When I look up from this old-fashioned pencil and paper (which I easily found in the well stocked and orderly supply room the Dutchman left behind), when I peer past the dim candlelight at the double doors beyond which stand the guards, when I look over at the spacious, canopied bed where my wife sleeps quietly on soft furs, it is only then that I remember that I really am President of the United States and all that I have told you really happened. It is as if I were awakening from a long, uncomfortable dream.
Steiner and the other generals, of course, quickly settled on me, and everyone else in a freemocracy that matters – the Congressmen, the governors, the bureaucrats, the other specials – all fell into line behind them. They knew what kind of man Marcellus Gyges was from my days as Secretary of the Environment. Of course, there was more to their decision than that. The candidate put forward by the national guard was a regular soldier, and I suspect the generals felt that if the next President was to be a fighting man, then he would come from their own ranks. But they were as taken by surprise as I was by the situation and probably had no time to decide who it would be. I became President by default.
Naturally, the national guardsmen were expecting a bloody purge to follow. My first official act as President was to grant a full pardon to their candidate. Originally, I wanted to insist there was not even a crime, but Eddie firmly advised me against it. Better not to encourage potential usurpers, he warned me. Later on after a broad but brief review, I requested most of their top officials to remain in their posts. When it became apparent that I was not a vengeful man, the natural resentment they harbored against me began to subside.
Of course, they demanded payment. When I had my first private meeting with Steiner and the others, they didn't threaten me, but the message was clear. Judas had distributed funds to the armed forces on his accession, and it would seem that to cement the loyalty of the generals I was to do the same. I explained to them that Judas had left the national treasury virtually depleted. The generals, though, didn't seem to care, although I did manage to substitute some of the cash for distributions of food and water to the rank and file. Maya took care of the details, of course.
The ordinaries, too, demonstrated in the streets for my candidacy, calling repeatedly for their man “Hawkeye”. I understand it almost came to riots in some cities before the announcement finally came. I was surprised by their enthusiasm. I thought it had been spoiled by the hateful images Sonya put out on the link the night I was ostracized. But if they could hate me in a mere instant, it turns out they could also love me again in the same amount of time. Everyone knew that Munib had massacred the Russian prisoners we had taken on the moon. But what I didn't know is they also knew I had meant to spare them. The ordinaries still respected Judas and his memory, but they felt it was time for someone less heavy-handed.
I made a speech in front of the ordinaries the day after my election from the very balcony where I had been locked in a cage and Judas himself had spoken at my trial. I was incredibly nervous, but the journalists gave me raving reviews. Icarus had written the speech. In it, I quoted a man who had occupied the Presidency in days long past, when (believe it or not) there had been no freemocracy at all. I said that “every man should have the right to a decent home, the right to an education, the right to adequate medical care, the right to a worthwhile job, the right to an equal share in the making of public decisions through the ballot, and the right to a fair trial in a fair court.” Apparently, the ordinaries thought that was a grand idea, because they cheered the words wildly. I couldn't help but think even as I spoke them that these were the very same people who only days before had demanded that I be lynched. But such is the way of things. At the end of my speech, I reminded the world that, “A republic's best moments are when the national interest and the common good are one and the same. As soon as it's every human being for himself, the fragile republic is doomed.” I'm still not quite sure what Icarus meant, but it sounded good enough for the occasion, so I left it in.
Of course, I have more names now than “Hawkeye” alone. For example, sometimes I am referred to as “Gyges the Pious”. I'll explain to you why. Even though Judas was not my father, the age difference and the closeness with which we had been depicted in public seemed to suggest it. Davey had been carefully hidden away from the public eye and was easily forgotten. When I sought to honor Judas' memory, I seemed to reinforce this perception. But it was the resistance I encountered and overcame which earned me the name.
Such an act was, of course, unheard of in the brief history of our freemocracy. My predecessors had all tried in some way or another to diminish or even obliterate the memory of those who had come before them. At first the Senate under the leadership of Senator Parriman from Rhode Island ardently refused my request. I was familiar with the intense hatred the Senators harbored for Judas. The only real resistance to his policies had come from that august body, and in the last months of his Presidency he had punished them harshly for it. In fact, the Senators – having already passed decree after decree honoring me and declaring my birthday a public holiday – were busy drafting legislation that would have made it a crime to even mention Judas by name. At first his wife and son were to be executed and then – they considered it an act of mercy – to be banished to the very island where Munib had languished all those years. As strange as my request had been, it was also unheard of in a freemocracy for the Senate to neglect the will of the President, even if he had forsworn executions.
