The Vampyres Of New
York
Vol.1, Clip 7
A Novel
by
R.E. Prindle
Expecting
Lessing to get busy organizing legal defenses I more confidently approached
Ragnar. As he would be on the line, that
is more open to suspicion, I decided to drive over to Newport to view the site
of the famous Folk Festival. Newport was
a big event in younger days, the site where Dylan went electric shocking the
Village folk crowd.
A few years
back in twenty-fifteen or so a lot of video stuff was released covering those
several years along with a bunch of CDs of Dylan’s nightclub appearances,
Carnegie Hall and things. What shows up
visually and aurally is quite different from the written accounts. Anyway I wanted to walk over the grounds.
Clearly we
were being tailed so we took a couple of evasive measures just to let them know
we knew they were there and then I forgot about them. There was a nice breeze in from the sea so
Ragnar and I walked into it; I hoped the wind might muffle any microphones
directed at us and at any rate they would be directed at our backs.
Me: So, Ragnar, I had a talk with Lessing. He definitely wants to do something to
address the racial imbalance. He’s
actively working to organize some lawyers and judges who sympathize with our
plight. They intend to protect any Whites
arrested as ‘domestic terrorists’ or whatever; either get the cases dismissed
outright or delay them or if possible have them fall through the cracks as they
say.
Ragnar: That’s interesting. So?
Me: Well, maybe I’m wrong Ragnar, but I have the
feeling that your gym group might be grumpy about the race war and the lack of
affirmative action against it.
Ragnar: We’re not happy with what’s going on, that’s
for sure.
Me: Yeah.
This might be the right time to get something going.
Ragnar: Like what?
Me: Oh, you know, securing the streets so they’re
safe for wife and family. A little neighborhood
ethnic cleansing to clear out unwanted elements and replace them with suitable
people for instance. Kind of a White
no-go area to match that of Harlem and the Moslems surrounding Wall Street, for
instance.
Ragnar: You know how far that would get.
Me: That’s what I’m saying Ragnar. No charges would be filed or if they were
they would be nullified by legal procedures.
A certain care would have to be taken but action could be pretty well
denied. Intimidation rather than actual
violence just as with the Mexicans, Syrians and Negroes. We all know who to get rid of unwanted
Whites, don’t we?
Ragnar: Farquhar would cover our backs?
Me: That’s what I’m saying. And if any of you know policeman, which I’m
sure you do, they can take their time arriving, if they leave the station. They know how to obfuscate procedures. I’m sure they would appreciate safe
neighborhoods for their families, cleansed schools without racial terrorism.
You’re all
body builders so put on a scowl and terrify intruders into cleansed
neighborhoods. Levey donations on
business owners who will no longer be bothered by roving groups of
thieves. They’re all losing ten or
fifteen percent minimum to those guys and maybe paying protection. Guarantee them no shop lifting, no gay
activists and it should be worth a few hundred dollars a month plus the ability
to relax a little. Chat them up, see
what racial discord is costing them and strike a deal. That way you’ll cover your expenses with a
little over.
As front
line freedom fighters that would be only fair.
Talk to your buddies Ragnar. See
where they stand. Let me know and we’ll
get some effective offensive moves going.
Reclaim the streets and then move on from there.
Ragnar: You’re sure Farquhar will perform?’
Me. Well, Ragnar, your gym is public, why don’t
Lessing and I come down on some Saturday and chat while you’re pumping
iron. You have ten pound weights for the
amateurs don’t you?
Ragnar: Ten pound weights? Yeah, for the kids. OK, great.
You two are the leaders?
Me: No, Ragnar.
We’re both down the list a ways.
We’re just organizers. The big
guys prefer to be incognito.
That was a
little white lie but I and I’m sure Lessing wanted to stay in the background as
far as possible. It would be best to
organize on standard conspiratorial lines.
I relaxed on
the drive back to Manhattan but my brain was working. Little did I suspect but the next day would
be a life enhancing experience.
Nordstrom’s Department Store was beginning its grand opening for its
first Manhattan store so I decided to go up and see how things were working
out. Nordstrom’s was a Northwest chain
that began in Seattle so I thought I’d see if they could handle the Big Bagel.
The outside
of the store was magnificent while crowds of people pressed through the banks
of doors. It seemed likely that more
people would want in than the store could handle. Amazingly the limousine seemed to announce
that an important personage was within so that when I stepped out the crowd
parted to let me in. Smiling benignly
left and right I strode to the doors as though by divine right. Once inside though I became common place
jostling and forcing my way through the crowd.
It may not
be true but it seemed like the retail store was the church of the age. While people seemed to be buying, for myself,
I couldn’t see how they could examine the merchandise so quickly. Pushed hither and thither I was scarcely
aware of what department I was in. And
then…I saw her standing there. She was
tall and willowy, probably seventy years of age, right for me and deep chested,
always a top criterion.
Her head was
lowered as though her gaze was fixed steadfastly on something on the
floor. She seemed oblivious to all
around her, one could almost mistake her for a manikin. Then it occurred to me that she was
catatonic, devoid of volition. She was
mine for the taking.
I walked
over, slipped my arm around her waist and said:
Come Darling, you are found. She
was lost inside but made no resistance as I applied a slight pressure allowing
me to guide her through the crowd.
Ragnar concealed his surprise at my appearance with her but leading us
to the Limo, I put the woman inside following her.
I studied
her intently as Ragnar threaded through the dense traffic. I thought I recognized her problem. When I was in the Orphanage I had withdrawn
into myself at one point. Unable to
resist or change the intolerable conditions I was facing I shrunk down against
the wall of the dormitory withdrawing inside my mind with no intent of ever
coming out.
The house
mother pleaded with me and I heard her but gave no outward indication of
hearing. I don’t know exactly what
caused me to relinquish my attitude, perhaps the thought of being transferred
to another institution and that might clearly be worse than the one I was
in. At any rate I came out and resumed
my life.
I thought
that probably was the woman’s situation.
