Ordinary Obsessions

by Tom Corbett

  “Christopher? Are you there?”

  “Of course, mother Jackson. Merry Christmas.”

  “And to you. But I must apologize for my son. I did raise him better, you know. I always told him that he should be more like you, follow your example.” There was a noise in the background, it was Ricky protesting. “But I suppose he didn’t turn out too bad.”

  “Mother Jackson, you raised three great children, you should be very proud.”

  “Three, but there are only Richard and Julianna.”

  “Are you forgetting me? You helped raise me.”

  “Oh, posh. I cannot take credit for that. I did little…”

  “Listen to me,” Chris said, sounding deadly serious. “Listen to me carefully. I did inherit some good qualities from my mother, in fact I just thanked her for those. But as I grew into my teens, she was less…available. She was dealing with her own struggles. Did you ever wonder why I spent so much time at your home?”

  “You were friends with my children?” She phrased it more as a question.

  “That was part of it. The bigger part was what I was getting from you, and your husband. I learned what being part of a family was in your home, what love was all about, what decency meant. I cannot thank you enough. There are no words to express the love I have for you and what you gave me.”

  Chris waited but there was noise on the other end but nothing he could make out. The first clear voice he heard was Jules. “Thanks a lot. Now you have my mother in tears.”

  “And Merry Christmas to you.” He laughed.

  “This from the Grinch himself. But I do thank you, whatever you said to mother has made her holiday season.” Then in a lower voice. “I fear there is not much time left.”

  “I am stopping by to see her when I get stateside.”

  “Good, she will need another good cry by then. I think she has recovered though, she just yelled at me, once again, for not marrying you.”

  “Really, she wanted you to get stuck with me?” Chris said. “All this time I thought she liked you. By the way, I also made my mother cry a few minutes ago, good tears that is. But I fear she may finally be losing her mental sharpness.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, she went on about how much she came to like you and Ricky.”

  “Why, in God’s name, why do I still serve you up softballs to knock out of the park, after all these years?” The tone of her voice altered a bit signaling a new topic. “Beverly stopped by a while ago, just to drop off some presents, then she wanted to get back to your Father, keep up pretenses. Chris, she seems stressed to me. She is worried about people following her. She is beginning to feel that your father’s paranoia, or his suspicions, are on the rise. My advice - pull her out of that situation. I don’t care what she is doing for you.” She listened for a response before adding, “Are you still there?”

  “Oh, sorry, yes. Just thinking. And what about you?”

  “Me? I know I am being followed. He has also been having people talk to those who know me, probably to dig up dirt when we go public with what he is doing. My stories on him have been soft so far, but enough to concern him. Fortunately, I was such a saint in my past, just this ill-advised relationship with his son.”

  “Hah, hah. But seriously, be careful. Maybe you ought to stick to uncovering your everyday government corruption and sex scandals? There is plenty of both in Chicago. I worry about you, you know that.”

  “I know, but I am a big girl now. I can take care of myself. Just focus on Beverly, okay?”

  “Got it, and hey, still love you kiddo.”

  “Me too, but now I have to go and cheer up mother and listen once again to all that BS about you being the best thing in my life. Okay, wish everyone the best for me.” The call ended.

  Chris slowly got up and made his way to the tree. He was headed toward Kat and Kay, who were still in deep conversation, but was turning over Jules’s warning about Beverly in his mind. He paused by the tree as if to adjust some ornaments. Most of the stateside staff had now gathered and were heatedly discussing politics. How odd, yet predictable, he said under his breath. Here they were amidst a seasonal celebration and they instinctively reverted to the substance of the professional lives. If it were just the females, perhaps they would be talking about their relationships and why the men in their lives were such pigs. If it were just the guys, he was sure the conversation would turn to sports and sex, or their lack of success in that latter arena. But the mixed group found common ground in a safe topic, their animosity toward the political drift in the States, which inevitably infected the world.

