Pt. X, Time Traveling With R.E. Prindle: G.W.M. Reynolds, TheNecromancer

Part X, Time Traveling With R.E. Prindle

A Review

Geo. W.M. Reynolds’ The Necromancer

by

R.E. Prindle

Reynolds’ writing system was such that he could write each installment of the Mysteries of the Court of London in seven hours leaving the rest of the week open. Thus he had a seven hour work week leaving time to do a myriad other things including writing other books. He says his mind was bursting with ideas. He had a powerful compartmentalized mind so that he could keep two or three novels going at the same time so that in the year of 1851 he wrote his installments for the Court of London and The Seamstress, Pope Joan, Kenneth and the Necromancer, the last two extending into 1852. We are going to examine here his very fine novel, The Necromancer, or perhaps one might rename it the Magician.

If as seems evident that every novelist is writing his own life whether consciously or unconsciously, it is also true that the novelist reflects his own time. Ostensibly the Necromancer takes place in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries but I think we can abstract a story about what was happening currently in his day. This will require much background work.

As is uppermost in every twenty-first century White mind the question of is the author in any way anti-Semitic, non, Feminist, a racist, and as it is expressed a Homophobe. We are going to explain the Necromancer as an explanation of Semitism in the England of Reynolds and ignore the other bete noirs. You have been forewarned.

Whether you consider Semites, that is Jews, as a religion, a nation, a people or whatever they are an economic, political and social force working solely for Jewish interests to the exclusion of all others. Jews consider themselves a nation and a people. The period from 1814 through the nineteenth century saw the rise of the Jewish people as the pre-eminent people of Great Britain. The rise was especially prominent from 1815 to 1860, the period most important of Reynolds novelist life.

It is not possible that he didn’t note the situation and if he didn’t mention it directly, which he doesn’t, then there must be a reason. Why would he have to resort to a parable such as The Necromancer? The answer was that even at that time there were penalties to writing ethnographical studies such as Reynolds’ that did not show Jews to critical advantage.

If one found it necessary to include Jewish characters they must be portrayed in the most benevolent light. Reynolds does mention Jewish characters but in a peculiar way. He lauds them as long suffering, unfairly victimized as a people but then he invariably displays them as what are called anti-Semitic stereotypes. Thus the pawn broker in Wagner, the Wehr Wolf.

He is depicted as a totally inoffensive person, obsequious to the extreme as a persecuted member of the bedeviled people. After these laudatory comments Reynolds then pictures a character bearing all the so-called Semitic tropes. He changes the stones on the pawned diamonds to paste, which Reynolds justifies by his peoples ages long persecution, as well as other criminal acts. It would seem that Reynolds knew the score.

The odd thing, since Jewish activity was at a height is that Reynolds makes no reference to Jewish economic or banking activities. Let us do a brief survey of where matters stood at the time. In 1815 Nathan Rothschild seized control of English currency and the Bank of England.

To explain:

A famous European and Jewish canard is that of father Mayer Amschel Rothschild and his five arrows, that is, his five sons. They were dispatched to European capitals to form a powerful network covering the continent and England. Nathan Rothschild was sent to Manchester to engage in the booming textile industry. Nathan was no businessman and could not succeed in textiles. He therefore turned to crime becoming a smuggler which would turn out to fortuitously make his fortune.

In 1806 Napoleon was conquering the German States, moving in on the Margrave of Hesse-Cassel. The Margrave was fabulously wealthy. He wanted to conceal his wealth from Napoleon who was more than eager to appropriate it. The Margrave then employed his Court Jew, Mayer Amschel Rothshild, to conceal it. Mayer sent a substantial portion of it to Nathan who by this time was floundering around as a banker. The money immediately established Nathan as a financial force. At that time the British were engaging Napoleon in the Iberian Peninsular War. Wellington the British general in the Peninsula needed cash desperately but the usually inventive English didn’t know of a secure way to get the money to him. Nathan was then used to transport the money. Using his, by this time, well developed smuggling skills in conjunction with his brother arrow, James, in Paris, they delivered the mail.

This was known to the French authorities as Fouche, the very clever Minister of Police, was aware of exactly how it had been done. The method is well demonstrated in the German Movie, The Rothschilds. So Nathan and his fellow Jews scored a bundle on that caper.

Nathan’s most outstanding feat that brought England to its knees was his capture of the currency after Napoleon’s defeat at Waterloo. He spread the rumor that Napoleon had won Waterloo causing a stupendous sell off that drove prices far down. While others sold Nathan bought. Then his special couriers raced to London to carry news of the English, or allied, victory. Prices bounced back but by then using the fabulous wealth of the Margrave of Hesse Nathan owned huge amounts of securities that he sold at magnificent profit thus securing the base of the Rothschild dynasty, still going strong eight generations on.

To report this astonishing feat in history tends to mitigate the reaction of the Brits when they learned how they had been diddled out of the ruling of their country for Rothschild had pulled an astonishing cheat. Reynolds who was very well informed across the board must have known this but was constrained from portraying it for fear of Jewish retaliation which even was formidable.

We are now moving to the 1840s and Nathan who had passed was succeeded by Lionel Rothschild as the scion of the family. A most formidable and dangerous antagonist.

At this time young Benjamin Disraeli (1804-81) was attempting to establish himself as a literary wizard before entering politics. He had already written many novels when in 1844 he wrote Coningsby, Sybil in 1845 and Tancred in 1847. In Coningsby he laid bare the Jewish influence in European affairs when he wrote that the world was actually governed by different people behind the scenes than the public imagined. Thus he led the reading public to believe that the apparent rulers were mere operatives of others, that is, the Jews.

These three political novels made more of a stir than his earlier romances had so that it seems reasonable that Disraeli, Coningsby at least, had been read by Reynolds by 1851. In Coningsby Disreali lauds his Jewish mastermind as the most astounding human being since Adam. The character was based on the real life Right Honourable Lionel Freiherr Rothschild. (1808-1879) Named Sidonia in the novel.

Lionel, Lion-el means Lion of the Lord or God, what we might say, Defender of the Faith in Christian terms.

The Jews since Nathan had owned the State of England but they as a different religion from the Anglicans suffered political and religious disabilities. It was Lionel’s mission to remove them in which mission he was successful.

In 1847 he was the first Jew to be elected to Parliament. This was success but it would also have absorbed Lionel as just another member. He wanted more. He in essence did not want to be absorbed as an English member of the House of Commons but as an autonomous Jew. To be sworn in he had to take an oath of Christian formulation. This he refused to do wishing to be sworn in as a Jew.

In order to accommodate him this would have required a changing of the rules with long term consequences. Accordingly Lord Russell introduced a Jewish Disabilities Act to change the rules. In 1849 when the Act failed the German-Jewish Baron Lionel Rothschild resigned his seat. But still determined he won a bye election to keep his campaign going. Returning he still refused to swear on the New Testament demanding the Jewish or Old Testament. The oath still required him to say: ‘Upon the true faith of a Christian.’ He refused to do so on the grounds that Christianity was not the true faith, Judaism was. Once again he was compelled to resign his seat.

In 1852 he tried to bull his way through but once again was denied. Finally in 1858 Lionel Rothschild forced through the oath changes. Refusing to be bareheaded as required by English custom he demanded to wear his yarmulke or skull cap and instead of saying ‘on the true faith of a Christian’ he was allowed to say ‘so help me Jehovah.’

Thus he became the first Jewish member of the House of Commons but the first Jew in the House rather than an English member of the Jewish faith. Thus in this long battle to be seated Lionel changed the nature of the country into a country of Englishmen and nearly autonomous Jews. Already in control of English currency the Jews would now aspire to political power while moving freely through society ostensibly equal but actually superior having all English rights as well as autonomous Jewish rights that were denied the English.

Thus Disraeli’s astonishing Sidonia/Lionel cleared the way for Disraeli to serve in the Commons but also to become the Prime Minister; the intermediary between the English people and their Sovereign.

These activities were not carried on in a vacuum or beneath the observance of interested parties of which Reynolds was one. While he was only observing the struggle up to 1851-52 when he wrote the Necromancer the writing was on the wall. No doubt Reynolds had read Disraeli’s Coningsby and had watched Lionel Rothschild’s maneuvering. Being a novelist it was easy for him to shadow forth the denouement that occurred in 1858.

My reading of the Necromancer reflects Reynolds’ version of what was happening. Thus his protagonist Lionel Danvers is Lionel Rothschild. As an historical novelist he then creates a fictional history of the Danvers/Rothschild story. He combines the five arrows into one. As was commonly thought at the time the Jews were Satanic thus Danvers had sold his soul to Satan for a period of a hundred fifty years so and with the due date imminent it was necessary for Danvers to honor his commitment to Satan to redeem his soul.

Danvers existed under several names and guises as he was able to shape shift to any age at any time. Thus at various periods he was the middle aged Walter, a mature Lionel Danvers and a boyish Reginald or Conrad.

Even though he had sold his soul to the devil, Satan had given him an escape clause in that if he could find six virgins who would do anything for him, even die, he would take those six souls in exchange for Danvers’. For some reason I always read Danvers in the French form of D’enfer. Thus Danvers becomes The Lion Of the Lord of Hell. Whether correct or not it certainly fits.

Now, Lionel Danvers to use that name of his existence, had all the wealth of Europe at his command. While ostensibly an English Lord he spent all his time on the continent where he had the greatest concentrations of wealth in addition to his very large holdings in England. For him money had no other meaning than to buy power in whatever form it took by any means necessary.

In his Walter incarnation, his first, as the clearest example, Walter shows up in Genoa where he befriends the scion of the Landini trading family. He then bestows, not as a loan but for safe keeping interest free, an incredible fortune that Landini can use without any restrictions for his own benefit on the condition that whenever Danvers appears the Landinis are to return his money in full on demand or they become his slaves.

Naturally the Landinis being astute traders enjoy enormous success for several generations. Even though Danvers has never returned they still maintain his fortune. Each successor has been made aware of his obligation so that not only the trust is available ready to honor at any time but also interest. However suddenly the worst fortune descends on them and all their deals begin to sour, whole argosies are lost at sea. Danvers chooses this moment to return and demand his money. The demand can’t be honored.

But, the Landinis have a beautiful virgin daughter, Bianca. Danvers courts her, wins her heart and they set a date to be married. In the meantime, as debtors to Danvers, the Landinis have become his slaves. They are ordered to go to London and start a jewelry house, which they do.

Before leaving the marriage is arranged between Walter and Bianca. Before the marriage Danvers carries Bianca off to no one knows where. They both just vanish. Bianca becomes the first of the virgins sacrificed to Satan by Danvers. But, of course, the details that can be revealed here are mysteries to the reader.

Bianca had been abducted to Danvers ruined castle on the Isle of Wight. In the secret chamber where Danvers murders the women a score card is on the wall in fiery letters, thus Bianca becomes virgin soul #1, five more to go.

As the story opens Lionel Danvers is sacrificing his fifth, Clara Manners.

One of the deepest mysteries in this astonishingly deep book is the problem of Musidora Sinclair who Lionel has selected as his sixth victim. He seems to have had a singular attachment to the girl. Musidora had been a charming girl but at the age of seventeen she became of a very icy temperament unmoved by anyone or anything. As it turns out Lionel had attempted to lead her to his secret chamber, she lived on the Isle of Wight, but she got cold feet on the way to the chamber and fled. This event turned her heart cold. Now, after having despatched Clara Manners he decides to try again to make Musidora his final victim.

I take Musidora to mean Golden Song or music. Whether right or wrong, she is.

Lionel now has a problem because Musidora won’t allow him near her. Fortunately Lionel has a plan B. He will impersonate King Henry VIII, during whose reign the story takes place at this point, and wed her. Unfortunately her beauty overwhelms him and he impregnates her (another mystery) thus destroying her virginity. Even Lionel Danvers was not so stupid that he didn’t know that it was impossible to diddle Satan.

For Reynolds the story of the impersonation of Henry III is the central point of the story. Between Nathan and Lionel Rothschild a shadow government had been forming in England. While Queen Victoria was the apparent ruler at this time the actual rulers were, as Disraeli had written, other than the seeming rulers. Lionel lived till 1879 when he died at the age of seventy.

Granting that Disraeli was accurate then whatever power the shadow rulers had at the time, their power has gone on increasing to the present day when Evelyn Rothschild wields the power behind the throne. Prior to the Communist Revolution of 1917 Rasputin was deemed the power behind the Russian throne. He was also thought to be conspiring with the Germans. As it happened Rasputin had a Jewish secretary and we must suppose that the secretary had ties to other Jewish revolutionaries so that he was able to pass information to them much as Dreyfus had done in France in the 1890s.

In all probability the German agents Rasputin was thought to be conspiring with was actually being done by his Jewish secretary. The secretary would have been very intimate with Rasputin and would have had strong control over what information Rasputin received while having access to all or most of Rasputin’s info and plans. Thus Through Rasputin the Jews would have been able to influence the Czarina and through the Czarina the Czar.

In the US during the same period, the Wall Street speculator Bernard Baruch would become the actual co-president of Woodrow Wilson free to issue commands on his own authority subject only to correction by Wilson himself and he and Wilson were of like minds. So, at the crucial time of the Revolution both Russia and the US were subject to Jewish discipline.

Be that as it may, is it any coincidence that Lionel Danvers and Lionel Rothschild bore the same Christian name? I think not. Reynolds is trying to tell us something. So Lionel Danvers having circulated rumors that he was dead or on the continent set about to realize his lust on the body of Musidora Sinclair while posing as Henry VIII.

It will be remembered that at this time Henry was seeking a divorce from his Spanish wife Catherine, but it had not yet been achieved. Danvers has to fool Musidora into believing he, impersonating Henry, had succeeded in obtaining that divorce. First Danvers has to lure Musidora from her retreat on the Isle of Wight. He has a relative couple of Musidora living in the royal city of Greenwich invite Musidora to come for and extended visit to their castle. Then he finds a probable excuse for Henry to be a guest of the Earl and Countess Grantham, Musidora’s relatives.

There is some hint that Danvers magically transformed himself into a duplicate form of Henry. I don’t think that was necessary. At this point in history but few people would have seen Henry. So, all that Danvers would have had to have done is bought some clothes royalty would have worn and developed the persona. Of course Musidora knew Danvers well as a young girl and ought to have been able to identify his voice. But, this is Reynolds’ story and the disguise was complete although their was some uncertainty accepting face values.

Nevertheless Henry/Danvers showered Musidora with expensive gifts including a set of very expensive diamonds. It will be remembered that the Landinis from Genoa had been running a jewelry shop in London for about a hundred years.

Eventually, with continued prodding from the Granthams, who were completely fooled, Danvers/Henry break Musidora down and she agrees to marry the faux monarch. However suspicions remain and the strictest safeguards are taken. Musidora demands to see the papal bull nullifying Henry’s marriage to Catherine which matter was not resolved at the time.

Danvers has one forged. As three papal seals are needed Danvers obtains authentic seals.

As a political operative he has suborned numerous members of Henry’s household putting them on the payroll and so has one obtain seals from an authentic papal communication. The officiating priest is fooled and really has no choice but to marry Musidora and Danvers/Henry. Danvers cannot allow Musidora to circulate or talk about her marriage so he swears her to secrecy about the whole affair.

Nevertheless Henry learns of the fraud and swears his informers to secrecy because he doesn’t want the public to know that a shadow King Henry is loose in the kingdom. Reynolds here is describing the actual political condition in England that a second monarch is running the kingdom by secretive measures. This answers to Disraeli’s claim that others than the seeming rulers are directing affairs.

In fact Disraeli himself will become Prime Minister and facetiously and destructively make Victoria the Empress of India. Disraeli was ostensibly a Christian having changed from Judaism to Anglican at the age of thirteen. Thirteen is when a Jewish lad takes his Bar Mitzvah becoming a young man with a man’s prerogatives. It is very likely the change to Anglicanism was deceitfully made with political motives in mind. Disraeli became a Jew disguised as a Christian.

While there may be some objectors to my analysis one should note that Sir Piers Dunhaven the father of the second female victim had once had an extensive property in Cumberland but he had lost most of his property to usury. As Christians were forbidden usury it follows that Jews using their monopoly in usury had stripped Sir Piers of his property. There are subtle hints such as this to Lionel Danvers nationality.

What we have here then is an allegory of the subjection of England by the Jews according to Reynolds. On that level this is the shadow meaning of the novel.

On another level this is a near perfect Gothic novel. One is reminded of The Mysteries of Udolpho by Mrs. Radcliffe. As he was an old admirer of Mrs. Radcliffe I’m sure that Reynolds had Udolpho in mind as he wrote this. The story is also first class mystery and would beat out Willkie Collins for longest mystery story. And, Reynolds keeps the mystery going to the very end. Who could have guessed that Marian Bradley, Danvers last possible chance to beat the devil was his and Musidora’s daughter? Didn’t see that one coming did we?

The story is plotted out perfectly.   When we are shown the glowing signboard with the illuminated names and the blank spaces we have to wonder. That was the first mystery and the finest first mystery explained. This list of victims also gave Reynolds his opportunity to tell six tales and he loves to tell those tales.

Then there is the mystery of Danvers and where he gets his inexhaustible supply of money. His fortunes, not just a fortune but fortunes, come from over all Europe and England. An historical question often asked is how do Jews when expropriated and expelled out of one locality show up in a new one and immediately, as it seems, regain their wealth. The solution to that one is easy—usury. Aware that they may be expelled on short notice they kept jewels and portable wealth sewn into garments so that they could leave on amoment’s notice to resurface as wealthy elsewhere.

The Catholic Church and its opinion on money making money, that is usury, which is the objection to loaning on interest, penalized its own adherents and enfranchised the Jews who it politically disenfranchised. Interest in those days wasn’t six or seven percent either. Usury laws only came into existence much later. In those days interest was as much as fifty percent compounded daily or more so you can see how the money lenders, Jews, cornered the money supply wherever they were. The Danvers unlimited, renewed wealth must have come from usury, that is, legalized theft.