Something about the Nordstrom situation catalyzed past influences in her
life causing her to give up. I thought
possibly I could bring her back especially as I knew she could hear me. I had a plan I had been nursing for a long
time; this would be a good time to try it.
It was a dream come true.
I knew what
she represented to me. She was the
living image of the Anima I desired.
Recent developments had left me Anima voided causing me psychological
discomfort. Now I had found her, she who
I needed, she was mine and I was determined she wouldn’t get away. I watched her quietly working out my
method. I believed I had to be
successful within three days or she would probably be beyond reach
forever. And then what could I do with
her.
I escorted
her past Ottmar and into the elevator.
She wasn’t difficult to steer but she stopped in her tracks when the
forward pressure was removed. Thus she
stopped in her tracks without lifting her her gaze from the floor as I worked
through the first set of keys. Opening
the entry door I moved her into the little vestibule while I manipulated the
keys for the inner door.
That done I
moved her into the living room and left her staring out toward the Staten
Island view. Coming back, I placed a
chair behind her and invited her to sit down.
I knew she could hear but she was incapable of responding so I backed
her into the chair, took her purse from her and seated myself on the couch
facing her.
I wasn’t
clear what to do next. Finally I
said: Darling, you were lost but now you
are found. I have rescued you. As I expected, this elicited no
response. As it was now well after lunch
I decided she needed a bite of something.
As loving care might be as useful as anything else I led her into the
dining room telling her I was going to make her some soup. Sitting her down I had no qualms about
leaving her as I knew she was incapable of moving. Cooking up some Cream of Squash which was a
nice bland soup I next faced the dilemma of how to get her to ingest it as she
refused to or was unable to grasp the spoon.
Filling the
spoon halfway I pried her lips open and slipped the spoon into her mouth
tipping her head back so that she involuntarily swallowed as she was apparently
hungry. As I fed her I began to speak
soothingly to her using ideas I had developed earlier. I still had no idea of who she was but…
Me: Al right, Darling Girl, I think I know what
the matter is and I was sent to rescue you.
The great goddess Hera saw that you were in danger. She sent me to save you before the authorities
picked you up and took you to Bellevue.
Once in there the gods only know what would have happened to you. They would have injected you with horrible
drugs or even subjected you to electro-shock therapy. You would have been destroyed. Once you’re in the hands of the authorities
you’re lost but you were fortunate that Hera was watching over you and I found
you.
I am a
priest of the cult of Hera. My name is
Partly Wright. Hera has invested me with
the power to restore you to health. I
love you and you’re safe in good hands but you will have to follow the
cleansing and purification ritual. In
your condition it may take three days but perhaps less depending on how injured
your mind is.
As I hope
you know, but if you don’t I’ll tell you:
Hera is the goddess who protects and aids women. She has a long history. Her home was in the Greek city of Argos. For a great period she reigned there with her
consort Heracles, this was in the days before the Patriarchy. In her period, the Matriarchy, she reigned
with her consort Heracles. Their
relationship was known as the marriage between the Sun, Heracles and the Moon,
She. Her name meant
She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed. In point of fact
I was deputized by that earlier Sun God Heracles as male administering to
Hera’s daughters of which you are one.
When the
Great Cataclysm came, the arrival of the Patriarchy, the ancient harmony was
shattered. Unable to resist the warriors
of the Patriarchy Hera lost her place and freedom becoming subordinated to the
Patriarchic great god Zeus. You may be
sure she made a troublesome wife for him.
Heracles was
torn from her side and cast down from the abode of the gods to become a mere
human while others squabbled for his place as avatar of the Sun. He was subordinated to the role of a mere
human while being given onerous tasks that were thought impossible to achieve
in the hopes of dishonoring him forever.
Heracles with the covert aid of his former wife was made of sterner
stuff fulfilling all the tasks.
To make the
story shorter after a lifetime of trials and tribulations he died but with an
enormous reputation that had to be taken into account. More from shame and embarrassment than from
desire Heracles Patriarchic gods made him a demi-god and gave him the role of
doorman for the godly abode of Olympus.
But, let the dead past bury its dead.
For you and me here that has no effect, but you should know.
I will now
give you a small glass of wine as a symbol of the power of the Sun and then we
will begin the cleansing and purifying lustration.
I looked for
any signs of recognition concerning my account but could notice only a slight
relaxing in the tension she was under. I
deemed that a positive sign indicating that with care she could be reached and
rescued.
I thought
her problem was obvious. As she appeared
to be about seventy when the mind begins to go through changes becoming a
little less elastic that her defenses against all the abuses we endure got in
the way and she failed to make a small transition at which time she sank into a
serious depression which is what this catalepsy is, at least mine was. Somehow the joyous ecstatic atmosphere at
Nordstrom’s opening contrasted too strongly perhaps with her growing depression
and she sank into catalepsy on the spot.
This was serious but early enough so that I was positive she could be saved. I would have to be at a peak of form I have
never attained before however.
I gave her a
couple sips of the wine, a mere sip actually given more as a form of ritual, a
suggestion, to hopefully gain her confidence.
Then I raised her from the chair leading her to the shower in the
bathroom. In the modern taste the
bathroom was a little temple in green marble perhaps three hundred square
feet. Why the modern mind has made so
much of the bathroom is unclear to me.
Along the way I began to explain to her the necessary legend or myth of
Hera that gave the lustration sense.
‘Listen
carefully, Darling Girl, for this is how you will be saved. In those days our patroness Lady, Hera, was
as well as the protector of women the goddess of life, as you may know. This was represented by the annual cycle of
birth in Spring and the death of vegetation in Fall. Of course, the earth is revived by the rains
bursting forth once more in the virgin Spring.
This is symbolized in Astrology when Ganymede as Aquarius pours forth
the water from his urn on Hera characterized as Virgo the Virgin.
In another
telling the great goddess Hera every Spring bathed in the waters of the spring
of Kanathos thus restoring her virginity.
