The Era of Good Feelings - 2. Hail Columbia!

Eli John Silverman found himself anything but distasteful and brute; in fact, ask anyone that was acquainted with him, and they would say that he was indeed the opposite of brute: his actions were highly refined - almost magisterial. His lithe figure, coupled with his dark brown hair, gave way to an almost mysterious majesty about him. His penchant for long, flowing overcoats and brooding countenance led many of his associates to regard him in a cool manner - as if, by some magic flip of the brain, Eli would be able to penetrate their innermost thoughts and then silently judge them accordingly.

Maybe it was a good thing that Eli was promoted to this assignment; after all, the job of a Congressional whip is stressful and harried. This way, he could relax on the month-long trip across the Atlantic to Britain. It wasn’t like there was going to be any mail service.

Eli was snapped out of his reverie when he felt someone’s hand on his shoulder. Gasping, he whirled around to face Mr. Deacon, a greying, recalcitrant, mustachioed old man.

“Walk with me, Eli,” he grunted, shuffling past the younger man.

Eli fell into step with his boss and mentor, keeping silent. Though Mr. Deacon found many of the young men he had mentored distasteful, he always wanted nothing but the best for them. That included bestowing prestigious positions upon his proteges - like this ambassadorship for Mr. Silverman. Eli had grown up in a prominent, well-to-do family on the east coast. He successfully attended a arduous private school, learning Latin, Greek - and also picked up a bit of French. He applied - at achieved - the job as a congressional whip, and then became under the tutelage of Mr. Deacon.

It was now time for him to understand what he was getting into.

“When does the boat leave?” Mr. Deacon stated in his typically terse tone. They were walking down a dirt path in a park in downtown Washington, D.C.; the trees above them shimmied in the light breeze, showering down leaves and whirlybirds. Bird cooed and flapped, and people walked about, chatting amiably.

“Tomorrow,” Eli said, shoving his hands in his pockets. He fidgeted. “I’m ready to go.”

Mr. Deacon gave him a look. “Really?”

“Yes, quite,” Eli stated confidently, his smile widening. “This ambassadorship, I think, will be good for me. So, thank you.” Mr. Deacon waved it away.

“You must abide by their customs, Mr. Silverman. Though this may not be India, or China, things work differently sometimes over there. Watch out for their dry humor.”

“I understand,” Ei chuckled. They walked a few minutes in silence.

Then, “Keep yourself healthy on the way over. A month might not seem long now, but when you’re on the boat it certainly does.” Mr. Deacon coughed into his handkerchief. Wiping his mouth, he seemed to be perspiring. “I’ll follow you in about a month after that. I’ll let you get settled.”

Mr. Deacon coughed again, this time having to support himself on Eli’s shoulder.

“Are you alright, Mr. Deacon?” Eli queried, concerned. Mr. Deacon waved it away, again.

“Yes, yes, quite so. I’m fine. But, at any rate, don’t forget what I’m telling you - it’s important.”

“Sure, sir.”

Mr. Deacon looked up into Eli’s eyes, not flinching away from his gaze like so many others. Apparently, he was satisfied by what he saw there, and, nodding, looked away. They were nearing the Capitol building, and Mr. Deacon want this subject to be closed.

“Well, my boy, do your job, do it well, and you’ll do fine.” He clasped his hand on Eli’s shoulder.

Eli positively beamed. “Thank you, sir. I can’t think of how I can repay you!”

“With a job well done, boy.”

*        *        *

“Hello, mother!” Eli called out as he entered his mother’s domain, a very large pre-Victorian home in the edge of what would eventually become the beltway. The front foyer was glittering from the pouring sunlight, and Eli took off his boots. He took the hat off of his head as he walked farther into the house, and looked around for a sign of his mother. He finally found her in the drawing room, sitting at her writing desk scribbling away at a letter.

“Mother,” he stated, to which she looked over to him. Her greying hair was pinned up in a grandiose fashion, and her dress was bombastic and large. Her face lit up in delight when she saw her boy.

“Eli! My boy, I thought you had left!”

Eli crossed the room and sat on the couch, grasping his hat between him. “Oh, no, mother. The boat doesn’t leave until tomorrow; I’ve a whole other day.”

