C16 Engage in Life and Death

Billy Wild walked through the Tenderloin on Christmas Day, hoping to run into a turkey sandwich or a church meal, if he was lucky. After decades of feeding people three times a day all year

around, Christmas was the only day that St. Anthony’s Dining Room was still open. He left had left half of the sacred objects to look over the shrine he had built for China Doll. He knew the objects would protect her while he was gone. After all, they were engaged now, in life and death.

Billy pushed the shopping cart, still covered with an American flag, up a slight incline along Larkin Street. Although the gun tucked in his rope belt made him feel more powerful, he still knew it was best to remain invisible. He pulled up the hood of his black cape as he approached a corner.

Invisible people were less of a target in the Tenderloin. The more you found a way to hide, the longer you were going to live. People who provoked anyone in the slightest way could end up dead on the sidewalk. People who drew too much attention could find themselves being followed by a band of Sarah’s Soldiers. Billy felt invisible, but powerful, with the Beretta stuffed in his pants, his tat- tered coat and the black cape concealing it.

Carrying concealed weapons was the right of every American citizen now. The Sarah Palin Right to Kill Bill justified the carrying of weapons in order for the haves to protect themselves against the have- nots. Respectable citizens must be protected from the impoverished.

Poverty was some other world to the rich when they drove through the Tenderloin in their Humvees or Mercedes, with a body- guard at the wheel. It was as if they thought the contagion here could enter their bloodstream, if they didn’t eliminate the contagion first.

Bands of their teenage children would drive to the Tenderloin at two in the morning for a hunting excursion. They had no intention of collecting their prey as trophies. There would be too many tro- phies to carry home. Their only purpose was killing people for sport and hooting and honking their way down the street when one of them made a kill. Their girlfriends encouraged them and sometimes joined in the fun. Since there was no police protection after midnight in the Tenderloin, the homeless were left to their own devices.

In Billy’s case, he built the Dugout.

But during the day, the Tenderloin was the only place in the city where he could rummage for food, hoping to find the scraps left behind by office workers out to lunch from Civic Center, or the garbage that could be found in the bins outside a restaurant. There was a line of shopping carts stopped on the sidewalk, waiting for the light to change. It was an excuse for Billy to stand still.

Across the sidewalk, a thug rifled through the pockets of a dead man. He was lying on his back with his head hanging over the curb, his mouth wide open. The thug came up with a wallet and some change. The dead man still held a can of beer upright in his hand. The thug grabbed the can of beer and celebrated by lifting it in the air. “There lies a dead fool!” he shouted to the crowd and strutted down the hill behind Billy.

Billy didn’t turn to watch him walk off. No one said a word. No one even looked in the thug’s direction. It was over. It was done. There was nothing to be said about it.

People accepted their fate in the Tenderloin.

There was even an underlying envy for some that someone wouldn’t have to bear this life any longer.

Cold rainy nights, a bullet flying from a stranger’s gun, star- vation, tuberculosis, AIDS, the occasional unknown virus that ran through the neighborhood—all were waiting to call the residents of the Tenderloin, sooner or later.

The line of shopping carts began to move forward for a moment, but then stopped abruptly when the monitor on the corner lit up and the sound of a big band playing “God Bless America” could be heard. The American flag could be seen flapping against a light-blue sky on a clear sunny day.

When the anthem was finished, the camera faded into Sarah Palin sitting in a stuffed chair in a tight white sheath with plenty of legs showing. There was a roaring fire behind her, with a big Christmas tree to one side, and a bear skin to the other—the bear looking out at the camera, its mouth wide open, just like the dead man at the curb.

Sarah began speaking. “Merry Christmas, my fellow Americans. I hope Santa was as good to you as he was to me. I just want to wish you and your family all the blessings that the birth of the Baby Jesus can bring into your household on this joyous day. As we all know, the birth of Christ is the beginning of Christianity. Many religions are older than Christianity, but by the time Christ came along, they had worn themselves out. Then the Baby Jesus came along, and he was a rebel. He was a rebel from the beginning. When Mary told him to be home early from a date, he was an hour late. When Joseph told him to saw wood, he threw the saw down and said he never wanted to date anybody again and walked out into the desert to preach till he was thirty-three. Any stories about Jesus and Ms. Mary Magdalene getting it on are a lie. Jesus was a virgin, and like any good young person, he wanted to remain a virgin until he was married. But in the case of the Baby Jesus, he decided to walk through the desert and preach about saving us all from the fires of hell through his boundless love. And that’s what I’ve got to offer you tonight, my fellow Americans. The message of hope and love that the Baby Jesus brought to us on this momentous Christmas day many thousands of years ago.”

She paused for a moment and crossed her leg from one to the other. Billy could swear he saw a hint of beaver. He watched Sarah gazing back at the camera with a wicked gleam in her eye as if she was in on the dirty little secret. Then her face became stern, cold, distant.

She reached down and picked up a hunting rifle. Billy could see it was a Remington 700. It had a walnut stock and satin blue barrel. It was a big game gun. She put the gun to her shoulder and aimed it at the camera.