We are now going to replicate that ritual using the water of this
shower. Water, as is well known, is a purifying
agent. Thus as a priest of Hera I
through She will restore you to a state as of virginity.’
While
speaking I had been disrobing the woman to reveal a gorgeous well formed figure
with stunning breasts. The ravages of
time could not be fully resisted but she was a perfect example of what a woman
of seventy should be. I adjusted the
shower just above warm verging into hot then, as the woman still had no
volition I had to lift her legs over the lip of the shower. It may have been my imagination but I thought
she responded to the water.
Taking the
bar of Creed soap, Creed is among the finest made and my favorite, I began to
lave her neck, massaging carefully, moving down her body at the same time
intoning: By the power invested in me by
Our Lady Hera the crimes, indignities, insults and injuries this lovely woman
has endured in life are washed away. Any
guilt she mistakenly carries is cleansed from her soul, mind and body. She is returned to her original virginal
state.’
As my hands
caressed her lovely curves I thought I felt a relaxation of the muscle
tension. As she had not yet raised her
head I ventured further telling her that she could see the soiling made from
her body go down the drain, a pale grey color.
Her eyes did seem to focus.
Then lifting
her head, I concentrated my gaze into her lovely golden eyes, a golden green,
to see that they were clear exhibiting no trace, as far as I could see, of her
temporary insanity. Using my soaped
finger I caressed her cheeks washing away the makeup, although expertly
applied, to reveal a clear vibrant complexion.
She had apparently, curiously, avoided the sun as there was little
damage to her face and her exquisite body.
Amazingly
there was little wrinkling other than the slight sagging of her cheeks from the
pull of gravity. Her mouth was neither
small nor large, although for my tastes it could have been a little larger,
while her lips retained almost youthful form while beginning to narrow.
Having
completed the conjurations and lustration I led her from the shower as she
still lacked volition, to carefully pat her down with a snow white towel.
That
completed I led her back to the bedroom.
I put her in the shirt I had worn the day before then lay her down on
the bed. Speaking softly I said: Darling Girl you will now sleep a deep and
dreamless sleep until the morning sun comes up.
Your sleep will be dreamless but your unconscious mind will absorb the
ritual of Hera you have just performed while your mind will repair and reorder
any injuries you may have received leading to your catalepsy.
You will
wake refreshed and be able to resume your active life. Now, close your eyes Darling Girl and
sleep. Sleep the all healing sleep.’
At this
point she visibly relaxed with closing eyes, ‘Sleep , Darling Child of Hera,
sleep.
As she
appeared to be asleep I closed the door leaving it slightly open. I then went to get her purse to see who I was
dealing with.
Being a New
Yorker she had no driver’s license but she did have a medical insurance
card. You can imagine how stunned I was
to learn her name was Angeline Gower. I
had once been rescued by a woman named Angeline Gower. After high school when I was in emotional
shell shock from my rotten childhood I took to the highway ending up in the
Grand Traverse where I blanked out in a coffee shop only to return to
consciousness ten days later in Angeline’s magnificent bed in a shack out in
the woods. Angeline was almost in the
condition I was from an equally rotten childhood still she managed to nurse me
to health and save my life. I’ll add to
the details when Ange (short for Angeline) wakes up tomorrow.
So, she was
Angeline Gower II whose life I was now saving.
She wasn’t broke, her billfold contained six hundred fifty-two dollars
with a checking account balance of near one hundred thousand dollars so it
wasn’t ticket price shock at Nordstrom’s that put her into catatonic shock.
Looking
further I found a Bar Association card so she either was or had been a
lawyer. From that I deduced her
catatonia was sexually related probably from a too casual attitude from her
fellow lawyers or perhaps worse. After
all, the sixties, seventies and eighties had been very degrading for women, not
that they didn’t embrace the period calling it freedom. She must have numerous stories of legal sexual
misconduct. I could have obtained a
force with which to control lawyers and judges in Angeline. She must know dozens of women in her
situation and they would know hundreds of lawyers and judges.
Otherwise
her bag was an eight thousand dollar Chanel with all accoutrements equally
expensive. Heck, the crappy short haircut
probably cost five hundred a session not to mention the makeup brands most of
which I had never heard of and I follow the fashion magazines.
Alright. I would have to see if she was with the living
on the morrow or still one of the walking dead.
It was getting late and I hadn’t eaten so I made up a pastrami, corned
beef and ham sandwich, emptied out a can of Campbell’s Chunky Potato and Bacon
soup that I ate at a leisured pace. I
had come across a nice Chateau Ste. Madeline, Cassis appellation, that proved a
pleasant complement to my, well, repast.
Angeline
seemed to sleeping peacefully or perhaps she was comatose. Anyway, I crawled in beside her, overwhelmed
by her beauty. Don’t get any idea I took
advantage of her because I intended her for my Anima and to violate my Anima
would be to violate myself. I’m no
masochist. I did however fold the cover
back to gaze for a few moments at her magnificent breasts and wild
strawberries. I’m only human as the
weasels say.
True to my
suggestion her eyes opened with the sunrise but she didn’t seem to be aware so
I got up to make some poached eggs and toast to supplement my meager takings of
last night.
I had just
sat down at table when I looked up to see Ange standing there in the nude. It was going to be a good breakfast. She stood there with one hand on her hip the
other extended above her leaning on the door jamb, or arch way rather. My eggs tasted great. A slight smile appeared on her lips as she studied
me attentively.
Then she
said: May I have some eggs too?
Nice voice,
lovely voice, cultivated but not ostentatiously so, no Eleanor Roosevelt.
‘Sure
Angeline, sit down. How many would you
like, two or three?’
‘Three.’ She sighed languorously.
‘I’ll be
three minutes, the water’s already boiled.’
‘Thank-you. Is your name really Partly Wright?’
‘You think
that’s funny, Ange? Yes it is. Mother had a sense of humor as I never tire
of saying. You’ve been going through my
pockets?
‘I took that
liberty.’
‘Yes, well,
and is your name really Angeline Gower?’
‘What’s
funny about that?’
