Previous Installments-
Part One
Prologue and Chapters I-X
Part Two
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
PartThree
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Radu-Chapter XXIX (A Novel by Patrick Kelley)
9 pages approximate
Radu-Chapter XXIX
Father Alexandrieu Khoska should have been aware of the dangers of keeping his niece confined within the small room of the Church Of The Blessed Sacrament. Still, what other choice did he have? He could have certainly had her hospitalized, or committed, but the long-term result would doubtless be the same. After another long period of recovery, she would then relapse into yet another assault by whatever spiritual force yet again laid claim to her soul.
The marks on her neck had been unmistakable. The most unholy of all forces to walk among the living sought her for its very own. He alone had the power to prevent this from occurring, but his faith was not what it was once.
Only one time in his life had he been witness to something remotely similar as what recently befell his niece Lynette. A man had lost his wife, who claimed on her deathbed to be a victim of her husband’s malicious intent. When she died, however, no autopsy provided evidence of the poisoning of which she accused him.
Following her burial, a remarkable series of heinous events occurred involving the couple’s three children. One by one, the three of them, two girls and a boy, died. They each died slowly, and separately, and the man gradually drank himself into a continual stupor.
One night following the death of the last and youngest child, the man presented himself to Khoska, and confessed to the crime of poisoning his wife. Khoska listened as the man related how the woman came to him in his dreams, but he resisted her claims upon him.
He gave the man absolution, as he felt he surely had suffered more than enough from the deaths of all his children. He took pity on the man, as Khoska in his younger days was sentimental and tender hearted. The man obviously suffered greatly of spirit and conscience, besides which his wife had become the neighborhood strumpet, openly carousing with any man of the slightest authority within the environs of Ploesti.
That night Khoska found himself tormented by the demonic ravings of innumerable hellish voices. One time, he imagined he saw the faces of the children themselves at his window, howling and clawing at the windows, and then the doors, like savage beasts. Khoska fell to his knees and prayed for forgiveness for his ill-advised leniency to the man. He learned that night that forgiveness, while guaranteed to all who seek it, does not come without a price-nor does it grant freedom from retribution.
The next day, Khoska learned the man was later the same night ripped to shreds in his own home. Not one of his neighbors heard his screams, nor did they report any signs of intruders or visitors. The local Ploesti authorities investigated the crime briefly, but nothing ever came of it.
Khoska applied later for permission to have the man buried in a plot far from his victimized wife and her children, and conducted a ritual of exorcism on behalf of all of them. He was amazed the officials of Ploesti acceded to his request. He understood of course that it had nothing to do with their capacity for belief so much as a willingness to account for the superstitions of the family’s neighbors and surviving relatives.
At the same time, Khoska knew he had brought unwelcome attention to himself, and realized his activities could easily fall under suspicion. Various low-level officials, tentatively for spiritual advice sought him out, though he was careful not to put his foot in his mouth.
Before long, the authorities, who quite naturally never took it seriously to begin with, forgot the allegedly supernatural occurrence. They never forgot Khoska, however, and soon they turned more to him not so much for spiritual advice, but for reasons that were more mundane.
Khoska’s father was retired by now from the church, and found work that was more acceptable, in the teaching profession. His mother as well found employment in that capacity. Aleksandre never wavered in his devotion to the church. His grandfather also remained steadfastly devoted to Christ, and to the Orthodox religion, and proved a steady rock onto which Khoska anchored his faith.
His grandfather, however, was not a realist. Khoska was, and determined that he would do the most good he could do, even if that meant, from time to time, a compromise of certain principles. He felt compelled to remind his grandfather once that not all Christians in the early days refused to waver from the dictates of their consciences, in fact most of them did from time to time. If they had not, the lions would have fed on all of them, and Christianity would have forever vanished.
He was in a bind. He told himself that a traitor deserved no leniency, any more than a wife killer did. If someone expressed disloyalty to the regime, why should such a person deserve his protection? He prayed greatly over his dilemma, until he received the answer he needed.
The communists wanted him to travel to America, where he could become a citizen, and start his own branch of the church. He would attract a devoted following of Romanian exiles, who would supply him with information on the activities of their relatives in the mother country. Khoska would have a contact at the embassy in Washington, who would forward all the information he delivered. He would receive a respectable stipend for his work, of course, in addition to whatever he made of his own volition.
They expected him to do more than wait for information, of course. It was incumbent on him to seek out information. In the meantime, he need not fear for the welfare of his family who remained in Romania. The state would provide for them. They also assured him that they would never know the extent of his activities. In fact, they could possibly serve as a useful conduit were they to not be aware.
Khoska discovered it was an easy process indeed. Never did he know the results of his work, until the death of Nicolai Moloku, who celebrated the death of Romanian dictator Gheorghiu Dej too heartily. Three days after his block party, unknown persons shot him down in front of his home while leaving for work. He only recently discovered that he was not to blame for this, but Moloku’s own step-son was complicit. At the same time, he had to wonder, if in fact he had played somewhat of a role in events leading up to the man’s murder.
He fell into despair at the initial time of Moloku’s murder, the likes of which he never had known, and determined to end it. He found himself sick of the whole sorry business, and began to ponder the earlier consequences of his actions. Many people in the old country Khoska informed on seemed to have vanished without a trace, while yet others the state arrested on what seemed mainly trumped up charges.
Many others shared his suspicions, unfortunately. A great many of his parishioners began drifting away from him, and the money started to dry up. He still received his regular stipend from the Romanian government, which he began to put away.
His grandfather died sometime later, and sent him a long letter, detailing his involvement with Cornelius Codreanu, the former messianic leader of the Iron Guard in those days prior to the Second World War. Khoska was amazed. Codreanu was considered insane, a man who believed himself-or so he told his many followers-an incarnation of the Archangel Michael. Yet, the Iron Guard was a ruthlessly violent fascist organization. They were virulently anti-Semitic. When subordinates of General Antonescu, a rival fascist leader, assassinated Codreanu and thirteen of his followers in prison, the Nazi government of Hitler’s Germany was the most aggressive at protesting this action undertaken ostensibly on behalf of the government of King Carol II.
What possibly could his grandfather have to do with the likes of this man? As Khoska continued to read the long, rambling letter, he discovered this in fact was the reason for his father and grandfathers falling out years before. His grandfather reminded him in the letter of how his mother, at the time near death, delivered him and yet survived, and also recovered from her long illness, the same night of Codreanu’s death. His grandfather claimed this was at the intercession of Archangel Michael. Indeed, according to him, that celestial being inhabited the form of Cornelius Codreanu, who seemed to blame the Jews for all the ills of Romania, and the world.
Had his grandfather been as insane as Codreanu, he wondered? He had to wonder at the ancient parchment written centuries before, and the vials of grayish white powder that were, according to his grandfather, the bones of Codreanu. Together with the blood of the Crucified Lord and the tears of the Virgin, they could destroy any evil-even Radu, described in the parchment as the “Dragon of Desolation”.
He knew even then, of course, who Radu was-the most vile of all spirits, chief among those who may inhabit not only the bodies of the living, but reanimate the corpses of those who have passed on, taking control of their innermost thoughts, emotions, and memories as they do so. Their curse is to securely walk in neither life nor death, and bring destruction to all they despoil, as they feed upon the flesh and blood of those who are unrighteous. Only the cross can repel them, or the light of the sun, or the presence of garlic. Their deaths may only be in practical terms accomplished by a wooden stake through the heart. This was the only manner by which to prevent their accursed blood from regenerating. Even then, the stake must remain in place long enough for their evil hearts to become sufficiently decayed. It was considered most appropriate to destroy their bodies after death, preferably by burning them, following decapitation, lest the stake be removed too quickly.
Khoska never believed those old myths. That was until the incident with the accursed family in Ploesti. Even then, he put it out of his mind. His faith tested severely, he considered himself delusional for a brief period. He began to feel his grandfather had perhaps suffered the same monstrous delusion, all the while keeping it secret.
He now this night told all this in the form of a confession to his son Michael, who listened intently, betraying very little emotion, though at various intervals his eyes would narrow. One time Khoska thought he heard him gasp. Nevertheless, he remained quiet until Aleksandre finished his story.
“So what ever became of the woman?” he asked. “And the children-what ever became of them?”
“What do you mean what became of them?” Khoska answered. “Following the exorcism I conducted over their graves, they returned to the hell from which they came, I would assume.”
“So the children, like their mother, are in hell to this day, and will be forever?” Michael asked, obviously aghast. “Father, forgive me but that is a horrible thought. They were mere children. How old do you say they were again?”
“Well, the oldest was fourteen,” Khoska replied. “I believe the youngest, the boy, was nine, to the best of my recollection. There are millions of people in hell, Michael, more like billons in fact, and I have no doubt there will be billions more eventually. Why would you, a priest, be in such consternation over these three in particular?”
“I find it hard to believe God would send the souls of children to hell-especially at the age of nine,” Michael said.
“Well, that is not for you or I either one to judge,” Khoska replied. “Whatever dark path the woman set her children upon is responsible for their ultimate fate, not God.”
Michael shook his head with a smile that betrayed a beleaguered incredulity.
“I am sorry, poppa,” he said, “but this sounds to me to be on the order of some old wives tale peasants used to tell around the hearth at night to keep their children well-behaved, not something that a priest of today would tell as a true story.”
“Well, it is a true story,” Khoska said, struggling to keep his patience. “Believe me, it is not one that I tell for the fun of it, or for dramatic effect. In fact, you are the first person I have told it to, after more than fifty years, I will have you know. I would not have told it now was it not for the fact that it is indeed very relevant to things that are happening now. What happened to Lynette”-
“Does Phillip know about this?” he asked.
“No, and if I have my way about it he never shall,” Aleksandre answered.
“If he did,” Michael said with a shrug, “perhaps he would be more understanding, not so quick to cast aspersions upon you. He all but holds you responsible, which is grossly unfair. Still yet, Lynette was his daughter, and he deserves to know, I would think.”
Khoska seemed to consider Michaels argument, which to Khoska’s oldest son seemed of great merit. Michael knew his father well enough, however, to know he was not taking the time to consider the point. He was more than likely putting extraordinary time and effort towards demonstrating how his argument was irrelevant.
“Phillip, understand?” he finally said. “No, Phillip will never understand. He would be forced to admit that there is something in this world that is greater than himself in order to do that. No, I am afraid I would only infuriate him even more. He would put such an explanation down to the ravings of a senile, superstitious old fool, and that would be that. The day Phillip finally believes, I am very much afraid will be the day he feels the flames of hell licking away him. Then of course, it will be too late. Nevertheless, he will believe it then. We used to have a saying at the seminary. ‘Those who do not believe in God have a big surprise coming their way.’”
“That hardly seems a valid argument in the way of convincing an unbeliever,” Michael said. “Nevertheless, you have convinced me of one thing. I should definitely stay here a bit longer.”
“There is really no need of that,” Khoska said. “You still have your own duties to attend to, and you really can’t expect Jonathon to continue this ridiculous subterfuge you and he have cooked up.”
“There is no need in that,” Michael replied. “Jonathon will be returning home after the week. I have put in for a transfer here. The Archbishop has all but approved it. I am sure his approval is a mere formality. When he finally grants it, he will appoint my replacement in New Jersey. It is all settled.”
Khoska looked at him in amazement as a sudden crack of thunder heralded an approaching storm, the steady rain of the last hour a mere portent of a larger one coming. Even now, as they sat in the church in front of the icon of Michael the Archangel, they could hear the rain falling faster and harder, as the darkening skies outside seemed to infiltrate the small church in which they took only a fleeting refuge.
“Father, when did you last check the attic in this place?” Michael asked. “I could have sworn I felt a drop of rain hit my head.”
“So you put in for a transfer, and obviously intend to stay here, and you just now are letting me in on this,” Khoska observed.
Michael took a deep breath and removed his glasses. He looked at his father sternly.
“I don’t know how much of this you have told me is true,” he explained. “All I know is, if it is true, you obviously need my help. If it is not true, you obviously need my help even more. Whatever the case, I am staying.”
“Oh, well now, the Archbishop, that old windbag-how much of this does he know?” Khoska asked. “You do know he wants me gone from here, do you not? He says the Church here in Baltimore is a needless expenditure, that it serves no useful purpose, and that I serve no useful purpose. I think he is rather outraged the prior Archbishop and the one before him guaranteed its maintenance throughout the duration of my life. He is constantly urging me to move along, even suggesting there are retirement homes that would be to my liking. So, is that what all this is about?”
“No, Father, no one wants to be rid of you,” Michael replied sadly. “What problems you have had with our current Archbishop I have no part in. I certainly am not on his side. In fact, I admit, I used to think you wasted yourself in this place. Baltimore has a Catholic history and culture, and this church is so out of place here I could never fathom why you come here to begin with. One would be hard-pressed to find a city where a Romanian Orthodox Church would be more out of place than this one. I suppose it might be a little more appropriate than the Vatican-or Mecca, perhaps. Otherwise, I have long wondered why you remain here, with no useful work to perform, no parishioners whose needs you might see to. More lonely and bereft of meaning an existence, for a man of your obvious faith and devotion, I could never envision.
“Well, now I see what it has all been about. It is all over a Romania folk tale-a legend. So, even if it is true, why here-why Baltimore?”
“This is where they came to one hundred twenty years ago,” Khoska answered. “This is where they have remained. I do not know why they came here, to tell you the truth. All I know is, they came here, and this is where he is to manifest. When he does, I have to be ready for him. If I do not destroy him, his evil will spread outward from here. When it does, the seat of world power is within short driving distance of here. So, Michael, you tell me-what is there I have to fear? My only fear now is one of failure. That is all. If I fail to stop this evil, the result will be unthinkable.”
Michael looked at him in amazement. He honestly wondered now if perhaps his father was losing his mind.
“So then, what would he do, turn all the Congress and Washington bureaucrats into vampires? Some might say he is a little late for that. Really, poppa, this is so ludicrous. It saddens me that you have wasted so many years on this delusional supposition.”
“It is not about vampires, Michael,” Khoska said impatiently and dismissively. “There are no vampires. There are only demons-and, yes, delusions.”
“Then what are we talking about?” Michael asked as he found his own patience nearly exhausted.
“We are talking about walking death,” Khoska replied angrily with a hiss. “We are talking about hell on earth.”
“Oh, well that certainly explains it,” Michael said as he slapped his right thigh. Khoska sighed and looked at his son with profound sadness.
“Very well, then, I will explain it,” he said. “When I do so, will you please leave? I mean it, Michael. Please go back to New Jersey. It is not safe here.”
“I’ll think about it,” Michael said firmly. “One thing I definitely promise you is I am going nowhere if you do not tell me.”
Suddenly, the phone rung, at which a frustrated Michael rose.
“I’ll answer it,” he said. “If it takes you as long to get to the office as it does to tell me the truth, whoever that is will hang up before you get halfway there.”
As he left, Khoska wondered if he should tell him anything. Why should he? He would doubtless not believe him, which would be understandable. Half of what he had to say Khoska himself did not believe. Stories of vampires, of reanimated corpses, of bargains made in the dead of night with soul-devouring demons, may have at one time served some greater good, but now they served merely to provide a gorgon’s mask type of prophylactic over what was a greater and even more unnerving truth. There were true demons, ruled by the Prince of the Power of The Air, demons who stood waiting to lay waste to all humanity, and who had no concept of mercy or goodness. They simply existed to destroy, and stood ready and waiting for their opportunity to do so. Once they were unleashed, nothing could stop them or prevent them from doing what was, after all, in their nature to perform.
