by Scott Simon
Sunny waited for Arty to turn back and press the back of his hand to the corner of his eyes.
“One of you men or women will be the next mayor of Chicago,” said Sunny. He paused while each alderman seemed to skip a breath.
Sunny's assessment flattered them. He thought he could see Vera, Linas, and even Arty button smiles—they knew that his utterance was preposterous. The city council would never elect Daryl Lloyd mayor. But Sunny hoped Daryl might feel so exalted about being called to the fifth floor, his resentment of Vera would be dampened for a ballot. Rod Abboud was only slightly more plausible: another Chicago fire would have to flash through the chamber and boil most aldermen for Rod to be elected. But Rod would have heard about any confidential get-together (Linas or Arty would have told him on the way up, saying, “Can you believe they didn't invite you, Marad?”) Rod would begrudge Sunny for leaving him out and then vent his disgruntlement against Vera. So Sunny invited him.
Don, Kiera, Astrid, and Wandy had been called because they might have to take over the chair for Sunny, depending on whether he wanted a stern courtroom bailiff, a spry legal scholar, a warm-breasted mother, or an encouraging coach. Sunny wanted to reward them with a sensation of importance. So little in politics takes place behind the scenes anymore. The process was now so indomitably open. A man or woman could anonymously donate a new wing of the Art Institute, troll for kiddie porn, or finance a terror network. But give a hundred dollars to a campaign, and his name was on lists and blogs (when Sunny heard activists complain about power brokers in smoke-filled rooms ignoring the will of the people, Sunny recalled all the times he had spent sucking sugarless mints in no-smoking meeting rooms, cringing about polling data and focus groups). So when Sunny saw a chance to give a few friends a sensation of being behind the scenes, he took it.
Sunny had invited Evelyn because he still hoped she might come over to Vera if she needed a last vote. Jacobo was there because he sat near Sunny in the council, and he didn't want to kindle some long, slow resentment that would smolder in Jaco's gaze when they saw each other at the Japanese American Citizens League dinner, or the Freedom Seder at Temple Sholom.
And Sunny had asked John Wu so that he could tell his niece and her new husband that he had stood right there in that huge, walnut chamber, where Sunny told him that he could be the next mayor of Chicago.
“I have been on the phone with Chief Martinez,” Sunny continued. “Two arrests have been made in connection with the death of the mayor.”
The aldermen sucked in breath and stayed on their feet with insistent quiet.
“They will withhold an announcement until the chief is satisfied that all of the perpetrators they have identified are in custody,” said Sunny.
Sunny took a few steps toward Vera and Evelyn as he spoke, then moved slowly toward Wandy and Kiera, keeping his hands in his trouser pockets, and his head pitched down so that he had to lift his eyes to meet those of the aldermen.
“I have also told the chief not to delay his announcement until we have elected a new mayor. The people of Chicago deserve to hear of these arrests as soon as they can be revealed. If this means that the cameras will have to cut away from our session when you, Linas, are in full oratorical flight—”
Snorts erupted from the aldermen, like a dozen pop bottles fizzing open. Sunny knew that it was not much of a joke; they were desperate to laugh.
“That's why they have instant replays, lordship,” said Linas.
“Does anyone have another view?” asked Sunny softly. “We have a few minutes.”
Daryl Lloyd and Rod Abboud seemed to fidget, Rod smoothing the dots in his tie, Daryl folding his unbandaged arm over his chest and the lemon and chocolate leopard spots of his dashiki.
“Nothing,” Daryl said finally, and Sunny paused.
“Fine,” Rod added.
“It may soon be your opportunity—your responsibility—to make a different choice,” said Sunny. “I've learned over the last three days that you can see things differently from here,” and as he spoke Sunny crossed over to the windows and looked out on the crowds that now lined LaSalle Street, clapping gloved hands. Their chants and songs sent wisps and clouds above their snow-capped heads and braying placards.
“You have to decide big things in a great hurry, without knowing everything. Then hope it looks right to people who can study it for thirty years.”
Sunny stepped back from the windows and smiled at the aldermen.
“Okay, I want a good, clean election now. Nothing below the belt. Shake hands and come out not fighting.”
