont blame it on the poor dog. Of course he has a dog. They always have a dog. Bet Barnard does too … Hi big fella, how you doin, heh, heh, oh let me scratch this belly … Yeah, let me scratch your belly, the belly of the beast you son of a bitch. If anyone treated your dog the way you treat us youd killem, right on the spot killem dead. Yeah, thats the way those monsters are, love their dogs and despise people. Go out of their way to make our lives miserable and impossible, but their dogs, oh they get the best of everything. How many people would love to be treated that well? Millions! Millions just in this country alone, and the whole world? God theyre sick … evil, millions of kids in this country go to bed hungry, if they even have a bed, and what he spends on his dog would feed those kids for a month, ahh, whats the use, just drop it, screwim … wonder if I should have asked that guy what was wrong, I mean how he was sick? He might have thought it funny if I did. Yeah. Couldnt askim if he had diarrhea or if he spent his lunch hour in the restroom sitting on the throne even if Barnard is a royal pain in the ass.
Waiting Period: A Novel Page 5