“Father,” Michael suddenly said from the doorway. Khoska looked toward him to see that he looked very unnerved.
“That is my wife, calling from New Jersey,” he said. “I might be a few minutes.”
“Is there a problem?” Khiska asked.
“Just a family matter,” he said. “I’ll try not to be long.”
He let this hang in the air shortly, and when Khoska made no response, he disappeared back from the doorway. Good, Khoska thought, she wants him to drop this foolishness and return home, as a husband should do. As he waited, Khoska walked the length of the church from the altar to the door, and checked the lock. The door secured, he went about the task of putting out the candles. One by one, he extinguished them, until there was soon no more than seven left lit.
He kneeled and said a quick prayer to the Blessed Virgin, and then to the Crucified Christ, and then to the Risen Lord. He glanced briefly at the statue of the Archangel Michael, that entity he had named the oldest of his twin sons after. The icon seemed to look at him now judgmentally.
“Yes, that was a mistake, was it not?” Aleksandre said, when suddenly there was a knock at the door. He looked out the peephole and saw it was Agnes, finally arrived from Romania, though more than two weeks late at that. She looked to be struggling to secure her suitcase and purse from the ravages of the cold night rain that now poured down around her as she barely managed to shelter herself under the overhead portico of the doorway. Overcoming his shock, he hurriedly opened the door.
“Agnes, why did you not call me?” Aleksandre asked. “What if I had not been here or asleep in my bed?”
“For God’s sake, poppa, just let me in, all right?” she answered. “I’m drowning out here, and freezing.”
Agnes hurriedly entered the church as Khoska reached for her heaviest bag, and yet his youngest child resisted this gallant impulse on his part.
“That one might be a little much,” she protested. “Here, take this smaller one. I guess it’s a good thing the others are yet at the airport.”
“What others?” Khoska asked.
“The children’s belongings, of course,” she said, and immediately caught the dumbfounded look on Khoska’s face.
“Michael didn’t tell you, I take it,” she observed.
“You have children?” he asked, obviously puzzled at the abruptness of this revelation.
“No, poppa, I have not abandoned my vows yet,” she said. “I brought over some of the children from the orphanage-seven of them, in fact. They are mainly girls, though two of them are boys.”
Khoska was beside himself. Of all the possible times, this was the absolute worse to be bringing children.
“Surely you do not mean to keep them here,” he said as he tried to restrain his immediate consternation at such a development.
“Of course not,” she said. “They are to be housed temporarily at a home in the suburbs, run by a qualified caregiver provided by the Church. They are children slated for adoption into American homes, and where they now are will be a kind of halfway house. That was the reason I could not come right away. The church has been making these arrangements. There was quite a bit of red tape to wade through. The children are very fortunate. Most orphans in Romania never leave the state facilities until they are grown. The state is very reluctant to adopt them out to other nation’s citizens. It is almost a point of national embarrassment.”
“Yes, the usual foolishness,” Khiska said. “Some things never change, unfortunately. Well, I guess it is all right as long as they are not to stay here, as I have not the means to house them, to say nothing of the fact that there may be a great degree of danger here yet. That in fact makes it even more surprising that your superiors would accede to this. I am assuming the Romanian government knows nothing of the matter.”
Agnes looked at him curiously.
“You know, it has been a while since I have seen you,” she said. “I am surprised to see you looking as well as you do, considering just what you have been through recently.”
“Daughter, you don’t know the beginning portion of what has transpired in this city, and in this very church,” he affirmed. “If I took the time to explain it concisely, you would”-
“Poppa, the point is-can I have a hug please?”
She fell into her father’s embrace, never considering that the tears he now shed were not only those of happiness for her presence, but fear for her well-being. Khoska of course understood this, as Agnes, the most beloved of all his children, was the most selfless of them all, perhaps the complete opposite of Phillip, who had been the favorite of Marta. How could he impress on a woman of such strong and devout faith the very real danger she may have walked unknowingly into. She never saw danger, for she saw danger as an illusion meant to test faith. She was that spiritual, to the point where she in fact tested Khoska’s faith more than any evil ever could. Now, as she hugged him tightly, Khoska found himself resisting the inclination to conclude that faith itself was an illusion, one that induced unreasonable expectations and blinded one to the realities of life in the mundane, everyday world.
“Perhaps we will talk of these things tomorrow,” he said. “I know you have had a long journey and you are obviously tired. You should however call and check on the children, to make sure they have made it to where they are going.”
“They will be fine,” she replied. “Still, you are right. I should call, as they would like to hear from me before they retire for the night. For now, I would like to say my prayers, if you do not mind.”
“Your prayers?” Khoska repeated, as he suddenly remembered her as a young girl, never failing to say her prayers even on those occasions when she had been sick, which was numerous times during her adolescence.
“But of course, you may say them here, and I shall leave you in private to do so. I will go and tell Michael you are here, as I am sure he will be very pleased to see you.”
“It has been years since I have seen Michael or Jonathon,” she said. “I wonder if I would have known which one was which if I had not known. I used to be able to tell them apart better than you or momma, I think.”
Amazing, Khoska thought. As she talked, she made her way to the statue of the Blessed Virgin, and crossed herself as she bowed. She seemed to be praying even as she spoke in what seemed almost a chant-like state. Perhaps this is an example of this so-called multi-tasking he is always hearing about, he mused as he made his way back to the office.
He was unprepared for the sight of Michael in tears, and seemingly in a state of shock, as he seemed to engage in a monumental struggle to restrain for crying aloud.
“Michael, for God’s sake what is wrong?” he asked, knowing as he did that his son was not given to sentimentality. Something was sorely amiss.
Michael was gasping, and obviously at this point inconsolable.
“They killed Jonathon,” he said in a state of stunned amazement. “An old man, and an old woman, shot and killed Jonathon.”
He struggled to regain his composure as Khoska almost fell into his chair.
“Did they-did they think they were killing yourself?” he mused, not quite able to fathom what his son was saying.
“No, that is just the thing,” he said. “They come to the church asking for Jonathon, saying they heard he was there temporarily. The church secretary showed them to my office, which is where he was at the time. She left him alone with them. Then, when they left, she went not ten minutes later into the office, and there he was, slumped over in his chair-my chair-with a bullet in his heart. No one else was there. This happened not two hours ago.”
Khoska now started to shake, as the reality of what he heard now finally began to sink in. He too now began to weep. He too now struggled to control his anguish.
“Agnes is here,” he said. “Do not tell her-not yet.”
“I-I can’t believe it happened,” Michael replied. “Why would someone do such a thing? Michael has never harmed anyone, would never harm anyone. He refused to eat lobster, ever since he saw one dropped in boiling water. I teased him about that, not two months ago.”
A part of Khoska hoped this would turn out to be another one of the two brother’s practical jokes, but he automatically knew better. They would never take such antics to this extent, especially during such already trying times, to say nothing of the fact that Michael was obviously distraught.
“The church secretary,” Michael said with a sob, “she said the two old people seemed so gracious, and so charming, she would never have entertained the possibility they could do something so evil.”
“This church secretary,” Khoska asked, his mind now starting to turn in countless circles, “has she a name? How well do you know her?”
“Connie?” he asked. “I have known her for seven years. She has worked for me for four. Father, you cannot be serious. If she did something like that, why would she make up such a ridiculous story? According to her, these two old people looked to be in their seventies. No, poppa, I have known her far too long. Besides, what could Jonathon of all people have done to her in this brief time he has been there to illicit such an action?”
“I don’t know, but her story does not make a lot of sense,” Khoska said, now feeling very sick, wanting to throw up and feeling as though he might faint. “You say you know her, but still”-
Suddenly, Khoska cried, loudly, and motioned toward the door. Michael hurriedly shut it, and locked it. Khoska cried uncontrollably, as Michael now hugged his father, trying desperately to comfort him, until the old man finally pulled himself together as well as he could.
“Have you called his wife?” he asked. Michael affirmed that he had, and that she was devastated, as were their children, all of which of course was to be expected.
“This is going to be so difficult,” he said. “Really, I should tell Agnes tonight, it would not be fair to put it off. I really should be the one to tell her, painful though it is.”
He rose and left the office, and Michael stayed behind, fearful of adding to his sister’s grief, remembering as he did the many nights of her illness as a young child, including the one time she almost died of childhood spinal meningitis. She was always sickly and weak up into her mid-teen years, when she gradually and finally blossomed into a lovely, healthy, beautiful woman. Michael, and indeed all the other children, was protective of her, at times to a fault, as their mother pointed out often. This however was something for which he had no protective words at the ready.
He sat down in despair as his father walked back out into the church, where Agnes, having finished her prayers, had finally risen, cell phone in hand.
“I called,” she said. “The children are there, and are fine. Satisfied now, you old worry wart?”
“If you are,” he said as he mustered a smile. “I am sure you would leave them in capable hands.”
“Well, thankfully Phillip has enough money to hire the best caretakers,” Agnes replied with a smile. “Now, where is Michael? I really cannot wait to see him after all these years.”
“Wait just a minute,” Khoska replied. “You said-Phillip hired the caretakers? You don’t mean your brother, of course.”
“That is exactly who I mean,” she replied with what seemed a gleam of pride showing in her eyes. “That is another thing I want to talk to you about. It is high time for this feud between the two of you to end. I have talked to him about this Grace Rodescu business, and now, sometime soon, I mean to have a talk with you as well. Your favorite daughter is going to give you a lecture, in other words. Oh, and speaking of daughter, how is Dorothy holding up?”
“Dorothy is fine, Agnes,” he said, anxious not to change the subject. “What is this about Phillip and the children? I find this more than surprising, I find it almost disturbing. What exactly do you mean?”
“There is a reason the red tape was cut so quickly,” she replied. “Phillip has a lot of influence in Romania, in case you haven’t heard. This is not the first time he has helped either. He just is not one of these types of people who like to brag about his good works. I think he is far too modest. He has worked extensively at charitable undertakings in Romania, not just for orphans. His organization has helped place a good many Romanian orphans in loving, caring homes.”
“I see,” Aleksandre mused, almost forgetting the recent tragedy of his oldest twin sons loss. “Tell me something, Agnes-was Voroslav Moloku ever involved in this charitable activity with Phillip, that you are aware of?”
Dorothy gave her father a stern look.
“I should certainly think not,” she replied. “From what I understand, Voroslav has not been allowed in Romania for some time, due to some criminal activity on his part. According to Phillip, it has something to do with money laundering and drug smuggling-heroin, I believe. When I think of a father of the Church involved in such abominable acts, it makes it somewhat understandable how Phillip could have grown so cold towards religion.
“Nevertheless, he is a good man, poppa. He has changed very much, especially since the death of poor Lynette. I think that really changed him in ways you would never have imagined. I guess it is true what they say. God can turn the darkest tragedy into a force for good.”
Khoska looked away from Agnes as she talked, and though he heard her, it was as if from a distance. He could not tell her about Jonathon-not tonight.
“I think Michael has gone to bed already,” he said. “You remember where your old room is, I take it?”
“Yes, and I think I shall be on my way there now,” she said with a smile. “I am very tired-exhausted, actually. I want you to promise me, though, tonight, that you will talk to Phillip, and do so with an open mind.”
”I shall pray on it,” Khoska replied. “I shall do that right now, in fact.”
“Good night, poppa,” Agnes said as she made her way with her suitcases to the hallway that led past Khoska’s office, down to the corridor that led to the living quarters and to her old room, which Khoska previously had taken great pains to prepare for her imminent arrival. Khoska hoped she would not discern Michael’s presence in the office, as he bowed before the statue of the Crucified Lord.
“Lord God, if you ever heard my prayers before,” he said, “I hope you certainly hear them tonight, for I am in dire need of your guidance and protection. I pray first that I ask this not too late.”
Khoska struggled within himself to find the right words, as he looked back toward the hallway, to insure that Agnes had made her way on past the office and toward her room. Satisfied that she had done so, he turned once more to the icon that now seemed to look down upon him balefully.
“Please, Lord,” he said. “Protect the children.”
Monday, December 10, 2007
Coming Soon-Mormons And Their Blogs
Until such time as I can delve more into it, you might want to check out this page of links to Mormon blogs.
After all, it's one thing to get other people's opinions. You owe it to the subjects of those opinions to get their side of the story. There are plenty of links here that will enable you to get a balanced perspective-quite a few of them, actually.
In the meantime, some food for thought: Does anybody else think Joseph Smith, the founder of the LDS, might have been somewhat of a prankster?
After all, the Book of Mormon was supposedly given him by the angel "Moroni". Isn't that Latin for "morons"?
After all, it's one thing to get other people's opinions. You owe it to the subjects of those opinions to get their side of the story. There are plenty of links here that will enable you to get a balanced perspective-quite a few of them, actually.
In the meantime, some food for thought: Does anybody else think Joseph Smith, the founder of the LDS, might have been somewhat of a prankster?
After all, the Book of Mormon was supposedly given him by the angel "Moroni". Isn't that Latin for "morons"?
Maybe It's The Slow Tourist Season
Hans Mos, the prosecutor in Aruba, reversed course and released the Kalpoe Brothers, and then Joran VanderSloot, within a matter of days after rearresting them in connection with the disappearance of Natalie Holloway, claiming new and compelling evidence.
After releasing them, he now says he will close the case. What is particularly disturbing is the fact that Holloway's father had made plans to engage in a large scale search of the ocean off the coast of the island, based on the prosecutor's earlier announcements of a break in the case.
Jossy Mansur, the newspaper editor who has investigated the case, is outraged, and can offer no explanation.
I think he was either threatened, or bribed. Of course, as I implied in the title, it could well be that the tourist season in Aruba has gone to hell, which it well should. There are too many places to spend money on a vacation. The people that have such money to spend should seriously consider other options, in addition to how likely they would be to receive justice in they event they themselves were victimized.
Like I said in an earlier post, if you want to visit a place where you can be raped and murdered and your body hidden in a remote area, come to Kentucky-we need the money too.
After releasing them, he now says he will close the case. What is particularly disturbing is the fact that Holloway's father had made plans to engage in a large scale search of the ocean off the coast of the island, based on the prosecutor's earlier announcements of a break in the case.
Jossy Mansur, the newspaper editor who has investigated the case, is outraged, and can offer no explanation.
I think he was either threatened, or bribed. Of course, as I implied in the title, it could well be that the tourist season in Aruba has gone to hell, which it well should. There are too many places to spend money on a vacation. The people that have such money to spend should seriously consider other options, in addition to how likely they would be to receive justice in they event they themselves were victimized.
Like I said in an earlier post, if you want to visit a place where you can be raped and murdered and your body hidden in a remote area, come to Kentucky-we need the money too.
Sunday, December 09, 2007
STEEEE-RIKE!
You may not know who Marvin Miller is. If you do, you might not know whether or not he deserves to be inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame.
One thing is for sure, though, if you read this article, you will get a pretty good idea as to why he probably never will be, even though he, as a baseball player union's organizer, has been called one of the three most important men in the history of baseball, alongside Babe Ruth and Jackie Robinson.