‘Nothing,
only a while back, a long time now I knew an Angeline Gower up in the Grand
Traverse.’
‘Grand
Traverse, Michigan?’ Angeline said
freezing in her tracks as I had on looking at her medical card.
‘Um hm, yes,
many years ago, back in nineteen fifty six but you can’t be her, she was
several years older than me so you’d have to closing in on ninety.’
Ange: My
mother was in Grand Traverse, working at a restaurant at that time. She used to tell me of an ungrateful boy she
rescued at that time but his name wasn’t Partly Wright.’
Me: ‘No. I
was in my Dewey Trueman phase at that time.’
Ange: ‘That’s the name! You’re Dewey Trueman?’
Me: ‘No.
I’m Partly Wright. Dewey Trueman
died on the Grand Traverse.’
Ange: ‘Mother used to say that she woke up one
morning and you, or this Dewey Trueman, was gone.’
Me: ‘Yes, that’s true. But that Angeline Gower didn’t have a
daughter and she wouldn’t have been your age, Ange.’
Ange: ‘She never mentioned me to you.’
Me: No.
She never talked about her past life at all and I really wasn’t in any
kind of mental condition to be overly curious.’
Ange: ‘Hmm.
Mother was in pain herself when you knew her. I’ll tell you her story if you like.’
I signified
yes but I was getting very uncomfortable myself feeling like I would go into
shock. It was déjà vu flickering past
like film frames in very slow motion, I thought I might lose it. Suddenly I could pick my old Angeline’s
features in my new Angeline’s face.
Synchronicity bulbs kept flashing in my mind mentally blinding me. I put my head down dug into my eggs. Ange said nothing watching me, when I put my
head up I had tears in my eyes that I couldn’t conceal. I guess that softened
my new Angeline.
But Ange had
brought up the memories of my old Angeline for which I had always harbored
guilt. As had happened to me before
while writing old memories had called up only what I can call a mental rash
that is so overwhelming I had to take to bed, so now this rash arose and I had
to go to bed until it passed which if the past was any guide might be one or
two days. I explained my situation to
Ange that only caused her to giggle as she followed me into the bedroom seizing
my hand on the way.
Removing my
clothes I crawled into bed. Ange watched
me giggling away then after I got into bed hopping up on it sitting on her
heels still coyly giggling. But it
wasn’t the giggling of a grown woman but more of a ten or eleven year old girl. Then I realized that she hadn’t fully
recovered but though retaining her mental attributes of her age she had slipped
into the emotional state of a child, as I was to learn, before she had
surrendered her virginity, that had happened as I was to learn when she was
sixteen.
Apparently
in my cleansing ritual of the previous evening when I returned her to a mental
virginity she had interpreted it as one level of consciousness literally; thus
she was of two minds. Now she set about
to seduce me as an eleven year old would do but her mind was shadowed by her
current age and experience.
I was
reluctant to engage as I wasn’t sure Ange was competent, on the other hand I
couldn’t refuse without fear of offending her and perhaps losing her. After all I had joined her in marriage as the
Sun and Moon. I don’t live in quandaries
so we consummated our marriage. The
combination of an eleven year old and post-menopause woman was a strange
experience that I will never forget or regret.
At any rate
we were now one. And then a strange
thing happened. Relaxing in the glow
Ange suddenly said to me in a sort of eleven year old baby talk: you remember you said your goddess had sent
you to cherish and protect me?
Now I was
frightened; what was coming next?
‘Yes.’
‘I want you
to revenge me on a man who hurt me.’
Ooh, what
had I gotten myself into: Yes, Angeline,
who is he and what did he do?
‘He’s Judge
Merivale Adelstein and he raped me more than once.’
‘What kind
of judge, Ange?’
‘He’s a
federal judge and he’s a horrible man.
He treats us women like we are his sex slaves. He has to be punished.’
I quickly
agreed, I even had formulated a plan in an instant. Angeline had said ‘us girls’, that meant
several and if he used his position to compel sexual favors he was in very deep
doo-doo, no statute of limitations, instant destruction. And if he was doing it very likely other
judges were while it might be possible to uncover a system of abuse among the
legal firms. Depending on things this
knowledge could give us, the Serapion Order, nearly complete control over the
legal establishment.
‘You said ‘us
girls’ Angeline. Do you know the names
of the other women?’
‘Of course,
we used to get together and compare notes.
What are you going to do to him, walk up and punch him in the nose?’
‘First I
have to find out who he is but then I’m not sure punching him in the nose is a
suitable punishment, he merits more than that.’
‘I’ll say he
does. What are you going to do?’
‘Well, I
won’t be doing anything in the next couple of days Ange but I might be able to
get him by the short hairs within a week to ten days.’
‘Pooh, short
hairs, how’s that going to hurt him?’
‘Short hairs
is just a saying Ange, meaning causing him great pain as in saying ‘cut him a
new asshole.’
‘Oh, I don’t
know that one either.’
‘I’m
surprised, but, Ange, can you draw me up a list of these other women,
addresses and phone numbers if
possible.?
‘I thought
you said you loved me, that I was your Anima.’
‘Nothing has
changed Cara Mia. I’m not going to make
passes at them. Lessing and I have an
operation going and this information clinches it for us.’
‘Lessing? Lessing who?’
It occurred
to me then that as both Ange and Lessing were lawyers she might know him. ‘Lessing Farquhar. Miles and Lady’s friend.’
‘Lessing
Farquhar is a lawyer. How do you know
him? And Lady and Miles sound like the Carmichaels.’
I forgot I
had never mentioned the Carmichaels.
‘Lessing is a friend of Lady and Miles, so I met him through them.’
‘How do you
know the Carmichaels?’
‘I guess I
haven’t had time to tell you. This is
the Carmichael’s condo. I’m house sitting
for them while they’re in Europe for a year.
Ange, now you’re a lawyer so you don’t betray confidences do you?’
‘No. You
aren’t in trouble are you, Partly?’
