tc.thebearandthedragon-第41部分

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hat　document；　typed　up　by　a　White　House　staff　member　of　maybe　twenty…eight　years；　policy　would　actually　be　made。
　And　that　was　crazy！　Ryan　thought　angrily。　He　was　supposed　to　be　the　chief　executive　of　the　country。　He　was　the　only　one　who　was　supposed　to　make　policy。　But　the　President's　time　was　valuable。　So　valuable；　in　fact；　that　others　guarded　it　for　him　…　and　really　those　others　guarded　his　time　from　himself；　because　ultimately　it　was　they　who　decided　what　Ryan　saw　and　didn't　see。　Thus；　while　Ryan　was　the　Chief　Executive；　and　did　alone　make　executive　policy；　he　made　that　policy　often　based　solely　on　the　information　presented　to　him　by　others。　And　sometimes　it　worried　him　that　he　was　controlled　by　the　information　that　made　it　to　his　desk；　rather　as　the　press　decided　what　the　public　saw；　and　thus　had　a　hand　in　deciding　what　the　public　thought　about　the　various　issues　of　the　day。
　So；　Jack；　have　you　been　captured　by　your　bureaucracy；　too？　It　was　hard　to　know；　hard　to　tell；　and　hard　to　decide　how　to　change　the　situation；　if　the　situation　existed　in　the　first　place。
　Maybe　that's　why　Arnie　likes　me　to　get　out　of　this　building　to　where　the　real　people　are；　Jack　realized。
　The　more　difficult　problem　was　that　Ryan　was　a　foreign…policy　and　national…security　expert。　In　those　areas　he　felt　the　most　petent。　It　was　on　domestic　stuff　that　he　felt　disconnected　and　dumb。　Part　of　that　came　from　his　personal　wealth。　He'd　never　worried　about　the　cost　of　a　loaf　of　bread　or　a　quart　of　milk　…　all　the　more　so　in　the　White　House；　where　you　never　saw　milk　in　a　quart　container　anyway；　but　only　in　a　chilled　glass　on　a　silver　tray；　carried　by　a　Navy　steward's　mate　right　to　your　hands　while　you　sat　in　your　easy　chair。　There　were　people　out　there　who　did　worry　about　such　things；　or　at　least　worried　about　the　cost　of　putting　little　Jimmy　through　college；　and　Ryan；　as　President；　had　to　concern　himself　with　their　worries。　He　had　to　try　to　keep　the　economy　in　balance　so　that　they　could　earn　their　decent　livings；　could　go　to　Disney　World　in　the　summer；　and　the　football　games　in　the　fall；　and　splurge　to　make　sure　there　were　plenty　of　presents　under　the　Christmas　tree　every　year。
　But　how　the　hell　was　he　supposed　to　do　that？　Ryan　remembered　a　lament　attributed　to　the　Roman　Emperor　Caesar　Augustus。　On　learning　that　he'd　been　declared　a　god；　and　that　temples　had　been　erected　to　him；　and　that　people　sacrificed　to　the　statues　of　himself　in　those　temples；　Augustus　angrily　inquired：　When　someone　prays　to　me　to　cure　his　gout；　what　am　I　supposed　to　do？　The　fundamental　issue　was　how　much　government　policy　really　had　to　do　with　reality。　That　was　a　question　seldom　posed　in　Washington　even　by　conservatives　who　ideologically　despised　the　government　and　everything　it　did　in　domestic　terms；　though　they　were　often　in　favor　of　showing　the　flag　and　rattling　the　national　saber　overseas　…　exactly　why　they　enjoyed　this　Ryan　had　never　thought　about。　Perhaps　just　to　be　different　from　liberals　who　flinched　from　the　exercise　of　force　like　a　vampire　from　the　cross；　but　who；　like　vampires；　liked　to　extend　government　as　far　as　they　could　get　away　with　into　the　lives　of　everyone；　and　so　suck　their　blood　…　in　reality；　use　the　instrument　of　taxation　to　take　more　and　more　to　pay　for　the　more　and　more　they　would　have　the　government　do。