After having discussed the matter at some length with my advisors – Icarus, Maya, and Eddie – I decided to call fresh elections. Icarus drew up a list of preferred candidates, some of whom were drawn from the ranks of the existing Senators and governors and some of whom were not, and then I publicly announced them. I even travelled from state to state to campaign for them personally. Needless to say, Judas was still immensely popular among the ordinaries. The existing Senate caved in and passed legislation before the elections more or less in line with what I desired, but it was too late. When I addressed the new Senate in the fall, more than a quarter of the faces were unfamiliar.
Senator Parriman, though, was still there. I had decided not to oppose him in. We couldn't even be certain it would matter if I had, since Senator Parriman commands a certain amount of dignitas of his own. After the elections, I summoned him to my villa and we had a long, private chat. We didn't see eye to eye on all matters, but I didn't expect us to, either. I had openly declared that free speech and differences of political opinion would be respected during my Presidency, and I intended to live by that sentiment. Before he left, I told him I would support him in his quest for the position of Majority Leader of the Senate. As for the House of Representatives, I abolished that needless institution in a nod to economy.
Jewel and Davey were released from custody and returned to private life. They now enjoy a public allowance and a private guard, some of whom were on Eddie's payroll. It was wise, he told me, to keep an eye on her, for she had built up a following of her own in all those years as Mother of the Country. Judas' birthday was declared a public holiday next to my own, and a statue was placed in all the large cities of the homeland at the public expense. Most of the provinces, too, followed suit, although they paid for their own statues.
As you can imagine, I had to put together a Cabinet. Icarus, Maya, and Eddie were its first members, although in the beginning we didn't assign portfolios. There was a lot of work to be done and not enough people to do it. In time, though, our own particular strengths inclined us to certain tasks. Eddie was made head of the intelligence services and the post was elevated to Cabinet level, whereas in the past it had operated more or less in secret. He also took on matters related to the Secretary of the Interior and of Justice. Maya took over the economy and all of Vassily's previous positions. Her main task was to transform the vast, parasitic apparatus which had been designed to benefit a very small number of people at the expense of the rest of society into one that used the available resources as efficiently as possible to benefit everyone, producer and consumer alike. All Vassily's secret, private accounts were seized and turned over to the state, and in one stroke our penury was transformed into richness beyond belief.
Icarus, for his part, took on the roles of both Secretary of State and Public Diplomacy. He immediately set about negotiating treaties and ending wars. I had made it perfectly clear to him that I wanted my tenure to be peaceful one. Of course, peace can never be unilaterally declared. In the first few weeks we signed treaties establishing borders for the settlements on the moon. The terms were quite advantageous, if only because Munib was in the proximity. We never mentioned his name, but he was on everyone's mind. As for the provinces, we ceded Poland to the Russians and granted their freedom to all the rest. Of course, few of them except Persia and Turkey seemed to want it. The Northern and Southern provinces keep asking us for our approval for their choice of governors, and they still insist on sending detachments of troops to serve in our armed forces. In return, I've offered to keep our garrisons stationed inside their borders. It makes them feel more secure.
Of course, no one can work for very long under such a workload if he's trying to do a decent job of it. As talent and ambition comes to light, it is our policy to reward it. Maya already has a list of candidates to take over some of her portfolios, although I have asked her to retain the post of Secretary of the Environment for myself. Perhaps it is childish fancy, but I feel that I really could make a difference, and anyway I've got a head-start over everyone else. At least, that's what I told her. She smiled and shrugged and said that if I wanted it, it was mine, but I think she was condescending to me. Icarus, too, is looking for someone to take over the post of Public Diplomacy so he can focus on matters of foreign affairs, which he greatly enjoys.
I asked Munib if he would stay on as Secretary of Defense, and he happily agreed. That was a conversation I was looking forward to having. It was, in fact, very short. He congratulated me and then we got down to business. Our relationship had, of course, changed now that I was his boss, but we both fondly remember those days when I was governor of the short-lived Free Lunar Provinces. Of course, he never reminded me of it and I never asked him to come down from the moon.
