Baruch removed his hat and stepped inside. Light from a solitary lamp yellowed the dim interior. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust.
“Please. Have a seat.”
Baruch headed for a couch, not long enough to lie down on and stretch out, but which clearly doubled as a bed. He shifted the pillow to the side in order not to sit on it.
“Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”
“A tea would be nice.”
The air was stuffy but with a faint odor reminiscent of the flowers that ringed the porch of his grandmother’s house. Small and purple, they clumped together to form an arch above the doorway. Their name balanced on the tip of his tongue.
“Magnolias?” he asked himself. “No.” He shook his head to dislodge the memory.
The sparse setting caught him off guard. He hadn’t known what to expect, and his preconceived notion missed reality by a wide margin. This mysterious man who everyone knew of but no one knew.
The address should have been the first clue. For some reason, he imagined a waterfront condo complete with a view of the Potomac, tasteful and modern but not elegant furnishings, maybe a few decorations appropriate for a modest bachelor. Instead, the loneliness stared back at him. Besides a simple wooden bookshelf clinging to the wall by a few threads as well as the lamp and couch, the room was bare. An untold number of coats of gray paint covered every inch of the place, the last one plastered years ago when the former landlord still held out hope of running a respectable boarding house. Defiant cracks ran up a wall and halfway across the ceiling, daring the new owner to add another coat.
The kitchen occupied one corner of the room. A table with two chairs stood guard by a stove with one burner lit up in blue. A pot, like the kind used to heat soup, straddled the flames. A cupboard to the left of the stove served as the pantry, three boxes and a quarter-filled plastic container filled its only tenants. Another cupboard held dishes and a pair of tin cans.
The only thing Baruch got correct was the partial view of the Potomac. A homeless camp slogged along its banks. Abandoned tent flaps, shredded by the elements and years of neglect, fluttered in the wind. A woman stumbled down the broken street between the window and the river and yelled at the phantoms in her head.
“Lilacs!”
“What’s that?” Jeremiah entered to Baruch’s exclamation.
“Nothing. I was just remembering … it’s not important.”
Jeremiah handed Baruch the cup. It was like everything else in the place. Worn, faded, humble. The nectar within, on the other hand, added to the enigma.
“This is probably the best tea I’ve ever had,” Baruch said after removing the cup from his lips. “Where’d you get it?”
“A friend gave it to me. I think he brought it back from Malaysia, although I don’t quite remember anymore.”
Baruch took another sip as Jeremiah returned to the kitchen area to retrieve a chair. The rickety, wooden legs splayed out on the carpet. Jeremiah’s light frame barely widened the spread when he sat down.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet me,” Baruch said as he set the cup of tea on the carpet. Pulling a notebook and a pencil from inside his jacket, he continued. “Do you mind if I take a few notes while we talk?”
“There’ll be plenty of time for that at a later date,” Jeremiah replied.
The way he said it struck Baruch as odd. “I was under the impression that I could interview you for a piece I’m doing.” His hands fumbled with the notebook. “I have a deadline and would need to get some background information.” His legs shifted beneath him. Again, trying to find a comfortable position as though the right spot could ease the awkwardness. “I thought I had made that clear when we talked on the phone.”
“How long have you been in town?”
Baruch’s confusion grew. What did that have to do with what he just said or why he was there? “I … it’s been about a year.”
“Where’d you grow up?”
“Roanoke, so I got up here a few times to visit when I was a kid.”
“And where’d you go to school?”
“University? Old Dominion. Double major in Journalism and Communication.” He tried to change the topic back to Jeremiah. “Now that you know a little about my background, how about we discuss yours?”
Jeremiah maintained his line of questioning. “What’re your impressions of Washington?”
“It’s a nice town. Well, I guess that’s not the best way to describe it. It has some charming parts. I’ve met some decent people.”
“And the rest?”
“It’s like living in a den of scheming snakes crawling over themselves to reach the top of the pile so they can sink their fangs into, well, anything, yet too afraid to do so while the snake charmer is close by.”
“But that excites you in a way.”
“Yes. No. This is where the action is, but at the same time, I feel like the filth is getting harder to wash off each day.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, it feels like the grime is penetrating deeper into my skin. Like a tattoo. It’s no longer simply external.” Baruch paused. “How do you keep from being affected by it?” A quick glance around his surroundings gave him a partial answer. “With all due respect, is that why you live in this place? It keeps you humble?” A surge of guilt washed over him. “I apologize. It sounded different in my head. I didn’t intend any offense. You do have a nice place. By the river and everything. Many people would kill to live so close to the Potomac.” Baruch hoped Jeremiah would jump in and stop the stuttered apology, but he didn’t. Or wouldn’t. Baruch looked at the notebook which now lay on the couch. The strained confession resumed. “I guess I imagined it’d be different, especially after you invited me to your home. I’ve never been invited to a person’s house before. To interview them. Except to meet with President Josiah, but that doesn’t really count. And Pashur Immerson. Do you know him? He brought me to his place. It kind of made the Presidential Palace seem modest. But ….” He took a deep breath and fell silent.
“Why did you want to interview me?” Jeremiah asked.
The question sunk into Baruch’s chest. “I was given an assignment.”
“To interview me?”
