Radu-Chapter XII (Novel by Patrick Kelley)

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Proloque with Chapters I-X


Chapter XI


Radu-Chapter XII (Novel by Patrick Kelley)

Lynette was looking forward to her up-and-coming move to Baltimore, when she at last decided to go through with her plans. She loved the old city, had ever since her first visit as a girl of eight, and all of her subsequent visits had only magnified her appreciation of the old city’s charms. At the same time, she viewed the renovated docks with mixed feelings. On the one hand, they were attractive, and seemed to be vibrant and alive with activity. At the same time, they seemed almost artificial, as though the city planners might have been trying too hard to modernize the old areas while striving to maintain a semblance of the original culture and personality.

She would be living in an upscale area, of course, far from the facade that disguised the core of the inner city. When she resumed her studies, she would be attending John Hopkins University. She greatly looked forward to it, as well as the opportunity to get away from New Jersey.

For one thing, she had to get away from Teddy. She had almost given in to his advances that night before Christmas, and in fact had lured him into making them. She had drunk a little too much eggnog, and wanted nothing more than to dance, to laugh, to feel some degree of happiness. Unfortunately, she, and they, almost went father than she truly intended.

She wanted to get away from her parents as well. Everything had blown up at once. Her younger brother had finally turned eighteen, some three months ago, when her dad suddenly and inexplicably filed for divorce and moved into an upscale condominium in Atlantic City with his mistress of, she later learned, seven years.

Mom had graciously agreed to a somewhat generous settlement. Ten million dollars after taxes, along with the family home, with all of its furnishings, in addition to a second home in South Carolina, and four of the families automobiles, including the old Bentley. Father agreed to pay the insurance and property taxes on each one of the cars and both of the houses, and agreed to a further allotment of one hundred thousand dollars a month in perpetuity. That was one third of his average earnings, but on the other hand, he had liquid assets of well over thirty million dollars.

Yes, he and mom would both be fine, but as for Lynette, she was heartbroken. All of this time she had lived in a bubble that contained the illusion of a perfect world, but now the bubble had burst. She could no longer concentrate on her studies, and so elected she would take off her last semester, and would return the following spring. Some time off would do her some good anyway. Where previously she had planned to attend Cornell School of Veterinary Medicine after graduating from Princeton, she hoped now to attend John Hopkins School of Comparative Medicine for her graduate school courses. In the meantime, she might perhaps find a job at a veterinary clinic.

In the meantime, she started to realize just how much like her father was Teddy, her fiancé. They liked the same sports; they enjoyed most of the same pastimes, with almost the singular exception of sailing, which Teddy despised. They even liked the same music, classic rock. They only had one other thing in common-each one despised the other. Still, the four times they were together, during holiday family get-togethers, they at least put on an appearance of cordiality. After all, appearances were everything.

Teddy also had the same career goals, in business. Her fiancé of some two and a half years held out hopes of landing a job with a major stock brokerage. Lynette had no doubt that he would do extremely well. Teddy had one other character that her father, Phillip Khoska, did not share-he was very religious. Her own father had disavowed the church of his up bringing, the Romanian Orthodox Church, yet never spoke of religion in any light, good or bad. Still, he had a system of ethics that he considered binding on him both in his business dealings and in his private life-or so he always claimed.

Teddy was a Southern Baptist, and a strong believer. He also, however, had disappointed his own father when he passed up the opportunity to attend Liberty University in Lynchburg Virginia, not quite sixty miles from where he and his family lived. He could not see a future for him that involved a degree from such a place as that, not with the kind of career he was after. Therefore, he decided instead to attend Princeton. Upon graduation, he planned to attend Princeton’s Graduate School of Finance.

He nevertheless remained faithful to his church. He attended regular worship services, and Lynette accompanied him many times. She was saved there, or as they put it, “born again”. It seemed actually to afford her a degree of comfort and even filled a vacuum that had been there for some time. Her father just shook his head and even chuckled when he heard the news, but otherwise offered no criticism. Her mother had been the only one to scoff, but when she saw Lynette was not pleased with this attitude, she let the matter drop.

The night of the last Christmas had been traumatic. Teddy did not believe in drinking, but some friends talked him into having a couple of beers a few nights previously. He had drunk a few times before, but never really got anything out of it with the exception of a guilty, nagging feeling that he had compromised his principles. One of his friends only half-jokingly informed him that, if he were truly going for a career in the business world, he needed all the practice at that he could stand.

Afterwards, he came home, tipsy, and called her, wanting to come over. She told him no, at that particular hour it would not be a good idea. As such, he let the matter drop.

It was less than a week before Christmas, and Lynette was depressed still over her parents. She looked at the present she had purchased for the both of them, in the stubborn yet hopeless belief they would make amends by the time the holidays arrived. It was a sterling silver tea set. She finally decided she would either keep it for herself, or sell it for what she could get for it.

She never really thought about the process that led her to enter the neighborhood lounge and order a whiskey sour, but she did so without really thinking about Teddy, who never approved of her drinking even socially, despite the fact that it was only on rare occasions that she did so. Nevertheless, she began to think about him after her first drink, and into the second one. In the thirty minutes she was there, not one person tried to hit on her. Was she actually that unattractive, she wondered?

She looked at herself in the mirror over the bar and realized that she looked like a wreck, and was dressed shabbily. She would ordinarily never go out looking like this, but she was just too upset at the time to give it any thought. She decided she would return home, fix herself up, and try to do something to get her mind off her parents’ bullshit.

She left several messages for her father, but he never returned her calls. She wondered if perhaps his new whore-yes, this is how she thought of her-had deleted them before he ever heard them. Perhaps he had just been too ashamed to talk to her. Maybe he did not even care. Whatever the reason for his actions, however, no possibility upset her nearly as much as her mother’s attitude. She actually acted as though it was just another day. It was as though she may as well come out and say, ‘I got what I wanted out of him, so I just don’t care what he does from now on’.

None of her siblings seemed to think it was that big a deal either, though of course she was the only girl among five children. Maybe her female emotions took things more seriously, or maybe being men, all but one older than her, they had learned better to keep their emotions in check. Whatever the explanation, she was devastated.

She had accompanied Teddy to a Christmas party on the 22nd, and there to her surprise he had drunk some eggnog. She joined him, though only for two drinks. She felt somewhat better, more relaxed, and actually started to somewhat enjoy herself. Prior to this, she had only gone along due to the previous commitment to do so, but her heart really was not in it.

She decided not to return home for the holidays, and so had the apartment to herself. She decided to make some homemade eggnog, and found a suitable recipe from a book at the library. She invited Teddy over. He had not yet returned home, deciding to drive home on Christmas Day. He agreed to come over, and by the time he got there, she realized she was quickly becoming soused. She was drunk, and did not give a damn.

She put on some music, an old album by a group known as The Cars, which Teddy liked very much. After bathing, she dressed in the most seductive outfit she could find. She handed him a present the minute he came through the door. They kissed, and Lynette led him over to the eggnog. There was more than enough for two people. She put on the Cars CD. By the time it finished playing, Teddy had drunk five cups of the frothy brew.

“Damn, this is great!” he declared. “Where did you learn to make this stuff? This is better than what James had at his party last night”.

“Beginner’s luck”, she assured him.

They drank, and they danced, and at one point during a particularly romantic number, she held herself tightly up against Teddy and could feel his erect penis pressed against her. She backed off, whereupon he seemed embarrassed. Before he could say anything, she said, “I have another present for you”.

She quickly handed him a small gift-wrapped box marked: “To: Lynette”.

“I don’t get it,” he said. “This is to you, why-“

“Just open it”, she insisted.

He opened it, and saw it was a box of Trojan condoms.

“Just what I always wanted”, she said as he looked at her dumbfounded. “Well, you are supposed to say ‘Merry Christmas’ when you give a girl what she wants.”

“You haven’t finished unwrapping the present yet”, he replied in a suddenly raspy voice, barely able to contain himself.

She smiled and started fumbling around with his zipper, while undoing the clasp of his jeans. She then pulled them down to where his hardened penis now protruded from the open fly of his boxer shorts. She gasped when she saw it, noting the beads of semen that exuded from the end of it. It was actually the first time she had seen a hardened penis, the first time she had actually seen a penis period. She had never actually seen one, not even in pictures. She felt stupid when she realized the adult penis was not like that of her little brothers-the only one she had ever actually seen. She already knew this, of course that they got bigger at the onset of puberty. Nevertheless, her mind had never actually processed that fact, until now.

“That is a pretty big penis”, she said. She just stared at it.

“This ain’t science class, Lynette”, he replied. “Call it a dick. Or a cock. Penis sounds so damned clinical”.

Then he reached out, grabbed hold of her, and tried to put her hand on it, but she pulled it back. It was an automatic response, but she realized then that she was actually afraid of it. She was afraid even to touch it. At the same time, she could not keep her eyes off it. She just stared, and sighed. She was getting wet. She was so hot it was almost painful. She breathed deeply. It was so beautiful, yet it also frightened her.

“We’d better call this off”, she said. “We’re drunk and we’ve-“

Before she could say another word, he was on her, pushing her back on the sofa. He was up against her, pressing his dick against her bare legs, humping her left one as he ripped at her blouse. She felt the blood rush to her head as her bra came off and he started fondling her breasts. Up until now, this had been as much as she would allow him to do aside from some kissing, but he was now determined to advance far beyond this all too familiar territory, and venture into an unknown space that brought with it a dread, a terror, that was just now catching up to her.

She begged him to stop, but he was unsnapping the clasp on her skirt, determined to remove this obstruction. He was ignoring her, and so she shouted for him to stop. She pushed him away.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he demanded. “You’re the one that wanted this!”

“I thought I wanted it, but I changed my mind, I’m not ready, damn you, so stop now!”

She was enraged, and adamant. He just looked at her, with a look of pure naked anger and frustration. She had never seen that look before, not from him or from anyone. She was not used to being the recipient of such intense and passionate rage, however contained it might be for now.

“I’m warning you, Ted, get the fuck out of here now. Don’t make me have to say it again. Leave!”

“Fine, I’ll go”, he said. “Do you mind if I put my pants back on first? You know, the ones you pulled off?”

She picked them off the floor where they lay at almost the same spot where he had scooted out of them after she had all but ripped them down from his waist. She flung them at his bare chest as he reached for his shirt on the arm of the sofa.

“Be out of here by the time I leave the bathroom”, she said with a snarl.

It did not seem to be two minutes after she entered the bathroom and started surveying her features in the mirror before she heard the door slam, so she surmised he might have not truly left. She remained in there for a good twenty minutes longer, but decided that was senseless. She went back out, only to see he was nowhere in sight. She looked inside the bedroom and kitchen, and even in her roommates’ bedroom, but he was nowhere around, at which point she felt foolish as she considered checking the closets. Nevertheless, she did just that.

When she returned to the living room, she checked the door, locking it. She then turned to notice a note left on the coffee table, held in place from the corner by an ashtray. It protruded over the edge, as though to insure quick notice. She then saw beside it the box of condoms. The box was open and only about half the contents of the package remained. She picked up the note and read:

“I won’t need them all. You keep the rest just in case you ever grow up. If you do, give me a call. I might still consider a one-nighter.”

She opened the door, half way expecting and half way praying he was lurking at the bottom of the cast iron steps that led up to her second floor apartment. She was ready to tear into him, though unsure as to exactly what she would say. He was nowhere to be seen, however, and so she shut the door in disgust. She immediately began fighting off a sense of hopelessness and depression, and surveyed the remainder of the eggnog. She scooped up the bowl and proceeded to the bathroom, where he emptied the contents into the commode, and then flushed. She watched as it swirled around and finally vanished, leaving at the end only a small remnant of once frothy foam, now only a cream-colored spot on top of the clear water.

She returned to the sofa and began sobbing, and eventually began openly crying. It took her ten minutes to pull herself together. She called her mother. There was no response save the answering machine message that assured she would happily return the call if left a name and number. Lynette hung up. She called her father then, but the phone rang repeatedly, until she soon lost count of the number of rings. She just sat there, growing angrier even than she had been with Teddy.

Finally, when she had almost forgotten she was even holding the phone, her father answered. He sounded to be half-asleep, and would have probably cursed her had he not noticed, through his caller id, exactly who was calling him.

“Lynette, what is wrong?” he asked. “Do you know what time it is?”

“I know, its 1:24 a.m.”, she replied. “I never get hold of you if I call through the day, so I thought I might as well try now if I ever wanted to talk to you again.”

“Lynette, I’m sorry sweetheart”, he said. “There’s just been so much going on I haven’t been able to return your calls yet. I just got back from overseas. I was going to call you tomorrow.”

“I guess you’re just too busy these days huh?” she asked. “Maybe you should hire an assistant. Then again I guess that’s not such a great idea either in your case.”

