“I doubt it,” Anna said.
“I’m sure of it,” Raj said. “Now for you—I’m sure that you’re still working, Savanah. TV or movies?”
“I’m between pictures.”
“Oh, oh!”
She shook her head. “It’s a bad season for actresses over the age of 18. You know; it’s like I have been cast in roles for 18 year olds for the last number of decades. So I need some scripts to read that have a good role for a motherly type and maybe I’ll find one or someone will find one for me—a new script—a good one in 2002.”
Chris changed the subject away from the individual and away from the subject of age with Chris favoring the subject of the world. “Let me bring this dismal outpouring to a valid celebration. We have all weathered the storm—the biggest storm being what we lived through during September the 11th.
In less than it took for even one month to pass—by October the 7th Bush—President Bush sent U.S. troops including our Special Forces to Afghanistan and along with us, our coalition of the Northern Alliance of Afghanistan and a number of allies—Afghanistan was ridded of the Taliban Government. Not bad. They ran away. They’re out of their capital city; Kabul. They’re hiding in caves. Isn’t that worthy of a toast? No question; they’re still around but they’re out of territory.”
The dinner table became three people nodding. Raj and Chris raised their wine glasses. Anna half-way raised her glass of orange juice and carefully transferred its contents into the empty wine glass that had rested near her plate. The three of them clinked their glasses and Chris softly said, “To our ultimate and total victory.”
“Here! Here!” Raj said loudly. “Isn’t that what you folks say? That’s what the Brits always said in India! Here! Here!”
Anna nodded. “It’s what we say not as often as the Brits, but we say it too. Here, here!”
When they finished with their wine and orange juice toasting, Christopher said, “Not even two years ago, in 1999 there was an event in D.C. It was a dinner with the event marking the end of the 20th Century hosted by a number of prominent speakers who were asked to give predictions of what lay ahead for the nation in the coming century. That was common practice in 1999 at a lot of events. Almost every magazine, every newspaper, in every public discussion there were those predicting what would happen in the century ahead. Ambassador Frank Shakespeare was there. You know who he is?”
Raj nodded. “Yes. Reagan appointed him to be Ambassador to the Vatican. I know who he is.”
At the mention of the Vatican Anna perked up and paid avid attention.
Chris continued. “Ambassador Frank Shakespeare was asked what lay ahead. I’m paraphrasing but he shook his head and said, ‘I have no prediction. I have no prediction because if the most brilliant minds in the world were gathered together in 1899 to predict what would happen in the coming 20th Century, none of them would have predicted—not one—that in the century ahead the British Empire of some 62 colonies would be willingly reduced to nothing but a few islands, and the most powerful nation in the world would become the United States of America. And there would be three world wars, the third lasting over four decades stemming from communism during which the United States would land men on the moon.’ And so Ambassador Frank Shakespeare said ‘None of the 1899 speakers would have predicted correctly.’ Ambassador Frank Shakespeare ended his speech, ‘No. I will make no predictions.’”
Chris continued to Anna and Raj, “And now not even two years have passed in this century and I can safely say that Ambassador Shakespeare gave the most intelligent comment of all. None of those who gave predictions said a word about the coming horror of 9-11 or anything like it, and what will come from it, and there are still some 98 years to go in this century.”
There was a long silence and then Raj said to Chris, “You called the war against communism World War Three again.”
“That is attentive of you to notice, Raj. Yes. I did because it is misnamed the Cold War, a title given to it very early in its initial phases written between 1945 and 1947 prior to knowing what history of that war lay ahead in the forty-some years. It was named the ‘Cold War’ by the author, George Orwell and by an Advisor to U.S. Presidents, Bernard Baruch and by Walter Lippman who was a well-known newspaper columnist. As that war went on and on it was not very ‘cold’ for all those to be killed in it in military engagements: Europeans, Asians, Africans, South Americans, Central Americans, and North Americans including some 92,000 members of the U.S. military being killed through engagements in the Korean and the Vietnam theaters which were two major chapters in what was surely the Third World War. Add to that the 65 million Chinese estimated to have been killed by their own leader, Mao Tse-tung in the People’s Republic of China and some estimated 60 million Russians by their own leader, Joseph Stalin of the Soviet Union. Not very cold for all those during decades of what is still mistakenly called the Cold War.”
