The Pinocchio Syndrome

by David Zeman

  “Now that the worst seems to be over, at least in America,” she said, “I want to get some perspective on the disease’s impact on people. Since it obviously had a significant effect on your own life, due to the illnesses of Mr. Everhardt and Mr. Palleschi, your reaction would be very helpful to my readers.”

  Susan had hesitated at first. She had given so many interviews recently that her own words were a jumble in her brain. But the reporter had pressed her. “You’re one of the most articulate political wives around, and also one of the most honest about your ambivalence about your role and your husband’s role. I’d like to hear your views on the current situation, the more so since you’re in a particularly important position now.”

  It was the reporter’s display of sensitivity to Susan’s personality that made her give in. She expected the interview to be short. She agreed to do it in her own house in Georgetown. She felt safer there, and more sure of herself.

  The doorbell rang at the appointed time. When Susan opened the door she saw a young woman of about her own size and age smiling at her. Karen Embry was very pretty. She had milky skin and large, intense eyes. Her fingers were electric with energy as she shook Susan’s hand.

  “Thank you for seeing me. I know how busy you must be.”

  “No problem. Come on in.”

  Susan led the way to the living room, where coffee was waiting. As Karen Embry moved through the room Susan could see she had a lovely figure, though she was too thin. Her manner was slightly tense, suggesting overwork and lack of sleep. The latter, of course, Susan could relate to quite well.

  The little makeup Karen wore seemed in need of retouching. Her black hair, naturally sleek and full-bodied, had been brushed in haste. On the whole she gave the combined impression of a girlish freshness and of a certain seediness. Susan liked her instinctively.

  “Would you like some coffee?” Susan asked.

  “Well,” the reporter smiled, “I’m over my limit already, but why not? Sure.”

  Susan brought coffee in ceramic mugs. Karen had removed a small cassette recorder from her briefcase and was attaching the microphone.

  “Shall we get started?” she asked.

  “Fine.”

  “Let me begin by asking how your life has changed in the last few months.” Karen Embry gave Susan an even, attentive look as she picked up her coffee mug.

  “Well,” Susan said, “it’s kind of like my life from before, only more so.”

  “Reporters? Interviews? Public attention focused on your husband?”

  “Exactly. I’m used to it, to some extent. Michael has always gotten a lot of press, and so have I. Obviously, more is at stake now, so we feel on the spot.”

  “How about the public health situation?” the reporter asked. “It has changed greatly since your husband was selected as vice president.”

  “That’s true.” Susan nodded. “There’s a sense of relief. That combines with the excitement of Michael’s work. I feel a lot better than I felt a month ago.”

  Susan was not being completely truthful. In reality she had never recovered from the deaths of Dan Everhardt and Kirk Stillman. The condition of Tom Palleschi, which had worsened since January, only made things worse. Susan lived with constant anxiety about Michael’s physical well-being.

  “How do you feel about your husband assuming the vice presidency at such a young age, and in such a tense political climate?” the reporter asked.

  “I’m not completely comfortable with it. But the president asked Michael to take the job, and I do believe Michael can handle it successfully.”

  “How does the rest of his family feel about his selection?”

  “Oh, they’re thrilled,” Susan said. “No second thoughts at all. They’re not like me.”

  Susan smiled to think of Ingrid, who was already busy boning up on the wardrobe and accessories her brother would need as vice president of the United States. Judd, of course, thought of nothing else but his son’s ascendancy to high political office. Even Stewart Campbell, the cynical historian who hated politicians, was caught up in the excitement about Michael.

  “This is the greatest thing,” he kept saying. “The greatest thing that could have happened. Mike is going to be president some day. I know it.”

  Susan now realized there was something in the Campbell psychology that she had not understood before. The Campbells were hungry for a kind of success and recognition that had escaped their clan not only during Judd’s ambitious business career, but throughout many impoverished generations back in Scotland. They felt cheated by the world. Michael had changed all that. Michael was their torchbearer, their official representative in the competitive arena of worldly success. His triumphs in the Olympics had proved to the family that he was marked for an exalted career. His years in the Senate had built their hopes up higher. But only the White House could truly wipe out all the generations of Campbell frustration.

  Choosing her words carefully, Karen said, “The death of Vice President Everhardt and the illness of Secretary Palleschi hit you close to home, I believe.” Karen could not explicitly say that either Everhardt or Palleschi had been victims of the Syndrome, for the government had never officially admitted as much.

  “It was terrible. It still is,” Susan replied. “I knew Danny Everhardt well. Michael and I got together socially with him and his wife, Pam, over the years. Danny was the kind of sweet, down-to-earth man you don’t meet often in politics. To me he always seemed more like a school principal or a football coach than a famous political leader. I liked him a lot.” Her eyes misted. “I still can’t get over what happened to him.”

  Karen said, “I get the feeling you identified with Vice President Everhardt because you yourself are something of a fish out of water as a political wife.”

  “That’s true,” Susan said. “When Michael and I got together with Danny and Pam, we never talked about politics. I think I pretended that we were ordinary working people enjoying a Sunday barbecue. Danny created that feeling. It was good for me.”

