THE MAKING IN AN ELECTION YEAR
Chapter One
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"Aye," the voice sang and bounced on the platform like a solo musician bending the note to reach, "Aye, my vote's aye." Her body sloshed against her clothes, a rich wine in a round bottle. "Aye to you's and aye to me's, aye to aye if you know what I mean, uh honey?" She floated a hands-in-the-air polka and her eyes sallied out towards the chairman.
His chair rocked back and he castled with the committee. The gavel closed, "This is a platform hearing . . . "
"Whoo, what my platforms know. They have been there and again. I hear the talkin', but I don't see no walkin'."
"Miss, will you take a seat or ..."
"An invitation to participatory democracy. I'll take theirs but will they take mine?"
"We'll have to remove you."
"Is that a motion from the body to set this body in motion because the locomotion needed for such a motion is sure to cause some commotion, whoo, yeh," and she was whistling and dribbling her feet as if they were two frogs in a fly factory.
The jersey junkies dented their way to her and drove her through the poker chip peepers and the hockey puck mouths. "Easy boys, if torn, the skin leaks." She turned to the liberal, "How about you and I hokding our own kind of bull session, we can have motions and seconds. All at my place." There was no reply. "Okay then, at your place, but only because I like your politics." And she gave him a little pat.
The traffic voice-up had cleared and still standing, on knee bent on the assigned seat and a jolly-olly mosied 'cross my window-face, when the silecnce whirlpooled me. I sunk into the chair, my face in flame and little men stomping it out in golf cleats. My eyes peered from my shoes, crawling over the thick cabl3es anchored across the floor and onto the green walls that formed the room hunched in the belly of the building. Crack-wrinkled the pictures hung, Washington and Lincoln at the back and the less folded around to the front. From above, the gold emblazoned P.A. system looked over us.
"May I borrow your tissue," I spooked at the voice coptering over me. His hand gratered my shoulder as I fumbled inside my purse, spilling my sweetest cologne. He pressed an iron grin on me, "I'll see you after the meeting." I arm-lengthed in reply, but he had turned to walk down the straits.
Bold and confident beneath the plated armor. Undaunted by the peril, he before the court. The nostrils on my heart flared to taste. "And now indirect from one engatgement after another and still promising, our own, Harless Hotspum."
Apostles at the table he bowed to, disciples, they have gone and filed. For they knew that even though the corded vestments were reverently worn before the masses, they remained stored with in the bureaus, and our passion-quilted open-necks kissed away for their cloaks.
Harless huddled with the umpire, Bill Cord, and the P.O. Boxed the delegated. "Find we a time for frighted peace to pant . . . It seems then that the tiding of this broil brake off our business."
One of the bubble synthesizers at the table had doubles and wanted to trade it off, "My dear, shall we subdivide. The Baltic Straits need parceling."
Fannie Fatslaff says the sheath is kept to protect the knife.
"We are men of good government being governed as the sea is . . . by the moon."
The rich bottom land was on the end of the table, dozing. Farmer Fallow he was affectionately called in the subsidy circles.
Fannie Fatslaff says the compost heap is smelling.
"We call for your service and you reply 'coming' yet you stand still and hear such a calling . . . "
The founder of Cadillacs for Christ who parlayed his fortune in ice cube defogging units, sat smacking.
Fannie Fatslaff says when your assets are frozen, you belong on the hot seat.
The followeres shuffled their chairs and the the third, who was first, noticed.
"Out of order. You are out of order. I can't rule on your motion if you persist in being out of order."
He was riding a mail train, "I see the house and I raise the limits." The bass drum shelled his back thundering out the seasons in peristaltic rhythms. Winds gusted a clear stacatto irreverence. Strings canyoned the solitude inside the rain. The primordial song brought ripeness to full blooming laughter.
"Grab him, the damned contagion."
"You've got the high hand, but I've got the wild. And now an old favorite, the oft' reuested National Anthem, 'A Foot to the Rule'."
They hesitated, but for only a downbeat.
At the portal, a singular revolution, his hat waved towards the ice cream expression on my face, "Can't buy a thrill." The room clanked oppressive with anger. Then he bowed out, leaving his drum dancing in the door where it was secured by a uniformed in a head first arrest and tossing his bugle on a chair where it puckered and tooted some old fart in a tail-first overture.
Hotspum metronomed, his gestures geared to the correct ratio. Then he had my arm, guiding past the door, "Where shall I take you, my dear." He repinned my tag, "You know, Lahal, the keys are at our feet." He gleamed a strong steel grin and fastened his arm in mine as I wondered at the value of the floor, it being locked and all.
