Lincoln in the Bardo(46)

Doubt will fester as long as we live.

And when one occasion of doubt has been addressed, another and then another will arise in its place.

Milland, op. cit.





LXXIII.

Blame and Guilt are the furies that haunt houses where death takes children like Willie Lincoln; and in this case there was more than enough blame to go around.

Epstein, op. cit.

Critics accused the Lincolns of heartlessness, for planning a party while Willie was ill.

Brighney, op. cit.

In retrospect, the memory of that triumphant evening must have been blotted with anguish.

Leech, op. cit.

Finding that Willie continued to grow worse, Mrs. Lincoln determined to withdraw her cards of invitation and postpone the reception. Mr. Lincoln thought that the cards had better not be withdrawn.

Keckley, op. cit.

Willie was burning with fever on the night of the fifth, as his mother dressed for the party. He drew every breath with difficulty. She could see that his lungs were congested and she was frightened.

Kunhardt and Kunhardt, op. cit.

At least [Lincoln] advised that the doctor be consulted before any steps were taken. Accordingly Dr. Sloan was called in. He pronounced Willie better, and said that there was every reason for an early recovery.



Keckley, op. cit.

The doctor assured Lincoln that Willie would recover.

In “The President’s Hippocrates,” by Deborah Chase, M.D., account of Joshua Freewell.

The house swelled with the triumphant swaggering music supplied by the Marine Band, which fell on the boy’s feverish mind like the taunts of a healthy playmate.

Sloane, op. cit.

If the party did not hasten the boy’s end it must certainly have exacerbated his suffering.

Mays, op. cit.

A cartoon appeared in a Washington rag called the “Gab & Joust,” showing Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln throwing back glasses of champagne as the boy (with tiny Xs for his eyes) climbed into an open grave, inquiring, “Father, a Glass Before I Go?”

In “The Rudderless Ship: When Presidents Flounder,” by Maureen H. Hedges.

The noise, the revelry, the manic drunken laughter late into the night, the little boy lying there with his high fever, feeling utterly alone, fighting to stave off the presence of the hooded figure near the door!

Spicer, op. cit.

“Father, a Glass Before I Go?”

“Father, a Glass Before I Go?”



“Father, a Glass Before I Go?”

Hedges, op. cit.

The doctor assured Lincoln that Willie would recover.

Chase, op. cit., account of Joshua Freewell.

Lincoln heeded the doctor’s advice.

Stragner, op. cit.

Lincoln failed to overrule the doctor.

Spicer, op. cit.

Electing not to err on the side of caution, the President advised that the party proceed.

Hedges, op. cit.

The party went ahead with the President’s blessing, the little boy suffering horribly upstairs.

Chase, op. cit., account of Joshua Freewell.





LXXIV.

Outside, an owl shrieked.

I became aware of the smell rising up off our suit: linen, sweat, barley.

I had thought not to come here again.

Thus thought Mr. Lincoln.

Yet here I am.

One last look.

And dropped into a country-squat before the sick-box.

His little face again. Little hands. Here they are. Ever will be. Just so. No smile. Ever again. The mouth a tight line. He does not (no) look like he is sleeping. He was an open-mouthed sleeper and many expressions would play across his face as he dreamed and he would sometimes mumble a few silly words.

If there ever really was a Lazarus, there should be nothing preventing the conditions that pertained at that time to pertain here and now.

Then it was quite something: Mr. Lincoln tried to get the sick-form to rise. By making his mind quiet and then opening it up to whatever might exist that he did not know about that might be able to let the (make the) sick-form rise.

Feeling foolish, not truly believing such a thing was even— Still, it is a vast world and anything might happen.

He stared down at the sick-form, at one finger upon one hand, waiting for the slightest— Please please please.

But no.

That is superstition.

Will not do.

(Come around, sir, to good sense.) I was in error when I saw him as fixed and stable and thought I would have him forever. He was never fixed, nor stable, but always just a passing, temporary energy-burst. I had reason to know this. Had he not looked this way at birth, that way at four, another way at seven, been made entirely anew at nine? He had never stayed the same, even instant to instant.



He came out of nothingness, took form, was loved, was always bound to return to nothingness.

Only I did not think it would be so soon.

Or that he would precede us.

Two passing temporarinesses developed feelings for one another.

Two puffs of smoke became mutually fond.

I mistook him for a solidity, and now must pay.

I am not stable and Mary not stable and the very buildings and monuments here not stable and the greater city not stable and the wide world not stable. All alter, are altering, in every instant.

(Are you comforted?)

No.

(It is time.