Bradberry finally stared into his eyes. “I’ve never thanked you.”
“Thanked me?”
“Yes. For getting me out of that hellhole.”
Ted was silent, his eyes soft, understanding. “You would’ve done the same for me.”
Bradberry shook his head. “All that insanity—fresh out of seminary. I was so idealistic, should never have gone there.”
“None of us should have been there.” Ted placed a hand on Bradberry’s shoulder. “That war’s been over for a long time.”
“Not for me.” Bradberry clutched his side, squeezed his thighs. “It’s never been over for me. How can I forget that child? She’s with me awake or sleeping.”
“It was a horrible way to die.”
“No!” he said. “That poor little girl found eternal peace. It’s her sister who haunts me. They took her from me, don’t you understand? I was so insane—it was months before I even knew who I was. When I tried to find her, she was swallowed up with all the other refugees. Vanished.”
“You did what you could—you saved her life.”
“You still don’t understand. When her mother was dying, I promised I would take care of her babies I swore by all that was holy that those children would live.” He pulled himself away from Ted, slumped into the far corner of the couch.
“There was nothing else to do, John.”
“I’m damned … the best of what I was, what I could have been, died in that place.”
“You had the capacity to love, to reach out to help others; I doubt if you’ve ever lost it.” Bradberry looked up, searched Ted’s eyes. “Look, maybe I’d better leave.”
“No! Stay … tell me why you’re here.”
”I’m working with CORPS … we’re interested in the Galen bioethical committee.”
“I see.”
Bradberry stood, crossed the room and sat down behind his desk. He placed a hand on his Bible for a moment, but felt no comfort from the connection. He looked at Ted again. The reported seemed small against the backdrop of book shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling.
“Any problem with that?”
“They’re a militant group.”
“John, they get things done.”
“And what exactly are you doing for that organization?”
“Background investigative work.”
He continued to study the journalist. “What do you need to know?”
Ted scooted to the edge of the couch. “Rumor has it your committee is putting together a pilot program for selective euthanasia.”
Bradberry shuffled papers on his desk. “Ted, I owe you a tremendous debt, but please don’t ask me to break an oath of confidentiality.”
“I appreciate your situation. But if somebody doesn’t speak up, we could be looking at deaths justified only by corporate expediency and economics. I need information. Will you help me?”
Bradberry tapped a pencil from end to end on his desk. “It’s Rudge you should be talking to, not me.”
“Tried that.”
“And—”
“He talked in circles, put me off.”
“I could give you background on the committee members. I would be comfortable helping you with that.”
“That’s a start.”
Bradberry related in detail what he knew about each member of the Galen ethics committee.
“Nothing to criticize, at least on the surface,” Ted said. “Were they all handpicked by Rudge?”
“In one way or another. But he may have made some errors in judgment.”
“How’s that?”
“People aren’t as predictable as the corporate mind might like to think; they may not go along with what he wants.
“What do you think his goal is?” Yost asked.
Bradberry suddenly stood and hurried to a sliding glass door that opened into the garden.“Legalized murder!” And without another word he stepped outside.
The interview was over.
* * *
Audrey Bradberry sat at her piano, closed her eyes as the Slavic sadness of Chopin mirrored her unhappiness. Silent sobs shook her slender body until she threw her arms across the Steinway, rested her head, then rushed to the sofa. The overpowering sense that her husband no longer loved her, may never have loved her, was overwhelming.
She lay with tears streaming down her cheeks and stared at their wedding picture sitting on a mahogany tabletop across the room. She wiped her face and studied the tall, skinny man with large melancholy eyes; he’d looked more like a boy than a Vietnam veteran.
Her father had forced her to attend the church dance where she met Rev. John Bradberry. But any chance of fun was crushed when he reminded her that she was an old maid and couldn’t afford to waste time sitting at home reading books.
“Find a husband, for God’s sake. Don’t make me ashamed of you.”
“How many of these church dances and socials do I have to go to before you understand that no man will ever want me with you always hovering over me?”
“It’s not my fault you’re a spinster; not my fault you’re plain, have no talent, and can’t attract a man.”
She said nothing more. Her mother had passed on the family tradition of silence. No one stood up to her wealthy father. No one.
That night she’d entered the stark church assembly hall unhappy, defeated. Then she saw John Bradberry, and he saw her. Their eyes locked and when the band started to play, she watched him float across the room, and before he reached her, she held her arms out to him.
In the beginning they danced with hesitant steps. “My name’s Audrey.”
“I know.”
She liked to relive that night, but she still couldn’t explain the animal heat that fired them, turned them into people they never were before.
They left the church together, not touching, but both talking, telling everything. She was lost in his voice, his face. His hand, like hers, was sweaty, but neither would let go. It wasn’t until several blocks out that she said, “My car is in the church parking lot.”
“I’ll walk you back,” he said. “I don’t live too far from here.”
