Chapter 10: Corruption in the Tunnels

Scenes from  Uncle Bud’s Select Taproom

After Jake’s monologue, the birthday party drifted awhile and then wound down. Duke drank too much, and told doleful stories of his life with Louise. Everyone’s favorite story was about their meeting in occupied France. Duke had been wounded during an OSS reconaissance mission in preparation for D-Day. He’d been wounded by Louise, who, while not formally in the Resistance, was sick and tired of German soldiers tromping through her vegetable garden. She retrieved her family’s shotgun from its discrete nook behind the loose panel in the kitchen and peppered Duke with buckshot.
For the next three weeks, a recovering Duke was hidden in the nook with the shotgun, and was nursed back to health by his would-be assassin. Louise explained to Duke that the only reason he was still alive was that when she walked over to finish him off, she could tell he was American because his French was even worse than the Germans.
“Not quite a fairy tale courtship,” said Mike, “but you did get the happily ever after part correct.”
“So we did,” said Duke softly, his eyes fixed on the bottom of his glass. “So we did.”

Around 1 a.m., Mike decided that it was time to go home. Duke had fallen asleep on the sofa, and Jake and Bud were at the galley table having what looked like a far too serious talk for a birthday party. Besides the damn wind was getting stronger, and he was worried about Margaret. They lived in colonial era home off King Street in Alexandria and flooding was always concen with big storms. Mike patted Duke lightly on the shoulder, murmured one last quiet “Happy Birthday,” and went into the galley to say his farewells to the others.
Jake and Bud stayed up for a few more hours after Mike left. They swapped stories for awhile, and talked a bit about Duke and how Louise’s death was wearing him down. There was a lull now and then as the old friends listened to the rising wind. Bud grew distacted and distant, and finally Jake broke the silence.
“What’s on your mind, Bud? You been growing quieter and quieter. It’s Duke’s party and instead of telling all those stories about us saving his miserable skin, you just sat there and listened. I mean, I think you were listening.”
Bud looked up at Jake. He seemed to be considering something carefully. After a too long interval, just a Jake had decided that Bud wasn’t going to say a thing, Bud spoke.
“Do you think I’m crazy, Jake?”
“What? You? Crazy? Bud, your brain has always been a little … looser than most people’s, but that’s what made you so good at what you do. Creative, impulsive, inventive – Yes. Crazy, no. Never crazy.” Bud, his face a blank mask, stared at his friend for a few moments, then looked away. “Let’s see if you still say all that after you hear this.” Bud cleared his throat and began.
“Remember the old saw by Lord Acton? Power tends to corrupt; Absolute power corrupts absolutely.”
“Sure, I know it, but I thought it was Voltaire or Montesque.” replied Jake.
“Acton, but it doesn’t matter. The thing is I’ve seen how it happens.” The words where coming faster as Bud’s agitation increased. He was struggling to hold them back.
“Easy, Bud, easy. It’s me, Jake. We’ve both seen many men and women corrupted by power. That’s nothing new about that. You can tell me anything, and I’ll listen. If I think you’re nuts, I’ll tell you. Come on, get it off your mind.”
Bud pressed his lips together firmly, and nodded his head several times. “Jake, in the tunnels, it’s all there, the corruption.”

~~~~~~

After about an hour, an exhausted and relieved Bud fell asleep in a recliner. Jake, sitting across the narrow compartment from him, couldn’t sleep. He was seriously considering that his closest friend may have lost his mind. Bud had spoken non-stop for nearly a half-hour. He was as distraught as Jake had ever seen him, and they’d been through many tight places together in nearly seventy years of friendship.
There were parts of what Bud had said that made sense. But the causes didn’t fit. Things had happened, stories told that explained them, but Bud’s story was different than any Jake had ever heard. If true, Bud’s story made sense. It stitched together the difficult to explain actions of the GOP, especially of W and Rove, since they gained complete control of the Federal government in 2002.
Jake turned over Bud’s ideas in his mind. He reached in his pocket and puled out his Blackberry. “Staying w/Bud. Meet at OEG 10:30. Bring Alice. Much love, sleep well, J.” He placed the Blackberry on the small table by his chair, and clicked out the light. Jean would get the message, and in the morning they’d go with Bud into the tunnels to see his proof. Jake settled back in the chair, and as he began to fall asleep he kept turning over Bud’s words in his mind. It made sense, he had to admit. It made sense. But dust? And cats? And absolute corruption?

Thursday, June 7, 2007