Disaster Among the Heavens by Don E Peavy Sr (electronic book reader txt) 📕

above his and then had a staircase constructed in one of his closets which went into one of hers so that they could move about unmolested by the gaze of others.
They never left together or arrived together. In the several months during which they had been together, he could only recall climbing the stairs on one occasion to visit her apartment. She knew him and his schedule so intimately that it was she who descended the staircase to visit him. This is why now, as the Director felt the limousine turn into the circular driveway of the Watergate Apartment Complex and come to a stop, he knew that His Woman would be waiting for him.
Happy, then, was he as he pulled open the curtains and allowed the noonday Washington light to part the darkness and give view to the grand entry of the Watergate -- a colossal complex of commercial, apartment, and office buildings on the Potomac River that though it had a grand history this “premier” place of power and prestige had not yet captured its place in infamy and enjoyed its fifteen minutes of fame on the stage of the American consciousness.
He watched the well manicured lawns and cherry blossoms with all the self-aggrandizement of a king surveying his vast estate as the limousine made its way to the portico.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Director,” greeted a doorman. He opened the door and beckoned the Director to exit.
The doorman did not wait for an answer but moved swiftly to the entry door which he opened and held for the Director, who walked past him without saying a word and without noticing that a Negro had assumed a role which had been denied him since the revolution started. The Director walked hurriedly to the elevator that opened upon his approach and admitted him, oblivious to the shadow behind him which rushed to a nearby telephone.
Within minutes, and not a minute too soon, the Director was unlocking his apartment door and finally, finally, he was home. Who says you cannot go home again? he asked rhetorically as he closed and locked the door and stood against it. Finally, he was at home. For home is where the heart is and not necessarily the mortgage. This was his home -- his sanctuary from the world.
His home was not that place back in Virginia where his wife and children resided. That place had been constructed by his father. It was a place where he spent the night sometimes. It was not home.
For Landest, home should be that place where a person feels safe and free, even if barbarians are gathered at the gate! That is why abused children become wanderers as adults without direction and purpose -- they lack a sense of home. For what should have been their home was really a torture chamber -- a mock image of hell. And so they lack foundation. Thus, when they confront the absurdities of a blazing sun, they have nowhere to retreat except to the cave carved in the mountain that borders the dark woods where they put on their chains and take pleasure in watching the images projected on the walls.
Not so for the Director. It was here in this apartment that he could be himself, that he could express his ideas and do whatever he wanted with whomever he wanted. He had spent most of his life in a cave where he had seen only optical illusions -- the things he saw were not as they appeared. All that he was; all that he said and did; was dictated by others.
Now he had escaped the cave of control and was able to open his eyes wide and take hold of a new reality. He even saw Negroes in a new light. Despite the agony and difficult problems his Former Assistant caused him, the Assistant had proven that Negroes were not inferior and that only a cave-dwelling mentality perpetuated this discord between the races. His Former Assistant had excelled in class and sports and was a highly competent administrator. The Former Assistant made those he worked for shine in the eyes of their superiors and he was very good at building consensus.
Though he did not say so publicly, the Director considered his Former Assistant the best evidence of the need for America to begin in earnest to resolve its race problem. The Assistant was a must-have at state dinners and other events attended by persons from foreign lands who sought proof that America was in fact the land of the free and a place of equal opportunity. The Assistant and the other Negroes who entered the CIA and completed successfully their training, was that proof as far as the Director And The President were concerned.
Consequently, when the Assistant left the CIA and returned to Chicago and started his reign of violence, many hands pointed to the Director As the person to blame. Thus, while he admired the Assistant’s tenacity and accomplishments, Landest hated his Former Assistant who he now thought of as a traitor. For Landest considered his Former Assistant to not only have betrayed the trust he put in him, he betrayed the American people and all those Negroes who have struggled to strip away what W.E.B. DuBois has called the “veil” of race.
Since this so-called revolution started, Landest immersed himself in reading Negro literature in an attempt to gain insight into the mind of his new foe. Dubois' writings impressed him and Landest now accused his Former Assistant of squandering the opportunity he had been given to pierce the veil and open a way through which more of his people could enter to find opportunity in the halls of power.