Brittany Silverman set her pen down on the writing-desk, and turned to fully face her son. She looked remarkable young for her age, her eyes dancing with mirth. “Well, that’s wonderful. It’ll be nice to have you around for another day.”

Eli smiled. “Thanks.” Looking around as the plush drawing room, he suddenly wondered, “Where’s Tommy?”

Brittany sighed, looking down at her hands; she played with her wedding ring. “He’s out gambling again.”

“At 1 in the afternoon?!” Eli asked, incredulous. Brittany nodded sulkily.

“Yes. He’s been out every day this week. I never know where he goes. All that I know is that he comes home drunk.”

Eli scowled. “I should probably take him with me - I won’t let him have any beer on the boat. Maybe it would do him some good.”

Brittany sighed, picking her pen back up a scribbling something down. Distractedly, she said, “That’s probably not a good idea. He’d more likely go crazy and try to kill you or someone else.”

Eli made a face. “He’s that far gone?” His mother nodded as Eli made an exasperated noise.

After Eli’s father, Nicholas, died, Eli’s younger brother, Tommy, had taken it hard. Not long after the funeral, Brittany found the boy drunk off his ass and had to basically restrain him to the house. After a scene was made, and things were thrown and broken, Brittany decided that it was just better all around if she let Tommy do what he wanted, when he wanted. Eli thought that wasn’t such a good idea, but he couldn’t do much about his mother’s decisions.

Eli suddenly stood. “I have another day. I’m going to find him.” Brittany jerked up in surprise, a dubious look invading her features.

“You’re not going to. There’s no poi -”

“Of course there’s a point!” Eli exploded, holding his arms wide; he stalked over to the window, peered out, and continued in a smaller voice. “It’s something I need to do.”

And with that, he left, Brittany practically sputtering her reservations. Striding out onto the street, he made his way down the most local pub, and barged his way inside. After searching, and not finding, what he was ultimately looking for, he stomped out, getting angrier by the second. He walked downtown, checked two more pubs, and inquired about a boy, roughly his height, with reddish hair. Finally, the last pub he visited, one of the patrons brusquely gestured that he saw someone slip out back. Eli’s spirits lifted, if only for a second, and he made his way to the back of the building, and then out the back door. What he found there, in that alley, nearly made him hurl.

Tommy was on his knees, nearly expertly blowing a boy a bit older than him. Eli stopped cold in his tracks, but his younger brother continued sloppily on, too drunk to understand what he was doing. The older boy made eye contact with the irate Eli, and, panicked, shoved Tommy off of him and hiked up his trousers. Tommy fell backwards, losing balance while the older boy gathered his shit and fled. Still too drunk to understand what was going on, Tommy took time to pick himself up. When he turned around to see his menacing, enraged brother watching him, he paled so white Eli was afraid that he’d totally pass out.

“Wha-wha ya doin’ here, Eli?” Tommy slurred, propping up his small frame on the brick was behind him. He tried to act nonchalant, which made him seem even more drunk.

Eli replied with a deadly voice. “Mother said you’d gone off again. Gambling and drinking. I came here to find you.”

Tommy burped. “Well, ya found me.” His eyes shifted to the place he was earlier, and understanding started to drip from his features. “I...uh…”

Eli was on him in a flash. Grasping his younger brother by the neck, the younger boy didn’t put up much of a fight as they both tumbled backwards into the dirt. Eli was breathing heavily, his mind engorged in a red haze; Tommy was still trying to decipher what was happening since his mind lagged behind reality.

The first punch didn’t quite register for the younger boy immediately. He was surprised when the pain did come, and he groaned aloud, which was met with an equally hard punch. He flailed helplessly as his older brother pinned him with his weight and followed blow with blow.

“You fucking pervert!” Eli bellowed, enraged and surprised at what - of all things - he found his younger brother doing. “Getting drunk off your ass! You must think of no one but yourself!”

“Eli…” Tommy whimpered. Curling up in a ball, he just laid there was his brother took out all of his suppressed anger on the drunk and defenseless boy.

The beating continued for some time.

Finally, Eli came down from the throes of his anger, and found a bloody, unconscious red-head laying in the dirt. It struck him, then, what he had done.

After the tears were over, he picked up his poor, terrified, depressed little brother and carried him all the way home.

Brittany never said a word.