Showing posts with label E T A Hoffmann. Show all posts
Showing posts with label E T A Hoffmann. Show all posts

Tuesday, July 3, 2018

Eugenic And Dysgenics Pt. 2a: Actions and Reactions.


Eugenics And Dysgenics Pt. 2a

Actions And Reactions

by

R.E. Prindle

 

The fabulous nineteenth century progressed from Enlightenment to sound scientific knowledge with an accelerating pace that meant that what was learned in one’s youth was passé in one’s maturity.  Thus the knowledge of a sixty year old was out of date for a thirty year old.  The eternities were disturbed.  Initially overwhelmed,  by century’s end the forces of reaction had had time to realign and offer challenges to the new world of knowledge even as their reaction to the new knowledge had been surpassed by newer more current knowledge.

It was in this state of confusion that the world entered the new even more rapidly evolving twentieth century that left the nineteenth century in the dust.  And, this quick evolution was very unevenly distributed.  It was shared by no other place on Earth than the US/Canada and Europe, that is the Aryan race.  From those locations scientific knowledge began to be distributed by the Aryans throughout the world.  Assimilation to the scientific knowledge was not easy and still has not been achieved.

As the Western world entered the Post WWI years the glories of what was called the Victorian Age, once revered, became despised.  But they would reemerge in the twenty-first century as Steampunk.

One of the more interesting reactions came from the re-emergence of the Romantic era as the neo-Romantic era that flowered from nineteen-nineties through the outbreak of WWI and has persisted into the twenty-first century as science fiction, horror and fantasy- three different expressions of the demolished fairy world.

To return to the nineteenth century.  The neo-Romantics could not return to the Land of Faerie unaffected by scientific achievements.  The literature of the neo-Romantics was as beautiful as that of the Romantics.  Several seminal works were to persist in influence through the twentieth century to the present.  Of first magnitude was Robert Louis Stevenson’s novella Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.  Published in 1886 it incorporated elements of the psychological unconscious that were then emerging.  The story ranks among the most influential.  Naturally there was a great difference in the dissemination of the story between the two centuries.

In the twentieth movies had come into existence and by 1927 the talkies began to replace silent films.  This was revolutionary.  With sound, movies came into their own.  I’m sure a silent film of Jekyll and Hyde was made but it was the first sound version that gave the story universal distribution.  Many versions and variations were made of Stevenson’s story some of which distorted the original story to the point of unrecognition.  The original sound version is the one most people know, or knew.  As that version is now nearly a hundred years old several generations may never have seen it except for film buffs.  The novel version is quite different from all film versions.

Looking back toward the late Victorian Age the movie makers make Dr. Jekyll a rather stuffy academic type who, as a chemist, or possibly an alchemist, while experimenting discovers a drug that releases him from all inhibitions  letting the evil or mostly evil unconscious of Jekyll emerge as Mr. Hyde

This in itself was an expression of the understanding of the unconscious.  The discovery, or examination of the unconscious began with Dr. Anton Mesmer in the eighteenth century and by Stevenson’s time in 1886 when his story was published was a well-known phenomenon among the cognoscenti.  In Stevenson’s story Jekyll had been a wild and rowdy lad in his youth and longed to relive those golden days.  Many drugs, including absinthe, were in use already in those days thus their effect on personality being noted so that Jekyll using some sort of concoction was able to remove his inhibitions with disastrous consequences.

Literary characters of dual personalities began to pop up everywhere.  One duo, as influential as Stevenson’s was Conan Doyle’s marvelous creation of Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson.  It isn’t noted that the two were complementary aspects of the same personality.

Perhaps the writer most devoted to the Jekyll-Hyde problem was the fantastic American late neo-Romantic writer, Edgar Rice Burroughs.

This extraordinary writer was perhaps at one and the same time the most Romantic, scientific, fantasy and horror or proto-sci-fi author of all time.  He carried the Jekyll-Hyde story to new heights and wide variations.

In his first published novel, A Princess Of Mars, his chief character, John Carter, who had survived the split personality of the US in the Civil War as a Confederate officer, while running from an Indian war band of the post-civil war Western era stumbles on a cave of strange provenance where he abandons his body to be, one assumes, spiritually transmitted to Mars.  Thus, this photo-copy of himself takes up a career on Mars while his body remains in the cave on Earth. 

Another novel, one that made Burroughs’ life, Tarzan of the Apes, followed a year later.  In this story Tarzan, or John Clayton, to give his civilized name, was born on the coast of Gabon in Africa to noble English parents who were killed by the ‘Great Apes’.  These Apes are of no known species, perhaps they were meant as the Missing Link, a great evolutionary trope of the day when it was thought there was a single link between apes and humans that was missing.

Rescued from death by the ape Kala, who had lost her own ‘balu’ or baby, the baby Tarzan was reared as an ape.  His ape name Tarzan thus means ‘white skin’ as opposed to the hairy black apes.  While not exactly having super powers, yet Tarzan as a boy discovers his parents tree house containing a primer or two intended for John Clayton’s future education, he teaches himself through pictures and texts how to read and thus discovers he is not an ape at all but a human being.  Thus in Jekyll and Hyde terms he becomes the Man-Beast.  Stevenson’s novelette had been read by Burroughs who entered into the notion of dual personality whole heartedly.  Thus, when wearing civilized clothing Tarzam is a cultured English lord but when he strips to the loin cloth he becomes an actual beast.  Still intelligent but a sort of noble savage.  Tarzan had other dual personalities.  At one time a look alike named Esteban Miranda challenges him for the love of his wife while Tarzan is repeatedly bashed in the head at which he becomes a different amnesiac personality.  Dual personality was a real fixation of Burroughs.  He himself was cracked on the head at the age of twenty-two which definitely changed his own personality.

Burroughs was sort of an odd duck.  He was a wide reader and the stories he read seemed to take on an independent existence in his head so that he apparently couldn’t differentiate his original story from a variation on someone else’s story so that in the sequel to Tarzan of the Apes, The Return of Tarzan, he retells Edgar Allan Poe’s story, The Murders In The Rue Morgue as his own.  I’m not sure how his career survived that unless a very few of his readers had ever read Poe.  Poe wasn’t especially well thought of at this time.  However his editor Metcalf surely had.  Metcalf rejected the novel but Return was later picked up by another magazine desperate for a Tarzan story.

Burroughs even titles his story ‘What Happened In The Rue Maule.  Even though the source of Burroughs story is easily recognized in Poe’s story today still Burroughs manages his details in such a way that it seems a new and almost original story.

In Poe’s story the split personality is the lead character C. Auguste Dupin, the is CAD and the unnamed narrator.  It should also be mentioned that Poe explored the dual personality in several of his stories of the 1830s-1840s including the remarkable William Wilson.  Poe obviously suffered from a split personality.

In Burroughs’ story the suave cultured Tarzan now living in Paris, at the sight of blood reverts back to this savage upbringing among the apes, becoming a ravening beast.  In Poe’s story an escaped Orang outang commits the murders, in what is essentially a locked room story and escapes.

In Burroughs story a hereditary enemy by the name of Rokoff sets up a situation to lure Tarzan into a building and apartment where there are a half dozen villains waiting to kill him.  How Rokoff would know that Tarzan would be walking down the most villainess street in Paris, ask any policeman as Burroughs writes, isn’t adequately explained.