“Lynette, are you drunk?” her father asked in a voice that suggested incredulity.

“Yeah, I was drinking eggnog, me and Teddy. He just left. I think we just broke up. Probably just as well, seeing as how the two of you didn’t like each other. You know what they say about two people being too much alike. I guess I found that out just in time.”

“Lynnette, I know you’re upset, but there’s a lot you don’t know. We’ll talk about it in person. Soon, I promise. What’s this about Ted, did you get into a fight with him? I always told you he was-“

“Out for one thing, I know. A lot of people in this world like that, huh?”

“Lynette, it’s not like that. You are being very judgmental. And what’s this I hear about you moving to Baltimore? Leaving school this close to graduation, that’s bad enough, but Baltimore is a hellhole of a place. What would possess you to move there?”

“It’s kind of silly for someone in New Jersey to be worried about hellholes”, she replied. “And I do have family there.”

“Your grandfather”, he said. “Lynette, he hasn’t spoken to me in years, he’s old and probably senile by now. Let’s talk about this in a day or two. Your grandfather is not what you think he is.”

“Well, nobody seems to be”, she replied. “I’m hanging up now, sorry I woke you. Bye.”

She hung up, and stared at the phone when it began ringing less than ten minutes later. It continued ringing, and she assumed it was her father but, as she and her roommate had no Caller ID service, was unsure. She finally answered, but no one responded. All she could hear was the noise of music in the background, and numerous voices. Someone seemed to be calling from a bar. That meant either it was a wrong number, or it was Teddy.

She heard a drunken sounding female voice that seemed to address not her but whoever the caller was, though she could not make out her slurred words. She sounded as though she might be somewhat older.

“Teddy, is that you?” Lynnette demanded. “If it is, say something. Stop acting like a little boy. You’re a grown man. At least that’s what I thought until tonight.”

Suddenly the phone went dead, preceded by a louder than usual click. Now she had probably really pissed him off, but she didn’t care. She was feeling sick. Her stomach was beginning to rebel against the inordinate amount of alcohol consumption. She wondered if perhaps she had used more bourbon than was wise. It seemed to go down quite smoothly, which unfortunately made it all that much easier to overindulge. She ate a piece of bread, hoping that might help absorb some of the excess. She remembered overhearing her older brother advise the next oldest once that this would forestall alcohol sickness, never imagining in her wildest dreams that she would ever be obliged to put the remedy to the test.

She was feeling hot, and so poured herself a cold glass of Mountain Dew from the 2-liter bottle in the fridge, then stepped out onto the balcony. She felt foolish stepping out into the snow and the cold, dressed as she was, but for the time being the cold air actually seemed to refresh her, and even seemed to calm her frayed nerves. She stared out at the few stars she could make out, and the moon as it tried to disappear behind the darkening clouds.

After some time she began to feel a slight chill, and shivered with growing discomfort. Her body stiffened against the bracing wind until she had to return inside. Her stomach was still rumbling, but not as badly. She ate a second piece of bread. Before she finally went to bed, she would eat a cold turkey sandwich with a glass of milk.

She noticed it was now just after 2:00 a.m. She was tired but she dreaded sleeping. She had seen her younger brother suffering the effects of a hangover not that long ago, the day following his graduation, and was determined never to have to suffer that. She realized now she had probably very seriously fucked that promise up. It was all her fault, too. Teddy acted like a spoiled child, to be sure, but her conduct this night had not been exactly stellar. In fact, she had instigated the entire sorry sequence of events, from start to finish.

She tried to tell herself it was all for the best, that Teddy revealed his true nature and capacity for such childish cruelty before it may have been too late to do anything about it. Here she was, active in promoting chastity before marriage, involved in civic groups in high school and in college to that effect, rapidly finding herself the oldest by age, and member of longest duration, within these groups. She sometimes wondered if she were some freak of nature, but determined to remain faithful to her values nevertheless. How would it look if her marriage ended in divorce due mainly to naivety and inexperience in sexual matters? It would have turned a large portion of her life into an obscene joke.

At the same time, that was of secondary importance. She had seen too many of her former classmates and neighborhood friends in some cases wreck their lives by placing so little value on their self-respect and dignity. By the time she had graduated high school, she was one of only seven professed virgins, most of whom for the most part viewed themselves as unfortunate. One was medically obese, one profoundly ugly, most of the rest of them plain, gawky, or socially backward. One in fact was borderline retarded. Only one besides herself, a girl named Alicia, was attractive, socially uninhibited, and intelligent. She was also a bit arrogant, unfortunately, something Lynette tried to guard against.

For the most part, they were from religious backgrounds. Lynette had never been particularly religious or spiritual. She based her views instead on self-respect and a sense of integrity that left no room for wanton engagement in sexual experimentation, or even the desire for such. Yet, she considered herself to be normal, with natural human desires, but with transcendent goals and dreams for the future.

She wondered where this came from. She knew that her mother had gotten pregnant with Greg, her oldest brother, before she married her father. However, she seemed to have no regrets, as the two of them had been planning marriage anyway. This merely accelerated their plans.

Her mother was caring and concerned, and a moderate disciplinarian, but otherwise not the type to impose any kind of overbearing or otherwise strict set of moral guidelines, other than an insistence on regular family meals, homework, school attendance, and a curfew by which time all the children had damn well better be home. Religious belief was not a part of her worldview.

Her father, on the other hand, was lax in a good many ways. Nevertheless, he not only expected respect-he demanded it. What few times he felt this was lacking, he spared no effort at imparting the lesson, at times painfully. Lynette had been the recipient of the back of his hand once, at the age of six, and spat blood for ten minutes. Their parents had fought over that, briefly, her mother insisting that a hand to the ass would get the point across much better. Her father thought that would be not only abusive, but also humiliating. A smack in the mouth was more painful, but also more respectful, to his odd way of thinking. It let the child know just how serious the matter was.

Her offense had seemed slight to her at the time. He told her she should pick up her toys and straighten up her room. She said quite sternly she would do it later. He insisted that, no, she would do it then or she could do without supper.

“Fine, I don’t like that garbage anyway”, she responded.

For just a couple of seconds, she did not know what happened, only that there was a quick flash of pain, and everything went black, as she almost but not quite went to the floor. She heard her mother screaming, and then saw her getting into her fathers’ face wagging a finger, as it slowly dawned on her exactly what happened. Her lower lip stung and felt wet, and when she wiped it, she withdrew her hand and saw the blood, which she could then taste. It was only then that she started crying, and ran to the bathroom.

After a few minutes, she walked quietly to her bedroom, not wanting to see or talk to anybody. Everyone had seen it, but no one knew exactly what to say or do. Her father finally came to the room.

“Don’t worry about cleaning this pig sty up tonight, or about having to eat your mother’s garbage for that matter,” he said. “But this place had better be straightened up by the time I get home from work tomorrow. Got it?”

“Yes”, she said simply

“Yes, what?” he demanded.

“Yes, father”, she replied.

“Yes, sir is what I am looking for.”

“Yes, sir.” she said.

He left, and nothing more was said. She had her room cleaned by the time he returned from work. He looked inside it, and said not one word. The two of them had never had a cross word since. It was almost as if it had never happened, as far as he was concerned, and with the passage of time, she had all but forgotten the incident as well.

Over time, they grew closer. He was always there with encouragement, and what seemed to be good, sound advice. He had a way of making even the most ordinary things seem profound, while the most difficult problems became commonplace. Her mother, on the other hand, had the tendency to make everything confusing and complicated, whether it needed to be or not. She spent ten minutes one time explaining to her the proper way to wash dishes in the dishwasher, and by the time she was finished Lynette still could not comprehend the proper order in which to engage in this everyday task. With her mother, words just seemed to get in the way.

She asked her mother one time why she believed in God, for an essay in her social studies class. Her mother responded that nothing in the universe could have happened by accident, the world was just too complicated, especially living things. Nothing so vast and magnificent could come into being and maintain such consistent order, unless there was some grand design at work.

Her fathers’ response was that he actually did not believe in God, because it just did not make any sense. The world was just too harsh and even chaotic to allow for the involvement of such an all-powerful, wise and supposedly loving creator. It was a scam, meant to keep people in line, though he did concede it was, up to a point, good for society.

Neither response was satisfactory to her, though as for herself, she did not really believe, either. She did not have to. Morals, ethics, and principles, all those values that she lived by, were their own best reward. They were not always easy to live by, but those challenges only strengthened the person who adhered to them all the same. They made you a better person, a stronger person. That was all the reason she needed.

Lately, however, she found that she needed more. Why did she feel this way, while her brothers were for the most part such hedonists? Her mothers’ family was not particularly religious, either, nor in fact her mother. Lynette doubted she ever gave any serious thought to the question before that day she asked it for her sophomore sociology class.

She began to wonder if her grandfathers’ influence had not somehow filtered down to her through the generations. It made a degree of sense, and she wondered if perhaps he might have the answers she needed. She had not talked to him in years, and her most lasting impression of him actually was from old family photos. He was an impressive figure with his long flowing black with grey-specked beard, his tall, sturdy, authoritarian pose and gaze, and the robes of his Orthodox faith. At the same time, he had a kindly smile with a twinkle in his eyes.

The night she and Teddy had their fight was when she finally decided she would move to Baltimore, a decision that up until then had just been talk, a vague idea opened for consideration in the wake of what was to her a personal trauma. It almost seemed to come from nowhere, and yet at the same time, when it did it seemed part of a natural sequence of events. By now, the idea was firm in her mind.

She was starting to think that her entire life and the principles she cherished amounted to nothing if they came from a self-serving attitude of what was in her own best interests. That same thought process leads a serial rapist ultimately to murder his victim, nothing more than naked self-interest. If that was all her values were based on, how was she any better? They were the same, in a weird kind of way, two animals doing what they had to do to get what they want and continue unabated.

She suddenly this Christmas night felt a different kind of urge, one she had not experienced in years. She had to run to the bathroom. She made it just just in time. Otherwise, she would have soiled herself that night. The eggnog had worked on her in an unexpected way. She had diarrhea. She suddenly felt disgusted with herself, as she sat there on the commode, streams of liquid feces flooding out of her and emptying her. At the same time, she was stunned at how good it felt to remove this burden from her churning stomach. She had drunk more over the last week than she had previously in her entire life. It was almost as though her body had sensed the foreignness of the beverages she had imbibed and proceeded to take desperate measures to ward off the invading formulas.

She felt, appropriately enough, like shit. By the time she finished, she needed almost half a roll of toilet paper to clean herself adequately, after which she thoroughly soaped and washed her hands and forearms. She even had to clean off the top of the commode seat before she flushed. She felt disgusted, mainly at herself. She was thankful now that Ted had left.

She decided she would take a shower a little later. She dreaded the potential for a hangover when she awoke. She had only had one, at the age of sixteen, and it was possibly the sickest she had ever been, though she had not actually gotten that drunk. It was on her sixteenth birthday party. This was the first time she had been truly drunk since then.

The first time it happened, she blamed her parents for allowing her to drink perhaps a little too much for her first time. Tonight, she also found herself blaming them, but told herself she was no longer a teenager, she was an adult, and was responsible for her own actions.

She went into the kitchen and prepared that turkey sandwich with mayo, and opened up a bag of chips. As she extracted a gallon of milk from the refrigerator, she realized she was finally starting to feel sufficiently hungry. Maybe she would make it through the night and the morning would see her relatively well.

Then she heard Ted’s’ drunken voice yelling from out on the street. He shouted out her name repeatedly, and Lynette walked over to the living room’s picture window and glanced out at the street below. Unfortunately, the patio blinded her to the view of the sidewalk, and so she walked outside. She glanced down and saw not just an obviously soused Ted, but a woman with him, a woman dressed ridiculously, for this time of year and for the weather, in shorts and a halter-top. As if that were not enough, she looked to be at least twenty years Ted’s senior. It was still somewhat of a distance of course, but Lynette was certain a closer proximity would not afford an improvement. Teddy was obviously so drunk, either he did not care or could not tell. Whatever the case, there he stood with his arm around the woman.

“I want my ring, Lynette”, Ted shouted. “The one I gave you for our engagement. Since that is over, I want it back, now! I’ve got somebody else now that appreciates a real man.”

“I don’t have time for you now”, Lynette shouted, not believing she was hearing this, as a small group of passers-by, having heard the commotion, gradually started to gather around. “Come back tomorrow and we’ll talk about it.”

“Nothing to talk about”, he insisted. “I want my ring back.”

“You heard him bitch”, the older woman shrilly shouted. “Give him the ring. Do not make Mama Bella come up there on your ass, ‘cos when Mama Bella gets your ass, you never forget it, bitch.”

That did it! Now a drunken old sot that referred to herself in the third person was actually threatening her. She would not tolerate this.