　And　yet　the　economy　seemed　to　move　on；　regardless　of　what　government　did。　People　found　their　jobs；　most　of　them　in　the　private　sector；　providing　goods　and　services　for　which　people　paid　voluntarily　with　their　after…tax　money。　And　yet　〃public　service〃　was　a　phrase　used　almost　exclusively　by　and　about　political　figures；　almost　always　the　elected　sort。　Didn't　everyone　out　there　serve　the　public　in　one　way　or　another？　Physicians；　teachers；　firefighters；　pharmacists。　Why　did　the　media　say　it　was　just　Ryan　and　Robby　Jackson；　and　the　535　elected　members　of　the　Congress？　He　shook　his　head。
　Damn。　Okay；　I　know　how　I　got　here；　but　why　the　hell　did　I　allow　myself　to　run　for　election？　Jack　asked　himself。　It　had　made　Arnie　happy。　It　had　even　made　the　media　happy　…　perhaps　because　they　loved　him　as　a　target？　the　President　asked　himself　…　and　Cathy　had　not　been　cross　with　him　about　it。　But　why　the　hell　had　he　ever　allowed　himself　to　be　stampeded　into　this？　He　fundamentally　didn't　know　what　he　was　supposed　to　do　as　President。　He　had　no　real　agenda；　and　sort　of　bumped　along　from　day　to　day。　Making　tactical　decisions　（for　which　he　was　singularly　unqualified）　instead　of　large　strategic　ones。　There　was　nothing　important　he　really　wanted　to　change　about　his　country。　Oh；　sure；　there　were　a　few　problems　to　be　fixed。　Tax　policy　needed　rewriting；　and　he　was　letting　George　Winston　ramrod　that。　And　Defense　needed　firming　up；　and　he　had　Tony　Bretano　working　on　that。　He　had　a　Presidential　mission　looking　at　health…care　policy；　which　his　wife；　actually；　was　overseeing　in　a　distant　way；　along　with　some　of　her　Hopkins　colleagues；　and　all　of　that　was　kept　quiet。　And　there　was　that　very　black　look　at　Social　Security；　being　guided　by　Winston　and　Mark　Gant。
　The　〃third　rail　of　American　politics；〃　he　thought　again。　Step　on　it　and　die。　But　Social　Security　was　something　the　American　people　really　cared　about；　not　for　what　it　was；　but　for　what　they　wrongly　thought　it　to　be　…　and；　actually；　they　knew　that　their　thoughts　were　wrong；　judging　by　the　polling　data。　As　thoroughly　mismanaged　as　any　financial　institution　could　possibly　be；　it　was　still　part　of　a　government　promise　made　by　the　representatives　of　the　people　to　the　people。　And　somehow；　despite　all　the　cynicism　out　there　…　which　was　considerable　…　the　average　Joe　Citizen　really　did　trust　his　government　to　keep　its　word。　The　problem　was　that　union　chiefs　and　industrialists　who'd　dipped　into　pension　funds　and　gone　to　federal　prison　for　it　had　done　nothing　pared　to　what　succeeding　Congresses　had　done　to　Social　Security　…　but　the　advantage　of　a　crook　in　Congress　was　that　he　or　she　was　not　a　crook；　not　legally。　After　all；　Congress　made　the　law。　Congress　made　government　policy；　and　those　things　couldn't　be　wrong；　could　they？　Yet　another　proof　that　the　drafters　of　the　Constitution　had　made　one　simple　but　far…reaching　error。　They'd　assumed　that　the　people　selected　by　The　People　to　manage　the　nation　would　be　as　honest　and　honorable　as　they'd　been。　One　could　almost　hear　the　〃Oops！〃　emanating　from　all　those　old　graves。　The　people　who'd　drafted　the　Constitution　had　sat　in　a　room　dominated　by　George　Washington　himself；　and　whatever　honor　they'd　lacked　he'd　probably　provided　from　his　own　abundant　supply；　just　by　sitting　there　and　looking　at　them。　The　current　Congress　had　no　such　mentor/living　god　to　take　George's　place；　and　more　was　the　pity；　Ryan　thought。　The　mere　fact　that　Social　Security　had　shown　a　profit　up　through　the　1960s　had　meant　that　…　well；　Congress　couldn't　let　a　profit　happen；　could　it？　