As they filed out, Sunny put his hand lightly on Jacobo Sefran's elbow.
“Jack, the Reverend Jackson is stuck on a runway in New York,” he explained. “Snow over the Alleghenies. Could you give the invocation this morning? It's last-second, but …
Alderman Sefran drew back, grabbing Sunny's arm.
“Me sub for the greatest speaker in America? At the last second? Natalie Portman could be watching.”
“I wouldn't ask, Jack, but—”
“I've got a couple of things that might do,” he said, touching the back of his head to feel for his black woolen yarmulke. “I'll try.”
Sunny felt his phone tremble in his pocket, and took it out in time to see the gray letters USATTY NODIST IL. 9:56 strut across the smoky screen. He waited until it ceased to shudder and then slid the phone back into his pocket.
Sgt. Gallaher held her hand up for a moment until six uniforms could file past Sunny onto the mayor's rostrum in the council chamber. He fell behind her long strides toward the high-backed burgundy chair and fastened the middle button on his coat before settling down as Lew Karp, his bald head bent in the clerk's chair just below, called out, “Corcoran, Eighteen! Volkov, Nineteen! Wa-tah-nah-bay Twenty!” Lewie enjoyed curling Janet's name over his lips and tongue, like the title of an opera.
Christa Landgraf from the Corporation Counsel's office tipped her white glasses in greeting. Tina Butler, the sergeant-at-arms, caught Sunny's eye with a dip of her head, and walked up the three stairs to the mayor's chair. She held a gavel in her hand, clad in brass.
“He got this just last week,” she explained. “He looked forward to using it.”
Sunny ran the smooth, shiny wood of the handle over his fingers as he twisted it to see the engraving:
PRESENTED TO THE MAYOR BY THE
NATIONAL ASSOCIATION OF BLACK SCUBA DIVERS
CHICAGO CHAPTER
DIVE DEEP-DIVE LONG
Tina leaned over and brought her chin down until it was just above Sunny's shoulder.
“I think the mayor—well, you know,” she said, taking care to turn away from Sgt. Gallaher. “He thought it was a little saucy.”
“I imagine so.”
Sgt. Butler held out the chapter's business card, and Sunny rolled back the drawer on the rostrum desk to take out a pad of paper.
“Ko-walski, Twenty-three!” Lewie's voice cracked out. “Booker, Twenty-four! Goo-tee-arrrez, Twenty-five!”
The pad had the city seal, printed in blue, with an American shield, a sheaf of wheat, a ship in full sail, a sleeping infant, and an Indian bearing a bow and arrow, arranged above the Urbs in Horto motto.
(Sunny remembered how the mayor had often suggested that the seal be changed to sheaves of cash in envelopes, a Polish sausage sailing in a poppy seed bun, an Indian embracing a slot machine, and the motto, All You Can Eat.)
Sunny took up a blue CITY OF CHICAGO pen and wrote:
Dear Scuba Divers:
The mayor looked forward to using your gavel. I regret that he could not. But I have used it to call the council to order on January 22 to elect his successor. Sergeant Butler returns it to you as a memento of a great man whom we all loved.
With best wishes,
Sundaran Roopini
And then he held his pen above the pad for just a moment before adding:
Acting Interim Mayor for 84 Hours
Lew Karp called out, “Roopini,
Forty-eight!” and Sunny called back, “Present.” Sgt. Gallaher stepped back as Sunny handed his note to the sergeant-at-arms, Lewie barked, “Berggren, Forty-nine!” Anders affirmed his presence from the back row, Lewie called out, “Sef-rrran, Fifty!” with a slight Iberian trill, Jaco answered 'Present” softly from the stairs—he was already on his way to the rostrum—and Sunny sat back in the high-backed burgundy chair to receive the clerk's tally.
Sgt. Gallaher leaned over slightly above the back of the chair and pointed one of her lean fingers at the next-to-last row of the gallery: Rula and Rita sat on either side of Eldad. It had been years since they had come to a city council meeting. Sunny saw that his daughters no longer flashed the full, delighted, five-fingered hand-wag of a five-or six-year-old. They rolled their fingers subtly, from just under their chins; as their mother used to do.