Of course, most of the people that decide what names will be nominated are-well, baseball's corporate executives.
One thing is for sure, though, if you read this article, you will get a pretty good idea as to why he probably never will be, even though he, as a baseball player union's organizer, has been called one of the three most important men in the history of baseball, alongside Babe Ruth and Jackie Robinson.
Of course, most of the people that decide what names will be nominated are-well, baseball's corporate executives.
Green Daze
I don't know why the Greens should take heart at Final Energy Bill. After all, Bush is going to veto the damn thing, after which they'll bitch and moan, even though they should have known he would do just that after they dropped the guaranteed loans that had been included for new nuclear power plants, and especially after they ended the tax breaks for the oil companies contained in the last energy bill.
Bush would come closer to taking seriously a bill that called for mandating Sheryl Crow's suggestion to use one square of toilet paper per bathroom shit than he would this one, and just as close to signing it into law.
Of course, the Greens would never let the opportunity to pass real and meaningful legislation stand in the way of the opportunity to ratchet up the rhetoric and rake in more donated dollars-which is the "green" they really care most about anyway.
Bush would come closer to taking seriously a bill that called for mandating Sheryl Crow's suggestion to use one square of toilet paper per bathroom shit than he would this one, and just as close to signing it into law.
Of course, the Greens would never let the opportunity to pass real and meaningful legislation stand in the way of the opportunity to ratchet up the rhetoric and rake in more donated dollars-which is the "green" they really care most about anyway.
The Way Mother Nature Intended
Here is an environmental story that should please nature and animal lovers of all ages. While Donald Trump is determined to turn large portions of the Scottish coast into a golf course,Paul "the wolfman" Lister, multi-millionaire philanthropist and heir to the MFI furniture fortune, is determined to turn a significant portion of it into a nature preserve, known as Alladale Estate and Wildlife Reserve in Sutherland, 40 miles north of Inverness.
Here are some of the animals he intends to reintroduce to Scotland, many of which were driven from the country centuries ago, which I copied from the Guardian article.
Brown Bear
Together with its cousin, the polar bear, this mammal is the largest land carnivore. Regularly reaching half a tonne in weight, this bear survived in Britain until the later Roman period. Biologists have largely hailed resettlement projects in Italy, Austria and France, though they are more controversial with the general population. A brown bear called Bruno was shot dead in Germany last year, after crossing the Italian Alps, where it had been re-introduced. It went on a killing spree, savaging dozens of sheep.
Wolf
The last British wolf was killed after an attack on two youngsters in Sutherland in 1743, but wolf attacks on humans remain rare. The common grey wolf thrives in a host of different climates and habitats, and should adapt easily to the Highlands. Successfully re-introduced to the Yellowstone National Park and Idaho in 1995, other re-introduction projects are taking place in Germany, Denmark and Italy. Mr Lister plans to introduce two packs, comprising 15 animals.
Elk
The second largest species of deer, they can grow to a huge 8ft tall. Males have large antlers which are shed each year. Closely related to Scotland's red deer, they are found mostly in North America and east Asia. Attempts to introduce them to New Zealand and Argentina have been largely successful.
Lynx
One of the closest wild relatives of the domestic cat, it has a fondness for higher altitudes. Remains from the Craven caves in North Yorkshire suggest it survived in Britain until the seventh century at least, radically revising earlier theories about its demise more than 10,000 years ago. Found widely in Siberia and the Carpathian mountains of central Europe, the lynx has been successfully re-introduced in the Balkans in the past decade.
Beaver
Still living on a number of private estates in Britain, this semi-aquatic rodent was hunted to near extinction in Europe. Both its fur and castoreum, a secretion from its scent gland, were highly sought after. It became extinct in Britain in the 16th century, but was gradually re-introduced at the end of the 20th century in Gloucestershire, Kent, and Lancashire. Its need for water will be more than met by the rivers Alladale and Carron in the Highlands.
It is a controversial project, I guess in part due to the dangerous natures of some of the animals, but also I am guessing because the general plan is to let nature take its course, so to speak. Those elk will make a fine meal for the bears and wolves, and the survivors of the carnage will in turn produce a stronger herd.
It's good to read an environmental story that doesn't make me want to cuss at my poor, innocent computer screen.
Now, Lord Ares, About This Defense Department Position
Thanks to Mitt Romney, I know now that I can someday run for President of The United States of America, and not have to answer any uncomfortable questions about my religious affiliation or beliefs. Thank the Goddess for that. Well, thank all of them actually, and the Gods as well.
On the other hand, thanks to Christopher Hitchens, I also know it's best maybe if I just don't bring it up. Or maybe I should just forget the whole thing.
After all, people don't really need to know that I would pray to first one deity or another for guidance as to who to appoint to which specific cabinet position, and that Tarot business is really just for fun, you see. I wouldn't REALLY use that as a guide for how to decide an issue-at least, not without benefit of a coven ritual and the advice of my High Priestess.
Just the same, if I ever do find myself in the position of having to make a speech reassuring potential voters as to my religious beliefs, I'm sure Hermes will put the right words in my mouth.
On the other hand, thanks to Christopher Hitchens, I also know it's best maybe if I just don't bring it up. Or maybe I should just forget the whole thing.
After all, people don't really need to know that I would pray to first one deity or another for guidance as to who to appoint to which specific cabinet position, and that Tarot business is really just for fun, you see. I wouldn't REALLY use that as a guide for how to decide an issue-at least, not without benefit of a coven ritual and the advice of my High Priestess.
Just the same, if I ever do find myself in the position of having to make a speech reassuring potential voters as to my religious beliefs, I'm sure Hermes will put the right words in my mouth.
Current Presidential Prospects-From Better To Worse
This is my assessment as to what kind of President each of the current contenders for the office would be if they won. Some of these predictions might seem to be a bit “out there”, and admittedly, they require certain unforeseeable circumstances in a good many cases. One thing about it, I only have to worry about being proven wrong one time, so I just let myself go with this.
A general assessment is followed by a prediction as to how many terms each one would be liable to serve, followed by what I see as a probable caricature that would be the running theme in the editorial pages. Bear in mind, these caricatures I do not claim would necessarily be fair ones in all cases, just that they are probable and to a point even predictable.
Finally, I compare a potential presidency with one of the past. I should be clear on something especially with this assessment. Such a comparison should not be construed as meaning that a contender would be like that president in every detail. Perhaps most importantly, comparison with what is generally conceived as a good or successful presidency is no indication that the contender would be comparable in scope of success. There could in fact be negative connotations to such comparisons even under what might initially be seen as the best of comparisons. In some cases, the reverse might well be as true.
I list them here in order as to which, in my opinion, would be the best, on down to the ones I feel would be the absolute worse.
Fred Thompson-He will probably not win the Republican nomination, his chances of winning the presidency would be a fifty-fifty proposition if he did, and he would probably be a one-term president if he won. Despite this, I still hold that he would be the best of the entire batch of current contenders from both parties. The reason for this is-he gets it. He understands exactly how the country is supposed to work, ideally-as a union of fifty states. If that confuses you, simply look up the definition of the word “state”.
Anymore, most people seem to view states more as regions, or even as overgrown counties. Fred Thompson understands the truth, that they are actually, in a sense, semi-autonomous nations in their own right, bound together by a common economy and foreign policy, with specific constitutional rights granted to all its citizens, the most important of which are those outlined within the Bill of Rights.
If Fred Thompson wins, especially if he enjoyed a majority in Congress, it would be the biggest culture shock to the nation since FDR. If his party stayed in the minority, he would be hampered and hamstrung at every turn. In either case, I seriously doubt he would be re-elected, but even with all the problems he would face, he would still be an infinitely better president than any of the others. I have this strange idea, though, that if he won, he would be so disgusted with the process that he would step down after one term of office, especially if he did manage to appoint three judicial conservatives to the bench in place of three liberals.
That in fact may well end up being his one major accomplishment, and possibly his only one. He would appoint probably two, possibly even three, judges to the Supreme Court that would be more in line with the founder’s intentions as to judicial philosophy. That is probably the only reason he is running to begin with, because he is obviously so not taken with the political process-and who the fuck can blame him?
One term
Caricature-Exhausted, wrinkled old man
Most like-James Madison
Elliot Richardson-This guy has a lot going for him in the way of accomplishments and qualifications. He has been and done it all, in all branches of government, except the judiciary. He is more or less liberal, without being a far left loon about it. His foreign policy qualifications are second to none. His government experience is considerable as well.
I misspoke in an earlier post when I said Joe Biden was the most qualified Democratic candidate. On giving it further thought, this guy is the most experienced of all the candidates, possibly of both parties. It is a shame he does not have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting the Democratic Party nomination. The only problem I see with him is the potential for yet more left-wing judicial appointments, a demand for which he would be under intense pressure by the activist left wing of the Democratic Party.
In the unlikely event, however, that he is nominated (and I think he would win the general election if he was), he would almost certainly be a two term president. Hell, the guy even looks like Tom Bosley-how could you not like Richie Cunningham’s dad? He could work with an evenly divided Congress, or even a Republican majority, probably better than he would a Democratic majority. The long-term results would probably be better at least.
Two terms
Caricature-Overly relaxed dress and persona
Most like-Richard Nixon
3. Rudy Giuliani-Yeah, I know the conservatives consider this guy a leftist, and I know the liberals consider him a fascist thug. He is also controversial in his private life. I personally think he is going to go the way of Howard Dean, and will crash and burn by the time Super Tuesday comes along, which will unite the activist base of both parties with glee.
Too bad, because he would probably be, not a great president, but still a pretty damn good one, if for no other reason than I take him at his word when he promises he will appoint strict constructionists to the Supreme Court. I also think he will be a bit like Truman when it comes to politics, which would be a refreshing change.
Ask yourself this question. If you were given a hard choice, that you had no choice but to make, would you prefer to live in New York City three years prior to the Giuliani administration, or three years after his administration ended?
Yeah, me too-that’s why I like him. Of course, he has his faults. He has the mindset of a prosecutor, which can be troublesome. He might have to be reined in on matters of civil liberties from time to time. By the same token, however, some of the reiners-in-waiting need to be reined in from time to time themselves, and Giuliani is just the guy to do it.
He would have a troublesome presidency, but I think on balance he would be good, maybe very good. I can’t help but feel, however, he would be a one-termer. He would be renominated, though with difficulty, and a divided Republican party would all but insure a Democratic victory the next time around, as he would in the meantime lose a lot of the Democratic and independent support which might be responsible for his first term victory.
One term
Caricature-Exaggerated skull-like features
Most like-Harry Truman
Mike Huckabee-The Huckster would probably be a fairly good president, and a two termer, but not a lot would be accomplished, other than one very important thing. That is, he might well ease the tensions and blunt a great deal of the rhetoric that has divided the nation, and at the same time is a symptom of the poisonous nature of modern day politics. He would be more liberal than most liberals think he would be, and more conservative than most conservatives fear he would be.
In other words, he would be, more or less, a right-of-center moderate, which means he would please nobody. In the end though, I think most people would pull the lever for him a second time, for no other reason than times would be pretty good, and he would get credit for a new era of more civil political and cultural discourse.
Two terms
Caricature-Friendly but naive.
Most like-James Monroe
Mitt Romney-He would probably be a two-termer. He would probably be a pretty good president. Without any doubt, he would at least try his damndest to be a good one. He would not, however, be one of the great ones. He’s just too damn slick, and in trying to please everybody, he will end up pissing everybody off a great many times. Yet, he would probably win re-election handily, though not in a landslide. Why? Because most Americans would come to recognize, and pretty quickly, that this guy is never going to do anything that is too off the wall.
Have you ever wondered what you would have if you created a hybrid of George H. W. Bush and current president Bush? Look no further than Mitt Romney.
Two terms
Caricature-Appearance oriented, unaware of stains on clothes and face.
Most like-George H. W. Bush
Joe Biden-Probably a two-termer, and probably, on balance, a pretty good president, but his judicial appointments would probably insure yet three more decades of a seriously divided court. His major accomplishments would probably be in the realm of foreign affairs, which is his major area of expertise. He would be moderate in domestic affairs, and would actually come closer than anybody in dealing with such serious issues as health care, education, and the environment, in a manner that wouldn’t be too far out in the stratosphere. This is a guy that wouldn’t back away from a fight, including with factions in his own party. On balance, however, he would be a merely good president. However, in the event of an international or other emergency, he might well rise to the occasion and be one of the great ones.
Two terms.
Caricature-toothy grin with word balloons that trail off into apparent infinity.
Most like-Franklin Roosevelt
Chris Dodd-This is the guy that I have no doubt in my mind would come closer to using a nuke than any other of the current contenders. You can see it in his eyes if you look closely enough. If he wins, somebody somewhere is toast. I also have no doubt in my mind he would be the most likely to find an excuse to do so just under a year before his bid for re-election, which he would go on to win in a landslide.
He would also be the most likely man to capture Osama Bin Laden, which he would make one of his top presidential priorities.
Unfortunately, he would not rein in government spending (in fact it would increase), his judicial appointments would be troublesome at best, and his domestic policies, while they would not be horrible for working class Americans and the poor, yet would be geared toward corporate America at the expense of small business. There would be scandals galore in a Dodd administration.
Two terms
Caricature-Thick, bushy eyebrows barely hiding a malicious glare with insincere smile.
Most Like-Lyndon Johnson
Ron Paul-He would try to run the country the way it should be run, especially in terms of foreign affairs, but he would move too quickly and cause such a disruption in the economy that he would end up possibly the first president since John Tyler to be kicked out of his own party. He might be the first president to be both impeached and convicted in trial by Senate, more than likely for sheer incompetence. He is also the most likely to be assassinated. He would most definitely not be re-elected. His judicial appointments would be the only thing salvageable as to a positive legacy.
One term (if that).
Caricature-Threatening glare, wielding a kitchen knife against a mountain of pork barrel spending bills and bureaucratic red tape.
Most like-James Buchanan
John Edwards-He would possibly pass many laws, a great many of which would be overturned, others that would end up problematic in terms of tax increases and economic impact. In the foreign press, he would be caricatured as a young boy in various childish activities in the midst of serious minded grown-ups. By the time his first term was over, he would be roundly spanked in the next general election. Lebannon would probably erupt, while Iran would-well, be Iran.
One term
Caricature-Little boy.
Most like-Jimmy Carter.
Hillary Clinton-The Hildebeast would probably inspire more sighs of relief in her first term than an amusement park ride, and more cries of outrage and terror than a horror movie. What she would not do is accomplish a hell of a lot. One of her accomplishments would be a possible normalization of relations with Iran. This would be enough to insure her re-election. Otherwise, not a lot here. A few good bills, quite a few more problematic ones, etc., etc. Her major accomplishment, outside of the Iranian initiative I mentioned, would simply be that she would be the first female president.
By the time her second term is over, however, the downside to that is, it might be a long, long time before most people would consider voting for another one. She might do some good on health care, provided she takes a moderate stance, otherwise she will, by the time two terms is over, be in the end about what most people expect from Hillary Clinton.
Two terms
Caricature-Extremely thick, straight down from waist to ankles, and an equally thick and obviously practiced and insincere smile that barely masks a hidden rage.
