Grandma smiled. “We can actually defend ourselves somewhere? I thought it was all cardboard ships.”
His mouth tightened. “You can be protected and rescued if need be given the nearness to Florida.” And we have stashed some nukes in Miami you don’t know about. But I prefer to save them.
She nodded, staring off. He cleared his throat to regain her attention.
“I know Tomas has handled this from the beginning,” Cheng said.
“And he’ll continue,” Grandma said sharply.
“Of course. But given the need for cooperation with the military, it’s imperative I participate fully.”
Grandma’s weariness deepened. “You want to contact Abdullah directly?”
“I need to be a part, is all I’m saying.”
“Bringing you in could scare the Son off, especially after his people attacked our children.”
“If it scares him off, how committed is he?”
She considered that, finally nodding. Grandma watched him fidget. “Is my First Cousin suddenly shy?”
“Never. Just careful.” He took a deep breath. “I’m worried what’ll happen here when you announce a real door has opened to Islam.”
“People will be upset.”
Upset. He stared, more worried than angry. She hasn’t thought this through. Just show up on the vidnews and say all is forgotten, and Americans will rejoice. Forget the sullen parades, the cremated bodies, crippled men and women, childless families. Forget the smoke of Los Angeles and the ruins of Washington, the skeleton of Manhattan. Forget the shame. The thirteen million. Let’s dance with the murderers.
Peace is not a real concept without victory.
Albert squeezed her thin wrist. “Lenora, they’ll be more than upset.”
“I’ve prepared them with the Story,” she answered indignantly.
“But you need more.”
She fluttered searchingly inside his mind. “Baseball?”
“Indeed.”
Grandma walked away. She never did that. “Baseball, Albert?”
“They’re up to twenty thousand a game, perhaps more.”
Her eyes widened. “You told me there was just a few hundred fans…”
He shrugged, also a ltitle baffled. “It’s hit a chord. The last season and all. Like a big party. They’ve even opened up the scoreboard. That witless Kenuda has managed to do something good for once.”
“I’m glad you kept me informed,” she said coldly.
“Because I knew your reaction.”
Grandma conceded that with a nod.
“There’s an opportunity for a theme.”
“Baseball and revolution. Where’ve I heard that before?”
“No. Baseball and forgiveness.”
Grandma stared into her hands, the sounds of 10/12 thundering in her mind. “You want me to publicly endorse treason?”
Some would call what you’re doing treason.
“Forgiveness. We must move forward. Isn’t that what this summit is about? Enemies can be friends. Why not our own people?” Grandma flinched. “Ironic how we’re switching sides…”
“Yes, isn’t it?” She frowned.
“I’m expanding on your vision, Lenora. You want me to support you, then let’s really do this right. We can talk about this being baseball’s last season and honor the memory of those who died and those who played…”
“Traitors.”
“I was on that goddamn Cubs team that day, Grandma. My uniform was splattered with your blood. Don’t insult me and the men and women who were true Americans.”
Sighing, Grandma nodded slowly. “Go on.”
“We’ve already restored some of Amazon Stadium with plaques and tributes…”
“Have you?”
“You’ve been busy. And I knew you wouldn’t like this.” You’re not the only one who can keep things, he thought sullenly, easily brushing aside her mental probes.
“Can’t you think of something else?”
“There is nothing else, Lenora. The incidents are rising. Abandoned churches were burnt down in Cincinnati and Atlanta, criminals shouting they were mosques. There were protests in Kansas City, San Francisco and Minneapolis against the Story. Parents have pulled children out of the school districts where you introduced the new curriculum. They’re calling you a liar.”
“Once the education plans fully phase in…”
“Hate always trumps education, Lenora.”
“That goes against everything I believe…”
“Which doesn’t change the facts, damnit. We can’t make this reality into a pretty little hologram. Over a thousand people have been murdered since the Story because they looked like Allahs.”
Grandma was horrified, slumping into her thick chair. “Why do they always…”
“You really ask why?”
“I must try.” Grandma activated a small vidmural of children splashing in a pool, silently watching. “Do you really think baseball could work?”
“Baseball fans were the cesspool of resistance, the sewer of nostalgia for the days of the American Empire. Embrace that base with your public approval and we’re building the foundation for peace.”
“You sound like you suddenly believe in this summit.” Grandma patted his cheek, while quietly searching his thoughts.
“If you believe in something, then I do.”
“You’ve always been there for me, Albert.”
His eyes watered. “Yes I have, Lenora.”
They kissed tenderly on the lips.
“I assume you have a plan as always?” she asked.
“You might not like everything.” She grunted. “But we have the perfect role model. Actually, two perfect role models.”
31
In the corner of the empty shadowed playground on Clay Avenue, Frecklie peered over Puppy’s shoulder at the open Hall of Fame book. Puppy tapped the side of his head with the ball to teach his brain to grasp the concept, flipping the pages over and over; Frecklie squatted, catcher’s glove sadly perched on his head.
Five knuckleball pitchers in the Hall of Fame and not a single word of advice. Dancing faintly in his memory was the notion that a knuckleball was not thrown with the knuckles. Frecklie had strongly disagreed, being sixteen and still believing in such ideas as words meaning what they said.
Puppy’d tried pressing the ball against his knuckles while his right thumb provided a foundation, but the pitches just flipped up apologetically or darted left and right; if baseball were redesigned with a moving batter’s box, maybe it’d work.
There had to be a simple answer somewhere. That was why people once had the world wide web, he realized, if only it hadn’t offered tips such as how to