She offered to drive him home, but once inside her convertible, they turned silent. She drove aimlessly. He turned on the car radio, but remained on the far side of the seat, close to the door. After a few miles, she pulled over and stopped.
“It’s closed,” he said.
“What?”
“The zoo.” He smiled, pointed out the window to a pair of stone pillars and an iron gate.
The streets were deserted, but there was a full moon that washed the landscape and left behind an eerie silence, interrupted only by the cries of the zoo’s nocturnal creatures. They sat for a long time, neither speaking.
She shivered. He reached out and drew her close to him. “Is that better?”
She couldn’t speak.
His fingers slid down her cheek, her neck; lips found her mouth. She unpinned her hair, let it cascade down to surround them in its softness. “Undo your dress, Audrey. I want to touch you.” Her hands shook as she tore loose the buttons of her blouse. The rest of their clothes melted away and they were left feverish and lost in each other’s arms.
Now, Audrey cried for that lost passion.
* * *
As the late afternoon sun dipped below the housetops, John Bradberry left the safety of the garden and returned to his study.
He paced back and forth, seeking relief from the pool of emotions that were usually kept under tight control. After several minutes, he sat down at his desk and began to write his Sunday sermon:
Make haste, O God, to deliver me; make haste to help me, O Lord.
How many times have we had those thoughts?
How many times have we surrendered our despair to God, then returned to Him again, and again, with more anguish?
Our quest is voiced in different words each time, but the meaning remains constant.
Help me, O Lord. Help me!
We would learn to be gentle, to love, to care for one another; then, we would begin to respect other creatures that share this planet; we would stop annihilating them, taking what they have, whether we truly need it or not.
The killing of fellow beings is wrong. And while we say we kill in order to survive, I say that is a lie.
Help us, O Lord. Help us!
If we are at the threshold of rebirth, why am I so fearful; why am I afraid of the future?
Are we not all basically good people? Are we not all God’s children?
Make haste, O God, to deliver me; make haste to help me.
O Lord, I look around me day-after-day, I see the wealthy
growing richer, while the poor are desperately poorer.
Why do we still have nations where people continue to die of starvation?
Are these people not our brothers and sisters?
O Lord, help me to understand.
Are we not all one in Your eyes? Are we not all individuals of infinite value in Your heart?
Help me to understand, O Lord!
We beseech Thee, O Lord: tell us why You have allowed us to kill one another in war after war ... the bombings, the holocausts—
John Bradberry threw his head back in despair, clamped a hand across his mouth to stifle a gathering scream.
Chapter 12
Nathan Sorkin wondered, as he had so many times over the years, what had prompted him to bring together the initial group of dissident, shit-kicking senior citizens under the banner of CORPS.
He no longer had time to visit his grandchildren, or even take a day off and go to the movies, something he and his wife had always loved to do. Maybe it was her death, the death of his beloved Dora, his loneliness.
But he wouldn’t kid himself. It wasn’t about her—it was about him. When he walked down the street, or listened to the news, or talked to friends, he heard it over and over, the basic lack of justice throughout the nation. Human beings were cruel to one another.
People over fifty? Well, that was the start of it, but it only became worse the older they got. It wasn’t only that they got screwed out of jobs. That was bad enough. But it was the lack of dignity, of basic respect, that was disappearing, never to return.
Nathan believed everyone, from the youngest to the oldest member of society, deserved to live with dignity. And that was it. Plain and simple.
He looked around the temporary CORPS offices. He’d hastily rented and thrown the place together to keep the organization viable. It was little more than a cluster of cramped rooms separated by paper-thin walls. He could hear the volunteers grumbling about having no equipment or supplies to work with, and he felt bad. No matter how hard he tried to block out their voices, they came through as if they were standing in the room next to him.
He was a born workaholic and he could usually function under any conditions, but today he was distracted not only by the buzz of the CORPS workers, but also by the void Myra left behind. All he could think about was Myra Jackson, dedicated worker, friend, and victim of the vicious explosion that had sent her limp, wounded body to the hospital.
His mind replayed the image of the brutal stake driven into her chest by the blast, of the blood pouring from her wounds, and of the wrenching scene as the EMTs loaded her motionless form into the ambulance.
He knew she would die, that he would never see or talk to her again. How could anyone live through that?
If only he could have been with her at the hospital, been there to offer words of comfort and encouragement. But he was told him only family was allowed in ICU.
Wasn’t he her family, too?
When Ted walked in and gave him a thumbs down, Nathan was pacing around his desk. He was relieved to have the distraction.
“I was really counting on you. You were supposed to talk your way into that bioethical committee meeting, even though my gut told me that wasn’t going to happen.”
“Sorry.”
“Did you at least ask the schmuck about sitting in?”
“Considering the warm welcome the ‘schmuck’ gave me, asking would have only given him another opportunity to verbally slap me around.”
“You’re disappointing me, Teddy.”