“You old hag you look like you’ve spent all your life beating yourself too much to beat anybody else. You look like you can barely stand up. I hate to break it to you, but you are robbing the cradle there with Teddy, not that I think that is very likely to be anything unusual with you. If you are interested, after you are through with Ted I can hook you up with my nephew Mark. He turns eight next week. How the hell old are you, anyway-eighty?”

“Fuck you, you little bitch”, the woman drawled. “I am all woman, not a little girl, like you.”

“That’s right, Lynette”, Ted added as yet more people gathered around, some obviously amused at the spectacle. There looked to be about seven or eight, mostly men, standing around, alternately watching Ted and the woman, and then looking up toward her to gauge her reactions to this childish display.

“Besides, I have had plenty of sex, and I’m going to get me some pussy tonight”, Ted now bragged. “How much dick have you had again? Oh, wait a minute, it’s coming to me now, I remember. You are a virgin. A twenty-one year old fucking virgin. It ain’t Marsha here that’s robbing the cradle. I came awful close to it a few times though, didn’t I? You are a little girl, Lynette, and will probably never grow up. You will never be a woman, just a pathetic little wannabe.”

There was some whooping and cheering from the mostly male on-lookers, but some from the relative small number of women as well, as Ted now grabbed the woman and began to engage in a long, extended kiss. Their arms wrapped around each other, until the woman named Bella suddenly reached down and started fondling Ted’s crotch area.

“Whew, what a man!” she said. “You’d better be glad I took him, bitch, a little girl like you could never handle a real man’s dick!”

“It must have doubled in size then over the last hour or so”, Lynette shouted as she affected a spiteful laugh. “Oh, wait a minute though-you said a real man’s dick. I guess it must have tripled in size then. That is why I didn’t let you fuck me, Ted, I want my first time to be memorable, like I always told you. I want to be able to feel the first dick that gets inside me. Sorry, pal, I’m afraid you just don’t measure up.”

This enraged Ted, and the laughter and applause of the gathered crowd only made his mood worse.

“Fuck you, bitch, we’re really through now. I thought we meant something to each other, but I see now what you are. The ring, Lynette-I want the fucking ring, now! Bring the motherfucking thing to me, or I swear to God I will come up there and tear that place apart until I find it.”

“And while my man here is getting me my ring, bitch”, she said, “I’ll be whipping your little spoiled, precious little virgin princess ass.”

“What? You’re giving that old drunk whore the ring you brought for me?” Lynette could not believe what she was hearing.

“I tell you what, I could just lock my doors and call the police”, she continued, “which is what I was about to do. Instead, you just wait out there where you are. I will get your fucking ring for you. No problem whatsoever.”

As she stormed back inside her apartment, she was almost in tears, but it was not tears of sadness that she had trouble holding back, but tears of unmitigated rage. She would dearly love to tear into Ted right now, but she could clearly see that the man she had foolishly imagined she loved for the past three years was about on the same level as his newfound girlfriend. He was useless, and not worth any physical effort or mental or emotional anguish. God only knew how many women just like this he had cheated on her with over the course of their relationship. She had a phone call she would make in the morning, after she slept what little she might be able, but first, she decided it was indeed time to make a clean break. Well, a break anyway.

She went into her dresser and found the small jewelry box that contained the engagement ring she had possessed for over two years. Teddy wanted it, so he could have it back, with her blessings-and then some. Her stomach was violently cramping, mainly because of the case of diarrhea she had contracted, but greatly exacerbated all the same by the traumatic events of this night, which now culminated in the embarrassingly uncomfortable scene outside her apartment.

She expelled a stream of dark liquid feces from her bowels, after which she briefly inserted the ring up inside her corrupted anus, which she then wiped after temporarily setting the ring aside. She then washed her hands again, even more thoroughly than before. Finally, she made her way to her front door.

Yes, indeed, she would be happy to return the ring.

“Took you long enough, can’t bear to part with it, huh?” Teddy demanded, whereupon Lynette noted, thankfully, that the last of the passers-by were now finally starting to wander away. The last two, a couple, were in the process of leaving, as the man hastened his companion, a tall blonde woman, away from the scene, though she seemed herself reluctant to leave. Whether this was due to concern for her or out of morbid curiosity, or some other reason, Lynette did not know, nor did she care.

“You want the ring, come up here and get it”, Lynette said with an almost fierce assertiveness. “You had better just know right now I’m not going to bring it to you.”

“Yeah, little bitch might just get her ash whupped if she walksh down here”, Marsha slurred drunkenly.

“Just between you and me, whore”, Lynette said. “When you take this ring to the pawn shop tomorrow to get the money for your morning rotgut, I wouldn’t count on getting a whole lot. Like the person who gave it to me-it’s not much.”

“Fuuuuck yoouuuu, biiiitch”, the old drunk railed, but Ted just looked down at the snow-covered sidewalk at his feet, then over to Marsha, then back up at Lynette.

“To hell with you, keep the damn thing”, Ted replied. “Take it out and look at it every now and then when you want a reminder of the good thing you fucked up.”

However, Lynette was not about to let him off that easily.

”I never want to see it or you again”, she insisted. “You wanted it. Go get it.”

She then heaved it with all her might, and in the stillness of the night she thought she could hear it jingling on the road, which had been earlier cleared of ice, save for a few stubborn frozen black patches that yet made driving hazardous over the last few days. Teddy looked up toward her in an expression of dumbfounded surprise.

“Hey, I paid six hundred dollars for that ring, bitch”, he shouted as he ran carelessly out into the road that went in front of Lynette’s apartment. As he did so, a car went careening by him, barely missing him as the driver honked the horn. Ted acted as though he never even noticed, then began looking around, as Bella encouraged him to forget the ring.

“It probably wasn’t the ring anyway”, she observed. “She probably threw a damn dime or something out there and has the ring hid somewheres. Let her keep the damn thing.”

Another car went whizzing by as Ted bent down and extracted something from the paved road, then held it up under the glare of the streetlight as he walked aimlessly for a better view under the light.

“No, this is it”, he said, as suddenly Lynette heard the screeching of the brakes of an on-coming vehicle, as Ted was suddenly bathed in the approaching headlights. He looked toward the sound of the approaching vehicle, but seemed paralyzed, unable to react, as the car skidded in a desperate attempt to stop, and sliding on a patch of black ice, veered off to its left, in the direction of Lynette’s apartment building. It ran up on the curve and came to a stop immediately after the unfortunate, drunken Bella was hoisted up onto the cars hood, then deposited on her back onto the snow covered ground of the yard just off the sidewalk on which she had stood.

“Goddamn youuuuu, youuuu fuckiiiinnnnnggggggg biiiiiitch!” she screamed. “Oh god damn my legs broke I’m going to kill youuu, youuu whoooore!”

She then began screaming, crying in agony.

“Oh, poor little baby girl, does it hoit?” Lynette shouted sarcastically, barely able to believe she was acting in such a hateful, spiteful manner, yet at the same time all but carried away in an attitude of vengeful glee.

Ted walked over cautiously, not sure of what to say or do, as the driver of the vehicle, a purple Subaru, removed himself hurriedly from the driver’s seat, cell phone in hand, apparently in a hurried attempt to call 911.

“Better not hang around long, Teddy”, Lynette shouted with saccharine sweet sarcasm. “They’re pretty rough around here on jaywalking, especially when it results in traffic accidents. Your new girlfriend is probably going to try to sue you now.”

“You did that on purpose”, Ted shouted at her, to her incredulity.

“You wanted the ring, I threw it to you, just like you said”, she replied with a shrug. “I wanted to make sure it got to you, I didn’t intend for it to go out in the street.”

As Ted continued his shouted accusations, and Bella continued with her screaming, and crying, Lynette found herself amazed that she was bothering to defend herself from such ridiculous accusations. Soon, the cops arrived, as another crowd once more started to gather around, though she recognized no one from the earlier group that had been so entertained by the ludicrous performance of the previous minutes.

She went inside, but sure enough, it was not quite five minutes before the cops were knocking on her door. The older cop introduced himself cordially.

“Did you intentionally throw your ex-boyfriends engagement ring out in the street with the intention of causing him or his new girlfriend to be run down by a car skidding on the ice”, he asked her.

Obviously amused by the absurdity of the accusation, he conveyed the impression that he took it with not even a minimum amount of seriousness. Lynette told him everything, from beginning to end.

“You know, if anything you could press charges for harassment”, another cop informed her. As tempting as it was at the time, Lynette thanked them but politely declined.

After little more than an hour, she finally went to sleep. When she awoke late in the morning, she felt far from hung-over, and in fact felt more refreshed than she had in months. There was not as much as a trace of the diarrhea that earlier afflicted her.

More importantly, she felt confident, serene, and knew exactly the path she now would take. Previously, her mother had not taken her seriously when she mentioned moving to Baltimore and changing schools, and obviously considered it a childish threat, tantamount to a temper tantrum. Honestly, that is indeed how it began. As the days passed, however, it became an ever more serious consideration. Ted had been the major reason for her reluctance to carry through with her plans. Now, that reason had disappeared.

There was of course a problem with finances, but at least she counted herself fortunate that she was not limited to the contractual terms of a scholarship or student loan. Her father had previously footed the bill for prior semesters, and now she had only one to go. She would sit the next semester out. When she resumed her studies for her last semester, this time in Baltimore, she would pay all her own way, not merely for her incidental expenses as had been the case. She would be independent, would make a clean break from both her father and her mother.

Her grade-point average was 3.7, and as such, she felt reasonably confident she would be able to get a loan for that last semester. Unfortunately, based on her family’s income, a grant would probably be out of the question. It was just as well. She was willing to work as much as necessary to support herself until she could resume her studies, or even after she resumed them, for that matter. It would write finis to any kind of personal life or to any kind of extra-curricular activities as well, but on the other hand, it was only one semester. What worried her more than anything was the prospect of then attending a school of veterinary medicine, the most obvious necessity in pursuit of her chosen career path.

She hated having to ask her grandfather Aleksandre for help, but everybody needs help at one time or another, she reasoned. She much preferred turning to him than continuing the charade with her parents. Perhaps he would be unable, or possibly even unwilling, to help her. If so, she would make it somehow without his help. She was nothing if not determined.

As the morning progressed, she found herself reminiscing over the events of the past two years, as though she had lived that entire period in a fog. By eleven-thirty, she made her way out of the house and toward the neighborhood pawnshop some seven blocks from where she lived. Sure enough, there it was, just as she supposed it would be. She motioned for the pawnbroker, who seemed to be in a daze. In fact, he seemed almost completely out of it. He was sniffing, and his eyes watered, as did his nose. He was obviously miserable, and seemed high possibly on some kind of strong medication, possibly codeine.

“Two hundred fifty dollars”, he said. “But I can’t sell it for three days. It’s reserved-somebody put fifty dollars down on it.”

She almost laughed aloud.

“Was the person’s name Ted, or Teddy?” she asked.

“No, in fact it was a guy named Ted that pawned it”, he said, to Lynette’s incredulity. “Some old monk in a gray robe reserved it. His name was-“

Then the broker started looking around for the hold ticket, but strangely enough could not find it anywhere.

“What the hell, I know I had it here somewhere”, he complained. Then he started sneezing uncontrollably, and seemed for a few minutes as though he would be unable to stop.

“You really should go home”, she said. “You’ll never get over that if you stay out in public, especially around this neighborhood, and in this weather.”

He told Lynette he was seriously thinking of closing early and maybe taking a couple of days off, but after all it was Christmas, and this was the time of year he made the most money, from people desperately looking for that one present they just couldn’t find anywhere else at a reasonable price.

It made her somewhat depressed to think that such a joyous time of the year for friends and family had deteriorated into just another day of dog eat dog. Unfortunately, that was just the way it was.

She bid the pawnbroker Merry Christmas, and then returned home. She had never finished eating her turkey sandwich, so now she extracted it from the baggie in her refrigerator. She felt guilty about leaving Megan, her roommate, in the lurch to pay her rent without any notice. They were barely making it as it was. She and Megan were both working part time on top of the little money they received from home, and still they could barely afford to eat. Lynette’s father had insisted that she make it on her own, that this would be as valuable a learning experience as any she could acquire from classes.

They could only afford the basic phone service, and had never gotten around to buying an answering machine, or Caller ID service. Megan’s computer was constantly in need of repair, but luckily, now it was working. She sent off some e-mails, to two of her brothers and to Megan, who deserved to know her plans.

Megan responded within thirty minutes, telling her it was fine, she was sure she would find another roommate. She said she always knew Ted was a dog, and did not blame her for wanting to get away from him as soon as possible. Lynette barely knew the half of it, and she had been reluctant to tell her, even though he had come on to her on a couple of occasions. Nor had he been drunk when he did so.