  Karen took these words in thoughtfully. Susan Campbell was a warm, charming woman. Yet she was smart, and experienced in interviews. She created a mood. One hesitated to shatter it.

  But Karen was paid to push. She decided to probe a weak spot.

  “Mrs. Campbell,” she said. “There is an obvious progression in the series of men chosen to replace Vice President Everhardt. That progression leads to your husband. Does this worry you?”

  “I don’t understand.” Susan seemed perplexed.

  “The progression leads from the most obvious to the least obvious,” Karen said. “Secretary Palleschi had a lot in common with Vice President Everhardt, in terms of personality as well as qualifications. He was an almost perfect replacement. Mr. Stillman, though less similar to the vice president, was a man of unquestioned competence and experience. Then we come to your husband. Until the events of recent months, no one would have thought Michael Campbell old enough or experienced enough to assume the vice presidency.”

  “That’s true,” Susan said. “Michael is young for a vice president. But he is experienced, and he is competent. He knows the issues.”

  “Yes, I know that.” The reporter was implacable. “But the fact remains that your husband would never have been seriously considered had it not been for these untoward events.”

  “I guess that’s right,” Susan admitted.

  “Don’t you find something odd in all this?” the reporter asked.

  “Everything about this last year or so is odd,” Susan said. “TheCrescent Queen disaster, the epidemic . . . If you’re asking whether I would prefer that none of this were happening, the answer is yes. I would have preferred to go on with life as it was before. I would have helped Michael in supporting the president, and I would have expected Danny Everhardt to serve out his term as vice president with distinction. I would have continued my life as a senator’s wife, and never would have asked for anything more.” Susan heard the defensiv
eness in her own voice, but could not help herself. Karen Embry was more than direct. She was pushy.

  “Do you feel less confident about Michael Campbell when you consider the unusual circumstances that have put him in the position he’s in now?” Karen probed.

  “Not at all,” Susan said firmly. “I have great confidence in Michael. I’ve never doubted him. But I’m worried about our political process. I’m worried about the state of the world.”

  “Worried about our political process?” The reporter raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  Susan resolved to choose her words carefully. Pushed by the reporter, she had strayed into dangerous territory. It was not her place to give political opinions.

  “Well,” she said, “to be honest I’m worried about Mr. Goss. The things he says are so full of hate, and he talks about his political opponents as though they were enemies of the nation. The situation around the world is so tense that I think that kind of rhetoric is dangerous.”

  She sat back, rather pleased with herself for having enunciated a position that few responsible leaders would disagree with.

  “Mr. Goss views your husband and the president in a similar way,” the reporter observed. “He thinks the world situation is so dangerous that their brand of political moderation is nothing less than criminal.”

  Susan nodded. “I guess he’s entitled to his opinion. But I don’t like political leaders who talk in terms of hate and revenge. I think we need to talk in terms of consensus, of responsible cooperation. Of building for the future.”

  The reporter was regarding Susan steadily.

  “But I thought we weren’t here to talk about politics,” Susan said. “I thought the topic was the epidemic and its effects on people.”

  “Well, in your case the two areas overlap,” Karen countered. “You’re a woman whose friends have been affected by the disease, and a political wife whose life has changed course because of it.”

  “Yes, I guess you’re right,” Susan admitted.

  “The spread of the Pinocchio epidemic seemed to favor Colin Goss, at least in the public opinion polls,” Karen pursued. “The apparent cessation of the epidemic in America has had a dramatic and positive effect on the president’s performance in the polls. Interestingly, this happens to coincide with the president’s choice of your husband to replace Mr. Everhardt. Does any of this worry you?”

  “What do you mean by ‘worry’?” Susan asked.

  “Does the involvement of the disease in the poll results worry you?”

  Susan was thoughtful. “Yes,” she said. “So did the involvement of theCrescent Queen disaster. It’s rather macabre to see political candidates rising and falling in the polls when lost human lives are the cause.”

  Karen was impressed by the subtle combination of candor and evasion in Susan Campbell. She was not like other political wives. She was more sensitive, more communicative. Yet she was hiding something. And that deception was at the core of her charm and her likability.

  Karen’s instincts told her an unpleasant truth was somewhere close by. She decided to take a chance on chasing it.

  She turned off the tape recorder. “May I ask you something off the record?” she said.

  “Sure. Of course.”

  “Did you ever speculate that the removal of Everhardt and Palleschi and Stillman was not accidental, but was specifically designed to put your husband where he is today?”

  “What do you mean?” Susan asked.

  “I mean that somebody got the other three out of the way so that Michael Campbell could become vice president ten years sooner than he would have otherwise.”

  Susan turned white. “No, that has not occurred to me,” she said. “Not once. I don’t know why you think it should have.”

  Three denials,Karen thought with an inner smile.Three denials makes an assent. She has been worrying about it .

  Karen turned on the tape recorder, then turned it off again.

  “I’m terribly sorry,” she said, “but would you mind if I smoke?”

