By Silent Majority Page 3

  The dinner banquet was the usual formal affair. The food was excellent and the company boring. He greeted and spoke with the governors and the other guests. He let his wife do all the work. She did it well. However, just a few words and the charismatic President with a natural sense of humor made another two million dollars for the Committee to Re-elect. He brought it to his strategy meeting with his public relations team and went over the progress. Everything seemed to be going as planned. There were no hitches—re-election was almost guaranteed.

  The President escaped at 8:45 and ran into his bedroom to change into his bathrobe. He walked into the massage room and greeted Bruce.

  “Missed you this morning, Bruce,” the President said.

  “Sorry, sir,” Bruce seemed a little disturbed about something. Perhaps personal family life, and the President didn’t want to intrude.

  “I have that pain in my neck again. Will you do that thing

  you do?”

  “Oh, here’s your message, and the code—a thousand points of light.”

  “Thanks. You feeling okay?” The President opened the plastic casing. What he found was a shock. To his chagrin, the case was empty. Daniel was not bewildered, he was upset. This was never to be. If there was no message for the day, the code would signify “no message.” It was especially odd because the morning message said there would be an evening message. This could only mean one thing—his source is dead.

  The President was worried. Although he was tense about it, he knew the massage wouldn’t help much. Ten minutes into the massage there seemed to be a ruckus outside the door.

  “I must see the President immediately! I’m the—”

  “I know who you are and the President sees no one while he’s in the Massage room!” There was a loud thump against the wall. “Post 3 . . .” Instantly, a dozen Secret Service agents with shotguns and automatic weapons stormed the hall.

  “Mr. President, get under the table, sir,” Bruce said. He seemed to reach into a bag. The President wondered what he was grabbing. Bruce, Secret Service? Nah.

  “No, wait a second.” The President recognized the voice through the door. He opened the door. “What’s the problem, Jasper?” All the President saw was two agents pressing a man against the wall.

  “I’m the goddamn Chief of Staff!” It was the President’s closest friend and confidant, Peter Spark.

  “Let him go,” Daniel said. The Chief of Staff fixed his suit. “Couldn’t this wait until our nightcap?”

  “Sorry to disturb you, Mr. President.” The formal approach from Peter signaled something was wrong to Daniel. “I know no one is supposed to interrupt your massages, Mr. President, but they know. Do you hear me? They know!” Instantly Daniel knew that Peter had the answer to why the plastic message casing was empty. “They know, Daniel. We have a crisis on our hands.” The two men locked eyes, and chills ran down Daniel’s back. They both knew what had happened. Only days before the end of the first term of Camelot and the Presidency had just become a nightmare. Daniel had heard Peter’s footsteps down the hall in his mind many times before. He knew what the steps meant. After all these years, Daniel never would’ve believed that it would ever be known—it was—and Daniel knew he would have to live with this crisis.

  CHAPTER 2

  Land of Rain

  Look here, buddy. This may be the last time we’ll get American girls.”

  “In Jamaica?”

  “Yeah, D.C. Let’s face it, your career with women in college was below average. You were every girl’s best friend. I, however, am Broadway Joe Namath hitting one or two receivers at every fraternity party. You need to build up your confidence. We need a place where we can get all the practice we need. The trip’s a complete package—all you can eat and drink. We’ll be bombed the whole time. I even hear that they let you smoke grass there!” Scott Witherspoon, Daniel Carlson’s closest friend, said.

  “Woah! I heard that stuff makes you crazy,” Daniel said with a little nervousness. “I even read the North Vietnamese poisoned the stuff, to hurt American soldiers.”

  “Don’t believe all that shit. Tell them you just graduated from Yale in political science and you’re going to be an officer. And this is the last vacation you may ever have,” Scott replied.

  “It’s true. We can get killed in artillery practice. The war is over.” Daniel said with a smile.

