A Rage for Revenge

"It's in the Declaration of Independence," I said.

"Did you learn it?" he asked with elaborate patience.

"Yes," I said.

"Did you learn that as a fact?" Delandro repeated. "Or as a responsibility?"

"Uh . . . a responsibility."

"I doubt that," said Delandro, "I doubt it very much."

"Maybe some of us interpret responsibility a little bit different than you," I offered.

"On that we are in absolute agreement," he said, smiling for the first time. "There are people on this continent who are no longer willing to allow the so-called government of the United States to claim to represent us or act in our names. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Do you?" He looked at me as if he could see into my soul. "Or are you just saying yes to avoid hearing what I'm really saying?"

I took a breath. I returned his stare. "Yes," I said. "I understand." My knees were beginning to hurt. My arms were beginning to ache. The sweat was carving a river down my side. And I wanted to know what had happened to the kid.

"Can I get up?"

"In a minute. First we need to establish the ground rules." He stood up and pulled a pistol out from under his sweater. It had been stuck in his belt. "Do you know what this is?" It was a silver-plated Walther PPK. I wondered whose body he'd taken it off of.

"It's a gun."

"Do you know what it does?"

"It kills people."

"Very good." He brought it up very close to my face, so close I couldn't focus on it. He held the end of the barrel under my nose. "Smell the gunpowder?"

I managed to say, "Yes."

He shoved the end of the barrel into my mouth. "Taste the metal?"

I tried to nod. My heart was banging in my throat. "Want to feel the bullet?"

I shook my head, very slowly. My eyes felt like hard-boiled eggs. I was afraid to blink.

"Good. James McCarthy has chosen to live. Now you're ready to hear the ground rules. I'm going to ask you to give me your word. If you break your word to me, I'll kill you. I'll blow your fucking brains out. Do you understand?"

"Mm-hmh!"

"What was that again?" He took the gun out of my mouth.

"Yes!" I nearly shouted it. I was terrified. I gulped and added, "I understand. If I break my word, you'll kill me."

Delandro grinned toothily. "Very good, James. There may be a chance for you after all." He started to turn away, then suddenly he turned back and squatted down in front of me again. His face was very close. He looked me straight in the eyes and his expression was icy. "You don't fool me for a minute, you slimy motherfucker. You'd kill me in a second if you thought you could get away with it. You're just waiting for the opportunity, aren't you?"

I didn't answer. I just glared at him.

He held up his pistol meaningfully. "Tell the truth, James."

"Right," I said. It was the truth.

"Thank you." He smiled disarmingly, as if we were longtime friends. "You see, there's no punishment for telling the truth, James. You can tell me anything you want. I can take it."

"You're right," I said; I didn't care if my hatred showed. "That's exactly what I've been thinking."

"Thank you," Delandro said. Suddenly, his voice took on an intensely earnest quality. "I appreciate your honesty. It's a very good beginning."

"You see," he added, "it's only your military programming that wants to kill me. You've been brainwashed. Your mind has been turned into a nasty little military machine. But I don't listen to what that machinery spits out. Because I know where it comes from. And I also know that there's a real person under all that programming. The truth is, you don't really want to kill anyone at all."

"You're right. I don't want to kill," I said very carefully and very evenly. "But I will kill you if I get the chance."

"That's very courageous," Delandro grinned. "That's a perfect example of how a military mind works." He patted me on the shoulder. "You can be proud of yourself. You told me off."

"I meant it," I said. "I will kill you."

He studied me quietly. "Do you see how you're stuck in that?" he asked.

"It may take me a while," I said. "But you can count on it."

Delandro straightened up. He was unimpressed. "If I felt that was true," he said, "I wouldn't even bother continuing." He reholstered his pistol in his belt and pulled his sweater down over it again. "Did you get the ground rules?"

"Yes."

"What are they?"

I said it acidly. "If I break my word, you'll kill me."

"So, therefore . . . ?" he prompted.

"Whether I live or die will be my choice."

"Very good! Say it again, please. All of it."

My lips were so tight I could hardly speak. The words came out like bullets. "The choice between living and dying is entirely mine. If I break my word, you'll kill me."

"Very good, Jim. You may stand up now. You may put your hands down."

I did so.

"Now," he said. "I am going to ask you to give me your word that you will answer my questions truthfully, that you won't try to escape, and that you will cooperate to the best of your ability."

I hesitated.

"If you're thinking about your name, rank and serial number, forget it. I already know those things. And you're not a prisoner of war, Jim. Quite the contrary. You've been liberated. But you don't see it as liberation, do you?"

"No, I don't," I admitted. "If it's really liberation, you shouldn't have to threaten me."

"Quite," he agreed. "Do you know how to train a mule?" I shook my head. "You hit it with a two-by-four. Then, after you have its attention, you can begin to train it. Do you understand the analogy?"

"Yes."

"Good. You don't see it as liberation. Not yet. Don't worry, you will. Until that time, I want your word."

Still I hesitated.

Delandro looked confused. "Is there some problem James? Didn't we make ourselves clear?" He put his hand inside his sweater-on his pistol butt.

I gulped. "You have my word."

"Thank you," he said. He waved to someone behind me. "All right, relax."

I looked to my rear.

There were two more worms there. Bigger than the one they called Orrie.

They had been there the whole time.

A lady who lives in New Delhi
has habits disgusting and smelhi.
She likes to eat feces
of various species.
(The recipe is tattooed on her belhi.)

6 Mr. President

"A lot of what I say comes off as political satire. In that, I have a lot in common with Congress."

--SOLOMON SHORT

There were fourteen of them altogether, eight men and six women. And three worms. And a scattering of dogs, sniffing and growling. I noticed that the dogs kept their distance from the worms.

There was also . . . a bunnydog. A bunnydog-thing.

But it wasn't fat and cute and pink and it didn't look friendly. It was a meter high, thin and weasely and brownish red. It looked like a little naked thing that had lost its bunnydog suit; its hands were bony like a rat's and its eyes had a reddish cast. It moved freely among the dogs and the worms and the humans, sniffing and chittering like a squirrel, occasionally pausing to examine objects on the ground; rocks, plants, whatever it chanced upon. Its curiosity was insatiable. It hop-waddled up to the pile of my belongings and began sorting through them. It picked up my dog tags and sniffed and bit at them.

Delandro leaned over and took the dog tags away from the naked bunnydog thing. "No no, Mr. President. Not good."

Mr. President looked annoyed, but chittered an acknowledgment and returned its attention to the rest of my things. "James, come with me. " Delandro led me away from the dome, leaving Mr. President and the others. As we passed the Jeep I noticed there was a lot of blood all over the ground, but no bodies.