‘No, no, no,
no. Lessing and I belong to an
Order. The New Serapion Order. We’re a kind of a revolutionary group. You’re not an Obamite are you?’
‘I’m
whatever you are Partly. I am your
woman, you can’t get away.’
‘Oh good,
that’s the way I feel about you too Ange.
So, anyway your revenge on Judge Adelstein will come through his
subordination to our uses. If you were
his sex slave he’s now going to be your slave.
He will jump when you say jump.
He’s the guy that’s angling for the Supreme Court isn’t he? You must be aware of dirty work he’s involved
in. Probably bought stock using insider
information? The guy’s walking on
gilded splinters.’
‘Oh sure,
that’s the least of it.’
Me: ‘Great.
Listen Ange I want you to get some rest.
You’re still a little wired from your catatonia. And tomorrow I want you to draw up the list. We have to move fast. Helzapoppin’, as they say.’
‘You
rest. I’m going to go up to your place
and pack some clothes for you, get your makeup.
Is there anything else you need Darling.’
Ange: ‘I’m happy here with you Partly, I don’t need
any clothes. I don’t want to leave.’
Me: ‘I know Darling Girl. I’d like this to go on forever too but
reality will intrude soon enough. We may
have to go out together, clothes will be more important then. I won’t be gone very long. Just long enough to get some things for you. I never have anyone come up here, there will
be no deliveries, no reason for anyone to come up so, in on the off chance
someone knocks, don’t even get up.
You’ve got a phone, my number is at the top so if you feel any anxiety,
call. This won’t take long. Fifty-Sixth Street is your address,
right? OK Honey, rest for a while, let
your mind heal.’
Ragnar had
the limo ready. Not too many minutes
later I was in front of Angeline’s building.
‘Come on up
Ragnar. I’m sure I’ll need help
carrying.’
Angeline was
only on the eighth floor. Ange only had
double locks, thank goodness, and only one door. The condo was surprisingly large, tastefully
if sparsely decorated. Showed a clear
mind or a capable decorator. There was a
feeling of longing about the place, a picture with a far away horizon over the
couch.
‘Better take
her computer down Ragnar, that will probably be needed.’
Bagging her
makeup wasn’t a problem, at least I didn’t think it was but stuffing a couple
suitcases with clothes was more difficult than I thought. I didn’t know anything about mixing and
matching and those feminine things. I
made sure she had enough underwear then stuffed a bunch of skirts, slacks,
blouses and sweaters into the suitcase thinking Ange was right, I was out of my
depth.
I snapped
the suitcases shut as Ragnar returned.
He took one and I took the other.
As I was locking up one of those booming voices of authority
growled: Who the hell are you?
I turned to
see a vision from my childhood. A hated
one. The fellow wasn’t big, only about
five-five but he stood tall, occupying his space securely. He looked like one of these world war posters
where Uncle Sam is rolling up his sleeves for a fight. He had on a pair of those massive wing tips
that look like you’re trying to leave a big foot print. New too, minimal creases. The guy probably threw them away before they
looked even a little worn. The green
plaid sport coat over a pair of black pants was atypical. Hadn’t seen that one before. I didn’t know his name but then he didn’t
need one. As I said: I knew the type.
He glared at
me too proud in his inner powers to ask me twice.
I had to
choose the right personality to gain the upper hand. I chose to be confident, cool and distant, a
quieter tough: ‘What business is it of
yours? Who are you?
‘Don’t get
wise with me.”
‘I think
you’re talking to the wrong man Friend.
Move aside.’
‘This isn’t
your apartment; I know the woman who lives here.’
I looked at
his face more closely. He was
Jewish. Then it hit me. This was Judge Marivale Adelstein.
‘So do
I. Come on, let’s go Ragnar.’
‘Ragnar? Lady Carmichael’s chauffer?’
Good god, he
knew the Carmichaels. Christ. I was going to have to talk to him. Ragnar looked my way for directions.
‘Yes it is,
Judge Adelstein. Hello, I’m Partly
Wright. I’m house sitting for the Carmichaels. Nice to have met you. We have to go now. I’ll talk to you later.’
While he
stood staggered that I knew his name Ragnar and I walked away quickly. Behind me I could her him snort: Which part?
I really hate that stale joke.
I dragged
the suitcases into the apartment. I
looked up to see Angeline, back to me, looking over her shoulder smiling. She wasn’t nude anymore, she had put on a
pair of Lady’s four inch spikes. Not
unattractive but disconcerting.
‘I got up to
look out the window.’
‘Oh. You’ll never guess who I met at your
apartment Angeline.’
‘Merivale
Adelstein.’
I was wrong
on that one. ‘My, you’re prescient. How’d you get it first try?’
‘He always
comes over and bugs me about this time.
I don’t know how to dump the guy.
I’ve insulted him, called him names, the guy’s impervious.’
‘It will
work this time. Nice shoes. Shall we have a glass of wine my lovely?,
‘OK. I’ll get it.’
I sat down
on the divan, accepted the glass of wine Ange offered and sat back as she
cuddled up close to me. I almost
fainted.
‘You know
what I can’t understand Partly dear?’
‘How you got
here?’
‘No. Second chance. You keep saying that I’m your Anima. I don’t know what that means. Is that like sweetheart or something?’
‘Oh, no,
Ange. It’s much more intimate than that. Have you read any psychology? Freud or Jung?’
‘Not much
psychology and I’ve heard the names but I don’t know much about them.’
‘OK. I’m sure you’ve heard chat about a man’s
feminine side?’
‘You’re not
bi-sexual Partly? I couldn’t stand
that.’
‘No, not at
all, wholly male. The way you’ve heard
it is a misunderstanding of the right side of the brain. A man’s feminine side as I understand it is
the right side of his brain that carries the Anima. It comes from the ovum, a man’s X
chromosome. The left side come from his
y chromosome. A woman has two X
chromosomes so she doesn’t have a masculine side, just what Freud in his crude
way called penis envy, in other words, a longing for what is missing, that is,
the y chromosome’
‘Well, I do
understand penis envy.’