At the restaurant, Harless ordered for both of us. "As part of the convention, you must be enfoyuing yourself."
"The excitement is dazzling."
"We'll maintain that level, after all, history is being made. And how about you?"
"I thought you expressed the urgency very well today. Something's happening out there." Fish-faced now, pressed against the glass.
Blue everywhere, countless as they refused the number, encircling in their dance. From the center of this motley assortment of fringe aspireres, surely you Jest. Intonations of the blues. He was the soaring, the wingful of bird creating the sky with a song leaving the nest:
"The Christs are on the lam, the car dealers on the dodge,
The Jekylls are in hiding, the pilots on the wing.
The priests deal in bread, their prophets canonized,
Their lives spent in vestments, the holy order never altared."
I caught glisses of his movements between the summer-eyed gypsies. Blunt-rolly, without the ragged edges, joshing balloons in a laughing gas outlet.
"I con't really tell what's taking place from here."
"None are from our group I can assure you. They'll move on shortly and we don't want to lose our place by the window."
From my silence he supposed his correctness. It was not my intention to float from the gravity of his voice.
"The nights are filled with terror, the Qheens are in the closet,
The king sits on his throne, the serfs wet with the stains.
The troops bask in the sun, in neat rows for review,
There's no General peace, till they do honor to us all."
"They sure know what good food's about here."
I agreed wondering if they were eating as well outside.
Renegades on the aberrant pavement, sticking in the craw of the gravel freezeland. They were the grey of the masonry turned inside out. But in a still-shot around the corner, the street maintenance crew were believing in the importance of being an extra. The crew, always on camera, kenew their roles but waited for direction because it too was in the script. Poised there with thir movi-guns and lampshade helmets, it was like joking about invasions from outer space with Boris Karloff. Walking like galley drums they threshered, leaning back like a door crasher and then ooz upon ooze of advance.
"What will happen now?" I wanted him to bounce up cursing and spitting with the recognition of what was going down. I wanted to hear him screeving with my voice.
"The newspapers will grab at it, point to disunity as the major issue of the campaign and wonder aloud about the charismatic qualities of the candidates. We'll all look incompetent but the reporters, they retain the unsoiled character of the historian. They'll point out the ironies and the pathos and be unaccountable from any perspective. The kids seem to regard conventions as playgrounds for their antics, not that the cops don't enjoy these maneuvers. It's understandable that they wish to vent their frustrations. Here they come again."
Jest at the Maginot Line, "Unless this is Troop 10 out on a nature hike, we'd better pull the plug on the jukebox 'cause the jig is up."
"C'mon man, force the confrontation."
"What do you plan to do, knock 'em over then take them home? A cupie doll collection to rival any king's."
"I'm calling it a cop-out."
He eyebrowed the advancing, "Seems more like a cop-in."
Still bleacher bumming, "Okay now, organize. Stay together and no one will be hurt. Keep the consciousness and the importance of the conflict . . . "
Jest half-umbrellaed his shoulders and split.
Unpocketing his charge-card, Harless said, "Let's see where we can credit our tab."
The man on the behind of the counter thrilled the keys till the register discharged its green wad. The money hung in the room like glue between magnetic forces.
Harless began the tour, "This building is not only noted for its impressive architecture and Olympic size swimming pool below the convention floor, but also for its modern fire retardant system in the form of these sprinklers abouve you. They can rain a torrent in minutes."
Like tosses along the white foam, the beach ball currented down the people pipe and rolled into our facefulls. "What's shaking? Or are you two off to be jello binders?"
"Fannie Fatslaff, say howdy-doody to Harless and join us."
"Yes Fannie, we're off to the nerve center of the convention."
"Is this the mighty wizard?" i dialogued.
"This is our baby. We feed the computer our structures," the man at the keys hammered at the punch-type like an electronic ad man's voice, "and it compiles and weighs the data. We are then able to direct our electorate appeal from what we read in the print-out."
"Kind of like a conveyor belt from God."
"You're not playing with a full deck."
"Uh? Oh, thanks Fannie but no one card is intrinsically significant." The lower arcs of my rearrangers heeled Fannie as she approached the digit-dabblers. "However, each card must be inspected and made uniform or the computer can't absorb it or produce the technique to cover its use."
"Technucklgy in action."
The terminal had.
"What happened? The machine is down! What's this last input? - "Get the little girl home, give the man a brain or even half a brain, and find me a heart (preferably with a nice body).'"
We left the man mumbling about bugs or was it munchkins?