Most like-Theodore Roosevelt
Duncan Hunter-Hunter would definitely have a hard time and in the end, his only accomplishment would be in the area of judicial appointments. For all his good intentions, I do not think he is equipped to deal with Washington politics or the international arena, and would tend to take the wrong advice from the wrong people, who would lead him around by the nose and possibly end up maneuvering him into a major war, one that would be unnecessary and ill advised. I am thinking here mainly about Venezuela. Now that would be another Vietnam, and would result in oil prices that would make a hundred dollars per barrel seem like the “good old days.”
One term.
Caricature-Cowboy on a pony.
Most like-Franklin Pierce
Tom Tancredo-He could possibly rally the nation behind a comprehensive immigration reform, which would not be as hard line as most people assume it would be. To illustrate what I am trying to say here, think in terms of Richard Nixon going to China. Aside from this, and judicial appointments, not a lot here. He would rein in excessive spending to a greater degree then even Paul or Thompson. Unfortunately, in doing so, he might cause a remarkable downturn in the economy resulting in a major recession, and could instigate a trade war with China. He would be one term due to this and due to increasing military activity, especially in the Middle East, which under him would not go well, to say the least.
One term.
Caricature-Unaware of racist nature of supporters and surroundings.
Most Like-Zachary Taylor
John McCain-It’s my honest opinion that, sooner or later, there is going to be a president that is going to do something, or have something done to him, that no other one has ever done or experienced, while he is in office. There will be a president whose wife will be the first to be a proven and current whore. There will be one who will turn out to be a pedophile. There will be a president who will be the first one assassinated on foreign soil. One will be murdered by his wife (that one might actually have already happened, with Harding), and there will be one that will end up committing suicide while in office.
And, there will eventually be one who will, in time, demonstrate for the nation and the world to see, in no uncertain terms, that he is certifiably insane. By the time his one term in office is over, John McCain will be seen as a nice and well-meaning man with absolutely no grip on reality. He will be seriously advised, in no uncertain terms, to not even think about running for re-election, and he will have no problem understanding this, if nothing else.
He will not bring spending under control, immigration policy will not be enforced, and nothing will be solved in the arena of international relations. Watching the McCain presidency will be like watching two things at the same time- a train wreck, and “You Are There”. He will be a placeholder president with nothing to say but a lot of pleasant sounding nonsense, and nothing to do but hope no one catches on that he does not have a clue. Unfortunately, in reality he will be the last one to catch on.
One term
Caricature-Wets his pants, puddle around ankles, confused.
Most like-John Adams
Barak Obama-He will have absolutely no accomplishments of which to speak, other than being the first black president. He is an inspiring speaker, and in fact is very much like a rock star. However, in order to be a great president-or for that matter, a fair to middling one-one is required to be much like the conductor of a huge symphony orchestra. Barak Obama would be more akin to the front man of an overly large, discordant garage band, and this would translate, in political terms, into a bureaucratic nightmare. Barak Obama would, I am afraid, be a one hit wonder.
One term
Caricature-Rock star running from mob of former fans.
Most like-John Kennedy
Mike Gravell-Mike Gravell is not insane, like John McCain. He is, however, something of a fucking nut. The bad thing here is, you cannot impeach somebody for being a nut. The really bad thing is, this guy would probably be re-elected, because he comes across as likeable, in a grandfatherly kind of way. It is Mike Gravell, not Dennis Kucinich, who is the Democratic version of Ron Paul. Under him, Homeland Security and the INS would be gutted, along with a lot of other agencies. Inflation would end up going through the roof, crime statistics would soar, and the population would increase by a full percentage point or more by the time of his first term due mainly to easing of immigration restrictions. Unfortunately, the more negative consequences of his actions would not be readily apparent until he was well into his second term.
Two terms
Caricature-Unaware of reality
Most like-Grover Cleveland
Dennis Kucinich-
The little Smurf from Cleveland is a lot tougher than he appears to be on the surface, and his major impact would be international affairs, where he would be controversial just due to the fact that he is not the sap a lot of international leaders would assume he is. This could lead to ruptures with some allies, though at least some of our more strident opponents would come to respect him. His major problem will be in domestic affairs, and his major failure would be his failure to establish a “Department of Peace”. By the time his second year in office was over, he would be faced with a veto proof Republican majority in the Senate, and even a greater Republican majority in the House of Representatives, while a number of tacitly blue states would gravitate firmly to the red column for years to come.
The more fanatical Republicans should get down on their knees and pray to God every night that Dennis Kucinich should by some miracle win the Democratic nomination, and they should willingly sacrifice their children to the fires of Moloch in hopes that he wins the presidential election. Because the simple fact is, if he did, Dennis Kucinich would probably single-handedly destroy the Democratic Party.
One term
Caricature-Ridiculously exaggerated short height.
Most like-Woodrow Wilson
As I end this exercise in candidate assessment, one thing should be kept in mind. Many times, and probably in fact more often than not, what makes or breaks a presidency is not any one or even groups of issues, or any national or international emergency, nor is it scandals, or the top people appointed to fill cabinet positions. All of these things are important, as is economic performance, international relations, or any of the divisive issues of any given day.
In the end, however, what makes or breaks a presidency are the people no one ever knows-the second, third, and fourth tier level of bureaucrats who actually run the day-to-day operations of government. These are the people who either get things done, for good or for bad, or bring things to a grinding halt. They are also responsible for the vast majority of the waste and inefficiency that is the United States government, as well as the unbreakable gridlock that is Washington politics today.
These second, third and fourth tier operatives are to be found not only in the ranks of government bureaucrats, but also in the so-called fourth estate of media, and in the PACS and other special interest groups. These are the people who operate behind the scenes, behind the shadows of those individuals who are the more well known public personas that we associate as the face of an issue, department, or organization. Politicians ignore their potential influence at their own peril. The rest of us rarely give them a thought.
Yet, they are the ones who grease the wheels and conduct the business of government under a labrynthine maze which few can rarely fathom, much beyond peering beneath the outer layer. They run the government, or influence it’s policies, or report on it’s inner workings, not for the benefit of the nation at large, but in furtherance of their own agendas.
A great lot of the reasons some of these candidates may not be ranked as high as some would like, is due to my assessment as to their adaptability, and in some cases even their awareness, to this very real fact.
A general assessment is followed by a prediction as to how many terms each one would be liable to serve, followed by what I see as a probable caricature that would be the running theme in the editorial pages. Bear in mind, these caricatures I do not claim would necessarily be fair ones in all cases, just that they are probable and to a point even predictable.
Finally, I compare a potential presidency with one of the past. I should be clear on something especially with this assessment. Such a comparison should not be construed as meaning that a contender would be like that president in every detail. Perhaps most importantly, comparison with what is generally conceived as a good or successful presidency is no indication that the contender would be comparable in scope of success. There could in fact be negative connotations to such comparisons even under what might initially be seen as the best of comparisons. In some cases, the reverse might well be as true.
I list them here in order as to which, in my opinion, would be the best, on down to the ones I feel would be the absolute worse.
Fred Thompson-He will probably not win the Republican nomination, his chances of winning the presidency would be a fifty-fifty proposition if he did, and he would probably be a one-term president if he won. Despite this, I still hold that he would be the best of the entire batch of current contenders from both parties. The reason for this is-he gets it. He understands exactly how the country is supposed to work, ideally-as a union of fifty states. If that confuses you, simply look up the definition of the word “state”.
Anymore, most people seem to view states more as regions, or even as overgrown counties. Fred Thompson understands the truth, that they are actually, in a sense, semi-autonomous nations in their own right, bound together by a common economy and foreign policy, with specific constitutional rights granted to all its citizens, the most important of which are those outlined within the Bill of Rights.
If Fred Thompson wins, especially if he enjoyed a majority in Congress, it would be the biggest culture shock to the nation since FDR. If his party stayed in the minority, he would be hampered and hamstrung at every turn. In either case, I seriously doubt he would be re-elected, but even with all the problems he would face, he would still be an infinitely better president than any of the others. I have this strange idea, though, that if he won, he would be so disgusted with the process that he would step down after one term of office, especially if he did manage to appoint three judicial conservatives to the bench in place of three liberals.
That in fact may well end up being his one major accomplishment, and possibly his only one. He would appoint probably two, possibly even three, judges to the Supreme Court that would be more in line with the founder’s intentions as to judicial philosophy. That is probably the only reason he is running to begin with, because he is obviously so not taken with the political process-and who the fuck can blame him?
One term
Caricature-Exhausted, wrinkled old man
Most like-James Madison
Elliot Richardson-This guy has a lot going for him in the way of accomplishments and qualifications. He has been and done it all, in all branches of government, except the judiciary. He is more or less liberal, without being a far left loon about it. His foreign policy qualifications are second to none. His government experience is considerable as well.
I misspoke in an earlier post when I said Joe Biden was the most qualified Democratic candidate. On giving it further thought, this guy is the most experienced of all the candidates, possibly of both parties. It is a shame he does not have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting the Democratic Party nomination. The only problem I see with him is the potential for yet more left-wing judicial appointments, a demand for which he would be under intense pressure by the activist left wing of the Democratic Party.
In the unlikely event, however, that he is nominated (and I think he would win the general election if he was), he would almost certainly be a two term president. Hell, the guy even looks like Tom Bosley-how could you not like Richie Cunningham’s dad? He could work with an evenly divided Congress, or even a Republican majority, probably better than he would a Democratic majority. The long-term results would probably be better at least.
Two terms
Caricature-Overly relaxed dress and persona
Most like-Richard Nixon
3. Rudy Giuliani-Yeah, I know the conservatives consider this guy a leftist, and I know the liberals consider him a fascist thug. He is also controversial in his private life. I personally think he is going to go the way of Howard Dean, and will crash and burn by the time Super Tuesday comes along, which will unite the activist base of both parties with glee.
Too bad, because he would probably be, not a great president, but still a pretty damn good one, if for no other reason than I take him at his word when he promises he will appoint strict constructionists to the Supreme Court. I also think he will be a bit like Truman when it comes to politics, which would be a refreshing change.
Ask yourself this question. If you were given a hard choice, that you had no choice but to make, would you prefer to live in New York City three years prior to the Giuliani administration, or three years after his administration ended?
Yeah, me too-that’s why I like him. Of course, he has his faults. He has the mindset of a prosecutor, which can be troublesome. He might have to be reined in on matters of civil liberties from time to time. By the same token, however, some of the reiners-in-waiting need to be reined in from time to time themselves, and Giuliani is just the guy to do it.
He would have a troublesome presidency, but I think on balance he would be good, maybe very good. I can’t help but feel, however, he would be a one-termer. He would be renominated, though with difficulty, and a divided Republican party would all but insure a Democratic victory the next time around, as he would in the meantime lose a lot of the Democratic and independent support which might be responsible for his first term victory.
One term
Caricature-Exaggerated skull-like features
Most like-Harry Truman
Mike Huckabee-The Huckster would probably be a fairly good president, and a two termer, but not a lot would be accomplished, other than one very important thing. That is, he might well ease the tensions and blunt a great deal of the rhetoric that has divided the nation, and at the same time is a symptom of the poisonous nature of modern day politics. He would be more liberal than most liberals think he would be, and more conservative than most conservatives fear he would be.
In other words, he would be, more or less, a right-of-center moderate, which means he would please nobody. In the end though, I think most people would pull the lever for him a second time, for no other reason than times would be pretty good, and he would get credit for a new era of more civil political and cultural discourse.
Two terms
Caricature-Friendly but naive.
Most like-James Monroe
Mitt Romney-He would probably be a two-termer. He would probably be a pretty good president. Without any doubt, he would at least try his damndest to be a good one. He would not, however, be one of the great ones. He’s just too damn slick, and in trying to please everybody, he will end up pissing everybody off a great many times. Yet, he would probably win re-election handily, though not in a landslide. Why? Because most Americans would come to recognize, and pretty quickly, that this guy is never going to do anything that is too off the wall.
Have you ever wondered what you would have if you created a hybrid of George H. W. Bush and current president Bush? Look no further than Mitt Romney.
Two terms
Caricature-Appearance oriented, unaware of stains on clothes and face.
Most like-George H. W. Bush
Joe Biden-Probably a two-termer, and probably, on balance, a pretty good president, but his judicial appointments would probably insure yet three more decades of a seriously divided court. His major accomplishments would probably be in the realm of foreign affairs, which is his major area of expertise. He would be moderate in domestic affairs, and would actually come closer than anybody in dealing with such serious issues as health care, education, and the environment, in a manner that wouldn’t be too far out in the stratosphere. This is a guy that wouldn’t back away from a fight, including with factions in his own party. On balance, however, he would be a merely good president. However, in the event of an international or other emergency, he might well rise to the occasion and be one of the great ones.
Two terms.
Caricature-toothy grin with word balloons that trail off into apparent infinity.
Most like-Franklin Roosevelt
Chris Dodd-This is the guy that I have no doubt in my mind would come closer to using a nuke than any other of the current contenders. You can see it in his eyes if you look closely enough. If he wins, somebody somewhere is toast. I also have no doubt in my mind he would be the most likely to find an excuse to do so just under a year before his bid for re-election, which he would go on to win in a landslide.
He would also be the most likely man to capture Osama Bin Laden, which he would make one of his top presidential priorities.
Unfortunately, he would not rein in government spending (in fact it would increase), his judicial appointments would be troublesome at best, and his domestic policies, while they would not be horrible for working class Americans and the poor, yet would be geared toward corporate America at the expense of small business. There would be scandals galore in a Dodd administration.
Two terms
Caricature-Thick, bushy eyebrows barely hiding a malicious glare with insincere smile.
Most Like-Lyndon Johnson
Ron Paul-He would try to run the country the way it should be run, especially in terms of foreign affairs, but he would move too quickly and cause such a disruption in the economy that he would end up possibly the first president since John Tyler to be kicked out of his own party. He might be the first president to be both impeached and convicted in trial by Senate, more than likely for sheer incompetence. He is also the most likely to be assassinated. He would most definitely not be re-elected. His judicial appointments would be the only thing salvageable as to a positive legacy.
One term (if that).
Caricature-Threatening glare, wielding a kitchen knife against a mountain of pork barrel spending bills and bureaucratic red tape.
Most like-James Buchanan
John Edwards-He would possibly pass many laws, a great many of which would be overturned, others that would end up problematic in terms of tax increases and economic impact. In the foreign press, he would be caricatured as a young boy in various childish activities in the midst of serious minded grown-ups. By the time his first term was over, he would be roundly spanked in the next general election. Lebannon would probably erupt, while Iran would-well, be Iran.
One term
Caricature-Little boy.
Most like-Jimmy Carter.
Hillary Clinton-The Hildebeast would probably inspire more sighs of relief in her first term than an amusement park ride, and more cries of outrage and terror than a horror movie. What she would not do is accomplish a hell of a lot. One of her accomplishments would be a possible normalization of relations with Iran. This would be enough to insure her re-election. Otherwise, not a lot here. A few good bills, quite a few more problematic ones, etc., etc. Her major accomplishment, outside of the Iranian initiative I mentioned, would simply be that she would be the first female president.
By the time her second term is over, however, the downside to that is, it might be a long, long time before most people would consider voting for another one. She might do some good on health care, provided she takes a moderate stance, otherwise she will, by the time two terms is over, be in the end about what most people expect from Hillary Clinton.