‘Sure, Well
Gloria Steinem was wrong when she said a woman needs a man like a fish needs a
bicycle. She was way out of her depth; a
woman needs a man like a fish needs water is more correct. Gloria almost made a Freudian slip.’
‘Ooh, that’s
good. I understand that now that I’ve
found you, Partly.’
Flattered? Wow! I
didn’t know who was writing this script but I was sure glad I was the star of
the movie.
Me: ‘Steinem’s
remark reminds me of the old poem called Evolution by Langdon Smith. It begins:
When you were a tadpole
And I was a fish
And side by side on the ebbing tide
We sprawled through the ooze and
slime,
Or skittered with many a caudal flip
Through the depths of the Cambrian
fen,
My heart was rife with the joy of
life
For I loved you even then.
After a few
eons and transmogrifications the pair are sitting in New York at Delmonico’s,
more or less like here Ange, high above the vulgar streets of New York. The poem goes on:
…here tonight in the mellow light
We sit at Delmonico’s
Your eyes are deep as the Devon
springs,
Your hair is dark as jet,
Your years are few, your life is new,
Your soul untried and yet,
God wrought our souls from the
Tremadoc beds
And furnished them wings to fly;
He sowed our spawn in the world’s dim
dawn;
And I know that I shall not die,
Though cities have sprung above the
graves
Where the crook-bone men make war
And the oxwain creaks over the buried
caves
Where the mummied mammoths are.
Thus we linger at luncheon here
Over many a dainty dish,
Let us drink anew to the time when
you
Were a tadpole and I was a fish.
‘Oh, that’s
a lively thought Partly but tell me about how I’m your Anima.’
Well,
Darling, this is a story not unlike Smith’s poem of Evolution. It requires some imagination to put things into the
perspective I’m going to give.
Biologically
it is a fact that you and I as individuals are the result of the union of an
ovum and a sperm. They come from two
different individuals and though united in what becomes a new individual
contribute separate identities. The ovum
ends in the Anima and sperm in the Animus.
Now, this
may be controversial but both the sperm and the ovum have intelligence and a
primitive form of consciousness.’
‘Really,
Partly, I’ve never heard that before.’
‘If you
think about it Ange Darling it must be true.
No organism can move without some form of intelligence or
consciousness. Otherwise no organism
could identify and find food. And yet
the sperm released into the vagina can locate the ovum in complete darkness and
finding the ovum violently and savagely attacks it forcing its way in against
what must be formidable resistance.
Hence in remembrance of which sexual union itself is a violent act by
the male against the passive female.
Once inside the sperm losing its tail occupies the ovum expelling
everything except the mitochondrial DNA.
I’ve seen a picture of the result and what you have is a sun nestled up
against a quarter new moon. This is
strangely replicated by the Sun and Moon once every nineteen years hence the
marriage of the sun and moon of folklore or myth. That marriage is an obvious replica of the union
of the sperm and ovum. There will be
those who will laugh but I maintain the myth of the marriage of the sun and
moon is a remembrance of the union of the sperm and ovum.’
Ange: ‘I’m not laughing Partly dear, but honestly,
I’ve never heard that before, I’ve never even imagined it but that would mean
the sperm had consciousness before it was ejected.’
Me: Remembrance comes from the union combined
with the fact of the marriage of the Sun and Moon. But intelligence and consciousness begins
with the creation of the sperm obviously before it is ejected which means that
the parent organism must program it to do what it has to do hence the sperm
knows beforehand and follows directions.
Furthermore it had to be lucky to have the closest proximity to the ovum
while amidst an intense competition for the prize. You can see pictures of the ovum surrounded
by sperm burrowing away. Does the female
select from her suitors which to embrace or let in? These are serious questions.
Obviously
the fittest doesn’t always win the prize as fully one fifth of the zygotes
self-abort while some real monsters reach fruition. Few are ever as physically perfect and as
beautiful as you are Ange and fewer still are endowed with intelligence of the
kind you have. And look at us, eighty
and seventy years old and we’ve found each other. A miracle of miracles.
Two
different strands of DNA bond together with the ovate side taking its position
on the left side of the body while the spermate takes the right. The union is seldom perfect, differences in
hands and feet, left and right side of the face betray the past of the ovum and
sperm.
To bond the
two sides together the left half of the brain migrates to the right hemisphere
of the brain while the spermatic hemisphere assumes a position on the left.
Now, as to
the Anima Angeline:
When Freud
and Jung examined the problem each came to the conclusion that men had an
Anima, that is a female side, and women had an Animus or male side. I have come to the conclusion that they were
only half right. As I see it the sperm
is the Animus and each sex has one while each has an ovate Anima. If you think about it this has to be true
because each contributor has a separate identity. It is the ‘marriage’ that makes them
one. This is also reflected in the old
marriage ceremony of man and woman where the two are declared one.
At the lower
end of the system it terminates in the gonads while at the upper end, or the
brain, I can only explain it by saying that there are loose ends that make up
the Animus or Ego as the psychiatrists explain it and on the ovate hemisphere
the Anima- that is in both men and women.
In women the spermatic X is still the Animus. The female also has a left side but it is a X
and not a y hence she has the equivalent of two Animas only one is active and
the other passive.
Now, don’t
laugh at me, but in the horned animals such as bull and ram the loose ends manifest
themselves in horns. Man subconsciously
recognized this when he chose bulls and rams to symbolize the male. The goddess was always personified as a woman
but the god as a bull or ram. In many
representations certain gods are portrayed with horns while Dionysus may have
horns or show the bull’s hoof.
As the child
develops he adopts characteristics of male and female models, these clothe the
Anima and Animus. If your models are good I suppose your outlook is bright or
brighter than if they aren’t. In my case
my Anima models were terrible. They were
formed by my mother and Gaines. Thus I
had to dig myself out from under a load of feces to be as balanced as I am now
while I have never been able to shed my negative outlook completely. There is still the touch of the sad sack
about me that at my age I will never be able to shed.
