by John Dalmas
***
Radio, television, newspapers, all covered the situation closely and soberly. The president had been shot twice. One bullet had struck his raised left arm, fracturing the humerus but not touching the brachial artery, and one had struck his chest, penetrating an intercostal space; punctured the pleura and the left lung; broke a rib in back; then broke and holed the scapula, emerging much flattened. The most serious danger had been death from profound shock.
Two other people had been shot: Major James Jackson, Army Medical Corps, and a Secret Service man, Agent Wayne Trabert. Neither wound was critical, but Major Jackson's face would require reconstructive surgery; the bullet had had a hollow point.
There had been just one assailant. He'd carried press credentials and a Walther PPK 7.65 mm pistol whose seven-round clip he'd emptied in less than two seconds. A television camera woman had struck his arm upward in mid-burst, otherwise more people would have been hit. She'd also sunk her teeth into his jaw and hung on. Then a Secret Service man had slammed into them, bearing them to the pavement, where he covered the assailant with his body while others closed around them to keep people from killing the gunman.
The assailant's name was Crainey Branard. He was a TV newsman from Tulsa, Oklahoma, and a convert of the Stalwart in God Church of the Apocalypse. President Haugen, he said, was endangering the day of judgment, and the millenium during which Christ, after wars and terrible plagues, earthquakes, and meteor falls, was to rule on Earth for a thousand years.
The founder and head of the Church, Reverend Delbert Coombs, would appear on television that night to lead his five million followers in mass prayer for the president's recovery. To the network news team that interviewed him in his Cincinnati office, the reverend stated his belief that President Haugen would be one of those saved by the Lamb of God on Judgment Day. When asked what he thought the Lamb would do about the gunman, he said simply that he hoped people would pray for Branard too.
Branard, though he may have been insane, had done a very respectable job of planning and execution, even to having bought a Finnish pronouncing phrasebook and a Finnish-English pocket dictionary, and practicing a greeting to stop the president for a moment between hotel and limousine.
By midafternoon, the president, awake but sedated, was allowed a short visit by his wife. Afterward, when she left the hospital with General Cromwell, the television cameras showed her serene and confident, despite her unaccustomed thinness.
FIFTY-TWO
Over the next two days, the sedated president drifted in and out of consciousness. But even when conscious, he was mostly only vaguely aware of the comings and goings of hospital personnel, the ever-present nurse, and the Secret Service man who sat by the window, jacket open, shoulder-holster bared. Haugen knew that Lois had been there off and on, and Liisa unless he'd dreamed it.
On the third day, sedation was reduced, and he was considerably more alert. Lois visited him briefly, and somewhat later, Liisa. Her mother, Liisa told him, was visiting other patients.
"You've got mail, daddy," she said, and showed him an envelope. "It's from 'Stenhus, Littlefork Minnesota, 56653.' "
It had already been opened by his letter office staff, which handled the thousands of items received for him daily. This one they'd recognized as one he should see. Removing the clip they'd closed it with, Liisa drew out a much folded sheet of ruled tablet paper. "Can you hold it?" she asked.
"You'll have to read it," he said. "I don't know where my glasses are."
She held it up and began.
***
Dear Haugen,
Well, you done it that time, forgot to duck. Like in that fight you had with Martin Kjemprud and he broke your nose. I thought you were going to kill him that time. It is the only time I ever seen you get really mad. There is some people around here that are worried you are going to die. They don't remember you as good as I do. I told them sure he's going to die. Someday. But he is too goddamn tough and mean to give that Brainerd sonofabitch the satisfaction of killing him.
They said the country can't get along without you. I told them if it can't get along without Haugen, then to hell with it. What the hell more does he owe it any way.
Up at the falls they are making those little size generators you invented, like the size for places like here at Littlefork. So we got one here. The electricity is just the same as it always was (ha ha) but the bills aren't so big anymore. A lot of people had quit getting electricity but now they got it back again. I heard they even got one ordered down at Effie. I don't know what the hell they are going to pay for it with in Effie. When they get one at Craig, I guess they will be every where then.
This is just about the coldest winter any one ever seen around here. Up on Kabetogama (spelling?) the ice is way to thick for a 5-foot augur, they got to break out about another 8 or 10 inches out of the bottom with a spud and you better have a long spud. People are ice fishing anyhow, because times are still hard but they are better than they were. It is only about 4 foot thick on the river because the current keeps wearing it away you know.
The snow ain't very deep though, not much above my knees. About up to the ass on a squatty little guy like you. It come early. Then it got to cold to snow.
People around here been doing better than in the cities I guess. They been outlawing deer and moose to eat when they got gas to get out of town, and I ain't heard about nobody getting arrested for it either. I think the cold going to kill off a lot of the deer any way before spring. Charley Stuvland said they ate a wolf at his place to see what it taste like and it was tough and dry.
That is all I got to write about. You get healed up fast and come up here, but not before spring. It's going to be the middle of May before the ice is off the lakes if then. Then we'll see how good the muskies come through the winter.
