Kiss of the Spider Woodrow
Short fiction inspired by "Kiss of the Spider Woman," featuring two great Presidents
[Information drawn from two biographies: Theodore Roosevelt, by Henry F. Pringle, and Woodrow Wilson and Colonel House: A Personality Study, by Alexander L. George & Juliette L. George]
In Hell, the library is stocked with biographies.
And dime store novels.
Everybody checks out his or her own biography.
?And so, at the clarion call of the bugle my men charged forth, me at the very fore, up that gory slope. I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my arm. I faltered then. My thoughts turned at that moment both to the inward and distantly outward. I thought of Edith and the boys, of how they would never hear another word from my lips, of the messengers who would swarm to them the way worker bees swarm to their queen. The thought of their faces, masked with the pallor of pervasive grief, pained me so that I knew I could not let this be. I lifted myself back in the saddle and cried out bloody words of encouragement to my proud men. And we plunged forward, ever forward??
?The newspaper accounts never mentioned you falling from your horse,? blurted Wilson.
?What do those yellow, perfumed bastards know about it? They wrote those stories because it would sell papers, but I charged up that hill for the glory of democracy!?
?The glory of something, all right,? muttered Wilson.
?I will thank you not to insult me, sir. You will not like the consequences of repeating the offense, I assure you.? Roosevelt was incensed.
?What are you going to do? Kill me?? Roosevelt continued to stare at him, in silence, for a while. The flames reflected on the thick lenses of Roosevelt?s glasses, and Wilson couldn?t see his eyes. The hissing of brimstone was all that was audible. Wilson?s sense of triumph rapidly faded and he longed again for the banter.
?Anyhow, the newspapers interviewed you for their stories. You never said anything about falling from the saddle,? Wilson offered.
?Had you ever considered that maybe I didn?t want anyone to know?? replied Roosevelt after a pause.
?Nobody ever refuted your story. There was never the slightest inconsistency. Regardless, either you lied then or you lie now.?
?Well, of course I lie now!? chortled Roosevelt. ?I?ve been doing nothing but lying since January 6, 1919!? The cavern echoed with his guttural laughter. That laughter quickly metamorphosed to howls of pain as the crayfish in his chest cavity scurried to safety below his liver. Wilson jumped up and rushed across to Roosevelt?s cot.
?Breathe deep now. Just breathe deep. He?s away from your lungs now. Breathe deep, and think about something, oh, something nice from your past.?
?Like?WHAT?? grunted Roosevelt.
?I d-uh, all those times you went hunting with your friends! Tell me about hunting!?
?You don?t deserve to hear it, you lily-livered pacifist!? bellowed Roosevelt, and he immediately doubled over again as the terrified crayfish sought refuge farther down.
?No, I want to!? Implored Wilson. ?Anyhow, you have to do it-it?s the only thing that will take your mind off the pain.?
?All right. I was always the best shot and the keenest tracker. Why, there were Indians who took lessons from the way I followed broken twigs and droppings.?
?Uh-huh??
?In fact,? Roosevelt mused, ?I don?t recall an expedition where mine wasn?t the first kill.? He was feeling better. The pain had subsided, and it showed.
?There you go again,? snapped Wilson. He shook his head in mock astonishment. ?What?s the matter with you? Why can?t you be straight with me??
?I resent that accusation!? roared Roosevelt, who was immediately wracked by additional crayfish pain.
?Do you think I?m too dumb to know with whom I?m dealing? I know about your hunting trips, how you ?arranged? it with your companions. Furthermore, I believe you justified it through the necessity of positive public image just so you didn?t have to put your skills to the test!? Wilson was again triumphant.
?Now you?ve done it,? said Roosevelt with practiced calm. ?Now I shall have to teach you never to call me a coward,? and without one word more he turned to Wilson and grabbed the man?s head. Wilson stood up quickly, but so did Roosevelt, whose bluster had given way to grim single-mindedness. He snapped Wilson?s neck as easily as he would pick an apple from a low-hanging branch. Roosevelt dragged his corpse back to the other cot and laid him down.
?You never did know when to shut up, Princeton,? he said softly.
