The Speechwriter by Barton Swaim Page B

you—? Why didn’t somebody—?” It was a sign of Nat’s displeasure when he spoke in fragments. It was his way of saying things that couldn’t be said without actually saying them; in this case he was saying that Stewart and Aaron had countered the governor’s intention with insufficient force. He was saying they’d been cowards, and both of them knew he was saying it. I gathered from their silence that they knew he was right.
    â€œThe Knottsie’s getting up,” announced Gil.
    We watched as Knotts lifted himself out of his chair and leaned his belly against his desk. Senators spoke with hand-held microphones, and Knotts liked to put his almost into his mouth, so you couldn’t always understand what he was saying. He asked the senate president to allow some arcane parliamentary move, was granted permission to speak, and began. “Mistah President, I wauna take up this ishah of the govnah’s abuse of powah. I wauna stress at the beginning that what we’re taukin’ about ain’t juss a matter of some”—his mouth stretched open, baring his teeth—“technicality.”
    â€œHe’s getting warmed up, boys,” Gil said.
    â€œWhat we’re taukin’ about is a alleged crime. Issa crime to take money from the state. He says, ‘Oh, but I put it back.’ Mistah President, our jails is full o’ people who wish they could put back the money they stole and go free. Our jails is full o’ people who wish they could juss put it back, juss undo everythang.”
    â€œI knew he—,” Nat said.
    â€œMistah President, this is typical of this govnah. Thass what I been trying to tell y’all. This is a man who thinks he’s above the law. We got serious problem in this state. We got unemployment, we got crime, we got all kinds o’ problem. The lass thing we need is a govnah who thinks he’s above the law. That’s just makin’ our problem worse.”
    The governor walked into the office. You could sense everyone’s disappointment; we were just starting to enjoy the speech. When the governor was there you didn’t feel the same liberty to crack jokes; you felt obliged to look busy and laugh nervously any time he attempted a bit of humor.
    â€œThe textile warehouse bill passed,” somebody said.
    â€œBig surprise,” the governor said. “How many votes on our side?”
    â€œTwo.”
    â€œThat’s a disgrace.”
    â€œFor too long,” Knotts was saying, “this state’s been gettin’ the short end of the totem pole.”
    â€œAnybody besides Knotts talking?” the governor asked.
    â€œNo,” Stewart said. “Well, there’s a rumor that McKinney is going to join him, but I don’t see that happening.”
    â€œWho’s McKinney?”
    Stewart looked at the governor with feigned disappointment. “Governor, really?” Stewart liked to remind the governor of his omniscience in strategically important matters such as past policy positions and the names and voting patterns of legislators. I had the feeling the governor didn’t like this, or at least didn’t like Stewart’s calling attention to it in front of other staffers, but it was true and he needed to be reminded of it. I couldn’t understand why he thought he could get away with not knowing the names of lawmakers—do other governors simply neglect to memorize their names?—but in the end it would cost him.
    â€œOkay, I get it, Stewart. So who’s McKinney?”
    â€œReally? You actually don’t know who Senator McKinney is?”
    â€œStewart, I get it.” I thought I saw a look of irritation in his eyes. Then he said placidly, “I know who McKinney is. Is he important or not?”
    â€œ. . . this govnah’s tryin’ to hang his hat on our coat hanger.”
    â€œGlenn McKinney,” sighed Stewart. “Been in the