Early in the morning a police car sped through our nation’s capital with its sirens blaring. A casual observer might’ve believed that it was in pursuit of some local miscreant; that is, until this observer could see that a car was actually pursuing it — a dark sedan, from which men were shooting intermittently.

Watching this odd event from her window, Annie, an attractive woman in her early thirties, yawned in between sips of coffee. Another set of gunshots coming from the opposite direction only caused her to look down at her watch.

“Come on, Max,” she cried out, “I don’t want to be late for the new congressman.”

She took a quick look around the block.

“Besides,” she added, “the gunfire seems to be at a lull.”

“Coming, Mom,” a young voice shouted back.

Moments later, there was a low rumble from the back of the apartment, followed by the sound of prancing feet.

A small boy of five, with thick, curly brown hair, rushed to his mother, carrying a knapsack filled with books — a knapsack so large that it was almost as big as him and most certainly heavier. Gasping for breath, he stopped in front of her and looked up with his large, innocent eyes. The cynical expression on Annie’s face suddenly melted. She smiled and gently caressed his cheek.

“You think you could make at least one friend this semester?” she asked.

“They’re all dumb,” he curtly replied.

“They’re not dumb — they’re five years old.”

“They haven’t even read Dostoevsky . . . not even in translation!”

Annie rolled her eyes, turned, and headed toward the front door. As she did — no matter how hard she tried — she couldn’t avert her eyes from the eviction notice lying on a bureau nearby.

* * *

As a gilded Amtrak train chugged its way toward Union Station, the heavy-set engineer in the front car dug his shovel into a bin of dollar bills labeled “TAXPAYER FUNDING.” With great exertion, he heaved the money into the furnace, and the engine roared to life.

Meanwhile, inside one of the compartments, an unshaven passenger wearing a suit that looked slept-in raised his eyes from his newspaper. What he saw he hoped was an apparition — a leftover from the previous night of debauchery. For, toward the front of the cabin, he saw a set of horns protruding above a seat.

He nudged the man next to him and pointed at the phenomenon. The man’s eyes widened as he gasped.

“You see it?” asked the disheveled gentleman.

“You . . . you don’t think that’s the . . .”

“I always suspected he lived in DC.”

* * *

In the deep bowels of the Capitol Building, Sam, a young man wearing a bow tie and suspenders, spoke nervously into a telephone.

“No,” he said, “former Representative Fisk’s VIP pass to the Pussycat Ranch is not transferable to the new congressman.”

As he hung up, Annie rushed inside and slammed the door behind herself.

“Is he here yet?” she queried, in a tone that sounded more like a plead than a question.

“You’re safe.”

Annie sighed and collapsed onto her chair, which was just a few steps from the entrance.

“Know anything about him?” she asked.

“Just that his name is Bo somethingoranother. Sounds like a real oaf.”

“The more things change . . .”

A large ox, standing on his hind legs, burst inside the office. Sam’s face turned red with anger.

“Hey,” he hollered, “no pets allowed in the Capitol, unless they’ve been properly earmarked.”

“I’m Bo Vine,” the ox uttered. “The new congressman. So to speak.”

After a few seconds of shock, Sam picked up a nearby copy of the Constitution; and after finding the appropriate place, began rapidly reading aloud.

“No Person shall be a representative who shall not have attained to the age of twenty five years, and been seven years a citizen of the United States, and who shall not, when elected, be an inhabitant of that state in which he shall be chosen.”

“Well,” Bo uttered, “I’m none of those things I can’t be.”

“This is horrific! We’ll be a laughingstock.”

“Laughingstock?” Annie countered. “Sam, we’ve had three congressmen in eighteen months. The last one was caught drinking out of a urinal.”

Sam, catching a whiff of Bo, waved his hand across his nose. “At least, he knew how to use one.”

“I don’t understand how someone could vote for an ox,” Annie mused.

“I don’t understand, either,” Bo replied. “Farmer Jones came for me yesterday and says I’m elected, and then puts me on the train. I’m just thankful I didn’t have to ride in a cattle car.”