However with
the aid of Dr. Anton I have been able to deconstruct both my mother’s and
Gaines baleful influence returning to a simulacrum of childhood innocence.
Angeline: Is Dr. Anton your psycho-analyst?
Me: So to speak Ange. He’s actually an alter ego existing only in
my own mind. The great Dr. Anton
Polarion.
Ange:
(muffling a giggle) You talk to
yourself?
Me: Yes, of course. How else can you integrate
knowledge or solve problems? Dreams are
just a form of talking to yourself. If
you learn to dream properly you can resolve all kinds of problems. In terms of memory method I assigned my
psychological studies to an imaginary person named Dr. Anton Polarion to work
out my problems subconsciously and then notify me of the results.
Once again,
if you think about it Ange, you will find subconscious projections of that sort
are quite common. The Confessions of St.
Augustine is a much revered book; it only makes sense if you believe a human
can talk to an imaginary god and get answers.
In point of fact Augustine was talking to himself much as I do with Dr.
Anton except that I’ve always gotten better answers than Augustine ever
got. Writing is talking to yourself and
working out problems. That’s really the
only way it can be done.
Of course if
you walk down the street babbling out loud people are going to think you’re
nuts. Don’t do that.
Still,
Charles Dickens was frequently seen by his wife gesticulating as one of his
imaginary characters and voicing his thoughts out loud to get them right on
paper. So, as I say Dr. Anton
extrapolated my Mother Constellation and separated it from Gaines and then
separated both from my Anima while elucidating it so that I can understand my
past correctly. Would you like to hear
what my mother did to me, her own child?
Ange: Yes. But first who is Gaines and what does he
have to do with your mother.
Me: William C. Gaines published comic books like
Tales From The Crypt. His relationship
to my mother comes from the way his comics portrayed women. His comics were quite misogynistic but very
sexually stimulating. When my mother put
me in the Orphanage it created a reaction such as that women could not be
trusted. My mind combined that with
Gaines misogynism thus the two were twined on my Anima.
OK Ange?
But bear in mind that a woman is only a woman who becomes a mother
through necessity. Not all women are cut
out to be mothers, mine wasn’t. Mine
dealt me the kind of poker hand that a player looks at once and folds but I
couldn’t fold, I had to play that crummy hand.
I know
nothing of my mother’s girlhood. As I
was born in May when she was twenty she must have been nineteen when I was
conceived. I have seen a picture of her
when she was eighteen; in that picture she looks grim and troubled. I suspect she was pregnant with me when she
married. If so this would have been the
first of the grievances she assigned me.
She must
have graduated high school in nineteen thirty-six thus her girlhood was lived
during the Depression. She never spoke
of the period but she and that whole age cohort lived in almost a paralyzing
fear that it would return all their lives.
My father must have had a terrible time finding a job as in his desperate
need to provide for us both he joined Roosevelt’s Civilian Conservation
Corps. Thus, at work in the forests he
was gone for long periods however sending most of his wages home. My mother was not wise in her use of them.
Rather than
remain idle she dated at least one man who impregnated her in the back seat of
a Chevy in the parking lot of a grocery store.
My father came home to find her in that state. As you can imagine he was crushed when he got
the news. He insisted she tell him who
the guilty party was but in the way of women she refused to name his name. My father then began slapping her around but
she still refused.
As I was
standing against the wall watching I became distressed finally jumping on his
back as he stood over her when she lay after having been knocked down. My father was at a loss of what to do. My mother warned me to run. My father said that no, he would never hurt
his son.
I had
stopped the beating but my mother got up and placed me against the wall telling
me not to interfere and then lay back down to resume the beating.
Her
astonishing reaction had a profound effect on my personality. Her action was totally incomprehensible to
me. As my mother developed my father
became more distraught. And then the
little bastard was dropped. I presume my
father walked out at that time because he was not around anymore and shortly
thereafter my mother, myself and the little bastard moved out of our house and
in with her parents.
Ange: Why do you call your brother ‘the little
bastard’ Partly? That seems harsh.
Me: Perhaps it is Ange but he is not my brother,
he is an, what you might call, Illegal immigrant. You have to consider the psychology of my
mother. She was one of that lot that
thinks the woman can do no wrong.
Therefore she laid the blame for her infidelity on my father. Then his treatment of her, hitting her and
then leaving, was an unreasonable response in her mind so she transferred her resentment of my father on to me, a
constant reminder, not of her shame, but his unreasonableness. She did whatever her female wiles permitted
to injure my psyche, twist it, pervert it, thus becoming an evil presence on my
Anima that over the years nearly completely debilitated me. From my experience my Anima had completely
failed me leaving me distraught and incapable of responding properly.
From the
time the little bastard was born she showed him preference over me, her first
born. That is an unforgiveable sin. You can see that, can’t you Angeline?
Ange: I can certainly understand how you feel.
Me: I hope so.
I only saw my father once after that.
When he called at my grandparents.
In the interim my mother had done everything to make me hate and fear my
father. He must have found a good job,
this last meeting must have been sometime in nineteen forty-one because he
brought me this wonderful green corduroy suit with a stoplight badge on the
pocket. I was apparently psychologically
affected because in later years I wore a lot of corduroy and I still own a
green corduroy sport jacket; it’s in the closet if you want to look at it.
Ange: How can you remember so precisely
Partly? How old were you in nineteen
forty-one, two or three?
Me: I’m two and half years older than the little
bastard and while I remember the incidents dating it is merely a matter of
reconstruction beginning from nineteen thirty-eight. I did have a lot of trouble disentangling the
incidents and putting them in order but auto-suggestion and dreaming cleared
that up. Took a while though.
Anyway, my
father called me to him and I wanted to go but my mother had a hypnotizing threatening
gaze fixed on me and I didn’t know what she would do if I disobeyed her so I
didn’t go to him.
‘Oh, you’ve
made him hate me.’ My father said.