“This is the best Christmas present I’ve ever gotten. My hus- band Todd gave it to me. But it was like Todd came bearing a mes- sage from the Lord himself. He never even knew it! But it came to me the minute I tore off the pretty paper. This rifle was a message from Baby Jesus on this fateful Christmas Day. The message was clear as a bell. It’s time to put the Muslims on notice. As every God-fearing American knows, our lives have been deeply changed by the Islamic Revolution. The Middle East is now controlled by nothing but ter- rorists. They terrorize their own people. They terrorize the rest of the world. They terrorize honest Americans 24-7. This very day, there was the bombing of Bethlehem by Islamic Central Command. God knows, what country it came from—Iran, Tunisia, Iraq—what’s it matter? They all look alike. Do you think bombing the birthplace of the Baby Jesus on Christmas Day was just an accident? Are you some kind of conspiracy nut who thinks the Jews would do this to their own people just to gain Christian sympathies?”

The president paused for a moment. She lowered the rifle and reached down to smooth the stockings on her calf. Then she looked back into the camera as if she had been caught in a slightly embar- rassing moment.

“When I was shaving my legs in the bathtub this morning,” she continued, “it occurred to me that I could give the Baby Jesus the best Christmas present he’s ever received today. It’s time we faced the truth. There’s not a Muslim in the world who doesn’t hate us, includ- ing the ones we tried to rehabilitate here. It wasn’t the Jews who killed the Baby Jesus. It was the Muslims! If Jesus had lived a long, natural life, there wouldn’t have been any Muslims left. How could there be? Everybody would have flocked to Jesus by then. You can’t get a better deal than love, and that man offered love for all humanity through all time. It’s time we let the rest of humanity enjoy that mir- acle. And so I, along with the Joint Chiefs of Staff, have decided to

give the Baby Jesus his planet back. It’s time to let him save everyone on this blessed day!”

The president stopped and sat back in the cozy chair. She smiled at the camera. She began to cross her legs again. She stopped to kick off one of her heels. The movement stretched the tight white sheath she was wearing.

Billy rubbed his eyes. He took another look. It was true. The president was not wearing panties.

When she finished crossing her leg, she lifted the hunting rifle to her shoulder again and aimed it at the camera. She pressed her eye to the scope.

“I think it’s time we took aim at the problem,” she said. “I think it’s time we took aim at the real target of our problems. I think it’s time we talked about plain facts. I think it’s time we know who we’re hunt ing. I think it’s time to fish or cut bait. The lives of every American depend on quick action on this fateful Christmas Day. What better day to celebrate the birth of the Baby Jesus than to declare war on Muslims everywhere? These folks are going to see some fireworks come New Year’s Eve. It could happen in Saudi Arabia. It could hap- pen in Egypt. It could happen in Bahrain. It could happen anywhere. But it’s going to happen.”

She lowered the rifle and loaded the cartridge case. It was a bolt-action rifle. She slammed the bolt. She put her eye to the scope and aimed the rifle directly at the camera.

“In the meantime,” she continued, “we’ve got things to accom- plish here at home. We’ve given these people all the time they need to convert to our way of life. We gave them jobs. We gave them citizenship. We let them raise their funny looking kids any way they wanted. Well, I think we’ve had enough of that. To celebrate the birth of the Baby Jesus, I’ve ordered the immediate internment of all Muslims living in these holy United States. We’ve given these tow- el-heads enough time to call us devils and convert to Christianity. I’m certain they will proceed to the internment camps we’ve pro- vided for them, if only for their own safety and their children’s safety. Upon induction, they’ll be given the opportunity to pick the Bible or the Koran to busy themselves reading during their long stay in the camps. Those who choose the Bible will be shipped by train to the nice camps. Those who choose the Koran will have to deal with the special hardships that come with the inferior camps. They will proceed there on foot with no food or water. What better way to become a true red-blooded American than walking to Alaska in your bare feet? It’ll be just like the old days! Just like the frontier days! Let’s face it, folks. As you sit down with your family to a delicious turkey dinner tonight with all your favorite trimmings, you can do it with the knowledge that there will never be a Muslim bombing in your neighborhood again. The shopping centers you go to will be safe again. The gas lines you wait in will be shorter and shorter after New Year’s. We’ve done everything we can to warn these people. We’ve done everything we can to try to frighten them. But they haven’t gotten the hint! We’re going to deliver the final message! We’re going to deliver the final hint! It would be an insult to the memory of the Baby Jesus not to take action today!”

She pulled the trigger. She blew the camera away. The monitor went dark for a moment. Then the monitor lit up with the same American flag that opened the broadcast, flapping in front of the same sunny blue sky, with the national anthem playing.

The light ahead changed from red to green. Billy lowered his head and pushed his shopping cart forward.

It began to rain. It began pouring. Through the rain, Billy could see a black police van up ahead.

The police was loading a Muslim family into the back of the van.