Nevertheless, hearing a woman’s screams of distress Tarzan rushed into the building, Rue Maule #27, third floor, Burroughs was always great at details, where in a sort of Badger game he discovers the woman and a roomful of villains.  ‘Yoicks’ or something similar, he says, and the melee begins as Tarzan begins to demolish the mini mob out to injure him.  Rokoff waiting outside quickly finds a phone, cell phones were not yet invented, while one is surprised to find one so easily available in Paris at this time.  The point is that Rokoff calls the police to tell them there is a riot going on at #27, third floor.  Still a savage beast although dressed in the height of fashion Tarzan flattens the cops, blows out the candle, phones being available in #27 but not electricity, and leaps out the window onto an adjoining telephone pole not unlike Poe’s Orang, scampers across the rooftops of Paris, as the telephone pole is taller than the third floor, similar to swinging through the jungle trees, drops to the ground, steps into a corner drug store to use the toilet to tidy up and wash his hands then, this is the word Burroughs uses, saunters, down the block just like any bored boulevardier. There you have Poe rewritten into a story only slightly inferior to the original.

Amazingly Poe’s story served as a basis for Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories, Holmes and Watson replacing Poe’s Dupin and narrator.

In this tremendously creative period another of the great genres persisting down till today was Bram Stoker’s incredible version of the vampire Dracula on which today’s versions of vampires are based.  Stoker did not create the vampire character, there are earlier examples including Polidori’s short story that set the rage off.  Among other versions Varney The Vampire a long novel by Rymer in mid-century really developed the theme and from blood sucking vampires, the psychic vampire also emerged.  Our times’ Anne Rice had made a career out of vampire stories.

A creation of the first Romantic period, Mary Shelley’s man created life, Frankenstein and his monster, evolved into a whole genre of androids, robots and various forms of artificial humanity.  Interestingly the ubiquitous Edgar Rice Burroughs offered his contribution of The Monster Men, as he covered almost all the modern genres adding The Mastermind Of Mars to the catalog of artificial life in the 1930s.  He even managed to attach Henry Ford’s mass production methods to the process.

The reaction against the nineteenth century scientific revolution was epitomized by the Pre-Raphaelites of England.  They were called Pre-Raphaelites because they rejected all society after the artist Raphael.  Following in their tradition William Morris wrote a number of haunting nostalgia novels that are quite charming but overly sentimental.

Perhaps my favorite of the neo-Romantics is the English writer George Du Maurier and his three novels, Peter Ibbetson, Trilby and The Martian.  Du Maurier himself was a Frenchman who was removed to England in youth causing a sort of split personality in himself.  For a couple decades he made a name for himself writing and drawing for the great humor magazine of the period Punch.  Then he was passed over when the editorship opened up; that was more than he could he bear.  He quit and began writing his novels.  Apparently his talents had been under appreciated at Punch as his great success took the magazines contributors by surprise.

The first novel, Peter Ibbetson was well thought of but didn’t establish him.  His second, Trilby, was a smash mega seller influencing the Mauve Decade of the Nineties to its roots.  His villain Svengali is still widely used to describe a person who seems to control another under the influence of hypnotism.  Du Maurier died as his last novel, The Martian, was published.  It is a lovely book.  I like it, but it does not have the concentration of the first two.  However it’s proto-sci-fi fantasy theme is very interesting for the right minds, overall the three are a great trilogy.  A fourth was projected dealing with politics but the Grim Reaper came between it and Du Maurier.

George might be considered the arch-typical neo-Romantic.  His influence is probably greater than realized.  His themes have been reopened by writers like the great American novelist, Richard Matheson.

For Du Maurier memory was everything, and in his mind, that necessitated life after death or as he thought, what good was having accumulated them.  His novels are monuments to memory.  Born in 1834 he spent his childhood in France a childhood he turned into a fairyland; he was removed to England as a youth and the two national characters lived side by side in him as two almost distinct personalities.  The writers of the first Romantic period fueled his memories, most notably the English poet, George Gordon, Lord Byron and the Frenchman Charles Nodier.

Nodier was the composer of the interesting short novel Trilby.  In the 1890s Du Maurier would rewrite the story in his novel of the same name.  In Nodier’s novel Trilby was male fairy who visited the girl Jeannie in Scotland.  As Nodier was writing in the Romantic period that was a revival, a last gasp itself, as fairies had been disproven by science.  So Jeannie having revealed the visits of the fairy Trilby to her, she was treated as deluded and compelled to give up her friend Trilby.  Then she sickened and died.

In Du Maurier’s novel, Trilby, his middle or second novel, he reverses the sexes of the duo making Trilby a young woman and turning Trilby into the evil hypnotist,  the Jewish Svengali.

The story is placed in Paris in the 1850s where Du Maurier was an artist living the Bohemian life in the classic age of Bohemianism.  Du Maurier portrays an ideal beautiful fantasy life with boon companions and a carefree Bohemian existence.  Trilby is a grisette or what might have been called a ‘hippie chick’ in our own 1960s, an artist’s model or whatever but virtuous unlike the other grisettes.

She and the Little Billee character of Du Maurier fall in love.  Little Billee is modeled after his namesake in Thackeray’s poem of the same name.  The romance is scotched when Little Billee’s aristocratic mother visits him and rejects Trilby as a daughter-in-law.

Another regular visitor to the atelier was a beteljew named Svengali.  He was also a musician and musical theorist who played piano well. He noted that Trilby’s oral cavity was perfect for a great singer however Trilby couldn’t carry a tune and could scarcely hit a note.  After her rejection by Billee’s mother, the gang breaks up with Billee and his friends returning to England.

A few vicissitudes find Trilby at the hypnotist Svengali’s door.  Her oral cavity now belongs to him.  Returning to his native precincts in Poland Svengali after hypnotizing Trilby makes her sing like a bird.  To shorten the story, in a Jenny Lind like career, Trilby and Svengali take Europe by storm.

While visiting Paris Billee and friends reuniting for the moment, watch Trilby and Svengali’s triumphant entry into Paris.  Svengali spots them watching and gives Little Billee a hard look.  The shows were sold out so the trio missed them but were first in line for the London shows in the first box.  Trilby could only sing while making eye contact with Svengali.  He made the mistake of looking up to see Billee.  A jealous rage overcame him, his eyes popped, he went apoplectic, croaking on the spot.  Without eye contact Trilby returned to herself and could only croak off key and out of tune.  The audience was merciless.

Trilby became sick and withered away.  Her dying words were Svengali, Svengali, Svengali.

Thus, Nodier’s story was reversed and told in the most charming manner, neo-Romantically.

In the telling Du Maurier wove a lifetime of memories, musical and literary, reincorporated Bohemian Paris at its peak, a Jenny Lind type story at the end and the then current fascination with hypnotism.  A thoroughly pleasing mix.  He transfigures his life into a fairy tale.

Nearly the same fairy tale he used in his first book, Peter Ibbetson.  I’m not sure I could call Ibbetson a great book but the three novels together are a sui generis.  Events fit into a sci-fi context but yet are more ethereal, other worldly.  Du Maurier’s inventions are really quite daring as he seeks to relate to reality yet evades it as much as he can, blending the inner with outer world in a tantalizing manner.  Memory, always memory but a memory made immediate.

E.T.A. Hoffman’s introduction to his tale ‘A New Year’s Adventure’ explains the feeling better than I can:

Quote:

The Travelling Enthusiast from whole journals we are presenting another “fancy flight in the manner of Jacques Callot ,” apparently not separated the events of his inner life from those of the outside world; in fact we cannot tell where one ends and the other begins.  But even if you cannot see the boundary very clearly, dear reader, the Geisterseher may beckon you to his side, and before you are even aware of it, you will be in a strange magical realm where figures of fantasy step right into your own life, and are as cordial with you as your oldest friends.

