Prophecy (3 page)

It was not as simple as it sounded. The lumber companies employed over half the working people of Maine. The working people of Maine supported their Senators. Their Senators had control of the purse strings that kept the Environmental Protection Agency alive. One Senator in particular, the Republican from Maine, had already started working the territory. Shusette had received an invitation to go fishing at his private cabin on the Kennebec River on the opening day of salmon season. It was easy to resist this kind of obvious bid, but there were others that were not so easily ignored.

In Washington one hand, it was said, washed the other. Fittingly, Shusette had noticed, politicians were a breed of one-handed men. They seemed to rely on their right hand. For handshaking, gesturing, and pointing fingers in people’s faces. The left hand was usually kept in a pocket or in a tight fist, no doubt concealing what the handshaking, gesturing, and finger-pointing was all about.

In the case of the Republican Senator from Maine, the left hand concealed a grab bag of threats and promises. The promise that if Shusette’s Agency wrote a positive, or sufficiently ambiguous, report, he’d honor their sacrifice of the first round by giving up the next. If, for instance, they reported that wide-scale timber cutting in the Manatee Forest would not be detrimental to the environment, the Senator would support a suggestion that the cutting be “limited” rather than total. If, on the other hand, the Environmental Protection report came in totally negative, the Senator could wage war on the Agency with the full financial resources of the timber lobby behind him. He could campaign to discredit their report; he might even introduce legislation that would curtail their future involvement in the controversy over cutting trees.

The showdown between the Pitney Paper Mill and

18

a handful of Indians calling themselves the Original People was not just a minor skirmish. The results of this isolated land dispute had precedent-setting ramifications, and the Environmental Protection report would provide a powerful weapon for one side or the other to use. Shusette wondered how many of his field workers had already been contacted by the timber lobby, received invitations to parties, or been given hints of political jobs. They were a dedicated group and, as far as Shusette knew, incorruptible. But the pressure on whoever took this job would be enormous. It was for all these reasons that Victor Shusette had thought of Robert Vern. He was from outside the Agency; his integrity was unquestionable, his dedication to the cause of human justice was beyond compare. He had no political ambitions and could face down any politician. And he had the healer’s gift of dealing with the kind of emotional turmoil that existed in the Manatee Forest. Moreover, he had reached the end of the line in Public Health. Shusette knew that Robert Vern was psychologically ready for a change.

“Rob?”

Victor Shusette moved tentatively down the darkened hospital corridor toward the lone figure leaning against the wall. It was past midnight, and he had looked everywhere for Rob, had even called his wife just an hour ago, awakening her to find that he still hadn’t returned home. On an off chance he drove to the hospital and found that Rob had been there since two in the afternoon, trying to save the life of the tenement infant.

The silhouetted figure before him looked like Rob, but Shusette couldn’t be sure. He had never seen Rob standing still before. Since they’d first met in the Central Commissary a year ago, their conversations had always been conducted in transit; Shusette hurrying to keep Rob’s pace as he ran from one point to

19

the other. The man standing before him now was plainly exhausted, drained of every bit of life and energy.

“Victor,” Rob said. “What brings you here?”

“Mohammed comes to the mountain.” He paused to assess his friend. “You all right?”

Rob nodded. “Have a cigarette?”

“You smoke?”

“Not since I was twenty-two.”

“Taking it up?”

“I might.”

Shusette produced a cigarette and Rob lit up, taking a puff without inhaling, not liking the taste.

“I’ll take it.”

Rob gave it to Shusette, then moved to a bench, where he sat with exhaustion.

“How’s the baby?” Victor asked.

“Weak. How’d you know about the baby?”

“I keep a close eye on you.”

Rob was beyond banter. He lay down on the bench, one arm crossed over his eyes, as though settling in for the night.

“Not going home?” Victor asked.

“Waiting for an EKG.”

“Too tired to talk?”

“No.”