And Danvers applied his wealth artfully. The ruse of entrusting money to someone to be reclaimed whenever on no notice is a sure way to entrap the party. Reynolds was no dummy when it came to understanding ruses and ploys. He studied hard. The ploy that the Marquis of Leveson used to entrap Venetia Trelawney was classic.

The Marquis wanted sex from Venetia that she didn’t want to give. Not unlike Danvers, Leveson had unlimited funds that he didn’t mind losing so long as he obtained his desire. So he presented Venetia with a magnificent string of pearls. He told her he would redeem one or all at a time at a thousand pounds each on demand and with the last pearl she was his. Venetia then accepted what she thought was a guarantee that she would never be in want and never have to succumb.

However the wily Marquis set a series of matters in motion to compel Venetia to redeem the pearls. Borrowing from Eugene Sue’s Wandering Jew he has accomplices debauch the formerly steady husband of Venetia so that he turns to dissipation and gambling thus having to be bailed out frequently. Venetia soon has to bed the Marquis. The mysteries are usually tragic stories if you compassionate with the characters.

In this novel, while none of the characters has the memorability of the Resurrection Man from Mysteries of London, the whole ensemble of characters all work well together to create a memorable story.

The Necromancer is one of series of Satanic novels that Reynolds wrote from 1847 to 52. The first being Wagner the Wehr Wolf, 1846-47, Faust in 1847, The Bronze Statue in 1849-50 and then the Necromancer in 1851-52. Each is a beat the devil attempt on the part of the protagonist. Satan is a tough customer and none succeed.

The end of Danvers is a classic much exploited in novels and movies. Lionel (Walter, Reginald and Conrad) has lived for a hundred fifty years. When his attempt on the sixth maiden fails and Satan comes to receive his due, Danvers shrivels from a handsome young man into a withered old man bursts into flames and disappears.

I don’t know whether Reynolds was the first to use this dodge or not, but it becomes a classic dodge thereafter.

The estimable critic Dick Collins considers the Necromancer to be his favorite Reynolds. While I have now read twenty-five volumes of Reynolds I can’t place the volume ahead of the massive novels of The Mysteries of London, The Mysteries of the Court of London, nor, for that matter, The Mysteries of Old London. The last has a special place in my esteem; yet, as I have said, The Necromancer as a super-natural Gothic novel I think it may be near perfection. I’m sure that Mrs. Radcliffe would have been pleased with George’s effort.

Par XI of Time Travels With R.E Prindle follows.

Pt. IX Time Traveling With R.E. Prindle

Pt. IX: Time Traveling With R.E. Prindle

by

R.E. Prindle

 

George W.M. Reynolds

Now that in parts six, seven and eight we have an adequate time line of Reynolds’ career we can get down into the substance of his major works, Mysteries of London and Mysteries of the Court of London. For those not aware of the extent of his corpus, it is immense with about all of it written concurrently with his two major novels.

For instance, in the four years from 1844 to 1848 when the four series of Mysteries of London were written, George also wrote Faust: A Romance of the Secret Tribunals in 1847; Wagner, the Wehrwolf in 1846-47; The Mysteries of Old London: Days of Hogarth in 1847-48 and The Coral Island or, The Hereditary Curse in 1848 as he ended Mysteries of London and began Mysteries of the Court at the same time. All of these are significant works are of some length.

Also, in 1846, he began to publish his magazine, The Reynolds Miscellany which he edited. While I have not received the copies yet, Gyan Publishers of India offers ten volumes of the Miscellany in five volumes of about eight hundred pages each. I will browse them when they arrive.

Altogether this seems to be a heavy writing load, an impossible load. Yet when one examines Reynolds’ working methods and his careful time management it may have been easily done by him given his large mind. Certainly the load from 1844 to 1848 was, for him, light. He was responsible for turning in eight double column pages, minus illustrations a week.

George IV In Full Regalia

As his mind could apparently be rigidly compartmentalized; as he is said to have written very fast, then his actual work period turning out eight thousand words could be easily done in, say, six hours. He had to keep his whole story in mind for each sequent but, as I imagine, as he turned in an installment his mind, or part of it, immediately began plotting out the next installment so that when his next deadline approached he had the eight thousand words ready and could just spill them out. So, his whole work week by which he sustained his whole extensive family was only six hours long.

The rest of the seven days could be devoted to family matters, exploring the metropolis and reading. George read and studied. His Greek mythology was correct and extensive, and he drops classical references regularly. Oddly he makes few Biblical references. He very obviously was familiar with the British, French and German literature of the day. He was definitely literate in English and French and probably could read German. He takes his inspiration from where he can get it. Could there be any coincidence that the William Harrison Ainsworth depiction of the Gypsy camp in Rookwood is reflected in Reynolds’ passages of Gypsy camps in Mysteries of London? I think not.

As I am discovering, not many people are aware of W.H. Ainsworth. He seems to be virtually unknown, but then, so does Reynolds. Ainsworth was a very successful and influential author of the day turning out perhaps more books than Reynolds while being a major influence on Reynolds. Very good books, too, well worth reading.

While I had read Ainsworth’s name being frequently mentioned I had never read him until just recently. I was fortunate to pick up various sets of novelists of this period at an online auction for next to nothing. Ainsworth was one of the sets. While the books were nearly free, about a dollar each, the shipping from Topeka Kansas was horrendous. So, while I have some reading of the period, I can now immerse myself.

By the way, I have been familiar with the French writers for some time and more recently the German authors while an ardent admirer of ETA Hoffman for a couple decades. While it is clear that George read French with ease, it seems probable that he could wade through German texts also. So, what he did with a full week’s time is of interest.

Obviously, one thing, was how to become his own publisher. In 1846 only two years into Mysteries of London he obviously understood enough about publishing to launch his successful Miscellany at which time he began his ancillary novels to fill its pages. The first issue began with his Wagner, the Wehr Wolf. Undoubtedly the other three novels also appeared in its pages. I will find out soon.

Now, the two major works are immense. I have now read each twice. The first time I caught the most exciting highlights. The second time I penetrated the depth but the stories are so long and diverse a third and fourth reading would be necessary to organize all the characters and incidents. Actually both works are several novels in one. The stories are braided in such a way that that one story branches out replaced by another related story then rejoining further downstream. Each story could be abstracted and edited into a complete novel with certain characters interchangeably distributed throughout. Thus the story in the first series of Mysteries of the Court of Tim Meagles and Lady Diana Lade is completed and finished with Tim and Diana eased out of the rest of the novel.

The Beau w/Cravat

The question in that instance is who was Tim Meagles in real life. I believe he was none other than the Beau himself, Beau Brummell. As Mysteries of the Court is a story of the Regency of George VI and as the Beau had the same relationship with the Prince as Meagles, the two must be related as no other than the Beau had so close a relationship with the Regent.

As my authority for the history of Beau Brummell I use the biography of Capt. Jesse, titled Beau Brummell. The Capt. Published in 1844 and he is speaking first hand while having had an acquaintance with Beau in his exile in France. My edition is from a set called Beaux and Belles of England published probably in the 1890s by the Grolier Society of London, a veritable treasure trove of biographies of the era.

The Beau, a Dandy and Beau, is an example of a social species with a long history in England and indeed probably going back in the annals of time to the transformation of the human species from the anthropoids. It is certain that there were cavemen who wore their pelts better than others and perhaps bathed more regularly. The advent of Mr. Gillette being well in the future. The Beau himself was fastidious, apparently unlike his contemporaries as his fastidiousness is mentioned as exceptional. Make your own judgment.

Brummel who was named George as apparently were half the male members of England at the time, was the son of a wealthy merchant thus inheriting thirty thousand pounds on his father’s death or however long it took to get out chancery. Beau, surveying the social scene determined that the only society worth having was that of the aristocrats. Having money but no title he did not qualify for their company so the Beau became the Beau, the trendsetter of male fashion and thus gained acceptability.

He also developed into a master snob and as such rose to prominence or, at least, notoriety. His notoriety attracted the attention of the Prince, that is, George IV, later the Regent and then the King in his own right. There is a remarkable resemblance between the two. I post pictures. From these it appears that the two might almost have had the same father. At any rate, Prince and Beau become bonded, much like Meagles and the Prince. Remember that George IV in his own persona is the main character in the story. The Prince then resided in his mansion, Carlton House, on Pall Mall. Let me interject that there is an excellent survey of the Capital titled London by Charles Knight in six lengthy volumes, Cambridge University Press, containing wonderful historical essays on most of the locations mentioned by George- that is, Reynolds. The six volumes were originally issued in parts ending in 1844, One can sharpen one’s understanding.

But, George- that is Brummel- was terribly irked by his inferior position to George- that is the Prince and so he became demeaning and superior, ridiculing George IV in conversations with others so that the Prince, George, became infuriated and broke off relations with George, the Beau. The crowning touch came when he and a fellow ran into the Prince while walking. The Prince studiously ignored the Beau addressing only his friend causing Brummell to caustically remark: Who’s your fat friend? Well, come now. Completely in disfavor now the Beau deteriorated and as a relatively young man was forced into exile in Calais, France. This previous history is all that concerns us in his characterization in Tim Meagle.

Meagles’ story was written a while after Dumas’ very famous The Three Musketeers was published. The Three Musketeers is a fabulous myth. A wonderful creation of the equally fabulous Alexander Dumas. In Meagles and his companion Lady Diana Lade it appears that Reynolds is trying to create a myth to equal the Musketeers and female character, Milady. Indeed, there are such similarities that Reynolds may have considered himself a rival to the great Frenchman.

Read what Andre Maurois has to say in his biography of the three Dumas titled The Titans of 1957, pp. 182-83:

Never in the whole course of French literature has there been anything comparable to Dumas’s output between the years 1845 and 1855. Novels from eight to ten volumes showered down without a break on the newspapers and bookshops. The whole history of France was passed in review. The Three Musketeers was followed by Twenty Years After and that by Vicomte de Bragelone, another trilogy- Chicot the Jester (La Reine Margot), La dame de Monsoreau and The Forty-Five Guardsmen.

Simultaneously with these, Dumas was busy narrating the decline and fall of the French monarchy—The Diamond Necklace…Le Chevalier de Maison Rouge, Memoires of a Physician…Ange Pitou and La Comtesse de Charny. From early on he had planned to annex the whole of history to his romantic domain. “There is no end to what I want to do,” he said. ‘I long for the impossible. How am I to achieve what I have in mind? By working as no one has ever worked before, by pruning life of all its details; by doing without sleep…’ This programme accounts for the five or six hundred volumes which so astonish the reader…. No one has read all Dumas.

Compare Reynolds and his output from 1844 to 1859. He too wished to write the history of all Europe. When Maurois mentions the five or six hundred volumes he means, I imagine, parts. Thus if Reynolds is broken into parts he can account for three or four hundred volumes. The eight or ten volumes of Mysteries of the Court of London can be broken down to eight or ten complete novels all interrelated. Truly the period from about 1840 to 1880 is the height of British and European literature.

Reynolds changes the character of Meagles from Brummell’s own. The Beau according to Capt. Jesse was quite effeminate. Indeed, he never married and apparently had no female lovers. Meagles and Lady Lade seem to have had a platonic relationship until her husband died. They extorted a Marquisate from George III and then as the Beau had disappeared from England they disappear from The Mysteries of the Court.

Indeed, the Beau must have been trying to inveigle his friend, George IV, into making him a Marquis or ennoblement of some kind. Had Brummel been ennobled then he would have been entitled to associate with the aristocracy instead of being a hanger on.

Lady Lade throughout her and Meagles’ episodes dresses in men’s clothing so that she and Meagles appear as two men to the unobservant. As her name Diana indicates she represents the virgin huntress Artemis in Greek mythology or Diana in the Latin; the female archetype of the Piscean Age in Northern Europe. Reynolds repeatedly refers to her as the Huntress and other attributes of Diana, Tim must therefore be meant to be the male archetype of Pisces in Reynolds’ mind, not as the Redeemer but perhaps as the Trickster.

Just as the Beau longs for a title so does Tim. While the Beau retreated ungratified Tim and Lady Diana Lade obtain their Marquisate by criminal or blackmail means. Without going into details here, Tim and Diana have knowledge that would compromise the reputation of the Georgian House. Using this knowledge then they criminally extort their Marquisate from George III.

To some extent then, Mysteries of the Court is a roman a clef. How many of the other novels in the Mysteries of the Court collection may reference actual histories remains to be addressed.

The main theme is a condemnation of the Regent, George IV. Reynolds detests him as well as the whole aristocracy to the maximum. But, how much of that detestation is sheer envy. How much of himself did Reynolds put into Meagles/Brummell? Reynolds himself has the appearance of a Dandy or Beau and Ainsworth definitely was one. He is so vehement one has to wonder about his accuracy. Is this a fictional history of reality or mere raving. It is apparently reasonably accurate. Capt. Jesse who wrote of Beau Brummell while a stalwart member of his class condemns George IV for, as he puts it, teaching the aristocracy to live beyond their incomes, squandering their great wealth frivolously while living the lives of Libertines.

Reynolds then has the spirit of the times correct and while he may perhaps exaggerate he is not false. He himself believes he is writing fictionalized history; that is, fleshing out the fact with probable detailing.

Thus, in what might be termed the fifth and sixth series of the extended Mysteries of London and the Court, although these two series are not related to the first four, the fifth series concerns itself with the years around 1795 leading to the marriage of George IV with the Princess Caroline. The key point being his previous secret marriage to Mrs. Fitzherbert.

Reynolds does not tackle his main theme directly but embeds it in a series of stories, or novellas, or novels, peripheral to it while creating a sociological portrait of the times making George’s character confirmed by external events.

Mrs. Fitzherbert had ruled Carlton House and the Prince, as George then was, before the Regency, and enjoyed great privileges. The crisis came when George’s father, demanded that George marry the German Princess Caroline of Hanover, Germany who was something of a rustic. That meant he had to put away Mrs. Fitzherbert whom he found compatible and take up with Caroline who he detested.

He tolerated her long enough to create an heir, the Princess Charlotte and then made Caroline’s life miserable so that she exiled herself to the Continent. In Reynolds’ story, sixth series, she is living in Switzerland twenty years later. As this is 1815 Napoleon has just returned from his exile on Elba to Paris.

Reynolds is a clear writer and as his title indicates he is essentially writing a mystery he reveals clues only as necessary. The sixth series, then, titled Venetia Trelawney tells of Mrs. Fitzherbert’s attempt to regain her position at court through a surrogate, Venetia.

We are not permitted to know this until at the conclusion of the series of book five. Apart from all the subsidiary stories the main burden of the sixth series is George IV’s machinations to injure his wife, Caroline. He attempts to portray her as dissolute and morally corrupt for consorting with her equerry, Bergami. he was a fine figure of a man.

To achieve this goal the Prince, now Regent, goes to great lengths in a more or less improbable scheme. A Mrs. Owen has four lovely daughters who, following the Prince’s instructions, she is turning into courtesans and mistresses of duplicity. The youngest, Mary, refuses the training but the other three go to Geneva to be ladies in waiting for Caroline. There by subterfuge they make it appear that Caroline and Bergami are having an affair. Needless to say the scheme is baffled through the agency of Mrs. Fitzherbert.

That’s the general plan but of course much excitement is created by circumambient subplots that are braided into the main story. Many interesting characters are created. Larry Sampson, the Bow Street detective and his adversary the Hangman, Daniel Coffin. Coffin comes close to being as interesting as the Resurrection Man of the first two series of the Mysteries of London. Doctor Death of the third and fourth series doesn’t come close to the above two as a villain. Coffin is more related to the eighteenth century criminal master mind Johnathan Wild or Conan Doyle’s fictional Moriarty.

Of the six series the third and fourth are the weakest although having brilliant moments and a very good temptress, Laura Lorne. That will be dealt with separately. Having discussed the main story of The Mysteries Of London is the first eight parts of Time Travels there is no need to do so here.

When George closed off the second series of The Mysteries of the Court he said that he was through with George IV but that his head was bursting with ideas for a new series. Now a mystery ensues.

My edition of Mysteries of the Court was published by the Francis F. Burton Ethnographical Society in Boston and an Oxford Society in England in twenty volumes c. 1900 under the general title The Works of George W.M. Reynolds. By works is meant twenty volumes of The Mysteries of the Court of London, that’s all. Thus, the set is divided into four units of five volumes. The first five deal with the coming marriage to Caroline, the second five to Venetia Trelawney and the plot against Caroline. Then a third set issued under Reynolds’ name with his picture on the title page under the title, Lady Saxondale’s Crimes, while the fourth division of five volumes is called The Fortunes of the Ashtons. Thus, if the last two divisions are authentic the total work would be ten thousand pages. However there is no mention of the latter two series by any Reynolds scholar. Neither the Oxford Society nor the Burton Ethnographical Society give any indication of the provenance of the latter two series.

Richard F. Burton is the famous Victorian explorer, most notably in the search for the source of the Nile, and being the first European to penetrate into Mecca. He translated the entire Arabian Nights in seventeen volumes. So he became among the first ethnographers. The Oxford Society was also an ethnographical society. Little can be found on either on the internet.

Burton established his Society in 1843 splitting off from a predecessor. One wonders if Reynolds, ever curious, associated himself with the Burton Society and perhaps its predecessor. His Mysteries of the Court of London may be construed as an ethnographical study. I certainly read it as such. Possibly the Oxford and Burton Societies found the Mysteries of the Court so suitable that they commissioned writers to write the two additional series.

It might be possible that Reynolds commissioned the two series but there appears to be no earlier record of them at this tim, indeed, no record but their publication in the Works of George W.M. Reynolds. There is a story worth investigating in the American publishing house, T.B. Peterson. They were responsible for the publication of several novels written by their stable of authors under Reynold’s name. There is information on T.B. Peterson on the internet.