He felt the grime penetrate his tongue. Just one little lie. Everyone else did it. “No,” he said. The snake slid away in disappointment. “To go to the revival. I knew you would be there, but, if I’m being honest, I didn’t expect much out of you. It was simply a chance to get away from the day to day of politics. Yet after I heard you … there was something in your words that … that moved me. No, that’s not the correct expression. That gripped me. That took hold of my stomach and fed me.” He looked directly at Jeremiah for a second before turning his head. “I know I’m not making sense.” The cup of tea returned to his hands, mainly to give them something to do.
“I appreciate your honesty,” Jeremiah said. “It’s in short supply in this town.”
“Like there’s a warehouse with a limited and dwindling stock, and the clerk has to ration it out. But he keeps most of it for himself, knowing it’s wasted on the politicians.”
Jeremiah smiled. “Along those lines.”
“Not everybody, though.” Baruch wondered why he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. But then he remembered that he never could. “There are some good people in this town.”
“Such as?”
“President Josiah to begin with. It all starts at the top. Too bad it doesn’t flow downhill.”
“You’ve met him,” Jeremiah said more as a statement of fact.
“A few times. The first two were really me in a room with a hundred other reporters. He did specifically ask for me to attend the press conference. I learned that afterwards. The last time, he actually invited me into the office with him. Just me and his chief of staff. I asked him what made him extend the invitation, all three times, but he didn’t answer. You know what, he reminds me a lot of you. With a little more charisma perhaps.” He quickly added. “Not in a good way. Not a bad way either. I think I should shut up now.” A swallow of tea headed down his throat.
“What did you and President Josiah talk about?” Jeremiah asked.
“He asked me about an article I had written.”
“Which one?”
“The one on the abortion clinic. The clinic that Josiah’s troops found in Arlington. How they arrested the owner and … you know the rest.”
“Why did he ask you about that article?”
“I suppose because public sentiment started to turn against him after that one, but I … I knew why he did it.”
“And why did he do it?”
Baruch swallowed hard. His mouth had become inexplicably dry. “You can’t allow that. Not even the slightest bit.”
“Why not?”
“It’s like yeast which multiplies and infiltrates all the dough.” He hesitated. “They started with all the old slogans, you know. The same lies they used to tell. It’s just a matter of time.” He glanced at Jeremiah. “Is that what you meant in your speech? Are we really headed down that path? Is our nation headed for destruction, or were you speaking figuratively?”
“He always gives us a choice as well as the opportunity to change directions. At least, to a certain point.”
“Have we passed that point yet?”
“Look around you,” Jeremiah said. “What do you see?”
Baruch knew what he meant. “Prosperity. A nation that follows God, that has instituted his laws and precepts. A blazing economy and a strong military. A people that give generously to help those in need.”
“What else do you see?”
“An economy resting on a tightrope waiting on unsteady legs to slip off. A military growing both arrogant and complacent with victories they believe they have achieved through their own might. A people who would like nothing more than to throw Josiah’s yoke off their backs in order to live the way they want. Who follow God with their lips who long to be their own gods.”
“What gives you that impression?” Jeremiah asked.
“I hear them talk. It’s a den of snakes, remember.”
“If it bothers you so much, why don’t you leave, make a living somewhere else?”
“Someone has to speak up,” Baruch said. “Like you. Not that I equate myself with you. I don’t have the guts to do what you do. I hide behind a computer at a journal which supports President Josiah and which enjoys his support as well. You, on the other hand, live out your convictions for the world to see. Which I guess is the real reason I came to interview you. I wanted to see for myself.”
“See what?”
“I don’t know. What it takes. If it was real.”
Baruch fell silent. Angry words entered the window, curses from someone on the street against another person for some perceived slight. The exchange went back and forth a few times until they too grew silent. No sound, other than the cadence of breathing, breached the still of the room.
Jeremiah stood up and headed to the bookshelf. Choosing a thin book, he returned and handed it to Baruch.
“I’d like you to read this.”
“What’s it about?”
“Just read it.”
Baruch opened the pages. A journal of handwritten notes and thoughts filled the pages. Left and right. Up and down in the margins. Ideas crossed through, replaced by similar words with more precise meanings. Sometimes coherent, sometimes random. Other lines written in a steady hand as though dictated to the author.
“You wrote this?” Baruch asked.
“It’s one of my early journals. I have a lot of them. Most I keep in a box in the closet.”
“Can I use this to write my article?”
Jeremiah shook his head. “I didn’t ask you here to write an article about me.”
“Why am I here, then?”
“You have been chosen to record his words.”
“I don’t follow,” Baruch said.
“When those words ‘gripped your stomach,’ they weren’t my words. They were his.”
“Whose?” Baruch asked, knowing the answer. He flipped through a few more pages. “Are you saying you want me to transcribe these?”
“Eventually,” Jeremiah said, “but not yet. The time will come.” He held out his hand for Baruch to return the book. “Until then, go back to your job and do it to the best of your ability. Don’t leave Washington.” He walked to the door and opened it. Baruch followed. “And as long as you fight to keep the filth from sinking into your skin, I don’t think it will. When your heart feels at peace in this town, that’s when I’d begin to worry.”
Baruch turned once as he headed down the stairs which led to the street. Jeremiah stood in the doorway and waved at him before going back inside.