* * *
Roosevelt dropped the book when he heard the woolen sheets rustle on the other cot. He looked over at it with wide eyes.
?Egad! What happened to me?? groaned Wilson. ?My head is killing me.?
?Actually, that was me,? said Roosevelt cheerily. ?Yesterday. You got me riled up and I snapped your neck again. I apologize. I overreacted.?
?That makes seven.?
?Eight, actually. Don?t you remember ?lucky seven???
?Quite frankly, I don?t. Memory gets a little foggy when your spine is severed. I don?t suppose you?d understand.?
?Oh,? Roosevelt brushed his mustache once, quickly, with his left index finger. He was embarrassed that his nostalgic overtures had been rejected. ?Well, I had just explained to you how glorious it is to charge into battle, and you decided to muse on how appalled you were by my request to command a regiment in Europe. You called me a deluded, obsolete old man, and I rebuked you soundly for it.? As he said the last words, he sat up on his cot and placed his hands on his knees. ?I apologize for that also, by the way. I had no idea at the time how much trouble you have justifying your aggression. I?m sure your father would be proud to have you walk by his side. Of course, he?s in heaven?? Wilson, whose head still pounded like it had been yanked loose the night before, could do nothing but stare incredulously.
?When did you get your filthy hands on that--?? his sentence was abbreviated by Roosevelt, who held up the dog-eared copy of Woodrow Wilson and Colonel House: A Personality Study.
?First you tell me how you got mine,? said Roosevelt like a man who knew what was at stake. ?You gave yourself away when you brought up that bit about my hunting practices. I thought I had checked out the only copy of Pringle?s cursed screed.?
?You did,? replied Wilson reluctantly. ?But you see, I have connections. House has struck up a sort of advisory friendship with He Who Devours Men?s Souls, and we maintain a certain mutual fondness. As the result, I became the special beneficiary of their contractural arrangement with Barnes & Noble.? Roosevelt nodded with somber satisfaction.
?It?s just like you to abuse privileges of patronage,? he said. ?For all your sanctimonious posturing, you couldn?t resist compelling those Democratic Representatives and Senators to vote your way through the caucus. You forced them into line by threatening their meal ticket. Did you ever consider that this could be the reason you keep getting scheduled for the Scalding Sauna of Molten Brimstone on Wednesdays and Fridays??
?What would you do in such a situation? Protective tariffs were destructive and anachronistic. I knew I was right, and they were constrained by tradition. I simply used their own machinery to help accomplish what was right.?
?I, sir, would consult with the most instrumental men amongst the dissenters, and suggest that the publishing of certain private correspondences might be necessary if they did not vote my way,? replied Roosevelt with little hesitation.
?Like you dealt with those meat-packers? Or with Wanamaker? Do you even remember him? Harrison?s postmaster general??
?Of course I do,? said an indignant Roosevelt. ?He stood in my way when I was trying to establish the merit system in civil service. I had him investigated and ousted. I wouldn?t expect you to understand, champion of patronage that you are.?
?The man was a major benefactor of the Republican Party! Not that I mourn the loss, but how can you justify alienating such important party backers??
?I don?t see how you can justify making such condemning remarks when your own endless moralizing made enemies of practically all of Congress!? shouted Roosevelt. Again he winced, for the crayfish was once again retreating in terror to his liver.
?Careful there, Teddy,? prodded Wilson. ?You?ve got quite an encumbrance there in your breast.?
?Bah! If you read my book thoroughly, as I have yours, then you will know how I made that speech in Chicago with a bullet next to my lung. I can easily accommodate you, sir!?
?Ah, yes. But remember who won that election? You DO, don?t you??
?Don?t you dare patronize me,? said Roosevelt, suddenly quiet again. ?The Progressives were wildly successful for a new third party. And besides, you borrowed shamelessly from my own platform!?
?You cannot possibly see it in such narrow terms. I don?t believe it. Don?t you understand that reform was the will of the people? Can?t you see how Taft?s unenthusiastic efforts angered the people? I was merely putting to words the powerful but mute undercurrent flowing through the voting public.?
?You donned the guise of whatever cause you thought would make you sound monumental!? snorted Roosevelt, holding up the book. ?While I was trying to effect the necessary changes to save a wildly unstable nation, you were trying to get your name in the history books. You, sir, should be ashamed.?