Although this all certainly made sense, Lynette could not help but feel alternately shocked, saddened, and outraged, almost as much at Megan for not having told her before, as at Ted. Lynette e-mailed her wanting to know exactly why she had not told her, and if she knew of any other women with whom Ted had been involved. Megan sent back a shocking response-

“Alicia Davis. Yeah, your fellow virgin friend. Remember when you said something about her not being to any meetings over the last couple of months. Well, I hate to break it to you this way, and I know I should have told you before, but I just did not know how. Really, sorry, but it’s probably all for the best”.

Well, at least Alicia was not a complete hypocrite, Lynette realized. She thought over the last time she had seen her, how strangely quiet she acted, for her, and the more she thought about it, Megan had not seemed all too outgoing whenever Ted was around. She told Megan not to worry about it, and wished her a Merry Christmas.

‘You too’, came the response.

The turkey sandwich was so awful she could not eat so much as half of it, and as she considered just going back to bed, the phone rang. She answered it, only to hear the voice of Ted Corbin, her former fiancé. He was calling from his hospital room, where he had been all day. He sounded deathly ill, and the doctors suspected food poisoning or something similar.

“Well, you’ve been doing some nasty, nasty things, Teddy. Speaking of which, how’s your new lady love, Bella?”

“She ripped me off, that’s how she is”, he replied. “She’s an old drunk whore.”

“By the way, speaking of Bella, I was right, she did pawn the ring”, Lynette informed him, wanting to see if he would admit that he in fact had pawned the ring.

“Somebody already has a hold on it”, she continued. “He will probably get it too, I doubt Bella will be back for it. Her next trip there will probably be to pawn something else she gets from some other drunken fool.”

“Listen, Lynette, I didn’t call you to fight”, Ted replied. “I wanted to apologize. I just got too drunk, and things just went to my head. I want to start over again. Come on, baby, we’ve been together now for going on three years. This is just one little fight, and we were both drunk. Are you going to throw it all away over one stupid misunderstanding?”

Lynette could tell by his voice he was deathly ill, and almost felt sorry for him. She started thinking about those nearly three years

“I don’t know, Ted, I need someone to talk it over with. You know, for feedback. I wonder what Megan might think about it, or for that matter, Alicia Davis. I have an idea both of them might have definite opinions on the subject. What do you think?”

“Yeah, I fucked both of them, so what? It was only once each, and I never messed with either of them again. Damn it, Lynette, I’m a man. Be reasonable. What you expect from men is unnatural.”

“You fucked Megan?” Lynette said, astounded.

“Yeah, the little whore threw herself at me. What did she do, tell you that I come on to her? Shit, she’s the one that fixed me up with Alicia and for that matter a couple of other women. She made out like she was my friend, and felt sorry for me because you were unwilling to take care of my needs. Said she would not feel right doing it herself but of course, she eventually got around to it. She said it wasn’t a good idea to spread it around to too many other women, because it might eventually get back to you.”

“And you actually expect me to make up with you? You are out of your mind”, Lynette said, now more enraged than ever.

“I want to make a clean start, Lynette”, he said. “No more lies, no more deceptions. Nothing but the truth. I love you, baby. Come on, I might be dying here.”

“Yeah, well, you really should be careful. You should always wash your hands after you handle a ring that’s been up the ass of somebody that just had a bout of diarrhea.”

“What?” he shouted. “You really did that?”

Suddenly, he started coughing, choking, and seemed as though he would never get his breath, though he tried several times to say “hold on” and “wait”.

“You’re a funny guy, Teddy, to be asking somebody to wait”, Lynette said coldly. “It’s over, and that’s’ final. Do not call me, write me, e-mail me, or try to approach me in any way. I mean that, Teddy. Goodbye.”

With that, she hung up the phone. She decided to leave before the holidays were over. She did not want to confront Megan, mainly because she was unsure as to the truthfulness of Teddy’s accusations.

Nevertheless, as she made her way to the bus stop, there was the old drunken whore Bella, hobbling around on crutches right on the edge of her path on the sidewalk. She was obviously engaged in panhandling, making the most of the accident that left her with a badly broken leg. Lynette could not help but feel some degree of pity for her. She warily approached her.

“Do you have some spare change, ma’am”, Bella asked, obviously with no hint of recognition. “I haven’t been able to work because of this bum leg.”

The woman’s breath reeked of both whiskey and beer, but at least this somewhat disguised the fact that this woman had not bathed in probably three or four days.

“Sure”, Lynette said, and reaching into her purse, handed the woman a five-dollar bill. “Sorry I can’t spare more. Get yourself something to eat, will you?”

“I will, sweetheart, I promise”, Bella replied graciously. “Thank you.”

“No”, Lynette said with a smile as she began to walk on toward her rendezvous with her scheduled bus to Baltimore. “Thank you.”

Lynette had not bothered to phone her grandfather with the news that she was on her way to Baltimore. From the bus stop, she took a cab to the Church Of The Blessed Sacrament, the doors of which luckily were unlocked. She entered the church, and set her bags down within the back pew. She looked around at the various icons. She found herself particularly drawn to what appeared to be the figure of an archangel with a sword, in the process of slaying what appeared to be a serpent, or perhaps a dragon. She realized this was probably an allegorical representation of Satan. She knew just enough to understand the angel would probably be an image of the Archangel Michael.

She kneeled before the icon, almost unconsciously. She felt surprised to have done this. When she had joined the Southern Baptist Church, she had pretty well accepted their teachings, which in regards to icons seemed to be that it amounted to a form of idolatry. Yet she now looked around at this and the others, at the Crucified Lord and the Blessed Virgin, and it seemed as though she had come home. She was so engrossed in her thoughts she had not noticed the entrance of the old priest.

“Can I help you, young lady?” he asked.

“Grandfather”, she said as she turned in the direction of the familiar face. “Am I ever glad to see you!”

“Oh, my God!” Aleksandre Khoska said in shock. “Lynette?”

Aleksandre was happy to see his granddaughter, but was wary all the same. The events of the previous months had not been conducive to such a visit, and he wondered even if it was safe for her to be there. There was a spiritual struggle in the making, which she could not hope to comprehend. All the same, he prepared a supper for her, as he listened to her story. He found the story of her conversion to the Southern Baptist faith almost amusing in its naiveté.

“They have a very simplistic view of Christianity, I am afraid”, he confided in her. “I am sure they mean well, for the most part, but still, I would find it very hard to believe that a person who is a true spiritual seeker could be satisfied with them for very long.”

When Lynette expressed that they encouraged her in her work to promote chastity before marriage, he found himself suddenly concerned.

“That is good, of course, Lynette”, he replied. “But it is one thing to adopt this for truly spiritual reasons, and quite a different thing altogether to use it as a shield to hide behind. I fear your Baptist friends do not quite appreciate the difference.”

“Well, I am not hiding from anything, I promise”, Lynette said, a bit defensively, Khoska noted, though he also realized that she could well have been used to hearing this from people who volunteered this assessment for more self-serving reasons. There were also, unfortunately, people who just plainly resented those who attempted to live a spiritual life. In her case, however, it was not a spiritual decision, but one based on self-respect. That was a good enough reason to start, he acceded, though it had obviously left her empty and disappointed.

“So, grandfather, I guess you know all the Romanians around here”, she said.

“There’s not that many around here anymore”, he replied. “Most of the ones that come to this church come from outlying areas, and not so often as I would like, I am afraid. Still, I manage to keep my head above water.”

“So do you know the Krovell family?” she asked.

“Krovell?” he asked, as he tried to search the remnants of his memory for any recollections of the strangely familiar name. It finally dawned on him just why the name seemed so familiar.

“I knew a Martin Krovell, but that was almost fifty years ago”, he began. “I’m surprised I can remember this after so many years, but I remember now that his brother had just been murdered on the docks. Martin turned to me for help in finding his mother, who had run off years before. She had abandoned the family when he himself was merely a young lad. I attempted to help him, but I was unable to find any information about her, so after a few months I never heard from him again. The family was not church members or, as far as I know, affiliated with any religion. I never understood why he approached me for help to begin with. Desperation, I suppose. I know very little about the family, other than they were in the mortuary business. I think originally their names were Krovelescu, or something to that effect.”

“That’s the family”, Lynette affirmed. “I just found out the one man’s wife murdered her husband and committed suicide, and tried to kill their son as well. I met the son over a Christian dating site, though well before all this happened.”

“A Christian dating site?” Khoska was both amazed and amused. “Lynette, are you aware that a person can portray himself over the internet in ways that are not necessarily truthful? Computers are, I am afraid, the newest scourge of mankind. I realize you probably think that is an old man talking from an old-fashioned attitude, but when you get older, you learn to be wary of new things. Not that the older things are better, but at least with them you are well aware of the dangers.”

“You don’t have a computer then?” she asked. “That’s too bad, if you did you would soon find them indispensable.”

“Oh, I have one, but I rarely use it. I mainly try to keep up with events in Romania, but lately it does nothing but gather dust. If I were to use it now it might well explode.”

“If you have one, I might be able to find out what happened”, she said.

After dinner, he took her into his office, and cleared a chair for her to sit at. It almost embarrassed him for her to see the disheveled state he had taken to keeping his office in, but she seemed to not notice, let alone mind. He turned on the computer, for the first time in over half a year, and logged on. After he accessed the AOL homepage, she typed the words Baltimore Sun, and Krovell, into the AOL search engine.

This brought up the story of some two months ago. The headline was “Murder-Suicide Suspected In Krovell Poisonings”. The two victims were Richard and Mabel. A son, Marlowe, as well as a brother and brother-in-law named Bradley Marlowe, along with Richard's parents survived them. Richard’s father, Martin, was probably the same man her grandfather had briefly associated with so many years ago. He and his wife had retired and now lived in Florida.

It was the same story she had read before. Unfortunately, there seemed to be no further updates. Her grandfather advised her to be very cautious as to whom she associated with, especially in the Baltimore area, where high crime rates were an unfortunate fact. Lynette agreed to sleep in Aleksandre’s guest room for a few nights, until he was able to find her suitable living quarters. She was in fact welcome to remain there as long as she wished.

She wished now she had brought more with her, aside from the two bags of clothing and accessories, in addition to the silver tea set, which she had originally intended to pawn. The pawnbroker in Jersey had offered her two hundred dollars without having seen it. Though she considered this a bargain, as she he had only paid sixty for it at some roadside flea market. She decided to hold onto it for awhile.

After a good nights sleep, she arose the next morning and decided to take in the town. The docks were even more developed than they had been the last time she visited. She called an acquaintance she had met on-line, also through the Christian dating site, a black girl by the name of April Sandusky. They made a date to meet at one of the sidewalk cafes that lined the docks area.

April was somewhat younger than she was, a mere eighteen in fact, but she was nevertheless bright and well-spoken, not in the sense of a black woman who affects a completely Caucasian manner of speaking, but in the sense of a woman filled with healthy self-esteem, and even joy. She invited Lynette to attend one of her church services, and reassured Lynette there were other white people that did so, though admittedly they were a small minority. Lynette promised her she would think about it.

Over the next four months, they saw each other infrequently, but spoke quite often, both over the phone and by IM. She checked her e-mail regularly. She received e-mails from her family, but nothing from Ted Corbin, for which she had mixed feelings.

Mostly junk mail filled her AOL in-box, but she noted with some interest those e-mails that she received from the Christian Darting Service, previously the one bone of contention between her and Ted. She expressed to him that she merely used the site for purposes of friendships, and for establishing contacts with like-minded people. One of those like-minded people, presumably, had been Marlowe Krovell, though he seemed strangely out of place within the sites typical membership. He was not a Christian, nor was he looking for dates. He looked for friendship in the aftermath of the death of his girlfriend, a girl named Raven whom he evidently loved very much.

He seemed not actually a Christian, and in fact once expressed to her in a private IM that he was a Goth, and listened to heavy metal music. He expressed that he merely looked for guidance and spiritual advice on how to get over the tragedy of his loss, and get on with his life. She had communicated with him only a few times, and this was two years ago. It was not until she started reading the on-line version of the Baltimore Sun that she actually remembered him. This was sometime between the break-up of her parents, and that which occurred later between her and Ted. She was seriously considering the move to Baltimore, though as of this time had not made the decision to do so. While in the course of perusing the various departments on the on-line news site, she happened upon the news story relating to the deaths of Richard and Mabel Krovell, and the near death of Marlowe.

She now finally sent him an e-mail expressing her sorrow at hearing of his current problems, and wished him well. She did not think that much more about it, until a couple of weeks later when she got a reply, thanking her and asking what she was doing.

She decided not to tell him about her relationship problems or of her recent move to Baltimore. Instead, she merely told him she was thinking about transferring to University there. It was not until a little more than a month later that she received another communication from him, offering to show her around if she did decide to come to Baltimore.