  “Forget about it, forget about it. Even without a war, we’re tough. Are ya tough? You are. We got the Yale spirit. We ain’t comin’ back from Negril until we find two Cliffies and show them what fairies they’ve been going to college with the past four years,” Scott nodded to show that he was proud of his plan of action. “Hell, tang is sweet, but here we won’t be getting shelled at.”

  “The only thing I’m worried about is . . .”

  “What? What could you possibly be worried about? Ya got to loosen up Yaley!”

  “Well, I don’t want to get any girl pregnant. I mean who needs the responsibility and I’ll be going . . .”

  “What are ya talking about? You’re not going to get these girls pregnant. Besides, it’s not like you’re going to see these girls ever again.”

  “Scott! Are you nuts?” Daniel answered.

  “Listen, D.C. Haven’t you learned anything about sex in college? After you’re done, take her to get a banana. You have to do it right away, though. That will slow the sperm motility rate.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “My brother, read it somewhere.”

  “Sounds like your brother wrote it down on a sheet of paper and then read it back to himself.”

  “Are you with me my brother?” Scott asked raising his hands above his head.

  “After all we’ve been through, I just want to say you mean a lot to me and I’m going to miss you during any future war we’re sent to. . . . I am with you my Phi brother!”

  “Woooh! Outta sight!”

  Scott picked up his beer and shook it on Daniel’s head. Both were dancing around Scott’s apartment like a couple of college kids ready to embark on a sunny resort week in the place whose name means “land of rain,” Jamaica.

  The two college grads shuttled around the airport making their way to the immigration section.

  “Two seconds off the plane and they have you plastered,” Scott said as he staggered through the immigration line.

  “He better not ask me any difficult questions,” Daniel said as he laughed. “Free rum punch while you wait on line?”

  “Is this great?! Did I lie?” As the boys made it past immigration, Scott put down his bags, pulled out a pack of Lucky’s from his back pocket, and lit one. “Go on, have one D.C.”

  “All right, its vacation, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s my guy.” A native in a red T-shirt approached the boys and said:

  “Right, mon. This is your bus ride to the compound.”

  “Great!” They both said. A Jamaican brought their bags to the charter bus and told them to get Red Stripe beer from the man by the cooler.

  “They give us free beer for the trip,” Daniel said in wonderment.

  “This is totally great.”

  Scott picked up a bag of marijuana from the guy who carried their bags to the bus. Before the bus left the airport the boys were asked twice more if they wanted to buy some “ganja.”

  The trip from Montego Bay Airport to Negril was more than an hour long. The boys were in a constant state of fear as they were whipped and shifted around the steep and narrow corners of the mountain. The fact that the driver was on the left side of the road increased their anxiety.

  The people on the bus were from all over the United States. Everyone was chatting about what they wanted to do the most: sailing, water skiing, snorkeling, drinking. Scott made it really clear what he wanted to do the most. In fact, he couldn’t conceal his laughter ab
out a woman who said she was going to the resort for the purpose of sailing, exclusively. It seemed she had no idea that the place was for swinging singles. Daniel had a hard time concealing his laughter too.

  The coast was mostly jungles. “Just like ‘Nam, D.C.” The water reflected the sunlight. All along the way there were villages, apparently impoverished. Daniel answered the question that he thought Scott was thinking. Cows and other livestock ran free throughout each village.

  “The British just formed the West Indies Federation with about nine other British areas. Hopefully, that will help these people.”

  “Check out the guys with the dreadlocks,” Scott said. “They’re Rastafarians. They think they’re going to be grabbed by their dreads and brought to heaven. Pretty irie, huh?”

  “Where did you learn, ‘irie’?’” Daniel asked.

  “I’m not just some dumb preppie, you know. I know my Patois, the official dialect of the Jamaican people.”

  “Hey mon! We are here!” The bus driver said. “Your bags will be brought to your room.”

  “Wow! Look at all these trees. It’s paradise.”

  “It’s so humid, D.C.”

