The Potomac

I read the Facebook message twice. Three times. Then I looked up G's number and I called him.

He had given me his news weeks ago and I'd never looked at it. I was too caught up in my own life. Maybe I would have been more eager to hear from him, and respond. But the last time we had met, three years ago, the meeting hadn't been good. He had been needy then and, in a moment of weakness, wanted something I couldn't give. 

G has always been my advocate and supporter. We've known each other for more than a decade. He had come to love me in those days because I cared for his damaged son and he had seen what this cost me, watched me take blow after blow. And I loved him because of the way he loved his son, the way he saw me, reached out a steadying hand.

More than 30 years my senior, G has never been threatened by my mind, and he appreciates my complexity - revels in it, never asks me to tone it down. He's rescued me when my own resources and responses failed, never mentioning it later because my pride couldn't take the admission of weakness. As a woman who rarely needs rescuing, I remember how much this mattered to me. During the past three years in Africa, I've known that I could call him at any time from any hell hole and he would do his damnedest to get me out. 

Now this. 

He wrote that he had cancer.

I stared at the sentence buried in the middle of a travel-log and description of his family. I called him, got in the car, and drove. 

I met G up at the marina. He loves the water, had taken me out on the boat so often and we had eaten cheese and wine. He taught me how to relax and enjoy life, even when my mind was in torment and my life was in hell. There is something beautiful about that level of disregard for the demons. They can drown and call out for attention, but we are not listening!

I don't know what I expected to see. He lounged on the deck of the boat in a red polo shirt and baseball cap, drinking beers with his buddy, Mark. 

His hair was completely white - such a change in three years. But he looked healthy and strong. I took this as a good sign. We chatted about life, about some recent travel. I talked to Mark, said goodbye as he left the boat, alone now with G. 

I waited to broach the subject until we were in the middle of the Potomac. It was a beautiful, hot day. We drove towards the channel in the center of the river where the depth drops from 6 to 25 feet. The wind whipped across my face, cool with the first hints of autumn on the late summer air. 

"You wrote in your message," I said. "You have cancer." 

"I do," he said. 

He was diagnosed two years ago. He hadn't told me. Radiation and ten weeks of chemo that knocked him so flat that he lived on a recliner chair because he didn't have the strength to climb the stairs to his room. I can't imagine G as weak. He was always so alive. So capable.  

He is in the eye of the storm now: the period after chemo and radiation. The respite before the cancer returns with vengeance and finishes what it started. There is a 90% chance that it will return within the next year.

G will leave DC soon, return to his sons and grandchildren. But until then, he is mine. 

We spent the day together, reveled in the hot sun and skinny dipping in the river and eating fried oysters and drinking rum on the wooden porch of a riverside restaurant. When it was dark, I followed him to his townhouse and we sat on the patio, lit all around by citronella candles. 

G is one of the few people who has seen firsthand the complex arc of my life; he knows things about me and has witnessed things that nobody else will ever know. He has held my story for me, and given it back to me in the minutes when I've lost it. I told him about Sjors so that he could hold that for me, too. 

"God, Liz," he said quietly. "If a man was lucky enough to have you, have your love, they should hold onto that and never...never let you go."

It grew darker. Candles started to flicker out.

"Men have done such terrible things to you," he said. "Things that nobody should have to go through. I don't know why you've seen the worst of men. 

"The time we've spent together - my memories with you - are some of the best in my life. They are so special to me. Three years ago, I was weak and needy, and I've felt awful about what I wanted from you. I don't want you to think about me that way. I am so sorry."

I put my arms around him, kissed the back of his neck. 

Here's lookin' at you, babe

You do realize that I did not stop being a scientist simply because you started being an asshole?
The interesting thing about patient, consistent, accurate data collection is that patterns emerge.
And I can see you.

Psalm 35

Not a curse, but a prayer.

This was the advice of my religious mother. In my darkest moments, I've felt something loosed in the universe, giving me permission to curse. So my lovely mother reminded me of David.

In the Acadamia, I looked at Michaelangelo's David for hours. Naked, and preparing for the fight against Goliath: the muscles tensed, and the look focused and fierce. I could not look away. For me, the woman who could feel no beauty, I remember that I felt him.

There is a strange closing of the circle here: I first saw David on my initial visit to Florence, in the days before I released Sjors and lost him forever. I thought I was stopping the pain at last. I thought he might come for me if I mattered enough to him. But he mattered to me and perhaps I was tensing for a two-year battle I did not know I would fight. Is it ever possible to know? Would I have chosen differently if I had known?

The David of the Bible fought Goliath, a boy fighting the battle of a king in the valley of Elah. Then he became king and wrote the psalms.