“I wonder who else knows about this?” Sam uttered, as he reached for the remote on his desk and turned on the big-screen television hanging on the wall.

On the monitor, a group of reporters were following Rep. Slon, a middle-aged man with a big red nose, through the rain.

“His election,” the congressman howled, “is an outrageous mockery of our distinguished institution — a blatant attempt to make us look like buffoons.”

Seconds later, the esteemed gentleman slipped and fell into a puddle.

Sam quickly changed the channel, to where Rep. Osel — a man who looked very much like Rep. Slon apart from having big blue ears instead of a large proboscis — was conducting an impromptu news conference.

“He certainly won’t caucus with my party,” the congressman insisted. “Just imagine — an ox in Congress! What would PETA say?”

Sam again changed the channel, finding a reporter speaking to a farmer.

“I had no idea he was an ox,” the farmer apologetically told the woman. “They said he was incapable of sexual impropriety, and that was good enough for me.”

Sam turned off the television and looked at Bo, who was smiling at him.

“That’s my neighbor,” Bo spoke proudly, pointing at the screen. “I’ve even pooed on his lawn.”

“Well, Annie, you’d better set him up with some housing.”

As Sam left the office, Annie’s phone rang. She picked it up and heard a mechanical voice on the line.

“Hello, Annie Beckmann . . . this is . . . ACME Collection Agency. You owe . . . seven hundred –”

Annie slammed the phone down.

“Who was that?” Bo asked.

“Just my morning wakeup call.”

Sam reentered and turned to Annie.

“Well, are you finding him something?” Sam questioned.

Annie paused momentarily in thought, before turning to Bo. She smiled, and he smiled back.

“Hey, Sam,” she said, “just how much is the Congressional housing allowance?”

Before Sam could answer, the burly House Sergeant at Arms entered carrying an immense Bible.

“I’m here to administer the oath of office.”

He came up to Bo and put the Bible in front of him.

“Put your left hand on the Bible –”

“Actually, I’m a Hindu.”

“All right — just put your hand in the air.”

“Will a hoof do?”

* * *

On the other side of the Capitol, Rep. Osel was sitting in his office reading a newspaper. He shook his head and showed Rep. Slon — who was standing over his shoulder — the headline, which read: “CONGRESSIONAL APPROVAL RATING AT ZERO.”

“See,” Rep. Slon chuckled, as he taped the paper, “we’re improving already.”

“I just hope we know what we’re doing.”

“Listen — after a few months of having an ox in Congress, even we’ll look good.”

“I had to call in a lot of favors to get him elected.”

“So did I.”

“We’re still gonna split his votes fifty-fifty, right?”

“I told you we would. Don’t you trust my word?”

“No. But I guess yours is no worse than mine. How — how can you be sure he’ll do as he’s told?”

“He’s an ox, you idiot. You tell an ox to do something, and it does it.”

“If this comes out . . .”

“Why would it ever come out? We’re in this together, aren’t we?”

The two men reluctantly shook each other’s hand.

* * *

A taxi inched through downtown. In the back seat, Annie and Bo sat.

“What does a congressman actually do?” Bo asked.

“If he wants to succeed, as little as possible.”

The cab stopped in front of Annie’s apartment building, and the two exited.

“This is where you’re gonna live,” Annie said, pointing to the crumbling structure, which was surrounded by a front lawn strewn with garbage.

Bo jumped up with excitement.

“You mean, I get this whole yard to myself?”

“This way,” she replied, shaking her head.

She led him into the apartment and then into the kitchen, where she motioned to the floor.

“This is where you’ll sleep.”

“I’d prefer the lawn,” he said, lowering his head in disappointment.

“I’m home!” Max shouted from near the front door.

“I’m in here, sweetie,” Annie answered.

Max rushed inside, but stopped suddenly when he saw Bo.

“What the . . .”

“Honey, this is Bo — the new congressman.”

“So to speak,” Bo added.

“The new what?” Max asked.

“Congressman. He’s gonna be staying with us.”

“But he’s an . . .”

“Ox.”

Annie looked down at her watch and headed toward the kitchen door.

“I’ve got to make a call. I’ll be right back.”