?How dare you accuse me of carelessness? You, whose jingoism cost the lives of thousands upon thousands! And why do you disbelieve the word of the man who stands before you? Do you really think the authors of that book knew what I was thinking??
?I?m inclined to believe that they had access to more information than you did, Princeton.?
?I just don?t understand,? said Wilson. He was caught on this point. ?You can tear a man apart for what he does, but how do you make definitive statements about how he thinks??
?For a man so concerned with his place in history, you should have read that book enough to have caught the passages where they discount portions of text as speculation. I just happen to think that speculation is not misguided,? said Roosevelt smugly.
?You honestly believe them more than you do me?? implored Wilson.
?Don?t you??
The two men looked at each other for a moment, wavering, but on the verge of discarding the hostility. There was mutual interest in what was on the tip of Wilson?s tongue-a subliminal understanding that begged for validation.
?When I first read it,? began Wilson, ?I discounted it angrily as needlessly speculative rubbish. I scoffed at all of their suggestions about my father. But over time?over time I have looked back upon my life, and begun to see what they saw. I don?t know how to reconcile their memory with mine, but I know there is some desperate importance in the task, if I am to understand myself.?
?Woodrow, we?re dead. There?s nothing left to understand, and no new chapters you can add. We have scrawled everything we could on the walls of time, and now we have been recalled to gaze upon the subjectivity of our accomplishments for eternity. At first I marvelled at how cynically Pringle portrayed my dealings with Colombia and Panama. I was shocked at the number of times over the course of my life that I had contradicted myself. But eventually I came to realize that no matter how popular opinion judges my actions, they were undertaken in America?s best interests. They may have been sloppy and not entirely altruistic, but they benefited my nation, and that makes me proud.?
?So why do you think you ended up here?? asked Wilson. Roosevelt shrugged comically.
?Maybe the deaths of thousands of Filipinos are on my head for my brash, unsolicited order to take the Philippines, and the subsequent occupation.? There was a brief silence, then both men broke out laughing. ?I really don?t know,? said Roosevelt, gasping for air and doubled over with pain. ?Maybe I made one too many ?fatty? jokes at Taft?s expense. He was always such a good sport about that. I feel a bit bad.?
?Did you ever visit Pringle?? asked Wilson.
?No,? replied Roosevelt. ?When I heard he?d arrived, I considered it for a long time. But I really don?t know what I could say to him. Some of his most crucial observations of my policies and behaviors were made with the added knowledge of several decades? worth of history. I hear that he gets dipped in molten bronze along with all the rest of the Pulitzer winners every Thursday. Then they have to stand rigid for seven days while Joe Pulitzer chisels away at their hardened shells with a jackhammer.?
?I don?t understand. What?s Pulitzer?s punishment, then??
?He has to operate the jackhammer all day long, with no ear protection, after having spent his life in a plush chair in a posh office. But enough of him. Did you ever visit the Georges??
?I hear that they?ve been forced to perform various improv skits with an assorted cast of Lucifer?s misshapen offspring while the Dark Lord himself psychoanalyzes each show and never shares his notes. House says he can get me box seats, but I?ve never thought much of improv.?
?You know, maybe we have more in common than we thought,? offered Roosevelt cautiously. ?I mean, we were both dominating Presidents, and we were both powerful orators and reformers. I may have said some unkind things about you in the past, but that hardly matters now, does it?? He grinned, and both men chuckled. Just then, Roosevelt vanished in a plume of smoke. When he returned five minutes later, his face was twisted with sorrow. His right arm was missing, too. Wilson was stricken with horror.
?What?happened?? he managed to blurt out.
?I was summoned by the Dark Lord,? said Roosevelt. ?Today he has a second set of mandibles where his stomach ought to be, and he let them chew on my arm while he explained to me that you and I have grown too close. He never expected us to sow the seeds of friendship, and now, I?m being relocated. It seems I?m slated to feed baked beans to Taft, who has been stuck in a bathtub for eternity.? Wilson?s face reflected surprise. Then came pity. Finally, a serene acceptance flashed across his noble visage.