Savannah and Raj who knew him so well were impressed with Chris’ emotional history that poured out of him. Not to be outdone, Raj made a major addition. “And another part of it was the Kashmir war waged against India by the People’s Republic of China with its ally, Pakistan.”
Chris nodded. “Good point.”
“My friend,” Raj said, “I see what you mean about this current war—this war against terrorists being World War IV.”
Savannah nodded to Chris. “Honey, you’re generally so quiet and that was rather unexpected.”
Chris bit his lip and then offered, “I know. I am generally a lot more like Ashley Wilkes: a quiet cool guy.”
“Who?” Raj asked.
Rather than giving the floor to Chris, movies were Savannah’s education and partial career and she preferred to answer with “Ashley Wilkes was a fictional character in the book, Gone with the Wind, and then in the movie that character was played by Leslie Howard who you probably never heard of him, unless the movie played in India.”
Raj nodded. “I saw it.” Of course, as always it was still not easy to be able to tell if Raj was telling the truth or telling a lie because he was so well known as generally preferring to lie without any reason.
“Look,” Chris was almost apologetic. “The reason I know all this business about the Cold War being World War Three is because Sputnik One was a baby in that war—the Soviet’s baby and that was the first satellite made by any nation, and it was launched by the Soviet’s ICBM as a booster, and so the whole space exploration pursuit became a large part of that war.”
When his sentence was finished a middle-aged man came over to the table and stood there looking tremendously interested in those sitting there. It certainly appeared as though he wanted to meet either Savannah or Raj since both had been such well known figures. Not at all. His interest was Chris. “Professor Straw?”
Chris perked up his head and his interest. “Yes, sir. I’m not a full-blown professor. An adjunct professor. Not a real one.”
“Doug Morrison here. You were my professor in the class of Summer ‘63! I enlisted into the Air Force because of you! I wanted to be a part of winning in Vietnam and at the same time get the experience to be able to become involved in space exploration! You did that for me!”
“My Heavens! Of course, Doug. Good to see you, Man!” Savannah gave a wide smile. “God Speed, Christopher Straw and God Speed to you, Doug Morrison!”
Chris again had to do it: “You know who these two people are, Doug?”
The stranger squinted as he studied their faces. “No, Professor. I’m sorry M’am—and Sir! Should I know you?”
Chris nodded. “She’s Savannah Lane—a movie star and a TV star and a Broadway star and he’s Raj Bhavnani from India who is on radio world-wide and he is a world-famous dancer and soldier.”
The man looked amazed. “That’s wonderful! I’m sorry. Of course I knew right away who both of you are. Just wonderful! What a stroke of luck this is! I’m sorry I was so rude. I was so struck by my old Professor who influenced me as much as he did,” a
nd he looked from side to side and stopped his gaze at Raj. “You were that guy from India who became so big in this country” and he shifted his eyes from Raj to Savannah; “and you Miss Lane—television!” Then he looked directly at Chris again. “Professor, do you still work for NASA and Astronautics?”
Chris shook his head, “No. I hope to still be involved in space—the New Frontier as it was called when I joined the ranks. I’m not going to let them get rid of me from space exploration.”
“Missiles, too? ICBM’s? Defense? And the college? For S.D.S.U.?”
“No. The demonstrators; the Anti-Vietnam protestors kicked out a lot of courses from campus.”
“That’s our loss. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for so many things these days. Professor, I ask that about missiles and defense because I believe that 9-11 changed our country forever and the threat of jihadists will never go away.”
