Adler, Warren - Banquet Before Dawn

by Banquet Before Dawn [lit]

  "You seem busy," he said.

  "Very," she said, trying to disguise its urgency.

  "Timmy looked good, Jean," he repeated. "We talked for quite a while," he said, feeling his throat constrict, anguished because he could not make any real contact and, worse, did not want to. _Who is this stranger?_ he wondered, looking upward at the broken-down coop and feeling a mist cover his eyes.

  "How's the campaign going, Sully?" she asked perfunctorily. He knew she had covered the mouthpiece to talk to someone in the store.

  "Lousy," he said. It was the only word he could blurt out clearly.

  "Great," she said. "Just great, Sully." She was occupied with her own life.

  He heard her voice again. "Sully. Sully. Are you there? I've got to get off the phone now. Can you call me back later if there's anything more?" He heard the click, heavy, as she put back the receiver and admonished himself for having called her.

  Walking determinedly now toward the Grand Dutchman, Sully ceased to search for landmarks and concentrated on plans for the final rally in the ballroom of the Dutchman. He would leave all the physical arrangements to Perlmutter and April, and he would concentrate on the speech. He would make them all understand the forces that were ranged against them and how they must meet the challenge of finding out who could best serve them, not use them. He would confess to them.

  He began to compose the lines of the speech, could feel the words cascading in his mind complete with crowd reactions. Applause! Right ons! Wild enthusiasm. Tell 'em, old Sully. You tell 'em true, old Sully.

  "You wasted bunch of dumn turds. You niggers, spics, kikes, polacks , micks, bunghole motherfucking stupidos. You have been taken. You have been betrayed. You have been abused. You have been tortured, strangled, pissed on, shit upon, squeezed, buggered, kicked, spit on, fucked and refucked…." He wanted to say "by me" but thought it should be "by me and all the rest of the bloodsuckers."

  "How, you ask?" he would shout. "Because we took your sweet place, your sweet dream, and we left you turds floating in the sewer. You have nothing, you fools. You will never have anything. You are doomed by your own stupidity. You let us rape you. You lay back and let us rip you apart with the big dick of greed and ambition…." Ambition. He would pause there and really expand on ambition. There was one of the big ones. Ambition was the heavy pacer. Greed was far behind. And lust was even further. But ambition. Power….

  Was there a point to it? he wondered, the citement of his imaginary speech abating. He was sure there was, but he could not get to the core of it within himself, could not describe it, except as a yearning to tell them what they must, at last, hear.

  In the lobby of the Grand Dutchman the old black elevator operator roused himself from the torn chair in which he had been dozing.

  "Ain't seen Mistah Fitz yet," he said slowly, sleepily.

  "He'll be along soon," Sully said, thinking that old Fitz was probably slumped over in a dinky bar somewhere. "Don't worry about old Fitz," he said, jauntily stepping out of the elevator cab, feeling the sweat rolling down his sides beneath his armpits.

  April opened the door to the suite at the sound of the elevator gate and looked relieved that Sully was back. "I saw Timmy, walked around a bit," he explained coming into the living room.

  Perlmutter looked up at him, a telephone at his ear. "Fitz is in a drunk tank in Manhattan sleeping it off," Perlmutter said bitterly. "Ramirez took the car and is bailing him out. He broke some windows and bottles and cut himself up a bit."

  "Is he okay?" Sully asked gently, certain of old Fitz's indestructibility.

  "The desk sergeant says he's okay."

  "Sure he's okay," Sully said, walking to the sideboard and pouring himself a stiff scotch. He downed it halfway and sat down heavily. The almost-forgotten stitches stretched, making him wince with pain.

  "You can be sure the papers will get the story," Perlmutter said with an edge of sarcasm unusual for him.

  "Does it matter?" Sully asked.

  "Congressman, something has got to matter," Perlmutter said. Then he looked at April and shrugged his shoulders in that peculiarly Jewish gesture of futility. "It's like waiting on a mountain for the flood to engulf you. Nothing to do but wait for the end. I feel so useless. It's all so futile. In just a few days the whole thing has fallen apart. I just can't believe it."

  "Nothing is forever," April said. She sat down on the floor at Sully's feet and stroked his knee. "It's not the end of the world, is it, Sully?"

  "The end of the world was yesterday," he said, smiling.

  "They boxed us out in one swoop," Perlmutter began again. "Caught us with our pants down. They're a tough bunch, Sully, a new breed. His mother-in-law owns this broken-down flytrap. Could you imagine? It's like we got caught in a web, everywhere we turned they'd spun another sticky trap. But we could _still_ fight back, even now."

  Perlmutter was on the edge of hysteria, and Sully saw that he had apparently been drinking. Sully had never seen Perlmutter drink beyond his capacity. A convulsive sob caught in his throat as he fought for self-control.

  "It's just wrong, so wrong," Perlmutter said, hitting his fist into

  the palm of his hand. He descended into silence, brooding and staring into space.