There was something strange about this. It seemed almost calculated, but she could not quite put her finger on it. Previously, Marlowe communicated in a polite yet at the same time informal manner. Now, his manner of communication seemed overly proper, and at the same time, somewhat archaic. Moreover, his offer to show her around Baltimore seemed somehow entirely out of character for him. He earlier asserted he was a loner, and actually detested Baltimore. He might well leave someday, in fact. Why would he want to show her around Baltimore? More to the point how could he? Though born and raised in Baltimore, he struck Lynette as someone who actually knew little about the place.

People could change, she realized, but something here seemed different from a natural progression. This seemed to be an entirely different person. He even offered to pay all the expenses for his proposed guided tour of the city. Perhaps she was overly suspicious and reading too much into things, but all the same, she did not answer this e-mail. She was not interested in dating a man who made a living as a mortician, and on top of that, she found the Goth lifestyle pretentious and even to a point repugnant.

Yet, that seemed to be exactly what he was suddenly interested in from her. At the same time, there was something about it that seemed sinister, more so than just a lonely person looking for romance or love, more even than someone just looking for casual sex. Maybe this was the real him, and it just came to the surface when she informed him she might be moving to Baltimore. Perhaps his mind was affected by the horrible crime perpetrated on him by his mother. Whatever the answer was, Lynette knew this person was someone to avoid at all costs. Something about him warned of a deadly serious variety of danger.

When Aleksandre finally found Lynette a suitable apartment, she remembered April Sandusky, and invited her to be her first guest. It had been more than two months since the last time they had seen each other, and Lynette found out that much had changed.

“I just got initiated”, she said, “into the Seventeenth Pulse.”

“Isn’t that a gang?” Lynette asked.

“In a way, but they got a bad rap”, April said defensively.

“So how exactly were you initiated?” Lynette asked.

“Well, I ain’t exactly supposed to talk about that”, she said. “Put it this way, I wouldn’t exactly want my momma to find out about it, so it’s our secret, ok?”

Though Lynette had a foreboding feeling about this latest development concerning her friend, she kept her worries to herself, and they went out to the docks. They sat there, taking in the sunset, as the air became noticeably cooler. They talked about the usual girlish things, about school and plans for the future, and men, naturally, when suddenly they were approached by a tall black man that looked to be slightly older than Lynette was. He introduced himself as Marshall, and Lynette noticed that April seemed not too eager to have him around.

“What do you want, anyway?” she asked him bluntly.

“Hey, baby girl, no need in getting’ uppity now, hey, I know that Pulse is coursing through that bloodstream. I have my dealings with that Pulse too, so chill.”

“How can you have a bloodstream when your veins have collapsed”, April replied as she rolled her eyes. “What the hell do you want, Marshall?”

“A friend of mine wants to hook up with you, that’s all”, he said. “He carries a lot of weight, so you ought to chill with him. Might do that cold, cold heart some good.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I won’t be interested, especially if that is him”, she said, pointing over to where stood a white man, with long unkempt dark hair. Lynette noticed that he appeared to be in a bad way, and made the assumption the man was probably a drug addict, while this Marshall was obviously a drug dealer.

No, that’s not him, but come to think of it, there is a distinct similarity. My guy’s more your age though, dig it.”

“Oh, so how much did he pay you, Marshall, for this introduction?” April demanded, seemingly in disbelief as to Marshall’s forwardness.

“Ain’t like that, April”, he said defensively. “He’s been a good customer over the years, and when I found out he’s wanted to meet you for a while, I just told him I’d try, that’s all. I didn’t make him any guarantees. And really, he’s in a bad way, but he’s had a rough time over the last few months, he needs something to smooth him over the rough spots. You have not forgotten your fellow man in need, have you? The white brother just needs a shoulder to lean on, that’s all.”

Suddenly, Marshall bent down and put his mouth toward April’s ear, whereupon April drew back.

“Uh-uh now, none of that”, she said.

“No, I just got to tell you something” Marshall said. He then whispered something into April’s ear, whereupon her friends’ eyes widened.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me. Are you serious?”

“I ain’t ever lyin’ to you, April”, he replied.

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to talk to him, I guess, but I ain’t making no promises. You know I ain’t into nothing but a brother, so if he wants anything more than that shoulder to cry on he is wasting his time. No offense, Lynette.”

“Oh, hey-that’s all right”, Lynette replied. “Look, I have to go anyway, it’s getting late. Come by tomorrow if you want.”

“Do you need a ride anywhere baby girl?” Marshall asked her.

“No I don’t, thank you”, Lynette replied simply, and then left as quickly as she could. She could not get away from there fast enough. In a way, she was now almost as disgusted with April as she had come to be with almost everybody else she had known. Sure, it was her life, and it was not any of Lynette’s business, but at the same time, she knew the new lifestyle she had enmeshed herself in was going to lead to no good. Nevertheless, it was her decision. Maybe Lynette just expected too much of others. Her oldest brother had always said you could have your standards set too high. Maybe he was right.

On the other hand, if April’s initiation into the Seventeenth Pulse amounted to what she thought it did, she doubted seriously that this would be an example of acceptable standards under any objective criterion. Especially since April made it clear, she wanted this to remain a secret. Why, then, had she confided in her? Did she perhaps want Lynette to talk some kind of sense into her? Lynette knew how that usually worked, and she was not in the mood to engage in an argument merely for the sake of debate. The most intense arguments came about usually from those who desperately wanted to be convinced, yet for some reason could not allow themselves to so easily be convinced of anything. Moreover, if Lynette was right, April had stepped way over the line, and it was actually too late to regain what she had thrown away. It would be deceptive to try to convince her otherwise.

It was not until the following night that she heard of April’s murder. The streets were alive with people seeking vengeance, and she heard the Seventeenth Pulse brought up frequently over the course of the next several hours. No one seemed to have any idea what their part was in the girls’ murder. Lynette knew, all too well, what April’s relationship with them had become. She wondered when, if ever, the news would be released. For that matter, was the Pulse really involved, or did it have something to do with the man named Marshall whom she had met, a man who had dealings with the gang, but did not himself seem to be a member?

The day after the murder, her grandfather came to her apartment. He remembered April, as she had introduced the two of them. One look in his eyes told her he was obviously distraught. He asked her to spend a few days with him.

“There could end up being a lot of trouble in Baltimore over the next several days’, he warned her.

“It’s pretty calm around here”, she said as reassuringly as she could. However, he was not so easily convinced. She agreed to his invitation, a week or so would do her good. When she told him what she knew, he was even more concerned.

“Lynette, you mustn’t tell this to anyone else”, he said. “I didn’t like it when you associated with that black woman to begin with. Those people, I tell you, are nothing but trouble.”

“Oh, come on, grandfather”, Lynette said with a stern look.

“There, that look, that is exactly why I didn’t say anything before”, he said. “Now I wish I had tried, not that I think you would have listened. I just have to thank God you haven’t come to any problem yet because of it.”

Lynette felt it was unnecessary to return to her grandfathers small living quarters in back of the church. It was even unseemly, in that she had just recently moved to this new apartment, which was sufficient for her needs. At the same time, the old man was adamant, and even seemed almost desperate. Therefore, she agreed to return temporarily.

Later, Lynette saw an artists rendition of the man allegedly last seen with April not long before her murder, which was said to have been somewhere between three and three-thirty am of the last Sunday morning. The picture looked more like a character from a horror movie than he did an actual human being. The face was covered with boils, and puss seemed to drain from one of them.

“If that is an accurate drawing”, Aleksandre said, “it surely won’t take long for them to find him. You don’t have any idea who it could be, do you?’

“No, and if I did I would tell the authorities”, Lynette promised.

“Well, you don’t know, and since you don’t, I’m telling you, you had better keep your mouth shut, otherwise you are going to be drawn into the middle of a race riot. You do not want that, I promise you. The city is just this far from going up in flames as it is. You talking about how your friend, a supposed Christian, had as of late been initiated into a criminal gang, presumably by a form of sexual activity with one or more of them, would be just the thing to send this city up like kindling. Plus, you are going to attract the attention of these hoodlums if you do so.”

“So what should I do, just forget about it?” she asked.

“Well, there is nothing you can do for her”, he said. “Yes, just forget about it, and count yourself blessed you didn’t become more involved with her than you were. This was precisely the kind of thing I worried over you being here. The fact that your father would never forgive me if anything happened to you is beside the point.”

“Have you talked to him?” Lynette asked.

“Of course I have talked to him, and to your mother, and I promised them both I would look out for you. Not that your father has a lot of confidence in me, but I gave him my word all the same.”

Lynette knew she should feel grateful, but at the same time, she was incensed that her mother, and especially her father, was taking it upon themselves to demonstrate this concern for her well-being.

“I guess you think I am being harsh with them”, Lynette said.

“Not so much with them as with yourself”, Khoska replied. “I think you are blaming them because your own life is shit, and you can’t face up to it. Does that make it plain enough?”

Lynette was astounded at this pronouncement. Nobody ever talked to her this way before. What horrified her was, it made at least a small degree of sense. Prior to this, she entertained the thought that she was being childish, self-absorbed, and even arrogant. However, if her grandfather was even partially correct, this put it in a degree of perspective that at least made her life to this point comprehensible.

“I do not condone what your father has done, Lynette”, Khoska went on to explain. “But really, when you stop to think about it, how exactly has it hurt you? I am not saying you should like it, or even accept it, or that you should not criticize him over it. God knows, if I had criticized him more when I should have, maybe certain things would have turned out differently. But at the same time, while he is living his life, you have to go on living yours, and this power he has over your life and well-being is not good.”

It suddenly occurred to Lynette, as though a veil was lifted, that this was precisely what she needed to hear. Her life was shit, to use her grandfather’s blunt observation, and she was having a hard time dealing with it. Now, she knew exactly what she wanted from him.

“Will you baptize me?” she asked. “Right here, right now.”

“I take it you feel you are not quite as born again as you thought, then?” Khoska asked him.

“Not exactly”, she said. “I know you probably feel you should give me instruction before, but-“

“In your case that won’t be necessary”, Khoska said, cutting her off with a wave of his hand. “Actually, we have talked enough over the last few weeks, I feel you are ready. Of course, I will want to continue more formal instructions later on.”

“I look forward to it”, Lynette said, noticing as she said so that her grandfather could not even attempt to hide the elation that he obviously felt at this turn of events. She almost expected him to jump up and down in a dance any minute, and this mental image brought a smile to her face.

“Just so you know, I do not practice the act of immersion”, he told her.

He left her alone to repeat a prayer, which he translated into English from an old prayer book. After twenty minutes, he re-entered, and told her they could conduct the rites of baptism. He had some regret that he could not have given her instruction in the faith beforehand, but this was a special case, and in fact, if her father had done his job, this would not have been a necessity at any rate.

He conducted the baptism, after which he gave her the host, the body of Christ in the form of a wafer, and the blood of Christ in the form of wine. According to the rites of transubstantiation, her faith would transform the two into the spiritual equivalent of the actual thing. He could tell that she was not lacking in faith. Over the years, he had learned very well when the act was performed on various recipients, whether it was merely a meaningless ritual, or an actual act of true faith. Lynette’s eyes glowed, almost as if she had indeed been given over to the Holy Spirit at that moment.

Later that night over dinner, they talked of her plans for the future. She still wanted to be a veterinarian, but at the same time, she considered the possibility of entering a convent, like her aunt Dorothy, perhaps even working in the orphanages of Romania. Khoska was wary of encouraging such an idea, but merely told her she needed to give such a decision a lot of thought. It was not one to enter lightly.

“Oh, I never make any decision lightly”, she said. “The only hard decision I’ve made so far is that when I die I want to be cremated.”

“Lynette, you are a very beautiful young woman”, Khoska said, obviously finding the very idea distasteful. “Why would you want to burn to ashes such a beautiful gift from God?”

“Well, assuming I’m not an old hag by that time”, Lynette observed, “I doubt I would be that beautiful after decomposing in the ground for a few months.”

Khoska found it hard to argue with that logic. He said nothing more for some time, and after dinner was over, he offered a prayer. Lynette then prepared a pitcher of tea, which she served in the silver tea service. Khoska was both surprised and touched when she told him she wished him to have it. He actually felt quite humbled, and thanked her for the gesture.

“I love you, grandfather”, she said, as tears welled up in her eyes.

Then, she cried openly. Khoska walked over to her. He embraced her and, as Lynette lowered her head upon his shoulder, he wiped the tears with a handkerchief.

All The Rage

The woman pictured is an Indian actress named Padma Lakshmi. She was recently married to author Salmon Rushdie. It has just been announced that, as per her wishes, the two are to be divorced.

Will this get Salmon in yet more trouble, and bring down upon his head yet another fatwa from Islamic fundamentalists, as did his previous authorship of the novel "The Satanic Verses"? As much as his recently announced British knighthood?