“Don’t give up yet. At least I know John Bradberry, one of the committee members. That gets me a foot in the door. Sometimes that’s all you need.”
“Good! Because we need to know exactly what’s going on in there.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“My sources were correct, then, they’re into end-of-life treatment changes?”
“Rudge never said yes, but I hit a raw nerve when I slapped him with selective euthanasia.
“So now we go to Plan B.”
“What’s that?”
Nathan stopped pacing, scratched his head, and said, “I’ll be damned if I know.”
* * *
Ted spent a couple of hours in the business library before going home, reading up on Hygea Corporation, Galen Hospital, and all the other healthcare operations under its corporate umbrella.
He was sitting in the breakfast alcove, his head buried in research material, when Mel came in from the supermarket. She gave him a perfunctory greeting and proceeded to put away the groceries.
“Cat got your tongue, Mel?” he asked, using one of her favorite expressions. “Haven’t seen you this quiet for a long time.”
“You were up pretty late last night, Theodore,” she said.
“Theodore? Well, I guess I was. I had a lot to read.”
“Until four a.m. or so.”
“Hell, why didn’t you say something if it was bothering you? You usually don’t mind.”
She ignored the question. “Did you forget we had a date for nine holes at McInnis today?”
“Oh, no!” He looked at her across the top of his half-frames. “I did forget…obviously. I owe you a rematch.”
“Where were you?”
“I got involved with a CORPS project.”
“Up to your old tricks again, huh?” They stared at each other, Mel biting her lower lip, her back against the kitchen counter. She looked down at him.
“What tricks?” A pinched whiteness circled her lips; her eyes were dark and angry. “What tricks?” he repeated.
“The Crusades.”
“You know how I hate when you say that. Every time my work interferes with something we were going to do, you hit me with that same put down. I don’t like it, and I don’t think I deserve it. This is something that has to get done. It’s important, not just to me, but for the whole damn country. It looks like there’s a nasty conspiracy at work here, some kind of cover-up.”
“When hasn’t it been important?” she said.
“What do you mean?”
She turned away, faced the kitchen cabinets, and started to put away the rest of the groceries. “Why can’t it be light and fun for us, or just plain frivolous sometimes?”
He put down a sheaf of papers. “You’re really pissed, aren’t you?” He got up and went to her, turned her around to face him. He tried to hold her but she moved out of his reach.
“Damn it, Ted, we’ve been married forty-three years. That’s a long time by anyone’s standards. But we’ve spent precious little of that time enjoying the world together or even something as simple as a round of golf.”
“Hey, that’s not true.” This time he grabbed her and swung her around in a circle. “We’ve had plenty of good times.”
“All I remember is reading books and magazines and watching a lot of television. Alone.”
He was silent as she moved away from him along the edge of the counter. She stood there, staring long and hard at him.
“This was supposed to be our time,” she screamed. “Our time!”
The words hit him like bullets.
“Don’t look at me like a wounded lion.” She took a ragged breath. “When you retired, we were
going to be together. To find each other again. Go to all those places you talked about. Places I never got to see.” She leveled a finger at him. “You promised me, Ted Yost. You promised me.”
He felt himself slipping away. He couldn’t get back to her. She seemed so far away. “I know I promised,” he said softly, “but this CORPS thing came up. It’s important.”
“And I’m not?”
“Why are you doing this? “He sat down again, looked at her? “Are you trying to say you don’t love me anymore?”
Her mouth dropped, her eyes opened wide. “Not love you?”
“That’s what I said.”
She looked at him with wide eyes. “I know you’re not stupid, so you must be blind as a bat.” Her hands rested firmly on her hips and she thrust her jaw out. “Have you ever stopped to think about what it’s been like being married to you?”
Ted blinked and shrugged.
“Well let me tell you. You had to go to Viet Nam right after our honeymoon so you could write about that war.”
“You know I—”
“What I know, is that you left me alone,” she said.
“Mel—”
“When you came home, I got pregnant. When our first-born was delivered, no Ted Yost; you had to be in Algeria to record another French defeat.”
“Mel, I wish—”
“No, Ted, it’s I who wish; wish you’d been here, with me.”
Warming to the subject, she paraded back and forth across the room, glaring at him.
“Oh, yes,” she continued, “then there were the Mau Maus in Africa. After all, you were already in the neighborhood, so why not drop in and cover that? Home would still be there when you got around to it.”
“It’s what I did,” he said.
“What you did was stay away as much as possible,” she shouted.
“Someone had to report the truth about what was happening.”
“Oh, yes. The truth! Who said it always had to be your truth?”
He started to speak, but she waved away his protest. “It was my fault, too. I remember when you finally came back from the jungles, the deserts—all my resolve about not having any more children melted away. You were alive, and I swore to myself that was all that mattered. So we had a second son, and I’ll be damned if you weren’t back in Algeria when he was born.”
The Killing Vote Page 7