?Teddy, I wonder, would you do something for me??
?I?ll give it consideration,? grinned the damned rough rider.
?Break my neck one more time? I?ve never been partial to eight.?
In Hell, the library is stocked with biographies.
And dime store novels.
Everybody checks out his or her own biography.
?And so, at the clarion call of the bugle my men charged forth, me at the very fore, up that gory slope. I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my arm. I faltered then. My thoughts turned at that moment both to the inward and distantly outward. I thought of Edith and the boys, of how they would never hear another word from my lips, of the messengers who would swarm to them the way worker bees swarm to their queen. The thought of their faces, masked with the pallor of pervasive grief, pained me so that I knew I could not let this be. I lifted myself back in the saddle and cried out bloody words of encouragement to my proud men. And we plunged forward, ever forward??
?The newspaper accounts never mentioned you falling from your horse,? blurted Wilson.
?What do those yellow, perfumed bastards know about it? They wrote those stories because it would sell papers, but I charged up that hill for the glory of democracy!?
?The glory of something, all right,? muttered Wilson.
?I will thank you not to insult me, sir. You will not like the consequences of repeating the offense, I assure you.? Roosevelt was incensed.
?What are you going to do? Kill me?? Roosevelt continued to stare at him, in silence, for a while. The flames reflected on the thick lenses of Roosevelt?s glasses, and Wilson couldn?t see his eyes. The hissing of brimstone was all that was audible. Wilson?s sense of triumph rapidly faded and he longed again for the banter.
?Anyhow, the newspapers interviewed you for their stories. You never said anything about falling from the saddle,? Wilson offered.
?Had you ever considered that maybe I didn?t want anyone to know?? replied Roosevelt after a pause.
?Nobody ever refuted your story. There was never the slightest inconsistency. Regardless, either you lied then or you lie now.?
?Well, of course I lie now!? chortled Roosevelt. ?I?ve been doing nothing but lying since January 6, 1919!? The cavern echoed with his guttural laughter. That laughter quickly metamorphosed to howls of pain as the crayfish in his chest cavity scurried to safety below his liver. Wilson jumped up and rushed across to Roosevelt?s cot.
?Breathe deep now. Just breathe deep. He?s away from your lungs now. Breathe deep, and think about something, oh, something nice from your past.?
?Like?WHAT?? grunted Roosevelt.
?I d-uh, all those times you went hunting with your friends! Tell me about hunting!?
?You don?t deserve to hear it, you lily-livered pacifist!? bellowed Roosevelt, and he immediately doubled over again as the terrified crayfish sought refuge farther down.
?No, I want to!? Implored Wilson. ?Anyhow, you have to do it-it?s the only thing that will take your mind off the pain.?
?All right. I was always the best shot and the keenest tracker. Why, there were Indians who took lessons from the way I followed broken twigs and droppings.?
?Uh-huh??
?In fact,? Roosevelt mused, ?I don?t recall an expedition where mine wasn?t the first kill.? He was feeling better. The pain had subsided, and it showed.
?There you go again,? snapped Wilson. He shook his head in mock astonishment. ?What?s the matter with you? Why can?t you be straight with me??
?I resent that accusation!? roared Roosevelt, who was immediately wracked by additional crayfish pain.
?Do you think I?m too dumb to know with whom I?m dealing? I know about your hunting trips, how you ?arranged? it with your companions. Furthermore, I believe you justified it through the necessity of positive public image just so you didn?t have to put your skills to the test!? Wilson was again triumphant.
?Now you?ve done it,? said Roosevelt with practiced calm. ?Now I shall have to teach you never to call me a coward,? and without one word more he turned to Wilson and grabbed the man?s head. Wilson stood up quickly, but so did Roosevelt, whose bluster had given way to grim single-mindedness. He snapped Wilson?s neck as easily as he would pick an apple from a low-hanging branch. Roosevelt dragged his corpse back to the other cot and laid him down.
?You never did know when to shut up, Princeton,? he said softly.
* * *
Roosevelt dropped the book when he heard the woolen sheets rustle on the other cot. He looked over at it with wide eyes.
?Egad! What happened to me?? groaned Wilson. ?My head is killing me.?