Unquote.

Du Maurier captures that feeling perfectly and if you enter into his fabulous story of memory and reality co-existing together seamlessly you will be carried along to a supreme adventure.  E.T.A. Hoffman himself was from the first Romantic era, one of its stellar authors.  The divine muses, Calliope and Clio, not only sat on his shoulders whispering, but entered his head and dictated his stories.  I have no idea whether Du Maurier read Hoffman but Hoffmann was in the same time frame as Charles Nodier who wrote the first version of Trilby.

Du Maurier was familiar with the Romantic oeuvre. As with many nineteenth century writers Du Maurier was fascinated with the poems of Byron.  He makes frequent references to the Giaour, one of Byron’s tales.  The poem seems to be a central fixation guiding Du Maurier’s pen.

Peter Ibbetson tells the story of Ibbetson’s crime, his incarceration, his descent into madness and removal from prison to the Colny Hatch, where he lives his life out.  In France Ibbetson grew up with a little girl named Seraskier.  He loved her greatly and the separation from her when he was taken to England was quite painful to him.  And then, as if by magic, as a grown man living with his cruel uncle he attends a ball to discover Seraskier as a grown woman, the Duchess of Towers.  Of course, a married woman, she is unobtainable but they begin a platonic love affair.

But then, Peter’s nasty uncle raises Peter’s ire and in a fit of anger Peter bludgeons him to death.  He himself is condemned to be hanged but through the efforts of the Duchess of Towers and her powerful friends his sentence is commuted to life imprisonment.  It is in prison that he loses control being transferred to the insane asylum.

It is while there that he discovers that he can enter the Duchess’s dreams and she can enter his, and this is done on real terms and not imagination.  They actually physically interact.  He now lives to sleep and enter the alternate reality of his dreams shared with the Duchess.  In a carefully elaborated system the two can travel anywhere they know having been there or do anything they have done in the outside world in the past.  Thus memory is everything.  The inner and outer worlds become one.

She is still married so that the relationship is platonic until her husband dies, and Peter and the Duchess can be lovers.  Happy in his insane asylum where his sanest dreams are realized.  Peter is supremely happy but then one night as he snuggles into bed drifting off to dreamland a terrible thing happens, as he reaches the portal from his dream to hers he finds it blocked, boarded up.  With a cold shiver he realizes the truth, the Duchess has died.

Having completely entered this world of Du Maurier’s I broke down in tears along with Peter.  Of course his sanity or insanity is jarred and he collapses.  But whatever gods may be had pity on Peter.  As in ancient days they let the Duchess return to Peter’s dream to console him and promise him that they would be together eternally.  One assumes then that in death Peter found the happiness that had eluded him in life.

Today the theme has been explored in many variations, notably in Richard Matheson’s Somewhere In Time and also his What Dreams May Come.  I have no idea whether Matheson read Du Maurier but it is not improbable.  Time has passed now and Victorian literature no longer holds the place it then did but Matheson was born well before me and for my age cohort there was no literature taught written after 1914 so there’s no reason Matheson wouldn’t have been familiar with a range of Victorian authors unread today.

Du Maurier’s story at the time was as original as Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde written a few years before.  While The Martian, the last of the trilogy, is perhaps the weakest of the three it too is very innovative in a proto-sci-manner.   It too is a memory capsule centered around the loss of vision in one of George’s eyes.  The loss seems to have been the result of a torn retina.  Given the knowledge of the time there was no hope to save the eye but even then he fell in with a medical quack.

But, just as Ibbetson went to prison and the asylum and in the process discovered how to meld dreams with the Duchess of Towers, in this story he is contacted by a little fairy from Mars, the Martian of the story also named Martia.  She attaches herself to the protagonist Barty Josselin.  She is sort of a female Wandering Jew (another great European legend) who for centuries has been attaching herself to men as a sort succubus.

Her term as a Wandering Fairy is up.  She is intensely in love with Barty so she arranges to become his next child who is a little girl he names Marty.  At a young age Marty dies and Barty dies both souls are released at the same time so that together with Barty’s memories they continue the journey after death to the heart of the sun.

Beautiful story, longingly told.

The neo-Romantic period coincided with the apex of European power in history as Europe had conquered the seas and continents of the entire world; all its peoples were its subjects.  But, as always happens the moment of triumph begins the descent.  Even in the first decade of the twentieth century there were those who knew that European power was in decline and then the Great War cut it short.  The passing was commemorated in the American Madison Grant’s great book: The Passing Of The Great Race.  Before it did a great literature was written, written in the neo-Romantic style, in a sort of fair land style.  The scramble for Africa had brought nearly the whole monstrously huge continent under European control, a blessing and a curse.  In European writing it is depicted as a sort of wondrous fairyland.

Europe produced three great epics over its two thousand year span, the sprawling epic of which the Iliad and Odyssey are part, the huge Arthurian cycle and finally the search for the source of the Nile that embraces the discovery of Africa.  Why the last should be true isn’t clear.

The real life adventure was looking back at it the incredible search for the source of the Nile.  England bent its energies on the search for the exact spot from which the flow of the White Nile trickled.  Huge sums were spent and men devoted their very lives in the search and it produced a great literature.  The solo adventures of Samuel Baker and his slave, also his wife, purchased in Hungary.  The fabulous safaris of Henry Morton Stanley spanning tens of thousand of miles, his books reading like improbable adventure novels even far surpassing them while his own life was stranger than fiction.  Perhaps his life is only believable as fiction.  Disparaged now because they speak of a far gone time and even more ancient expectations and attitudes.

Kipling wrote of the Indian Raj when a few thousand Englishmen controlled a sub-continent.  Joseph Conrad wrote his tales of the daring adventurers who seized Asian kingdoms.

Perhaps the greatest of all were the novels of the English writer H. Rider Haggard.  He, the author of two of the greatest neo-Romantic adventure novels, King Solomon’s Mines and single word title She. The title in full:  She-who-must-be-obeyed.

The neo-Romantic period also saw the re-emergence of esotericism.  It burst into full bloom in Madame Blavatsky’s Isis Unveiled and her creation of Theosophy.  It burst too late to be an influence on Haggard, at least his early career but Haggard seems to be fully conversant with its ideas.  The novel She itself is said to be a perfect expression of Theosophy and that from Madame Blavatsky herself.

African romance after African romance rolled out of his pen, all of very high quality.  Haggard commemorated the notion of the Elephant’s Graveyard that fascinated generations up until perhaps the 1950s when the legend lapsed into infinity.  One doesn’t hear of it anymore.

The Imperial novels of that time while still heard of are definitely out of favor.  More people wish it had never existed than care to remember it and explore its remains.  More people would rather visit holocaust museums and gaze at the ashes of dead bodies.

However, Romanticism has continued to evolve.  Many of the best stories of the pre-WWI era passed into the realm of boys’ stories laying their riches at the feet of a couple three or four generations of lucky boys.  Many also were preserved in the nascent talkie film industry, versions preserved on reels of film.