“Doug, I’m not with you on that. We should never accept the belief that ‘9-11 has changed America forever.’ It better not. If 9-11 changes our nation forever by Americans learning to live for all time with caution; with metal detectors at entrances and concrete blockades in front of buildings and the search of pockets and purses and being patted down and explosive sniffing dogs and other anti-terrorist measures, then we’ll be living with terrorism rather than defeating it. Then the war will not have been won but at best, a status quo will have been accepted. To win, which is what we have to do—we mustn’t change America forever. The next generation must feel invited into federal buildings—welcomed into them—not having to go through an anguish of entrance. The next generation should know the joy of travel by air, not an ordeal of airports. The next generation should have a future even better than our past, when the towers were still there. That, I believe, has to be our objective: not accepting temporary measures and rejecting permanent ones. It has to be permanent or our lust for liberty won’t be permanent. It must be permanent.”
Raj felt obliged to enter the conversation and asked Chris, “You think it will really happen? That we’ll win—really win—win over the terrorists that we have today?”
“Yes. I do. And you will see that and so will I. We will see the day—we better see the day—when there will be a September 11 when school children will be in their classrooms, stumbling over the words ‘Al Qaeda’ and ‘Islamic Jihad’ and ‘Hezbollah’ and ‘Hamas’ and ‘al Aqsa Martyrs Brigades’ and “Boko Haram” and ‘Al Shabaab’ and the children will likely spell them wrong, and that’s okay—that’s just fine because those names won’t have relevance for them. Just history. Just history that bores them because we will have long-since won, having attained total and absolute and unconditional victory. Let the kids be bored—please!”
“Brav-o!” someone yelled from a near-by table while all the others at near-by tables seemed to be silent as they, too, were listening in. “And I salute your guests, Savannah Lane and Raj Bhavanani! What a table to be near ours!”
There were smiles and “thank you’s,” but then there was someone else, a very young man at a more distant but still fairly near-by table directing a remark at Chris: “You’re nuts, goof-ball!” He was with a very young woman who laughed.
Chris couldn’t resist. “My friend,” he said to that stranger who obviously was not a friend, “Listen to this: Just months ago, a movie actress made a television spot against our military intervention in Iraq and she looked at the camera—you know—she looked at the audience and asked, ‘What did Saddam Hussein ever do to us?’”
“Good for her!” the young non-friend answered. “She’s right!”
“Let me finish. Really? Do you think she has a valid point? If you and a number of your friends were walking on a night-street and saw some stranger being accosted, you would have three options, and which one would you take? You and your friends could try to save the victim. Or if you felt you didn’t have the physical capabilities to enter the fight, you could call the police for help. Or you could take the actress’ option—walk away and say ‘What did the assailant ever do to us?’ Good luck, my friend, if someone attacks your wife or mother or girlfriend—by anyone at all who has your philosophy.”
There was another yell from the first person who had intervened on the conversation. “Bravo again! You are right! And I salute your guests for being with you! So Bravo tis-i-mo’, Mr. Straw!”
Raj looked confused and with a soft whisper so Chris would not hear, he asked Savannah, “What does that mean?”
“Bravo tis-i-mo’?” she asked back in a whisper. “Yes,” he said continuing the whispering session. “It means a lot of Bravos!” she nodded as she whispered. Raj leaned toward Chris and ended the whispering session entirely by talking noticeably loud, “Chris?”
“Yes, Raj.”
“You have tis-i-mo’. You know what I mean?”
“I think I do.”
“That is a Hindi expression meaning courage!” Raj lied as normal.
“I know,” Chris abnormally lied back.
Raj was turned on and said to Chris and Anna, “The three of us have been made for the 20th Century. I am not pleased with this new century and this new millennium in which we find ourselves without our permission.”
Anna nodded. “You won’t find any argument here.”
Raj couldn’t stop. “I know what could have been a remedy: Almost everyone now living does not know how to address a century like this one because we are used to saying ‘19’ before any other numerals in the name of a century. It is not in our nature to say ‘20.’ Therefore I believe we should have done the following when the year changed from 1999 to 2000: We should have called the new year 1999-A. And then the next year, which we so foolishly went along with most people by calling it 2001—we should have called it 1999-B. And so on. Yes, yes. It is what we should have done.”