  He now heard Pamela going on about the results she had found in her deeper analysis of political attitudes and behaviors among the American public. “Here is the thing. Americans are not as right-wing as the election results suggest. The problem is that between gerrymandering and the electoral college thing, a minority view prevails. Democrats have most of the votes cast, but Republicans control everything. Somehow, about 40 percent of the votes gets translated into a minority party holding on to power.”

  Chris walked over, and she stopped. “No, don’t stop, please go on.”

  Now she seemed less sure of herself. “Well, I have been looking at the attributes of this great political divide we see. The Republican base is less educated, less affluent, and much more rural than the Democratic base. I estimate that each Democratic adult voter contributes $23,000 more dollars to the GDP on average. Why, you might ask? Well, they live in more dynamic parts of the country, the coasts, areas that still invest in education and the public good. Am I wrong?” She looked toward Chris for feedback.

  When he did not immediately respond, Atle spoke up. “I have no doubt your analysis is correct, but we still have a conundrum. I have been looking at overall population sentiments, at least when it comes to political leanings. I find a slight population preference leaning toward the conservative side of things.”

  “How so?” Pamela asked.

  “Well, these are all round numbers, but here is the big picture. About a quarter of the population don’t give a shit and probably would have trouble identifying who is president, and certainly who is the VP. Of the remainder some forty-percent are passive liberals or conservatives, half lean one way and half the other. These are not the activists but, all things being equal, do have a measurable preference, rather a default choice if you will. Now we get closer to the true believers. My view of the data suggests about one-quarter constitute the liberal or progressive base. However, one-third fall into conservative or hard-right base with six to eight percent falling into the category of full-fledged Nazis with guns at their side and hate in their hearts. So, if I were to label this country, I would say it leans to the right, not as you described.”

  “But…” Pamela seemed to be thinking through her comeback.

  April cut her off. “What do you think, Professor Crawford?”

  “First, I think you should call me Chris, as I have mentioned many times before. Second, how many of you have read my book, Confessions of an Accidental Scholar?” He looked at the group as Atle and April raised their hands. “Well, I see that I should have made it a job requirement. No matter, in it I talk about the conundrums and complexities of making sense of policy questions at great length, it is a great sleep aid. No matter, when data exists in abundance, confusion and conflicting interpretations are inevitable. Guess I better make it a reading assignment.” Then he broke into a big smile. “Finally, and this is my big point, why the hell are you talking about work stuff here? Relax, have some fun. And besides reading my book, which I am sure you all will do now, immerse yourself in some history. One example for now, look at the system of rotten boroughs in England in the first half of the 1800s. As the industrial revolution was taking off, the old landed interests fought hard to maintain their power. It turns out that many parliamentary seats were in rural areas with few voters. They existed by virtue of tradition and entitlement rather than any sense of democracy. Th
e populace had moved to the cities but these largely inherited seats in rural places kept England’s government from supporting legislation for a changing society. They voted repeatedly for policies that kept commodity prices inflated as the urban classes struggled to buy bread. They needed a revolution, not a violent one, but one that brought their democratic protocols up to date. That is the power of Pamela’s analysis, the future of America has shifted to the coasts and big urban centers but the red states, largely poorer, less educated, and rural, are hanging on for dear life. They want to preserve a world that is past and doesn’t even represent their own self-interests. The thing is, data is great but incomplete. Data, at best, describes but does not explain. You need a plausible narrative to give numbers authenticity, meaning, and power. Okay, now have some fun, damn it.”

  As Chris walked toward his two sisters, he heard Carlotta ask Atle. “Did you really read his book, or did you just say you did to impress him?”

  “Nothing wrong with sucking up to the boss, Carlotta,” Pamela interjected.

  That was the last of the exchange Chris could hear. Now he approached Kat and Kay, who had heard his parting advice to the staff. Kat smiled. “Excellent advice for a change.”

  “My God,” Chris responded to her, “they were talking work. When I was their age, I would have been plying some vixen with spiked eggnog in anticipation of exchanging some real season’s cheer.”