And still the need for the Land of Faerie persisted and Romanticism took a new turn scarcely recognized for what it was.  Science had left that empty space that had to be filled.  The Land of Faerie had to be reorganized.  At first Mars replaced the Land of Faerie, seemingly safe at least 30 million miles distant from Earth and at other time half across the solar system.  Martian stories began to make their appearance precisely during the neo-Romantic period.  There was still room to speculate as high powered telescopes were still to be perfected.  Camille Flammarion and Perceval Lowell could still write of dead seas and canals on Mars.  The last of the neo-Romantics, Edgar Rice Burroughs, could still exploit faerie kingdoms on Mars but that could only last until the killer telescopes were developed. 

The Universe began to expand rapidly through the twenties and  thirties.  As late as 1950 it was thought that the Universe was as small as 450,000 light years.  But then it exploded through millions and hundreds of millions of light years and on into the billions.  Mars was no longer tenable as a Fairy refuge.  Ray Bradury wrote his Martian Chronicles and in the last chapter all the fairy tale characters were driven from their last refuge into oblivion.

About this time however Flying Saucers made their appearance.  Is there anything more Fairy than Flying Saucers?  Think about it.   The alien abductions began; we discovered that we were being watched by little green men from distant planets and galaxies.  Little green fairies?   In the wonderful sci -fi of the Fifties writers worked up incredible scenarios.  It was imagined that aliens from perhaps billions of light years away had exhausted their own mineral resources and wished to remove ours to their planets.  The most imaginative of the sci-fi writers going by the name of William Tenn even posited that the inhabitants of the star Betelgeuse were building a bridge, a sort of conveyer belt from there to here to convey the resources.  The logistics of that were too much for my young mind.

At that time also, the first few years after Hiroshima and Nagasaki radio active fall out was creating all kinds of monsters, human and otherwise, Giant Crabs came forth, fifty foot men, even the greatest of them all, matching Frankenstein, The Creature From The Black Lagoon.  After Bikini and Eniwetok anything was possible.

Aliens landed, as in The Day The Earth Stood Still, to check out Earth’s suitability to join the Intergalactic Peace League.  This was shortly after WWII and during the Korean War so naturally the savage earth people were found wanting and not needed to disturb the peace prevailing throughout the intergalactic League.  So, aliens, in this case Klaatu and Gort, hopped back in their Saucer leaving us with the admonition that they would check back in a few thousands of years to see if we had evolved.

Meanwhile, perhaps hundreds of saucers hovered over Earth from near space carefully observing us, occasionally crashing, once near Roswell, New Mexico where the search for the wreckage still goes on.  Abductions continued.

A parallel development that was as influential as the space operas was the development of the super heroes.  Perhaps the first of the super heroes were creations of the redoubtable Edgar Rice Burroughs with his creations of Tarzan and John Carter of Mars.  Carter coming from the heavier gravity and atmosphere of Earth had actual super powers on Mars while if Tarzan didn’t actually have super powers he could certainly do what no other human beings could do.

But, Time does not have a stop, or even stand still.  Science and technology were rapidly moving ahead, especially in the print medium.  Comic strips in the newspapers had been around from the 1890s but in the early thirties some genius invented what would become the graphic novel today, that is comic books.  The comics were turned into illustrated four color folders at a dime a piece.  How the comic book would have developed isn’t clear. Since super heroes such as the Shadow and the Man of Bronze, Doc Savage had arisen to compete with the like of John Carter and Tarzan something extra was needed for the comic books,  fortunately for the idiom a man named Adolf Hitler had assumed he governance of Germany.  Adolf Hitler was a bete noir of the Jews and he stimulated their imagination in the US so that in 1938 the first issue of Superman (original title Action Comics) was released and the super hero with truly upper human powers and the very latest scientific gadgets came into existence.  Batman, Capt. America and a host of others followed on the heels of Superman while WWII which started supplied prime grist for the comic book mill.  The comics were a Jewish enterprise and the super heroes were therefore Jewish.  And under the care of the very Jewish Stan Lee have remained so down to this day.

Aiding the super hero phenomenon since translated to film was the emergence of more science in the form of CGI (Computer Generated Images).  With that addition the impossible could be made visible so that the human mind no longer had to grapple with mere reality.  It conquered reality.  Neo-Reality had arrived.  Perhaps Faerieland had won after all.

Put all the above together and a new alternate reality or Land of Faerie had been created to fill he void left when Science had destroyed the possibility of the old Land of Faerie, even on Mars.  The Universe was huge and there was no way to either prove or disprove the universe of Star Trek, a place where no man had gone before or was likely to go in the future.  So, that fairyland is secure.

The Land of Faerie was only one imagined realm that had to be dealt with, there was also the imagined kingdom of God or the gods that was challenged out of existence.  That in Part 2b to follow.

Monday, September 26, 2016


Attn:  Literature Fans

The Vampyres Of New York Vol. I

by

R.E. Prindle

 

I’m posting here the first volume of my novel Vampyres Of New York.  This is a slightly futuristic story.  It takes place in New York in 2018-19 after Obama snatched the presidency from the duly elected candidate, Donald Trump.  The story has a, I think, uniquely different love story between the protagonist Partly Wright and the lawyer, Angeline Gower. 

The eighty year old Partly Wright leaves home for New York City somewhat after the manner of the bunny rabbit gentlemen Uncle Wiggly who, it appears, is my major literary influence.  Strange, what?  First heard about him in kindergarten.

Read and enjoy.  Comments are welcome but try to make them editorial suggestions for me to consider.

I am beginning work on Volume 2, Across The Great Divide and if I live long enough the final volume of the trilogy, The Gotterdamerung will follow.

 




 


 



 


 


 


 

Thursday, June 30, 2016


The Vampyres Of New York

Clip 9

A Novel

by

R.E. Prindle

 

Angeline woke up in a fine frame of mind.  Just as a test I quickly flipped her in and out, the hypnosis was working as before.  Now began the hard part; what to do with her second personality.  With a little luck it might prove that they didn’t give her a third or fourth but I didn’t perceive any evidence of it.

I thought it might be best to try to combine Ange’s second personality replacing it with a dream world, a sort of false memory, and only a nightmare hence not real and threatening while as a dream I hoped it could be eliminated.

While a vacated second personality might still exist perhaps with time it could be forgotten or fade away.  For myself my own painful early personality had become dissociated from myself existing more or less as a parallel universe that had nothing to do with me.

I will spare you the details of our work over the next couple days.  While I think we made progress the work seemed far from done.  There was some means to transfer the memory images from the second personality to the dream life of the first personality that had me baffled.  The purification rites with Hera did seem to remove any sense of responsibility from Angeline’s mind but the memories were still there.

While in her first state she couldn’t consciously remember her activities in the second state still the mind has only one subconscious and that was affected equally by both the first and second states.  The deeper I got into her mind the better I understood her catatonia.  But, it was Friday and time for our luncheon date with Lessing.

As I had devised a plan to possibly foil any spy agents Ragnar had the limo ready at ten.  We drove up to Lessing’s.  While standing in his lobby that I thought could be bugged while Lessing should have been able to recognize strangers I explained that my idea was to take the ferry to Staten Island, rent a car and drive to the abandoned Seaview Asylum where I thought it unlikely that we could be overheard.  I asked Ragnar to call for a rent-a-car as we would have to leave the limo at the Whitehall Terminal. 

Me:  The ride’s on me Lessing.

Ragnar:  Sure. The ferry’s free.

Me:  Aren’t you the spoil sport Ragnar.

Lessing:  Funny.  Lived here all my life and I’ve never been to Staten Island.

Ange:  Me neither.

Me:  I just got here and me neither.  I’m looking forward to it.

Ange:  Any idea how long it takes?