Two terms
Caricature-Extremely thick, straight down from waist to ankles, and an equally thick and obviously practiced and insincere smile that barely masks a hidden rage.
Most like-Theodore Roosevelt
Duncan Hunter-Hunter would definitely have a hard time and in the end, his only accomplishment would be in the area of judicial appointments. For all his good intentions, I do not think he is equipped to deal with Washington politics or the international arena, and would tend to take the wrong advice from the wrong people, who would lead him around by the nose and possibly end up maneuvering him into a major war, one that would be unnecessary and ill advised. I am thinking here mainly about Venezuela. Now that would be another Vietnam, and would result in oil prices that would make a hundred dollars per barrel seem like the “good old days.”
One term.
Caricature-Cowboy on a pony.
Most like-Franklin Pierce
Tom Tancredo-He could possibly rally the nation behind a comprehensive immigration reform, which would not be as hard line as most people assume it would be. To illustrate what I am trying to say here, think in terms of Richard Nixon going to China. Aside from this, and judicial appointments, not a lot here. He would rein in excessive spending to a greater degree then even Paul or Thompson. Unfortunately, in doing so, he might cause a remarkable downturn in the economy resulting in a major recession, and could instigate a trade war with China. He would be one term due to this and due to increasing military activity, especially in the Middle East, which under him would not go well, to say the least.
One term.
Caricature-Unaware of racist nature of supporters and surroundings.
Most Like-Zachary Taylor
John McCain-It’s my honest opinion that, sooner or later, there is going to be a president that is going to do something, or have something done to him, that no other one has ever done or experienced, while he is in office. There will be a president whose wife will be the first to be a proven and current whore. There will be one who will turn out to be a pedophile. There will be a president who will be the first one assassinated on foreign soil. One will be murdered by his wife (that one might actually have already happened, with Harding), and there will be one that will end up committing suicide while in office.
And, there will eventually be one who will, in time, demonstrate for the nation and the world to see, in no uncertain terms, that he is certifiably insane. By the time his one term in office is over, John McCain will be seen as a nice and well-meaning man with absolutely no grip on reality. He will be seriously advised, in no uncertain terms, to not even think about running for re-election, and he will have no problem understanding this, if nothing else.
He will not bring spending under control, immigration policy will not be enforced, and nothing will be solved in the arena of international relations. Watching the McCain presidency will be like watching two things at the same time- a train wreck, and “You Are There”. He will be a placeholder president with nothing to say but a lot of pleasant sounding nonsense, and nothing to do but hope no one catches on that he does not have a clue. Unfortunately, in reality he will be the last one to catch on.
One term
Caricature-Wets his pants, puddle around ankles, confused.
Most like-John Adams
Barak Obama-He will have absolutely no accomplishments of which to speak, other than being the first black president. He is an inspiring speaker, and in fact is very much like a rock star. However, in order to be a great president-or for that matter, a fair to middling one-one is required to be much like the conductor of a huge symphony orchestra. Barak Obama would be more akin to the front man of an overly large, discordant garage band, and this would translate, in political terms, into a bureaucratic nightmare. Barak Obama would, I am afraid, be a one hit wonder.
One term
Caricature-Rock star running from mob of former fans.
Most like-John Kennedy
Mike Gravell-Mike Gravell is not insane, like John McCain. He is, however, something of a fucking nut. The bad thing here is, you cannot impeach somebody for being a nut. The really bad thing is, this guy would probably be re-elected, because he comes across as likeable, in a grandfatherly kind of way. It is Mike Gravell, not Dennis Kucinich, who is the Democratic version of Ron Paul. Under him, Homeland Security and the INS would be gutted, along with a lot of other agencies. Inflation would end up going through the roof, crime statistics would soar, and the population would increase by a full percentage point or more by the time of his first term due mainly to easing of immigration restrictions. Unfortunately, the more negative consequences of his actions would not be readily apparent until he was well into his second term.
Two terms
Caricature-Unaware of reality
Most like-Grover Cleveland
Dennis Kucinich-
The little Smurf from Cleveland is a lot tougher than he appears to be on the surface, and his major impact would be international affairs, where he would be controversial just due to the fact that he is not the sap a lot of international leaders would assume he is. This could lead to ruptures with some allies, though at least some of our more strident opponents would come to respect him. His major problem will be in domestic affairs, and his major failure would be his failure to establish a “Department of Peace”. By the time his second year in office was over, he would be faced with a veto proof Republican majority in the Senate, and even a greater Republican majority in the House of Representatives, while a number of tacitly blue states would gravitate firmly to the red column for years to come.
The more fanatical Republicans should get down on their knees and pray to God every night that Dennis Kucinich should by some miracle win the Democratic nomination, and they should willingly sacrifice their children to the fires of Moloch in hopes that he wins the presidential election. Because the simple fact is, if he did, Dennis Kucinich would probably single-handedly destroy the Democratic Party.
One term
Caricature-Ridiculously exaggerated short height.
Most like-Woodrow Wilson
As I end this exercise in candidate assessment, one thing should be kept in mind. Many times, and probably in fact more often than not, what makes or breaks a presidency is not any one or even groups of issues, or any national or international emergency, nor is it scandals, or the top people appointed to fill cabinet positions. All of these things are important, as is economic performance, international relations, or any of the divisive issues of any given day.
In the end, however, what makes or breaks a presidency are the people no one ever knows-the second, third, and fourth tier level of bureaucrats who actually run the day-to-day operations of government. These are the people who either get things done, for good or for bad, or bring things to a grinding halt. They are also responsible for the vast majority of the waste and inefficiency that is the United States government, as well as the unbreakable gridlock that is Washington politics today.
These second, third and fourth tier operatives are to be found not only in the ranks of government bureaucrats, but also in the so-called fourth estate of media, and in the PACS and other special interest groups. These are the people who operate behind the scenes, behind the shadows of those individuals who are the more well known public personas that we associate as the face of an issue, department, or organization. Politicians ignore their potential influence at their own peril. The rest of us rarely give them a thought.
Yet, they are the ones who grease the wheels and conduct the business of government under a labrynthine maze which few can rarely fathom, much beyond peering beneath the outer layer. They run the government, or influence it’s policies, or report on it’s inner workings, not for the benefit of the nation at large, but in furtherance of their own agendas.
A great lot of the reasons some of these candidates may not be ranked as high as some would like, is due to my assessment as to their adaptability, and in some cases even their awareness, to this very real fact.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Radu-Chapter XXVIII (A Novel by Patrick Kelley)
Previous Installments-
Part One
Prologue and Chapters I-X
Part Two
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Part Three
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Radu-Chapter XXVIII (A Novel by Patrick Kelley)
7 pages approximate
Grady Desmond lit a cigar. He sat back in his office lounge chair, and he drew in a deep drag. It was getting better now-much, much better. He knew he should not flaunt the no-smoking policy of the paper, but on the other hand, he knew as well he should not sit here in his office and nurse a snifter of brandy during working hours. His proctologist would have a fit. So would his wife, and his children. His boss would lecture him about propriety. On the other hand, Desmond really could care less if his boss, the editor-in-chief of the Baltimore Sun, fired him-not that there was any danger of that. Desmond only worked from the sheer pleasure of the job, and if they fired him-which was not about to happen-he would easily land another job. His reputation was secure through three decades and change of first beat reporting, and then editorial work. He knew how to play the newspaper game. It was all about the office politics. Grady rose above that over a decade ago. Grady was one of those lucky few. Others catered to him.
He took a final sip of brandy, and then he took another long, leisurely drag of his cigar. He put it out. He was satisfied.
Few people in life had managed to accomplish the things Grady Desmond had in life. He had built, saved, and destroyed careers. In doing so, he took pains to insulate himself from any potential fallout. Finally, when everything came crashing down around him, he sat and watched it all from a position not only of security, but also of comfort. Randolph Morrison killed in a plane crash in India. His son Greg under investigation due to admitted involvement in a murderous pedophile ring. Lonnie Brock was also finally dead after a long, torturous bout with cancer. Even Jason Talbert was not immune, as he discovered the hard way. Insistent though he was that his battery of high-powered lawyers could weather any storm, he never seemed to get the point. Wealthy people never did. The ultra-wealthy were the worse. From their perspective, the world was always about them. Everything and everyone else that gravitated within their orbit existed only for their benefit. What Talbert could never grasp was the determination of others to avoid their own lives becoming casualties of the storm, while men like Talbert used them and disposed of them like plastic utensils. Talbert had to go. Grady had his obituary written two hours before he got word of his demise. It was amazingly accurate, right down to the reaction of the assembled family and friends. Grady even included the dinner menu-Peking Duck. Luckily, Talbert was as always predictable. It enabled Grady to humanize the event of his death ahead of time.
He seriously considered pouring another snifter of brandy when the intercom buzzed.
“Your appointment has arrived, Mr. Desmond,” came the perky voice of the receptionist. Desmond wondered if he might fuck her one more time before the month ended. Before he tried to have sex with his wife of thirty-seven years, for the first time in eleven, by way of a prescription of Viagra, he experimented with the drug on Alice. Having done so, he decided he would not mind making that a semi-regular event, and so he did. It was a once a month thing, but Grady would never allow it to become more regular than that. Women, like a fine brandy, were to be savored at leisure, but should not be overindulged.
“Mr. Desmond, are you there?” she repeated.
“Yeah, Alice, send them in,” he answered.
“I will be leaving now, sir,” she then said. “Will there be anything else you need before I go?”
“Yeah, remember our private meeting for next weekend,” he said. “I will certainly be looking forward to it, and there might be an extra special bonus coming your way.”
“I’ll be looking forward to it as always sir,” the secretary replied cheerily as the door to Grady’s office opened.
When the elderly couple entered Grady’s office, he was astounded at how healthy they seemed for a couple in their late seventies. The old woman could easily pass for her early sixties, and while there was no such miscalculation as to the age of the man, he seemed strong, healthy, and even had a twinkle in his somewhat olive green eyes.
“Please, come in and have a seat,” Grady said cordially. “I’m so happy you could make such a long trip on such short notice. I know you’ve both been through quite a lot over the last year.”
“Not at all, Mr. Desmond,” the old man replied. “It has been too long since we’ve been in Baltimore. We only wish it could be under more pleasant circumstances.”
“In a warmer season,” the old woman added. “Baltimore is horrid this time of the year.”
“Can I offer you something?” Grady asked. “Some brandy, perhaps. I also have some cigars from the finest tobacconist shop in Baltimore.”
“Oh, I’m afraid I will have to abstain from the cigar,” the old man said. “Unfortunately, that is one of the pleasures of life that, tempting though it is, I am afraid it would be liable to hasten my demise. Brandy would be nice, however.”
“As it always is, Martin,” the old woman said in good-natured teasing fashion. “Might I do the honors? Really, I do insist, Mr. Grady.”
“Well, by all means, Mrs. Krovell,” Brady replied. “Or do you prefer the name Krovelescu?”
“Krovell will be fine,” Martin said. “For a short time, I did toy with the idea of changing our name back to the original form, but Louise convinced me that would be seen as pretentious.”
Louise by this time had poured Grady’s brandy, and then began pouring one for her husband, as she let out a laugh.
“Our poor, dear Marlowe started all that,” she said. “He was so insistent that we become true to our heritage, and wear it like a badge of honor. I don’t think the poor boy ever quite got it through his head the Krovelescu family was really quite a common one of mere peasant stock.”
Martin kept his gaze peeled on Grady, and with a smile took the snifter of brandy Louise prepared for him as though it were a routine gesture.
“Yes, I think Marlowe was determined to discover we were descended from some ancient line of nobility, such as the Draculas, or from Radu the Black,” he said. “The sad truth was, our ancestors were never any more than serfs, at best. Our common ancestor Vlad, the one who immigrated here, managed to work his way up to groundskeeper for a Phenariot family. Interestingly, he was in charge of the family cemetery as well. He was their own private gravedigger, until he was discovered digging up already occupied graves and stealing the interred valuables-which is not the kind of heritage in which one would ordinarily take a lot of pride.
“Luckily for Vlad-or Lawrence, as he renamed himself-he managed to stash enough away from previous-er, undertakings-that he was able to leave the country in one piece, along with his wife and mother-in-law.”
“Yes, Magda the Gypsy,” Louise said as she now began sipping her own brandy. “Now she was indeed a character.”
“Actually, it is another ancestor of yours I am most interested in,” Grady said. “I am not sure ancestor would be an appropriate word, to tell you the truth. I hope you do not mind, but I took it on myself to do a bit of research. I know you for quite some time were interested in the whereabouts of your mother. I think I can finally put your questions to rest.”
Martins’ eyes got wide with surprise, and he almost bolted from his chair.
“Mr. Grady, are you serious?” he asked. “You found my mother?”
Grady handed Martin Krovell what appeared to be a set of documents bound by a paper clip. The old man took them eagerly as Louise looked on in obvious interest.
“What does it say, Martin?” she asked.
“Why, according to this she returned to Romania,” he replied. “She had her marriage to my father annulled by a priest of the church. Then, incredibly, she went on to marry that same priest less than a year later, a priest by the name of Mikhail Khoska, by whom she later had a son named-oh my God, Louise, Aleksandre Khoska is my half-brother.”
The old man was obviously distraught, as he sat down the snifter of brandy.
“Mr. Desmond, I hate to impose, but do you mind if I have another bit of this fine Brandy you have so kindly provided for us?”
“Why would he not have told you?” Louise asked, obviously with growing concern. “How cruel of him to keep this from you for all of these years! Why would he do such a thing?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Martin replied. “I think I shall certainly ask him, though.”
“Perhaps he was ashamed of his father’s actions,” Louise said. “It would certainly be understandable.”
“That might be true,” Martin replied. “Still, I came to understand long ago that my father was a jealous, possessive, uncaring, vindictive, abusive man, to the point where he could be mercilessly brutal. No, Father Khoska did not do the wrong thing. I would have liked to know, however. My mother died just a little over ten years ago, according to this document. Had I known, I would have made a trip to see her before she died. Now of course it is too late.
“Mr. Desmond, you have no idea how much you have helped me ease my mind. I have always suspected my father of having done away with my mother somehow. You have no idea how many times I have considered digging up the entire property, but dreaded discovering her remains. There are days it has been all I could think about. I owe you a tremendous debt, sir.”
Grady looked at the old couple now with an intensity that was almost striking in its ferocity. He had more news for the elderly couple.
“Actually, I can’t take credit for it,” he said. “I put one of my top reporters on the job, and she was more than diligent in uncovering the information. You may have heard of her. Her name is Grace Rodescu.”
For just a brief second, Martin and Louise Khoska shot each other a stunned look, as they regarded each other with a deadly silence. This did not go unnoticed by Grady Desmond, to whom they soon both returned their gaze, as they regarded him sternly.
“Why, Mr. Grady. You have surprised us, very much in fact,” the old man said as Louise suddenly smiled. “You are holding up quite well, though, much better than we would have expected, to be completely honest. You do look rather tired, though.”
“What-are you talking about?” Grant asked with a smile though filled now with suspicion. Louise held up her snifter of brandy as she indicated with a nod the one that sat beside Grady.