  “Not at all,” Susan smiled. “You should have asked sooner. I hate to think of you being uncomfortable.” She got up and brought an ashtray from the lowboy against the wall.

  As Karen lit her Newport she smiled inwardly at the other woman’s hospitality. Susan Campbell seemed relieved to be able to offer creature comforts to others. She was the kind of woman who had spent her whole life leaning over backward for other people. This was a self-destructive posture, in psychological terms. She did not respect herself enough to put herself first.

  Karen was trying to think of a softer question to ask as a segue into more on-the-record dialogue. Before she could find it the telephone rang.

  “Would you excuse me a second?” Susan asked with an apologetic smile. “I forgot to turn the machine on. Let me just pick it up.”

  She left the reporter smoking her cigarette in the living room and hurried into the kitchen. She removed the cordless phone from its wall mount.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Susan.” It was the voice she had come to know all too well. Her hand trembled as she held the phone. She ducked into the pantry, where she could not be overheard from the living room.

  “I—can I call you back?” she asked. “I’m in the middle of an interview.”

  “You sound frightened, Susan.”

  Susan was silent. She heard a low laugh, strangely sympathetic, on the other end of the line.

  “You’re frightened because what I predicted has come to pass. The others were eliminated to make room for Michael. You know something bad is happening, and you know he’s involved.”

  Susan reflected that these terrible words echoed the question the reporter had asked her only moments ago.

  “And now that Michael has been chosen to be vice president, the epidemic has stopped. At least here.” The voice sounded confident, sure of what it was saying.

  “I don’t understand,” Susan said.

  “You will.”

  “I really can’t talk,” Susan said weakly.

  “It’s not over, Susan. Nothing is over. You realize that, don’t you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that the epidemic is suddenly sparing the United States of America? And of course you’ve noticed the effect of this on your husband and the president in the polls. The deaths of Everhardt and the others were only the beginning.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “Susan, Susan. Don’t you know that the truth burns at first, only to heal later on? It’s just like a disinfectant poured onto a wound. At first it seems like the worst pain in the world. But it kills the infection, which otherwise would have grown and grown until everything was dead.”

  Susan sighed deeply. She closed her eyes, unable to speak, unable to hang up. She smelled the smoke of the reporter’s cigarette from the living room.

  “Susan,” said the voice, “did you ask him about Harvard? Did you ask him what happened there?”

  Susan sighed. “No, I didn’t. He’s been so—”

  “It doesn’t matter. You haven’t lost anything by waiting. Ask him now. Look into his eyes when he answers. You’ll see the truth there.”

  “Please stop . . . What truth?” Susan’s resistance spoke in one voice, her desperate curiosity in another.

  “Ask him now. After he’s answered, you’ll want to talk to me.”

  “I was there,” Susan said. “I was there the whole time. Nothing happened. I know that. I was with him every minute.”

  “Not quite. He was away for weekends at a time. Remember?”

  Susan was silent. Her eyes were closed. Her hand was shaking harder now.

  “He gave you excuses,” the voice said. “You believed him. In reality you had no idea where he was, did you? Whole weekends out of your sight.”

  “I know where he was.”

  “You know what he told you. That’s all.”

  “What is it you want?” Sus
an pleaded. “I’ve listened to you, I’ve let you go on . . .”

  “I’m proud of you for that, Susan. You were brave enough to listen, when you knew the truth was going to hurt. You’re a strong woman, no matter what you may think of yourself.”

  “Is he in danger?” Susan asked. “Is that why you’ve called me? Please, tell me so I can help him.”

  “Poor Susan. You still haven’t understood, have you? He’s not in any danger. He won’t get sick like the others. No car will run him down.”

  Susan grasped at these words as a lifeline. But already she sensed the menace behind them.

  “Susan, are you there?” the voice asked.

  The only response was Susan’s exhausted sigh.

  “Susan, I’m going to give you the medicine that will kill the germs once and for all. The medicine that will heal you.”

  There was a pause. Susan rested her head against the pantry shelf, feeling the odd intimacy of the voice.

  “The medicine is a question,” the voice said. “Ask him what happened at Harvard. Ask him about the Donkey Game. When he answers, watch his eyes.”

  “I . . .” Susan felt too exhausted to frame a reply.

  A click sounded on the line. The caller had hung up.

  It took all Susan’s strength to pull herself together. She emerged from the pantry and hung the phone on its wall mount. She paused in front of the hall mirror to see whether her emotion was visible on her face. Amazingly, she looked almost normal. She went back into the living room wearing a brittle smile.

  “I’m very sorry,” she said. “I don’t know when I’m finally going to learn to turn on that answering machine.”

  “You should be like me,” Karen smiled. “I never answer my phone. I have an answering machine at home and a voice-mail service. I check them when I feel like it. Anybody who has a legitimate reason to call will leave a message and a number. The cranks and salesmen always hang up.”

  The wordcranks unsettled Susan. But Karen had done Susan a favor by talking about herself. She had given Susan an extra minute to compose herself. Her armor was back in place.