  "Believe it or not, Mr. Congressman Sullivan," April said brightly, trying to lighten the mood, "we have organized the big do for tomorrow night. It's all set, even down to the detail of hiring a crew to clean up the mess in the ballroom. We've got flyers in the works. Handbills will be scattered everywhere. We've got tons of beer and fried chicken. I even got a whole bunch of WE WANT SULLY placards, two hundred of them, and Ramirez hired a bunch of kids for five bucks a head to scatter handbills wherever they can. It will be one hell of an old-fashioned political rally. Sully, we'll make the rafters sing."

  God, it sounded good, Sully thought, the words of the speech rolling back toward him like thunder. He'd tell the bastards.

  "We also sent out telegrams to the press, the mayor, all the state central committee, the local pols," she said.

  "At least we won't go out with a whimper. Not with a whimper," Perlmutter said. He had calmed down. "We've spent it all, Congressman. Every last cent of it. Nothing is left."

  "Did you invite old Deegan?" Sully asked. "I want old Deegan to be here. Glory be to old sa scared Deegan." He was beginning to feel elated as the burden peeled away.

  "Deegan's invited. We figured the cost of this fling at thirty-five thousand dollars. Ten thousand of it with people dumb enough to give us credit," Perlmutter said. He began to laugh. "Can you imagine, people giving us credit?"

  "Credit, sweet credit." Sully laughed, remembering the unpaid note in Deegan's bank. He stretched his legs, feeling their tiredness.

  "I'll run a tub, Sully," April said, seeing him grimace as he stretched. He nodded and watched her go into the bathroom. Soon the noise of gushing water filled the suite.

  As he stepped into the tub, April handed him a freshly iced scotch, which he sipped, enjoying the feeling of cold in his mouth and the warmth of the water engulfing his body. He sat upright in an effort to keep his wound above the waterline.

  As he sat there, he heard a commotion in the other room, the voices of people talking loudly. April came in.

  "It's that damned Candidate Evaluation Group. They kept calling; we keep putting them off. Well, they've arrived, literally by force."

  "Let them come in."

  "In here?" April asked. "There are four of them. Three are women."

  "Well, if they want to look me over, let them look me over in my true state. My very true state." He took a deep drink of his scotch and held the glass loosely in his hand over the rim of the tub. April looked at him and shrugged. "Why not?" she said. "Why the hell not?"

  She was gone for a few moments. He could hear loud voices in the other room. Then April was back with a large woman in tow. She was one of those intense graying, short-haired women with fierce, almost-feverish piercing eyes, a tight mouth, a
nd an aquiline nose that pecked out belligerently like a bird's beak. She was dressed in a sloppy gray suit, stained and creased as if to emphasize her lack of interest in matters physical.

  Sully smiled at her and waved with his glass of scotch.

  "This is Mrs. Pikulski, Congressman."

  "Ms.," she said belligerently, uncomfortable in the incongruous surroundings. "Congressman, we're from the Candidate Analysis Evaluation Group. We've been trying to see you for a week without success. May we see you now? There are four of us. We'd like to review your record and ask you some questions about what you intend to do after you're elected again." She paused. "If you're elected." The words seemed sinister on her lips.

  "Delighted," Sully said. "Delighted."

  "Well, then," Ms. Pikulski said, showing what to her was surely uncommon hesitation. "We'll wait for you to finish."

  "Nonsense," Sully said. "Show the group in here. See what they'll have, Ms. Garner, and show them in." He put his empty scotch glass in April's outstretched palm.

  "In here?" Ms. Pikulski asked.

  "Why not?"

  He could see her ruminations and enjoyed her discomfort.

  "I … I don't think you'll be making an impression," Ms. Pikulski said. "It could be damaging."

  "Ms. Pikulski, what better place to look me over than here and now?" Sully laughed as Ms. Pikulski, her face reddened by the heat and the embarrassment, hurried out of the room. There were more loud voices, then the sound of chairs being moved, and soon the whole delegation squeezed into the bathroom.

  "This …" Ms. Pikulski said, pausing, "is your Congressman." She introduced the three women and the man. Two of the women were black and exceedingly obese. "This is Ms. Rose and Ms. Washington. Ms. Rose represents the welfare mothers. Ms. Washington is a member of the local school board and is extremely vocal in the area of social problems." The women nodded, almost in tandem, as they sat upright in the straight chairs April had provided, trying to keep their eyes fixed on Sully's face.

  "And that's Jaime Garcia, a representative from our Spanish-speaking community."

  _"Mucho gusto,"_ Sully said. "My accent stinks, but I'm sure you get the message."

  "_Si,"_ Gaia said. He was a small, sallow man. Sully sensed immediately an antagonism between Garcia and Ms. Pikulski. Unlike the women, he smiled a lot, showing an inordinate amount of gold teeth.

  Sully noticed that there was no room for more than three chairs.

  "Sit down, Ms. Pikulski," Sully said, pointing to the toilet. The seat was up. She looked antagonistically toward the object and sneered.

  "I think I'll stand." She put on half glasses and slid out a white paper from a brown envelope.

  "You've been given a fifty-five-percent rating from the ADA, but our group has rated you ten points below that," she said, her eyes inadvertently rolling over the water. From her vantage point, Sully was certain, she could see his genitals.