Your old friend
Vern
***
"That's a pretty nice letter, daddy," Liisa said. Somehow it had touched her deeply; she wasn't sure why.
Arne Haugen chuckled faintly. "Yes, it is."
"I'd better go now, though. The nurse told me not to stay more than a few minutes. You need lots of rest. I'll be back later."
When she'd gone, the president closed his eyes. But he didn't go to sleep immediately. He was thinking about something Stenhus had written: Some people said the country couldn't get along without him. And Vern said if it couldn't, then to hell with it.
Vern was right, but he couldn't know how good it had been—how much he'd enjoyed it. He'd never really looked at that himself till now.
***
Lois Haugen looked into the small room on the maternity hall. The girl inside was black, round-faced, and perhaps, Lois thought, fifteen years old. She stepped in.
"Hello," Lois said. "You don't seem to have any visitors; is it all right for me to come in?"
The girl didn't respond for a long moment, her eyes suspicious of this stranger; finally she nodded. Lois went to a chair by the bed and sat down. From there she could see plastic tubes coming from beneath the sheet.
"Did you have a baby?" she asked.
Again the delayed nod, curt this time.
Somehow Lois didn't ask about the child. Instead she said, "How do you feel now?"
The gaze remained suspicious, the lips silent.
"Maybe you'd rather be alone. Shall I go?"
"You can stay." After a moment the girl put a hand lightly on her abdomen. "I had a caesarean."
"Ah. I had one of mine that way."
"Mine died."
This time it was Lois who lagged. "I'm sorry," she answered simply.
"It's probably better this way." The girl shifted beneath the sheets. "My father lost his job last summer, and all he's got now is the PWA. He was really mad when I got pregnant, but we're Catholic, so..."
She sized her visitor up, the years, the ring finger, the expensive business suit that fitted too loosely, as if she'd lost weight. But the woman carried no religious tracts and didn't
seem critical, and the girl had tired of morning television; she went on. "The baby started comin' last evening, all of a sudden, and the paramedics brought me here. The nurse says I nearly died."
Again she looked Lois Haugen over. "What are you in the hospital about?"
"My husband's here. But he's sleeping just now, so I thought I'd walk around and see who might want someone to talk to."
"What's he in here for?"
"A man shot him. Twice."
The interest strengthened, the eyes sharp now. After a moment the girl spoke again. "You're the president's wife, aren't you? Mrs. Haugen."
"Why yes, I am."
The girl's sudden laugh was cut short by pain. After it had passed, she said, "My brother Trevor's not goin' to believe this! He got in a fight last week—sort of a fight—with my boy friend about President Haugen. Trevor was in one those internment camps, after the street fighting, and after that he worked in a CC camp, down in Alabama. He said your husband kept the country from burnin' up and everybody starving. Then Caddy said the president's just another Whitey, and with times so hard, the country might as well burn up. So Trevor hit him." The girl grinned at the memory. "Knocked Caddy flat on his ass. Caddy didn't say anything, just got up and walked out. He's scared of Trevor."
She pointed at the television that looked down on her from high on the wall. "I watched the news this mornin'. It showed Vice President Valenzuela. Do you know him?"
"Oh yes. We had supper together last night."
"Why did President Haugen make a black man vice president?"
"Mr. Valenzuela has a lot of wisdom, and knows a lot about government. And the world. And Arne—my husband—says he's a highly ethical man. He'll be the next president."
Again the eyes studied the first lady. "Trevor said President Haugen was born and grew up in a log cabin. Was someone lyin' to him?"
"It was made of logs all right; I've been there. But I'm not sure whether you could call it a cabin. It had four small rooms, a kitchen, and an attic. The children slept in the attic. They heated the house with a stove made from a steel barrel, and they burned wood in it. The toilet was outside, behind the house, and they pumped water from an outdoor well. When he was little, they still hauled their water from the river with a horse."
The young eyes were shrewd, and curiosity had grown to interest. "How did he get rich then?"
"Well—He's a very intelligent man to start with, and after he got out of the army, he went to college. And—he's got the gift of being able to invent new things that people want."
"What did he invent?"
"The most important thing is a new kind of generator to make electricity. In the towns that have them, electricity is cheaper than it used to be. And he..."
A nurse came in while Lois was talking, closing the door behind her. "Excuse me, Mrs. Haugen," she said. "Feleen, I have to get you ready for the doctor to examine. He wants to see if you're ready to move to a ward, where there are other young women."
Lois Haugen got up. "I'll go now, Feleen," she said. "Thank you for talking with me."
"That's all right." The girl grinned. "People aren't goin' to believe me when I tell them the president's wife came in to see me."
Then the nurse pulled down the sheet, and Lois left.
The employment figures had been climbing, but things were still awfully hard for millions of families. Yet it seemed from the surveys that morale was good, and that Arne had been important to that, even crucial. Now this young girl, with the story about her brother, had made it real to her.
If Arne wants to stay on in the White House, she told herself, I won't say a peep against it.