  “Still the pig, I see, no wonder you loved those Porky movies,” Kay offered. “I must see Amar about resuming the daily beatings.”

  “And what was with all those packages I saw you bring in?” Chris fought to regain the high ground. “More crap to exchange.”

  Kay hit her brother on the arm. “Nothing for you, Mr. Scrooge, so don’t bitch. More stuff for the staff. Besides, I wanted to help out the British economy.”

  “I would say you are trying to keep it afloat all by yourself.” Then Chris turned serious. “Listen. I just chatted with Jules, and mother Jackson who sends her best.”

  “I have got to visit her when I get back to the states,” Kay offered in a wistful way.

  “Don’t wait too long,” Chris said as he reached out to touch Kay’s arm. Then Chris looked at Kat. “Listen, Jules had a warning. Father may well be spying on us. Jules is convinced that he is digging up dirt to use on her, but I guess I am the only skeleton in her closet.”

  “I am sure of it, that he is keeping tabs on us and not that you are the only skeleton in her closet, not that she has had a boring life…oh, never mind.” Kat responded but obviously deep in thought. “By the way, it would be very embarrassing for her to be linked to you.” Her witticism fell flat, no one was in the mood.

  “No, it is worse than Father just spying on us.” Chris realized he had not issued his warning clearly enough. “Jules thinks Bev might be in danger, that he has figured things out. Kat, have you forgotten your near-death experience in that so-called traffic accident?”

  Kat considered his words. “No, but nothing has happened since. Maybe I was just imagining things.”

  “And maybe not. I want to pull her out of the cold.”

  “My God,” Kay expelled. “Just listen to yourselves. You two are sounding like your players in a cold-war spy movie.”

  Kat and Chris turned on her as Kay fell silent, and she understood they were deadly serious. Kat spoke to break the momentary uncomfortableness. “Yes, whatever she can provide us about his doings is not worth putting her in harm’s way. The thing is, we really do not know how evil that man is. We detest his politics and his ambitions, but he is our blood. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, when I cannot sleep, I fear the worst, that he would come after us all if pushed. Then, in the cold reality of day, I think that is just nuts. Most days, I don’t know what to believe. But we cannot take any chances with Beverly, of that I am sure.”

  Suddenly Chris looked to the other side of the room. There was his mother with Amar and his two young daughters. Seated next to that group, enjoying the antics of the toddlers, sat Azita, Ahmad, and Deena. “Look over there. That is my family now. It was not that many years ago that I had only myself. I could take chances or go after dreams without thought or care. But now…”

  “My fault,” Kay interjected, “if I had not run off to Afghanistan to join Amar, you never would have come to drag me away and you probably still would be that carefree bachelor.”

  His head spun back to focus on his twin sister. “You are apologizing? Are you kidding? I owe you large. But it does complicate life. I now care so much about others, not like a do-gooder but in a far more intimate way.” He stopped to organize the thoughts rushing through his head. “Listen, Amar feels lost in America, she wants to work more closely with ISO. Azita, I fear, is really thinking about spurning a research career in medicine and running back home with that new boy of hers.”

  “Really?” his two sisters said simultaneously.

  “Yes, damnit. They spent time alone in her bedroom earlier, I did not know what to do.”

  “Oh, the horror.” Kat said as the two sisters laughed.

  “Okay, that was stupid. Seriously, though, Deena is convinced she will go back, as will Deena, since she and Karen are drifting apart.” Chris kicked himself for letting that slip but quickly went on. “Frankly, I have been beside myself about this. Used to be that I only worried about what I would do when I grew up.”