She exited and Max cautiously approached Bo, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You’re not real.”

“I feel real,” Bo replied, touching his chest.

“Everyone knows an ox can’t talk.”

“Everyone but oxes.”

“Oxen. The plural of ‘ox’ is ‘oxen.'”

“Not according to oxes.”

Outside the kitchen, Annie quietly pleaded on the phone.

“Yes, I can pay the rent. . . . No, I don’t have the money. But I’ve got a government voucher. . . . It’s a promise to pay. . . . A promise from the government. . . . Hello, are you still there?”

After completing her call, Annie returned to the kitchen and cooked her two men supper.

“Any good?” Annie asked, as Bo finished.

“I’ll let you know after I regurgitate it.”

“Well, Max, I think it’s time for bed.”

Max stood up and walked off with an expression of nausea, just as Bo belched — so loudly that the man in the apartment below screamed, “Earthquake!”

“I don’t think Max likes me,” Bo spoke after the furniture stopped rattling.

“It’s just that he’s never seen an ox eat.”

“It sure beats the other end.”

“Speaking of which, are you housebroken?”

“As housebroken as any congressman, I reckon.”

“That’s what I was afraid of. I’ll leave some newspaper on the floor.”

After doing so, Annie left the kitchen and was confronted by Max.

“When is he gonna go?” Max whispered.

“We need the money,” she whispered back. “You can understand that, can’t you?”

“But he’s disgusting. And dumb!”

“Sshhh. He could hear you.”

The kitchen door creaked open, and a solemn-looking Bo peeked his head out.

“Oxes have feelings, too, you know.”

A suddenly red-faced Max lowered his head.

* * *

Both Annie and Sam were furiously pounding on their respective keyboards when Slon and Osel entered, smiling broadly.

“Is Representative Vine in?” asked Slon.

“Yes,” Sam replied, without looking at them.

“Thank you,” Osel said, as the two headed inside toward Bo’s private office.

“What do you think those two rats want with Bo?” Annie questioned, once the two were out of earshot.

“So, now it’s ‘Bo.'”

“That’s his name.”

“Getting a little personal, are we?”

“No.”

“Well, I wouldn’t if I were you. My guess is that those two will run ‘Bo’ out of town before the week ends.”

Inside his office, Bo was reclining with his two hoofs on his desk when the congressmen knocked on his door. He asked them to enter.

“Good Morning, dear sir!” the two proclaimed in unison as they crossed the threshold.

“Good Morning!”

The congressmen proceeded toward Bo, but suddenly stopped, grimaced, and covered their noses.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Bo apologized. “I just passed some gas.”

“It’s quite all right,” Slon countered.

“I would strongly advise against lighting a cigarette.”

“No problem at all,” said Osel. “Did you receive our little gift?”

“Gift? Who are you?”

“I’m Representative Slon, leader of the Republicans. And this is Osel, leader of the Democrats.”

“Why, yes — I did receive your gift.”

With great exertion, Bo rolled a huge barrel labeled “PORK” from under his desk.

“Unfortunately, I’m a vegetarian.”

“How thoughtless of us!” exclaimed Slon.

“Indeed,” Osel added. “How about we send you some truffles instead? French, of course.”

“Unless you prefer the Italian variety,” interjected Slon.

“Why, I’ve never had a truffle.”

“Then, truffles it is!” cried Osel.

“We’ve got something else for you, too,” said Slon, as he handed him a piece of paper.

“Another gift?”

“Something like that. You see, with you being new here, we thought you would like this guide to the new session of Congress.”

“Guide?”

“Yes — it lists all upcoming bills and the proper vote for each of them.”

“You mean I don’t even have to think about how I should vote?”

“That’s right.”

“Wow, you guys are really nice. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“So, you’ll follow our voting recommendations?” cautiously asked Osel.

“Of course. I’m an ox — I do whatever I’m told.”

With that, Slon winked knowingly at Osel, who took a deep breath, mixed equally of contentment and relief.

* * *

Almost as soon as the congressmen left, Bo received another two visitors: a farmer and his young daughter. Before sending them in, Annie attempted to apologize to Bo.

“Apologize for what?”