The whole country is being transformed. The freemocracy camps have been dismantled. That is a project in itself. So many people have died and suffered in them. But Eddie is doing a wonderful job of it. The whole process is open and transparent. I've asked him to set up Truth and Reconciliation Commissions to prosecute the worst of those who administered the system, but I've also advised him not to turn the proceedings into a witch hunt. Confessions are not to be coerced and as long as they are truthful, all but the most reprehensible of people will be released. There will be no executions.
I had greatly desired to open up the restricted zones, but after looking at the data it turns out they aren't a bad idea after all. The truth is, there really isn't a great deal of nature left to us, and what there is must be protected and – if possible – expanded. Still, I decided to make their existence public and clearly delineate the borders and the requirements for entering them.
Let's see, what else? Oh yes, I almost forgot to tell you about the White House compound. I never liked the place. A sprawling, wasteful monstrosity, it needlessly took up ten blocks of space, an ugly, walled-in blight on one of our most historical and otherwise beautiful cities. Not only that, it was a symbol of arrogance and oppression. I'm having it dismantled, although some historians have convinced me that somewhere in the maze of buildings is an original structure which ought to be identified, restored, and made available to tourists. Judas' building program, too, has been halted. Fortunately, he hadn't got very far and I was able to spare the city a maiming it may never have recovered from.
I could promote generals and hold free elections, but the one part of the government apparatus it was difficult to do anything about were all the bureaucrats. Creatures of Bessus' and Gessus' kind, they held enormous if hidden powers under my predecessors. But I came up with an interesting solution. I moved the seat of government across the river to Virginia and left them all behind. In a single blow they lost a great deal of their influence. Of course, I still needed them for the day to day functioning of the government, but I was met by unexpected luck. More than half of them lay down their function in protest, thinking I would be brought to my knees and beg them to return. Instead I banished them from the city. Out in Virginia, my ministers are restructuring the way their Secretariats are run, searching out and rewarding highly skilled technocrats and giving them powers commensurate with their abilities.
I myself spend most of my time at a private villa inside a restricted zone in western Maryland. I bought a farmstead in the low mountains. I find the trees and the brook which runs through it relaxing. I've had enough of the city. I can keep in touch with my Cabinet well enough from here, although occasionally I make a surprise visit to keep them on their toes. Of course, my eyes and ears are and always will remain Icarus and Maya. I trust them completely. They tell me everything, and I give them a free hand. If one of them were ever to betray me then it wouldn't really worth being President anymore anyway.
It was a few days after my inauguration that Icarus knocked lightly on my study door and, after a polite pause, pushed it silently open. There I was, sitting on a soft carpet in the middle of the floor, candles all around, staring at the stained glass on the far wall without really noticing it.
“Jesus, Mark,” he exclaimed softly as he pushed past the doorway, “don't you think you should spend less time by yourself now that your President?”
Maya followed quickly on his heels. “Yeah,” she agreed, peering with a critical eye at the way I had decorated the room, “I would have thought you'd have more to do than sit around all day doing nothing. Where did you find all these pillows anyway? It's so dark in here.”
I call it my study, but like my predecessor there are no books. The floor is covered in furs and small carpets. The carpet laid out in the very center upon which I often sit to meditate is black with long, soft hairs. Upon on it is embroidered the image of the phoenix, rising up from its ashes and spreading its wings in all its glory. There are no chairs or couches whatsoever, so I rarely hold audiences here. Pillows of various shapes and sizes are scattered about. In one corner, I have gathered a sizable pile. Sometimes I doze there. My wife even joins me from time to time. The walls are decorated with colorful mosaics of abstract forms that tease the mind. At least, I like to imagine they do. The only light aside from the candles streams in from a small window, set about half a meter into the far wall, of stained glass. That particular day it was sunny outside. I was bathed in resilient yellows, oranges, and purples.
“Never am I less alone than when I am by myself,” I responded evenly. “Never am I more active than when I do nothing.” I blinked as if the light from the stained glass window were suddenly too bright.
“We've got a problem,” Icarus said as he squatted down next to me.