The firm was located in Philadelphia. They had a huge catalog what literature is in the Penny Dreadful style including a large selection of titles from writers like W.H. Ainsworth, Bulwer Lytton and, of course George W.M. Reynolds. They published a two volume edition under the title of The Mysteries of the Court of London. I have no idea whether it included the whole of the two series or a condensed version. They published twenty, perhaps more titles written by their authors under Reynolds’ name, including Ciprina or, The Secrets of the Picture Gallery.

This volume has actually been issued by the British Library as an authentic Reynolds. Possibly T.B. Peterson is unknown to them. Lord Saxondale, who was apparently a little less criminal than his wife Lady Saxondale, Count Christobal, and Lucrizia Mirano, Edgar Montrose or, the Mysterious Penitent, the Ruined Gangster. Peterson really liked The Necromancer while that title was also published by a New York firm.

Anent the Necromancer. I am of the opinion that this book was also not written by Reynolds, or possibly with a collaborator, even though it was published in his Miscellany in 1851. The style isn’t his, the vocabulary isn’t his while in my reading I had the feeling that the book was written by a woman. The detailing just seemed feminine. I think it probable that Reynolds was following in the footsteps of his model Alexander Dumas. Dumas collaborated with Auguste Maquet and others although the books were always issued as Dumas alone.

Perhaps in this case, Peterson called the Necromancer, the Mysteries of the Court of Henry VIII, Reynolds roughed out the story while employing someone else to do the actual writing. At any rate, I do not believe he was the writer or perhaps the sole writer.

Needless to say, Reynolds received no economic benefit because the US did not honor English copyright laws. Nor could Reynolds do anything about the counterfeits written under his name.

So, then, the question is from whence came the final two series and at what date were they written? And perhaps, why? Certainly they were commissioned. Having never read them I am unqualified to speculate but, perhaps, someone might know and be willing to share their knowledge?

Reynolds began the two works in 1844 and so far as we know finished them in 1856. Eighteen fifty-six was three short years before Darwin changed the world by issuing The Origin of Species and making evolution a household word.

By 1856 when the last word of the Mysteries was written Reynolds was already living in the Brave New England whether he knew it or not, and I suspect that he did know. Being wide awake was a new term at the time but I suspect that Reynolds was wide awake. The very face of England was changing as well as tunnels under the Thames. The tunnel probably cost several times what a bridge would have cost and have been more useful.

While writing mysteries of the Court Reynolds turned out twenty other volumes many of great length. Perhaps in the mode of Dumas he was making the maximum use of his time working long and sleeping little. Or, perhaps, as he was accused by Dickens, of employing other writers. Reynolds denies it.

Around him a new crop of novelists were rising, each having become aware of different times and formed by different social conditions. I suspect that although Reynolds remained a best seller throughout the century he became a little old fashioned. Certainly his newspaper kept his name alive and before the public. His politics would always have been ‘avant garde’ although by the turn of the century most of the Chartist demands had been met. The triumph of the Revolution still lay ahead a few years.

Part X  a review of The Necromancer follows.

A Review: Atlantida by Pierre Benoit

La Maison de la Derniere Cartouche

A Contribution To The ERB

Library Project

A Review: Atlantida

By Pierre Benoit

Review by R.E. Prindle

Pierre Benoit’s excellent novel Atlantida: The Queen Of Atlantis was first published in 1919. Written in French it was translated in 1920 so it is possible that Burroughs read it. There is a possible reference to the book in Tarzan the Invincible, I’ll get to that later. Benoit himself was accused of ‘plagiarizing’ H. Rider Haggard but he defended himself by saying he neither read nor spoke English while Haggard was not translated into French as of 1919.

It matters little as Benoit, Haggard and Burroughs all knew their Greek mythical heritage and all seem to be addressing the male-female conflict from the same intellectual approach derived from that mythology. And they all placed their stories in Africa, a burning question of the day.

The heroine of Benoit’s novel, Antinea, is an irresistible woman along the lines of Haggards She and Homer’s Circe, and Burroughs’ La. All three women rule over lost lands. Antinea lures Aryan men to her to her palace carved from a mountain of the Ahaggar range.

The Ahaggar range, Ahagger is Taureg, the Arabic is Hoggar, is located almost in the middle of the Sahara at what is now the Southern extremity of Algeria. Its highest peak is nearly 10,000 feet in elevation, the whole massif of a half million square kilometers being at the same elavation as Denver, a mile high. Boiling summers and freezing winters and fair moisture.

Antinea having lured the men entrances them and when they no longer amuse her she embalms them alive in a unique metal called Orichalch. Thus, they are preserved forever as they were in life. An advance on all other methods. The question is why does she do this?

The answer is explained by Benoit’s character Mesge:

“Now you know,” he repeated. “You know, but you do not understand.”

Then, very slowly, he said:

“You are as they have been the prisoners of Antinea. And vengeance is due Antinea.”

“Vengeance?” said Morhange…For what, I beg to ask? What have the lieutenant and I done to Atlantis? How have we incurred her hatred?”

It is an old quarrel, a very old quarrel.” The Professor replied gravely. “A quarrel which long antedates you, M. Morhange.”

“Explain yourself, I beg of you, Professor.”

“You are a Man. She is a Woman…the whole matter lies there.”

“Really, sir, I do not see…we do not see.”

“You are going to understand. Have you really forgotten to what an extent the beautiful queens of antiquity had just cause to complain of strangers whom fortune brought to their borders? The poet, Victor Hugo, pictured their detestable acts well enough in his colonial poem called la Fille d’ Otaiti. Wherever we look we see similar examples of fraud and ingratitude. These gentlemen made free use of the beauty and the riches of the lady.   Then, one fine morning, they disappeared. She was indeed lucky if her lover, having observed the position carefully did not return with ships and troops of occupation….Think of the cavalier fashion in which Ulysses treated Calypso, Diomedes Callirrhoe. What should I say of Theseus and Ariadne? Jason treated Medea with inconceivable lightness…”

And so on. Thus on page 114 of 229 Benoit explains the nature of his story. Bear in mind that of Circe and Ulysses in which Circe enslaves all the men who approach her and turns them into swine by lust while Ulysses with a pocket full of mole to defend himself resists her charms, maintains his manhood, rescues his sailors and sails away. So, while there are great similarities between Benoit’s, Haggard’s and Burrough’s stories they could easily derive from the same sources; variations on a theme. Of course, Burrough’s La is derived from Haggard’s She. But La is closer to Antinea in method than She. La’s job in Opar is to sacrifice men on the bloody altar. La is also from Atlantis. And all three share the glorious tradition of being too beautiful to resist.

Benoit himself the son of a French diplomat grew up in Tunisia and Algeria where he became acquainted with the desert and its legends. Thus, his story is an authentic addition to the great stories of the African explorers and the fictions of Haggard, Burroughs, Edgar Wallace, Mrs. Hull, P.C. Wren and others.

Benoit charmingly writes his story as current history rather than fiction without any framing story. He includes the Emperor Louis Napoleon and others as well as showing himself familiar with the latest Parisian designers and bon ton retail establishments. He mentions a painting titled La Maison Des Derniers Cartouches which can be found on internet and with which I have headed the review. Translated it means The House of the Last Bullet. I’m sure all his Parisian references are real but they have slipped through the crack of time had have not found a place on the internet.

In this case there is a Captain Avis who is believed to have murdered his fellow, Capt. Morhange and hence is in bad odor. This is the mystery that holds the story together. We learn later how Morhange died. Avit is transferred to a desert post, indeed demanded the transfer, managed by Lieutenant Ferrieres who is about to embark on a mission passing the Ahaggar massif.

Ahaggar Plateau

At the post Saint Avis tells Ferrieres of his strange adventure in the Ahaggar Mountains with Capt. Morhange during which Morhange perishes. The African scenery is different than any of the authors mentioned and the setting is quite spectacular.

Morhange and Avit are caught in a freak storm on the slopes of the Ahaggar, and apparently these are not uncommon on the massif, where they rescued a Taureg from drowning who happens to be the procurer of European men for Antinea. The two soldiers are procured and delivered to the Atlantian Queen.

Somewhat very similar to scenes from Haggard’s She they are conducted to a great room or hall where fifty some embalmed former lovers stand in niches. The truth descends on our sexual warriors.

Morhange who, being the more handsome and impressive of the two, finds favor with the Queen of Atlantis also, not unlike Ulysses and Circe, is proof to her blandishments and beauty. What he had is his pocket isn’t mentioned. His refusal eventually enrages Antinea. Without going into details, Antinea hypnotizes Avit into taking her large silver hammer with which she bangs her gong and giving Morhange such a good bash it cracks the man’s skull to pieces. Thus she solves her problem of being rejected by Morhange.

A digression here. Benoit here shows off is knowledge. Amazingly I was able to get it. In Paris at the time there was a theatre called The Grand Guignol. It was a place of horrors, a sadists delight, at which all kinds of gruesome murders, mutilations and disfigurations were enacted. Apparently the scenes were so realistic that the faint hearted actually fainted and a doctor was kept on the premises to deal with these frequent occurrences. Now, a guignol is something like a puppets booth. Benoit has Avit climb into a guignol in Antinea’s boudoir where he watches the horror of Morhange being dismissed after which Antinea calls his down, hypnotizes him, hands him the silver hammer, directs him to Morhange’s room and watches as Avit cracks his friend’s skull. The horror, the horror. So Benoit demonstrates he is au courant with Paris’ entertainments.

Avit then turns to thoughts of escape. Here Benoit displays a certain genius in moving his story along.

Antinea had a slave girl named Tanit Zerga who became enamored of Avit and also wishes to escape to return to her people. She organizes the escape attempt. As it turns out she is a princess also, of the Trarzan Moors on the North side of the Senegal River. Bear in mind that everything mentioned in the story is real except the story itself. The Trarzan Moors exist to this day and of course the Senegal is one of the great rivers of Africa. The history is within the realm of fact. Only the story and its leading characters are fiction. Benoit does not spare the reader his knowledge. The man has been around.

The pair are assisted by the procurer rescued by Avit in the storm. He is quite willing to help because he tells Avit he will be back, no one who has ever known Antinea can escape her charms. All the victims in the hall had died of love.

Here’s a Burroughs connection indicating he may have read the book. Tanit Zerga resembles Nao, the fourteen year old girl who rescues Wayne Colt in Tarzan the Invincible only to be discarded coldly as were the heroines mentioned. It would be pushing it too far to claim Burroughs did read the book but he often got his scenes and incidents from other authors so I’m about three fourths convinced.

At any rate Tanit Zerga dies in the desert carrying on Benoit’s theme of women making sacrifices for ungrateful men.

The story then returns to the Foreign Legion camp of Ferrieres as he and Saint Avit are to make a trip across the desert passing the Ahaggar massif. As prophesied, to know Antinea is to love her forever, and her lovers all died from love, so he intends to return to the Ahaggar’s and his certain death. Whether Ferrieres will accompany him is left open.

The book was a slow starter but one is gradually swept along almost as a participant as the storm increases. A very exciting conclusion. Benoit’s is a very worthy book for Bibliophiles. If it wasn’t in Burroughs’ library it must have been through neglect or loss. Highly recommended.

Pierre Benoit 1932

Clip 10: The Vampyres Of New York

 

 

The Vampyres Of New York

Clip 10

A Novel

by

R.E. Prindle

 

I sat comfortably in my chair with a glass of excellent Cabernet looking benignly at Lessing, Giusti, Barron Cammell and in the speaker’s seat, Max Savings. There was some uneasiness as the Chicago insurrection was still raging, other disturbances were taking place in cities with majority Negro populations. While cause for concern, the concentration of Negroes in urban centers localized the disturbances rather than making them general.

In many other majority Negro areas most of the Negroes had found it expedient to head for the big cities. Thus the Negro-White situation was rather cleanly divided. Of course Manhattan was a different situation. The Negro population had halved over the past three years so while seven and a half percent was still a large population on Manhattan Island their minority status quietened them somewhat while having been expelled from the Aryan areas even those are untouched directly by the gathering storm. The news today had announced the formation of a New Islamic Republic in lower Manhattan so hostilities were imminent from that part of the city.

I think it struck all of us as odd that we were to discuss events that occurred a hundred years ago having little or no reference to today. It seemed rather eerie. Nevertheless Max began:

Max: All of us are old enough for the Bolshevic Revolution to have influenced our lives. Those born in the year 2000, now turning eighteen, may not have even heard of it, or if they have, its irrelevance to them leaves the mention of it forgotten.

Those born after, say, nineteen-eighty are old enough for more to have heard of it and perhaps taken cognizance of it but except for the few more scholarly the Revolution lacks meaning. The names of the participants save Lenin and Stalin have no true meaning to the majority of Americans living. Even the term American now has little real meaning. It is good to have some company tonight who share my interest. Sometimes walking down the street I feel like a time traveler visiting the future or perhaps a transient from a parallel universe, a man from Mars.

So, the greatest heist in History has gone down the memory hole. The theft of the wealth of a great and extensive nation.

The seizure of the government of Russia by the Bolshevics was accomplished by men who had never know power, men who had no experience or notion of governing, no background in economics nor did they ever have any idea of what money is. Thus when they gained power they were astonished to find that civilization was based on money, and they had no idea where money came from. They immediately destroyed the economy, that is the taxation base so that the only liquid wealth they had was the gold reserves and they were running through those fast.

Knowing nothing of relative value they valued the accumulated wealth of centuries at face value not realizing you could flood the market on things of extrinsic value such as jewels and art works but thing of intrinsic value such furs were only used goods that sold at fire sale prices.

Nevertheless they plowed ahead. Since they were murdering the aristocracy the aristocrats grabbed whatever of value was portable and fled the country. Thus, not only were these confiscated goods a drug on the market but for decades they were a drug on the market. The emigres growing more impoverished by the year they sold their jewels and other portable wares while becoming a laughing stock.

Imagine having been the equals in the highest society then walking around in worn out outdated clothes, no money, while being mocked as ‘Count’ if you dared to say who you had been. And then as former autocrats of Russia they were despised and hated as much as the Germans have been since the last quarter of the nineteenth century.

As they walked the streets, warehouses in the new Soviet Union, the name Russia having been obliterated from the maps, were packed with long rows of stolen or ‘appropriated’ fur coats, furniture, painting and any removables of value. Not only did the Soviets steal from the aristocrats but in an anti-Christian frenzy fabulous churches were invaded, priestly vestments, irreplaceable icons, gold and silver vessels, anything, anything of value was removed. The Soviets themselves were then on the same level as the displaced aristocrats. They had miles of stolen goods but no money.

The Money Trust, both gois and Jews, was willing to make loans to them but the amount of money required to maintain the old Russian Empire couldn’t be obtained through loans; loans were just stop gap measures and since the Soviets had no income they couldn’t pay the loans back anyway let alone the interest.

In desperation they took like some Jewish old clothes peddlers to trying to hawk old fur coats, paintings, used furniture. The Soviet Union in many ways was founded on vengeance. As has been said of the Russian Revolution- Where are the Russians? In fact there were few of them. Mostly they came from the subject peoples of the Russians- Letts, Poles, Jews, Georgians, from everywhere but mostly Jews.

As Dostoyevsky sagely remarked in the nineteenth century: The Jews would kill us all if they had us in their power. Well, now the Jews had the Russians in their power and, in fact, they were killing them; those that hadn’t the opportunity or wisdom to flee.

Barron Cammell: Hold It! Hold it! This isn’t going to some anti-Semitic Jew bashing like that one’s over there is it? The Jews! The Jews! Always the Jews! The first to be blamed and last to be forgiven. Show me some proof that even one Jews was involved.

Me: Leon Trotsky.

Barron: Trotsky was a secular Jew; he wasn’t religious. An atheist.

Me: OK. So he was an unreligious, secular, atheist Jew. What does it take to be a Jew in your eyes Barron?

Lessing: Barron! Barron! Let’s not have any outbursts. This is a fraternal society. We can express ourselves freely without rancor.

Max: It’s just history. The fact are easily ascertained.

Me: Barron, it is no more clear than in Russia that the Jews work as a national unit and secondarily as an international people working together in their own interest against all other interests in battle for supremacy. Why then are you offended that Max is placing them in the place and time?

Barron: Oh, shut up, you.

Lessing: Barron, no rudeness now.

Barron: I don’t know why you brought that guy here Lessing. Everything was fine until he showed up.

Hodding Giusti: No, Barron, things were about the same. It was just that no one had investigated anything where the Jews played as prominent a role.

Barron: They certainly did in my report on the Rothschild’s yet I didn’t accuse them of any crimes. I praised their economic acumen.

Hodding: Well, you were very generous to the Rothschilds. You barely touched on how they got their money or how they bent the rules.

Barron: You mean innovated, how they changed the way things were done.

Hodding: Merely another way of saying the same thing although laudatory instead of critical; after all theft is theft and everyone at the time knew it was theft. Time and an eraser have just altered the reality in the mainstream consciousness. A legend or myth has replaced the reality. Such altering of the past was nearly a cottage industry by the time I retired. But, let Max go on.

Lessing: Yes, Barron, after all Max puts a lot of time and effort into his presentations.

Barron: So do we all. Except for him (indicating me) obviously.

Max: I may resume then? Nevertheless, the largest faction of revolutionaries was Jewish or of Jewish origin, since Barron insists that Trotsky wasn’t Jewish for various reasons, hoping to distance them from the mass, as it were. I won’t call it recent research since the obvious has been known since the Tribe arrived at the Finland Station, however only recently, that is a few years ago, have the Jews admitted publicly that they were the engine of the revolution. I hope we can consider that settled.

It can be no coincidence that while thousands of Christian churches were looted or destroyed not one synagogue was touched so that only Russians were expropriated. Needing money and having little except the accumulated things stolen from the nobility and churches, the Soviets determined to convert the stolen things to cash. This was an incredible stash. Whatever the Nazis are said to have appropriated from the Jews was miniscule in proportion while a large part of their wealth was probably fenced goods from the revolution.

