Enon and I were talking about how the White House wants to amend the articles of the Geneva Convention so that it better suits their desires. The funny thing about it is that the usual crowd of Bush-ites that follow him around Washington like lap dogs are having trouble agreeing with him for the first time in their miserable, self-serving lives. This left the President in a somewhat combative mood this morning when he held a press conference hoping to sell the idea to the general public so that we all might get on the phone to our respective Senators and Congressmen and tell them that they need to get back on the bus.

“If you listen to what he says,” Enon told me, “he makes a lot of good sense. But the trouble is,” he went on, “is that the words that come out of his mouth are only part truthful, and if anyone ever bothered to read the text – as if any of those grass-chewing crackers actually got past Dick and Jane in the first grade – of Bush’s proposed legislation, then they would see why his contingent of over-fed Pomeranians were having second thoughts about it.”

That was a mouthful for Enon, but we hadn’t started drinking whiskey yet, so it wasn’t completely unbelievable. He’s right, of course. Simply put, the bill makes it legal to torture enemy prisoners, as long as it is done outside the Code of Military Conduct, which is a separate set of laws entirely, and does not apply to civilians such as employees of the C.I.A. and private contractors acting under the direction of the U.S. Government. It means that Army personnel still can’t torture and humiliate prisoners, contrary to what we know about what happened in the recent past in Iraq, but as long as the C.I.A. is handling the prisoners, then they can pretty much do whatever they want. And get this: the bill also forgives the past so that anyone who had previously broken the law before this new bill is signed cannot be held criminally liable for their actions.

Kite, who had listened to some of the arguments in favor of the bill, was concerned about the scenario where a terrorist might know something that would save lives if he was forced to indulge the information.

“Take him out back and beat the living shit out of him,” was Enon’s response. “But don’t make it all-right by passing a law that says it’s legal.”

“The next thing you know, they will be jerking people off the streets and tying them to ducking stools just because they suspect something might be up,” I added. Enon agreed. Kite looked at me funny.

“Ducking stools are what they used back in early Massachusetts,” I clarified for her, “when the Puritans wanted someone to confess to being a witch. It was a chair hung from a long pole. The accused was strapped to the chair, and then repeatedly dunked into a lake until they either drowned or confessed.”

“What happened when they confessed,” Kite asked.

“They tied them to a pole and made a bon fire out them,” I said. She crinkled her nose in disgust.

“They actually *did* that?” she asked.

“It was a long, long time ago,” I told her. “We are much more rational and civilized about those sorts of things nowadays.”

“It’s not entirely clear to me that we are,” said Enon. He pulled a bottle of whiskey from his bag and cracked the seal. He studied it thoughtfully for a moment, swigged it, then offered the bottle to Kite. She turned it down, as he knew she would, then he passed it over to me. Just then Skute came bumbling down the path, returning after heading out earlier in search of one or another form of narcotic. Apparently he found something.

Kite gestured with her thumb over her shoulder in Skute’s direction. “Maybe we can tie *him* to a ducking stool,” she suggested.

“No lakes around here,” said Enon.

“And remember,” I told her, shaking my index finger at her, “we are much more rational and civilized than we used to be.”

“Yeah, right,” she said sarcastically.

“Here-here,” said Enon, then he took the bottle and swigged it again.