“You should really be careful whom you allow to prepare your drinks, Mr. Desmond,” she advised him with a suddenly girlish smile. “You never can tell when one might decide to ‘slip you a Mickey’, as they say.”
Grady looked down at his now empty snifter in horror, and then looked back at Louise, who met his gaze with what actually seemed to be a girlish anticipation, as she giggled.
"Now, Louise, you should not be so modest,” Martin said as he patted his wife on the arm. “After all, a 'Mickey Finn' consists of mere ‘knock-out drops’, not a deadly poison. Really, though, we should not tease Mr. Desmond. After all, he has been very cordial towards us, inviting us all this way to tell us all of this important information. Mr. Grady, you really must not mind my wife. She has always been noted as the practical joker of the family, after all. I think it is more than likely that gypsy blood of hers. I am indeed a lucky man, would you not say?”
Grady looked at the two of them, and suddenly started laughing, albeit uneasily, as they did likewise. Suddenly, Grady stopped and, clutching his chest, humped over his desk.
“Oh, my dear,” Martin now said. “Louise, I do believe you might have used a bit too much nightshade. It really isn’t supposed to have this sort of effect, you know.”
“Oh, I know dear,” Louise said apologetically. “I just can’t seem to get used to these more intense preparations. I always found the more old-fashioned extractions were far more reliable in their predictability.”
“Nightshade?” Grady now gasped, as he clutched his chest, his breathing now coming in gasps, as he doubled over. His eyes went back in his head, as he now tilted over in his chair.
“Would you kindly look outside and see if the girl has gone, Louise,” Martin now said as his wife walked toward the door. “I will place a call to our friend.”
Louise opened the door and peered outside, noting the desk outside was empty as Martin placed a call with his cell phone to someone whom he informed could feel secure in presenting herself. Within less than three minutes, an obviously disguised and visibly pregnant Grace Rodescu entered the office of a yet alive, though barely so, Grady Desmond.
“I guess I no longer have you to worry about, Grady,” she said. “I’m really sorry about this, but I can’t afford to take any more chances with you. Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Khoska.”
“Grace, my dear, it has been far too long,” Martin said. “What has it been now-sixteen years or so, I believe. What a pleasure to see you again. And to think-you are carrying our great-grandchild. How magnificent!”
“I am glad you approve,” Grace said.
“Out of all the girls from the old country that Phillip sponsored in that dreadful place, you were by far our favorite, Grace,” Louise now said. “You do know that, do you not?”
Louise then gave Grace a hug, after which Martin did likewise.
“So it was Phillip Khoska who was responsible for all of that,” Grace said. “Grady was telling the truth.”
“Yes, Grace, I’m afraid it was,” Martin said. “Now, come to find out, I and Phillip are related. I would be his uncle, I guess. I really hope you do not look askance on us, dear. What is troubling is he knew it all the time, him and Voroslav, and the old priest as well. I wonder why they would keep such a thing from us.”
Grady now groaned as he actually attempted to rise from his chair. Grace looked at him warily, and then picked up a heavy vase as she walked toward the fallen editor.
“That really wouldn’t be necessary, dear,” Martin advised her. “Should he survive, he will remember little, and what little he might remember, he will be helpless to communicate. Perhaps that would be a most fitting punishment for him, given his position, would you not say?”
“So, you are the chosen mother promised to give birth to The One Who Shall Renew,” Louise said, totally engrossed in the matter of Graces’ pregnancy. “Why, you look to be six months pregnant, yet it has been all of what-a month?”
Grace suddenly betrayed a look of deep worry that Louise found disconcerting.
“What is it my dear?”
“I had an ultra-sound performed, under an assumed name of course, and according to the physician, there is no fetus. There is nothing there, in fact, but a mass of blood and mucous, much like placenta, but no baby. According to the attending physician, the heartbeat seems to be the result of swirling gasses.
“Yet, it takes on the appearance of a human shape, and seems to act like an infant. It has the appearance of a head and appendages. It looks to be sucking its thumb, while curled in a fetal position. Does this sound natural?”
“Well, I am no expert in these matters, dear,” Martin replied. “Bear in mind, however, this is hardly an ordinary pregnancy, and most certainly not an ordinary infant.”
Suddenly, Louise stiffened, and looked gravely at Martin, and then at Grace.
“The old priest Aleksandre, he knows,” she said. “He has to go, Martin. All of them have to go. They are dangerous. We cannot take the chance they do not know. It would explain his silence to you all those years ago. It is the only thing that makes sense. Of course, he had to know you and he shared the same mother.”
“All of the Khoskas have to die, then?” Grace asked with no visible show of emotion, yet noticeably ill at ease.
“Let us worry about that, Grace,” Martin replied. “We will see to the dirty work, as they say. You worry about keeping healthy. We will put the Khoskas in their place. Their deaths may not be necessary. If they are, so be it. We will see to them over time. Indeed, it will not be the first time. I had to put an end to my own father when he proved too weak, as well as my brother, once it became obvious how untrustworthy he was. As hard as it was to do these things, our son George was the hardest. When I think of how he ended up, eaten by rats on the docks of Baltimore, it really saddens me.”
“Uh huh, see what I mean about not being stingy with things you execute people with-especially loved ones?” Louise said to Martin’s obvious dismay. “Too much is always far better than not enough. That is why I always tell you to let me handle these things. Martin can be such a skinflint.
“Nevertheless, this day has been five hundred years in the making,” she then added. “It is actually quite impossible to prevent it. That would be such a mockery.”
“Nevertheless, if it turns out to be essential,” Martin concluded, “or advisable in any way as a stopgap measure, we will certainly see to the Khoska family as well, regrettable though that will be in the case of the old priest. Phillip will be no problem whatsoever, other than technically, of course, due to his wealth and influence. Again, he will not be the first of that caliber either. As for his friend here, I suppose we had best make sure he is finished, Louise, would you not agree?”
Suddenly, Grady Desmond rose on one arm, and looked toward Grace.
“Grace,” he said in a hoarse whisper with great effort. “Please help me. I promise I won’t say a word.”
“Oh, dear, I suppose I should finish the poor fellow off quickly now,” Martin said. “I hate to see him lying there suffering, obviously feeling the fool. Honestly, Mr. Desmond, we do appreciate the great help you have been to us. We are not ungrateful, by any means.”
“You can trust me,” he said desperately. “I only wanted to help Grace. Please, don’t kill me.”
“What do you think?” Louise asked her.
“He sent a former FBI agent to follow me and kill me,” Grace replied. “He didn’t know I found out about that, but I did. He followed me all the way to a remote area of Virginia and would have killed me if someone else had not interfered.”
“I had nothing to do with that,” Grady said. “That was all Phillip Khoska’s doing. I just supplied you the car with the tracking device. I didn’t know he was”-
Suddenly, Grady clutched his chest in agony as his face become blood red, and he gasped in a tremendous amount of air. He then fell out of his chair as he simultaneously breathed his last breath.
“Huh-well, I guess that settles that,” Louise said. “Now, remember Grace dear. There will be four people arriving here shortly. One will be a man in a cheap business suit, acting nervously, his eyes darting around suspiciously. Yet another will be a woman in tears. A very angry man will follow her. Finally, a black man will arrive, wearing a clown suit and a gift of poisoned brandy and cigars.”
“What was this again-a black man wearing a clown suit?” Grace asked. “Why?”
“Louise just thought that would be a nice touch,” Martin said with a shrug. “You have to admit it will certainly give them something to talk about as well as providing an adequate disguise for who will be thought the probable killer. You do have your temporary workers card, don’t you, Louise?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Martin, for the thousandth time, yes,” the old woman replied with exasperation. “No one here will ask for it anyway, I’m sure, but yes I have it. Oh, but that does remind me-here, Grace.”
Louise reached inside her purse and handed Grace a card.
“Here is the number I promised you. He is waiting to hear from you. Really, that dilapidated old building is no place for you in your condition, not until we finish the repairs at any rate. He is more than happy to see to your welfare.”
“He has missed you almost as much as we have, if that were possible,” Martin added.
“Would you like to be alone, dear, to speak to him in private?” Louise asked.
“That would be good,” Grace replied.
“One more thing, Grace,” Martin replied. “You must really discourage Radu from these constant longings for these past attachments of Marlowe’s. He really should let them go. Otherwise, he may never come into his own, and that will never do, of course.
“I understand of course that was inevitable. However, you should stand firm with him. He really needs you. Remind him that Marlowe was never important, that in fact Marlowe was never more than a brief, though necessary, temporary incarnation period to provide his unconscious soul a period of rest and healing, until such time as he could awaken and take his place once more in the world-his true, rightful place.”
“I am trying, but it has not been easy,” Grace replied. “He will come around, I am sure.”
“That is why we wish to avoid him for the time being,” Louise added. “Our presence would only encourage him to hold these false, irrelevant memories. Make no mistake, though, we have the utmost faith in you, my dear.”
“Well, we should really be moving along, Louise,” he said. “Well, I should. You have a temporary secretary’s job to do for a few hours.”
The elderly couple then moved towards the door to the office, and as Louise exited, Martin turned once more toward Grace, as he regarded her in obvious fondness.
“After all he has been through, I see now you are the perfect one to guide him,” he said. “It is so amazing how his strength prevails as it has up until now, despite the influence of such weaklings as that despicable Uncle Brad of his, to say nothing of that worthless heroin addicted friend of his, Marty Evans. No offense, mind you, my dear, I understand that we all have our weaknesses. Of course, when he fell under the sway of that”- here Martin gazed toward the office door, where Louise had just now went out to assume her place at the secretary’s desk-
“That nigger,” he whispered. “Louise hates it when I use that word. You know, the Crenshaw fellow. Anyway, Marlowe-oh, there I go, I am as bad as he is-Radu, I mean, has seen his share of hardships, not the least from that abominable mother of his. Had I known how weak my own son was I would have ended his life as easily as I did my youngest son.
“You see, though, Grace, it turned out all for the best after all. As they say, what does not kill you only makes you stronger. Still, he needs you very much to keep him on the right course. And I know you will do that.”
“You sure seem to be taking your time in there, Martin,” Louise shouted from outside the office. “I hope you are not wasting Graces’ time and making a fool of yourself at your age.”
Martin rolled his eyes and grinned as he shook his head.
“It has been really good seeing you again, Grace,” he said. “Be sure you remember to lock the door when you leave, my dear. After all, the weekend is coming up. If we are lucky, they will not discover Mr. Desmond’s body until it starts to stink up the place. That would make it far more difficult to establish an exact time of death, you see.”
“You can count on me, Mr. Krovell,” Grace said, and then as Martin shook his finger with a teasing admonition, immediately made the correction. “Martin, I mean. And it has been really good seeing the two of you again, as well.”
After he left, Grace rummaged through Grady’s office until she found the hidden tape recorder, which she set on rewind. She then rummaged through his pockets until he found his cell phone. As she suspected, he had surreptitiously taken pictures of the two elderly Krovells, which she deleted.
“Nice try, Grady,” she said with grudging respect as she extracted from her purse her own cell phone, with which she phoned the number on the card earlier given her by Louise.
“Eddie, this is Grace,” she said. “I see you are out, so I’ll call later. I will be coming as soon as possible. I look forward to seeing you again. It’s been too long.”
She waited a few minutes longer, after which she returned to the tape recorder. She hit the record button, after which she placed on Grady’s desk another recorder. When the clock struck eight, she hit the play button on that one, which contained snippets of a previously recorded conversation earlier engaged with the now deceased editor of The Baltimore Sun. The clown would take this recorder with him after his visit, she reasoned.
“You forgot something, Grady,” she said in the way of a farewell. “You always taught me that most times, things are more often than not exactly what they seem to be on the surface. What you did not realize is-this was not one of those times.”
Grace walked casually toward the front door, her high heels clicking on the floor below her. She reached for the door. As she opened the door, she turned one last time. She glanced down toward the now dead body, crumpled on the floor. She smiled. She turned then and left, closing the door behind her.
Part One
Prologue and Chapters I-X
Part Two
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Part Three
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Radu-Chapter XXVIII (A Novel by Patrick Kelley)
7 pages approximate
Grady Desmond lit a cigar. He sat back in his office lounge chair, and he drew in a deep drag. It was getting better now-much, much better. He knew he should not flaunt the no-smoking policy of the paper, but on the other hand, he knew as well he should not sit here in his office and nurse a snifter of brandy during working hours. His proctologist would have a fit. So would his wife, and his children. His boss would lecture him about propriety. On the other hand, Desmond really could care less if his boss, the editor-in-chief of the Baltimore Sun, fired him-not that there was any danger of that. Desmond only worked from the sheer pleasure of the job, and if they fired him-which was not about to happen-he would easily land another job. His reputation was secure through three decades and change of first beat reporting, and then editorial work. He knew how to play the newspaper game. It was all about the office politics. Grady rose above that over a decade ago. Grady was one of those lucky few. Others catered to him.
He took a final sip of brandy, and then he took another long, leisurely drag of his cigar. He put it out. He was satisfied.
Few people in life had managed to accomplish the things Grady Desmond had in life. He had built, saved, and destroyed careers. In doing so, he took pains to insulate himself from any potential fallout. Finally, when everything came crashing down around him, he sat and watched it all from a position not only of security, but also of comfort. Randolph Morrison killed in a plane crash in India. His son Greg under investigation due to admitted involvement in a murderous pedophile ring. Lonnie Brock was also finally dead after a long, torturous bout with cancer. Even Jason Talbert was not immune, as he discovered the hard way. Insistent though he was that his battery of high-powered lawyers could weather any storm, he never seemed to get the point. Wealthy people never did. The ultra-wealthy were the worse. From their perspective, the world was always about them. Everything and everyone else that gravitated within their orbit existed only for their benefit. What Talbert could never grasp was the determination of others to avoid their own lives becoming casualties of the storm, while men like Talbert used them and disposed of them like plastic utensils. Talbert had to go. Grady had his obituary written two hours before he got word of his demise. It was amazingly accurate, right down to the reaction of the assembled family and friends. Grady even included the dinner menu-Peking Duck. Luckily, Talbert was as always predictable. It enabled Grady to humanize the event of his death ahead of time.
He seriously considered pouring another snifter of brandy when the intercom buzzed.
“Your appointment has arrived, Mr. Desmond,” came the perky voice of the receptionist. Desmond wondered if he might fuck her one more time before the month ended. Before he tried to have sex with his wife of thirty-seven years, for the first time in eleven, by way of a prescription of Viagra, he experimented with the drug on Alice. Having done so, he decided he would not mind making that a semi-regular event, and so he did. It was a once a month thing, but Grady would never allow it to become more regular than that. Women, like a fine brandy, were to be savored at leisure, but should not be overindulged.
“Mr. Desmond, are you there?” she repeated.
“Yeah, Alice, send them in,” he answered.
“I will be leaving now, sir,” she then said. “Will there be anything else you need before I go?”
“Yeah, remember our private meeting for next weekend,” he said. “I will certainly be looking forward to it, and there might be an extra special bonus coming your way.”
“I’ll be looking forward to it as always sir,” the secretary replied cheerily as the door to Grady’s office opened.
When the elderly couple entered Grady’s office, he was astounded at how healthy they seemed for a couple in their late seventies. The old woman could easily pass for her early sixties, and while there was no such miscalculation as to the age of the man, he seemed strong, healthy, and even had a twinkle in his somewhat olive green eyes.