Profits　were　what　made　rich　people　（who　had　to　be　bad　people；　because　no　one　grew　rich　without　having　exploited　someone　or　other；　right？；　which　never　stopped　members　of　the　Congress　from　going　to　those　people　for　campaign　contributions；　of　course）　rich；　and　so　profits　had　to　be　spent；　and　so　Social　Security　taxes　（properly　called　premiums；　because　Social　Security　was　actually　called　OASDI；　for　Old　Age；　Survivors；　and　Disability　Insurance）　were　transformed　into　general　funds；　to　be　spent　along　with　everything　else。　One　of　Ryan's　students　from　his　days　of　teaching　history　at　the　Naval　Academy　had　sent　him　a　small　plaque　to　keep　on　his　White　House　desk。　It　read：　THE　AMERICAN　REPUBLIC　WILL　ENDURE　UNTIL　THE　DAY　CONGRESS　DISCOVERS　THAT　IT　CAN　BRIBE　THE　PUBLIC　WITH　THE　PUBLIC'S　MONEY　…　ALEXIS　DE　TOCQUEVILLE。　Ryan　paid　heed　to　it。　There　were　times　when　he　wanted　to　grab　Congress　by　its　collective　neck　and　throttle　it；　but　there　was　no　single　such　neck；　and　Arnie　never　tired　of　telling　him　how　tame　a　Congress　he　had；　the　House　of　Representatives　especially；　which　was　the　reverse　of　how　things　usually　went。
　The　President　grumbled　and　checked　his　daily　schedule　for　his　next　appointment。　As　with　everything　else；　the　President　of　the　United　States　lived　a　schedule　determined　by　others；　his　appointments　made　weeks　in　advance；　the　daily　briefing　pages　prepared　the　day　before　so　that　he'd　know　who　the　hell　was　ing　in；　and　what　the　hell　he；　she；　or　they　wanted　to　talk　about；　and　also　what　his　considered　position　（mainly　drafted　by　others）　was。　The　President's　position　was　usually　a　friendly　one　so　that　the　visitor（s）　could　leave　the　Oval　Office　feeling　good　about　the　experience；　and　the　rules　were　that　you　couldn't　change　the　agenda；　lest　the　Chief　Executive　say；　〃What　the　hell　are　you　asking　me　for　now！〃　This　would　alarm　both　the　guest　and　the　Secret　Service　agents　standing　right　behind　them；　hands　close　to　their　pistols　…　just　standing　there　like　robots；　faces　blank　but　scanning；　ears　taking　everything　in。　After　their　shift　ended；　they　probably　headed　off　to　whatever　cop　bar　they　frequented　to　chuckle　over　what　the　City　Council　President　of　Podunk　had　said　in　the　Oval　Office　that　day　…　〃Jesus；　did　you　see　the　Boss's　eyes　when　that　dumb　bastard。。。？〃　…　because　they　were　bright；　savvy　people　who　in　many　ways　understood　his　job　better　than　he　did；　Ryan　reflected。　Well　they　should。　They　had　the　double　advantage　of　having　seen　it　all；　and　not　being　responsible　for　any　of　it。　Lucky　bastards；　Jack　thought；　standing　for　his　next　appointment。
　
　
　If　cigarettes　were　good　for　anything；　it　was　for　this；　Nomuri　thought。　His　left　arm　was　curled　around　Ming；　his　body　snuggled　up　against　her；　staring　at　the　ceiling　in　the　lovely；　relaxed；　deflationary　moment；　and　puffing　gently　on　his　Kool　as　an　accent　to　the　moment；　feeling　Ming's　breathing；　and　feeling　very　much　like　a　man。　The　sky　outside　the　windows　was　dark。　The　sun　had　set。
　Nomuri　stood；　stopping　first　in　the　bathroom　and　then　heading　to　the　kitchenette。　He　returned　with　two　wine　glasses。　Ming　sat　up　in　bed　and　took　a　sip　from　hers。　For　his　part；　Nomuri　couldn't　resist　reaching　over　to　touch　her。　Her　skin　was　just　so　smooth　and　inviting。
　〃My　brain　is　still　not　working；〃　she　said；　after　her　third　sip。
　〃Darling；　there　are　times　when　men　and　women　don't　need　their　brains。〃
　〃Well；　your　sausage　doesn't　need　one；〃　she　resp