Plead my cause, O Lord, with them that strive with me: fight against them that fight against me. Take hold of shield and buckler, and stand up for mine help. Draw out also the spear, and stop the way against them that persecute me: say unto my soul, I am thy salvation.

Let them be confounded and put to shame that seek after my soul: let them be turned back and brought to confusion that devise my hurt. Let them be as chaff before the wind and let the angel of the Lord chase them. Let their way be dark and slippery: and let the angel of the Lord persecute them. 

…Let destruction come upon him at unawares; and let his net that he hath hid catch himself: into that very destruction let him fall 

…False witnesses did rise up; they laid to my charge things that I knew not. They rewarded me evil for good to the spoiling of my soul. This thou hast seen, O LORD: keep not silence: O Lord, be not far from me 

…Let them be ashamed and brought to confusion together that rejoice at mine hurt: let them be clothed with shame and dishonour that magnify themselves against me.

So I prayed.

I do not think that this is a passive thing. Nor do I think it excludes me from taking action. I am not a passive person, but I will keep my own counsel now. I will not give you my soul.

Limbo

Sjors provided testimony against me to his military. He testified that we had not ever been in a relationship, but that he had rebuffed my advances in Fall 2010 and that I had become obsessed with him. Sjors handed over personal e-mail messages I had sent him, carefully edited of content that might contradict this lie. There was a bit of creative rearranging designed to make it appear that I was crazy or obsessed and that my anger at his organization for violating my privacy was actually revenge for this rejection.

It is a weak lie. It cannot hold up to any level of scrutiny. There is an overwhelming amount of evidence to contradict. But this does not matter. The world can turn on a lie. And so my world has turned.

The military passed this lie to the Embassy who passed it to my employer. And now I do not work. Everything I have worked for and created is finished.

I learned what Sjors had done three weeks ago. I filed this information someplace. Put it aside with every other realization about Sjors. Every progressively painful loss. It is too much to take in at one time.


When I was in my late teens, I became a fan of Madeline L'Engle's version of god and Christianity. Hers was the god of particle physics, of Minkowski space. Her version of god was just as comfortable with the size of mitochondria as he was with the vastness of galaxies. For this god, the mathematics of physics was the singing of angels. I liked this god. I remember one of Madeline's books involved the idea of "naming" things. There is power in naming - just as there is incredible darkness and opposing power in "un-naming", in unmaking something. Perhaps this is why denial and betrayal are at the core of the Jesus myth. They are the antithesis to creation and worship. I think it has done something to me that Sjors would un-make everything. It is a powerful darkness he has called out. Stars are swallowed by it.

This was my last walk along Via Napoli last month: a hot July day in Pozzuoli. I loved this place. 

I make lists for myself. I try to work through the papers I always intended to publish. I have meetings with people around here. I try to figure out how to bring things back to life after their DOA declaration. I talk to Eve on the phone and my heart goes out to her. She has to look at Byron every day. She has to feel the betrayal again and again.

I am in limbo these days. Heaven or hell depends on interpretation. 

There is a very good chance that the negative power of Sjors' lie will curse everything in my life now. How can I do any work? But then Stacey tells me that the Universe has heard my truth and has given me this space to regroup. 

I helped Margaret with her wedding. I was the Maid-of-Honor and toasted them both. God, my hair was awful. I followed the wedding with a recovery at Anne's house and a session of hot yoga.

Love Margaret - but this was difficult for me. 

I spent time this week with Stacey and with Christine. I have not heard from my company, although it is possible that Christine's testimony makes their case against me more difficult. I have the inconvenient reality of truth and righteousness on my side. 

I have spent more time on my chemistry invention. I met with the patent attorneys again. They are lovely people. 

I am in limbo. There is no plan. 

Sometimes I feel like this girl with her high hopes and inadequate net, hunting for fish in impossible places. 

In the District

So strange to be back in DC. I've seen Christine and Ann and Margaret. They are such wonderful friends.

Tonight, I meet Ken for dinner.

I was a bit horrified by the response of my Company yesterday. Until yesterday, they refused to tell me what the Command had told them about the cancellation of my contract. They also wouldn't tell me what our first meeting would look like, or what I needed to bring in order to be prepared. I went into the room on a fact-finding mission. They were there for an interrogation. They had binder-fulls of my personal e-mail exchanges that Sjors and Mac had selected in order to create their falsehood. No surprise that the collection was edited for content and incomplete - eliminating anything that might lead someone to think that I'm a rational person. 

Of course the whole thing is so complex, involving the tactics of foreign intelligence organizations, and my company expects that two women from HR will decide whether I exercised "poor judgment". Hmmm. Would someone like to point out in the employee manual where it tells someone what to do when your phone calls are tapped and intercepted and blocked by a foreign intelligence organization, and your personal relationships are interfered with?  