A meeting was next agendaed and it should have been marqueed as the largest collection of Disneyland Hamlets.
"My constituency won't keep quiet on this one."
"Never mind if they like it, will they oppose it?"
"I'm not certain."
"O.K., then we'll call it by some other name. The Administrative Organizational Funding Act has a nice sound to it. And if a watchdog latchers onto the increase in high echelon spending . . . Well, I don't need to say anything more, none of you need coaxing on clarifying congressional developments or you wouldn't be present today. Look who just came in to join the roll call. I'm sure you gentlemen recognize Harless Hotspum. Mr. Hotspum will take the floor as soon as we come to consensus on the agreement we agrred was the agreement we ratified. To reiterate then, it is not incumbent upon us to . . ."
"I beg your pardon, but I believe we are the incumbents."
"I'm sure we're all aware of the direction of the campaign and of course the necessary responses. That, as always, is not the issue. The question before us is: Do we expect the constituency to rally an effective drive for leadership?"
"May I address that point?" It was Harless who steered the phrase. "With our leadership they should again be a strong supportive constituency."
My attention was not riveted on him however, as a treader and hat stuffing emerged through the window like a cartoon character quilling his own feature. "Don't unwallet your attention. I'm jest here because of gaseous leakings which I've been asked to extreme unction. May I alleviate this pane?" He propped a stick between the steamshovel jaws, "Ah, wisdom calls from the street."
But no one listened. The speakers were plugged in and grounded so they wouldn't come up short when they operated on the higher frequencies.
Jest's voice sported me like robin's wings. "Were you up all night leaning on the window sill?"
"No, I like it here under the big top."
"You've got a good view from the gallery but you forgot the peanuts." From something up his sleeve, he produced bags of nuts.
"It's not enough I listen to the speeches, you have to bring your own shell game." My insides turned to meringue, my face bubbled into giggles as we as we cracked in the back of the room.
"They do work without a net."
"But they never leave the ground."
A baseball cap flew out of his pocket lighting on his head. "Play ball. And it's game time as the blackboard managers echo the past efforts of champoinship teams in their bid for another grand series."
The gesturn was loaded with Harless.
"I was giving a lecture tour at certain historical cities pertinent to the beginnings of our democracy. I was touring with a number of the members in the party and the subject of unity came up. I, of course, made quite a case for harmony. I was about to put the capper on my remarks when one dear lady from the heartland of the country raised her hand and said, 'I don't think we should make too much of this unity stuff. You know our first shots were fired at Concord.'"
"We have an opening lead of one club."
The room was sucking through the nipple. "But we do manage to iron out or difficulties and coalesce our support towards one goal. This has always been our greatest strength and it's reflected in the quality of our leaders. Support at the poles has traditionally been followed by financial backing. It takes large sums ..."
"Our club lead is quickly followed by two diamonds, a move reminescent of earlier championship teams."
"I know you'll be in the forefront with your support. The same support that enabled a man from modest beginnings to stand before us a decade ago as a great leader. I think back to that man and to his emotion-packed farewell that ended his many years of public service."
"Three hearts." The room swallowed hard.
"I think back to his words of gratitude as he thanked us for insuring that any man from even the most humble of origins has the chance to rise to power. He told us that greatness lies in the ability to overcome even the most formidable of obstacles. We won't forget that commitment to peoples everywhere regardless of race, creed or religion. We will have all paths open for all people."
"A clever bid of four spades, a tough bid to follow."
"Because it is such commitments that have forged our country in the past and will hold the key to our future. As long as we stay strong in our defense of liberty everywhere we will realize a glorious future. This party has formed the tradition that has spelled out freedom and justice as we know it. We have preserved that democracy. We haave stood ahead of those who recognize the United States of America as the guardian of mankind."
"A fine performance. Six no trumps and game."
"Pop goes the Fannie Fatslaff. Her head sprung and bobbed at the door. "Is this the line for the free drinks and midnight excursion to Ellis Island?"
"Are you a caucusser?" the voice swallowed its collar.
"Sounds like a clear case of Freudian envy."
A mouthstack whiffed touchable odor towards Fannie but she resprung and rebobbed.
"Th-th-that's all folks for me," Jest did the Porky. "You could die here on top of this hill."
"If I don't make it, I know you will."
The stake snapped behind his backward reaching gaze.
Someone's lungs heaved. A man tried to torch a smoker but he could finally get no more flame. I was necklaced by a hand that captured my breath. Harless tempered his hand in mine, "Was that bum distraction you? I'll make sure he doesn't bother you again," and he forged his arm across my waist.