  "You see, Congressman Sullivan," she s aid, averting her eyes, "this rating is not very good."

  "I tried my best."

  "Not quite. We gave you this rating because you are not motivated — motivated, Congressman Sullivan, to improve the situation among the minorities. Like the blacks, for example." She looked toward the two black women, who nodded. April came in with drinks. Sully noticed that Ms. Rose was taking hers straight.

  "And the Spanish-spikking," Jaime Garcia spoke up.

  "Of course, Mr. Garcia. I could have cited women, too. I simply chose to use the black example."

  "Just you don't forget about the Portarickens …"

  "Please, Mr. Garcia."

  He turned toward Sully. "The Portarickens are important."

  "In any event, Congressman Sullivan," Ms. Pikulski said, reassuring control of the conversation, "you have, like most the-way-the-wind-blows liberals, voted for only the bare essentials of the programs presented. You never pushed for more."

  "I didn't?" Sully asked. _More what?_ he wondered. He drank his drink and watched Ms. Rose finish hers. She was a very dark woman with eyes that now seemed to contradict the seriousness of her mouth line and general demeanor. April, standing by the door, was alert to everyone's

  drinking needs. She handed Ms. Rose a refill and splashed more scotch into Sully's outstretched glass.

  "So you see, Congressman Sullivan, this is why we are not impressed. We are definitely not impressed. What do you think, Claudine?"

  "Ah think you're absolutely right, Mabel. The conditions of the black people in this area are severe. Very severe, and ah don't believe the government has done enough. Take the welfare mothers like Ms. Rose over here. Annabelle, you tell him how hard it is just to make proper meals for your children."

  "It's bad — bad."

  "How many children have you got?"

  "Nine."

  "How wonderful," Sully said, suddenly thinking of his only son. _Nine children,_ he mused.

  "Nine chilluns," she repeated.

  How many fathers? he had wanted to say, but he checked himself. Instead, he said aloud, "Can you blame me for that?"

  "Now that's a typical reaction," Ms. Pikulski said, writing furiously on a yellow pad. "Just shove the blame back to the disenfranchised. Make it seem that if you're poor or unfortunate or unlucky, it's the fault of the person who is poor or unfortunate or unlucky. That, Congressman Sullivan, is the problem. That is why we will never move forward. You've got to stop blaming misfortune on the unfortunate." She paused.

  "I think you misunderstood me, Ms. Pikuliski," he said. "I think it's great to have nine children. I think Ms. Rose is lucky."

  "Pikulski," the big woman corrected.

  "Ah loves all my chilluns," Ms. Rose said, smiling for the first time.

  "Does a bad ADA mark mean I hate children?" Sully addressed Ms. Pikulski.

  "In a way," she responded quickly.

  "Then it's a crock," Sully said cheerfully.

  "Ah loves mah chilluns," Ms. Rose said again, belting her drink down all the way.

  "And I suppose I'm against love, too?" Sully asked. He felt a sudden sense of loss as a vision of Timmy as a boy intruded.

  "He really isn't against love," Apl spoke up, winking at Sully, who winked back.

  "Well, then, you should vote like it," Ms. Pikulski said.

  "I thought I did."

  "Not according to ADA," Ms. Pikulski responded.

  "Shit on ADA," Sully cried. He handed his drained glass to April for a refill.

  He stuck a leg out of the water up to his thigh and tried to maneuver his toes around the hot-water faucet. He was conscious of his big belly rising from the water like a whale surfacing.

  "Could you turn that hot-water spigot for me?" He had addressed the request to Ms. Pikulski. She looked in horror at his white belly and leg.

  "I think this is outrageous," she said.

  "What does the ADA think of cleanliness?" Sully asked, reaching for his fresh drink.

  Ms. Pikulski reached for the faucet and wrenched it angrily. Hot water steamed out in a rush. Sully half rose out of the tub.

  "Christ, so this is the way you people dump your political leaders. You boil us to death."

  Annabelle Rose laughed reflexively, showing large white, uneven teeth.

  "I'm sorry," Ms. Pikulski said grudgingly, reaching quickly for the faucet.

  "Just keep it at a trickle," he explained.

  "I would like to know, Congressman Sullivan," Ms. Pikulski said, trying to regain some of her lost dignity by drawing herself up to full

  height and looking about smugly, "how you intend to respond to this community's needs if you were to be elected again."

  Sully looked at her and drained his glass. His eyes flitted from one face to another. Even Jaime Garcia's small face was now tight and intense. Through a light film of alcoholic haze Sully sensed a general hostility from all except Ms. Rose, who seemed softer, gentle. He saw her as he now saw himself — victimized by fate.

  "What would you do, Annabelle
?" he asked her.

  April had given her another drink, which she had quickly polished off. Annabelle's eyes darted nervously about her as she tried to think of a proper response.

  "Why are you asking _her?"_ Ms. Pikulski demanded. "I put the question to _you_."

  "I always get community response before I act," Sully said. "That's the very heart of representative government." He lifted himself in the water, bringing his belly to the surface again. He watched Annabelle's eyes as she looked at his flesh.