Both Chris and Anna were laughing and attempting to put on serious expressions. Anna said, “I think you have gone nuts, Mr. Bhavnani. Are you serious?”
“Yes, yes. I have gone nuts. You guessed right. What do you think, Chris?”
“What do we do when we get all the way to 1999-Z?” Chris asked. “Then do we go to 2000?”
“No! My entire plan is to retain the ‘19’ preface to the number. After the year 1999-Z we go to 1999-Z2. Understand? We can now go on forever that way with 1999-Z3, then 4 then 5, and forever! None of the unborn ever need to learn anything other than that saying ‘19’ when starting to talk about a year refers to either the last century or the current century or any next century—always. That’s the end of my explanation. Now let’s put this behind us and let’s talk about kids and men and women and what the new millennium is doing to them. And it’s not very good.
“The new generation has no bad words saved for an emergency. The kids use all the bad words during good times for any purpose at all. They should have saved some. They don’t know what words they’ll be missing when they really need them.
“In addition to the words used by the Millennials, there are the beliefs of the Millennium’s young women. They have joined the ranks of popularity by demanding that men treat women with equality. And the Millennial women will continue to demand being treated with equality until they are treated with equality. The nation was so much better when they were treated with superiority.”
Now there appeared to be a near-riot from a number of tables, some in total “booing” coming from those who did not find him funny and those who yelled “Bravo tis-i-mo’!” from those who supported him.
Anna laughed the loudest of all and she repeated “Bravo tis-i-mo’!”
The most argumentative of all close-by strangers yelled back, “You’re all tis-ee-nuts, Goof-balls!” And he suddenly turned on his brand new i-Phone to something that sounded like garbage can lids being clanked.
He probably didn’t recognize Anna’s and Raj’s once publically well-known talents, although that was a factor of no importance by that table of opposition. It was a factor of tremendous importance to Raj who was
already figuring out what he could do about the scene that had developed. Of course calling the management would have been the right thing to do but that was not in Raj’s quickly developing list of things that could be done. Instead of calling the management, he would be the management.
Raj, after all his thinking, had no hesitancy to become Raj. He stood up and walked to their table and talked in a threatening tone as he was freshly inspired by Chris’ remarks to some of the restaurant’s younger guests: “Hey, Dumbo’s! Turn that noise off! I am Raj Bhavnani, born in India and now the owner of Shelter Island and frequent writer for the San Diego Union-Tribune and also Honorary Chief of Police of San Diego.” It was an unusual combination of careers and talents and honors that he gathered in just a few seconds. “I am not going to try and get down to the level of your mold-caked feet. Instead, listen to me, Dumb-o’s! Turn that deafening noise off! You idiots who don’t care about nobility or romance, turn it off for good or I’ll take it away and throw it out! And turn your mouths off while you’re at it and get your corrupted brains out of here! You call that tin-banging clatter ‘music’? Don’t you know what a love song is? You ever heard one? You jerks have become a generation without a melody! Where are your composers? Where are your Gershwins and Kerns and Cole Porters and Richard Rogers that can compose? That’s music! Don’t call that junk that you play ‘music’. It isn’t. In fact, did any of what you call ‘songs’ have composers? And where’s your singers; not screamers? Where’s your Frank Sinatra and Perry Como and Frances Langford and Theresa Brewer? Can you sing that stuff you call ‘music’? Whistle it? Hum it? I guess it doesn’t take much to remember the lyrics. Were any of those who are writing words to songs think they’re lyricists? Does any of that junk have lyricists at all? Or do those who call themselves lyricists just find two words that rhyme and repeat them enough times to drive any sane person crazy? That pile of smell has no resemblance to music from any culture or time around the world—least of all from America! Or India! You Fools! Now, knock it off or I’ll phone Sergeant Big Bart Bigelow and ask him—no, not ask him but I’ll tell him to come here and to arrest you and your rancid foul brains for disturbing the peace! Get it?”
Raising the Baton Page 26