“Fifty aldermen have answered present,” Lew Karp reported.
Sunny nodded soberly, as if the result was at least a minor revelation. He brought the scuba diver's gavel down on the rostrum with a crack! that smacked louder than he had expected; the muttering and hubbub that ordinarily had to be gaveled down had already subsided.
“I thank the council for coming to order,” he said. “We will now receive the invocation from the alderman of the Fiftieth Ward, Alderman Sefran, who of course is also the head of the Shaare Mizrah congregation.”
“Devon between Francisco and Richmond,” said Jaco, turning around to Sunny from the microphone just a few steps below the podium, then turned back. “For those of you who would like to join us some Saturday. Ha-noteeyn tish-shuah, lam lakeem umem-shalah, lan-seekheem,” he began in Hebrew, squinting, scrunching, and bending his knees to rock back and forth. “Let He who grants victory to kings and dominion to rulers, whose kingdom is for all ages, who released David, His servant, from the sword, who gave us a road through the sea and a path through mighty waters, may He bless the late mayor, and the new mayor we choose today.”
Sunny kept his head down but opened an eye to try to catch Vera's. Vera lifted her eyebrows in surprised approval. But Jaco Sefran went on.
“And as our Christian friends say,” he intoned, “may He bless even evildoers, and forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do, as that great Judeo-Christian Jew, Jesus, said from his cross of thorns.”
And just as Sunny had inclined his head from prayerful repose and wondered if he should step in to begin the session, Jacobo's voice grew firmer.
“May God give us wisdom today,” he said. “And if we don't choose the best or the brainiest candidate, please let us at least find a good man or woman who loves this city and will grow wise in the job.”
He widened his eyes and looked out, as if expecting questions, and hearing none, went on.
“May God bless this city and all the peoples of the world who call it home. V-kheyn y-hee ratzon, v-nomar ameyn. So may it be His will. Let us now say amen.”
“Amen!” aldermen called back, expelling fretful breaths. Sunny waited until aldermen had folded themselves back into their seats, and the cloaked groan of springs and hamster squeals of wheels below their chairs had quieted.
“‘And all the peoples of the world who call this city home,’” Sunny repeated. “Thank you, alderman.”
He looked down at Vera Barrow. She wore a trim bronze suit with a muted sheen and thin violet pinstripes, clinched at the neck with a concealed clasp. She kept her arms relaxed but disciplined at her sides as she rose, taking Sunny into her glance with one eye, then the council with another.
“Mr. President, I move to suspend the reading of the minutes.”
“Without objection, it is so ordered.” He brought down the gavel softly.
“Before we proceed with the agenda, I ask the council's brief consideration of an item that lingers from last week,” he began. “The council approved a new contract with Earth First that would pay the company three hundred forty dollars a ton for recycling services. The city has since been contacted by the officers of Earth First, who say that they have reviewed how new technologies may assist them in lowering their costs. They are confident that they can now provide the city with recycling services for two hundred dollars a ton, affording the city substantial savings.”
Christa Landgraf lifted a small pile of papers in front of her face, like a slice of birthday cake.
“There should be copies on your desks of the new contract,” said Sunny. “Do I hear a motion to approve?”
Arty Agras had gotten to his feet while Christa waggled the pages, and said, “So moved, Mr. President,” then sat back down.
“Second?” asked Sunny. He looked to the right hand side of the second row for Wandy Rodriguez. But it was impossible to overlook Kiera Malek, rising from her seat in the center of the last row. She wore candy-cane striped leggings and a gray skirt below a puffed-up black blouse, and waved her arms as if trying to hail a low-flying plane.
“Mr. Prez-i-dent!” she called out. “Mr. Prezzz-eee-dent!”
Sunny turned his gaze from the right side of the chamber; he liked Kiera.
“Does the alderman wish to second the motion?”
He heard snorts from Linas Slavinskas and one or two others.
“I have a question,” said Kiera, and Sunny nodded.
“Does the president know—does Alderman Agras know—what inspired the officers of Earth First to bring down their price?”
Sunny leaned forward earnestly.
“Alderman, I think they simply reflected on the best service they could give the city. Is the alderman opposed to saving the city millions of dollars?”