Then my
mother astonished me: she lied straight
out. She said she hadn’t. First she refused to allow me to rescue her
from a beating and now she told a bare faced criminal lie. My father turned, crushed, and walked out
much to my mother’s satisfaction. I
never forgave her of ever trusted her again.
What she did
to my father next I have no memory of and can only guess. In Michigan during my entire childhood and
youth people constantly threatened to put someone they didn’t like in the
insane asylum. Apparently all a family
member had to do was make a complaint and have the unfortunate committed. Once in you never got out. Of course it was more difficult for strangers
to do that but still possible.
I have no
idea what my father did, perhaps he was in despair at losing his son, whatever
he did his mother had him committed, I’m assuming for being violent and was
probably put down as criminally insane.
My mother took great pleasure in testifying against him citing the
beating he gave her but probably not the cause.
He spent the rest of his life in Traverse City. One day decades later I got a call from her
saying significantly: He’s dead. He’s dead, just like I was a fellow
conspirator. ‘Who’s dead?’ I demanded.
‘Him.’ Came back the reply. ‘Your
father.’ Lord. I’d forgotten all about him but that is a
woman’s violence and vengeance. I
learned a lot about women from mom.
Ange: All women aren’t like that Partly.’
Me: Perhaps not Ange but that doesn’t change my
situation but that notion of responsibility is part and parcel of every
woman. The man is always guilty. Besides when she had my father put away I
remained as a living reminder of her guilt, or his, if she maintained that
point of view. She somehow transferred her
feeling of virtue to the little bastard while quietly punishing me.
As I say the
last time I saw my father was in nineteen forty-one. I don’t know when my father was committed to
Traverse City but in late 1943 she placed me with foster parents or rather
perhaps as a boarder with a family named Smith where I remained until shortly
after VE day in May of nineteen forty-five.
Then I was transferred to a woman named Johnson not very far from my
grandmother’s.
Ange: Where was your little brother at the time?
Me: Oh he came along to disrupt my life, the
little prick, as a part of, I guess, collateral damage.
Ange: Did she ever visit you?
Me: I don’t ever remember seeing her at Mrs.
Johnson’s but she came by maybe two or three times at the Smiths. She always wore real nice clothes. I could never understand why she didn’t have
a little more in clothes money for me.
Anyway, suffering rejection at the Smith’s just when I was beginning to
trust them unsettled my mind and with problems caused by entering a new school
a month or so from year’s end I began to become very morose. I suppose it was then that I acquired a
depressed state of mind.
Mrs. Johnson
could only take so much. She asked my
mother to remove me. It was then that
the horror of horrors struck. She put me
away in the orphanage. I could never
really place where the orphanage was in later years but it was only three or
four blocks from my grandmother’s.
Ange: That’s close.
Did she ever visit you? Take you
overnight or anything?
Me: No. I
didn’t see her for several years. She
was always the hardest of hard hearted women.
I used to roam all over in those years but it never occurred to me to go
in that direction.
I was there
in the orphanage for two years, nineteen forty-six to nineteen forty-eight. I don’t know if you understand what it means
to be in an orphanage but it completely declasses you, places you lower than
the Negroes in the social scale, you become a non-person, invisible. Carry the scars for the rest of your life in
one way or another. A real soul
shattering experience.
According to
orphanage policy they farmed you out to foster homes at the age of ten, another
really horrible experience I escaped because my mother remarried in nineteen
forty-eight. I was pretty independent by
that time so I knew I was in for it but I thought it was only eight years so I
could manage it. As I look back I’d have
to say I didn’t. By graduation time I
was a basket case unable to function.
My mother’s
method to torment me was to frustrate and deny me, to prevent me from enjoying
my life at all. I have no idea how she
talked about me but I was amazed when just before graduation a bunch of us were
talking about what we were going to do.
I mentioned I wanted to go on to college when a girl I hardly knew
scornfully told me that I was not that I was going into the Navy for twenty
years and could come back as a Chief Petty Officer. I asked her where she got that and she said
my mother told her. I don’t know how she
knew my mother but sure enough within a matter of days my mother took me to the
recruiting office and signed me up. A
couple weeks later and I was gone.
Thus she had
me safely stowed away in the equivalent of the insane asylum for life just like
my father. I might as well have gone to
foster parents, it couldn’t have been any worse.
The problem
with the Mother Constellation was I couldn’t find the motive for her hatred but
as she and Gaines occupied my Anima I had no control of the right hemisphere,
my Anima had completely failed me.
Fortunately Dr. Anton was able to
untangle the two stands of Gaines and my mother so that my Anima was
freed. The final reckoning occurred just
a couple weeks before I saw you standing there in Nordstrom’s and I recognized
you as what my Anima should have been all along. In conventional terms: Love at first sight.
Ange: I don’t remember that Partly. I only have vague memories of you taking to
me in the shower. How did I get there?
Me: Well, I came up for the Nordstrom’s grand
opening and wandering through the high fashion department I saw you standing
there almost as though you had a sign around your neck reading Rescue Me. When I got closer I realized that you must be
catatonic. I put my arm around your
waist and said: Come with me, Darling
Girl. Gave you a little tug and led you
to the limo.
Fortunately
you were not yet beyond the range of contact so I was able to bring you back to
consciousness. Since then you’ve been
recovering well. Do you remember
anything about the Sun and Moon?
Ange: Yes.
There was a god and goddess and they married us. Is it true then that you are my husband and
I’m your wife.
Me: Yes, it is Darling. You might say a marriage made in heaven. I’ve got you babe in my heart and on my mind
and here beside me.
Ange: Alright.
I don’t know how it happened but you have been in my dreams Love.
Me: And you mine.
Now Sweetheart would you take the time to tell me your story. How did you get into that catatonic state?
Ange: I don’t know if I should. You might not like me so much then.
Me: Oh nonsense, Angeline, life is difficult at
best. Let the dead past bury its
dead. The way is forward. Let’s make our future the best years of our
lives. You can’t make me stop loving
you. You are part of me.
Ange: Well, alright.
Continue to
Clip 8.