Will they be enraged because he is allowing her to divorce him, as though she actually has a right to have a say in the matter? Will it be because he married her to begin with, in a Hindu ceremony at that? Will it be because he allowed her to dress like a slutty little whore?

Will the divorce possibly even provide them some sort of feeling of justification and satisfaction at Rushdie's sadness due to the ending of this, his fourth marriage?

Or will they feel so damned confused and conflicted they might just have to blow up some British newsstands?

They take these kinds of things seriously, you know, and Rushdie's knighthood may have provided an extra bit of incentive for the recent spate of attempted bombings in London, and the one in Scotland.

Not that they seem to need a whole lot of incentive. But just in case you think I'm exaggerating about their strong feelings about the place of women, and their hatred of western women's modern attire, you might want to read this article by Christopher Hitchens, in Slate. In it, he points out that the explosions, had they been successful, might well have been timed to coincide with "lady's night".

A whole lot of slutty women with loose morals would have had their shamefully revealed limbs scattered all over Piccadilly Square had that one been successful.

Me, I think I might go out next weekend and buy me a good lap dance, while it's still possible to get one in my price range.

I Made A Vow-I'm Going To Keep It

UPDATE: Here is a link to the exact Senate vote tally on the Immigration "Reform" Bill motion to invoke cloiture to end dabate, which failed by a vote of 53 against, 46 in favor. It contains one scrolling list of all those 46 Senators who voted for the measure, and a second list of all those 53 Senators who voted against it.

I will eventually add it to my sidebar as a permanent link, as soon as I figure out how to to fit it into the general theme of my sidebar.

What do Jim Webb (D-Va), John Tester (D-Mt), and Claire MacCaskill (D-Mo) have in common? Well, they are three of fifteen Senate Democrats who voted against cloture for the recent US Immigration Reform Bill supported by President Bush, about one third of Senate Republicans, and more than two thirds of Senate Democrats. I thank the three of them. I might also add that I am pleasantly surprised at Ohio Democrat Sherrod Brown’s vote against the measure. Unfortunately, I am equally disappointed at Pennsylvania Democrat Bob Casey, who supported the measure, and I hereby offer my sincere apologies to former Pennsylvania Senator Rick Santorum, against whom I supported Casey. Live and learn.

Whatever the case, I intend to stand by my previous word. Come 2008, when my Senator, Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell, runs for re-election, I will forget the fact that he previously supported the bill and, acceding at last to the will of the people, he distanced himself from the bill on the floor of the Senate and ended up voting against it. I am still ticked that he supported it to start with, but he is, as Senate Minority Leader, supposed to advocate for the President of his party’s policies, or so I hear. Whether his heart was in it at the beginning or not, I do not know. The most important thing is, he did the right thing in the end, as did my other Kentucky Senator, Jim Bunning, another Republican whom I will likewise support when he comes up for election in 2010.

This is not a promise of permanent support in every election until the end of time. It is a one-time freebie only. It should likewise not be construed as meaning that I will support their entire agenda. I will still be watching, as hopefully we all will be. I will still oppose them, when I feel it is appropriate, on any given issue.

Still, their votes on this one issue entitles them to my support for the next election, and so they will have that support, and my vote.

Don’t find it so fucking hard to do the right thing from now on, huh guys? I can overlook a lot. Support for such a bill as this one can never be one of them.

As for those Democrats who likewise opposed the bill, good for you. At the same time, it bears pointing out that as many as half or more of the Democrats that did so, based their final opposition in part on the fact that they were unable to successfully amend the bill. One such amendment in question would have made it easier not only for illegal immigrants to become citizens, but to also have their relatives move to America to likewise flood the job market and perhaps one day become citizens as well. Such reasoning does not qualify you for my support.

Therefore, if you are one of the Democrats who voted against the bill for this reason, or one of the ones who voted for it for any reason, hopefully your days are numbered. The same holds true for any Republican who supported the bill. Consider yourselves all on notice from here on out.

I guess I might as well go ahead and change my registration to Republican, but I am still hopeful when I consider the likes of Jim Webb that the party will eventually be pulled toward sanity. Maybe that is too much to hope for. All the Republicans would really have to do to get my permanent support as a party would be to adopt a common, sane middle ground between the positions of organized labor and business. There are many other things where we do not see eye to eye, and probably never will. Nevertheless, I can live with them, or at least tolerate them.

On the other hand, I honestly do not believe in political parties, truth be known. Unfortunately, it looks like we are stuck with them.

And It's So Easy Even A Caveman Can Do It-Pt. II

From the ABC Website dealing with next seasons television comedy, tentatively tiled Caveman:

Cavemen is a unique buddy comedy that offers a clever twist on stereotypes and turns race relations on their head. Inspired by the popular Geico Insurance commercials, the series looks at life through the eyes of the ultimate outsiders -- three modern cavemen -- as they struggle to find their place in the world. Joel, his cynical best friend, Nick, and easy-going little brother, Jamie, are contemporary cavemen who live in the suburban south and simply want to be treated like ordinary thirty-something guys. Despite their attempts at assimilation, Nick doesn't believe mainstream society will ever completely accept them, Jamie seems to take it all in stride and Joel straddles the middle, torn between his friends, his traditional values and his loving fiancée.

cast
Bill English: Joel
Dash Mihok: Jamie
Nick Kroll: Nick
Kaitlin Doubleday: Kate
John Heard : Trip
Stephanie Lemelin: Thorne

The only thing I see getting turned on it's head in this proposed ABC series, in which three twenty-first century cavemen live in the Deep South (wink wink), is the original premise of the commercial. Originally, it was a hilarious slam at political correctness, though granted that was not the major intent, which was of course to sell Geico car insurance.

The popular commercials have done their job, evidently, and the executives of Touchstone should bear in mind that the commercials are funny precisely because they do make fun of political correctness.

So will the new series adhere to that premise, or will it at some point, if not right in the beginning, do the exact opposite? Despite the fact that one of the original commercial writers wrote the pilot, I don't look for it to stay true for long, if ever, to the original premise. Look for the series to feature a supporting cast of minority representatives, in story lines that are "ripped from todays headlines".

Will the Cavemen be considered illegal aliens? Will they be denied fair housing opportunities in suburban Atlanta? Problems on the job? Suspicious looks from concerned families of potential romantic interests?

Will it get bogged down in syrupy morality lessons geared toward teaching the value of tolerance? I would almost be willing to bet on it. I can hear the heart-wrenching violins tuning up now at a pivotal part of any given show.

If it does this, as I'm convinced it will,I can almost promise you that it will do so in ways that are as pretentious, condescending, and insulting as similar past offerings which seem to assume that most if not all common Americans are outright bigots either by choice, or by ignorance. We just need Hollywood to teach us better, you see. And since those cool Caveman guys are so popular, what better instrument to use to get that point across?

See how clever those tinseltown folks are? Ha Ha Ha Ha, we thought we were laughing at political correctness but in the meantime they're going to teach us to laugh at our own obvious bigotry. WHOA Ho Ho Ho Ho, those guys really crack me up.

I bet'cha one of those Cavemen ends up falling in love with and dating a regular old white girl, probably a beautiful blonde. Don't look for him to use a club on her, either. Those cave guys,it will probably turn out, have gotten a bad rap in that regard. Shit, these are Cavemen, not white southerners, remember?

Besides, why would they need a club? Those Cavemen guys obviously have humongous sized dicks, and we all know how blonde white women are.

What Makes Anne Coulter So Damned Funny

What Ann Coulter’s detractors do not seem to get about her humor is it is funny precisely because of their reactions to it.

Those reactions range from bizarre, to typically predictable, to childishly whiny, to angry, and finally to something I can only describe as similar to the same kind of ‘roid rage that drives professional wrestlers to murder their families and then commit suicide.

That is exactly what makes Anne Coulter funny, but it seems to go straight over their heads, these people that for half a century now have been belittling the majority of their politically conservative opponents as being morons, retards, ignorant, and stupid.

In the meantime, these proponents of sticking to the issues and staying away from hateful speech on the grounds that it “poisons the political discourse” go on to insinuate that those who disagree with most if not all of their positions are, again, ignorant, redneck, xenophobic, anti-feminist, homophobic, bigoted and racist “wingnuts”.

Well, actually I went a little too far there. It is only the oft-cited “far left” base that uses that language. The Democratic, Liberal politicians do not actually use the word “wingnut”. (at least not publicly).

So when Elizabeth Edwards called in to Chris Matthews “Hardball” to confront Ann Coulter (John no doubt hunched safely behind her size 24+ slacks), here seems to have been the point-Coulter should refrain from attacking her husband, the man who is at the forefront of pointing out the inequities inherent within the “two Americas”. As he does so, naturally, he must explain-in a “positive” way, of course- how those who profit from that system are racist bigots. Therefore, by extension, so are all those who support them, for whatever reason. That and/or they are just ignorant.

Everybody is lined up on his or her pre-determined side. Those who like and support Coulter (me and about half the rest of the country), take her side. Those who support the Edwards position are on their side. Each side of course insists that their side “won”.

Nobody really “won” of course. Well, I did. I did because I see Coulters schpiel for what it is, and I think she is at her funniest, oddly enough, when she derogatorily categorizes and insults those who take the positions that I myself take. Because I am a moderate supporter of environmental concerns, and labor unions, and pro-choice positions, I find her skewering of those advocacy positions outright hilarious. When she takes on positions where I take an outright liberal view-in support of gay marriage, for example-I think she is even funnier.

I can laugh at her, and then pat myself on the back for being grown up enough to be able to laugh at myself, which most liberals can’t do (to be fair, neither can most conservatives).

Then, I ask myself, why in the hell should I support leaders and advocates of positions that take themselves so fucking seriously?

Here is the real skinny of the completely stupid affair. In an earlier appearance, she stated that she would have had something to say about the other candidate for the Democratic nomination-John Edwards-but it turns out that if you use the word “faggot” you might be sent into rehab, so she would just end her presentation and take questions from the crowd. This was at an appearance where she was giving her view of the Democratic candidates for the Presidential nomination for that party.

This, of course, was hyped up and blown out of all proportion. In a recent appearance on Good Morning America, she stated that she would never insult gays by seriously comparing them to Edwards (whom she actually seems to despise). She went on to comment about a recent statement by Bill Maher to the effect that if Vice-President Dick Cheney had died in a terrorist attack, so many people would not now be dead because of the Iraq War. She went on to note that this was met with little if any criticism, nor was it even widely noted. She concluded that if she had anything further to say about John Edwards, she would simply wish he had been killed in a terrorist attack.

Naturally, the left has been howling like banshees ever since the statement was made. Enter Elizabeth Edwards on the aforementioned Hardball segment. I like to think of her as “The Bitch Mother of Lies and the Lying Liars Who Bark Them”.

Coulter’s comments have been repeatedly misrepresented and taken totally out of context. Nor does it do any good to attempt to put them into context. Take for example the blog Oliver Willis, which I link to on “Pantheon Of Blogs”.

Here seems to be the Left’s rapid response team to the evil dangers of reason and logic.

When a commenter presented the entire context of Coulter’s remarks (not me. I am staying out of this one-why waste my energy)-you get this:

1. Maher’s earlier statement was not serious. If Coulter’s statement was derived from that, she took it entirely out of context.
2. You could make the point that it was a humorous take-off on Maher’s comments, only you can’t really do that, because Coulter has done this sort of thing before.

All of which tells me, (a), you can’t take a liberal commentator seriously when he says such things, or you are purposely taking him out of context. However, if a conservative commentator does the exact same thing, it absolutely must be taken literally, and deadly serious. Moreover, perhaps more tellingly (b) it’s not so bad to make such a joke once, but more than once is inappropriate.

Judging by this criterion, if you ever called Dan Quayle a moron, that was funny and legitimate, but you have to stop it there. Why do I seem to think that would not be considered a legitimate point?

Someone should have explained this rationale to insult comic Don Rickles, he might have gotten more laughs if he had stopped after the first put-down.

You can follow the beginning of the Coulter/Edwards feud by linking to the Jewish World Review article by Coulter that may have got the ball rolling. You might then ask yourself, if John and Elizabeth Edwards are so incensed at Anne Coulter’s “hate speach" that they make it an issue in a drive for political donations on their website, why did they ever hire the two “hate-speaking” bloggers referred to in this article?

In defense of said bloggers, I think they actually made some pretty good points, in some regards, and, just like Anne Coulter, many of their statements were funny, albeit somewhat “over-the-top”. So I guess the Edwards weren’t being hypocrites after all, since they did fire them. I’m sure they were legitimately outraged once their statements come to light, it surely wasn’t base political calculation that caused them to change their minds.

Of cooouuuurrrrrrse not. Just like Elizabeth Edwards really doesn’t hate that neighbor of theirs, the Republican who ran off two people from his property at gunpoint, people who were trying to establish a right-of-way through his property (allegedly for the benefit of the Edwards, by the way). She was just upset that the bad-tempered fellow was so hateful and negative.