“I’ll let you alone if you’re too tired.”

“I can listen.”

Shusette paused, glancing down the hall in search of a chair. There was none. He slid down to the floor, sitting against the wall. From a distance they would have looked like a couple of derelicts.

“I wanted to tell you about that hearing this morning.”

“I’m sorry I missed it.”

“I am, too. It was really something. The Indians are going on the warpath.”

“A few of them attacked my ambulance.”

“They’ve got good reason. To be angry, I mean.”

“Don’t we all.”

20

“This paper mill … the Pitney Mill … bought timber rights to a hundred thousand acres of forest, under the provisions of Treaty Nine. The Indians claim that Treaty Nine was never ratified by Congress.”

“I read about it.”

“The Indians have blockaded access to the forest, keeping the lumber company out … the Supreme Court’s filed a restraining order against the blockade … everybody’s ready to kill each other, and the whole thing is holding for an Environmental Protection Report.”

Shusette paused, letting Rob absorb it. He didn’t want to go too fast.

“That’s a land dispute,” Rob mumbled. “What does the Environmental Protection Agency have to do with a land dispute?”

“It’s a judicial cop-out. No one wants to make a decision.”

“Political football,” Rob mumbled.

“The Superbowl,” Shusette added. “Whoever writes this one up is going to make or break the lumber industry. I’d say it could make or break the earth’s entire environment. The land environment, anyway.”

“Then all you have left is the ocean and the sky.”

“Wouldn’t mind winning one out of three.”

Rob sat up, rubbing his eyes. “I sometimes envy you, Victor.”

“Why is that?”

“Earth, water, and sky. Seems very simple to me.”

Shusette was amused. “Does it?”

“The issues are right out there. You go into battle, and you win or lose.”

“Usually lose.”

“But the losses are decisive. And so are the victories.”

“That’s true.”

Rob rubbed his face, issuing a long sigh. “Me … I just do ‘housework.’ I’m like a maid in a house full of destructive kids. I clean up one room, and by the time I move to the next, the first one is messed up

21

again.” Rob’s face was somber, bis voice soft and without expression. “I stand in the middle of this mess, and I shout, ‘This has got to stop.’ And no one listens.” His eyes roamed to Shusette, who was visible only as a cigarette puffing in the near darkness. “What does it take to get someone to listen?”

Shusette shook his head.

“My wife once told me,” Rob continued, “she met an artist. A painter. And he told her that a great , work of art is never finished. It’s just abandoned.” He smiled sadly to himself. “I wonder if the same is true of great intentions.”

“Sounds like you’re about to give up.”

“Do I?”

“Are you?”

“Maybe.”

Shusette struggled to get up from the floor, his bones aching as he hobbled to the bench and sat down next to Rob. “Want to know something?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“If I could have planned your side of this conversation, I couldn’t have done it better.”

Rob glanced at him, not understanding.

“I’ve been waiting for you to get fed up with what you’re doing.”

“Why?”

“I’d like you to come over to the EPA.”

Rob shook his head.

?It’s bigger, Rob. The stakes are higher. You’re spending the night here trying to save one sick baby when you could be holding the lifeline of the entire species in your hands. You go to court to clean up one room in a tenement when you could be using that same energy to clean up the entire planet that tenement stands on.”

Rob was silent.

“You want potency?” Shusette continued. “I’m prepared to put a job in your hands that could affect the entire land mass of this country.” Shusette locked

22

into Rob’s eyes. “I’m talking about putting you in a pivotal place in time, and events, where you can have an effect on your entire world.”

Rob remained silent. Shusette knew he had a hook in him.

“I’m talking about this land dispute.”

“It’s not my field, Vic.”

“I trust you.”

“Trust me about tenements. Not about trees.”

“I can teach you what you need to know. There’s nothing mysterious about it, it’s all written down in books.”

Rob studied Shusette’s face in the darkness. “Why me?”

