Freddy and Fredericka

by Mark Helprin

  “I have read your Declaration and Constitution, and though at first I found the former personally injurious, I came to see that these are lucid and perfect documents, and that if you return to them as faithfully as they have served you since the beginning, they will not fail you.

  “You have neglected them, and are unclear about the duties of a citizen and what comes by right. You seem to have forgotten the ancient battles in which you prevailed, and, more importantly, those that you merely survived. You seem to have forgotten that your original principles arose in a land that was carpeted with virgin stands of trees, and that the principles by which you lived—immaterial and bright, ever enduring—grew up just as strong and fresh. Return to them. They are waiting for you, as are reserves of honour as vast as the stands of trees that once spread without end.

  “In your beginnings you looked down upon spectacle, so why have you such spectacles as this?” he asked, peering out into the gigantic interior in which, it seemed, airships could fly and Roman legions fight unnoticed below. He stared into a network box that floated in the semi-darkness, moored to the rear wall. Bigger than a barn, it was lit like a gem, and as if in another world people moved within it as silently as ants. The celebrated anchor, as lonely as a king, tiny earphones upon his tiny head, stared at Freddy like a rebellious angel who had encamped upon a cloud. “Can you not see that it is of a size unbecoming to a nation whose principles were born in the small farmhouse and on the green of the New England village? Everything I believe about America has its origins in places like that and in the landscape itself.”

  Here Freddy took flight, his infatuation with the land he had come to conquer driving him on in rapt concentration that pulled the stilled audience after him. He spoke of the most erudite constitutional questions, of the causes of war, of economic theory, of moral philosophy. Freely flowing from him were Latin quotations, statistics, commemoration of battles, Miltonic epithets, and Shakespearean couplets, all as clear as day and illuminated as brightly as he was himself by the column of snow-white light that had been destined to make of Dewey a kind of George Washington, but that now clarified Freddy’s words in a blinding ray.

  He knew the battles well. His erudition was precise and detailed, and yet he wove his knowledge and his command of things into something like a song, that disarmed the complexities of problems that for decades had hurt like thorns. No one had ever seen anything like it. In his oratory, Freddy made the shape of truth seem beautiful, and not a dishonest or manipulative syllable did he speak as he rolled forward in unsurpassed form. It changed the country. The parties would rearrange themselves, the law would seem just, and even the defeated would feel victorious. The only unconsoled person in the whole nation, including even Self and Boar, would be Dot, whose world had ended when Dewey had left her with the knowledge that she sought the things she sought not because she wanted them but because she, who could not express it in any other way, loved him.

  But it was all a dream, a great moment that appeared like a blazing star and then was gone, for Freddy had decided in mid-speech, as he learned the virtues of the country by stating them after he had lifted them from where they had rested unknown in his heart, that there would be no conquest, that, no matter what the price, he would not conquer.

  He disappointed his audience bitterly, but was himself quite happy when he said, “I was born to be a king, and you were born not to have one. America does not need and cannot have a king, for it is majestic in itself as perhaps no country has ever been. And its greatest majesty is not the splendid landscape or the long and sunny coasts, not the Mississippi or the snows of the Pacific Crest. Its greatest majesty, its gift to the world, is that it has carried out God’s will to make each man a king, subservient only to Him. From the beginning, this has been the underlying force of every footfall, smile, and blink of the eye in this country. It, and not your power, is what has lifted you up, is what distinguishes you from others, and has made you the leader of the world. And may God bless and keep you as you find your way.”

  He took Fredericka’s hand as he walked off the stage and away from the enormous room filled with many thousands of people who stayed silent and motionless for so long afterward that it was almost heartbreaking. As Freddy and Fredericka went into the night no one stopped or followed them, and after a block or two no one even noticed. The fog rolled in, the foghorns sounded mournfully, and they vanished into the city as if they had never existed.