?Actually, that was me,? said Roosevelt cheerily. ?Yesterday. You got me riled up and I snapped your neck again. I apologize. I overreacted.?
?That makes seven.?
?Eight, actually. Don?t you remember ?lucky seven???
?Quite frankly, I don?t. Memory gets a little foggy when your spine is severed. I don?t suppose you?d understand.?
?Oh,? Roosevelt brushed his mustache once, quickly, with his left index finger. He was embarrassed that his nostalgic overtures had been rejected. ?Well, I had just explained to you how glorious it is to charge into battle, and you decided to muse on how appalled you were by my request to command a regiment in Europe. You called me a deluded, obsolete old man, and I rebuked you soundly for it.? As he said the last words, he sat up on his cot and placed his hands on his knees. ?I apologize for that also, by the way. I had no idea at the time how much trouble you have justifying your aggression. I?m sure your father would be proud to have you walk by his side. Of course, he?s in heaven?? Wilson, whose head still pounded like it had been yanked loose the night before, could do nothing but stare incredulously.
?When did you get your filthy hands on that--?? his sentence was abbreviated by Roosevelt, who held up the dog-eared copy of Woodrow Wilson and Colonel House: A Personality Study.
?First you tell me how you got mine,? said Roosevelt like a man who knew what was at stake. ?You gave yourself away when you brought up that bit about my hunting practices. I thought I had checked out the only copy of Pringle?s cursed screed.?
?You did,? replied Wilson reluctantly. ?But you see, I have connections. House has struck up a sort of advisory friendship with He Who Devours Men?s Souls, and we maintain a certain mutual fondness. As the result, I became the special beneficiary of their contractural arrangement with Barnes & Noble.? Roosevelt nodded with somber satisfaction.
?It?s just like you to abuse privileges of patronage,? he said. ?For all your sanctimonious posturing, you couldn?t resist compelling those Democratic Representatives and Senators to vote your way through the caucus. You forced them into line by threatening their meal ticket. Did you ever consider that this could be the reason you keep getting scheduled for the Scalding Sauna of Molten Brimstone on Wednesdays and Fridays??
?What would you do in such a situation? Protective tariffs were destructive and anachronistic. I knew I was right, and they were constrained by tradition. I simply used their own machinery to help accomplish what was right.?
?I, sir, would consult with the most instrumental men amongst the dissenters, and suggest that the publishing of certain private correspondences might be necessary if they did not vote my way,? replied Roosevelt with little hesitation.
?Like you dealt with those meat-packers? Or with Wanamaker? Do you even remember him? Harrison?s postmaster general??
?Of course I do,? said an indignant Roosevelt. ?He stood in my way when I was trying to establish the merit system in civil service. I had him investigated and ousted. I wouldn?t expect you to understand, champion of patronage that you are.?
?The man was a major benefactor of the Republican Party! Not that I mourn the loss, but how can you justify alienating such important party backers??
?I don?t see how you can justify making such condemning remarks when your own endless moralizing made enemies of practically all of Congress!? shouted Roosevelt. Again he winced, for the crayfish was once again retreating in terror to his liver.
?Careful there, Teddy,? prodded Wilson. ?You?ve got quite an encumbrance there in your breast.?
?Bah! If you read my book thoroughly, as I have yours, then you will know how I made that speech in Chicago with a bullet next to my lung. I can easily accommodate you, sir!?
?Ah, yes. But remember who won that election? You DO, don?t you??
?Don?t you dare patronize me,? said Roosevelt, suddenly quiet again. ?The Progressives were wildly successful for a new third party. And besides, you borrowed shamelessly from my own platform!?
?You cannot possibly see it in such narrow terms. I don?t believe it. Don?t you understand that reform was the will of the people? Can?t you see how Taft?s unenthusiastic efforts angered the people? I was merely putting to words the powerful but mute undercurrent flowing through the voting public.?
?You donned the guise of whatever cause you thought would make you sound monumental!? snorted Roosevelt, holding up the book. ?While I was trying to effect the necessary changes to save a wildly unstable nation, you were trying to get your name in the history books. You, sir, should be ashamed.?