She is allowed, of course, to be strident in her criticisms of the hateful, the ignorant, and the racist folks who disagree with her and John. We can surely excuse her if/when she crosses the line. After all, she is dying of breast cancer, the poor dear.

Death Of A Hero

The murder-suicide of WWE Professional wrestler Chris Benoit, his wife Nancy, and their seven year old son Daniel in their home in Fayettville Georgia, is shrouded in mystery. Yet, the mystery might be slowly being pieced together.

One interesting piece of the tragic puzzle is the recent revelation that Benoit's son Daniel might have been suffering from a condition somewhat like autism, known as "Fragile X", which causes a very profound learning and growing disability. Sufferers such as Daniel are said to be unable to relate to people, and in Daniel's case, Benoits father is alleged to have confided that his son was afraid of other children. In the above linked article on the WWE web-site, it is wondered whether the stress of dealing with this problem might have taken it's toll on Benoit.

World Wrestling Entertainment has denied reports of Benoit's steroid use, and has advised caution in reading reports of the story. To this end they have released a timeline of their last contacts with the wrestling champion and star. It is all very bizarre.

WWE deserves some credit in being upfront in dealing with this tragedy, in the face of their monumental misstep in cancelling a scheduled event in order to televise a tribute to the wrestler and his lengthy career. Owner Vince Macmahon has since apologized profusely for this error in judgment, once the facts of the case began to come to light.

To wit, Benoit, having cancelled a scheduled event due to a family emergency-he stated that he believed his wife and son had suffered from food poisoning-sometime on Saturday murdered his wife. The following day, on Sunday, he similarly murdered his son. It is said that he suffocated them in what might have been a wrestling hold. Late Sunday night or early in the morning on Monday, he hung himself with a piece of cord that was a part of a weight training device.

It's interesting that Benoit's wife had some years previously, in 2003, separated from Benoit, and filed a restraining order on him, on grounds of cruelty. However, she later had the order rescinded and made amends with her husband. They had been together for some eight years.

How they got together is itself an interesting story. As part of a wrestling story-line, Benoit and his soon-to-be wife were said to be engaging in an affair, while she was married to a rival wrestler. In order to make it look real, they would be seen in public holding hands, and even took it to the extent that they rented rooms in which they spent some time together.

One thing led to another and the pair soon married.

Though the WWE explicitly denies the use of steroids by Benoit, this certainly should be taken into consideration. Even if Benoit was in fact no longer taking steroids, it's negative effects can last for a year or more after a user has ceased taking them. In some cases, their effects can be permanent. Depending on the length and degree of their use, they can cause schizophrenia and depression, and have in fact been known to lead to suicide, in addition to what has commonly been referred to as "'roid rage".

Moreover, if Benoit and his wife, also involved to an extent in the business, had been taking them at the time of their son's conception, is it likely this might have contributed to their son's onset of the so-called Fragile X? This, by the way, has not as yet been confirmed.

Steroids have been a big problem in the realm of professional sports, as well as in the world of Professional Wrestling entertainment (which, while certainly entertaining-I used to be a fan-certainly doesn't deserve to be dignified with designation as a sport).

Major League baseball has taken tentative steps toward dealing with the problem, the NFL has as well, while the International Olympic Committee seems to want to swat flies with jackhammers.

Still, though the problem is being addressed, it is still unsettling to think that the all-time professional baseball home run record might be called into question. That of course is an incidental bit of unpleasantness when compared to the overall societal effect. For a while, and perhaps still yet, the competitive drive for schools to produce winning sports teams-or for parents to produce multi-million dollar sports stars-seemed to dictate that parents and school officials might well look the other way, if not privately encourage it. In order to stay competitive, they had to keep up with the cutting edge of technology. In this day and age, that just happens to be steroids.

Unfortunately, given a little time, it might yet return to that. Just give it enough time to go away, for the controversy to die down. Everybody is doing it, just don't ask, don't tell-if you want to be a winner.

It would be unfortunate if it turns out that it took a tragedy like this to keep the issue front and center, but unfortunately, that's the way of the world.

You can read about the real dangers of steroid use at the White House site here, which contains links to other information about the dangers of this potential societal scourge.

As for those who now are intent on making this the conspiracy theory story of the month, I strongly urge you to read the aforementioned time line, established by the WWE, that I linked earlier. In fact, it is so profound in it's abundance of evidence as to Benoit's state of mind, I think it might well be appropriate to repeat the link. I encourage you to read the whole incredibly strange story here.

Life is very seldom like an Agatha Christie novel. In the vast majority of cases, what seems to be the truth on the surface, actually is the whole truth. Conspiracy theories might be more fun, and exciting to ponder and discuss, at least for some people. However, far more often than not, the more mundane explanations are in fact the legitimate ones. It's just that simple.

Antioch-The College

Antioch College, after more than one hundred fifty years of more or less uninterrupted liberal indoctrination disguised as “teaching”, is soon to close its door, as of June 1st, 2008. Plans are already in the works to revamp the Antioch University flagship college for a possible, yet very tentative, re-opening set for 2012. When it does close, it will be for the third time, and very possibly for good.

The Antioch College alumni, trustees, and other personnel should be ashamed of themselves. The school, located in Yellow Springs, Ohio, is going to its grave without having accomplished much of anything worthwhile.

I took the liberty of pursuing a list of its most notable graduate luminaries, a sure general sign of the overall value to society of any college or university. Among such luminaries was Coretta Scott King. Once you get past her-and actor Montgomery Cliff-the small Ohio campus has not produced much in the way of living up to founding President Horace Mann’s admonition which is the mission statement of the college-

“Be ashamed to die until you have accomplished something great for mankind”.

There was one scientist. There was one anthropologist. I noted with some interest that there was one notable person who is known as a “nautical explorer”. Try as I might, I cannot banish from my mind the image of a bearded beach bum sailing the mid-Atlantic coast in a skiff, spending his hours looking for sand dollars off the South Carolina coast.

There were a few attorneys, as one might expect. Other than these, the majority of them were sociologists, politicians, authors, and actors. Here’s hoping the authors learned enough to be considered legitimate experts in their chosen fields. Probably they were. Those who were not were probably among those who went on to become successfully tenured professors at the college.

So what happened to Antioch? Wel, I guess that depends on who you ask. Here's their own statement. Here, on the other hand, seems to be the straight scoop from the Dayton Dailey News.

In the beginning, it was a Christian college that aimed to produce generations of public minded graduates who would contribute great things to society. They championed the cause as early as in the 18oo’s of civil rights for blacks and for women. Yet, due to opposition from the small Ohio communities that surrounded them, they turned out few if any black graduates prior to the 1940’s. They had two black students in the 1930’s, neither of whom went on to graduate.

By the time of the late forties, something happened. Their mission evolved, you might say, to a communist-or let us be kind and say “progressive left”-orientation. The House Un-American Committee criticized them, but they persevered. By the time the sixties came around, they were at the forefront of civil rights marches, anti-war protests, and other liberal advocacy positions, some of which were of perhaps, let us say, dubious value at best.

In the earliest days of its existence, Antioch sent students out to gain experience in the various crafts and trades, as interns to the different professionals in the area. By the pertinent time in question, they went out not to learn such skills as previously had been encouraged.

Now, they were sent out to demonstrate in marches, conduct sit-ins, and burn draft cards. Why not, hell, you got extra class credit for this, you see.

By well into the seventies and eighties, Antioch College was a well-known bastion of leftist ideology and indoctrination, right up there with Berkley and Kent State. Though it was classified as a liberal arts institution, this was not to be construed to mean that Antioch was a place you could go to get exposure to different ideas and philosophies. Antioch was the place to go to get reinforcement for the preconceived leftist philosophies of you, and the parents who might have paved the way to instilling them into your young, innocent mind. It was a place for reassurance, not for learning, nor for any kind of thought that might be considered challenging.

Perhaps it was fortunate that, somewhere along the way, Antioch forgot what its main purpose was. It had long ago ceased to be an institution where young people might learn those skills necessary to be successful in today’s ever more competitive world. Did I mention its second most notable luminary might be Montgomery Cliff?

Whatever the case, it is easy to see why a college that is classified as a “third tier” liberal arts college, might come to be considered third rate at best, and well advised to revamp its program toward the achievement of material success. However, the alumni of Antioch would disagree with that, naturally. To them, their purpose in life is to lead student protests-at the Dayton Court House-of Appellate Court or Supreme Court decisions that have nothing to do with the court being demonstrated against. One such example would be a recent decision curtailing or limiting the placement of minority quotas in school admissions. Antioch college students and professors went bonkers over this, and staged what they called a “people of color takeover.”

Or, perhaps one might point to the time they lead the way in producing what is perhaps the most bizarre sex-abuse statement ever written as a matter of school policy. I reproduce two portions of it, courtesy of The American Thinker, as follows:

"This spirit is about a fully affirmative YES. Not an ambiguous yes, or a ‘well-not-really-but-OK-I guess, yes,' certainly not a ‘silent-no,' ‘yes,' or an ‘ouch' or ‘yuck-but-I'm-afraid-to-hurt-your-feelings-yes.' This is about YES, UM HUM, ABSOLUTELY, YIPPEE YAHOO YES!"

Later on, the statement gets a bit more serious-I guess-with:

"-All sexual contact and conduct between any two (or more!) people must be consensual;"

"-- Consent must be obtained verbally before there is any sexual contact or conduct;

"-- If the level of sexual intimacy increases during an interaction (i.e. if two people move from kissing while fully clothed, which is one level, to undressing for direct physical contact, which is another level), the people involved need to express their clear verbal consent before moving to that new level;"

By now, you might be starting to wonder, as I am, how this institution lasted as long as it did.

Possibly, they are even proud to be known as one of the top ten anti-male establishments of higher learning in the nation.

However, to be fair, I have to jump to the defense of Antioch. I do not think it is accurate to say they are anti-male, so much as to say that they are anti-man. Especially, anti white upper-class man and anti white upper middle-class man.

At any rate, Antioch would probably have closed its doors ten years ago, but they have been kept floating above water by the other colleges in the Antioch University system. One can only assume these other schools have either adopted a program that is more conducive to attracting students geared toward achieving success, or that they are in parts of the country where the Antioch philosophy is a better fit. Those places would be Los Angeles, Santa Barbara, and Seattle. Yeppers, methinks that might have more than a little to do with it.

In Southern Ohio, it is not a fit. Few in-state families would be willing to shell out 23,000 dollars for a school that does not teach shit any more vital or competitive than Rabble Rousing 101. Nor would many out-of-state families opt to send their kids to such a school at even higher rates.

In the long run, many of Antioch’s most cherished causes might have contributed to the schools downfall. Take for example the atrocious Title Nine laws whereby so much money has to be set aside for female sports teams, whether they are profitable or not. A major university such as Notre Dame can absorb the shock of such a blow, perhaps, and even help it in a few cases become profitable over time.

A campus such as Antioch is dead in the water right from the start, as they are doubtless unable to fund more than a mediocre soccer team at best, though I doubt seriously that a sports program would be welcome at such a place under any conditions. Fair enough, but then again, such denial of reality is just another nail in the coffin of such schools. No sports team in a good many cases equals no interest whatsoever for a lot of potential students and their families. Moreover, that equals of course less money. A lot less money. A hell of a lot less money.

Perhaps the current Administration will be successful at reviving Antioch’s fortunes, and making it successful, but this would require adopting a curriculum which would attract competitive students who want to actually-well, accomplish something with their lives. Unfortunately, the pot hazed sixties era hippies who doubtless make up the majority of Antioch’s alumni and contributors will probably balk at this. Who cares about teaching impressionable young children about the value of making money when they should be taught VALUES, by God?

Why have programs to teach business, sciences and math, in addition to Law, Languages, and Literature, etc., that is the schools hallmarks of distinction. That is just the problem with Antioch. It was never a school that put a lot of value on worldly success, or material gain, and over time it only got more doctrinaire in its guiding philosophy. Now, it is paying the price.

Nevertheless, those old alumni might persevere after all, and return with a vengeance. They might show those more “realistic” thinking school deans and administrators what is what. How dare they change their beloved Antioch, and try to re-open it as an ordinary damned old college in 2012?

I look any minute now for the old guard to issue a statement criticizing this lack of cultural sensitivity to the Maya, to whom 2012 is a sacred year.

Every picture tells a story, don't it? Put them together, and you have an epic tale of despair, at the thought that-my God, what do you mean the sixties are over? They ain't over till they're over-by God

Without further ado, and thanks to the Dayton Daily News, I hereby present-

TRUTH? JUST WHOSE TRUTH?



