Read Online (1976) The R Document by Irving Wallace - Free Book Online
Authors: Irving Wallace
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her and pecked a kiss on her powdered forehead. She acknowledged this with a quick smile, then held a forefinger to her lips. She said, ‘Lunch is all prepared. This’ll be over soon. Take off your jacket.’ She again riveted her attention on the screen, then held her sides and cackled with laughter.
Tynan laid down his file folder, removed his jacket, and hung it neatly on the back of a chair. He plucked a cigar
from the breast pocket, unwrapped it, nipped off the end of the cigar, and held his lighter a half inch from the cigar (as the President always did), inhaling and enjoying the aroma.
Smoking, he stood beside his mother, watching the mindless game show with her, then looked at her with pride.
He had done well by his mother. Had J. Edgar Hoover been able to see him now, this minute, the Old Man would have commended him.
At eighty-four, Rose Tynan was still as healthy as an Abkhasian - no, not that Commie place - as healthy as a Vilcabamban - much better - a Vilcabamban peasant. She was a down-to-earth Irishwoman, big-shouldered, hefty, with the mealy features of an Irish potato. Considering her age, she was in good shape, except for a slight stoop, an arthritic limp, and an occasional lapse of memory.
At last the game show was over. Rose Tynan grunted her way to her feet, snapped off the television set, took her son by the arm, led him into the small dining room, and sat him down at the head of the table.
‘Lunch is coming,’ she said.
‘Mom, the alarm was off when I came in. You should keep it on all the time. For my sake.’
‘I forget sometimes. I’ll try to remember next time.’
‘Be sure you do.’
‘How are things at the office?’
‘As usual. Busy.’
‘I won’t keep you here long.’
‘Mom, I’m here because I want to be here. I enjoy seeing you.’
‘So then let’s be making it twice a week for lunch.’
She disappeared into the kitchen and returned with the platter of corned beef and cabbage. His normal lunch, just as the Old Man’s had been, was cream-of-cbicken soup and cottage cheese. But this was Saturday.
‘Smells great, Mom.’
‘The bread’s on the table. Pumpernickel. Have some. Sure you won’t have a bigger slice? Oops, I forgot the beer.’
She went into the kitchen again and emerged with a
foaming beer stein. Setting the beer before him, she lowered herself noisily into her chair.
‘Well, Vera, what was your morning like?’
‘Not very happy, I’m afraid. I was a pallbearer at Noah Baxter’s funeral.’
The funeral was today? That’s right, it was.’
‘It was this morning.’
‘Poor Hannah Baxter. Well, at least she has her son, and a grandson also. I’ll have to call Hannah.’
‘You should.’
‘I’ll call her tomorrow. How’s the corned beef? Is it too fatty?’
‘It’s perfect, Mom.’
‘All right, now tell me what’s new.’
‘You tell me.’
They fell into the never-changing Saturday routine.
Rose Tynan first. She recounted the latest gossip about her neighbors in the Senior Citizens Village. Midweek there had been a movie about a man and an orphan and a dog. She gave a lengthy synopsis of the entire scenario. Then she spoke of the letters she had written and the mail she had received.
Vernon T. Tynan’s turn. He spoke of Harry Adcock.
‘How’s Harry?’
‘He sends his regards.’
‘He’s a fine young man.’
He spoke of Christopher Collins, the new Attorney General.
‘He’s nice, Vera?’
‘I don’t know, Mom. We’ll see.’
He spoke of President Wadsworth. He discussed two murderers on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted Fugitives list who had been apprehended in Minneapolis and Kansas City. He came to the 35th Amendment just as he took the last bite of the stringy corned beef.
‘Don’t worry, Vera. You’ll win it.’
We need one more state, and there’s only one left.’
You’ll win.’
The lunch was over on schedule. There were ten minutes left before the driver was due to return.
‘Ready for the
Tynan laid down his file folder, removed his jacket, and hung it neatly on the back of a chair. He plucked a cigar
from the breast pocket, unwrapped it, nipped off the end of the cigar, and held his lighter a half inch from the cigar (as the President always did), inhaling and enjoying the aroma.
Smoking, he stood beside his mother, watching the mindless game show with her, then looked at her with pride.
He had done well by his mother. Had J. Edgar Hoover been able to see him now, this minute, the Old Man would have commended him.
At eighty-four, Rose Tynan was still as healthy as an Abkhasian - no, not that Commie place - as healthy as a Vilcabamban - much better - a Vilcabamban peasant. She was a down-to-earth Irishwoman, big-shouldered, hefty, with the mealy features of an Irish potato. Considering her age, she was in good shape, except for a slight stoop, an arthritic limp, and an occasional lapse of memory.
At last the game show was over. Rose Tynan grunted her way to her feet, snapped off the television set, took her son by the arm, led him into the small dining room, and sat him down at the head of the table.
‘Lunch is coming,’ she said.
‘Mom, the alarm was off when I came in. You should keep it on all the time. For my sake.’
‘I forget sometimes. I’ll try to remember next time.’
‘Be sure you do.’
‘How are things at the office?’
‘As usual. Busy.’
‘I won’t keep you here long.’
‘Mom, I’m here because I want to be here. I enjoy seeing you.’
‘So then let’s be making it twice a week for lunch.’
She disappeared into the kitchen and returned with the platter of corned beef and cabbage. His normal lunch, just as the Old Man’s had been, was cream-of-cbicken soup and cottage cheese. But this was Saturday.
‘Smells great, Mom.’
‘The bread’s on the table. Pumpernickel. Have some. Sure you won’t have a bigger slice? Oops, I forgot the beer.’
She went into the kitchen again and emerged with a
foaming beer stein. Setting the beer before him, she lowered herself noisily into her chair.
‘Well, Vera, what was your morning like?’
‘Not very happy, I’m afraid. I was a pallbearer at Noah Baxter’s funeral.’
The funeral was today? That’s right, it was.’
‘It was this morning.’
‘Poor Hannah Baxter. Well, at least she has her son, and a grandson also. I’ll have to call Hannah.’
‘You should.’
‘I’ll call her tomorrow. How’s the corned beef? Is it too fatty?’
‘It’s perfect, Mom.’
‘All right, now tell me what’s new.’
‘You tell me.’
They fell into the never-changing Saturday routine.
Rose Tynan first. She recounted the latest gossip about her neighbors in the Senior Citizens Village. Midweek there had been a movie about a man and an orphan and a dog. She gave a lengthy synopsis of the entire scenario. Then she spoke of the letters she had written and the mail she had received.
Vernon T. Tynan’s turn. He spoke of Harry Adcock.
‘How’s Harry?’
‘He sends his regards.’
‘He’s a fine young man.’
He spoke of Christopher Collins, the new Attorney General.
‘He’s nice, Vera?’
‘I don’t know, Mom. We’ll see.’
He spoke of President Wadsworth. He discussed two murderers on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted Fugitives list who had been apprehended in Minneapolis and Kansas City. He came to the 35th Amendment just as he took the last bite of the stringy corned beef.
‘Don’t worry, Vera. You’ll win it.’
We need one more state, and there’s only one left.’
You’ll win.’
The lunch was over on schedule. There were ten minutes left before the driver was due to return.
‘Ready for the
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