"P" was a lovely, coiffed woman with nice hair (I kept looking at her frosted hair, admiring the way that it framed her face. If I hadn't been so irritated I would have offered a compliment). She was pleasant as she said to me, "This message to Mac seems...threatening." 

"Yes," I said. "It was meant to be. If, by threatening, you mean that I offered to expose his illegal activities and that I expected him to suffer the consequences for this."

It is not in their realm of experience to understand what has happened. 

Sorry folks, I'd prefer not to be on the receiving end of this witch-hunt. I've had my fill of burnings-at-the stake for one lifetime. Makes me wonder whether this has happened in a previous lifetime. Not holding my breath that these folks will be either 1) Ethical or 2) Courageous. I'm willing to be surprised but I'm also hiring a lawyer.

One interesting outcome of this meeting was that I glimpsed (for a few seconds) the Dutch depiction of events. Apparently, I became obsessed with Sjors in Fall 2010 and he "rebuffed" my advances. Seriously. If this was his testimony then he has turned into an amazing asshole and deserves his come-uppance. In the e-mail message of Stacey: 

"Wow! Wow. Well, fuck the lot of them - seriously. "Fine, mr. Dutch man - you have a big dick. Now go fuck yourself with it.", says Stacey "

I won't waste my time worrying about the potential actions of people. The important thing is that my programs persist. I will focus my attention and energy on getting these supported. I will not let the bastards crush me. 

Loose Change

Today I paid my medical bills, did a load of laundry, mailed packages, fought with the Auto-port about their shitty warranty for tires (my quality "firestone" tire burst on a Pozzuoli road a couple of months back. Apparently I don't get the warranty unless I somehow manage to drive the burst tire the 30 km onto the base),  transferred power of attorney to Eve so she could sell my car, and I bought a $54 bottle of perfume with the quarters I'd collected from the various change-jars in my house.
Just stood there.
At the check-out in the NEX.
And counted stack after stack of quarters while the clerk patiently stood by with a calculator.

This is what my life and brain have degenerated into. I don't write papers. I don't build programs. I don't talk about anything that matters. I can't even support the programs I've built. There are hundreds of ideas I will never be able to manifest. I am bursting with the need to create and fix. I am pregnant with ideas and solutions and I can't do a damn thing with them. The fuckers actually stopped me. So I count quarters.

I don't have programs in Africa anymore. People who give a shit are trying to keep them on life-support. I saw Red at the Gym and he said, "You've brought such innovative and creative solutions here. The way you think is like nothing else."
I said, "Thanks for saying that."
And because he meant it and because it was so kind, and because I've given my blood and vomit for this Command and its mission, I started to cry.
He said, "Things will get better."
I said, "I don't think things will get better."
Because people are people and they will still do the same damn cowardly fucked-up things they always do. And I am me and I will always try to fix things and find solutions and call people out on their bullshit and insist on ethical and brave behavior. And people love the status quo and feeling good, rather than actually doing good. And they like their European travel and their satisfactory home lives and feeling like there is order in the universe.  I will always make them uncomfortable because I don't believe in lies.

There was no Wardroom Farewell for me. There will be no signed plaque with tacky pictures of Naples. There will be no exit interview with the Admiral where I can tell him what is working and what is jacked-up. There will be no conversation with a single damned person in Leadership where they can tell me, "we can't talk about this sticky business with the Dutch, but we can tell you that you've done a bang-up job of analysis for us."
I requested a meeting with the Admiral who said he was unavailable, and then with JD who wrote that it wouldn't be "productive" for us to meet. What, exactly, were we supposed to produce? Perhaps a smidge of professionalism and respect?

Tonight, Jason tried to reassure me that he - and people who understand what I've been doing - will try to keep it up. Apparently, when Byron told the team that I was gone because "a line had been crossed" (please tell me which line that was. Was that when the Dutch Intel boys decided to intercept my phone calls, or when Sjors decided to finally tell me he was married, or when the bastards decided to tell lies about me) Jason asked him, "who will analyze the exercises for us?"
And Byron said, "That's the job of our assessments division"
Which was, as Jason knew, a bad answer and something of a joke if it wasn't so tragic.

But Tony and Jason brought their families for pizza tonight at Eve's invitation. They were so kind and respectful of my work. I couldn't have asked for two better men to be there. I have worked closely with both of them. I have given them my best effort when they needed it. No matter what they hear from anyone else, they will trust in my work and my professionalism. They will not support the rumor mill.

I suppose the only people whose opinion matters to me are the men and women who already know and respect me.

With the quarters gone, I used the loose euro coins to buy everyone gelato.