Oh Pure and Radiant Heart by Lydia Millet (shoe dog free ebook .txt) 📕

until almost 3 a.m. that Kurt the Hut finally turned the key in the bus’s ignition. All of them waited together in the darkness of the interior.

The Huts packed up the perimeter fence without flashlights, in the dark, and the second bus idled close behind them, its headlights off. Their tires crunched over the gravel as they pulled out of the lot, two dark hulks nose to tail with a guard van ahead and another behind. Ann stared out the window at the trucks and tents spread out beyond them, and as they pulled away felt relieved. She had not been able to tell Sheila but later Sheila would understand.

At fifteen miles an hour they left the camp behind them and crept slowly up the gravel access road to the Interstate.

—No headlights till we hit the on-ramp, said Szilard to Kurt. —I want to be sure.

—I feel better already, said Larry to Ann. —Don’t you?

Then there were bright lights around them, dazzling in the windshield. It was a circle, and Ann narrowed her eyes against the glare as she picked out the headlights around them. They burned at all the windows.

—What is that? asked Tamika, dozing fitfully with her head on Larry’s lap. —Turn it off!

—It’s not us, said Big Glen grimly, and the bus rumbled to a halt.

Ann put her face against the window. The night blazed and blurred and she could barely make out shapes.

—It’s Bradley’s men, said Szilard. —Their guns are drawn.

Kurt the Hut lifted his headset to make contact with the guard van, adjusting it against his mouth.

—Two of our guys are stepping out of the advance van to talk to them, he told Szilard. —Without their weapons.

They waited until he spoke into his headset again. The lights outside were harsh and unwavering. Ann looked down at her cold hands and saw they were shaking.

—They say we’re not leaving, he said, turning to face them.

—What, they’re holding us prisoner now? We can just call the cops! said Szilard. —What are they thinking?

Oppenheimer stood in his bedroom doorway in plaid flannel pajamas, blinking.

—What is this?

—Now we’re hostages, said Szilard.

—They want to talk to you again, said Kurt. —Szilard. Not Oppenheimer. They don’t want to put Oppenheimer in jeopardy.

—That’s nice, said Szilard. —But I’m not going out into a battle zone. Get Bradley on the phone.

Kurt spoke into his headset again and then shook his head. —No, they say they want a face-to-face. They say he’s coming in.

When I wake up, he thought, she will be here without the other thousands. The crowds will be gone again.

He felt his mouth smiling.

They stared at Bradley sullenly from their seats as he stood near the door with his arms crossed on his chest and a pair of night-vision goggles strung around his neck, a soldier on either side of him.

—What it is, he said, —is we can’t just have you clearing out like this without addressing your responsibilities. The disciples will feel abandoned.

—We have no responsibility to you, said Szilard. —But what we do have is the capacity to call the police. Tell me why I shouldn’t dial 911 this minute.

—The duty I’m talking about is not worldly, said Bradley. —It is a higher calling.

They sat in silence after that, Larry shaking his head and Tamika reaching into a cupboard and pulling out a bong.

—Tell me why I shouldn’t call 911, repeated Szilard, and touched his cell phone where it sat on the desk in front of him.

—Because we’ll do media that will make you look like the moneylender you are, said Bradley sharply.

—Anti-Semite! said Tamika to Ann.

—Please don’t conduct illegal activities in front of me, said Bradley suddenly to Tamika, who was firing up the bong.

—I’ll do whatever I want, said Tamika indignantly. —I don’t even know you. And so far I think you’re a major asshole.

—If there is anything here worth saving, said Oppenheimer softly, drumming his fingers on the table and raising his eyes to Bradley, —it should be saved by grace, not violence.

—What our position is, said Bradley, —those of us that are the faithful, is if you are going to betray your flock you owe them at least an explanation. You owe them the truth about what you’re doing.

—Why do we owe them anything? asked Szilard. —I have to tell you, you lost me there, Steve.

—Because they can ruin you.

—I don’t understand, said Oppenheimer, still mild-toned and soft-spoken. —What can they ruin? We have nothing to hide. We are who we say we are. I am Oppenheimer, Julius Robert. He is Leo Szilard. Our colleague is Enrico Fermi. These are facts that science has proven to our satisfaction, even if others do not wish to credit them. We have a message of peace. We wish to speak to the president about nuclear nonproliferation, and the dangerous precipice on which this country stands. That is all. And I do not claim to be a messiah. I have no wish to be a religious figurehead. I am a physicist, plain and simple.

—The people don’t see it that way.

—The people are laboring under a misapprehension. If they wish to have it corrected, I can certainly speak to them.

—Nothing you can say will convince them you are not the risen Savior. Your protests will only further convince them.

—Fine, said Oppenheimer, —let them believe what they wish. But it does not make us beholden to them. I never asked to be made into a god.

—I think Dr. Szilard here may see things differently, said Bradley smugly. —Am I right, Leo? You have PR to think about. You have a media image. Bad press won’t help you right now, right before the whole climax and the march on Washington.

—Leave, said Szilard. —We will talk about it.

—Of course, we don’t care if the rest of you leave, said Bradley, looking from Tamika to Ann. —Dr. Oppenheimer is who we want.

—No way, said Ann. —We’re sticking with him.

—We’ll give you some time to yourselves.

—How generous, said Ann.

—Would you turn off all those headlights