Barry N. Malzberg - In the Stone House

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In the Stone House

Barry N. Malzberg

1992

11/22/63 Joe Kennedy, Jr. wipes the stock of the rifle again, his hands

shaking, then, dissatisfied, breaks it open for the third time, making sure

that the shells are still there, that the trigger is properly positioned. He

reassembles the gear slowly, cursing the damned M-1, cursing his own stupidity

in putting so much dependency upon a weapon which was no damned good. He

should have had better equipment, not relied on the old Army supply service.

But then getting better equipment would have brought some attention and he

didn't want that. You had to carry this on in secrecy. Joe Kennedy, Jr. knows

all about secrecy now, has counted upon it, has made it his mistral and the

source of all his splendor. Too late, Jack. Too late for all of this, Joe

Kennedy mumbles. He positions the cartons on the floor, peers out the window.

A scattering of crowd, good, the street cleared, better, no sign of the

motorcade yet in the distance. A little behind schedule but nothing ominous.

Jack and the powder puff would be along soon enough.

Joe Kennedy, once President of the United States, now reduced (in his own mind

if not quite in the estimation of the press) to sniveling bum, sniveling

potential assassin, perches on the sixth floor of the Dallas School Book

Depository, waiting for the presidential motorcade. He will sight his rifle on

his brother's tousled head, hope for the best, pull the trigger. It is a

difficult business, assassinating your younger brother, crazier yet if you are

an ex-President of the United States, 1952-1956, which raises fratricide to

the level of lunacy but there you are. It is the last great service, Joe

knows, which he can perform, not only for patrimony but for the country. Jack

is out of control, the arrogant little bastard had never been trustworthy in

the first place but to a certain point he had been manipulable, now he was no

longer.

You had to save the plan, that was all: the plan was all that mattered and

Jack had broken the plan, shattered everything, the bastard. Joe thought of

this, thought of that, considered all of the dreadful but necessary

implications of his position, watching the sun drop little pools of uneven

light on the dusty surfaces of the cartons of books, feeling the old clarity

coming back. It had been a long time since he had felt this level of control

but here it was, at last he knew what he was after, what had to be done. In

the distance, he thought he could hear the sound of shouting, the thin tremor

of drums and then as he arched his body, peered awkwardly out the window, he

could see the thin movement of the crowd which could only indicate, yes, that

the motorcade was coming. His breath was high in his throat, perched there

like some enormous bird. Joe felt alive, felt more in possession of himself

than he had in this long, dreadful exiled time. Well, he would wait it out,

that was all. This was a serious business. There was nothing frivolous about

it. The time for frivolity was gone.

11/22/46 I don't want it, Joe Jr. said to Jack, the big strapping jock. I was

never cut out for politics. This is ridiculous. Jack laughed at him, winked

riotously, hit him on the back. You may not be cut out for it, Jack said, but

you got it. Mr. Smith goes to Washington. Shake 'em up good, Joe. You're a

fucking war hero.

Going to be a lot of war heroes down there, Bobby said. War heroes are going

to be a dime a dozen right through the decade. Sure going to be a shake-up

time there, right, Dad?

Oh sure, Joe Sr. said, beaming at the three of them. Joe hadn't seen the old

man in this kind of mood on land since before the war. This was what they

called a family, the four of them getting together after the election to

figure out what the right move would be. But that was all a bunch of crap, Joe

knew, all the old man wanted to do was to look at them and gloat. His three

sons, the Congressman ready for his first term, everything lining up after the

war just as the old man had promised. Feels good, doesn't it? the old man

said. Well, it's a way to welcome the boys home, right? I promised you a

homecoming.

I didn't want this, Joe Jr. said. Going up against the old man was a losing

cause but he had to go on the record, if he had taken bombers out over Germany

then he could go up against the Ambassador to the Court of St. James's.

Couldn't he? But it was all crap, he couldn't stand up to it. No one could,

the old man rode you down one way or the other and you just had to take it. I

could get used to it though, he said.

Oh, you can get used to it, the old man said. Power is fun, even if a freshman

Congressman hasn't got any. And the living is easy.

Lots of women, Jack said. Don't forget the women. You never forgot anything,

Bobby said. In your whole life you let nothing go by. I think I'll bail out of

this, Dad, Bobby said. I have business downtown.

We have business to settle, the old man said. You'll go in a few minutes, when

I say you can. Joe, I want a staff put together. You know the names, but I'd

like to hear what you have to say if you have any ideas.

Oh, I have ideas, Joe said. I have lots of ideas. You'll never listen to any

of them. Hyannisport, Joe thought. It always comes back to Hyannisport.

Wherever you go, however hard you fly, whatever risks you take, you wind up in

a room in a house on the beach where the old man tells you what to do. Why

don't you just go ahead and fix it? he said to the Ambassador. I'm sure

anything you want is okay with me.

I'll tell you this right now, Jack said. I don't want any part of it. I don't

want to go to Washington and I don't want to be anyone's aide-in-waiting. I'm

going to go back to school.

You think so, the Ambassador said. You think that's really the plan?

I'll get a graduate degree, Jack said. I always wanted to teach history. Maybe

I'll go to law school. He yawned. No Congress for me, he said, no agenda, no

roll calls, no quorums. I had enough of that on the high seas, thank you very

much.

I'm too young, Bobby said. Don't look at me, Dad. It may be a young man's

country again, but Joe can't have a twenty-two-year-old assistant. Besides,

they'll just say that I got put on the payroll to keep me off the streets.

You see? Joe said to the Ambassador, it's a family revolt. Your sons are

standing up and being counted. No aide-de-camp in the room, no assistant

either. So just go ahead and get the Honey Fitz delegation, because I don't

give a shit. It's all the same to me.

You're a defiant prick the old man said. You know that? I give you everything

and you shit on me. You think a few stripes, a couple of bombs, and you're hot

shit. Well, you're the same little bum you were before the war, you know? Who

do you think pulled you those assignments?

Joe felt the old anger. Hyannisport, Hyannisport, throwing sand at the beach,

they could get you every time. That seemed to be part of the deal, you thought

you could get away from it but the old man could always get you back.

Leave me alone, Joe said. Just leave me alone. You wanted me to run for

Congress, I ran. You wanted me to make speeches, I made war hero speeches. You

want a staff, appoint a staff. Just leave me out of it, you know? You don't

give a damn anyway, so just have it your way. Bobby said, Joe, calm down. It's

okay.

He's just ragging you, Jack said. That's his way. You know that he means well.

He's just kidding you, trying to get you to pay attention, right, Dad? But I

think we should ease off, go for a swim or something.

You'll go when I say, the Ambassador said. Jack you're going to Washington

with him. There's no time to waste and there's no time to screw around either.

Bobby, you can go to law school, we won't need you for a few years but you're

going to check in and stay close.

I don't want any part of this, Jack said. I want to study history, be a

professor at Wellesley. Maybe Duke. Show the girls the way through the New

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