  “Ah, it’s just like Florida,” Daniel answered.

  “Bar!” Scott’s attention immediately focused on the large hut a hundred feet from the entrance, covered wall-to-wall with bottles of alcoholic beverages.

  “Let’s go!”

  The young graduates were intoxicated for the remainder of the day as they toured the grounds with a helpful blonde co-ed. The nude beach and Jacuzzi surprised Daniel, but it sounded good.

  As the sun was about to set, the boys went to their room to change for dinner.

  “That girl Karen is kind of nice,” Daniel said.

  “She’s all talk, Daniel. I’m surprised you didn’t pick that up. You’re not here to be her best friend.”

  “She spent the entire day with us. You don’t think she likes one of us?” Daniel said.

  “She was with us for protection. You have to change your vibe. She knows that she can fend you off. You just have to change your attitude and maybe she’ll come around. Meanwhile, I think we should split up for dinner. I need to put in some time with that sure thing, Mary.” Scott asserted.

  “Uh, she’s disgusting. The one with the chubby cheeks and the freckles?” Daniel usually wasn’t this blunt or opinionated, but a day of being tipsy-to-drunk had left his defenses down.

  “You know what she can do with those chubby cheeks, Daniel?”

  “I’ve finally figured it out. Why you get so many more girls than I do. I’ve always said, what does Scott have that I don’t? More charm? Better looks? More money? What?”

  “Yeah, what’s your answer?”

  “You’ve got . . . lower standards.”

  “Fuck you,” Scott said as he threw a pillow at Daniel from his bed. “Hurry up, I’m losing my buzz.”

  The resort offered activities around the clock. The disco remained open until five o’clock in the morning. Food was presented throughout the day. Daniel took advantage of the new activities he never had a chance to pick up at Yale. He learned how to play squash, European style. He mastered the fine art of sailing a little boat. Daniel also had a workout on the trampoline. He didn’t realize it could be such a cardiovascular exercise.

  The two boys met up for dinner that evening to discuss their day’s adventures.

  “You know I’ve always wondered what a massage felt like. I just got one. After I went sailing and snorkeling I went for the rub down. It was great, just great,” Daniel said.

  “Cool! Just screwed Mary in the hot tub,” Scott said, half drunk, half stoned.

  “Well, I hope you don’t have a disease. A couple of my new friends just informed me that you were Mary’s third victim since she got here three days ago.”

  “I’m wounded. I thought it was my charm,” Scott said half kidding, half seriously. “Listen, you met that guy, Bob, right? I asked him to set you up with a sure thing. I think you ought to. You’re going to Southeast Asia and frankly, I wouldn’t want you to die a virgin.”

  “Who told you I was a virgin?” Daniel demanded.

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s not what’s real it’s what everyone thinks. He knows a girl that saw you and liked you. She thought it would be neat to be your first. Decide tonight at the toga party.”

  The disc jockey was playing a mixed version of “Saturday Night Fever” and everyone was trying to disco and keep his or her toga on in the midst of the cool smoke-filled room.

  “Can’t believe they’re still playing this old shit,” Scott said. “The lights are neat, though. Hey, there’s Bob.”

  Daniel began to think about what Scott said about what was real versus what others think. Daniel locked on and deconstructed the logic of why the remark was stupid, but considered Scott was right. It is the way things are, not the way they ought to be. Why must we consider the others when it is about only the individual. Daniel struggled with these thoughts for long moments, almost losing the mood engendered by his surroundings.

  Bob, a tall, lean, muscular blonde, with a pencil-thin mustache. He had a lit joint in his hand, and walked over to Daniel and Scott.

  “Hey, cool, Bob.” Scott said.

  “Here, want a hit?” Daniel half smashed, looked at Scott and said, “What the hell.” Daniel inhaled deeply and burst out coughing. Bob and Scott laughed.

  “Try again,” Scott said. Daniel again sucked in deeply. “Hold it. Hold it. Slowly breathe out. Look at the lights man.”