I use as my main source Sean McMeekin’s History’s Greatest Heist: The Looting of Russia by the Bolsheviks published in 2009.

As the Jews primarily were responsible for accumulating these trinkets they naturally had the networks in Europe and the US to dispose of the stuff.

Barron: Stop it! Stop it!

Lessing: Barron, please! Have some respect.

Max: Of course as all the stuff was in a legal sense stolen, the Soviet Union itself was acting as the fence. There was opposition in the West to becoming receivers of this stolen merchandise. There certainly were protests from Russian emigres when they could identify items that had belonged to them.

Curiously their claims were disregarded unlike with the Jews after WWII during which claims without a shred of evidence were awarded from items appropriated from the Nazis, different in no way from the Jewish Soviets.

Barron: There is a great deal of difference, somewhere between six and ten million Jews were murdered by Nazi thugs in the Holocaust.

Me: Six to ten? It keeps going up. Let me point out though that the Jews, as a national group, atheist or religious, were complicit in the murder of millions and millions, using your method, Barron, tens of millions of Russian aristocrats and kulaks, simple folks, and whoever didn’t keep their heads down or make it to the border.

Barron: I believe we can lay the blame for that at Stalin’s feet.

Hodding: I don’t believe we can.

Barron: Well, that’s certainly as it is in the historians I read.

Lessing: There are other histories.

Max: May I go on? Thank you. The attempt, as I say, to sell the stuff ran into opposition so that it was necessary to operate underhandedly in which the main operatives were what Henry Ford called the international Jews.

Barron: Name one.

Me: Armand Hammer.

Max: Yes, he was certainly one of the biggest. And what Jews were big buyers, especially for jewels and paintings? This leads us on to wonder how many paintings Jews were reclaiming as theirs had formerly belonged to Russian aristocrats or came from the Hermitage, that is the Czar’s personal stash.

Certainly these selling activities during the twenties were well known to the Nazis so that one might say they had an immediate example perhaps making them believe they were reappropriating Aryan treasures, to use the term. In any event theirs was not a unique crime. Nazi crimes may be considered as an extenuation of Soviet crimes.

Barron: Oh my god!

Lessing: Hush!

Max: One of the main conduits to the US, if not the main conduit was the Jew Armand Hammer. He was quite notorious at the time being resented and hated on a fairly wide scale. While it was forbidden to attack him as a Jew, anti-Semitic, he could be attacked as a Communist or tool of the Communists, which he denied on both counts. Needless to say he denied he was a Communist although his fortune was made by the Soviets.

Even his name, Arm and Hammer, bespoke his father’s politics. Hammer’s fortune was made in the Soviet Union and then he was chosen as the chief conduit to dispose of the aristocrats’ treasures in the United States. Can it be any wonder then that Hammer acquired one of the great art collections in the world for himself. How many other art works were funneled into Jewish art collections such as that of the movie star Edward G. Robinson’s?

Barron: Can you prove that Robinson bought from Hammer?

Max: Not at this time but it does make sense. For instance, David Bazelon who was the Alien Properties Custodian during WWII made Chicago’s Jews, he was a Jew from Chicago, wealthy after the war when he sold whole industries confiscated from the Germans cheap thereby making fortunes, giving Chicago’s Jews great economic power.

Barron: Can you prove that?

Max: Certainly. Those sales are public knowledge and above board.   The government records exist. Hammer’s sales may have been more clandestine although Andrew Mellon’s collection can be traced to Hammer. Mellon’s paintings were eventually given to the US National Gallery where they reside today, unclaimed by any Russian although had they belonged to Jews you can believe they would have been ‘restored’ by now.

Barron: You sound embittered by that.

Max: Indeed I am for crime anywhere is a reflection on me if I hold my silence. Heard that one before Barron? Or, all that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing?

The point is that Hammer’s collection was composed of stolen merchandise of which he was both a fence and receiver that could be traced to the original Russian owners, but neither Hammer nor any of the Jewish buyers who knowingly and gloatingly bought stolen merchandise ever returned it to the rightful owners. All legal actions taken by the rightful owners were thrown out.

Yet, when artworks were taken by the Nazis the Jews demanded that such, under very tenuous evidence of the former ownership, were given to them. Many probably obtained from the Russian hoards.

Even though the Jewish population losses were horrendous, six million are claimed to have fallen in the holocaust alone while other massacres such as Babi Yar and what we might call natural wartime attrition may have claimed a million or two which should have nearly exterminated the whole European Jewish population but miraculously didn’t. Thus, perhaps, using figures wildly eight million or more Jews perished out a possible ten million yet claimants sometimes multiple claimants after 1945 were there to claim anything that might possibly have been owned by Jews.

Barron: Do you depreciate Jewish suffering to concentrate on a few dollars. How heartless.

Max: You can be exasperating Barron. I don’t denigrate anything, both Whites and Jews have been known to kill for a few dollars more. The point I’m trying to make is that the Jews are not long suffering innocents and that on the one hand they conducted according to McMeekin the greatest heist, that is theft, in history and on the other hand play innocent victims. The end I’m trying for, I suppose, is that neither the Germans nor anyone else need feel guilty for causing Jewish suffering anymore than the Jews feel guilty for causing the untold suffering of the European Holocaust endured through two world wars. If Freud and the members of the B’nai B’rith wanted to see Europeans and Europe dead then between two world wars they nearly did. They sought the destruction of Russia and achieved it when Russia was wiped off the map becoming the USSR. As a Union of Republics, the Jews being one, they on paper, at least, achieved autonomy. When it became time to murder the much despised Czar and his family Jews did it.

It seems to me the height of obtuseness to believe the Jews are a holy and innocent people.

Barron: It seems to me that you and that over there lack compassion. I think you’re being heartless and are despicable.

Me: Compassionate? Compassionate? There’s no one more compassionate than me. My heart bleeds for the whole of suffering humanity. All of it not just an infinitesimal part called Jews. I see the suffering of one as representative of the whole. How can anyone be happy knowing that some poor individual somewhere is unhappy, to quote Liberal dogma. What is going on outside our windows as we sit comfortably sipping fine wine is equal to any suffering in the history of the world. I feel their pain but, still, this is excellent wine and they will have to pry my cold dead hands from the stem of this glass before I give it up. There Barron, was that passionate enough for you?

Lessing: Hear, hear! If I feel guilt I’m sure it isn’t too obvious.

Hodding: History shows that the suffering is not evenly distributed over the entire population. Even in the worst suffering some suffer more and some suffer less. I choose to suffer less. Pass that bottle over here.

Lessing: I found your presentation interesting Max. I really wasn’t aware of the confiscation of the material wealth of Russians by the Bolsheviki.

Max: Who said I was finished, but if I am, I suppose I am. It is quite a story. I was driven off my prepared remarks to a large degree by Barron’s vociferations.

Me: You made your point anyway. I rather enjoyed the controversy but then I am a child of controversies. Barron, what’s the problem here? Since you speak of Jews you know there is a collectivity that calls itself Jewish or it would be useless to speak of Jews. If there is such a collectivity then that collectivity must have some identity, some standards of conduct that it acts on. Since the collectivity functions in the external world it must be observable. Right?

Barron: Yes, of course, but that is no reason for Jew bashing.

Me: Well, analyzing those activities, whether the analysis is correct or not doesn’t constitute bashing does it?

Barron: It’s the intent that makes the difference. You are…you are…

Me: Ok, I’ll finish for you: You are an anti-Semite. Right?

Barron: Not me, you are.

Me: Right. I was just finishing the sentence for you. But Max didn’t say anything that wasn’t true did he?

Barron: That’s not the point. The truth is irrelevant. Some things just shouldn’t be said.

Me: The truth is irrelevant? I give up then. When true things can’t be said there is no hope. Civilization falls to the ground.

Lessing: A good report none the less. Let’s call it a night.

 

We all gave as jolly or cordial a good night as possible. Barron even bent a little although avoiding me in his gaze. As I was leaving Lessing asked for a meeting. I said I had to see about my suits from James Carter. I would give him a call after talking to Goldbladder. As I was leaving, my phone rang. It was Ange.

Ange: Partly, Merivale is at the door. I can see him.

Me: How does he look, Ange? Agitated, determined, worried, what?

Ange: Sort of angry, I can’t tell.

Me: Does he have his cell phone visible?

Ange: Yes.

Me: But he’s not trying to use the door speaker?

Ange: I, I, I don’t know

Me: OK. Hold on Ange, I’m going to speak to Lessing for a moment. Don’t hang up. Lessing, Steinberg’s at the condo trying to get Angeline to come to the door. You have his cell number, right? Can you give him a call and advise him he isn’t acting in his best interests?

Lessing: I think so. Ask Angeline to report on his reaction.

Me: Ange. Lessing is calling Steinberg now, keep your eye on the monitor and tell us his reaction.

Lessing: Merivale, Lessing here. We’d appreciate it if you ceased bothering Angeline.

Steinberg: I just want to talk to her Lessing.

Lessing: That isn’t possible Merivale. Angeline is no longer under your control. She is with Perry now. They consider themselves husband and wife. You have already damaged her enough. Be a good fellow and just leave. Go home.

Steinberg: Damn it, Farquhar, I’ve got rights. I…

Lessing: Rights are exactly what you don’t have Merivale. Rights are what you don’t have and actually never have had. I shouldn’t have to tell you that there are serious criminal acts here.

Steinberg: You’re not threatening me, Farquhar, because if you are…

Lessing: Call it what you will, I’m telling you we’ve got you by the shorthairs. Whatever happens you lose.

Steinberg: This is some sort of anti-Semitic trick isn’t it Farquhar?

Lessing: Good God, Steinberg, we’re talking crime, not religion.

Steinberg: Judaism isn’t a religion.

Lessing: Who cares what Judaism is Merivale. Be wise, turn around, get on the elevator and don’t come back.

Ange: He just looked into his phone, Partly. He looked at the elevator and then back at his phone.

Me: Tell him to leave again, Lessing, he’s ambivalent.

Lessing: Angeline doesn’t want to see you Merivale. She’s thinking of calling security; avoid a ruckus and get in the elevator.

Merivale: Fuck you Farquhar. Watch your step.

Ange: Oh, good, Partly, he’s walking back to the elevator. He’s leaving.

Me: Excellent Ange. Have a relaxing cup of tea. I’ll be there within the half hour. Good job, Lessing. I’ll pass a message through Goldbladder this Monday at my fitting.

Lessing: Will Merivale get it?

Me: Oh yeah. Goldbladder will have minutes of this meeting tomorrow. Steinberg within minutes of my fitting.

Lessing: And the minutes of the meeting will come from Barron, you think?

Me: Sure of it. Alright I’ll call you Monday evening to relay what happened. Great reading from Max. See you later.

 

Things are moving very fast now. My own present life has been one of stress that almost makes me dizzy. I have to make an effort to stay calm. On the home front managing Ange is demanding all my powers so that I have to develop a second personality to deal with external matters. My greatest pleasure, reading, has been shot to hell, no time, while squeezing in writing has forced me to reorganize my time usage.

Dealing with the New York situation has me, uh, ‘rising to greatness.’ I’m learning to delegate whatever can be delegated and hope for success.   Cooperating in an unprecedented emergency has been high. The ethnic cleansing of our area goes more smoothly than might be expected. The major problem is our people who have been conditioned to sacrifice their interests to others and who resist the expulsion of Negroes, Moslems and others. In order to discourage others some of these fanatics have been excommunicated , expelled North into Negroland or South into Moslemland. Tribeca being somewhere between is a mad confusion of peoples. Obviously the American Experiment has hit the rocks.

Saturday and Sunday morning then I spent working with Ragnar and his gym crew and delegations working out governmental problems within our community, maintaining Western Civilization as best we can. It’s sort of like the frontier of the nineteenth century. This is not easy. Afternoons I spent with Ange. While we consider ourselves married we still have to get to know each other.

Central Park is now safe so we spent Saturday strolling the lanes and exchanging confidences about ourselves to each other. Ange is more lovely than I could have hoped for, beautiful in mind and body.

Sunday we combined romancing with touring community neighborhoods to get some firsthand knowledge of how things are shaping up. Unsettled to say the least but people seemed to be concerned for themselves and each other. Transitioning from one state of being to another isn’t easy. So far, so good.

Then Monday was the day for my fitting. Everything going to hell but business as usual. Have to remain centered. Amazingly, amongst the growing chaos the stock market is holding up well. Instead of losing I’ve actually gained a few points in my investments. Of course I have to be nimble. Amidst all this nonsense I find myself plotting my investments. Well, life goes on, nothing stops for tea.

Our area was well below forty-fifth street so there was no problem getting from Tribeca to forty-fifth although I did have to cross the border from Tribeca into Whitelands. Our armed troops were patrolling the streets.

Me: Any problems getting gas, Ragnar?

Ragnar: No. All deliveries are flowing through without any problems. We are getting food shipments from Jersey both through the tunnels and across the Hudson. No interference through the Bronx as yet. Our membership has been growing which we have been able to accommodate so far through expulsion of others but as we’re prepared for trouble Bronxside we’re organized to invade if necessary. It would be nice to have Columbia in our fold.

Me: What does Lessing say about Obama?

Ragnar: So far DC is in a dither. Fires burning in too many places for them to wrap their heads around. Incredibly they were so confident in their agenda that they had no clue this was coming. You’ve probably noticed the jets and copters overhead but so far they’re only making noise. Lessing says they are calling in troops from NATO and other places as our troops are depleted here in the US, or what used to be the US, but where they will deploy first we don’t know.

Me: Yeah, well, I’ve got more important fish to fry just now. I’ve got suits to fit.

Ragnar: I sure hope you can handle it, Boss.

Me: Might not be the highest assignment but I’ll be better dressed for one now.

Ragnar: Especially in hot pink.

Me: You spying on me Ragnar?

Ragnar: Word gets around. Not everyone in town wears a hot pink suit with matching hat and shoes. People do talk.

Me: Yeah? Well I’m going to have a little pink mask too. Fantomas in splendor.

I hopped out of the limo, entered and mounted the staircase. Let’s see what Abe is up to.

Abe: You’re on time as usual, I see.

Me: I’m pretty consistent Abe. Time is money and all that.

Abe: According to Freud so is shit.

Me: Ah ha, ha. Well he’d know better about that than me. However I am willing to pay in kind if you like Abe.

Abe: That was just a bad joke. We’re sticking to your card.

Me: Great. So how close are we to getting the suits?

Abe: This might be the last fitting. Here let me show you something. Check out these shoes, this hat, and these gloves.

Me: I didn’t order gloves.

Abe: No, but I knew you’d want them. Look at this matching hot pink to go with the suiting.

Me: But they’re not fluorescent Abe.

Abe: Get out of here ungrateful One. Do you have any idea how much work this has been?

Me: No, but I have an idea what it’s going to cost. Remember I don’t have a first born.

Abe: We know. By the way how did it go at the whatchamaycallit club you belong to go.

Me: Something tells me you can tell me Abe.

Abe: Do you think we have the place wired or something?

Me: Something.

Abe: What would that something be?

Me: Not what Abe, who.

Abe: Oh, I see.

Me: Sure you do. So what did you boys think of Max’s presentation.

Abe: We thought it was anti-Semitic. We’re beginning to think you guys are Nazis as well.

Me: Paranoia becomes you Abe. Max is an historical researcher he simply reported what was true. We’re true historians Abe. We don’t distort the facts to fit an agenda. You have only yourselves to blame.

Abe: Sometimes the truth doesn’t have to be revealed.

Me: The other night wasn’t one of them. So what else is bugging you Abe?

Abe: We know you’re Nazis because your goons are forcing we Jews out of Little America or whatever you call your enclave. That is anti-Semitism and it has to stop.

Me: Nobody is forcing anybody to leave Abe. Those Jews you referred to wanted to be in Brooklyn in your national colony there. You aren’t going to deny that Brooklyn is a Jewish colony are you?

Abe: How would you like it if we forced Whites out of Brooklyn?

Me: We’d love it Abe, almost pay you to do it but we’d still make a big noise about it, just to put you in a bad light. Times have changed Abe, national lines have been drawn. Anti-Semitism doesn’t have the meaning it did anymore.

Abe: A big noise hey? Wait till you see the new issue of New York magazine. By the way, I see you people have started a new magazine, the New York Beobachter, is that what it’s called?

Me: I’ve always like your sense of humor Abe. No, it’s the New York Intelligencer. We have two hundred and thirty-four subscribers already. We expect to double that shortly.

Abe: I suppose you write that crap?

Me: No, Abe. I haven’t contributed as yet. So far we’ve used stringers to report local events and analyses plus relying on letters to the editor. So far, so good. Want to take a bundle of a hundred back to Brooklyn?

Abe: I don’t live in Brooklyn; I live in Manhattan.

Me: Really? Where abouts?

Abe: Not too far from you I imagine in what we call the Tribeca Free State.

Me: Yucka, yucka, Tribeca Free State, that’s good Abe. Well then, it’s either Brooklyn or the Free State for your emigres but they will have to move; we’re not much on diversity from embedded elements, we have enough problems with our own of various backgrounds.

So, is this the last fitting before delivery Abe?

Abe: There will be a last touch up to make sure everything is true. That’s next for all your suits. Make an appointment.

 

I did. As I entered the apartment Angeline greeted me breathlessly to announce: Partly, I just got a call from Lady and they’re coming back now. All hell broke loose in Europe. They were lucky to catch the last plane out.

Me: Damn. I suppose that will bring the stock market down, at least temporarily. Well, where are they now?

Ange: She said they were a couple hours out. They should be here tonight.

Me: You’ve got everything spic and span, no problem there. Just a minute while I call Ragnar to let him know.

Ragnar, we just received news that Lady and Miles will be back in a couple hours.

Ragnar: I know, they called. I’m on my way now.

Me: Ragnar already knew. He’s on his way. We’re shipshape here. Cook something up in case they’re hungry.

Ange: Lady didn’t sound very happy I was here.