  MOOCOCK AT FRESH SIGHT

  A ROYAL HELICOPTER flew across London at very low altitude, its rotors clicking like a dragonfly as the city unrolled beneath it at dusk: such a vast and miraculous city, so calm and settled in rows touched with green, and the river snaking, serpentine, in between. And wherever it was choked with steel and glass it soon fled into open squares and broad malls, to colonnaded palaces, and white halls, to carpets of cool grass, and lights on windowsills, like candles by the million, promising and still.

  As if awakening from a dream, Freddy and Fredericka looked upon it with new eyes. “It’s as if we’ve been away for centuries,” he said, “and now that we’re back, I don’t know what to think.”

  “What will happen?”

  He glanced her way, still keeping the craft as steady as if it were flying on a track. “They’ll tell us, I suppose. We have little say. The queen has some, but only in slow and stately manoeuvre. The quick and animal power is elsewhere. We do what we’re told and protest only like obedient horses that sidestep and shake.”

  “But you’ve just conquered a country many times the size of Britain, and alone,” Fredericka argued. “Surely. . . .”

  “In refusing to conquer, therefore I did not, and who knows what price I’ll pay for that. Perhaps I’ll join my splendid predecessor George the Third, and will be maligned, like him, for having let the great prize slip through my hands. Then again, having failed, I probably will not be king, and may not even be lucky enough in history to be maligned. Perhaps all memory of both you and me will disappear from this earth as it does for ordinary people, whose lives evaporate like mist.”

  “We knew that coming in, didn’t we?” Fredericka asked.

  “I didn’t,” was the answer. “Unlike almost anyone else, I had something of an escape from mortality, even if it were illusory. Now I must look at everything anew, and everything seems lovely at fresh sight.”

  With the dusk nearly gone and no moon, they dipped down and banked into Moocock, where the lights were on in the pool—a sapphire cabochon surrounded by tungsten-washed emerald lawns—and the lamps were lit in nearly every room. Waiting by the pad were all the servants in their livery. The gardeners held a sign that read: Welcome Back from Pakistan.

  Alighting from the helicopter, Freddy saw the sign and said, “That’s a good trick. I’ll bet my father chose Pakistan.”

  “Your Royal Highness will be disappointed to know,” said Lathbury, the kennelman, “that Pha-Kew passed away some time ago, after ingesting too large a piece of wildebeest cutlet. The Heimlich manoeuvre was unavailing.”

  “What a pity,” said Freddy. He turned to Sawyers. “Anything to report?”

  “In your absence, Your Royal Highness, we’ve lost four members of staff to Cunard and Prince Faddle Ibn Rabbiya. They have been replaced.”

  “Good,” said Freddy. “Carry on. Thank you all.”

  “Are you hungry, sir, ma’am?” Sawyers asked. “The kitchen is up and ready.”

  Freddy thought for a moment. “Yes,” he said, “I’d like some barbecued potato chips and a Dr Pepper.”

  “I’m afraid that escaped me, sir.”

  “Barbecued potato chips—mesquite/jalapeño style—and a Dr Pepper.”

  “A Pakistani treat, sir?”

  “No,” said Freddy, adjusting. “Bring smoked salmon and Champagne.”

  “Certainly, sir, and I’ll send someone to Brixton to fetch the Pakistani items, if you wish.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Sawyers. We’re back now. We�
��re not in ‘Pakistan,’ and we need not eat ‘Pakistani’ food.”

  Having left their American life behind, except in long indelible traces within, Freddy and Fredericka joined hands and walked together toward their house, which glowed from its windows.