“For what Max said last night.”

“Forget about it. I have. Oxes have short memory. In fact, by tomorrow, I’ll have forgotten that I forgot about it.”

Annie smiled and let the two guests inside before leaving. The farmer and the girl sat in front of Bo and explained their case.

“You see, they wanna take my farm, and lots of others, just to build this huge interstate shopping mall. That farm — it’s been in my family five generations.”

“Do you know the name of the bill?”

“I sure do. H.R. 619.”

“Well,” Bo said, as he looked over his list, “let me see. Yes, here it is. I’m gonna vote . . . yea.”

“But — but a yes vote means the government will take our farm.”

“But that’s what it says here. Have a look.”

The farmer rose out of his seat; and grabbing his daughter, stormed toward the exit. There, he stopped and turned back to Bo.

“I thought you might be different. But you’re just like the rest of them.”

He rushed out, slamming the door, which startled Bo.

“What’s wrong with him?”

Bo sniffed the air.

“Did I pass gas again?”

* * *

Annie entered the House gallery and took a seat. Once settled, she took out her phone and called Max.

“I’m gonna be home late tonight,” she told him.

“Is he still upset?”

“Fortunately, oxes have short memories.”

“Oxen!”

Down below, on the House floor, Slon and Osel huddled with their respective members, as if they were opposing football teams.

“Break!” they both screamed in near unison, sending the congresspeople scurrying toward their desks.

Bo entered the chambers and walked up to the two leaders.

“Hey, guys,” Bo muttered, “I wanted to ask you something. It’s about this H.R. 619.”

“You’re gonna vote yea,” Slon curtly replied.

“I know. But this fellow said it would take their farm away.”

“Oh, don’t listen to that nonsense,” countered Osel. “What it’ll do is get rid of all that rural blight and replace it with lots of great minimum-wage jobs. You vote yea, you hear.”

“Sure thing.”

“Oh, and we left some truffles by your desk.”

Bo walked toward his desk and the session was called into order by the sergeant at arms.

“We are about to vote on . . .”

“Man, these truffles are great!” howled Bo.

“Order!” the sergeant screamed, banging his gavel.

“But they really are! Here — try one!”

The sergeant banged his gavel, over and over, until he was red in the face.

“As I was saying, we are about to vote on H.R. 619. Before we do, does anyone want to be heard?”

Bo dropped the truffle he was munching on and turned to the congresswoman next to him.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

“It means that you can go up there and talk about the bill.”

“Ooh!” Bo cried, waving his hoof high in the air. “Me! Me! Pick me!”

The sergeant recognized Bo, and Bo shuffled toward the rostrum. As he got there, he saw Slon and Osel frantically trying to wave him off the podium. Bo, misunderstanding their intent, waved at them.

“Hey, buddies! Thanks for the gift!”

Slon and Osel simultaneously covered their eyes and sank in their seats.

“You have two minutes,” the sergeant barked.

Bo took a deep breath and smiled.

“I just want to say that everyone should vote for this bill — even if it means lots of people will have their homes stolen. Even if it makes no sense at all. If our leaders are for it, it just must be right.”

Slon and Osel sunk further in their seats, to the point that there were more of them on the floor than on the chairs.

“We should always do exactly what our leaders tell us,” Bo continued. “We should follow them blindly, like cattle to slaughter.”

Many voices murmured throughout the chamber, causing the sergeant to yet again bang his gavel.

And he would bang it once more after he tallied the vote.

“The final vote for H.R. 619, the ‘Stealing Farms for Shopping Mall Act,’ is four hundred and thirty-two opposed and three in favor. The bill fails.”

Bo stood up and slowly approached Slon and Osel, both of whom were slumped over their desks.

“Sorry, boys,” Bo apologized, “it seems we came up just a little short.”

“Go choke!” Slon wailed.

“What’s wrong with him? I voted for the bill, just as I said I would.”

“Get out of my sight!” screamed Osel. “Get out of my sight before I turn you into steak!”

Bo, surprised by their reaction, stepped backward, and bumped into the farmer and his daughter.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” the farmer said, bursting with emotion. “You saved our farm.”