Me:  Five miles, about half an hour.  Ferries leave every half hour.  It’ll be great.  Love the ferries in Seattle.  If you ever get the chance take the ferry through the San Juans.  That’s a wonderful trip.

Lessing:  What are the San Juans?

Me:  They’re a group of five islands I believe, up on the Canadian border.  Small islands but romantic.  You can stay at Friday Harbor on San Juan Island and take the ferry back in the morning.  Great fun.  Plus unlike the Staten Island Ferry you can take your car.

Once aboard Lessing had a puzzling experience.

Lessing:  Hello Angeline.  Do you remember me?

Ange:  I’m sorry, Lessing is it?  I don’t think we’ve ever met.

Lessing:  Strange.  I thought we attended a couple parties together a few years back.

Ange:  I don’t think so.  I’m sure I’d remember someone like you Lessing.

Lessing:  Maybe or maybe not.  But I seem…

Me:  Lessing, I’ll explain as soon as we’re in the car.  This is going to amaze you.

 

Lessing:  That was a wonderful trip.  I don’t know how I could have lived here this long and not have taken it before.

Me:  Bravo, Ragnar.  A Mercedes.  Thoughtful of you; how did you swing that on such short notice?

Ragnar:  We chauffeurs have our ways.

Me:  Great. Punch in Seaview Asylum and let’s get some directions.  This place is supposed to be in central Staten Island.  Ruins.  You’ll love it if you like ruins.

Lessing:  Oh, ruins, yes.  Nothing like a good ruin.  Do they have a ruined restaurant?

Me:  Naw.  We’ll have to stop on the way.  Get something to take along.  If you see a MacDonald’s pull over Ragnar.

Ange:  MacDonald’s?  Don’t you really like Burger King better Partly?

Me:  Not really.  Actually I prefer Jack-In-The-Box but I didn’t think you’d have them out here.  If that’s what you prefer, it’s all right with me.

Lessing:  If I have to, it doesn’t matter one way or the other to me.  I’m not sure that this will be a first with me but close to it.

Ange:  Ooh, a snob.

Lessing:  A man of distinction and taste.

Me:  Oh, come on Lessing, a little plebeianism  won’t hurt you any.  We’ll do some fine dining later.

Lessing:  I believe you said that you and uh…Mrs. Wright ware married Perry.  May I ask how you met and hooked so quickly?

Me:  Why not?  It’s one of those matches made in heaven, Lessing, so far at least.  I was at the Nordstrom’s opening as was Ange, our eyes locked and that was it.

Lessing:  Ha!  I’ve heard of it before but I’ve never seen it.

Ange:  It’s true.  Partly rescued me from a world of desolation and loneliness.  Why do you call Partly Perry?

Lessing:  Because Partly told me to call him Perry.

Ange:  Well, you do have multiple personalities Partly, or is it Perry?

Me:  I’ve only got one, at least only one I use or use consistently, not that I’m trying to be confusing Ange, but I have many facets to the one personality.  For people that don’t know me I adopted Perry because Partly always mystifies people.  For you Ange, I prefer you call me Partly.  I hope we can all keep our identities straight.

Lessing:  But, Angeline, you did work at Barton, Dustbin didn’t you?  You were a pretty good real estate lawyer there.

Ange:  I was a top real estate lawyer there.  Top.  I wrote some of the biggest deals on the East Coast and as far West as Chicago.

Me:  Ooh, that far West?

Lessing:  And you don’t remember me Angeline?

Me:  I’ll have to explain Lessing.  This bears directly on our ability to manage the police and courts.  Now listen carefully Lessing because you might have difficulty believing what you are about to hear.  You are a lawyer and I’m sure you believe the best of your legal fraternity while probably considering Merivale Adelstein to be a good lawyer and a fine man.  You are about to learn differently.  Did you ever hear of a Dr. Wormowitz?

Lessing:  No, I don’t think I know the name.

Me:  Fine.  Now, the period we’re talking about is the late seventies and the eighties here in New York.  Things were Satanic, violent, druggy and sexually insane.  Women’s liberation essentially meant that men could fuck any and all at will.  But sexual relations still had consequences.  The problem for men was how to avoid the consequences.

Merivale and his colleagues at BAAD worked out what has ‘till now the perfect plan seemingly negating any consequences.  The plan was simple.  The women could be hypnotized, indoctrinated and conditioned to be perfect sexual objects.  Party girls.  The girls could be told to remember nothing they did under hypnosis.  Thus BAAD had a cadre of partly girls handy for an afternoon delight when things got frustrating or they were emasculated in a courtroom brawl.

Of course once trained one didn’t want them drifting away so they were given exorbitant salaries to keep them at BAAD.  They were thus getting good workers and party girls for what was really a particularly good price as if they had to hire working girls for their sexual wants the price for those alone would have been far more than their ‘employees’ were being paid.  Thus, the women were actual monarch slaves although not chattel or even obvious slaves as I think you can figure out.

Wormowitz who was Jewish may or may not have been a doctor as he came over from Germany in the thirties and probably lacked any degree nevertheless was an accomplished hypnotist and from practice a fairly knowledgeable psycho-analyst.  BAAD billed him an MD and sent the girls to him as a condition of employment for a physical.  It was he who hypnotized them and began their indoctrination and conditioning.

Ange was one of those monarch slaves.  When she says she doesn’t remember you it is because Angeline I was never at one of those parties; it was as Angeline II.  I hope that clears that up.

Lessing:  I’m sorry Angeline.

Ange:  It was a different time and different place and it didn’t involve me.

Me:  No.  One might say she wasn’t there.  Now Lessing, we have a list of several dozen women who were exploited by the men of BAAD.  We have a list of a couple hundred men, mostly lawyers from BAAD and some few others who might surprise you, including actually, yourself.

There is a whole litany of crimes committed by BAAD here, crimes punishable by good long spells in prison not to mention the destruction of careers and lives, nearly all of them are still alive.

This should get us enough leverage to prevent any of our people not only out of jail but not arrested in the first place.  As police everywhere have been told to stand down when Negroes, Mexicans and whatever have rioted assaulting Whites our own people have now been re-enfranchised and can do what they deem with impunity.

Ragnar:  Bravo, bravo.  We now have no worries.

Me:  Yes, Ragnar, you can turn the troops loose.

Ange:  Boy, this is one spooky place.

Me:  What?  What?  Spookier than you think.  This place was used for conclaves of the Son of Sam conspirators, the Final Judgment people.  Amazing that buildings like this are allowed to go to ruins.  Acres and Acres of what were fine grounds allowed to be overgrown.

Ragnar:  Not overgrown, returned to nature.

Lessing:  Yes, of course.  This is good news Perry.  I can certainly turn it to good effect.

Me:  I hope so.  But we’ll have to be alert for the reaction.  I’m sure Adelstein is a resourceful guy and certainly keen on the self-defense.  I’ve been set-up several times back in Oregon so I know what to look out for.  I don’t know all the tricks but they always use the same ones.  At least this time I know who I’m dealing with and have ample resources.

So, Lessing, how soon can you set them up?

Lessing:  Right away.  I’ll set up a meeting with you, Angeline and myself with Merivale so that he knows that he’s up against the wall.  I’ve got it, Perry, now can we get out of this used up asylum?  Angeline is right the place is too spooky.  I expect to be assaulted by the ghosts of lunatics all the time.

Me:  Yeah, well, the ghosts of lunatics can’t hurt you like the lunatics were going to be dealing with.