Me: I’m sure she was surprised. She had no reason to suspect I would marry.

Ange. It didn’t sound like that. There was a note of disapproval in her voice. Maybe she thinks I’m not worthy.

Me: Honey, nobody’s opinion but mine counts. I know your worth, I know the criminal acts that were committed on you. There is no better person in the world than you, however the career of Angeline II, of which you are still not totally aware is still out there; for many people that is the only Angeline Gower they know. We don’t know but perhaps Miles attended one of those parties and, well, who knows? Be prepared for the worst but we can’t let that affect us.

Ange: But Partly, I don’t want you to be hurt.

Me: Honey, nothing can hurt me. I am proof to the world. I know how things function. Let me call Lessing to see if he knows. Lessing…

Lessing: I’m on my way. Hold the fort.

Lessing is on the way Ange, everything is under control. We can only wait.

When the keys began turning in the locks Lessing, Ange and I were in our places and ready. The early return was obviously due to the eruption of the Moslems in France and the incursion from Germany to the East. We should soon have some details.

Lessing: There’s the keys. I’ll go open the inner door.

 

The Carmichaels literally burst through the door in high agitation.

Lady: You can’t believe the turmoil over there. France is in flames from Marseilles to the Belgian border; Belgium is in flames. They are looting, burning and killing on all sides. They are every where, everywhere, Notre Dame was blown sky high. Churches everywhere are being blown up or burned. The clergy are being murdered. The uprisings are in all parts of France. While the army has been mobilized to combat the invaders from Germany, the troops are ambushed from all sides.

Good God, never in my lifetime, never in my lifetime did I believe something like this could happen.

Me: (clearing my throat) Welcome back to the Tribeca Free State Miles and Lady.

I said nothing but I had written that this exact same thing would happen. At my age I didn’t know whether it would happen in my lifetime but anyone who followed EU policies could see it coming.

Miles: Tribeca Free State? What are you talking about?

Lessing: Well, Miles, things have been happening here too. Manhattan is now several different States. You have the Moslem Caliphate in Lower Manhattan, the Tribeca Free State here, the New American Republic in mid-Island both East and West, the African Chieftanship in Upper Manhattan and the Bronx. So things are different. And then there’s the Orthodox Hebrew Theocracy in Brooklyn, Queens isn’t clear and we haven’t heard much from Staten Island but it appears it might be Whiteland.

Miles: Egad! The Tribeca Free State! Why that?

Lessing: Nobody is so dominant that it can be claimed but we’re doing our best to get it into the New American Republic.

Lady: Well, at least the lights are still on.

Me: Yes, we were able to seize control of the grid. We’re using it to try to freeze out the Moslems. They have no power at all, of course, that has raised some havoc with Wall Street but they can always go back . Once we cut off their water they will have to vacate. That adds to the woes of Staten Island and Long Island, New Jersey but it’s unavoidable.

Miles: So war is going on here too?

Lessing: Yes, Miles, you might call it a phony war as so far there hasn’t been too much shooting; we’re all still sparring with each other, waiting to see what Obama will do. So far, we assume he’s ‘assessing the situation.’

Lady: My God, is it the end of the world?

Me: It is certainly the end of civilization as we’ve known it. But then that began back at 9/11, now we’re really into it. But, you said something about Merkel inciting it.

Lady: Yes. Over there they think Merkel had the plan when she admitted all those Moslems in ’15 and ’16. The French think it’s a continuation of the Nazis. They think Merkel is rearming Germany and once the Moslems are out of Germany with France in total turmoil Germany will attack Moslem France and begin the conquest of Europe.

Me: Far out! Crazy little Mama Merkel. Who would have believed it. I suppose the Moslems are smashing the wine stores.

Lady: Yes, of course, but what a thing to mention.

Me: Damn.

Lessing: Ata boy, Perry, first things first.

Lady: Now that you mention it Perry I’m afraid that you and that woman will have to vacate the apartment. We’re sorry our agreement isn’t viable. Force majeure. You do understand, don’t you?

Me: Of course, Lady. Angeline has her own condo so we’ll move over there. We’ll pack and leave tomorrow. I can assure you I have no objection and no regrets. I can’t thank you enough for a very wonderful experience. I’m sure Lessing can fill you in after you’ve recovered from your flight and as we are all fighting the good fight I hope we can be friends and associates.

Lady: I’m sure we can Perry. But, I’d prefer you spent the night at…her…apartment and pick up your things tomorrow.

Me: Certainly. I understand fully and as I say Lessing will fill you in later. We’ll take our leave then.

Lessing: give me a minute Perry and we can go uptown together if you like.

Me: Sounds good Lessing. Alright with you Ange?

Ange: (suppressing a sob) Yes. I’m yours Partly.

 

Proceed to Vol. I, Clip 11

Clip 9: The Vampyres Of New York

Vol. I

The Vampyres Of New York

Clip 9

A Novel

By

R.E. Prindle

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me: The ride’s on me Lessing.

Ragnar: Sure. The ferry’s free.

Me: Aren’t you the spoil sport Ragnar.

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

Ange: Me neither.

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

Ange: Any idea how long it takes?

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

Lessing: What are the San Juans?

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

Once aboard Lessing had a puzzling experience.

Lessing: Hello Angeline. Do you remember me?

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

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

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

Lessing: Maybe or maybe not. But I seem…

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

 

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

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

Ragnar: We chauffeurs have our ways.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ange: Ooh, a snob.

Lessing: A man of distinction and taste.

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

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

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

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

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

Lessing: Because Partly told me to call him Perry.

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

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

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

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

Me: Ooh, that far West?

Lessing: And you don’t remember me Angeline?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lessing: I’m sorry Angeline.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ange: Boy, this is one spooky place.

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

Ragnar: Not overgrown, returned to nature.

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me: Sounds great.

Ange: What is the Serapion Brethren?

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

Ange: Where did you get the name Lessing?

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

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

Lessing: That one’s called Mademoiselle Scudery.

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

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

Ange: You better come back.

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

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

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

Where do matters rest now?

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

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

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

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

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

Lessing: No, I’m free.

 

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

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

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

Me: I was otherwise employed.

Ange: Let me see that Partly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ragnar: How’s that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

Ange: I’m ready Dearest Partly.

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Adelstein: Not you ass, her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me: Today. We want our men out.

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ragnar: I don’t think so.

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

 

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

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

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

Me: Yes. What kind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me: Exactly, Ange, my darling girl.

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

 

Clip 10 follows

Vol. I, Clip 8, The Vampyres Of New York

 

 

The Vampyres Of New York

Vol. I, Clip 8

by

R.E. Prindle

 

Story continues:

Ange: Partly, I tremble when I think about growing up in a country fraught with dangers I could never conceive as a child. For me my life has been an amusement park House of Horrors. The adaptations I have made to survive terrorize me. I haven’t been able to sleep well because of horrifying nightmares. Perhaps that is why I went catatonic as you say. I’m alone, or I was, and defenseless against forces I can neither evade or control. Life is a nightmare with that bastard Adelstein hounding me, demanding what I don’t want to give and he is the most powerful judge in New York.

You want me to tell you my story and I’m almost in tears thinking back to my girlhood. As you know I was born in nineteen forty-eight; that was in Orange County, California during the Gidget and surfing days. It was all oranges, sun and water, a near paradise.

Me: So you became aware somewhen around nineteen sixty.

Ange: Yes, and my parents got divorced at the same time. I was an only child and so I went with my mother. I don’t know what she was thinking when she divorced my father. He took care of her. She was a beautiful airhead and at the risk of being vulgar she didn’t know her ass from a hole in the ground. Men flocked to her and she couldn’t handle herself at all. It was horrible. Finally my father put me in Warren’s Finishing or I don’t know how I would have made it through my childhood.

Fortunately my father stuck with me. After Warren’s I went to UCLA and from there believe it or not, I graduated from Harvard Law School. That was in nineteen seventy-six.

As you may believe I was very good looking and had this amazing chest and you know what it was like in the Sixties, Seventies and Eighties.

Me: Only hearsay. I was married. Since then, of course, I’ve done a lot of reading. UCLA. You missed the Really Big Shoo up at UC but you must have around for Sunset strip in the Sixties. Sex, drugs and rock and roll and all that . How did you survive that?

Ange: You were up in Northern Oregon at that time?

Me: My wife and I left the Bay Area in sixty-six for grad school in Eugene then I opened a record store that became very successful. LA was the record capital of the world so I spent maybe three or four weeks a year on business in LA. I caught some of it but more from the fringe. I felt threatened too, perhaps in a different way but for me the terror started in Sixty and never let up until I got clear in about two thousand five. It was hard, hard travelin’ through those years. I can tell you stories.

Ange: Yes. I wish that Pill had never been invented. Of course as a silly young woman I had to have it.

Me: They beat the drums loudly, didn’t they? The Pill, the drugs, the disintegration of society; there was no safe place.

Ange: The drugs! I can’t tell you how many women I saw destroyed by some joker with cocaine. My father warned me about drugs and thank god I listened to him. Not that I didn’t do them a little, but on top of Dad’s warning I had a strange inhibition as though some hand prevented me from taking them.

Me: Really? That is strange. But, tell me, you were twelve in sixty, eighteen in sixty-eight just as things really got rolling. You say you lost your virginity in sixty-six. Was your mother from Michigan? Did you grow up in Michigan?

Ange: I was born in Battle Creek but we moved to Orange County shortly after. Have you ever been to Battle Creek?

Me: Yes, relatives there.

Ange: That’s where mother got in trouble. Some boy seduced her when she was sixteen and I was born when she was seventeen. My grand parents were horrified. They took me from her and raised me while they banished mother as a disgrace to them. That’s when she went up to the Grand Traverse where she met you or this other you. She was allowed to come back shortly after you left when I met her for the first time. She married father and we left for California.

She used to speak to me of ‘that boy’ often. She could never understand why you left without saying goodbye. Why did you?

Me: I have often thought about this Ange with an aching heart. You see, I had a broken wing and your mother had a broken wing. To salve her hurt she took to injured and things with broken wings. Toward the end she came across a deer injured by a hunter. She brought it to her cabin where she lavished all her attention on it bringing it back to health.

Then, one day, when it had recovered it looked at her with those big doe eyes lowered its head and walked away, disappearing into the forest. I thought, I don’t know what I thought, I was far from healed but I knew I that to leave too and so I just disappeared too.

I’ve always been ashamed of that but still I had no choice. In order to survive I had to cross the straits and disappear into the UP.

Ange: Where did you go?

Me: Oh, I don’t know. It’s all a blank space. The next thing I knew was that I was in Madison Wisconsin. I was already in the Naval Reserve so not knowing what to do I went active for three years and when I came out I was beginning to become Partly Wright. The name wasn’t really my mother’s joke, it was mine.

So, how did a young girl like you react to the Sixties. It was a pretty strange time. Strange Days like Morrison sang.

Ange: The Sixties pretty much passed over me. I was boarded at Warren’s most of the time so I was pretty insulated. At UCLA I spent most of my time in classes. Other than listening to a few records I don’t remember being too involved in what was going on and then I left for Harvard.

Me: From the West Coast to Boston. That must have been culture shock.

Ange: Talk about culture shock! I learned a thing or two at Harvard apart from law.

Me: I can imagine. And then you came down to the Big Bagel and then what.

Ange: Well, I had good grades, finished in the top ten percent, passed the Bar and was recruited off the lot by a middling level firm did well and was then taken by Barton, Adler, Adelstein and Dollop, a top firm.

Me: Adelstein? Is that where you met this Merivale Adelstein character.

Ange: Yes. A black spot in my life that, that I will never be able to erase.

Me: Oh, sure you will, I can erase that for you but tell me but this BAAD

Firm. A black spot. What exactly is your grievance, Angeline?

Ange: I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it but every time he leaves I have this revolting feeling and I hate him. I always have to take a shower.

Me: Every time he leaves. Yes, I think I see. So you are aware of his coming and going but not what happens while he’s with you, is that right?

Ange: Well, I never thought of it before but no, I don’t remember anything between his coming and going, it’s just a black spot, and I always feel dirty.

Me: Hmm. And this list of women you gave me. How did you know them?

Ange: Oh, we all worked at BAAD.

Me: Let me guess. You were all blond and attractive.

Ange: Yes, either natural or peroxide.

Me: And why did you leave the old firm…what was it called?

Ange: Gorden, Oils, Oswald and Dustbin.

Me: I see, so you went from GOOD to BAAD. Why did you go to BAAD?

Ange: Well Merivale made me an offer I just couldn’t refuse; it was nearly double what I was getting at GOOD.

Me: How about that. Very nice offer. So he was impressed by your work at GOOD?

Ange: That was the funny thing. He never checked. I thought it must have been because I was from Harvard.

Me: Well now, these women hired at BAAD, did they all get real nice salaries too?

Ange: Oh yes, BAAD paid its women well. Even the receptionist made a fabulous wage for a receptionist. It was nearly a dream.

Me: I think it was a dream Ange. Do you know what a Monarch slave is my darling girl?

Ange: No-o-o.

Me: I’m beginning to understand your situation at BAAD.

Ange: You mean catalepsy?

Me. If you prefer. I’m going out on a limb here but you know what hypnotism is don’t you?

Ange: Of course. What do you mean?

Me: Umm, I don’t know how they did this. By any chance did the firm require you to see their doctor for a physical exam?

Ange: Yes, we all did, Dr. Wormowitz.

Me: Right! And was Adelstein the only Jew at BAAD.

Ange: Well, Partly, I’m not prejudiced or an anti-Semite so I don’t look for that but yes, now that you mention it Jews might have been half or more of the attorneys.

Me: And the attorney’s you knew best were all more or less chummy with Adelstein and you women were all Anglos, perhaps?

Ange: Partly, I don’t know what you’re getting at.

Me: I will tell you Ange. In your present state of mind you might not find what I have to say believable. Just listen, ask questions if you need to, think it over, that is, sleep on it and then we will see if it applies to your situation.

I think what we’ve got here is a problem in psychology. Hypnotism and suggestion. That’s a problem society is unwilling to address and of which most people have little to no awareness.

In the nineteenth and early twentieth century when thinkers began to develop a rational understanding of mental processes the discipline was co-opted by a Viennese Jew, Sigmund Freud, who then began perverting psychology through psycho-analysis for Jewish national ends.

I am not opposed to psycho-analysis per se, Ange, in fact I use it for the basis of my understanding of the mind, but a discipline can be used for good or evil and psychoanalysis has been organized for evil ends; not all practitioners are guilty and may even not be aware of the ends others are seeking.

Freud himself developed little merely adapting and organizing what other researchers had discovered while taking all the credit and suppressing the others. Two very influential in the development of Freud’s program were the Frenchman Gustave LeBon and the Russian Ivan Pavlov. LeBon gave Freud the key to mass hypnosis while Pavlov showed him how to master indoctrination and conditioning.

Freud was fortunate in having developed his program, I won’t call it a theory, just as the great hypnotic media of movies, sound recordings, radio and later TV came into existence, all developed by gois. Thus the means for a blanketing dissemination of propaganda came into existence making his program possible.

As a Jew Freud hated the European civilization that had made the Jewish ideology obsolete and like his hero the Carthaginian General Hannibal who ravaged Rome he wished condign punishment on Europe and Europeans. As a field of battle he chose European mores and morals and by extension North America.

Freud’s rise also coincided with the years of projected Jewish redemption that the Elders Of Zion had scheduled for nineteen thirteen to nineteen twenty-eight. Freud made himself a leading light of the redemption, one might almost say its Messiah. This is clear if you read his collected works aright.

The redemption was going along swimmingly. In Europe the Great War worked to the advantage of the Jewish people. Heavily represented, very influential, at the Paris Peace Conference they achieved signal goals in Europe, especially in the German Weimar Republic that Jews consider the high mark in achieving their goals. In the new Soviet Union they had replaced the Russians as the directing force in government. The native Russians essentially became Monarch slaves.

While Jews practically owned the Wilson government in the United States their plans hit a snag when the Republicans won the nineteen twenty election. At the same time in reaction to their success in Washington during the war Henry Ford began his expose of their anti-American activities that lasted for seven years. The Republican Interregnum endured until nineteen thirty-three when their Democratic stooge, Franklin Roosevelt, regained the presidency.

Then, just as it seemed that success was in reach from the US to the Soviet Union, the Big Clinker showed up in Germany overturning the Weimar Republic and upsetting their plans of capturing Euroamerica. If not the whole story this overturning of the Weimar Republic caused their rage against Hitler compounded by what they would call his anti-Semitism.

Now arising in America during the Great War as a publicist, Freud’s nephew, his wife’s cousin, Edward Bernays, had established his career as a leading Public Relations and advertising man. He had visited his uncle a couple times receiving indoctrination from him. The Jews considered Hitler’s German triumph as evidence of the basic irrationality of the Demos when left to their own devices. Therefore the Demos had to be hedged out, that is controlled so as to remove any threat to the Jews.

As Freud’s agent in the US, much as August Belmont had been the Rothschild’s, Bernays acted to blunt the will of the Demos. As he expressed it a rational elite had to take direction of the Demos to prevent another irrational outburst as had happened in Germany. In his position of Public Relations and advertising he was able to slant advertising to achieve mind control advancing those controls. By the Sixties Jews had captured, for all practical purposes, the advertising industry managing the direction of advertising content.

To set the scene wholly, when Hitler displaced the Weimar Republic he also displaced the whole of Freud’s subversive Psycho-analytic Order. While psycho-analysis was based or disguised as science it was set up as an Order along the lines Medieval Chivalry. Thus the Order’s goals were political rather than medical.

The displaced Psycho-analytic Order, as well as other orders such as the Frankfurt School almost entirely re-located in the United States, mostly in New York and Hollywood, the two most important Jewish colonies in the US. While the gois had a visceral reaction to psycho-analysis it prospered mightily until by the Fifties and Sixties it dominated intellectual attitudes.

