Thus on the morning of May 16th, Johnson’s fate hung on the thread of one man’s life and the delicate balance of another man’s judgment. It was a senatorial drama unmatched in American history21 .
Four men carried Grimes into the Senate chamber on a stretcher. When his name was called he struggled to his feet and called out “Not guilty.” When Ross also voted for acquittal, Johnson was saved.
The “Radical Republicans” maneuvered a delay in the hopes of being able to change one vote before the other charges against Johnson were decided. There was the chance that Ross might be persuaded to change his mind. There was the chance that Grimes might die and be replaced by a pro-impeachment Senator.
Resting with Heavenly in the upstairs room of the bordello, I never dreamed that I would have a part to play in the unfolding drama. Heavenly, like just about everybody else in Washington, I guess, could talk of nothing else but the vote of the day and the prospects for the upcoming vote. Listening to her, and having the advantage of knowledge of the future, I couldn’t help feeling strongly pro-impeachment myself. But the idea that I might be able to influence the vote and change the course of history didn’t occur to me—then.
After a while Heavenly left me alone. Her presence was required back at the party downstairs. Since my presence wasn’t requested, I stayed out and waited for her to return. I passed the time by putting in a call to Putnam. It had been some time since I’d been free to speak with him and I figured he might need some prodding to speed my return to my own time. He sounded grumpy when his voice finally responded over the wrist radio.
“I was sound asleep,” he complained. “It’s the middle of the night. That’s a hell of a time to call a person.”
“Why are you whispering?” I asked.
“I don’t want to wake Ti Nih. If she wakes up, she’ll want to make love. And to tell you the truth, Steve, I don’t have the energy.”
“Then why do you sleep in the same bed with her? Isn’t it dangerous? Suppose Papa Baapuh caught you?”
“Suppose he did? I’ve got diplomatic immunity,” Putnam told me smugly.
“But what about me?” I exploded. “If he gets mad at you, he’ll never bring me back. I’ll be stuck here forever!”
“That’s your whole trouble, Steve. You’re only concerned with self. Why don’t you think of poor Ti Nih? She’d be devastated if her father forced me to leave her.”
I told him what he could do with “poor Ti Nih.” He told me with insufferable self-satisfaction that he’d already done it. I squelched my ire and tried to stick to that which was most pertinent to me. “How long before you bring me all the way back?” I demanded. “How many more jumps?”
“Search me, Steve. I don’t really dig the technical ramifications. That’s not my department. By the way, how are you getting along with Nero?”
“Nero!” I controlled myself. “Just dandy,” I told Putnam sweetly. “The last time I saw him he was serenading me on the fiddle while I was being drawn and quartered.”
“Really? But you did manage to pull yourself together, didn’t you, Steve?” Putnam chuckled. “I mean you’re all in one piece now.”
“Putnam, this is no laughing matter. Aren’t you even interested enough to know that Papa Baapuh jumped me twice since then? How come you aren’t keeping tabs on that?”
“Well, you know, the old man is pretty close-mouthed. It would be impolite for me to be too nosy.”
“Then be impolite! For your information, while you’ve been observing the amenities and making it with his daughter on the side, I’ve gone through the Spanish Inquisition and been burned at the stake!” .
“That’s a job well done!” Putnam chuckled again.
“One more pun like that and I promise you that if I ever see you again I’ll murder you in cold blood!” I promised him sincerely.
“It just seemed to me that being burned at the stake must have been a rare experience for you,” he persisted.
“That did it!”
“Sorry. Just couldn’t resist. I do apologize, old boy. Tell me, where are you at the moment?”
“Washington, D.C., during the impeachment proceedings against Andrew Johnson. I’m holed up in a fancy brothel at the moment.”
“In a brothel? And you’ve got the gall to make moralistic noises about Ti Nih. Really, Steve!” he tut-tutted.
“I didn’t plan it this way. I just happened to land here.”
“Oh, sure, the man from O.R.G.Y. just happens to land in a brothel. And I’ll bet you’re just hating every minute of it. Well, you’ll pardon me if I don’t let sympathy for you overwhelm me.”
“I tell you I couldn’t help it! Just get me out of here!”
“All in good time. Unless-—”
“Unless?” I felt a quiver of apprehension.
“Unless the Red Guard gets nasty. They’re in the village now, you know. And you and I are the reason they’re here. So far my diplomatic influence has kept them from actively interfering with Papa Baapuh. The local Tibetan authorities are on our side. But these Red Guard bozos are Chinese and they rule Tibet. So if they should decide to get rambunctious—”
“Oh that’s real reassuring,” I told him. “I haven’t got enough troubles. What are you doing about the situation?”
“It’s very delicate. I’m handling it with great delicacy. So, as delicately as possible, I’m doing nothing. Maybe they’ll get tired of the climate and go away.”
“That’s what I like about you, Putnam. You’re a man of firm, decisive action.”
“Well, what do you expect me to do?”
“Get that Tibetan nymph out of your bed. Pressure Papa Baapuh. Get me back before those Commies decide to run you out of the country.”
“Don’t get so excited, Steve. Relax. Enjoy the brothel. I’1l take care of my end.”
“It’s my end I’m worrying about,” I told him.
“That shouldn’t be any problem in a brothel,” he snickered.
“Goodbye, Putnam!” One more wisecrack and I would have thrown the wrist radio through the window. I switched it off before he got me mad enough to do just that.
A few minutes later, Heavenly returned. She wasn’t alone. Even for a brothel, the gent who was with her was a sight to behold.
Picture ten pounds of blubber in a five pound bag. Pear-shaped. Bald head, jowl-on-jowl cheeks, a neck like a feverish salami, slump shoulders only a little wider than the neck, a barrel-bosom where his chest should have been, and then acres of flesh cascading down to pipestem legs. Take that for the basic, and then envision the top half in frilled shirt, drawstring tie and formal jacket while the bottom half was as naked as a deplumed ostrich. The total effect was all belly with a frosting of 1860s style. Add a pair of trousers slung over one fleshy arm and a big black cigar sticking out from between elephant-liver lips and the portrait is complete. He was the very picture of the respectable Washington burgher caught with his pants down in a cat-house.
That’s exactly what he was. This became apparent from the moment Heavenly first started to introduce him. “Steve Victor,” she said, “this is Senator-—”
“No names!” He cut her off sharply. ‘Tm in enough trouble. Just call me Senator.”
“Hello, Senator,” I said politely.
“Howya.” He acknowledged my presence briefly and then lapsed into a moody silence.
“The Senator has a problem,” Heavenly told me.
“What kind of problem?” I asked.
“An identity problem,” she explained. “Like he’s afraid he’ll be identified on the premises.”
“Considering all the luminaries around here tonight,” I pointed out, “why should he feel any more vulnerable than anybody else?”
“If you knew my wife, you wouldn’t ask that,” the Senator wheezed.