 

The conversation continued as we walked back to the car for the return trip to the ferry slip.  Lessing changed the topic as we set out.

Lessing:  There’s a meeting of the Serapion Brethren this Friday Perry, are you coming?

Me:  Yes.  Am I to pick up where I left off?

Lessing:  We prefer to have a different reader at each session, if that’s alright with you.

Me:  Perfect as a matter of fact.  Who’s up?

Lessing:  Max Savings is going to present an essay on the confiscation of the Russian art treasure by the Soviets.

Me:  Sounds great.

Ange:  What is the Serapion Brethren?

Lessing:  It’s a study group Perry and I belong to Angeline.  We meet and discuss any submerged aspect of history.

Ange:  Where did you get the name Lessing?

Lessing:  We borrowed it from a fictional group of the same name created by ETA Hoffman.  Have you read any Hoffman, Angeline?

Ange:  In college we had to read a story by Hoffman I think.  Something about an eccentric jeweler or even crazy, he hated to part with his creations so much he burgled the buyers houses and stole them back.  Creepy.

Lessing:  That one’s called Mademoiselle Scudery.

Ange:  Oh yes.  I remember now.  Are you going to leave me alone Friday night Partly?

Me:  I’ll have to Ange but as Frankie told Johnnie:  I won’t be gone very long.

Ange:  You better come back.

Me:  You and I are one Ange.  You need have no fears.  Don’t be insecure.

Ragnar:  Are you going to help us out establishing our turf Partly?

Me:  Yes.  I’ll start a magazine so we can all keep in touch and stay informed.  I’ll come down tomorrow morning to see where things stand.  But, listen Ragnar and Lessing, remember that Angeline is an accomplished lawyer and she is the key for controlling the legal end so she deserves a full share of respect.  She has things to contribute.

Where do matters rest now?

Ragnar:  We are roughed out in Aryan areas on the East Side from ninety-second down to the Bowery and across town from fifty-second to about seventieth but maybe a little higher and lower.  Madison, Park and Fifth are free passageways we have to allow.  We avoid the subways.

There have been some serious clashes and some of our guys are in the jug.  We want them out.

Me:  How is it going on the legal end Lessing?

Lessing:  With our present organization we’ve been able to keep them in Manhattan but we haven’t been able to get them out.  Angeline’s info will strengthen us greatly.  Adelstein himself is powerful and his connections can get things done.

Me:  Hmm.  Angeline can call him and have him meet her- that is at her apartment.  The rest will fall out.  You don’t have anything important doing tomorrow night do you Lessing?

Lessing:  No, I’m free.

 

By now, we were back aboard the ferry for the return trip.  Passing a newsstand I grabbed a paper.  I hadn’t been able to keep up for the last several days while tending Ange.  The news was eye popping.

Me:  My goodness.  Look at the pictures of Chicago in flames.  Is this 1871 revisted?

Lessing:  Where have you been Perry?  That mess started three days ago.

Me:  I was otherwise employed.

Ange:  Let me see that Partly.

Me:  So a major revolt has begun in Chicago?  Is this just a riot or what? 

Ragnar:  More than a riot; it’s fighting for real.  Our guys are on the alert.

Lessing:  the papers only give a hint as to what is going down.  It’s really bad.  The carnage is going to be terrible.

It started on the South side when some Blacks attacked a police station.  When reinforcements were sent the whole place erupted.  The West Side and all areas joined in.  Lines of citizens have formed around Black areas where possible.  Constant shooting across lines but apparently infra-Black areas are wars of Blacks against Blacks.  The killing is intense.

As you know there are no grocery stores across the lines so food is already short.  ‘Humanitarian’ White groups are gathering food but the problem is how to get it through the lines.  The ‘humanitarians’ are shot down as soon as they come within range….

Me:  Started three days ago!  Lordy,  bodies must really be hitting the ground .  Which reminds me, has anyone thought of securing our food supplies?

Ragnar:  How’s that?

Me?  Land deliveries can be cut off easily since the Bronx is controlled by the Negroes.  So we should secure water routes across the Hudson and East Rivers, barges or something; and also exit routes if needed.

We should block deliveries into the Moslem area to starve them out.  Turn off the gas, water and electricity.  This could get serious.  We should also raid a military base or two, Ragnar, for fire arms, ammo, grenades and grenade launchers and anti-tank devices.  Machine guns.

Obama hasn’t called out the army to suppress the Chicago insurrection  but he will do it against we Whites so it’s best to best to be prepared.

There’s a bright spot here though-- the Stock Market is up a hundred twenty points, we can still pay the rent.

Lessing:  How long is that going to last, I wonder.

Me:  Quite a while I suspect, Lessing.  The Negro concentrations are all in our major cities fairly tightly confined.  Of all we useless feeders the Negroes are the most useless of all.  There is no economy in those areas to disrupt.  So life can function fairly normally outside those areas.

Even during WWII people fought desperately to go on normally.  You would think something like publishing would stop but, I more or less collect books published during WWII, publishing went on close to normal.  Almost hadn’t skipped a beat as things resumed immediately right after the war.

So, there may not be a serious reduction of means outside the Negro cities.

Lessing:  You may be right.  I’ll have to consider things in that light.

Me:  Accentuate the positive, Lessing, accentuate the positive.

Ange:  I had no idea you had such a grim sense of humor, Partly.

Me:  You should have been in the orphanage with us Angelina.  I had my early training for this there.  I’ve been ready for the worst all my life.

Ah well, here we are, Keep your cell phone on Lessing.  I’m going to try to set something up for tomorrow.

Drop us off on the way to Lessing’s, Ragnar.  We’ll need you tomorrow.

 

I won’t say Chicago was a surprise.  First the collection of the Rebbes and then an insurrection in Chicago.   I suppose Obama was surprised at it as we’ve fought back.  Well, you know you can only push so hard and then the hot heads take over.  We were into it now.  Things should really escalate rapidly.  I hope we can keep order within our areas here in New York City.  We can’t let law deteriorate but from now on it is our law, not Negro law, Shariia or Jewish law, but our law.

 

Me:  Sweetheart, it’s time we put our plan in action.

Ange:  I’m ready Dearest Partly.

Me:  Alright.  Call Adelstein and invite him over to your condo tomorrow night, seven o’ clock.  I’ll call Lessing to be present and I think it would be wise to have Ragnar along.  I have conditioned your other mind upon the signal to attack Adelstein with all your fury.  I have instructed Ange II to desist at a voice command.  You, as Ange I, know it too.

I will allow you to punish him as severely as possible but as we need him for our plans you’ll stop short of murder.  Besides dead he wouldn’t suffer the humiliation he will have to.  The difference between your unearned humiliation  and his is that he’ll be conscious of it.  So, tomorrow is The Day.

I’m going to go cook something to eat while you call Adelstein.

 

Our preparations are in place.  The morrow will find us waiting for the appearance of Adelstein at Angeline’s.

Lessing, Ragnar and myself waited in the kitchen as the doorbell sounded.  This was a big moment for Angeline while curiously it was a big moment for me.  As Ange represented my own Anima in Ange’s getting her revenge, through her I was getting a little of mine back too.  Along with a very large minority of the country’s population I hated lawyers.  I saw them as the very scum of the earth.

I knew the type from high school.  Nearly everyone I detested had become a lawyer.  Curiously enough the detestation was mutual, they scorned me as I loathed them.  Peculiar circumstances from my childhood prevented me from hating anyone but if I had been able to hate I would have hated them heartily.