That’s a brief history of Freudianism for our purposes Ange. Now, if you haven’t any questions we’ll go on to the application of Freudianism in the US situation.

Ange: This is different than anything I’ve ever heard Partly, where have you read this? Especially the part about the what?, the Jewish redemption?

Me: I am an historian Angeline. The history you and the public read is heavily redacted and edited for Jewish purposes, one might say a conditioning of the mind. Nearly all of it is written by Jews or vetted by them. Thus only a homogenized version of history favoring Jewish goals is made available. Any exposure of its falsity is punished.

The major Jewish actors of the twentieth century are virtually unknown although their influence on the period was immense. I doubt if you have even heard of the most prominent Jewish actor of the period, Bernard Baruch.

Ange: Not that I remember.

Me: I thought that would be the case yet he was known as the advisor of presidents from Wilson to Eisenhower. You may have heard of Felix Frankfurter but I doubt if you know anything but the name.

Ange: Hm, no, not even the name.

Me: Felix is down the memory whole then too. He was as influential as Baruch. Tsk, tsk. Well, historically the Jews have functioned as an autonomous or near autonomous and separate nation within the nations and heavily influenced the Paris peace talks of WWI to place themselves in a very advantageous position vis-à-vis the Europeans. The talks enabled them to virtually takeover Weimar Germany.

In the US they were actually depicted as having their capital in New York City while the American capital was in Washington DC. Thus if you treat them as an autonomous nation working for their own interests as against those of the Americans you get a different and more accurate picture of the period than if you merely read what you are intended to and not read what is forbidden. Right?

Ange: I, well, I suppose so.

Me: What I tell you is true. So, that’s the bare bones of the history of the period. I have lots of corroborating evidence in my blog articles. You can read them if you want. So, now, leading into your situation.

As I say, Freud wanted to destroy and change the moral order of Europe. Having spent some time with Jean-Martin Charcot at the Salpetriere in Paris and with the important hypnosis developers Liebeault and Bernstein at Nancy as well as reading LeBon Freud acquired the means to undermine the mental state of Europeans while he developed his method. This is why the Nazis burned his books; they knew what he had done and what he was up to. These were all defensive moves.

His first assault was to attack the dream mechanism and put the understanding of dreams on a sound basis. This was actually a signal service but very unsettling to conventional understanding. Significantly his motto for the Dream book which while from a quote from Vergil in Latin essentially said that if he couldn’t make it in the gentile world he would create a hell and destroy them. You may think this is a stretcher but fourteen years later the Great War erupted that gutted the manhood of the Aryans.

I think the actual translation is closer to if the gods wouldn’t help him he would resort to Satan. And he did. Satan triumphed in nineteen sixty-six when Time Magazine asked on its cover: Is God Dead?

You might think that’s a stretcher too, but as Gustavus Myers said of his History Of the Great American Fortunes, it’s all facts, all facts.

Freud’s Dream book was not an immediate success but its sales volume grew year by year. As Freud recognized Dreams slipped the subconscious and had to be interpreted in that light. He also realized that life revolved around sex although he misinterpreted the meaning of sex, and he knew how disturbing the sexual act is. Emphasizing sex was a perfect way to unsettle society.

Europe’s efforts for two thousand years had been to get the sex impulse under control. They had succeeded to some extent, probably as much as could be done but Freud wanted to and did release the sex impulse to full indulgence. His Three Essays On The Theory Of Sexuality in which he defended homosexuality and proposed childhood sexuality threw the gois into a tizzy knocking them off center. These are legitimate topics of research but Freud always approached these things from the smutty side. As D.H. Lawrence noted Freud wasn’t trying to reform morality his goal was to destroy it. Sex being the potent disturber, he made his assault on the European vision of Woman that put her on a pedestal. The attack was fierce; he wanted to make a wanton of Woman, sluts and in the Sixties that was achieved. It was laughingly referred to by the knowing as ‘women’s liberation.’ Ask yourself, and Ange I wasn’t thinking, who benefited?

It was also necessary to disarm the goi so that there would be little or no resistance. This was a two pronged attack. The first was to induce guilt for thinking ill, or realistically, about Jews. For this the notion of anti-Semitism was exploited. In control of the media the Jews were always eulogized while it was forbidden to call attention to, for instance, Jewish criminality which by the way they now celebrate, while on the other hand goish faults were dwelt upon.

The Jewish Order of B’nai B’rith organized its terrorist arm to seek out any offenders and if they didn’t heed the warning they would hurt. For small fry this worked well but when the virtually immune Henry Ford appeared on the scene the Jews really had to exercise their powers. It took twenty years but by nineteen forty Ford was on the edge of bankruptcy. The government and most of society had been organized against him. Rust never sleeps and the Jews never desist.

Freud discovered cocaine in the eighteen eighties becoming something of an addict at the time while destroying a few lives by pushing it. He learned firsthand of the power of such a morality dissolvent and what it did to the mind.

His drug years are usually glossed over while it is said that he kicked the habit. Maybe. But how many do? I’m convinced that he remained a user all his life although he obviously brought his use under control.

Nevertheless, in the twenties, having discovered the effects of heroin the Jewish New York gangster Arnold Rothstein organized the heroin trade on a commercial basis. Of course most if not all drugs were legal until nineteen ten and hop heads, as they were known at the time, had always been around but now began a concerted effort to promote heroin use.

There were also synthetic drugs such as amphetamines. Amphetamines were synthesized in the 1890s. Strangely enough in the first thirty years of the century vitamins, previously unknown, were discovered. This led for some strange reason to the combination of amphetamines and vitamins into a feel good cocktail. It was believed that the vitamins neutralized the harmful effects of the drug.

Somewhen about nineteen thirty a Jew by the name of Max Jacobson claimed to have invented the potent mix. Max isn’t particularly reliable so he may have or he may have picked up the idea from someone else. In any event flushed out of Germany he showed up on America’s hospitable shores with his vial in his hand. By nineteen sixty he was medicating a large portion of New York City.

Numerous other drugs and psychedelics were synthesized over the forties and Fifties so that by the Sixties the cornucopia of mood elevators and depressants were legion. Many of these new stimulants were legal through most of the Sixties.

Lurking behind this was the development of the understanding of hypnosis, suggestion and post-hypnotic suggestion which is what you experienced if I’m correct Ange. The mothers of mind control. The Holy Grail of what many people sought for many various reasons.

You remember, Ange, that the Jews speaking through Eddie Bernays thought that an elite, that is a code for themselves, had to control the mass psyche to prevent them from aberrant behavior, code for anti-Semitism. The method would have to be through suggestion, indoctrination and conditioning.

If you examine the media through that lens it is easy to see how they manipulate the mass psyche. TV, movies and records are the key media and those have always been Jewish owned and controlled. If you watch the internet for your news you will quickly become aware of what the programmers want you to think. Deviate and society itself will correct you as the conditioning also teaches one to reject any unauthorized opinions.

However, specialists want more complete control. Thus the operators emphasizing indoctrination and conditioning go directly into the mind compelling the subject to delete old memories and opinions and replacing them with induced memories and opinions. This is facilitated by suggestion under hypnosis and post-hypnotic suggestion. Once the suggestion is accepted by the mind at any time in the future the suggestion will be performed. If you’ve seen the Manchurian Candidate you know how it’s done. A trigger word or gesture over the phone or anywhere will activate the suggestion.

The North Koreans used what was then called brainwashing during the Korean War on POWs to get them to renounce their allegiance to the US. The CIA under that strange one, Allen Dulles, experimented extensively. By the Sixties using sex, drugs and the media all highly hypnotically suggestive repeated over and over means the Jews were well on the way to conquering the mind of America; a truly remarkable conquest.

The Pill removed the fear of pregnancy, hence sex ‘liberated’ woman but also turned her into a piece of meat. Then in sixty-two Betty Friedan, a Jew, delivered the coup de grace to the Chivalric conception of Woman with her book The Feminine Mystique. By rejecting the Mystique or Chivalric approach, that women did, they were delivered to the meat market. As the Negroes said they were holes or ho’s to be used and discarded. This was especially clear in the world’s meat market, New York City. The Vampyres of New York had arrived fangs bared.

As I mentioned, in nineteen sixty-six Time Magazine signaled the changing of the guard when its cover blared Is God Dead? That created quite an uproar at the time, quickly obscured as time rushed on. It might be coincidence or it might be the Freudian plan unfolding but Time Magazine being published in New York City, the largest colony of Jews in the world was always if not controlled, majorally influenced by Jews as was the publishing industry in general.

No surprise then that in sixty-six Ira Levin, a Jew, published his novel Rosemary’s Baby. Rosemary was of course impregnated by Satan giving birth to his baby Andy in imitation of Mary and Jesus. Thus Satanism replaced Christianity. Roman Polansky the movie director, a Jew, immediately set about turning the book into a movie that was a smash hit in sixty-eight. Polansky made very few, possibly no changes, to the story. After Rosemary’s Baby the whole movie industry became Satanic. That would have been when you were sixteen and eighteen Ange. You are probably familiar with The Exorcist and the flood of movies of the kind.

Ange: Yes I am. That movie horrified me. I have even seen Rosemary’s Baby but I just thought it was a movie. But, I think I can see how society did change from God centered to Satan centered now that you’ve explained it. But except in a general way how does that apply to me?

Me: It sets the stage for what I am going to suggest happened to you Ange. Once you changed employers from GOOD to BAAD I think you must have some memory black outs, blank spots once you get to BAAD. Would that be correct?

Ange: Well…there are things I can’t explain, like waking up sore all over without being able to explain it as I couldn’t remember how it might have happened. At times even though awake I thought I was sleepwalking.

Me: Yes. I am probably right then. Now you must understand Angeline that on sexual matters I don’t follow the Liberal agenda. I find feminism puerile, self-serving and unrealistic. Sex matters are totally dependent on biology. Nature has created what nature has created no tinkering can change that and certain consequences have fallen out of that creation that cannot be denied. Because men have an Xy chromosome they are more or less self-sufficient; because women have the other two X chromosomes they are more dependent. Men are stronger, women are less strong. In point of fact men have no other use for women other than sexual and perhaps as beasts of burden. That may sound rude but if women had no sexual use but remained women they would be superfluous to men. However as women are conscious and intelligent beings men have to make certain concessions to them to maintain harmony. We call that Love.

There have been ways attempted around those concessions however, for instance, the harem in which a rich or important man gathers a group of women about him distributing his favors by his own peculiar method. As with all solutions there are unintended consequences, expense being a major one and the envy of other males another although to be surrounded by women is enervating.

Another solution most famously tried on slave plantations of the West Indies was to select favored females and then bringing them up with their every wish or whim fulfilled while being trained to be compliant in sex. Perhaps not too distant in concept from the Japanese Geisha girls.

The Negro slave women were difficult in numerous ways being unsatisfactory. Then fortune shown on the planters. Along about sixteen sixty or so Oliver Cromwell chose to subdue the Irish. Being the good self-righteous Protestant that he was he was especially brutal. He rounded up tens of thousands of Irish men and women selling them into slavery, chattel slavery, in the West Indies where they were put to work in the fields with the Negro chattel slaves. The beauteous Irish girls were more spirited and lively than the African women, however when half breeds were created the combination was just right to create near ideal sex, or Monarch, slaves. The women were near ideal however they did have to be coddled from birth and that can be downright irritating to more brutal male desires. The women’s attitude was easily ruined. So that solution was somewhat less than satisfactory.

Interestingly as New Orleans was part of the French West Indies when Haiti revolted and thousands of White planters fled to the Gulf Coast and New Orleans they brought that tradition with them so that the system continued to exist in Louisiana and as I understand it a few such women still exist there although only those men of a certain standard of wealth and temperament can possess one as the women must be maintained in their complete innocence.

The hope then was how to have women trained to gratify men’s desires without the unpleasantness of having to be directly concerned with them. This is where the advances in Freudian psychoanalysis, Pavlovian conditioning and hypnotism come in. I believe that you were part of that grand experiment along with the women on your list. You were all Monarch slaves.

Ange: Partly, what you are getting at is just too incredible. I’ve never heard of Irish slaves in the West Indies. What you said just doesn’t seem possible.

Me: I can assure you it was, not only that but those indentured servants in the American colonies you read about were actually slaves although technically not chattel. Still, men and women both worked in the field cheek by jowl with the Negroes. Hence the strong mixing of Negro and White blood. If you don’t have the historical background, and there is no reason you should have, check it out on the computer after we finish. It is there plus there are many books now dealing with the subject. So, I’m not talking through the back of my neck, Ange. I am a bona fide historian.

Ange: I believe you, dearest Partly, but it is all just so incredible.

Me: Not so incredible as may be revealed in your case Ange. I think we have a fearful tale to tell. Just remember that Hera loves her daughter and I have been sent as her priest to absolve you of all responsibility. All responsibility Ange, you are as innocent as a new born baby.

Ange: Yes, I believe you Partly. You have already saved my life and I’m sure that Hera and you can redeem it.

Me: Redemption is of the mind and can never be complete. So, now, we’re going to have to examine what happened after you went to BAAD.

Let’s start with your physical by Doctor Wormowitz. I think he may be the key. From his name did you think he was Jewish?

Ange: Yes, he was Jewish. He had a big Star of David in yellow facing you on his desk and other Jewish memorabilia scattered through his office including a couple pictures of Auschwitz on the wall.

Me: No secretary, just he and you in the office?

Ange: Yes, that’s right.

Me: What do you remember about the physical Ange:

Ange: Oh…well…I…I can’t recall anything.

Me: I imagine not. What do you recall between entering his office and leaving it?

Ange: I remember sitting down and then hearing him say close the door softly when I left.

Me: Right. So you were hypnotized while in his office and have no memory of what went on.

Ange: Hypnotized? I can’t believe that. He didn’t try to hypnotize me, I would have resisted.

Me: You didn’t know what hit you Ange. When I went to visit my parents and the Little Bastard once in Keokuk where they lived the Bastard took me to a party at his so-called friend’s house. Apparently completely without my knowledge or compliance his friend’s wife hypnotized me in the midst of assembled people. It took me a long time to realize what happened but I have a blank spot from the point where I was standing talking to them to where I moved across the room. I became aware that she was staring into my eyes. I thought then that she was trying to hypnotize me so at that point I pitted my will against hers and shook her off. Came out of it just as I was about to really go under. I have no idea what happened between us whether she planted a post-hypnotic suggestion or not. Wormowitz put you under without your realizing it. He must have begun indoctrinating you into sexual practices; so he must have implanted a signal or sign, a word, that would flip you in and out of trance in a split second. Do you remember any words or signs that these guys at BAAD flashed you or the other women?

Ange: No, no, I don’t remember anything like that. They did have this odd twitch when I saw them talk to some of the other girls.

Me: What twitch was that?

Ange: I guess they got nervous when they walked up so they scratched the lobe of their ear like this.

Me: Of course. Rubbed it three times. That’s it, Ange. With that sign they could flip you in and out at will.

Ange: That’s really hard to believe, Partly.

Me: OK, Ange. Watch this, I am going to put you under on the count of three. One…two…three.

And there it was. Ange flipped into her party girl, hot babe persona.

Me: Ange I command you to remember that I have just hypnotized you. I’m going to flip you out now.

At this point I rubbed my right ear lobe three times. But, instead of flipping out she leaped into my lap and began to French kissing me. I didn’t know what else to do so I responded in kind. While I was thinking she clasped my hand to her breast which upset my thinking momentarily. Christ, what could the counter-sign be? She had my right hand clasped to her breast so in my anxiety I put my left hand up to scratch the back of my head accidentally hitting my left ear lobe.

That was it. She flipped back to reality or, perhaps better, to her alternate or first personality.

Ange: Well, aren’t you the flirt Partly? How did you get me in your lap without my knowing it, Fresh One?

Me: I hypnotized you using Wormowitz’s signal Ange. That’s was the physical you were taking. You were being put under the control of the men of BAAD. You were then a sex slave. You were an improvement on the West Indies or Geisha model. You couldn’t remember what happened when you under when you were out. They had no responsibility for you. Being well paid kept you on the job. Don’t you remember saying you would remember if you were hypnotized?

Ange: Yes, of course I remember saying that, you told me too but how did I get on your lap and when did you begin to feel me up?

Me: You followed your conditioning well Ange. We’re going to have to experiment with your trance state to learn what they had you do and figure out how to back you out of it. By the way, was Merivale Adelstein a young lawyer at BAAD then?

Ange: Yes. I’ve known that bastard for a long time. How I hate to see him coming.

Me: I’m sure you do. How would you like to get your revenge by tearing his eyes out?

Ange: Nothing would give me greater satisfaction.

Me: OK. That was an easy one. That is what you are going to do. First let’s clear up your career at BAAD. In its own way this is a horror story, Ange, that you might find unsettling or maddening. I’m going to have to do another cleansing of you by Hera before we continue. Your mind has to be prepared. It’s almost five o’ clock. Let’s have a bite to eat and then a cleansing. You’re going to be conscious this time but I want you to open yourself, be receptive to my suggestions. Believe. Accept without resistance.

Now, here Ange, undress and put on this green silk wrap. Green is the color of rebirth. When Hera or the Earth blossoms in Spring she is a fresh virgin green. You were released from your former self at the first ceremony, with this rite you will be born again shedding your old self much as the first stage of a rocket falling away, a future without that burdensome baggage. Once free of that I will put you to bed and you will enjoy a healing and refreshing sleep until sunrise. You will awake to a new world without fear of a past that will appear as a novel written by someone else.

Ready? Now throw your raiment from you and slip into the cleansing waters. Hera will reveal a past concealed from you by the machinations of evil men. As they captured your soul by devious means you had no responsibility for their actions as they affected you. You are innocent. Your will had been taken from you supplanted by their wicked desires by criminal means. You will now reaquire your will.

Their means was suggestion that I am now removing and replacing that suggestion with the love of Hera for her daughter. You will respond to the sign of the ear only from me. No other is to be observed by you. You will respond only to my voice, no other.