“Jennifer's split,” Maya told me frankly, standing slightly behind him, hands on her hips. “No one knows where she's gone”
“Oh,” I said and looked back and forth between them. Climbing lithely to my feet, I shrugged. “It's her choice it she wants to go.”
Icarus glanced at Maya and stood up.
“This is serious, Mark,” Maya said, tapping her toes insistently on one of the carpets. “You can't just let her go.”
Icarus cleared his throat uncomfortably before he added, “She knows too much.”
I didn't like the turn the conversation was taking. “She knows too much what?”
“Look, Mark,” Maya shot back, refusing to back down, “I know you want to be everybody's friend and all, but this is politics. I thought you knew by now. We're busy doing the best we can building up your image. Remember, all anyone will ever know about you is what they hear from others. Jen's a liability. You have to do something about her.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You want me to have her killed?”
Maya shrugged and didn't reply.
Icarus drew a deep breath and broke in. “I think what Maya's trying to say is that Jen's a loose cannon. We just don't know what she's going to do. Maybe it'll be today, maybe next week, maybe in a year's time, but she's bound to do something stupid that we'll all regret. It's not a good idea to have her out there. You've still got enemies, remember?”
I pushed past the emotions and thought for a moment about what they said. “You really think she's a problem?”
They both nodded their heads emphatically.
She was easy enough to locate on the grid. After all, the scanners are everywhere. I had proposed taking them down, but Eddie was dead set against the idea and even threatened to resign. I let the matter drop.
She was staying at a run-down hotel in Mississippi. One day as she was leaving a large, black limousine pulled up. The door opened and a heavy set man sitting inside beckoned.
The man handed her a note. She read it quickly, breathed a sigh of relief, and nodded her head at the man. He smiled back at her, as pleased as she was that no one was going to get shot that day.
“Hi, Jen. I'm not sure when things started going wrong between us, but apparently you think you have something to fear from me. If you had just come and asked, I wouldn't have stood in the way of your leaving. The truth is, I'll miss you. But you're not cut out for a political life. Neither am I, actually, but that's a different matter. We've been through a lot together, and I'll always be thankful.
“So here's what I'm offering you: this limo, the driver, and a personal bodyguard. If you agree, the driver will take you to your very own private residence on the Texan coast. It's all set up and waiting. You'll have your very own beach and some land and you won't be far away from nightlife. You can do whatever you want there. No one will bother you or check up on what you are doing or who you are doing it with. But you have to stay there. That's the deal.
“We'll probably never see each other again, but I imagine it's what you want. Farewell. Mark.”
Not long afterwards, I got married. The victim in this case was the most captivating ambassador from the Mediterranean Union, Caterina Morosini-Grimani della Regina, by far the most elegant and intelligent woman I have ever met. Our courtship coincided with the negotiations over the fate of the Balkan provinces, which the Doge of her country had seized during our civil war, and Turkey, which he was loudly demanding as recompense for the war expenditure. Historically, of course, the Balkans were Mediterranean provinces, and this was exactly the standpoint his Excellency (through his lovely ambassador) was taking.
Normally, Icarus would have handled these negotiations, but when it became apparent during the mundane ceremonies that occasionally brought us together that we enjoyed each other's company, he gladly ceded his place. We used to conduct our discussions in private, and whenever we withdrew they all would pause to watch us go. I tried to pretend I didn't notice, but when a whole room full of people falls silent and stares at you like that, it becomes difficult. I don't know how long our charade would have gone on, but soon afterwards Icarus made the announcement that all of our former provinces were being granted their freedom and at once further negotiations on the matter became unnecessary. I was tormented by the thought that I'd never see her again and found myself desperately professing my love for her one morning over coffee and biscuits.
Needless to say, she agreed to marry me, and I think it's out of genuine love and not just a material grab for power and security. After all, her father is one of the leading men of Venice, a top trade official in his Excellency the Doge's Council of Ministers. But even if we were genuinely in love, the political overtones could not be avoided. It wasn't my idea, but Caterina went back to his Excellency, asked permission to marry me, and then added the condition that Constantinople remain a free, unoccupied city in order that we could leave a sizable naval contingent stationed at the port and garrison some troops there. In addition, she demanded rights of passage through the Mediterranean Sea for our ships and use of certain air corridors. The Doge, seeing that the rest of Turkey and the Balkans could safely be reclaimed and that all he was being asked to pay for such a beneficial alliance was the freedom of a single, albeit strategically placed city, agreed after much haggling and making a show of calling the whole thing off the day before he flew over for the wedding.