“Please, come in and have a seat,” Grady said cordially. “I’m so happy you could make such a long trip on such short notice. I know you’ve both been through quite a lot over the last year.”
“Not at all, Mr. Desmond,” the old man replied. “It has been too long since we’ve been in Baltimore. We only wish it could be under more pleasant circumstances.”
“In a warmer season,” the old woman added. “Baltimore is horrid this time of the year.”
“Can I offer you something?” Grady asked. “Some brandy, perhaps. I also have some cigars from the finest tobacconist shop in Baltimore.”
“Oh, I’m afraid I will have to abstain from the cigar,” the old man said. “Unfortunately, that is one of the pleasures of life that, tempting though it is, I am afraid it would be liable to hasten my demise. Brandy would be nice, however.”
“As it always is, Martin,” the old woman said in good-natured teasing fashion. “Might I do the honors? Really, I do insist, Mr. Grady.”
“Well, by all means, Mrs. Krovell,” Brady replied. “Or do you prefer the name Krovelescu?”
“Krovell will be fine,” Martin said. “For a short time, I did toy with the idea of changing our name back to the original form, but Louise convinced me that would be seen as pretentious.”
Louise by this time had poured Grady’s brandy, and then began pouring one for her husband, as she let out a laugh.
“Our poor, dear Marlowe started all that,” she said. “He was so insistent that we become true to our heritage, and wear it like a badge of honor. I don’t think the poor boy ever quite got it through his head the Krovelescu family was really quite a common one of mere peasant stock.”
Martin kept his gaze peeled on Grady, and with a smile took the snifter of brandy Louise prepared for him as though it were a routine gesture.
“Yes, I think Marlowe was determined to discover we were descended from some ancient line of nobility, such as the Draculas, or from Radu the Black,” he said. “The sad truth was, our ancestors were never any more than serfs, at best. Our common ancestor Vlad, the one who immigrated here, managed to work his way up to groundskeeper for a Phenariot family. Interestingly, he was in charge of the family cemetery as well. He was their own private gravedigger, until he was discovered digging up already occupied graves and stealing the interred valuables-which is not the kind of heritage in which one would ordinarily take a lot of pride.
“Luckily for Vlad-or Lawrence, as he renamed himself-he managed to stash enough away from previous-er, undertakings-that he was able to leave the country in one piece, along with his wife and mother-in-law.”
“Yes, Magda the Gypsy,” Louise said as she now began sipping her own brandy. “Now she was indeed a character.”
“Actually, it is another ancestor of yours I am most interested in,” Grady said. “I am not sure ancestor would be an appropriate word, to tell you the truth. I hope you do not mind, but I took it on myself to do a bit of research. I know you for quite some time were interested in the whereabouts of your mother. I think I can finally put your questions to rest.”
Martins’ eyes got wide with surprise, and he almost bolted from his chair.
“Mr. Grady, are you serious?” he asked. “You found my mother?”
Grady handed Martin Krovell what appeared to be a set of documents bound by a paper clip. The old man took them eagerly as Louise looked on in obvious interest.
“What does it say, Martin?” she asked.
“Why, according to this she returned to Romania,” he replied. “She had her marriage to my father annulled by a priest of the church. Then, incredibly, she went on to marry that same priest less than a year later, a priest by the name of Mikhail Khoska, by whom she later had a son named-oh my God, Louise, Aleksandre Khoska is my half-brother.”
The old man was obviously distraught, as he sat down the snifter of brandy.
“Mr. Desmond, I hate to impose, but do you mind if I have another bit of this fine Brandy you have so kindly provided for us?”
“Why would he not have told you?” Louise asked, obviously with growing concern. “How cruel of him to keep this from you for all of these years! Why would he do such a thing?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Martin replied. “I think I shall certainly ask him, though.”
“Perhaps he was ashamed of his father’s actions,” Louise said. “It would certainly be understandable.”
“That might be true,” Martin replied. “Still, I came to understand long ago that my father was a jealous, possessive, uncaring, vindictive, abusive man, to the point where he could be mercilessly brutal. No, Father Khoska did not do the wrong thing. I would have liked to know, however. My mother died just a little over ten years ago, according to this document. Had I known, I would have made a trip to see her before she died. Now of course it is too late.
“Mr. Desmond, you have no idea how much you have helped me ease my mind. I have always suspected my father of having done away with my mother somehow. You have no idea how many times I have considered digging up the entire property, but dreaded discovering her remains. There are days it has been all I could think about. I owe you a tremendous debt, sir.”
Grady looked at the old couple now with an intensity that was almost striking in its ferocity. He had more news for the elderly couple.
“Actually, I can’t take credit for it,” he said. “I put one of my top reporters on the job, and she was more than diligent in uncovering the information. You may have heard of her. Her name is Grace Rodescu.”
For just a brief second, Martin and Louise Khoska shot each other a stunned look, as they regarded each other with a deadly silence. This did not go unnoticed by Grady Desmond, to whom they soon both returned their gaze, as they regarded him sternly.
“Why, Mr. Grady. You have surprised us, very much in fact,” the old man said as Louise suddenly smiled. “You are holding up quite well, though, much better than we would have expected, to be completely honest. You do look rather tired, though.”
“What-are you talking about?” Grant asked with a smile though filled now with suspicion. Louise held up her snifter of brandy as she indicated with a nod the one that sat beside Grady.
“You should really be careful whom you allow to prepare your drinks, Mr. Desmond,” she advised him with a suddenly girlish smile. “You never can tell when one might decide to ‘slip you a Mickey’, as they say.”
Grady looked down at his now empty snifter in horror, and then looked back at Louise, who met his gaze with what actually seemed to be a girlish anticipation, as she giggled.
"Now, Louise, you should not be so modest,” Martin said as he patted his wife on the arm. “After all, a 'Mickey Finn' consists of mere ‘knock-out drops’, not a deadly poison. Really, though, we should not tease Mr. Desmond. After all, he has been very cordial towards us, inviting us all this way to tell us all of this important information. Mr. Grady, you really must not mind my wife. She has always been noted as the practical joker of the family, after all. I think it is more than likely that gypsy blood of hers. I am indeed a lucky man, would you not say?”
Grady looked at the two of them, and suddenly started laughing, albeit uneasily, as they did likewise. Suddenly, Grady stopped and, clutching his chest, humped over his desk.
“Oh, my dear,” Martin now said. “Louise, I do believe you might have used a bit too much nightshade. It really isn’t supposed to have this sort of effect, you know.”
“Oh, I know dear,” Louise said apologetically. “I just can’t seem to get used to these more intense preparations. I always found the more old-fashioned extractions were far more reliable in their predictability.”
“Nightshade?” Grady now gasped, as he clutched his chest, his breathing now coming in gasps, as he doubled over. His eyes went back in his head, as he now tilted over in his chair.
“Would you kindly look outside and see if the girl has gone, Louise,” Martin now said as his wife walked toward the door. “I will place a call to our friend.”
Louise opened the door and peered outside, noting the desk outside was empty as Martin placed a call with his cell phone to someone whom he informed could feel secure in presenting herself. Within less than three minutes, an obviously disguised and visibly pregnant Grace Rodescu entered the office of a yet alive, though barely so, Grady Desmond.
“I guess I no longer have you to worry about, Grady,” she said. “I’m really sorry about this, but I can’t afford to take any more chances with you. Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Khoska.”
“Grace, my dear, it has been far too long,” Martin said. “What has it been now-sixteen years or so, I believe. What a pleasure to see you again. And to think-you are carrying our great-grandchild. How magnificent!”
“I am glad you approve,” Grace said.
“Out of all the girls from the old country that Phillip sponsored in that dreadful place, you were by far our favorite, Grace,” Louise now said. “You do know that, do you not?”
Louise then gave Grace a hug, after which Martin did likewise.
“So it was Phillip Khoska who was responsible for all of that,” Grace said. “Grady was telling the truth.”
“Yes, Grace, I’m afraid it was,” Martin said. “Now, come to find out, I and Phillip are related. I would be his uncle, I guess. I really hope you do not look askance on us, dear. What is troubling is he knew it all the time, him and Voroslav, and the old priest as well. I wonder why they would keep such a thing from us.”
Grady now groaned as he actually attempted to rise from his chair. Grace looked at him warily, and then picked up a heavy vase as she walked toward the fallen editor.
“That really wouldn’t be necessary, dear,” Martin advised her. “Should he survive, he will remember little, and what little he might remember, he will be helpless to communicate. Perhaps that would be a most fitting punishment for him, given his position, would you not say?”
“So, you are the chosen mother promised to give birth to The One Who Shall Renew,” Louise said, totally engrossed in the matter of Graces’ pregnancy. “Why, you look to be six months pregnant, yet it has been all of what-a month?”
Grace suddenly betrayed a look of deep worry that Louise found disconcerting.
“What is it my dear?”
“I had an ultra-sound performed, under an assumed name of course, and according to the physician, there is no fetus. There is nothing there, in fact, but a mass of blood and mucous, much like placenta, but no baby. According to the attending physician, the heartbeat seems to be the result of swirling gasses.
“Yet, it takes on the appearance of a human shape, and seems to act like an infant. It has the appearance of a head and appendages. It looks to be sucking its thumb, while curled in a fetal position. Does this sound natural?”
“Well, I am no expert in these matters, dear,” Martin replied. “Bear in mind, however, this is hardly an ordinary pregnancy, and most certainly not an ordinary infant.”
Suddenly, Louise stiffened, and looked gravely at Martin, and then at Grace.
“The old priest Aleksandre, he knows,” she said. “He has to go, Martin. All of them have to go. They are dangerous. We cannot take the chance they do not know. It would explain his silence to you all those years ago. It is the only thing that makes sense. Of course, he had to know you and he shared the same mother.”
“All of the Khoskas have to die, then?” Grace asked with no visible show of emotion, yet noticeably ill at ease.
“Let us worry about that, Grace,” Martin replied. “We will see to the dirty work, as they say. You worry about keeping healthy. We will put the Khoskas in their place. Their deaths may not be necessary. If they are, so be it. We will see to them over time. Indeed, it will not be the first time. I had to put an end to my own father when he proved too weak, as well as my brother, once it became obvious how untrustworthy he was. As hard as it was to do these things, our son George was the hardest. When I think of how he ended up, eaten by rats on the docks of Baltimore, it really saddens me.”
“Uh huh, see what I mean about not being stingy with things you execute people with-especially loved ones?” Louise said to Martin’s obvious dismay. “Too much is always far better than not enough. That is why I always tell you to let me handle these things. Martin can be such a skinflint.
“Nevertheless, this day has been five hundred years in the making,” she then added. “It is actually quite impossible to prevent it. That would be such a mockery.”
“Nevertheless, if it turns out to be essential,” Martin concluded, “or advisable in any way as a stopgap measure, we will certainly see to the Khoska family as well, regrettable though that will be in the case of the old priest. Phillip will be no problem whatsoever, other than technically, of course, due to his wealth and influence. Again, he will not be the first of that caliber either. As for his friend here, I suppose we had best make sure he is finished, Louise, would you not agree?”
Suddenly, Grady Desmond rose on one arm, and looked toward Grace.
“Grace,” he said in a hoarse whisper with great effort. “Please help me. I promise I won’t say a word.”
“Oh, dear, I suppose I should finish the poor fellow off quickly now,” Martin said. “I hate to see him lying there suffering, obviously feeling the fool. Honestly, Mr. Desmond, we do appreciate the great help you have been to us. We are not ungrateful, by any means.”
“You can trust me,” he said desperately. “I only wanted to help Grace. Please, don’t kill me.”
“What do you think?” Louise asked her.
“He sent a former FBI agent to follow me and kill me,” Grace replied. “He didn’t know I found out about that, but I did. He followed me all the way to a remote area of Virginia and would have killed me if someone else had not interfered.”
“I had nothing to do with that,” Grady said. “That was all Phillip Khoska’s doing. I just supplied you the car with the tracking device. I didn’t know he was”-
Suddenly, Grady clutched his chest in agony as his face become blood red, and he gasped in a tremendous amount of air. He then fell out of his chair as he simultaneously breathed his last breath.
“Huh-well, I guess that settles that,” Louise said. “Now, remember Grace dear. There will be four people arriving here shortly. One will be a man in a cheap business suit, acting nervously, his eyes darting around suspiciously. Yet another will be a woman in tears. A very angry man will follow her. Finally, a black man will arrive, wearing a clown suit and a gift of poisoned brandy and cigars.”
“What was this again-a black man wearing a clown suit?” Grace asked. “Why?”
“Louise just thought that would be a nice touch,” Martin said with a shrug. “You have to admit it will certainly give them something to talk about as well as providing an adequate disguise for who will be thought the probable killer. You do have your temporary workers card, don’t you, Louise?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Martin, for the thousandth time, yes,” the old woman replied with exasperation. “No one here will ask for it anyway, I’m sure, but yes I have it. Oh, but that does remind me-here, Grace.”
Louise reached inside her purse and handed Grace a card.
“Here is the number I promised you. He is waiting to hear from you. Really, that dilapidated old building is no place for you in your condition, not until we finish the repairs at any rate. He is more than happy to see to your welfare.”
“He has missed you almost as much as we have, if that were possible,” Martin added.
“Would you like to be alone, dear, to speak to him in private?” Louise asked.
“That would be good,” Grace replied.
“One more thing, Grace,” Martin replied. “You must really discourage Radu from these constant longings for these past attachments of Marlowe’s. He really should let them go. Otherwise, he may never come into his own, and that will never do, of course.
“I understand of course that was inevitable. However, you should stand firm with him. He really needs you. Remind him that Marlowe was never important, that in fact Marlowe was never more than a brief, though necessary, temporary incarnation period to provide his unconscious soul a period of rest and healing, until such time as he could awaken and take his place once more in the world-his true, rightful place.”
“I am trying, but it has not been easy,” Grace replied. “He will come around, I am sure.”
“That is why we wish to avoid him for the time being,” Louise added. “Our presence would only encourage him to hold these false, irrelevant memories. Make no mistake, though, we have the utmost faith in you, my dear.”
“Well, we should really be moving along, Louise,” he said. “Well, I should. You have a temporary secretary’s job to do for a few hours.”
The elderly couple then moved towards the door to the office, and as Louise exited, Martin turned once more toward Grace, as he regarded her in obvious fondness.
“After all he has been through, I see now you are the perfect one to guide him,” he said. “It is so amazing how his strength prevails as it has up until now, despite the influence of such weaklings as that despicable Uncle Brad of his, to say nothing of that worthless heroin addicted friend of his, Marty Evans. No offense, mind you, my dear, I understand that we all have our weaknesses. Of course, when he fell under the sway of that”- here Martin gazed toward the office door, where Louise had just now went out to assume her place at the secretary’s desk-
“That nigger,” he whispered. “Louise hates it when I use that word. You know, the Crenshaw fellow. Anyway, Marlowe-oh, there I go, I am as bad as he is-Radu, I mean, has seen his share of hardships, not the least from that abominable mother of his. Had I known how weak my own son was I would have ended his life as easily as I did my youngest son.
“You see, though, Grace, it turned out all for the best after all. As they say, what does not kill you only makes you stronger. Still, he needs you very much to keep him on the right course. And I know you will do that.”
