424
MAUREEN HOWARD
the streets. Days went by when he did not see her, then she would
be mysteriously available again, waiting for him outside school or
sitting on the curbstone near his house. When they made love he
felt drawn into
her
defiance of the world (operation total crap),
so they touched and felt and were finally bound together in her fierce
beliefs. Often when he thought of her nakedness it was to see her
still arguing, arms thrown up in exasperation at one of
his
middle–
class notions, breasts jiggling as she stamped her foot in protest.
Only
in fantasy could he have Shelley as he wanted her - naked still, but
smooth, compliant, free of
all
the mimeographed texts that proclaimed
her free. Sometimes he would dress her in
his
mind - in short
skirts and a clean blouse like other girls wore, stockings and shoes.
She looked up at him and listened for once: in this impossible
vision he found that he could love Shelley Waltz.
Today, as a sacred vow, he would not think of her. He had
left his family in a state of exultation. His victory was theirs. The
twins were loud and high spirited for a change, asking if he could
get them tickets for the Fordham basketball season now. After a
powerful hug his mother had stood back against
his
father's chest
in
a conscious pose -looking as parents are supposed to look, solid and
self-congratulatory.
It
was a happy day. "I am on the right course
at last," thought Jim, ignorant as Percival and confident that there
was still a quest for the chosen: "I am ready now. There is no time
to
be
lost." The young senator, he read, often worked an eighteen–
hour day, slept in
his
office, was capable of working all night as he
had recently on his proposed amendment to a disarmament bill.
When defeated in committee the next day he had started to redraft
the amendment at once, dictating on
his
way home into a little
Japanese tape recorder his children had given
him
for Christmas.
Ten years ago as a Junior Congressman he had cried openly in
front of his staff upon hearing of the execution of Caryl Chessman
(a footnote in the magazine identified Chessman for Jim Cogan
as a convicted rapist, murderer, pervert, sentenced to death who
after an arduous, inspired and inspiring battle, etc.... ). "I cry,"
the young statesman said, "not for the dead, but for the terrible
limits upon the minds of men. That
will
have me in tears for the
rest of my life."
Sitting next to Jim was a Puerto Rican girl in tight pants and