However, instead of taking advantage of these rare opportunities, Landest’s Assistant “spit in the face” of Landest and America, as the Director often said, in an ill attempt to launch a so-called revolution and in so doing had thrown race relations hundreds of years backwards.
How could the Assistant or anyone else possibly believe that violence could be successfully used against a people who controlled the world’s greatest arsenal of weapons of mass destruction? Had not the Assistant seen the demise and coming demise of groups like the Black Panthers, the Republic of New Africa, the Black Liberation Front, and others?
More importantly, the Assistant, in his violence and destruction, played into the darkest fears of American whites -- many of whom already lived on the abyss of fear that Negroes would murder them in their sleep. Far too many whites now slept with one eye open sparking a resurgence of the KKK and similar groups.
But, Landest reasoned, his Former Assistant did an even greater disservice to his own people. He opened the festering sores of violence that had been covered by Band-aids of hope in the emerging civil rights movement and caused young Negroes to believe that violence was the only viable tool left to them. This new belief was swiftly becoming a national religion symbolized by a clenched fist and the slogan, “Black Power!” Nowhere in the psyche of this new movement did the thought emerge that what was being done was the substitution of one racism for another.
Not so for the Black middle class. Members of this class continued to heed the call of DuBois to become both African and American without denigrating either. This middle class did not seek equality with whites, they sought equal access to all the spheres of justice in this place called the United States of America. They sought to cultivate the soils stained with the blood of their forebears in the hope of yielding the fruits of freedom and community. The Director had thought, mistakenly, his Former Assistant belonged to this emerging middle class of Negroes.
It was no wonder, then, that the Director was shocked when he learned that his Former Assistant was the leader of the recent acts of violence that had swept across America. Deep was the pain and distress he experienced each time he was reminded that he had trained this man -- had taken him under his wing, had even called him friend. It grieved him to the depths of his heart to think how he had allowed his Former Assistant to share an office next to his and even travel with him. Treachery is never so great as when it is committed by a friend.
Throughout all that time and it sickened him to think of it, he envisioned his Former Assistant was laughing at him while recording every observation to be used later for strategic purposes in his ill-fated enterprise. And now, after he believed his Assistant was dead, the so-called Great Society Manifesto surfaced. Landest wondered whether someone or some subversive organization was behind the Former Assistant for surely, despite his tenacity and talents, things had moved much beyond the capabilities of a group of Negroes – even if it were a group he helped to train.
He was frustrated that no such person or organization had been found. However, Landest was sure that he would discover the person or persons behind his Former Assistant. Notwithstanding this belief in someone behind the Assistant, Landest still saw his Former Assistant as the top traitor and anarchist. That is why he hated him and come tomorrow, Landest would find “the fiend” and destroy him. That was tomorrow. Today, the Director had other plans.
He closed his eyes against the thoughts of his Former Assistant; choosing instead to savour this moment of being home again. He became aware of the music that touched the depths of his soul which he recognized as Lucia singing “Alfin son tua” from the opera, “Lucia D Lammermoor” by Donizetti. His Woman had remembered to put on a record of the music from his most favourite opera.
Landest opened his eyes, expecting to fall into her arms as he had so many times before. She was not there. He walked over the blue super-dense, plush wool carpet to his mahogany bar with its marble top where His Woman had left a crystal pitcher of Martini and a pair of white silk panties on which she had written: “Welcome home, honey, I’m in the shower. Have a drink and enjoy the opera. I’ll be with you by the time Edgardo bows.”
“She’s learning well,” the Director thought as a broad smile covered his face. He lifted the panties to his nose and inhaled deeply the Chanel Number Five and allowed the scent to travel to his olfactory nerves and then mix with his soul. With drink and panties in hand, he walked over to his bedroom door and opened it.
The sound of the pulsating waters of the shower escaped from behind the closed bathroom door and bombarded his mind. He pushed open the bedroom door so that he could watch His Woman emerge from the shower. Noticing her pink chiffon robe sprawled out on the bed, he returned to the bar and poured himself another drink, then made his way to a nearby recliner. He took the Waterford crystal with him. After downing his second drink in one quick gulp, he poured himself another.
Calm, relaxed – no longer tensed, Landest got up from the chair and took off his suit coat which he tossed over the back of the couch. Likewise, he took off