“You sure seem to be taking your time in there, Martin,” Louise shouted from outside the office. “I hope you are not wasting Graces’ time and making a fool of yourself at your age.”
Martin rolled his eyes and grinned as he shook his head.
“It has been really good seeing you again, Grace,” he said. “Be sure you remember to lock the door when you leave, my dear. After all, the weekend is coming up. If we are lucky, they will not discover Mr. Desmond’s body until it starts to stink up the place. That would make it far more difficult to establish an exact time of death, you see.”
“You can count on me, Mr. Krovell,” Grace said, and then as Martin shook his finger with a teasing admonition, immediately made the correction. “Martin, I mean. And it has been really good seeing the two of you again, as well.”
After he left, Grace rummaged through Grady’s office until she found the hidden tape recorder, which she set on rewind. She then rummaged through his pockets until he found his cell phone. As she suspected, he had surreptitiously taken pictures of the two elderly Krovells, which she deleted.
“Nice try, Grady,” she said with grudging respect as she extracted from her purse her own cell phone, with which she phoned the number on the card earlier given her by Louise.
“Eddie, this is Grace,” she said. “I see you are out, so I’ll call later. I will be coming as soon as possible. I look forward to seeing you again. It’s been too long.”
She waited a few minutes longer, after which she returned to the tape recorder. She hit the record button, after which she placed on Grady’s desk another recorder. When the clock struck eight, she hit the play button on that one, which contained snippets of a previously recorded conversation earlier engaged with the now deceased editor of The Baltimore Sun. The clown would take this recorder with him after his visit, she reasoned.
“You forgot something, Grady,” she said in the way of a farewell. “You always taught me that most times, things are more often than not exactly what they seem to be on the surface. What you did not realize is-this was not one of those times.”
Grace walked casually toward the front door, her high heels clicking on the floor below her. She reached for the door. As she opened the door, she turned one last time. She glanced down toward the now dead body, crumpled on the floor. She smiled. She turned then and left, closing the door behind her.
A Gelding Named Don Imus
Don Imus is back, kind of sort of. He will no longer be on Clear Channel, nor will he be simulcast on MSNBC, and the radio deal he has now netted places him on considerably less stations than on which he formerly appeared. By virtue of this fact alone, he will command a considerably lesser audience than he previously enjoyed. Former sidekick Charles McCord evidently will not be returning, although former show producer Bernard Magurk, who also came under harsh criticism for supposedly racist and/or racially insensitive remarks, will return, along with two African American regulars.
In one of his initial appearances, taped in front of a studio audience, Imus declared that he would not make the young women of the Rutgers University basketball team (formerly known as “nappy headed hos”) feel like fools for accepting his apology. However, he has also assured his listeners that he would not be a “kinder, gentler” Imus.
Translation-Imus is going to limit his criticisms to the “institutionalized racist white power structure”, which he will probably mercilessly slice, gut, and filet as badly as was he himself by the race card drivers, notably the Reverend Al Sharpton, who promises that he will be listening.
I was of the hopes that Imus would land on his feet and get a contract with FX or with Sirius satellite, and would be as mercilessly brutal with all groups equally. Instead, Don Imus seems content to spend his twilight years all but not so much put out to pasture as a gelding-which would have been preferable-but to play at appeasing his hordes of detractors as the sad joke of a media cuckold that I very much fear he has now become.
Like Al Sharpton, I too will be listening, when and if possible, in the probably vain hope that Imus will, as they say, "grow a pair". However, I am not expecting much.
True, geldings have been known to do well in some races. They have been even known to win.
Unfortunately, the most obviously unavoidable aspect of geldings is that by their nature, and by definition, they leave no legacy to speak of. Such will be the case, I am afraid, with this latest incarnation of the late, once great Don Imus (g).
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Here Goes Another "Important" Hugo Chavez Puff Piece
To the relief of many and the consternation of others, the referendum of December 1st held in Venezuela that would have ended term limits, thus enabling President Hugo Chavez to run in perpetuity, failed by a margin of 51-49 percent. Chavez, who previously stated that any who voted against the measure would be a traitor, has now conceded defeat-“for now”.
To any who might be hopeful or overly sentimental in regards to this outwardly gracious appearing concession, I might remind you that Venezuela has been the scene of troubling unrest in regards the referendum, with opponents and protestors amassing in the streets in daily displays of opposition to the measure.
Had this not been the case, the chances are more than fair that the election could have easily been manipulated, with the results ending up vastly different. However, Chavez may have come to realize that he overplayed his hand in what many came to see as an unprecedented attempt at a power grab. He also knew that the eyes of the world were watching, and waiting. He wanted power, but not at the expense of riots, bloodshed, and outright carnage. I have a feeling he was sternly warned by his security forces that such a scenario might result in a loss of control that might not be so easily restored.
Remember that as well he has implied there will be another referendum at some unspecified date. Look for him to do so within the next few months to a year, two years at the most. When he tries it again, I look for there to be more emphasis placed on other aspects of the referendum that might not have even been a part of the last one. Chavez might well take a more moderate stance, guaranteeing civil, religious, and political liberties, while possibly guaranteeing limited though well defined property rights.
Hopefuly, though, this slap in the face has been a wake up call to him. He might come to realize that rhetoric and empty promises might make for pleasant dreams, but a morning without hope, for way too many of his citizens, could turn those dreams into nightmares for all concerned.
In the way of a disclaimer, I am not an avowed foe of Hugo Chavez, nor am I a fan of his. I personally do not give a shit what type of government a foreign, sovereign nation elects to have. In most cases, any problem they might give us can easily be solved in measurements of megatons. That fact, if exercised judiciously, would lead to as hearty and sincere a handshake with a communist leader as with a democratically elected one. Otherwise, it is really none of our business. If they elect not to trade with us, in the meantime, I look at it this way-their fucking loss, and in most cases, American workers gain. Who the fuck needs their cheap ass slave labor products?
Incidentally, as far as I’m concerned, this is the only thing our corporate executives and politicians really want with Latin American to begin with. To them, it’s just another cheap-ass trade zone for the manufacture and importation of cheap goods and cheaper workers, a path for whom would quickly be cleared to here. Politicians like Chavez, for all their rhetoric and all their flaws, stand in the way of potentially billions of dollars quarterly. Frankly, I hope they keep the guy. I think he could be reasoned with, provided we approach him from a reasonable position. As it is, while we are engaged in this cold war extension with this paper tiger, there is the further consequence that it is a further inducement for the price of oil to incline upwards, which is another reason for the current policy.
Understanding this simple fact, I never have or never will be a proponent of such idle and ill-advised foolishness as, for example, boycotts of Citgo. I will even go so far as to say that a lot of the current rhetoric can easily be considered to originate from the inside the beltway pundit and political classes who take their cue (and a great deal more from under the table) from the corporate executives of Shell and Halliburton, etc.
At the same time, I can read the writing on the wall, or in this case, the engraving on both sides of the coin. Somebody needs to rein in both sides, and that includes Chavez. Hopefully, this latest development will let a lot of the hot air out of both parties.
To any who might be hopeful or overly sentimental in regards to this outwardly gracious appearing concession, I might remind you that Venezuela has been the scene of troubling unrest in regards the referendum, with opponents and protestors amassing in the streets in daily displays of opposition to the measure.
Had this not been the case, the chances are more than fair that the election could have easily been manipulated, with the results ending up vastly different. However, Chavez may have come to realize that he overplayed his hand in what many came to see as an unprecedented attempt at a power grab. He also knew that the eyes of the world were watching, and waiting. He wanted power, but not at the expense of riots, bloodshed, and outright carnage. I have a feeling he was sternly warned by his security forces that such a scenario might result in a loss of control that might not be so easily restored.
Remember that as well he has implied there will be another referendum at some unspecified date. Look for him to do so within the next few months to a year, two years at the most. When he tries it again, I look for there to be more emphasis placed on other aspects of the referendum that might not have even been a part of the last one. Chavez might well take a more moderate stance, guaranteeing civil, religious, and political liberties, while possibly guaranteeing limited though well defined property rights.
Hopefuly, though, this slap in the face has been a wake up call to him. He might come to realize that rhetoric and empty promises might make for pleasant dreams, but a morning without hope, for way too many of his citizens, could turn those dreams into nightmares for all concerned.
In the way of a disclaimer, I am not an avowed foe of Hugo Chavez, nor am I a fan of his. I personally do not give a shit what type of government a foreign, sovereign nation elects to have. In most cases, any problem they might give us can easily be solved in measurements of megatons. That fact, if exercised judiciously, would lead to as hearty and sincere a handshake with a communist leader as with a democratically elected one. Otherwise, it is really none of our business. If they elect not to trade with us, in the meantime, I look at it this way-their fucking loss, and in most cases, American workers gain. Who the fuck needs their cheap ass slave labor products?
Incidentally, as far as I’m concerned, this is the only thing our corporate executives and politicians really want with Latin American to begin with. To them, it’s just another cheap-ass trade zone for the manufacture and importation of cheap goods and cheaper workers, a path for whom would quickly be cleared to here. Politicians like Chavez, for all their rhetoric and all their flaws, stand in the way of potentially billions of dollars quarterly. Frankly, I hope they keep the guy. I think he could be reasoned with, provided we approach him from a reasonable position. As it is, while we are engaged in this cold war extension with this paper tiger, there is the further consequence that it is a further inducement for the price of oil to incline upwards, which is another reason for the current policy.
Understanding this simple fact, I never have or never will be a proponent of such idle and ill-advised foolishness as, for example, boycotts of Citgo. I will even go so far as to say that a lot of the current rhetoric can easily be considered to originate from the inside the beltway pundit and political classes who take their cue (and a great deal more from under the table) from the corporate executives of Shell and Halliburton, etc.
At the same time, I can read the writing on the wall, or in this case, the engraving on both sides of the coin. Somebody needs to rein in both sides, and that includes Chavez. Hopefully, this latest development will let a lot of the hot air out of both parties.
Clinton's Comrades
This Grist article tells you all you need to know as to why Hillary Clinton is widely distrusted. This Liebermann-Warner proposal for which Clinton is working so hard to get passed calls for an eighty percent reduction in US global emissions by 2050. Eighty fucking percent? Her, Liebermann, and Bernie Sanders (author of the aforementioned eighty percent amendment) and all the rest of this bills proponents are fucking nuts. If they actually pass this measure, and really try to implement it, you might as well live in the jungles of Brazil, or the African savannah. Holy fucking shit.
No wonder people think Hillary Clinton is a hard core Stalinist. She fucking is one. Any cost of this of course will be passed down to the consumers, if it were ever passed, which hopefully there will be enough common sense senators from both parties to prevent that from ever occurring. If it does, hopefully it will be sent to a president who will veto it.
As it is, it may not make it out of committee. In that case, look for Hillary to make it a campaign issue, but don't look for her to advertise the more oppressive aspects of the bill, which she seems to support in total, working so hard for it's passage that the author of the article refers to her as a "real rock star."
Of course in the world of Hillary Clinton, any company that can't absorb the cost of such oppressive measures without passing it on to the consumer will probably be forced out of business, which in her perfect imaginary world is well and good. People wrongly assume the Democrats hate big business. Well, they are only half right. Take out the word big, and you've got it.
On the lighter side, note that Larry Craig, an opponent of the bill (and one of the Senators blocking it from being moved out of committee, to a floor vote, by way of procedural tactics) is mentioned in the article, along with the name of his hometown-Gayville. Now why the fuck didn't they just say Idaho? After all, isn't that how Senators are usually mentioned in public articles, by the name of the state they represent? Yeah, it's funny, but still, how obvious can you be?
At the end of the article, we are urged to pick up our phones and call our Senators to urge support. Yeah, that would be good for a laugh, but most Senators are too busy to put up with prank phone calls.
On the other hand, they might well take it seriously. After all, most people do seem to think Joe Liebermann is some kind of arch-conservative.
Now that is a fucking joke.
No wonder people think Hillary Clinton is a hard core Stalinist. She fucking is one. Any cost of this of course will be passed down to the consumers, if it were ever passed, which hopefully there will be enough common sense senators from both parties to prevent that from ever occurring. If it does, hopefully it will be sent to a president who will veto it.
As it is, it may not make it out of committee. In that case, look for Hillary to make it a campaign issue, but don't look for her to advertise the more oppressive aspects of the bill, which she seems to support in total, working so hard for it's passage that the author of the article refers to her as a "real rock star."
Of course in the world of Hillary Clinton, any company that can't absorb the cost of such oppressive measures without passing it on to the consumer will probably be forced out of business, which in her perfect imaginary world is well and good. People wrongly assume the Democrats hate big business. Well, they are only half right. Take out the word big, and you've got it.
On the lighter side, note that Larry Craig, an opponent of the bill (and one of the Senators blocking it from being moved out of committee, to a floor vote, by way of procedural tactics) is mentioned in the article, along with the name of his hometown-Gayville. Now why the fuck didn't they just say Idaho? After all, isn't that how Senators are usually mentioned in public articles, by the name of the state they represent? Yeah, it's funny, but still, how obvious can you be?
At the end of the article, we are urged to pick up our phones and call our Senators to urge support. Yeah, that would be good for a laugh, but most Senators are too busy to put up with prank phone calls.
On the other hand, they might well take it seriously. After all, most people do seem to think Joe Liebermann is some kind of arch-conservative.
Now that is a fucking joke.
The Prince Of Mardi Gras
Plans to demolish a large section of low rent apartments of new Orleans, and to replace them at a roughly 82% loss, are given a possible explanation in this Truthout article that unfortunately does indeed have the ring of truth to it.
You can sum it up concisely as, reduce the percentage of blacks in New Orleans with an eye toward increasing Republican votes statewide in the next election cycle.
In addition, it seems Democratic Senator Mary Landrieu has been targeted as the weakest Democrat up for re-election in the 2008 election. Denying her black voters, in addition to denying her any kind of victory on behalf of the poor residents, is increasing the odds of her defeat.
In the meantime, according to this article, tens of thousands of poor blacks in the area are still holed up in cheap FEMA trailors yet facing eviction, while others are camped out in tent cities from the inner city to under the I-10 bridge, while the area vacated is being utilized for the purposes of casinos and other kinds of businesses.
There is an insistence that any public housing built should be mixed race housing. Well, it would be wrong to encourage segregated housing, right?
Clever. The Republicans sure stick to their guns when they talk about family values.
Neitzche family values, that is.
You can sum it up concisely as, reduce the percentage of blacks in New Orleans with an eye toward increasing Republican votes statewide in the next election cycle.
In addition, it seems Democratic Senator Mary Landrieu has been targeted as the weakest Democrat up for re-election in the 2008 election. Denying her black voters, in addition to denying her any kind of victory on behalf of the poor residents, is increasing the odds of her defeat.
In the meantime, according to this article, tens of thousands of poor blacks in the area are still holed up in cheap FEMA trailors yet facing eviction, while others are camped out in tent cities from the inner city to under the I-10 bridge, while the area vacated is being utilized for the purposes of casinos and other kinds of businesses.
There is an insistence that any public housing built should be mixed race housing. Well, it would be wrong to encourage segregated housing, right?
Clever. The Republicans sure stick to their guns when they talk about family values.
Neitzche family values, that is.
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