“I did?”

The farmer’s daughter grabbed one of Bo’s meaty shanks and hugged it.

Up above, in the gallery, Annie wiped a small tear from her eye.

“Come on, Annie,” she said to herself, “you’ve come way too far to lose your cynicism now.”

* * *

Deep inside the bowels of the Capitol, Slon shook his head as he apprehensively listened to someone on the phone.

“Thanks,” he said, as he hung up and turned to Osel, who was sitting across from him with his head on his hands.

“Well?” Osel asked.

“The latest polls give the ox a ninety-eight percent approval rating. What’s worse — our numbers went down.”

“Explain to me again how we can be below zero.”

“I’m no expert in math, but I think it has something to do with complex numbers.”

“We have to get rid of him.”

“Next time we’ll elect a fish.”

“The only question is how to get rid of him.”

“Don’t you worry about that.”

* * *

On the other side of the building, Annie was still working. She only stopped when she heard a knock on the door, followed by the entrance of a smiling Slon and Osel.

“He’s not here,” she said, without looking at them.

“We know,” spoke Slon.

“We came to see you,” added Osel.

“Me? What do you two rats want?”

“Is that any way to talk to friends?” countered Slon.

“What do you want?”

“We want the ox gone.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?”

“We know he’s staying with you,” spoke Osel. “Tonight, we’ll send a photographer from the Enquirer to your place with some hookers and drugs.”

“You just let them in once the ox is asleep,” added Slon, “and he’ll take care of the rest.”

“What makes you think I’d go along?”

“Because you’re a practical woman,” replied Osel. “A practical woman whose ex-husband left her a mountain of debt.”

“How do you know that?”

“We’re in the government, Annie,” said Slon. “We know everything about everyone. And we’re here to help.”

Slon reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a check, which he handed to Annie, whose eyes widened when she saw the number of zeros.

* * *

Bo — who was reclining on the living room couch while watching television — chuckled loudly.

“Man, this Animal Planet is great. If only they had some reality shows.”

“Hi,” Max whispered.

Bo turned and stoically looked at Max, who was wearing pajamas.

“Oh, hi.”

“I . . . I was wondering if you could read me a bedtime story.”

“I thought I was dumb.”

“I thought oxes had short memories.”

A smile lit Bo’s face.

“You said ‘oxes’!” he exclaimed.

With great difficulty, Bo got off the couch and led Max into his bedroom, and tucked him into bed.

“What would you like me to read?” Bo asked.

“I’m just finishing that one,” Max replied, pointing to a complete and unabridged French edition of Proust lying on the end table.

The book was so heavy that it took all of Bo’s considerable strength to lift it. As he tried to haul it toward Max, though, it fell to the floor and smashed through the wood.

“Now, that’s what I call ponderous fiction,” Bo joked. “How about I tell you a story instead?”

“Okay.”

Bo sat on the edge of the bed, causing it to tip over.

“Once upon a time,” he began, “there were these two beings from different worlds. And, at first, one had trouble understanding the other.”

As Bo continued his story, Max looked up at him affectionately. It was an expression that Bo eagerly returned.

“And he finally realized that different didn’t mean bad,” Bo concluded, “or weird, or even dumb. It just meant different. And he came to respect the other guy, and they lived happily ever after.”

“I really liked that story,” Max said.

“You did? Because I didn’t understand any of it.”

“Would — would you mind if I called you ‘Uncle Bo’?”

“I’ve been called worse.”

Bo leaned down and kissed Max on the forehead. Annie, who was watching from the edge of the doorway, sighed. Moments later, there was a sound: the sound of torn paper. She looked down at the two pieces of check and shook her head.

“‘Practical Annie.’ More like ‘Stupid Annie.'”

Bo exited the bedroom and smiled at Annie.

“If I’m Max’s uncle, does that make me your brother?”

“Goodnight, Bo,” Annie retorted, her face blank.

“Goodnight, Annie.”

Bo walked away. As he lumbered down the hall, Annie turned and watched him. And she couldn’t help but smile.

Tweet  Print This Post

Tags: creative writing // Add Comment »