  “Wow!” Daniel began to laugh. “Holy shit, let me hit again.” Daniel was a little braver and inhaled even deeper. “Wow, I’m kind of light-headed, dizzy.” They laughed even louder. The laughter was contagious, but Scott couldn’t control himself.

  Suddenly a voice came over a loud speaker, “Whoever’s smoking the ganja has to put it out. We can get in a lot of trouble.” The comment made all three boys laugh.

  “Come on,” Bob said to Daniel. “Let’s go get laid.”

  “I see her. Okay.”

  “Yeah!” Scott gave a big kiss on the cheek. “Tell me everything.” Bob and Daniel left the disco and walked off to the beach together. Daniel would finally come into his own.

  CHAPTER 3

  After Vietnam

  It had been a few years since the goal of containment was announced as the foreign policy of the United States. The fear of Soviet encirclement lingered well after American forces had been deployed to Vietnam to protect Southeast Asia from the Communist insurgency—freedom and justice for all in the world. Uncle Sam wants you! Now, Uncle Sam didn’t want you in Vietnam. It was over. But, Daniel Carlson ran to fulfill his calling, his duty, as an American. Scott Witherspoon went back to a local army recruiting station in Connecticut and Daniel went back home to Florida. It was the perfect time, but Daniel needed a war. Well, Daniel didn’t need a war to cling to, but the voice inside his head told him, serving his country was what was required. It was what was expected of him. By whom? He had not named this voice, this force, this ghost that gave criticism. The ghost-character was not a ghost from the dead, it was an apparition that navigated his path. Proper young man, Yale, the Army, and beyond—his is the path for Daniel Carlson. Daniel remembered his grandfather, his mother’s father, proudly serving in World War II. It was a well-defined war that made his grandfather a man in his grandfather’s own eyes, and everyone else’s.

  After filling out eight pages of vital statistics, the young graduate stood in line in boxer shorts and an undershirt, waiting for an Army doctor to examine him. The wait was long. The line moved slowly. But the waiting made the experience all the more exciting. The anticipation was strong. With his college degree, Daniel was counting on leading troops into battle as an officer. It was prestigious to serve one’s country. To come back as a hero—the applause
, the parades. Daniel began to sing in his mind, I love a parade. A couple steps forward and then, Over here, over there, send the word, send the word to beware, cause the yanks are coming, the yanks are . . .

  “Next!” Daniel stepped up. “Name?”

  “Daniel Carlson.” The man began writing. “No, Daniel’s my first name.”

  “Last name, first. First name last. College?”

  “Yale. Uh, yes, sir.”

  “Move along, college boy.” The soldier didn’t even register let alone express resentment. Daniel moved to another line, for more waiting.

  Daniel’s psychological exam seemed like a breeze, but who really knows? Part of being crazy is not knowing you’re crazy. Right? Well he hoped so. He didn’t want some penciled in bubbles to thwart his progress as an officer. Yesterday’s crazy could be today’s insightfulness.

  Yes sir, Lt. Carlson, Daniel heard in his head. Well it’s hi, hi, hee in field artillery. Over here over there . . . Oh, already sang that.

  Daniel passed the vision test. His vision was better than 20/20. . . . Off, into the wild blue yonder. I can’t sing that. Anchors away . . . Forget it.

  Finally, the last stage of the tests—the physical. Everything seemed to be in order. After all, Daniel was an athlete and in fine shape. He waited to receive final approval from an attending military physician. He noticed the doctor walk in, and his pulse began to rise.

  The doctor was military, but not dressed in a uniform. He wore a white lab coat. The doctor’s name—Thelvious Comsky, the son of Polish immigrants of World War II. He was a little over five feet and had to look almost directly up at Daniel.

  “You know I visited Yale once,” the doctor said.

  “Really?”

  “Please sit on the table, Daniel. Tell me. Are you anxious to serve your country?”