?How dare you accuse me of carelessness? You, whose jingoism cost the lives of thousands upon thousands! And why do you disbelieve the word of the man who stands before you? Do you really think the authors of that book knew what I was thinking??
?I?m inclined to believe that they had access to more information than you did, Princeton.?
?I just don?t understand,? said Wilson. He was caught on this point. ?You can tear a man apart for what he does, but how do you make definitive statements about how he thinks??
?For a man so concerned with his place in history, you should have read that book enough to have caught the passages where they discount portions of text as speculation. I just happen to think that speculation is not misguided,? said Roosevelt smugly.
?You honestly believe them more than you do me?? implored Wilson.
?Don?t you??
The two men looked at each other for a moment, wavering, but on the verge of discarding the hostility. There was mutual interest in what was on the tip of Wilson?s tongue-a subliminal understanding that begged for validation.
?When I first read it,? began Wilson, ?I discounted it angrily as needlessly speculative rubbish. I scoffed at all of their suggestions about my father. But over time?over time I have looked back upon my life, and begun to see what they saw. I don?t know how to reconcile their memory with mine, but I know there is some desperate importance in the task, if I am to understand myself.?
?Woodrow, we?re dead. There?s nothing left to understand, and no new chapters you can add. We have scrawled everything we could on the walls of time, and now we have been recalled to gaze upon the subjectivity of our accomplishments for eternity. At first I marvelled at how cynically Pringle portrayed my dealings with Colombia and Panama. I was shocked at the number of times over the course of my life that I had contradicted myself. But eventually I came to realize that no matter how popular opinion judges my actions, they were undertaken in America?s best interests. They may have been sloppy and not entirely altruistic, but they benefited my nation, and that makes me proud.?
?So why do you think you ended up here?? asked Wilson. Roosevelt shrugged comically.
?Maybe the deaths of thousands of Filipinos are on my head for my brash, unsolicited order to take the Philippines, and the subsequent occupation.? There was a brief silence, then both men broke out laughing. ?I really don?t know,? said Roosevelt, gasping for air and doubled over with pain. ?Maybe I made one too many ?fatty? jokes at Taft?s expense. He was always such a good sport about that. I feel a bit bad.?
?Did you ever visit Pringle?? asked Wilson.
?No,? replied Roosevelt. ?When I heard he?d arrived, I considered it for a long time. But I really don?t know what I could say to him. Some of his most crucial observations of my policies and behaviors were made with the added knowledge of several decades? worth of history. I hear that he gets dipped in molten bronze along with all the rest of the Pulitzer winners every Thursday. Then they have to stand rigid for seven days while Joe Pulitzer chisels away at their hardened shells with a jackhammer.?
?I don?t understand. What?s Pulitzer?s punishment, then??
?He has to operate the jackhammer all day long, with no ear protection, after having spent his life in a plush chair in a posh office. But enough of him. Did you ever visit the Georges??
?I hear that they?ve been forced to perform various improv skits with an assorted cast of Lucifer?s misshapen offspring while the Dark Lord himself psychoanalyzes each show and never shares his notes. House says he can get me box seats, but I?ve never thought much of improv.?
?You know, maybe we have more in common than we thought,? offered Roosevelt cautiously. ?I mean, we were both dominating Presidents, and we were both powerful orators and reformers. I may have said some unkind things about you in the past, but that hardly matters now, does it?? He grinned, and both men chuckled. Just then, Roosevelt vanished in a plume of smoke. When he returned five minutes later, his face was twisted with sorrow. His right arm was missing, too. Wilson was stricken with horror.
?What?happened?? he managed to blurt out.
?I was summoned by the Dark Lord,? said Roosevelt. ?Today he has a second set of mandibles where his stomach ought to be, and he let them chew on my arm while he explained to me that you and I have grown too close. He never expected us to sow the seeds of friendship, and now, I?m being relocated. It seems I?m slated to feed baked beans to Taft, who has been stuck in a bathtub for eternity.? Wilson?s face reflected surprise. Then came pity. Finally, a serene acceptance flashed across his noble visage.
?Teddy, I wonder, would you do something for me??
?I?ll give it consideration,? grinned the damned rough rider.
?Break my neck one more time? I?ve never been partial to eight.?