  “And that was an easy problem since we all knew you never would.” Kat said not so much in jest but with real concern. “Dear brother, you are a royal pain-in-the-ass, but I love you. I think even Kay loves you and we all now think of her as the sensible, rational member of the family. The thing is you are not alone. Whatever comes up, whatever we must confront, we will do it together.” Kat reached out to grab one of Chris’s hands and one of Kay’s. “It is no longer like the old days, when we let Father kill Chuck by driving him into a life he hated. We must each bear that sin for the remainder of our lives, but we are a family now, not intentionally separated by oceans or past hurts or hidden secrets or distorted views of one another. We are the Crawford kids and nothing, absolutely nothing, is ever going to separate us again.” With that, Kat first hugged Kay and then Chris. Her gaze paused on her brother. “Who knows, maybe I will even start being nice to you.”

  “No, don’t ever do that.” Chris protested.

  “What?” Kay protested, “Show affection in public?”

  “Not so much that, but don’t start being nice to me, that would really throw me off my game.” Each of them smiled but knew somewhere that some threshold of familial bonding had been crossed. “Listen, I have been thinking about a day trip to Oxford, just the family. Mother can take care of the little girls, she will have plenty of help. But we must take Deena and Azita and what’s his name? - Ahmad.”

  “He is family?” Kay inquired.

  “Yes, I believe he is now. In any case, this place is like a zoo and Oxford is quiet this week. No problem getting a table at the Hairy Hare. I want us to talk things out a bit. Besides, I have been thinking, no wise cracks on that, and been touching base with people at the university. This engine never stops.” He tapped one finger to the side of his head just above the ear.

  “Oh my God, it sounds like you have a plan,” Kat said with mock concern.

  “I do, long in the works. Problem is, I have no freaking idea if it is any good.”

  CHAPTER 16

  POST - CHRISTMAS : DAYTRIP TO OXFORD

  Several days after Christmas, the Crawford clan wandered among the various colleges that made up Oxford University. It was a day after Kat had returned from a quick business trip to the continent. The weather was cool but not exceptionally cold for late December. It was not difficult to walk about that ancient town. What made the day special was a crisp, blue sky interrupted only by occasional layers of thin, high clouds. Chris acted as visitor guide, mostly for Kat and Deena’s benefit, though even the others in his small audience who thought themselves familiar with the i
nstitution found themselves listening. He obviously loved the place, the history and the traditions, having absorbed more local knowledge than most natives. He often mused that, if he had to do it all over, he would have become a historian. He loved to immerse himself in the past of wherever he as. Perhaps that was why he preferred Europe to the States, it had more history as well as the architectural detritus of past eras. He could feel the people and events of former times yet vibrating through the cold stones, the spires that pierced the sky, and the stained glass that afforded some color to otherwise austere edifices. His life would have been much simpler had he pursued history as a vocation. Everything would have focused on the crusty past and not the momentous struggles of the present day.

  During the morning they wandered through the buildings where Azita had done her studies, then the college where Ahmad was completing his. Most were rather quiet, but each ran into an old acquaintance or two and greetings were exchanged. They also stopped to show Kat and Deena some of Oxford’s finest architectural wonders. Oddly enough, even those who had lived in Oxford looked upon those structures with the enthusiastic eyes of tourists visiting for the first time. Funny, Chris thought inside, you can pass a site a hundred times and never really see it. Bring someone else and you notice it for the first time.

  After stopping for hot drinks to refresh themselves, Chris looked at his watch. “Okay, time to be off. I want you to meet some colleagues of mine. They have some ideas they want to share.”

  “Really?” Azita mildly protested. “I was thinking of tracking down some friends.”

  “Nope,” Chris responded a bit too quickly and emphatically, “this is a must-do engagement for all of us. This time, I am speaking as your father…and uncle I suppose.” He looked from Azita to Deena.

  Azita first looked at Deena, who shrugged, and then back at her father with a puzzled expression. She was confused by the mystery of it all. Why was this being sprung on her and Deena like this? About twenty minutes later they were being ushered into an ornate conference room. An attractive woman was seated at one end of the table. Perhaps in her mid-30s, she had the dark hair and light brownish skin that suggested she might be of Mideastern origin. As she rose, Chris walked directly to her, shaking her hand. “Good to see you again. It has been too long.”