  SUDDENLY TO HAVE every comfort once again was suddenly to feel very old. All aspects of Moocock were pristine and exquisite. The paintings would have been the pride of a small museum: in the summer-room half a dozen flower paintings by Fantin, Monet, and Renoir (a Van Gogh was in Fredericka’s study); in the bedroom, a life-sized Courbet; over Freddy’s desk, a Raphael; and so on, all in excellent condition, well placed, and perfectly lit. The library of twenty-five thousand volumes included not one in paperback, for books that came with soft covers were taken to the bindery with the urgency of transporting to hospital a baronet who had tumbled off a polo pony. Cross-indexed on an unobtrusive black laptop, their citations were backed up electronically and in hard copy. The massive ladder that moved silently along its ever-shining brass track had a little platform halfway up, with a comfortable seat and a tiny table. The quality of furniture throughout the house was comparable to that of the solid mahogany dining room table, which was twelve feet in diameter, a foot thick, and polished as carefully as the Mt Palomar mirror. Its surface was an ocean of browns, reds, and buttery colours, with patterns that swirled like a flamenco dancer’s shawl. Every thread in Freddy’s wardrobe had long been the envy of the world’s dandies, and Fredericka’s Balenciagas, Wendels, and Ludovicos were hung in her cupboards like carcasses in a freezer. Even in the kitchen, in the caviar refrigerator, the jars and tins were arranged by type, quality, producer, and age. Were Freddy to order any dish, he could specify how many grams of this or that would be in it, its temperature upon arrival and the temperature of the plate, the style of the cooking, the age of the cheese, and whatever else might be required by fancy or need. In the map room were maps of everywhere continuously updated. In winter, fires burned with balanced heat and anarchy in whatever fireplaces Freddy specified, and fresh flowers, placed by a woman with a doctorate in flower arranging from the University of Tokyo, were in almost every room in all seasons. The cars were polished and ready, the guns cleaned, the cream whipped, the metalwork shining, shirts pressed, rubbish baskets empty, gardens fecund, and the light was gorgeous.

  This was Moocock, the Garden of Eden, and now they were back, but it seemed too easy. After a few days, not long before they were scheduled to visit the queen and Paul in London, they found themselves, having finished lunch, watching as the dishes were cleared away and the table was quietly refurbished with the most expensive oil from walnut trees grown on the southern shores of Lake Baikal. Then Sawyers backed out, closing the heavy door with a click as only a gentleman’s gentleman can.

  “It’s as if we’re dead,” said Fredericka. “I didn’t really want to come back.”

  “I didn’t want to be the bloody president of the bloody United States, and, besides, the Constitution would have prevented it.”

  “They would have changed their silly Constitution, and you would have been the first English president. Think of how proud Winston Churchill would have been.”

  “I was raised to be king. I would have been insufferable.”

  “And what will happen if you do become king? We have everything we want. We’d just have ten times more.”

  “If I become king I will do such things as Britain has never seen. I will be the first king of the people rather than over them. I will be the first to speak freely. I will look back to the broad horizons this island once knew, before it became choked with accomplishment, when success was something not to be remembered but to be got.”

  “And until then?” Fredericka asked. “In America we were always wanting. Here, we want nothing. I wake up in the morning and pray for difficulties—not small ones, not ringing someone up to have him change a light bulb, but the difficulties that, by counterpressure, enliven the soul.”

  “I’ve been praying for those all my life, Fredericka, but one needn’t even pray, for they come without fail. Tomorrow, you’ll see, after Mummy has conferred with her privy councillors. My feeling is that, because I have failed, she’ll be in the mood to lay down the law. What could be worse than to be a dumb royal bastard who never moved up, whose cabinets are full, and whose life slips silently away in the smothering silks of privilege? For the rest of my life I’ll float like a blowfish in the airless ocean of English aristocracy. I’ll give up, get fat, drink, and look fuzzy.”

  “We’ll go back to America. I’ll open a restaurant or a hairdressing shop. You’ll make millions of dollars tutoring people in classical languages, or writing pamphlets on fox hunting. We can live in Commack. Isn’t that a place on Long Island? I’ve never wanted to live in Commack, but think of how much pleasure we’d get from aching to leave.”

  “No, Fredericka. We’re not going back.”

  “But, Freddy!” she said, cheerfully.

  “What?”

  “Whether or not you become king, life will be full, and purpose will be restored.” She patted her stomach.

  “Ah,” said Freddy.

  “We’ll tell them tomorrow,” said Fredericka. “And if you won’t, I will.”