***
As a White House resident, Father Stephen Joseph Flynn was entitled to eat there, and mostly he took his meals with the domestic staff, who also ate there. But today he felt like eating alone, so a cook made him a roast beef sandwich and Father Flynn took it to his room. There he poured hot water from his electric pot onto a tea bag, turned on his small TV, and settled down to watch the twelve o'clock news.
He ate slowly, absently, while watching. The American Federation of Teachers had officially expressed its expected mixed reaction to the Haugen Education Reform Act. They were unhappy about the limited tenure provision, their spokeswoman said, but pleased at provisions that would remove chronic trouble-makers from classrooms, and with decreased administrative dictation to teachers.
The Reverend Ferris Bradwick of the Christian Reform Convention was generally pleased, but disappointed that it had not provided tax deductions for tuitions paid to church-operated schools, or addressed the issue of legalizing prayer in the public schools.
A class-action suit had been filed for a woman in Providence, Rhode Island, to strike down what her lawyer termed "the unconstitutional provision for segregation of students who exercised their freedom of speech in the classroom; and their forceable inclusion in 'penal classes.' " He'd requested an injunction to stop it until the courts had an opportunity to strike down the law.
Attorney General Cavanaugh said the provision referred to called for the removal of disruptive students from regular classrooms, and authorized their assignment to corrective groups if they continued to be disruptive. He doubted that an injunction could be obtained, and if one was, he anticipated that it would be struck down by a higher court.
The anchorwoman then pointed out that, with the present makeup of the Supreme Court, it seemed doubtful indeed that the suit would succeed, or that any such injunction would be allowed to stand. She also commented that, as a mother of two junior high school students, she was pleased with the law.
The priest finished his roast beef sandwich and his tea, washed his plate and cup and put them away, then got ready to go to the hospital. He decided to walk this time. It was less than a mile, the weather was nice, and the exercise would be good for him. He hadn't used the pool lately—didn't feel quite right about using it in the president's absence.
Flynn didn't suppose Arne was watching newscasts yet. Perhaps he'd give him a rundown, if it seemed he might like one. After all, most of the news was good.
FIFTY-THREE
Arne Haugen recovered faster than expected. In a week he walked around in his room, with the doctor's permission and an orderly's support. Two evenings later he walked, unsupported, with Lois to the TV lounge at the end of the hall, to watch Dustin Hoffman as Oberst Markus Dietermann, in The Sweet Breeze of Spring.
Lois was with him a lot. The hospital had given her a room diere, and they talked a good deal. Stephen Flynn had made it three-cornered a few times.
Two days later, Acting President Rudolfo Valenzuela came to see the president, at the president's request. They borrowed an empty room, one that could hardly have been bugged—there'd been no chance to. Two Secret Service men requisitioned a pair of upholstered chairs for them from the staff lounge, and hustled them down the hall, arriving just ahead of the president and his stand-in.
"So you like the job," said Haugen when the bodyguards had left the room.
Valenzuela's chuckle was a resonant bass rumble. "Under the circumstances I do. I can imagine it becoming quite different when things are more strongly political again. But that could be very enjoyable too, very stimulating."
The president nodded, then seemed to change direction. "I wonder if anyone ever saw a winter as wild as this one before," he said thoughtfully. "A fall and winter. Politically, economically, meteorologically ... seismologically. There's hardly anything in America that hasn't been turned on its ear."
For several minutes, Arne Haugen kept the conversation casual, and Valenzuela wondered why. Maybe he was letting his subconscious prepare. The president had wanted him here today, this afternoon, had wanted a secure room to talk in, but what he was talking about could have been said in front of anyone. Whatever the point was, and Valenzuela suspected what it might be, the president was in no hurry to get to it.
After a few minutes, Haugen changed directions again. "How do you like
living in the White House?" he asked.
"Quite well. Although we don't feel we're really living there. We're camping, in the Lincoln Suite. It's a bit like living in a museum; it took a day or two before we felt comfortable about sitting on the furniture." Valenzuela grinned. "Milstead suggested either the Queen's or the Lincoln Suite. Manuella was attracted by the Queen's"—again the chuckle—"but I, for some reason, preferred the Lincoln."
"How have you gotten along with Grosberg and Kreiner, and Lynch and Powell? Or haven't you had much to do with them yet?"
"They briefed me on current Congressional affairs, early on. I hadn't realized how legislatively active they are on the hill these days. Your legislative bombshells have gotten all the attention. Since then I've met with them twice, briefly, and so far we've gotten along very well."
"What's the latest from Zurich?" Haugen asked.
"Progress is reasonable. Encouraging. We've had no real barriers thrown in front of us. Hal Katsaros is in charge; he's acting secretary again."
The president nodded. "And the new court system; how's it going?"
"The bugs and snarls are less now. Mr. Cavanaugh assures me there are no problems which actually threaten the judicial processes. In fact, he said it's probably running as smoothly now as a year ago, and with better results.
"I've also talked with Chief Justice Liederman, and it is his opinion that it will engender similar reforms in almost all the individual states within the next two years. You are probably aware that last Friday, North Carolina became the seventh to do so, and very similar reforms are already pending in eleven more, including two of the three largest, California and Texas."