that.”
“Then you and I would not have been such longtime friends,” the Oracle said. “I never cared for Francis Kennedy.”
“He’s just better than anybody else,” Christian said. “I’ve known him for over twenty years, and he’s the only politician who has been honest with the public, he doesn’t lie to them.”
The Oracle said dryly, “The man you described could never be elected President of the United States.” He seemed to puff out his insect body, his shiny-skinned hands tapped the controls of his wheelchair. The Oracle leaned back. Above the dark suit, the ivory shirt and simple blue streak of his tie, the glazed face looked like a piece of mahogany. He said, “His charm escapes me, but we never got on. Now I must warn you. Every man in his lifetime makes many mistakes. That is human, and unavoidable. The trick is never to make the mistake that destroys you. Beware of your friend Kennedy, who is so virtuous, remember that evil can spring from the desire to do good. Be careful.”
“Character doesn’t change,” Christian said confidently.
The Oracle fluttered his arms like bird wings. “Yes, it does,” he said. “Pain changes character. Sorrow changes character. Love and money, certainly. And time erodes character. Let me tell you a little story. When I was a man of fifty, I had a mistress thirty years younger than myself. She had a brother who was ten years older than she, about thirty. I was her mentor, as I was with all my young women. I had their interests at heart. Her brother was a Wall Street hotshot and a careless man, which later got him into big trouble. Now, I was never jealous—she went out with young men. But on her twenty-first birthday, her brother gave a party and as a joke hired a male stripper to perform before her and her friends. It was all above board, they made no secret of it. But I was always conscious of my homeliness, my lack of physical appeal to women. And so I was affronted, and that was unworthy of me. We all remained friends and she went on to marriage and a career. I went on to younger mistresses. Ten years later her brother gets into financial trouble, as many of those Wall Street types do. Inside tips, finagling with money entrusted to him. Very serious trouble thatlanded him a couple of years in prison and of course the end of his career.
“By this time I was sixty years old, still friends with both of them. They never asked for my help, they really didn’t know the extent of what I could do. I could have saved him but I never lifted a finger. I let him go down the drain. And ten years later it came to me that I didn’t help him because of that foolish little trick of his, letting his sister see the body of a man so much younger than myself. And it wasn’t sexual jealousy, it was the affront to my power, or the power I thought I had. I’ve thought of that often. It is one of the few things in my life that shame me. I would never have been guilty of such an act at thirty or at seventy. Why at sixty? Character does change. That is man’s triumph and his tragedy.”
Christian switched to the brandy that the Oracle had provided. It was delicious and very expensive. The Oracle always served the very best. Christian enjoyed it, though he would never buy it; born rich, he never felt he deserved to treat himself so well. He said, “I’ve known you all my life, over forty-five years, and you haven’t changed. You are going to be a hundred next week. And you’re still the great man I always thought you were.”
The Oracle shook his head. “You know me only in my old age, from sixty to a hundred. That means nothing. The venom is gone then and the strength to enforce it. It’s no trick to be virtuous in old age, as that humbug Tolstoy knew.” He paused and sighed. “Now, how about this great birthday party of mine? Your friend Kennedy never really liked me and I know you pushed the idea of the White House Rose Garden and a big media event. Is he using
“Then you and I would not have been such longtime friends,” the Oracle said. “I never cared for Francis Kennedy.”
“He’s just better than anybody else,” Christian said. “I’ve known him for over twenty years, and he’s the only politician who has been honest with the public, he doesn’t lie to them.”
The Oracle said dryly, “The man you described could never be elected President of the United States.” He seemed to puff out his insect body, his shiny-skinned hands tapped the controls of his wheelchair. The Oracle leaned back. Above the dark suit, the ivory shirt and simple blue streak of his tie, the glazed face looked like a piece of mahogany. He said, “His charm escapes me, but we never got on. Now I must warn you. Every man in his lifetime makes many mistakes. That is human, and unavoidable. The trick is never to make the mistake that destroys you. Beware of your friend Kennedy, who is so virtuous, remember that evil can spring from the desire to do good. Be careful.”
“Character doesn’t change,” Christian said confidently.
The Oracle fluttered his arms like bird wings. “Yes, it does,” he said. “Pain changes character. Sorrow changes character. Love and money, certainly. And time erodes character. Let me tell you a little story. When I was a man of fifty, I had a mistress thirty years younger than myself. She had a brother who was ten years older than she, about thirty. I was her mentor, as I was with all my young women. I had their interests at heart. Her brother was a Wall Street hotshot and a careless man, which later got him into big trouble. Now, I was never jealous—she went out with young men. But on her twenty-first birthday, her brother gave a party and as a joke hired a male stripper to perform before her and her friends. It was all above board, they made no secret of it. But I was always conscious of my homeliness, my lack of physical appeal to women. And so I was affronted, and that was unworthy of me. We all remained friends and she went on to marriage and a career. I went on to younger mistresses. Ten years later her brother gets into financial trouble, as many of those Wall Street types do. Inside tips, finagling with money entrusted to him. Very serious trouble thatlanded him a couple of years in prison and of course the end of his career.
“By this time I was sixty years old, still friends with both of them. They never asked for my help, they really didn’t know the extent of what I could do. I could have saved him but I never lifted a finger. I let him go down the drain. And ten years later it came to me that I didn’t help him because of that foolish little trick of his, letting his sister see the body of a man so much younger than myself. And it wasn’t sexual jealousy, it was the affront to my power, or the power I thought I had. I’ve thought of that often. It is one of the few things in my life that shame me. I would never have been guilty of such an act at thirty or at seventy. Why at sixty? Character does change. That is man’s triumph and his tragedy.”
Christian switched to the brandy that the Oracle had provided. It was delicious and very expensive. The Oracle always served the very best. Christian enjoyed it, though he would never buy it; born rich, he never felt he deserved to treat himself so well. He said, “I’ve known you all my life, over forty-five years, and you haven’t changed. You are going to be a hundred next week. And you’re still the great man I always thought you were.”
The Oracle shook his head. “You know me only in my old age, from sixty to a hundred. That means nothing. The venom is gone then and the strength to enforce it. It’s no trick to be virtuous in old age, as that humbug Tolstoy knew.” He paused and sighed. “Now, how about this great birthday party of mine? Your friend Kennedy never really liked me and I know you pushed the idea of the White House Rose Garden and a big media event. Is he using
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