  WHEN THEY WENT to London, they drove, as they often did when they wanted to move about unobserved, in the Aston-Martin bread van, attired in white jumpsuits over their clothes, bakers’ hats with red piping, and sunglasses. No one ever would have guessed that it was they in the specially crafted van with Strathborgie Melba Toasts Ltd lettered along the sides. Once, they had been stopped for speeding (theirs was the only vehicle of its type in the world that could achieve speeds upward of 180 mph), and the constable had said, “I was going to carry on with this, but it’ll be just a warning because you look so much like that bloody idiot the Prince of Wales.”

  After driving through the gate to the mews, they would shed their uniforms and go to separate appointments. Fredericka was to have tea with the queen and Lady Darlington. Because Lady Darlington was as verbally promiscuous a creature as God had ever created, Fredericka would not be able to mention that of late she had been in America. Perhaps the queen did not want to hear of it. At least not at the moment. That meant talk about racehorses, jewellery, holiday spots in Barbados, dogs, bananas, and other royalty. It was customary for the royal family to turn the conversation to bananas when their guests were insufferable, like a diver releasing a buoy to mark his position in the depths.

  Freddy was to meet his father in the private study. “That means we’ll talk about dogs and horses,” he said. “He doesn’t criticise me when we’re alone. When we’re alone he’s too embarrassed and awkward.”

  “You would think,” Fredericka said, “that he wanted to tell you something. Why would they take the trouble to separate us? Perhaps he’ll deliver the bad news, if, in fact, by the terms of the test, you have failed irredeemably.”

  “We did fairly well. We came close enough, but I really think it would have been a step backward to recapture all those Americans. They don’t need us any more, and handling them might have been a problem. We’ll let my parents know about their first grandchild. We’re the ones with the news, after all. What a shame about Lady Darlington. I know someone who had an affair with her. She likes to dress up as a gaucho.”

  FREDERICKA WAS BROUGHT into the presence of the queen, who, attired in sunny yellow, seemed inexplicably slight and frail. Never before had Fredericka seen the flash of tenderness in the queen’s eyes that she registered upon her entrance, and never before had the queen taken Fredericka’s hand with such warmth. This was not a stratagem. The queen did not need to please any individual. Previously with Fredericka she had been blunt and cruel. No longer.

  “Sit down, dear,” she said. “You know Lady Darlington. Dar? Fredericka has been away for quite some time. In Pah-kiss-tahn.”

  Fredericka could read directly beneath Lady Darlington’s enamelled surface that she hated Fredericka, whom
she thought only a detriment to her priceless face time with the queen, which she measured as if with a taxi metre and logged cumulatively and life long. “I’ve heard,” Fredericka said, “that you’ve been in Argentina.”

  The queen smiled.

  “Well, not lately.”

  “Really? Someone told me just recently that he had seen you with or as a gaucho.”

  Though the top of Lady Darlington’s chest turned crimson, she motorboated about and turned the conversation to dogs and jewellery, which meant that Fredericka would soon have to send up the flag with the banana on it.

  It would have been reasonable to assume that the queen and Paul would be eager to know the story of the sojourn in America, or at least to tell Freddy and Fredericka if anything had been decided in their regard. And why Lady Darlington? She was a “royalty expert” who fed shamelessly on the most minor detritus. Like a bird that, chirping atop a rhinoceros, imagines that it weighs ten thousand pounds, she was vapidity in its unburnished essence. What was the queen trying to say? What scarlet thread would she stretch that would require such a monotonous foil?

  The queen was inexplicable. The centre of her own universe, she was unique, and communicated in strange ways. And just when Fredericka was about to send up the flag, the queen, with an impish though tired look—as if she was coming down with the flu—beat her to the punch and began a rhapsody about bananas. Fredericka joined in, and Lady Darlington, who couldn’t think of anything to say about the subject, looked on in amazement. Soon enough, Fredericka found herself alone with her mother-in-law. For the first time, she felt that the queen was actually going to talk to her as if both Fredericka and the queen herself were human beings. Fredericka was pleased, and looked forward to connecting with the woman who, though more important to her as her husband’s mother than as the queen of England, was important as the queen of England nonetheless.