“Because you have intelligence and you have tact. And you have integrity.”

“That’s very flattering, but it doesn’t answer the question.”

Shusette rose and stood before him. “I’ll tell you the truth. I’m walking through a mine field on this one, and if I don’t step carefully, the whole Agency can get blown up. The timber lobby is breathing down my neck. The politics are hot and heavy. That forest is turning into a war zone.”

Rob was skeptical. “It can’t be that bad …”

“Not for you, no. You’re accustomed to war zones. I’ve got all the tree experts I need. I need someone who can deal with people. That’s what you’re expert at. If you’ll let me bone you up for a few days, there’ll be nobody better equipped to do this than you.”

Rob pondered it in silence, then rose. He paced the corridor, his footsteps echoing in the stillness. He was tempted by Shusette’s offer and it made him feel disloyal. As though, by entertaining the thought of change, he was somehow cheating on the people who counted on him. He thought about the black woman and her baby. And his promise to help them.

“What are you thinking?” asked Shusette.

“I feel like a married man dreaming about a mistress,” Rob replied.

23

“Maybe that’s a good way to think about it. Just a mistress. Just something to try.”

Shusette could see that Rob was wavering. “Just give me two weeks of your life,” he said. “I need you on this one.”

24

24

3

The street demonstration conducted by the American Indians in front of the White House had reached a fever pitch by the following day. Maggie Vern watched it from a taxi as she headed back to the doctor’s office she had visited two days prior. Rob had not returned home at all last night, remaining at the hospital to monitor the life-and-death struggle of the tenement infant. He had called to tell her that he would likely be returning there again tonight after putting in a full day at his office. It was just as well. She was in no condition to face him.

At the doctor’s office she waited in the company of women in varying stages of pregnancy, keeping her eyes riveted on the page of a magazine. Her palms were moist and her toes hurt from being curled in her shoes, which was a habit of hers when she was nervous. Sometimes she wouldn’t even realize she’d had a tense day until her toes started aching at night. For the past two nights, while she waited for the test results, her toes had been throbbing.

She knew that if the test was positive, she would have to deal with something she didn’t have the strength for. Her husband was a powerful man, articulate and passionate, always able to convince her that his way was right. As far as having children was concerned, she had heard him recite the litany many times. There were ten million unwanted children in the world. Population control was the responsibility

25

of everyone, regardless of their economic means. The society was failing. The environment was failing. It was irresponsible to bring another child into the world.

In the early years she had agreed with him. His beliefs were her beliefs. She found excitement in sharing his sense of purpose. She was raised in the sheltered environment of upstate New York, exposed to only the homogenized people and products of an upper-middle-class world, and to her Robert Vem had been a magnetic and dashing figure. A man of the world, alive with passion, filled with the belief that he could shape the future in the palm of his hand. It made her own life seem trivial, her horizons limited, her intellect insubstantial. Her feeling in those early years was gratitude; it was miraculous to her that this giant of a man could have loved her.

The gratitude had now eroded into a smoldering resentment, but the feelings of inferiority still persisted. Maggie felt a sense of shame that she could not rise above her own needs. She felt selfish for wanting to be happy.

Ironically, the life they led in Washington was one that anyone looking on from the outside would envy. They were each accomplished in their fields, recognized for their work, and they occasionally rubbed shoulders with people who made history. Maggie had played her cello at the White House; Rob had sat on a dais with Andrew Young at a seminar on World Hunger. To all who knew them, they appeared as independent, strong, and fulfilled people. The very essence of what modern marriage was supposed to be.

What Maggie knew was that it was no longer a marriage at all. It was a bed-and-board arrangement between two people who lived separate lives, and whose values were growing more divergent with each passing day. When they found themselves together, they talked of daily events, masking their crying need for intimacy. They never talked about their feelings

26

any more, their secret hopes and dreams. It was as though that were a forgotten language; a language of their childhood that didn’t apply to their roles in the adult world.