Through the Darkest of Nights: Testament XXV

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Every few days over the next several months I will be posting installments of a novel about life, death, war and politics in America since 9/11.  Through the Darkest of Nights is a story of hope, reflection, determination, and redemption.  It is a testament to the progressive values we all believe in, have always defended, and always will defend no matter how long this darkness lasts.  But most of all, it is a search for identity and meaning in an empty world.

Naked and alone we came into exile.  In her dark womb, we did not know our mother’s face; from the prison of her flesh have we come into the unspeakable and incommunicable prison of this earth. Which of us has known his brother?  Which of us has looked into his father’s heart?  Which of us has not remained prison-pent?  Which of us is not forever a stranger and alone?      ~Thomas Wolfe

All installments are available for reading here on Docudharma’s Series page, and also here on Docudharma’s Fiction Page, where refuge from politicians, blogging overload, and one BushCo outrage after another can always be found.

    “It’s so good to see you again David.  How long has it been, twenty-years?”

    “It’s good to see you too, Shannon.  It’s been too long, twenty-four years too long.”  

    Elderly and ascetic, David Marshall looked out of place in the dining room of the Washington Plaza Hotel.  Some of the tourists indulging in idle chatter as they ate their breakfast rolls and drank their coffee glanced at the solemn relic from the past sitting among them, but then went on chatting.  They had no idea who he was, and most wouldn’t have cared even if they had known.

    “Twenty-four years . . . oh, I remember now, you had dinner with us right before we moved from Georgetown.”

    David nodded.  “It was Thanksgiving Day 1980 . . . that was a day of irony if ever there was one.  We didn’t have much to be thankful for, except our friendship.”

    “So much has changed since then.”

    “And not for the better.  After you went to bed Rachael and I talked deep into the night about what was coming.  We knew the war machine would be primed, we knew unions would be crushed and corporate greed would be unleashed.  I miss her.  I still can’t believe she’s gone.”  

    “She loved you, she was in awe of you.”  Shannon smiled.  “She used to call you Excalibur.”            

    “I wish I’d been worthy of such a name, but I wasn’t.  I just tried to do what needed to be done.”

    “And you did.  Where it mattered the most, when it mattered the most, in Bobby Kennedy’s Justice Department, in the finest Justice Department this country’s ever had.”

    “It was a privilege to be there, to work with so many good people.”

     “Mother always said Bobby was King Arthur, and that you were his sword.  You were Excalibur, you were the Sword of Justice.”

    “Your mother had the soul of a poet.”

    “And you were her soul mate.  She loved my father, but you were her soul mate.”

    “I loved your father too, we were all idealists, we were so hopeful back then.  Camelot . . . the Peace Corps . . . racial equality . . . social justice . . . we really believed we could change the world.  Three killings ended it all, that’s all those savage bastards had to do.”  

    “Three assassinations, three cover-ups.  Move along America, nothing to see here.”    

    David started to reply, then fell silent.  His eyes brimmed with tears as he struggled to control his emotions.   His grief hadn’t diminished over the years, it had deepened.  Jack and Bobby and Martin had been friends of his, their deaths still haunted him.  They were just names in a history book to most of the tourists in that dining room, eating their toast and munching their grapefruit on this September morning, but they weren’t just names in a history book to him.  

    “I can’t take much more of this, David.  The outrages never end, but no one ever does anything about it.”

    “Many people are fighting back, Shannon, the results just haven’t been seen yet.  Bush and Cheney will be held accountable for what they’ve done to this country, those criminals in Congress will be held accountable.”  

    Shannon reached across the table and put her hand on David’s.  “When, David?  When?  We need justice now.”

    “I was hoping Kerry would stand up to them, I was hoping he’d tell Americans the truth.  All of it, without holding back, without pulling any punches.  He knows who controls this country, he knows politicians don’t, he knows they’re just errand boys for the rich.  It’s obvious he’s not going to fight back, he’s just going through the motions.  But others are fighting back, Shannon, many more than you realize.”

    “Well if they are, they’re not being very effective.”  Shannon looked down at her untouched breakfast.  “Not that Jericho and I have been.”

    “They’re fighting back, you’re fighting back, you’re just not getting enough help.”

    “Average Americans won’t help us, that would require admitting how bad things are, and that’s the last thing they want to do.”

    “They’re scared.  And the Republican errand boys of the rich keep them scared.  They damn well know how, they’ve had plenty of practice.”

    “Ever since McCarthy.”

    David scowled.  “Tail Gunner Joe, an alcoholic psychopath, the first errand boy to make the big time.”

    A few blocks away, Marine One approached the South Lawn of the White House and disappeared into the trees surrounding the Mansion.  David looked out the window with scathing contempt.  “Speaking of alcoholic psychopath errand boys, behold, the conqueror of Babylon has descended from the heavens. The teller of lies, the swaggering puppet president with nothing to swagger about has returned from church.”

    “Have you ever met him?”

    “No.  I met his father once, a long time ago.  A forgettable experience, I must say.  But I digress.  There’s something I need to tell you, Shannon . . . I have your mother’s journals, you need to read them, you need to see how many people are fighting back.”

    “My mother kept journals?”

    “Didn’t you know that?”

    “I had no idea.”

    David stared at Shannon.  “I can’t believe she didn’t tell you . . .”

    “What’s in them?”

    “The darkest secrets of the dark side of American power, that’s what’s in them.  Treachery beyond imagining.  Think of the Pentagon Papers, Shannon.  Think of J. Edgar Hoover’s secret files, think of what should have been in the Warren Commission report, think of what should have been in the House Select Committee on Assassinations report, think of what should have been in the Church Committee report, think of what should have been in the 9/11 Commission report.”

    “I’m lost for words right now.”

    “Yes, I can imagine.”

    “I didn’t know about her journals . . . for all these years, I never knew.”

    “Rachael devoted her entire life to this, she was relentless in her pursuit of the truth.  No one knew more career civil service people in government agencies than she did, no one understood better than Rachael did how much they knew.”  David smiled.  “Woodward and Bernstein had one Deep Throat, Rachael had hundreds of them.  She compiled their individual knowledge of abuses of power within their agencies into collective knowledge of the entire illicit system, into a damning indictment of the shadow government that controls this country.”

   “They fought back . . .”

   “Yes they did.  And the results will be seen.  Rachael made sure of that.  She earned the trust of her sources, and they told her everything.  No one was ever more determined than her, no one filed more Freedom of Information Act requests, no one was better at following the money trail, at connecting the dots, at identifying and confirming the motives and agendas of the hidden power brokers, at documenting their relationships with their errand boys in the political and intelligence establishments.”

   “If only she was here.  I need her, I’m not sure what to do . . .”

   “She’s still with us, in her journals.”  David looked into Shannon’s eyes.  “Read them, you’ll know what to do.”