My
Journal
By
Harriman Nelson
~In
God We Trust~
22
A
quiet knock on my cabin door woke me at a little past 0341.
“In,”
I managed to say, trying very hard to speak with a frog in my throat.
“Sorry
to wake you, sir,” Riley said, “O’Brien didn’t want Sparks to wake up the boat,
but, like, there’s a call for you from skipper’s mom.”
“Thank
you Riley,” I said, sitting up,
“I
hope everything’s okay....I mean, he’s sure gone through a lot lately...and he
looked kind of haggard on TV yesterday....”
“I’m
sure his mother and Cdr. Jackson are taking good care of him.”
Riley
pursed his lips, but said nothing.
“And?”
“Well,
I was wondering, like, if school kids are donating money to help him pay for
airplane’s damage, maybe we all could too. Mr. Ames at the institute could set
it up as a charity fund, and that way nobody would complain about him asking
you for money, rich daddy and all that, they make it sound bad.”
“He
hasn’t asked for any help from me, but, I don’t think anyone would object to a
few crewmen donating a bit of cash to the rental agency specifying it go to
reduce the skipper’s bill.”
“Thank
you, sir,” he said with a huge grin and departed.
“Sparks?”
I asked, pressing the intercom above my bunk, “go ahead and pipe in Mrs.
Crane’s call to my desk phone.”
“Right
away, sir.”
I
trod over to my desk and still standing, picked up the receiver.
“Harriman?”
“Mrs.
C.? Anything wrong?”
“Yes,
no, I don’t know...I really am sorry to wake you, but I have to talk to
someone.”
“What’s
this all about?”
“Well,
I’m sure he doesn’t want you to know, but he’s been having bad dreams. I
thought they’d stop by now, what with everything that’s been happening, but
they haven’t. Sometimes they’re more like nightmares really, moans and groans, once
when I woke him up, he said it was ‘just a dream.’ But Harriman, he’s taken to
reading about premonitions, especially Lincoln’s. You know Lincoln had a
premonition about...about his death...I think Lee thinks his dreams are
premonitions too, about his death! He won’t tell me or Joseph the details. Oh,
my baby, my baby! He had another one about a half hour ago...couldn’t get back
to sleep so he and Joe are sitting on the porch listening to the ocean waves...can’t
see them of course without a full moon, or a campfire or something. Will you
talk to him?”
My
gut was already in knots, but I agreed.
“Thank
you Harriman, by the way, the Chief Justice called him earlier. All charges
against the boy who shot him have been dismissed...Lee’s happy about that, at
least...Lee? Harriman’s on the phone!” she called out.
It
only took a few seconds for Lee to pick up.
“Harry?
What’s wrong?” he asked urgently.
“Actually,
son, your mother called me. She said you’re having bad dreams?”
“Mom~”
he whined.
“She
thought it would help for you to talk to someone.”
“I’m
fine!”
“Now,
why don’t I believe that....”
“They’re
nothing. Just dreams that keep me up at night.”
“The
hell they are,” I heard Joe say.
“My
dreams are nobody’s business!”
“The
hell they are. You had them as president, and you’re still having
them...tossing, turning, moaning, groaning, perspiring, and then all that stuff
about Abe Lincoln’s premonitions. Talk to us, bro! Your dreams aren’t
necessarily premonitions as well.”
“I
know that...but...”
“Joe?
Mrs. C.?” I asked, “why don’t you give me and Lee a
bit of space?”
“Of
course,” Mrs. C. said, “and Lee? Play nice. Joseph, let’s make some pancakes.”
In
a few minutes I heard what could have been Lee plopping down onto a chair or
sofa.
“All
right,” Lee said, “we’re alone. What do you want to know?”
“Well,
are the dreams the same or is each one different?”
“The
same, pretty much. Not exactly, but close to it.”
“Very
well, start at the beginning. The last one that got your mother so hot and
bothered enough to call me.”
“Okay.
It was daytime. Washington. There were flags everywhere, but all at half-staff.
There was wailing and crying all along the cordoned off street. I stopped to
ask who had died. But before anyone could answer I was in the capitol rotunda.
It was crowed too.” He took a breath, “There was a flag draped coffin in the
center, surrounded by flowers, and a four man military honor guard. I
recognized Riley in the crowd of mourners. He was sobbing nobody complained because
most everyone was. I looked around for
the rest of the crew but couldn’t find them. I looked for you and couldn’t find
you so I figured you were at sea and Riley just happened to be on leave.”
He
took a breath then continued.
“But
then...but then I saw my Onyx ring and the Celtic rings on top of the coffin,
plus the G.W. ring. I heard my mother
wailing but I couldn’t find her. That’s when I knew for certain it was me in
the coffin...well, I was heart-broken
that I hadn’t been able to do all I’d wanted...all I’d needed to do. That I hadn’t told Mom or you that I was sorry
for the things I’d done and shouldn’t have and the things I hadn’t done and
should have...then there was scent of flowers in my nostrils...and dirt. Then I
felt my face and shoulders being slapped by Mom and Joe waking me up. But I
couldn’t say anything because I was throwing up. Well, that was tonight. My other dreams were pretty much the same,
except for the vomiting. At least only a White House steward heard me those
times I had the nightmares there. Harry...I don’t think these were just
repetitive dreams. I think they were premonitions. If they were, Harry, promise
me you’ll try to see me off? I know I’ll be ‘upstairs’, but it would make me
feel better to know you were there.”
“Oh
my poor boy,” I said. “have you given any thought to
who else might be in the coffin? For all we know, if these were premonitions,
it could be anyone of note in Washington. Especially with the G.W. ring.”
“But
with my rings on the coffin? Who else could it be but me? Harry, promise me
you’ll be there? Promise me even if these damn dreams aren’t premonitions? That
even if I’m laid to rest in a plain wooden box if I go before you, you’ll see
me off?”
“I
promise, son.”
“You
won’t tell Mom or Joe about this will you? I’d never survive the hovering.”
“You
can count on me.”
“Harry?
I do feel better now that I’ve told someone.”
“Good.
Can’t have you return to the Oval Office with it over your head.”
“If
the AMA clears me, that is,” he grinned.
“Son,
there’s something I have to tell you....”
And
so I began the narrative of my spying on him in his hospital room.
“I
hope you’re not angry,” I added at the end.
“Actually,
I’m glad you know about my little spy eye...and yes, it did record some
conversations, if brief, between Sisemen and the
surgeon general. But let’s keep it
quiet. The nation doesn’t need a scandal right now, okay? I’ve secured the
recording in a safe place for now. Just in case it’s needed.”
“And
that Will has medical proof that the surgeon general’s
MRI is a phony.”
“Yeah,
but keep that quiet for now, too. I think I know how to handle that too tear,
okay?”
“Whatever
you say, son. Now, go get some of those pancakes your mother’s making for you.
Nice late night snack. In fact, I think I’ll ask Cookie for some tomorrow morning.”
“Might
not be on his menu.”
“When
he hears you had pancakes tonight, it will be...”
“Well,
goodnight, Harry. And thanks.”
“Any
time, Lee,” I replied and ended the call.
I
was relieved that Lee had been able to unburden himself, but I was agonized gthat that I’d basically had the same dream. And that we
had both, in all likelihood, seen Lee’s future.
Though
as a scientist I knew I shouldn’t give credence to premonitions, but oh God how
my heart cried as much as the tears did from my eyes.
~***~