I was able to avoid contact with lawyers until I got into business in Oregon.  When you’re in business you’re a target; it becomes unavoidable that you will become very familiar with lawyers, the extortionate bastards.

It was then when I was drawn into the system that I became aware of what kind of men- and women- lawyers are.  I would say a full half of them are full blown psychotics of which Adelstein was a prime example, they and the rest of them look upon law as a racket in which you extort money from simpletons who they make sure have no defense.

If it is thought I think of lawyers as criminals that is correct.  They are the third part of the criminal system, sometimes erroneously referred to as the justice system.  They are base men and women armed to the teeth.  Way off back at the beginning of the nineteenth century, when a group of working men called the IWW, Industrial Workers of the World, nicknamed the Wobblies, were resisting the inhumane working conditions in the woods, logging that is, they naturally clashed with the police and law.  The lawyers of Portland Oregon all swore a mighty oath never to give legal assistance to a Wobbly.  This was of course in violation of the Constitution of the United States or, in fact, the Law.  Nevertheless no Portland lawyer ever defended a Wobbly in Court.

Now, a mid-century counterpart of the Wobblies were the people called Hippies.  As latter day Wobblies we were placed outside the law.  No hippy was ever given a defense although hypocritical lawyers took the money and then negotiated the lowest sentence the accused would get.  This isn’t the place to get into it but let’s just say a lot of people who should have been in jail were immune to charges if you get me.

I had started a record store and I did very well.  At that time in the late Sixties marijuana, the chief offender in the popular mind, was spreading into the middle classes.  Marijuana and drugs were associated with record stores ipso facto.  As a store owner I was also characterized as a drug dealer and much worse.  As such I was denied any services such as insurance while I was barely able to get electricity and was able to clear the streets as people moved aside to avoid possible contact.

I survived all efforts to shut me down, was forced to move the store several times as agreements were broken, with no recourse.  I was forced to walk a very narrow line as any deviation from the very straightest and narrowest would have landed me in court where lawyers were sworn to not represent me unless to turn the trial into a kangaroo court.

This violated everything about America I had been conditioned to believe.  Many ridiculous petty charges were brought against me, some of which no lawyer would handle but some of which landed me in court where I was compelled to pay a lawyer for essentially lynching me.  In one case I had merely opened my mouth to protest when the judge looked at me sternly and bawled:  One more word out of you and I’ll have you for contempt of court.  And he would have too.  I had to sit quietly while my fate was pronounced.  It only involved a trifling fine in the case but my hatred for lawyers and judges was set in stone.  Now, not only would Judge Adelstein pay a big ‘fine’ to Angeline but I was going to get mine back in a big way.

As may be imagined when Lessing, Ragnar and I emerged from the kitchen area into the living room Adelstein was non-plussed. Looking first at Lessing, who he knew very well, then at Ragnar, then at me he exclaimed:  ‘You’re the fellow I challenged outside the door a week or so ago.  What’s going on here Lessing?  What do you have to with him?  Who is he?’

Lessing:  He’s an acquaintance Merivale.  As you know recent political developments have been quite startling.  There are racial disturbances all across the country while here in the city racial territories have formed with our Whites staking our claim for mid-island.  So far the authorities haven’t understood.  They are disputing our claims while Negro and Moslem claims have been accepted.

Our people are being arrested while theirs haven’t.  We’re asking you to balance equity.  We want our boys released and to remain unmolested.  As a believer in fairness and justice may we count on you to act in our interests?

Adelstein:  Why those people to whom you refer are White Supremacists.  There will never be peace until Whiteness is removed from the face of the earth.  Why those White Supremacists are even expelling Jews from mid-city.

Ragnar:  They aren’t being expelled; they’re leaving on their own.  We don’t have anything to do with it.

Adelstein:  Nonsense, there will never be peace until Whiteness is removed from the earth.

 

Here Ange, Ragnar, Lessing and myself made scoffing noises.

 

Lessing:  I was hoping you wouldn’t force our hand Merivale.

Adelstein:  I will absolutely not release any White Supremacists.  What do you mean by force my hand?

Seeing the futility of arguing with Adelstein at that point I gave my ear a tug.

It is difficult for me to describe this but Ange caught my signal only from the corner of her eye as she was staring fixedly at Adelstein.  It seemed like the air exploded with the fury of her response.  I don’t know if I actually was but I felt like I was knocked back on my heels.

Adelstein had no time to anticipate Ange’s assault.  She leaped like a tigress with a piercing shriek on him simultaneously raking both sides of his face with her nails from temple to chin while knocking him to the floor.  She leaped on his chest in the most undignified manner on her knees pummeling with triple strength at his face.  I’m sure his nose went at the first blow.

Hitting and scratching the white carpet began turning red beneath his head as the blood flowed copiously.  Damn, I thought, we probably will never get the rug clean, have to buy a new carpet.

Just then Adelstein shrieked:  My eye, my eye.  Ange had only caught him by the corner so no real damage but as his nose was wobbling right left and back again I thought it best to call Ange off before she killed the bastard.  Not that I objected but dead he would be no use to us while a murder trial might make us look bad.

‘Enough’ Ange’ I cried hoping she would remember to respond to my voice command while I was trying to maneuver to where she could see me tugging at my left ear.  Fortunately she responded to voice command backing away spitting and snarling, shouting epithets at the bastard.  She was terrific; how I loved her. 

Having been abused by Adelstein and his band since she was twenty-five you may be sure she had pent up resentments probably conscious in both identities.  How I admired her but how ashamed I was that I had to make her appear so unladylike.  Still for her mental comfort she needed that revenge.

Merivale was rolling around on the floor screaming ‘My eye, my eye’ when there was really nothing very much wrong with it, just a small tear at the corner of the lid.  He should have been shouting my nose, my nose; he was going to have a hell of a time explaining those shiners.

I asked Ragnar to set him on his feet so we could get on with it.  Ragnar grabbed him at the shirt front and like a feather pulled him up and stood him on his brogans.  Boy, I hated those shoes.  What evil memories of guys walking around in those shoes I had from my young manhood.  I’d always been the loafer type.

Me:  Calm down, calm down Adelstein, it’s not that bad and we have business to discuss

Adelstein:  (ignoring or not hearing me)  What the fuck’s the matter with you bitch?

Me: Now, now Adelstein I can’t tolerate being called a bitch.

Adelstein:  Not you ass, her.

In her own persona, the violence of her acts must have melded both personas.  Ange actually spit in his face calling him a eunuch and bastard.  Eunuch?  Hmm, well maybe that was the ultimate insult in Ange’s situation.  I hate spitting and I really hate to see women spit especially Ange as she was such an integral part of me.  It was as though I spit.

Between the two then the air resonated lightning with seeming thunder rolls for several minutes.  I became aware of myself breathing hard when Lessing made a pass with his hand in the air between Ange and Merivale that seemed to calm the storm.  Until as coming from afar could be heard his voice soothing:  ‘Calm down, Merivale, calm down.  We have to explain our terms to you.  Listen, listen.’

I had to laugh to myself when he told Adelstein to calm down while Ange was still fuming at him, making threatening moves at him even in her own persona.  I moved over, put my arms around her and tried to comfort her.  A little petting and she sank into my arms against me suddenly exhausted, relieved, but exhausted.