You are to avenge yourself on Merivale Adelstein. At the opportune moment when confronted by Adelstein I will sign you to attack him. Your strength will be tripled, your fury will be irresistible. Tear at his face with your nails. Ignore all consequences until I say cease.

You are once again purified. Hera bless you.

 

With that I patted Angeline dry, placed her in bed, tucked her in, planted a sweet kiss on her lips and said: Sleep, my beloved.

She closed her eyes and was lost to the world till the sun rose over the horizon.

As I went out into the living room the phone lights began to blink so I said hello.

Lessing: Hello, Perry. Haven’t seen you for a few days. You OK?

Me: Hi, Lessing. I’ve been busy with another problem. Demanding. Didn’t mean to ignore you. How have things been?

Lessing: More and more interesting. You have heard the news about the Rabbis?

Me: No, Lessing. I haven’t had any news for a few days now. What about the Rabbis?

Lessing: Our lifetime president ordered them all rounded up.

Me: Rounded up? As in collected for further disposition?

Lessing: Yes. They have apparently been put in a camp put in operation to receive them. It’s unbelievable. I don’t know what to think.

Me: I can’t say I’m surprised. I won’t say I saw it coming but he’s had it in for the Jews from the beginning. I don’t know why they couldn’t see it. He didn’t happen to nab old Soros did he? Along with the Rabbis that would more or less wipe out the leadership cadre leaving the people rudderless.

Lessing: Soros is out of the country, may have had advance word. What do you think is next?

Me: Probably a general roundup when they get more space. Has he done anything to empower the Moslems? Anything in Sharia law, something like that?

Lessing: There is talk of Sharia law being permitted in the Moslem colonies but nothing firm yet. But, what is the other problem you spoke of?

Me: It’s sorta difficult to explain over the phone but I have found the means to virtually take control of the courts so we’ll be more secure than we are.

Lessing: How did you do that?

Me: I’ll have to explain face to face. Just let me ask: Do you know Merivale Adelstein?

Lessing: Adelstein? Sure.

Me: He’s in the bag and the knot is tied.

Lessing: Hard to believe. When can we meet?

Me: Give me a couple days to complete my matters here. How about Friday for lunch?

Lessing: Sounds good.

Me: OK. Oh, and I’m bringing my wife Angeline Gower so there will be three of us. Pick out a place that is always empty or close to it so we can talk low.

Lessing: Your wife! Angeline Gower! The woman who worked at BAAD?

Me: Yes. Do you know her?

Lessing: I know of her but I’m so flabbergasted I don’t what to say.

Me: It’ll keep till Friday. We’ll need a planning session on Saturday too.

Lessing: You’re sure about that?

Me: Yes. Be prepared for some excitement on Saturday. Should be fun. If anything happens give me a call; otherwise Friday for lunch.

 

Of course I knew the conversation was recorded so I sent Ragnar with a different set of instructions. We probably couldn’t elude the authorities but we could make it a little difficult for them.

Continued on Clip 9.

Vol. I, Clip 7: The Vampyres Of New York, A Novel

 

 

The Vampyres Of New York

Vol.1, Clip 7

A Novel

by

R.E. Prindle

 

Expecting Lessing to get busy organizing legal defenses I more confidently approached Ragnar. As he would be on the line, that is more open to suspicion, I decided to drive over to Newport to view the site of the famous Folk Festival. Newport was a big event in younger days, the site where Dylan went electric shocking the Village folk crowd.

A few years back in twenty-fifteen or so a lot of video stuff was released covering those several years along with a bunch of CDs of Dylan’s nightclub appearances, Carnegie Hall and things. What shows up visually and aurally is quite different from the written accounts. Anyway I wanted to walk over the grounds.

Clearly we were being tailed so we took a couple of evasive measures just to let them know we knew they were there and then I forgot about them. There was a nice breeze in from the sea so Ragnar and I walked into it; I hoped the wind might muffle any microphones directed at us and at any rate they would be directed at our backs.

Me: So, Ragnar, I had a talk with Lessing. He definitely wants to do something to address the racial imbalance. He’s actively working to organize some lawyers and judges who sympathize with our plight. They intend to protect any Whites arrested as ‘domestic terrorists’ or whatever; either get the cases dismissed outright or delay them or if possible have them fall through the cracks as they say.

Ragnar: That’s interesting. So?

Me: Well, maybe I’m wrong Ragnar, but I have the feeling that your gym group might be grumpy about the race war and the lack of affirmative action against it.

Ragnar: We’re not happy with what’s going on, that’s for sure.

Me: Yeah. This might be the right time to get something going.

Ragnar: Like what?

Me: Oh, you know, securing the streets so they’re safe for wife and family. A little neighborhood ethnic cleansing to clear out unwanted elements and replace them with suitable people for instance. Kind of a White no-go area to match that of Harlem and the Moslems surrounding Wall Street, for instance.

Ragnar: You know how far that would get.

Me: That’s what I’m saying Ragnar. No charges would be filed or if they were they would be nullified by legal procedures. A certain care would have to be taken but action could be pretty well denied. Intimidation rather than actual violence just as with the Mexicans, Syrians and Negroes. We all know who to get rid of unwanted Whites, don’t we?

Ragnar: Farquhar would cover our backs?

Me: That’s what I’m saying. And if any of you know policeman, which I’m sure you do, they can take their time arriving, if they leave the station. They know how to obfuscate procedures. I’m sure they would appreciate safe neighborhoods for their families, cleansed schools without racial terrorism.

You’re all body builders so put on a scowl and terrify intruders into cleansed neighborhoods. Levey donations on business owners who will no longer be bothered by roving groups of thieves. They’re all losing ten or fifteen percent minimum to those guys and maybe paying protection. Guarantee them no shop lifting, no gay activists and it should be worth a few hundred dollars a month plus the ability to relax a little. Chat them up, see what racial discord is costing them and strike a deal. That way you’ll cover your expenses with a little over.

As front line freedom fighters that would be only fair. Talk to your buddies Ragnar. See where they stand. Let me know and we’ll get some effective offensive moves going. Reclaim the streets and then move on from there.

Ragnar: You’re sure Farquhar will perform?’

Me. Well, Ragnar, your gym is public, why don’t Lessing and I come down on some Saturday and chat while you’re pumping iron. You have ten pound weights for the amateurs don’t you?

Ragnar: Ten pound weights? Yeah, for the kids. OK, great. You two are the leaders?

Me: No, Ragnar. We’re both down the list a ways. We’re just organizers. The big guys prefer to be incognito.

That was a little white lie but I and I’m sure Lessing wanted to stay in the background as far as possible. It would be best to organize on standard conspiratorial lines.

I relaxed on the drive back to Manhattan but my brain was working. Little did I suspect but the next day would be a life enhancing experience. Nordstrom’s Department Store was beginning its grand opening for its first Manhattan store so I decided to go up and see how things were working out. Nordstrom’s was a Northwest chain that began in Seattle so I thought I’d see if they could handle the Big Bagel.

The outside of the store was magnificent while crowds of people pressed through the banks of doors. It seemed likely that more people would want in than the store could handle. Amazingly the limousine seemed to announce that an important personage was within so that when I stepped out the crowd parted to let me in. Smiling benignly left and right I strode to the doors as though by divine right. Once inside though I became common place jostling and forcing my way through the crowd.

It may not be true but it seemed like the retail store was the church of the age. While people seemed to be buying, for myself, I couldn’t see how they could examine the merchandise so quickly. Pushed hither and thither I was scarcely aware of what department I was in. And then…I saw her standing there. She was tall and willowy, probably seventy years of age, right for me and deep chested, always a top criterion.

Her head was lowered as though her gaze was fixed steadfastly on something on the floor. She seemed oblivious to all around her, one could almost mistake her for a manikin. Then it occurred to me that she was catatonic, devoid of volition. She was mine for the taking.

I walked over, slipped my arm around her waist and said: Come Darling, you are found. She was lost inside but made no resistance as I applied a slight pressure allowing me to guide her through the crowd. Ragnar concealed his surprise at my appearance with her but leading us to the Limo, I put the woman inside following her.

I studied her intently as Ragnar threaded through the dense traffic. I thought I recognized her problem. When I was in the Orphanage I had withdrawn into myself at one point. Unable to resist or change the intolerable conditions I was facing I shrunk down against the wall of the dormitory withdrawing inside my mind with no intent of ever coming out.

The house mother pleaded with me and I heard her but gave no outward indication of hearing. I don’t know exactly what caused me to relinquish my attitude, perhaps the thought of being transferred to another institution and that might clearly be worse than the one I was in. At any rate I came out and resumed my life.

I thought that probably was the woman’s situation. Something about the Nordstrom situation catalyzed past influences in her life causing her to give up. I thought possibly I could bring her back especially as I knew she could hear me. I had a plan I had been nursing for a long time; this would be a good time to try it. It was a dream come true.

I knew what she represented to me. She was the living image of the Anima I desired. Recent developments had left me Anima voided causing me psychological discomfort. Now I had found her, she who I needed, she was mine and I was determined she wouldn’t get away. I watched her quietly working out my method. I believed I had to be successful within three days or she would probably be beyond reach forever. And then what could I do with her.

I escorted her past Ottmar and into the elevator. She wasn’t difficult to steer but she stopped in her tracks when the forward pressure was removed. Thus she stopped in her tracks without lifting her her gaze from the floor as I worked through the first set of keys. Opening the entry door I moved her into the little vestibule while I manipulated the keys for the inner door.

That done I moved her into the living room and left her staring out toward the Staten Island view. Coming back, I placed a chair behind her and invited her to sit down. I knew she could hear but she was incapable of responding so I backed her into the chair, took her purse from her and seated myself on the couch facing her.

I wasn’t clear what to do next. Finally I said: Darling, you were lost but now you are found. I have rescued you. As I expected, this elicited no response. As it was now well after lunch I decided she needed a bite of something. As loving care might be as useful as anything else I led her into the dining room telling her I was going to make her some soup. Sitting her down I had no qualms about leaving her as I knew she was incapable of moving. Cooking up some Cream of Squash which was a nice bland soup I next faced the dilemma of how to get her to ingest it as she refused to or was unable to grasp the spoon.

Filling the spoon halfway I pried her lips open and slipped the spoon into her mouth tipping her head back so that she involuntarily swallowed as she was apparently hungry. As I fed her I began to speak soothingly to her using ideas I had developed earlier. I still had no idea of who she was but…

Me: Al right, Darling Girl, I think I know what the matter is and I was sent to rescue you. The great goddess Hera saw that you were in danger. She sent me to save you before the authorities picked you up and took you to Bellevue. Once in there the gods only know what would have happened to you. They would have injected you with horrible drugs or even subjected you to electro-shock therapy. You would have been destroyed. Once you’re in the hands of the authorities you’re lost but you were fortunate that Hera was watching over you and I found you.

I am a priest of the cult of Hera. My name is Partly Wright. Hera has invested me with the power to restore you to health. I love you and you’re safe in good hands but you will have to follow the cleansing and purification ritual. In your condition it may take three days but perhaps less depending on how injured your mind is.

As I hope you know, but if you don’t I’ll tell you: Hera is the goddess who protects and aids women. She has a long history. Her home was in the Greek city of Argos. For a great period she reigned there with her consort Heracles, this was in the days before the Patriarchy. In her period, the Matriarchy, she reigned with her consort Heracles. Their relationship was known as the marriage between the Sun, Heracles and the Moon, She. Her name meant She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed. In point of fact I was deputized by that earlier Sun God Heracles as male administering to Hera’s daughters of which you are one.

When the Great Cataclysm came, the arrival of the Patriarchy, the ancient harmony was shattered. Unable to resist the warriors of the Patriarchy Hera lost her place and freedom becoming subordinated to the Patriarchic great god Zeus. You may be sure she made a troublesome wife for him.

Heracles was torn from her side and cast down from the abode of the gods to become a mere human while others squabbled for his place as avatar of the Sun. He was subordinated to the role of a mere human while being given onerous tasks that were thought impossible to achieve in the hopes of dishonoring him forever. Heracles with the covert aid of his former wife was made of sterner stuff fulfilling all the tasks.

To make the story shorter after a lifetime of trials and tribulations he died but with an enormous reputation that had to be taken into account. More from shame and embarrassment than from desire Heracles Patriarchic gods made him a demi-god and gave him the role of doorman for the godly abode of Olympus. But, let the dead past bury its dead. For you and me here that has no effect, but you should know.

I will now give you a small glass of wine as a symbol of the power of the Sun and then we will begin the cleansing and purifying lustration.

I looked for any signs of recognition concerning my account but could notice only a slight relaxing in the tension she was under. I deemed that a positive sign indicating that with care she could be reached and rescued.

I thought her problem was obvious. As she appeared to be about seventy when the mind begins to go through changes becoming a little less elastic that her defenses against all the abuses we endure got in the way and she failed to make a small transition at which time she sank into a serious depression which is what this catalepsy is, at least mine was. Somehow the joyous ecstatic atmosphere at Nordstrom’s opening contrasted too strongly perhaps with her growing depression and she sank into catalepsy on the spot. This was serious but early enough so that I was positive she could be saved. I would have to be at a peak of form I have never attained before however.

I gave her a couple sips of the wine, a mere sip actually given more as a form of ritual, a suggestion, to hopefully gain her confidence. Then I raised her from the chair leading her to the shower in the bathroom. In the modern taste the bathroom was a little temple in green marble perhaps three hundred square feet. Why the modern mind has made so much of the bathroom is unclear to me. Along the way I began to explain to her the necessary legend or myth of Hera that gave the lustration sense.

‘Listen carefully, Darling Girl, for this is how you will be saved. In those days our patroness Lady, Hera, was as well as the protector of women the goddess of life, as you may know. This was represented by the annual cycle of birth in Spring and the death of vegetation in Fall. Of course, the earth is revived by the rains bursting forth once more in the virgin Spring. This is symbolized in Astrology when Ganymede as Aquarius pours forth the water from his urn on Hera characterized as Virgo the Virgin.

In another telling the great goddess Hera every Spring bathed in the waters of the spring of Kanathos thus restoring her virginity. We are now going to replicate that ritual using the water of this shower. Water, as is well known, is a purifying agent. Thus as a priest of Hera I through She will restore you to a state as of virginity.’

While speaking I had been disrobing the woman to reveal a gorgeous well formed figure with stunning breasts. The ravages of time could not be fully resisted but she was a perfect example of what a woman of seventy should be. I adjusted the shower just above warm verging into hot then, as the woman still had no volition I had to lift her legs over the lip of the shower. It may have been my imagination but I thought she responded to the water.

Taking the bar of Creed soap, Creed is among the finest made and my favorite, I began to lave her neck, massaging carefully, moving down her body at the same time intoning: By the power invested in me by Our Lady Hera the crimes, indignities, insults and injuries this lovely woman has endured in life are washed away. Any guilt she mistakenly carries is cleansed from her soul, mind and body. She is returned to her original virginal state.’

As my hands caressed her lovely curves I thought I felt a relaxation of the muscle tension. As she had not yet raised her head I ventured further telling her that she could see the soiling made from her body go down the drain, a pale grey color. Her eyes did seem to focus.

Then lifting her head, I concentrated my gaze into her lovely golden eyes, a golden green, to see that they were clear exhibiting no trace, as far as I could see, of her temporary insanity. Using my soaped finger I caressed her cheeks washing away the makeup, although expertly applied, to reveal a clear vibrant complexion. She had apparently, curiously, avoided the sun as there was little damage to her face and her exquisite body.

Amazingly there was little wrinkling other than the slight sagging of her cheeks from the pull of gravity. Her mouth was neither small nor large, although for my tastes it could have been a little larger, while her lips retained almost youthful form while beginning to narrow.

Having completed the conjurations and lustration I led her from the shower as she still lacked volition, to carefully pat her down with a snow white towel.

That completed I led her back to the bedroom. I put her in the shirt I had worn the day before then lay her down on the bed. Speaking softly I said: Darling Girl you will now sleep a deep and dreamless sleep until the morning sun comes up. Your sleep will be dreamless but your unconscious mind will absorb the ritual of Hera you have just performed while your mind will repair and reorder any injuries you may have received leading to your catalepsy.

You will wake refreshed and be able to resume your active life. Now, close your eyes Darling Girl and sleep. Sleep the all healing sleep.’

At this point she visibly relaxed with closing eyes, ‘Sleep , Darling Child of Hera, sleep.

As she appeared to be asleep I closed the door leaving it slightly open. I then went to get her purse to see who I was dealing with.

Being a New Yorker she had no driver’s license but she did have a medical insurance card. You can imagine how stunned I was to learn her name was Angeline Gower. I had once been rescued by a woman named Angeline Gower. After high school when I was in emotional shell shock from my rotten childhood I took to the highway ending up in the Grand Traverse where I blanked out in a coffee shop only to return to consciousness ten days later in Angeline’s magnificent bed in a shack out in the woods. Angeline was almost in the condition I was from an equally rotten childhood still she managed to nurse me to health and save my life. I’ll add to the details when Ange (short for Angeline) wakes up tomorrow.

So, she was Angeline Gower II whose life I was now saving. She wasn’t broke, her billfold contained six hundred fifty-two dollars with a checking account balance of near one hundred thousand dollars so it wasn’t ticket price shock at Nordstrom’s that put her into catatonic shock.

Looking further I found a Bar Association card so she either was or had been a lawyer. From that I deduced her catatonia was sexually related probably from a too casual attitude from her fellow lawyers or perhaps worse. After all, the sixties, seventies and eighties had been very degrading for women, not that they didn’t embrace the period calling it freedom. She must have numerous stories of legal sexual misconduct. I could have obtained a force with which to control lawyers and judges in Angeline. She must know dozens of women in her situation and they would know hundreds of lawyers and judges.

Otherwise her bag was an eight thousand dollar Chanel with all accoutrements equally expensive. Heck, the crappy short haircut probably cost five hundred a session not to mention the makeup brands most of which I had never heard of and I follow the fashion magazines.