The alumni, students, and community of Yellow Springs attend the meeting where the decision is announced to close the school in June 2008. They are not happy campers




The Deans and Alumni Board of Trustees with President Sanders at the meeting, making the announcement. Feeling the heat. Note President Sanders, second from the right. Wonder what he's really feeling?




("Maybe I can find an opening in a nice Day Care Center")

666

Well, since this is, by the way, Post Number 666-



(Pictured above is Lucius Domitius Ahenobar, adopted son and heir of Roman Emperor Claudius, who gave him the adoptive name by which we have come to know him-Nero)


Who is he, this "Great Beast" represented by the number 666? Or, who will he be? Will he be the ruler of a one-world empire, as the Bible intimates? Will he have what is known as a “False Prophet” who is himself quite formidable, and who will be instrumental in rallying the world behind the worship of this “Antichrist”?

Is he even, as some have suggested, the “Son of Satan” himself?

Some have suggested that the Antichrist or “Great Beast” will be a counterfeit Christ, and will “deceive the very elect” by reason of those miracles which he will have power to perform in the sight of men. Utilizing this ancient prophecy, the late Jerry Falwell claimed that the Antichrist will probably be a Jew, as Christ himself was a Jew.

As ruler of a world empire, prophecies concerning him in this regard are based on the observation that, over the centuries, one empire would arise and in time would fall, only to be swallowed up and absorbed by a successive empire, which would be bigger than the one that preceded it.

It seemed a logical assumption that were this trend to continue, eventually the entire world would be swallowed up by one vast, overriding empire, which would then of course be all-powerful in a secular sense.

The Book of Revelations, the last book of the Bible, and which is revolved chiefly around events leading up to and including the end of time, was composed during the reign of the Emperor Domitian. He was a vicious persecutor of Christians and the Christian faith, and was himself seen to be a satanically inspired “rebirth” in a sense of the first great ant-Christian despot, the Emperor Nero. Prior to him, and between him and Domitian, the Christians were also persecuted, but not to the degree perpetrated by these two.




(Pictured above is Domitian, Emperor of Rome at the time of the writing of the Book Of Revelations)


The New Testament author observed that Domitian as well would eventually fall, but others would nevertheless replace him, just as he himself had replaced Nero, under that time of the aforementioned world empire, in which the devil by this time would have the entire world within his grasp.

So when is this going to come about? Perhaps the clue to this can be found in the symbol for which he is most well known-the number 666. According to the Bible, this is “the number of a man”. As such, we are advised to count this number.

Could this possibly mean not so much that the number is that of a man, but of instead the generation of men that will produce him?

If this is the case, then let us consider the Biblical assertion that the world is 6000 years old, including the creation of Adam, who was created on the “sixth day”. Then consider the meaning of the term “generation”. Let us agree that a new generation arises once every twenty years, more or less. Let’s just use that as an average.

If that were the case, then this would mean that the Beast would arise sometime during the predominance of the 666th generation of men.

In other words, you can start to breathe a little easier. The Antichrist will not arise until sometime after the year 9300 AD. (CE).

Even if you use a more liberal assessment for the counting of generations, it is quite a ways off. Say for example that you use every thirteenth year for each successive generation, thirteen being the general age at which a young Jewish boy celebrates his Bar Mitzvah. Going by this criterion, you still have quite a few centuries before the onset of the Antichrist, whoever he turns out to be. We will all be long dead and gone by then, whatever the case-assuming it’s real to begin with.

Which it could well be. Fundamentalist Christians might well want to consider shutting up about this. Every time they give an opinion on the matter, it’s almost like somebody somewhere says, “hey, you know, that’s not a bad idea”. It’s almost like that old idea of the self-fulfilling prophecy, only in this context on a massively grand world scale.

They also point to the revival of the State of Israel as a fulfillment of conditions leading up to the advent of the Antichrist as being within this present generation. Unfortunately, what they do not seem to realize is that the State of “Israel” is a massive fraud in the sense of the Biblical identity of that name. The people who currently claim that identity are actually descendants of the ancient nation of Judea, or Judah. The original State of Israel, which split off from Judea following the reign of Solomon, has long since vanished. Their descendants, whoever they might be, are unknown to us. True, the Judeans are a portion of that ancient heritage, but only a very small portion of it. The prophecy relating to the revived state of Israel by its nature must of necessity include the descendants of ALL TWELVE STATES, WHICH THE PRESENT STATE DOES NOT EVEN COME CLOSE TO DOING.

On the other hand, the current proponents of the present age being the pivotal one in question have other aspects that they point to as signs that our modern times are the “end of days”.

Social Security, Medicaire, computers, computer tracking chips, bar code scanners, and health records database- again on computer chips. Every one of these things has been given as examples of things or ideas that are either foreshadowings of the “number of the beast”, or are those things themselves. Constantly they are retooled and perfected, until they can be implanted in our brains, sapping our wills, and turning us all into willing, expedient, and dispensable brain dead sheep.

Hey, wait a minute! Most people are already like that anyway! It’s already happening!

HEEELLLLPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!!

Whatever the case, it is interesting to note that most fundamentalist Christians consider the present age to be the final one and that the Antichrist will be a person who will pass himself off as a kind of Christ like figure. Perhaps they are right. Maybe the Antichrist will not be so bold as to actually claim outright to be Christ. At least, not right in the beginning. Yet, perhaps he will be some person who has, shall we say, messianic tendencies. Perhaps deep down he is a person who will subconsciously-or consciously for that matter-try to manipulate Christian sentiments and concerns over these end times beliefs to his own best advantage. Perhaps he will in this manner portray himself as a kind of “Second Coming of Christ”







If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times-be careful what you wish for.

Aradia

I recently learned an interesting “fact” in an effort to research the religion of Stregheria. What I learned was that, in a sense, if I were to proceed in an earlier stated desire to use the goddess Aradia in some form of artistic format, I may not be the first to have ever done so. In fact, I may have been beaten by more than a century by a gentleman by the name of Oscar Wilde, who might well have used the goddess in a play. Others later followed suit, as she may have, albeit unknowingly, been the subject of at least two operas, one by the great Richard Strauss.

So, who is the goddess Aradia? Well, according to the established and for the most part largely hereditary triads, or covens, of followers of Stregheria, she was the daughter of the Roman goddess Diana, and the sun god Lucifer. Diana had become infatuated with her handsome yet standoffish brother, and seduced him by changing herself into the likeness of the gods favorite pet cat, then climbing into his bed as he was falling asleep. The union was consummated, and Aradia was the resultant offspring.

Diana later sent Aradia to the poor peasant women of Italy, who were being oppressed by the aristocratic landowners of the time, which was said to be sometime in the fourteenth century. She taught them witchcraft. Specifically, she taught them the arts of poisoning. She taught them other magical arts as well, including the ability to fly, which may have been a reference to a kind of astral projection.

Some hold that there was actually a woman named Aradia, who lived in the fourteenth century, and who actually started such a movement, though it was relatively small and unknown. As the decades advanced, however, though rumors of it's existence became more widely spread, even beyond Italy, it remained no less mysterious.

Most people held that it actually did not exist, that it was in fact a hysterical delusion. The proponents of this latter view were the Roman Catholic Church, which is very interesting. This suggests to me that this obscure little cult actually did exist, though it was unknown as to how widespread it was, or who were the participants. It is easy to infer from this that the Church wished to portray them as a delusion precisely to restrain interest in and affiliation with them.

Then came another development. It turns out that Aradia may not have been a thirteenth century woman at all, but a deified version of a far earlier historical female, in fact a somewhat very well known one.






Before long, the goddess Aradia became equated, at least at first glance, with the New Testament villainess Herodias. Indeed, the two names are entymologically identical. Herodias of course was the wife of Herod Antipas, the tetrarch of Galillee during the time of Christ. The tetrarchs wife had instigated the execution of John The Baptist by convincing her daughter, Salome, to ask for the head of the Baptist as a reward for pleasing the tetrarch with the performance of a dance at his birthday banquet.

Only it seems that during the Middle Ages, Salome was mistakenly believed to also be named Herodias, due to her lack of being named in the New Testament. Because of this, it was merely assumed the girl, all of thirteen at the time of the incident, had the same name as her mother.

It later became more widely known, through the writings of the Jewish historian Flavius Josephus, that the girls name was actually Salome. She went on to have an interesting history. She became married to a number of cousins and uncles, notably to Philip the Tetrarch, long mistakenly believed to have been the first husband of Herodias, thus Salome’s own father. Her true father, as it turns out, was named Herod, and he was a grandson of a former High Priest.

She later married a certain Herod, King of Chalcis, and then finally, as the wife of Tigranes IV, she became the Queen of Lesser Armenia. The reign of she and her husband in this oft disputed territory, a frequent bone of contention between the Roman and Parthian Empires, culminated after a mere six months in the execution of both of them. Following a rebellion and their consequent overthrow, they were, ironically enough in her case, executed by way of beheading.

As a side note, it is interesting that the New Testament puts the blame for the Baptists execution squarely on her and her mother, while Herod, though portrayed as a corrupt weakling, is nevertheless seen as having regret over the incident. His reluctance is portrayed as the reason for the artifice of mother and daughter to begin with. As the Gospel account was written right along the time of her execution in Lesser Armenia, this could possibly have been an intentional morality tale on the part of the New Testament writers.

Josephus for his part seems to cast the blame squarely on the shoulders of Antipas, who according to him wanted to kill the prophet, but just needed a legitimate pretext for doing so.

Whatever the case, according to this theory, Salome (not her mother) was actually worshipped by the earliest of the Stregha as an incarnation of the goddess Diana.

Nevertheless, there are serious academic doubts as to how old Stregheria actually is. When Charles Godfrey Leland wrote “The Gospel of Aradia” around the turn of the twentieth century, he remarked that a hereditary descendant of one of the old triads had given the volume to him. This has been very much in dispute, and more than likely his claims are wild exaggerations. The truth of the matter seems to be somewhere between-

A. He based his writings on old oral traditions related him by a triad member.
B. He made the shit up out of whole cloth.

I tend to lean my beliefs somewhere closer toward choice A, though I certainly accede it not only to be possible, but indeed likely that a good lot of it was his own interjections, interpretations, and even some of his own whimsy.

At the same time, the reluctance of the Catholic Church to lend any credence to the veracity of the cult’s existence gives me good reason to conclude-something was going on during this period of time that gave them some cause for alarm. After all, this was a period of time when the Church looked for any excuse to harass, torture, imprison, or execute any sect or religious group or philosophy that had even the slightest inclinations that could be portrayed as heretical.

There was almost definitely a “there” there. The Church feared its existence but since they had no way of knowing who they were, what they were, or even where they were, they fought them the best way they could. They insisted even the belief in their existence amounted to mass hysteria and delusion.

This might have been the reason for the identification of the goddess Aradia with the mortal teenage girl Salome. This might have been a way of portraying the cult as an evil one. The fact that they worshiped Lucifer-actually an ancient Greek god, the son of Zeus and Eos (goddess of the dawn) did not hurt them in their efforts to at the same time insinuate them to be a potentially malignant force.

In fact, a perusal of the Gospel of Aradia seems to indicate that the Stregha worshiped Lucifer as, in fact, the fallen god from the heavens, and while doing so they seem to equate Zeus,or Jupiter, with the New Testament Yahweh, in a sense.

Nevertheless, it is easy to see how this too could have come about. It is very likely that the word Lucifer became synonymous with the Christian Satan due to the artifice of translation of the scriptures from the original Hebrew to Greek. The Lucifer mentioned in the Old Testament might actually have been not in reference to a devil or a pagan god, but to some fallen mortal, perhaps the Hebrew King Saul, or some similar personage who “fell” or was “cast out” of God’s favor due to overweening pride.

The original Greek Lucifer, in fact, seems to have been a very minor god at best whose worship was extremely limited. He may have been actually all but unknown outside of a very small region.

Whatever the case, the period of time when the Stregha started, assuming the traditions are correct, would have been prior to the time of the Renaissance, and the followers would have been a very small group of peasant women, and a few men, and their families. They could not be expected to understand the nuance that existed in the different meanings of the word Lucifer, to say nothing of the difference between a very obscure and all but forgotten pagan god, and the being that we have come to know as the purest manifestation of evil and sin.

For the most part, it must be stressed, the vast majority of the gods and goddesses worshiped by the Stregha are the same gods to be found in both the ancient Roman and Etruscan pantheons.

On the other hand, Cain, the ancient murderer, plays a role in their cult as well, though I am not sure how. Nevertheless, remember-perhaps the most important art taught the oppressed peasant women of Italy by the goddess Aradia was the art of poisoning.

Well, I do not intend to go out and poison anybody tonight, nor do I intend to chop off any heads. But seeing as how as I write these words we are two and a half hours into the Summer Solstice,I might just visualize the goddess Aradia.

And I might well put on some music and dance.