I suppose Adelstein must have been almost in shock as he was bleeding from deep scratches all over his face.  Ragnar grabbed a roll of toilet paper and threw it to him.  The paper brought him around some as he dabbed his face wincing as he brushed his nose.  I don’t know how much pleasure Ange got from his agony oh, but it did my heart good as I silently laughed deep within my breast.

Agonized needless to say Adelstein dabbed until recovering his wits sufficiently he turned his face toward Lessing and asked:  ‘What the fuck arrangements are you talking about Farquhar?’  This was my cue.

Me:  We want your cooperation and assistance Judge in the freeing of any of our men arrested at the first hearing and your cooperation in preventing charges from being brought.

Adelstein:  Never.  Those men you refer to are White Supremacists and deserve the worst they can get.  White Supremacism has to be wiped out.

Lessing:  Take a moment Merivale.  Take a moment and think.  The list of charges that can be brought against your firm, your colleagues and yourself will likely fill pages.  These women have been treated criminally; they were essentially slaves without a will of their own.  They couldn’t say no.  As you know Merivale the prejudice of the Court is always in the woman’s favor; you don’t have a chance.

From the moment of filing charges, that I have already written up, the reputation of you and your firm will be destroyed.  You personally will be thrown out of your clubs.  Restaurants will refuse to serve you.  You’ll never eat lunch in this town again.  The charges are heavy charges in multiple counts.  White slavery charges alone could get net you two or three life sentences.  I could list more but do you really want to risk the penalties by refusing our very reasonable requests.

 

Adelstein was still dabbing at his bloody face while in real agony over his nose and eye.  Now Lessing threw real fear into him; we had irrefutable evidence, damning evidence.  We waited patiently as Adelstein dabbed.

Adelstein:  Alright.  I’ll apply whatever influence I can.

Me:  Not good enough we don’t want you to apply pressure, we want results now.

Adelstein:  I’m only a judge, Federal not State or City.  I have jurisdictional limits.

Lessing:  Stop it, Merivale.  You know your influence is distributed throughout the system.  Your word alone can advance or stop any career.  Perry is right.  Either you do it or we file.  I already have the papers drawn up.  We have pages and pages of offenses; don’t be a fool Merivale.  You’ve a wife and kids.

Adelstein:  I never thought you…oh, alright I’ll issue instructions not to book your people too.

Me:  Today.  We want our men out.

Adelstein:  My G-d man, can’t you see I’m in agony.  For G-d’s sake get me to a hospital.

Ange:  Your god doesn’t exist.  No, you bastard.  You get your own self to the hospital.  Suffer, suffer, suffer.  I hate you, you bastard.  I hate every time you touched me.  I hat the very sight of you.  Get out of my condo!  Now!

 

Adelstein was suffering but I couldn’t feel sorry for him.  I was almost sorry I called Angeline off but I couldn’t let her kill him.  He staggered out the door.

 

Ragnar:  Nice work, Miss Gower.  Do you think he will get our boys out Mr. Farquhar?

Lessing:  Yes I do.  He’ll have to have his injuries doctored today but I’ll call him in the morning to prompt him.  You can tell your men they’re safe from the Courts; I won’t call it the law.  We’re into this new phase of warfare where words are being redefined.

Me:  I have an appointment at James Carter in a couple days so I should have an account from Goldbladder.

There should be a renewed attempt to penetrate our ranks Ragnar.  Keep a sharp lookout.  Adelstein may have to comply but he won’t take this lying down.  They’re wily fellows; remember the Amalekites.

All three:  Remember the Amalekites?  What’s that supposed to mean?

Me:  Oh, when the Hebrews were on their way to the Promised Land from Egypt they asked the Amalekites for permission to cross their territory rather than take the long way around.  The Amalekites refused.  The Hebrews took the refusal as an injury and didn’t forget so decades later after they had consolidated their power they returned to exterminate the Amalekites root and branch as the Bible tells it.

Today was a declaration of war between the Jews and us.  They will come at us any way they can, they won’t let up, they won’t forget.  It will be and already is a war of extermination; I don’t know how long things will take to develop but don’t forget the Amalekites.

Ange:  You know this and you’re still going to James Carter?

Me:  They won’t do anything direct at this time Ange.  They’ll want to shift the guilt to us.  Meanwhile hopefully we’ll get more info from them than they get from me.  Abe and I are almost buddies anyway. 

Ragnar:  I don’t think so.

Me:  That was joke, Ragnar, that was a joke.  Don’t be so literal.

 

Ange and I were talking over soup and a glass of white wine, a Riesling.

Me:  Well, Ange, you have had your revenge, how was it?

Ange:  Good but not as good as I expected but now I’m having hallucinations.

Me:  Yes.  What kind.

Ange:  It’s like I can see over a wall or maybe through those glass blocks. Terrifying visions. I’m afraid.

Me:  Don’t be afraid; you can’t be hurt.  I’ve been trying to break down the division between your two identities and unify them into one so that you have your whole life and no dark spaces.  Maybe your encounter with Adelstein opened the way a little.  Don’t fight it but let the barriers fall.  The first rush may overwhelm your senses but just remember they are only memories.

Ange:  Oh, but, Partly, what must you think of me?  I’m afraid you won’t love me anymore.

Me:  Of course I’ll always love you Ange, you are half of me.  Hera will welcome you as redeemed; you are her cherished daughter.  As her priest I rejoice in your recovery.

You must understand Ange that you are innocent of any guilt and as such you need have no shame although possibly regrets.  And I am here to truly love you.

I am familiar with your situation myself.  It has taken me decades Ange to realize I was under a post hypnotic suggestion, a hypnotic spell from the second grade to perhaps seventy years of age although to a weakening degree.  The reasons for my behavior have only been known to me for a few years.  It was only when I came to understand hypnosis and hypnotic suggestion that I understood.

In kindergarten, 1943, some Negro kids were let in school to the great resentment of parents and hence their kids.  On the first day, at recess, they were told to sit on the sandbox and not move.  I was already an outcast because of things that happened in my neighborhood so I objected to their treatment and offered to help them fight for their rights.  They refused and that left me hanging out.  It was late in the year so I was told that they would get me next year.

They had to wait for the second grade as I was transferred to a different school in the first grade.  At recess they were waiting for me.  About twelve boys and girls of the elite formed a semi-circle around me and glared hatred at me while Morford berated me on my sin.  Then I was told to stand on one foot for the duration of recess which I did.  Then I was told to put my foot down and that I was their nigger now.

In a state of terror with all defenses down I was actually hypnotized although they may or may not have been aware of it, their parents that is, and the post-hypnotic suggestion that I was their nigger mirroring the Negro kids sitting on the sand box, was implanted so that in similar situations I had no resistance and did what nearly anyone told me to do mirroring standing on one foot.

This went on all my life even after integrating my personality at forty-two until I could recognize and reject my post-hypnotic suggestion in my early seventies.  So, Honey, I understand completely.  My Anima was destroyed at that time also but now that I have found you, I’m complete.  You are me; I am you.  I rejoice that you’re recovering.

But now you must be especially wary.  When Adelstein recovers he will come to avenge your assault.  His kind never acknowledge their crimes but only resent the revenges.  So tomorrow night I have to attend the New Serapions and under no circumstances are you to answer the door.  If the fire alarm goes off ignore it there will be no fire.  I will call a couple times to reassure you and will call from the lobby on the way up.  Is that clear?

Ange:  Yes, darling Partly.  I won’t open the door no matter what.  I will call you if anything happens.

Me:  Exactly, Ange, my darling girl.

And so, here I am sitting in Lessing’s living room.

 

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