The ceremony was held on Midsummer's Eve on the island of Martha's Vineyard off the coast of Massachusetts. As you can perhaps imagine, it created a feeling of euphoria and goodwill that washed over the country and put its stamp on the beginning of my reign. Caterina keeps telling me she's sure people will be talking about it for years to come. All the important heads of state were present. India, Brazil, China, Russia, and Africa were all represented. The guest of honor, of course, was the Doge himself, a small, well read man of about sixty years born in the part of his country called Tunesia on the Northern Coast of Africa. I enjoyed his conversation very much.
Of course, all my aunts and uncles and cousins from Venezuela were there, too. I had them flown in and lodged at the hotel on the island where I was staying. They, too, were treated as guests of honor, even if protocol prevented me from extending them all the trappings. They took up the first three rows of seats on the left side, the side upon which I was standing, and I couldn't help but notice out of the corner of my eye the large, imposing woman who had addressed me the day before I tried to sneak out of Venezuela. She sobbed during the entire ceremony and loudly blew her nose several times into a fancy, embroidered handkerchief. I don't know why, but I keep forgetting her name.
It seems like it was only a few days ago when the Chief Acolyte brought the evening dispatches to me in my study and slipped wordlessly out of the room. As I leafed through them on my PA, my thoughts strayed to him. I had decided not to reconstitute the Supreme Court. Try as I might, I couldn't see that it served any useful purpose. But new members to the College of Augurs still had to be named. He came to mind, I'll admit, but wisdom prevails. As long as the Chief Acolyte is contented with simply waiting on me, he will be welcome. But I will never entrust him with a position of power and respect. As for the College of Augurs, I had decided to leave the matter to the wisdom of the Senate.
At some point I became aware of the fact that I was not alone. I tapped my PA one more time with the electronic pen, put it down, and looked up.
There, standing by the stained glass window and gazing upon me calmly, stood Nameless. An inner light seemed to shine through him, streaming from his eyes and his skin in soft, scintillating rays.
“I'm glad you finally came,” I told him and stood up.
Nameless approached. “I see you have reached enlightenment,” he told me. The lips did not move, but I could hear his voice in my head. “Do you still feel the joy?”
I nodded. But a sudden sadness was mingled with it. “Oh, Nameless, I have shed blood! Fifteen people were murdered and I gave the order. Not to mention all those who died in the violence on the day of my election.”
“You must do your best to atone for all these deaths,” Nameless said, coming to a stop in front of me. The wavy fingers of light probed at me, lit up my face with a warm, white glow. “Or the karma you have created will follow you in your next lives. You must erect pillars across the land. You must show the people how to find God.”
“Yes! I will have inscriptions put on them.” I blinked at him in earnest. “Nameless, will you help me? I don't know if I can find the words.”
Nameless leaned forward and whispered in my ear.
My eyes widened. “It is a beautiful name,” I told him. “Thank you for entrusting it to me. I, too, have a name.”
“You've chosen it already?”
“I'd chosen in several lives ago. I only just remembered.” Now I leaned forward and whispered it in his ear.
“Yes,” he said, nodding his head. “It fits you well.”
We stood looking into each other's eyes for a long moment before he asked me, “Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
As soon as I had spoken the word, Nameless stepped forward and disappeared inside of us.
Later on, seated at the desk in my bedroom as my wife Caterina slept soundly, he began to write. At first I scribbled the beginnings of an apology, but we didn't get very far before he put the paper aside and set a blank page in front of me.
We put the pencil to the paper, paused, and he began to write.
“Everyone has a name. Parents spar over the names of their children long before they are born, but however hard they may try the name rarely fits. That is why most people – especially if they are in any way remarkable or interesting – respond to more than the arbitrary syllables recorded in legal documents...”
October 2006 – 8 January 2010, Amsterdam
This site and all its contents are the result of the tumultuous workings of the mind of one Adam Wasserman.