The Naked and the Dead - Norman Mailer [201]
He pauses. These politics are complicated.
I understand them.
There are several Radical Socialists high-placed in the Foreign Department whom I may influence. I know from a service that there is information to be bought about them. They will be amiable. There are journalists by the dozen, several men in the Bank of France whose dossiers intimes I possess. A block of Socialists is controlled by a labor leader with whom I have an understanding. These routes, all indirect, mount up, create a necessary dispersion. You must realize I am not working alone. I can assure you that nothing will be done for eighteen months; beyond that history is involved, and no man may divert it indefinitely.
They talk for several hours, work out the first terms of the agreement.
As he leaves, Cummings smiles. What we're doing is really in the long run what is best for France and America.
Sallevoisseux smiles also. Of course, Major Cummings. A peculiarly American statement, do you know?
You'll show me the dossiers you possess at hand. Tomorrow, is that right?
D'accord!
A month later, his part in the assignment completed, Cummings moves down to Rome. A telegram reaches him from his brother-in-law.
Preliminary dispositions satisfactory. Very well done. Congratulations.
He talks to an Italian colonel as part of the military mission.
I would like you to see, Signor Maggiore, our work on the problems of dysentery in the successful African campaign. We have discovered a new series of sanitary measures 73% more effective in avoiding the dreadful, the malign propensities of such a disease.
The summer heat is stifling. Despite the lecture by the Italian Colonel he suffers from diarrhea, and is plagued by a severe cold. He spends a miserable week in bed, abysmally tired. A letter follows from his brother-in-law.
I think it's a shame to ruin the understandable elation you must be feeling now after such a neat job in Paris, but there's something I really ought to tell you. Margaret, you know, has been down in Washington with me for the past two weeks, and to put it as kindly as possible, she has been acting very odd. There's a certain abandonment about her which is not proper to her age; I must confess I find it hard to believe she is my sister at times. If it were not for you, I would have told her to leave my house. I'm really awfully disturbed to ruin what must be a vacation in Rome, but I think if you can it might not be a bad idea to be thinking of coming back. Do see Monsignor Truffenio and give him my regards.
This time it is a tired hatred. I just hope she keeps it quiet he swears to himself. He has a nightmare that evening, waking up on a fever-ridden bed. He thinks of his father for the first time in a year or two, remembers his death a few years ago and relives a little of the anxiety it had caused him. After midnight he gets up on an impulse and walks the streets, ending up in an alley where he becomes drunk in a bar.
There is a little man pawing him. Signor Maggiore you come home with me now?
He staggers along dimly aware of what he wants, but he does not find it. In another alley the little man and a confederate jump him, strip his pockets, and leave him to awaken in the harsh glare, the quick stench of the sun on a garbage-filled alley in Rome. He makes it back to his hotel without too many people seeing him, changes his clothes, takes a bath, and goes to bed for over a day. He feels as if he is breaking apart.
I must confess, your Reverence, that I have admired the Church for many years. In the immensity of your conception lies your greatness.
The Cardinal bows his head. I am pleased to give you an audience, my son. You have done good work already. I have heard of your labors in Paris against the Antichrist.
I labored for my country. (In this setting the words cause him no embarrassment.)
There is a nobler labor.
I am aware of it, your Reverence. . . There are times when I feel a great weariness.
You may be preparing for an important change.
Sometimes I think so. I've always looked upon your Church with admiration.
He walks through the great courtyard of the Vatican, stares for a long time at the dome of St. Peter's. The ceremony he has just heard has moved him, sent music lapping through his brain.