Kiera had walked to just in front of her desk and shook her bobbed brown hair.
“Indeed not,” she said. “I just wonder if there is something missing here.”
“I would invite the alderman to review the new contract language,” said Sunny. “There is no one whose opinion I would respect more.” He sat back, and ran the neck of the gavel through his fingers. “But at the moment, we have a motion on the floor. Is there a second?”
Sunny heard a chorus of voices, and saw Mitya Volkov of the 19th, Janet Watanabe, Tomislav Mitrovic, Jesus Flores Suarez, and Felix Kowalski of the 23rd cup their hands and call out in the row just below Kiera.
“Mr. President!” she tried to roar above them. “Earth First executives have been indicted for fraud in several jurisdictions. Austin, Texas, Madison, Wisconsin—
“Local yokel affiliates, Mr. President,” Arty Agras shot back. “Just a bunch of fines.”
Sunny struck the gavel against the podium and insisted, “Aldermen will please take their seats.” He paused while Kiera begin to migrate back to the rear row.
“Trash is a dirty business, alderman,” said Sunny. “Until we can find Benedictine monks who specialize in municipal waste recycling, our choice of service providers is limited. A motion and a second have been made. All those in favor of the new contract with Earth First, please signify by saying aye.”
Ayes abounded. He could pick out Arty Linas, Vera, Miles Sparrow of the 7th, his chin spiky after being shorn just that morning, and Cyril Murphy of the 40th.
“Opposed?”
Daryl Lloyd called out “Nay” for sure. There was a second; Sunny figured Rod Abboud, but couldn't tell. Kiera leaned over and exchanged words behind her hand with Sidney Wineman of the 42nd, but did not call out to oppose or affirm.
“Evidently a sufficient number,” Sunny announced, and brought down the gavel. It smacked like the cracking of an iceberg.
“We turn now to our next item,” he said quietly, and then drew a breath before going on.
“No one who serves even as acting interim mayor for just—” and here Sunny made a show of consulting his watch “—eighty-two hours can fail to be affected by the beauty and brilliance of our city. Next to being a father,” and here, Sunny nodded up toward his daughters in the gallery, “serving this city over the past few days has been the greatest reward of my life.”
He stopped to move onto the agenda, but heard John Wu call out, “You've done well, Mr. President.”
Then Evelyn Lee and Wandy Rodriguez cried out, “Well done!” He heard Vera and Linas call out, “Alderman Roopini!” and applause began to roll through the seats and into the gallery. Sunny looked up and could even see strangers behind the glass of the gallery smack their hands. He looked for Rula and Rita. He didn't want to catch their eyes, but wanted to see their faces. They slumped in their seats, their butterscotch skin burning behind the hands that hid their eyes as strangers behind them clapped them on their backs and shoulders. Sunny halted and looked down until he could clearly look out at the council and speak without catching his voice.
“Thank you,” he said in the silence, and then turned to Lewis Karp in the desk below him on the left.
“The clerk will call the roll.”
Sunny had kept his head down during the applause. Even as he spoke his thanks, he let his eyes play over a crinkled sheet that Eldad had come around to place at his elbow. Each ward number was printed in black. Red, blue, or blue-black squiggles were beside each, sometimes with arrows, or question marks.
The estimate that Sunny had made out of his colleagues’ solemn commitments, vague inclinations, and his own calculations, put Vera's base of support at nineteen. Sunny was more certain than ever that Linas would not go forward. Linas must have deduced, as had Sunny, that he would stall at eighteen. Rather than lose in the council, Linas had conjured a way—it was brazenly clear to Sunny now—to look triumphant, magnanimous, and cunning. He would run against Vera next year, and cast his vote today for Tommy Mitrovic or Astrid Lindstrom; or for maximum mischief, Dr. Daryl Lloyd.
Arty's nine votes had always been subject to change. Sunny doubted that even two aldermen thought that he should be mayor. But Arty was a powerful committee chairman and popular colleague. Aldermen whose wards would not accept a vote for Vera or Linas could curry favor with Arty by voting for him; a vote that could be borne without guilt by the confidence that Arty stood a better chance of being elected the Panchen Lama of Tibet than he did the mayor of Chicago.