Alright. I would have to see if she was with the living on the morrow or still one of the walking dead. It was getting late and I hadn’t eaten so I made up a pastrami, corned beef and ham sandwich, emptied out a can of Campbell’s Chunky Potato and Bacon soup that I ate at a leisured pace. I had come across a nice Chateau Ste. Madeline, Cassis appellation, that proved a pleasant complement to my, well, repast.

Angeline seemed to sleeping peacefully or perhaps she was comatose. Anyway, I crawled in beside her, overwhelmed by her beauty. Don’t get any idea I took advantage of her because I intended her for my Anima and to violate my Anima would be to violate myself. I’m no masochist. I did however fold the cover back to gaze for a few moments at her magnificent breasts and wild strawberries. I’m only human as the weasels say.

True to my suggestion her eyes opened with the sunrise but she didn’t seem to be aware so I got up to make some poached eggs and toast to supplement my meager takings of last night.

I had just sat down at table when I looked up to see Ange standing there in the nude. It was going to be a good breakfast. She stood there with one hand on her hip the other extended above her leaning on the door jamb, or arch way rather. My eggs tasted great. A slight smile appeared on her lips as she studied me attentively.

Then she said: May I have some eggs too?

Nice voice, lovely voice, cultivated but not ostentatiously so, no Eleanor Roosevelt.

‘Sure Angeline, sit down. How many would you like, two or three?’

‘Three.’ She sighed languorously.

‘I’ll be three minutes, the water’s already boiled.’

‘Thank-you. Is your name really Partly Wright?’

‘You think that’s funny, Ange? Yes it is. Mother had a sense of humor as I never tire of saying. You’ve been going through my pockets?

‘I took that liberty.’

‘Yes, well, and is your name really Angeline Gower?’

‘What’s funny about that?’

‘Nothing, only a while back, a long time now I knew an Angeline Gower up in the Grand Traverse.’

‘Grand Traverse, Michigan?’ Angeline said freezing in her tracks as I had on looking at her medical card.

‘Um hm, yes, many years ago, back in nineteen fifty six but you can’t be her, she was several years older than me so you’d have to closing in on ninety.’

Ange: My mother was in Grand Traverse, working at a restaurant at that time. She used to tell me of an ungrateful boy she rescued at that time but his name wasn’t Partly Wright.’

Me: ‘No. I was in my Dewey Trueman phase at that time.’

Ange: ‘That’s the name! You’re Dewey Trueman?’

Me: ‘No. I’m Partly Wright. Dewey Trueman died on the Grand Traverse.’

Ange: ‘Mother used to say that she woke up one morning and you, or this Dewey Trueman, was gone.’

Me: ‘Yes, that’s true. But that Angeline Gower didn’t have a daughter and she wouldn’t have been your age, Ange.’

Ange: ‘She never mentioned me to you.’

Me: No. She never talked about her past life at all and I really wasn’t in any kind of mental condition to be overly curious.’

Ange: ‘Hmm. Mother was in pain herself when you knew her. I’ll tell you her story if you like.’

I signified yes but I was getting very uncomfortable myself feeling like I would go into shock. It was déjà vu flickering past like film frames in very slow motion, I thought I might lose it. Suddenly I could pick my old Angeline’s features in my new Angeline’s face. Synchronicity bulbs kept flashing in my mind mentally blinding me. I put my head down dug into my eggs. Ange said nothing watching me, when I put my head up I had tears in my eyes that I couldn’t conceal. I guess that softened my new Angeline.

But Ange had brought up the memories of my old Angeline for which I had always harbored guilt. As had happened to me before while writing old memories had called up only what I can call a mental rash that is so overwhelming I had to take to bed, so now this rash arose and I had to go to bed until it passed which if the past was any guide might be one or two days. I explained my situation to Ange that only caused her to giggle as she followed me into the bedroom seizing my hand on the way.

Removing my clothes I crawled into bed. Ange watched me giggling away then after I got into bed hopping up on it sitting on her heels still coyly giggling. But it wasn’t the giggling of a grown woman but more of a ten or eleven year old girl. Then I realized that she hadn’t fully recovered but though retaining her mental attributes of her age she had slipped into the emotional state of a child, as I was to learn, before she had surrendered her virginity, that had happened as I was to learn when she was sixteen.

Apparently in my cleansing ritual of the previous evening when I returned her to a mental virginity she had interpreted it as one level of consciousness literally; thus she was of two minds. Now she set about to seduce me as an eleven year old would do but her mind was shadowed by her current age and experience.

I was reluctant to engage as I wasn’t sure Ange was competent, on the other hand I couldn’t refuse without fear of offending her and perhaps losing her. After all I had joined her in marriage as the Sun and Moon. I don’t live in quandaries so we consummated our marriage. The combination of an eleven year old and post-menopause woman was a strange experience that I will never forget or regret.

At any rate we were now one. And then a strange thing happened. Relaxing in the glow Ange suddenly said to me in a sort of eleven year old baby talk: you remember you said your goddess had sent you to cherish and protect me?

Now I was frightened; what was coming next?

‘Yes.’

‘I want you to revenge me on a man who hurt me.’

Ooh, what had I gotten myself into: Yes, Angeline, who is he and what did he do?

‘He’s Judge Merivale Adelstein and he raped me more than once.’

‘What kind of judge, Ange?’

‘He’s a federal judge and he’s a horrible man. He treats us women like we are his sex slaves. He has to be punished.’

I quickly agreed, I even had formulated a plan in an instant. Angeline had said ‘us girls’, that meant several and if he used his position to compel sexual favors he was in very deep doo-doo, no statute of limitations, instant destruction. And if he was doing it very likely other judges were while it might be possible to uncover a system of abuse among the legal firms. Depending on things this knowledge could give us, the Serapion Order, nearly complete control over the legal establishment.

‘You said ‘us girls’ Angeline. Do you know the names of the other women?’

‘Of course, we used to get together and compare notes. What are you going to do to him, walk up and punch him in the nose?’

‘First I have to find out who he is but then I’m not sure punching him in the nose is a suitable punishment, he merits more than that.’

‘I’ll say he does. What are you going to do?’

‘Well, I won’t be doing anything in the next couple of days Ange but I might be able to get him by the short hairs within a week to ten days.’

‘Pooh, short hairs, how’s that going to hurt him?’

‘Short hairs is just a saying Ange, meaning causing him great pain as in saying ‘cut him a new asshole.’

‘Oh, I don’t know that one either.’

‘I’m surprised, but, Ange, can you draw me up a list of these other women, addresses and phone numbers if possible.?

‘I thought you said you loved me, that I was your Anima.’

‘Nothing has changed Cara Mia. I’m not going to make passes at them. Lessing and I have an operation going and this information clinches it for us.’

‘Lessing? Lessing who?’

It occurred to me then that as both Ange and Lessing were lawyers she might know him. ‘Lessing Farquhar. Miles and Lady’s friend.’

‘Lessing Farquhar is a lawyer. How do you know him? And Lady and Miles sound like the Carmichaels.’

I forgot I had never mentioned the Carmichaels. ‘Lessing is a friend of Lady and Miles, so I met him through them.’

‘How do you know the Carmichaels?’

‘I guess I haven’t had time to tell you. This is the Carmichael’s condo. I’m house sitting for them while they’re in Europe for a year. Ange, now you’re a lawyer so you don’t betray confidences do you?’

‘No. You aren’t in trouble are you, Partly?’

‘No, no, no, no. Lessing and I belong to an Order. The New Serapion Order. We’re a kind of a revolutionary group. You’re not an Obamite are you?’

‘I’m whatever you are Partly. I am your woman, you can’t get away.’

‘Oh good, that’s the way I feel about you too Ange. So, anyway your revenge on Judge Adelstein will come through his subordination to our uses. If you were his sex slave he’s now going to be your slave. He will jump when you say jump. He’s the guy that’s angling for the Supreme Court isn’t he? You must be aware of dirty work he’s involved in. Probably bought stock using insider information?   The guy’s walking on gilded splinters.’

‘Oh sure, that’s the least of it.’

Me: ‘Great. Listen Ange I want you to get some rest. You’re still a little wired from your catatonia. And tomorrow I want you to draw up the list. We have to move fast. Helzapoppin’, as they say.’

‘You rest. I’m going to go up to your place and pack some clothes for you, get your makeup. Is there anything else you need Darling.’

Ange: ‘I’m happy here with you Partly, I don’t need any clothes. I don’t want to leave.’

Me: ‘I know Darling Girl. I’d like this to go on forever too but reality will intrude soon enough. We may have to go out together, clothes will be more important then. I won’t be gone very long. Just long enough to get some things for you. I never have anyone come up here, there will be no deliveries, no reason for anyone to come up so, in on the off chance someone knocks, don’t even get up. You’ve got a phone, my number is at the top so if you feel any anxiety, call. This won’t take long. Fifty-Sixth Street is your address, right? OK Honey, rest for a while, let your mind heal.’

Ragnar had the limo ready. Not too many minutes later I was in front of Angeline’s building.

‘Come on up Ragnar. I’m sure I’ll need help carrying.’

Angeline was only on the eighth floor. Ange only had double locks, thank goodness, and only one door. The condo was surprisingly large, tastefully if sparsely decorated. Showed a clear mind or a capable decorator. There was a feeling of longing about the place, a picture with a far away horizon over the couch.

‘Better take her computer down Ragnar, that will probably be needed.’

Bagging her makeup wasn’t a problem, at least I didn’t think it was but stuffing a couple suitcases with clothes was more difficult than I thought. I didn’t know anything about mixing and matching and those feminine things. I made sure she had enough underwear then stuffed a bunch of skirts, slacks, blouses and sweaters into the suitcase thinking Ange was right, I was out of my depth.

I snapped the suitcases shut as Ragnar returned. He took one and I took the other. As I was locking up one of those booming voices of authority growled: Who the hell are you?

I turned to see a vision from my childhood. A hated one. The fellow wasn’t big, only about five-five but he stood tall, occupying his space securely. He looked like one of these world war posters where Uncle Sam is rolling up his sleeves for a fight. He had on a pair of those massive wing tips that look like you’re trying to leave a big foot print. New too, minimal creases. The guy probably threw them away before they looked even a little worn. The green plaid sport coat over a pair of black pants was atypical. Hadn’t seen that one before. I didn’t know his name but then he didn’t need one. As I said: I knew the type.

He glared at me too proud in his inner powers to ask me twice.

I had to choose the right personality to gain the upper hand. I chose to be confident, cool and distant, a quieter tough: ‘What business is it of yours? Who are you?

‘Don’t get wise with me.”

‘I think you’re talking to the wrong man Friend. Move aside.’

‘This isn’t your apartment; I know the woman who lives here.’

I looked at his face more closely. He was Jewish. Then it hit me. This was Judge Marivale Adelstein.

‘So do I. Come on, let’s go Ragnar.’

‘Ragnar? Lady Carmichael’s chauffer?’

Good god, he knew the Carmichaels. Christ. I was going to have to talk to him. Ragnar looked my way for directions.

‘Yes it is, Judge Adelstein. Hello, I’m Partly Wright. I’m house sitting for the Carmichaels. Nice to have met you. We have to go now. I’ll talk to you later.’

While he stood staggered that I knew his name Ragnar and I walked away quickly. Behind me I could her him snort: Which part? I really hate that stale joke.

I dragged the suitcases into the apartment. I looked up to see Angeline, back to me, looking over her shoulder smiling. She wasn’t nude anymore, she had put on a pair of Lady’s four inch spikes. Not unattractive but disconcerting.

‘I got up to look out the window.’

‘Oh. You’ll never guess who I met at your apartment Angeline.’

‘Merivale Adelstein.’

I was wrong on that one. ‘My, you’re prescient. How’d you get it first try?’

‘He always comes over and bugs me about this time. I don’t know how to dump the guy. I’ve insulted him, called him names, the guy’s impervious.’

‘It will work this time. Nice shoes. Shall we have a glass of wine my lovely?,

‘OK. I’ll get it.’

I sat down on the divan, accepted the glass of wine Ange offered and sat back as she cuddled up close to me. I almost fainted.

‘You know what I can’t understand Partly dear?’

‘How you got here?’

‘No. Second chance. You keep saying that I’m your Anima. I don’t know what that means. Is that like sweetheart or something?’

‘Oh, no, Ange. It’s much more intimate than that. Have you read any psychology? Freud or Jung?’

‘Not much psychology and I’ve heard the names but I don’t know much about them.’

‘OK. I’m sure you’ve heard chat about a man’s feminine side?’

‘You’re not bi-sexual Partly? I couldn’t stand that.’

‘No, not at all, wholly male. The way you’ve heard it is a misunderstanding of the right side of the brain. A man’s feminine side as I understand it is the right side of his brain that carries the Anima. It comes from the ovum, a man’s X chromosome. The left side come from his y chromosome. A woman has two X chromosomes so she doesn’t have a masculine side, just what Freud in his crude way called penis envy, in other words, a longing for what is missing, that is, the y chromosome’

‘Well, I do understand penis envy.’

‘Sure, Well Gloria Steinem was wrong when she said a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle. She was way out of her depth; a woman needs a man like a fish needs water is more correct. Gloria almost made a Freudian slip.’

‘Ooh, that’s good. I understand that now that I’ve found you, Partly.’

Flattered? Wow! I didn’t know who was writing this script but I was sure glad I was the star of the movie.

Me: ‘Steinem’s remark reminds me of the old poem called Evolution by Langdon Smith. It begins:

When you were a tadpole

And I was a fish

And side by side on the ebbing tide

We sprawled through the ooze and slime,

Or skittered with many a caudal flip

Through the depths of the Cambrian fen,

My heart was rife with the joy of life

For I loved you even then.

After a few eons and transmogrifications the pair are sitting in New York at Delmonico’s, more or less like here Ange, high above the vulgar streets of New York. The poem goes on:

…here tonight in the mellow light

We sit at Delmonico’s

Your eyes are deep as the Devon springs,

Your hair is dark as jet,

Your years are few, your life is new,

Your soul untried and yet,

God wrought our souls from the Tremadoc beds

And furnished them wings to fly;

He sowed our spawn in the world’s dim dawn;

And I know that I shall not die,

Though cities have sprung above the graves

Where the crook-bone men make war

And the oxwain creaks over the buried caves

Where the mummied mammoths are.

Thus we linger at luncheon here

Over many a dainty dish,

Let us drink anew to the time when you

Were a tadpole and I was a fish.

‘Oh, that’s a lively thought Partly but tell me about how I’m your Anima.’

Well, Darling, this is a story not unlike Smith’s poem of Evolution. It requires    some imagination to put things into the perspective I’m going to give.

Biologically it is a fact that you and I as individuals are the result of the union of an ovum and a sperm. They come from two different individuals and though united in what becomes a new individual contribute separate identities. The ovum ends in the Anima and sperm in the Animus.

Now, this may be controversial but both the sperm and the ovum have intelligence and a primitive form of consciousness.’

‘Really, Partly, I’ve never heard that before.’

‘If you think about it Ange Darling it must be true. No organism can move without some form of intelligence or consciousness. Otherwise no organism could identify and find food. And yet the sperm released into the vagina can locate the ovum in complete darkness and finding the ovum violently and savagely attacks it forcing its way in against what must be formidable resistance. Hence in remembrance of which sexual union itself is a violent act by the male against the passive female. Once inside the sperm losing its tail occupies the ovum expelling everything except the mitochondrial DNA. I’ve seen a picture of the result and what you have is a sun nestled up against a quarter new moon. This is strangely replicated by the Sun and Moon once every nineteen years hence the marriage of the sun and moon of folklore or myth. That marriage is an obvious replica of the union of the sperm and ovum. There will be those who will laugh but I maintain the myth of the marriage of the sun and moon is a remembrance of the union of the sperm and ovum.’

Ange:   ‘I’m not laughing Partly dear, but honestly, I’ve never heard that before, I’ve never even imagined it but that would mean the sperm had consciousness before it was ejected.’

Me: Remembrance comes from the union combined with the fact of the marriage of the Sun and Moon. But intelligence and consciousness begins with the creation of the sperm obviously before it is ejected which means that the parent organism must program it to do what it has to do hence the sperm knows beforehand and follows directions. Furthermore it had to be lucky to have the closest proximity to the ovum while amidst an intense competition for the prize. You can see pictures of the ovum surrounded by sperm burrowing away. Does the female select from her suitors which to embrace or let in? These are serious questions.

Obviously the fittest doesn’t always win the prize as fully one fifth of the zygotes self-abort while some real monsters reach fruition. Few are ever as physically perfect and as beautiful as you are Ange and fewer still are endowed with intelligence of the kind you have. And look at us, eighty and seventy years old and we’ve found each other. A miracle of miracles.

Two different strands of DNA bond together with the ovate side taking its position on the left side of the body while the spermate takes the right. The union is seldom perfect, differences in hands and feet, left and right side of the face betray the past of the ovum and sperm.

To bond the two sides together the left half of the brain migrates to the right hemisphere of the brain while the spermatic hemisphere assumes a position on the left.

Now, as to the Anima Angeline:

When Freud and Jung examined the problem each came to the conclusion that men had an Anima, that is a female side, and women had an Animus or male side. I have come to the conclusion that they were only half right. As I see it the sperm is the Animus and each sex has one while each has an ovate Anima. If you think about it this has to be true because each contributor has a separate identity. It is the ‘marriage’ that makes them one. This is also reflected in the old marriage ceremony of man and woman where the two are declared one.

At the lower end of the system it terminates in the gonads while at the upper end, or the brain, I can only explain it by saying that there are loose ends that make up the Animus or Ego as the psychiatrists explain it and on the ovate hemisphere the Anima- that is in both men and women. In women the spermatic X is still the Animus. The female also has a left side but it is a X and not a y hence she has the equivalent of two Animas only one is active and the other passive.

Now, don’t laugh at me, but in the horned animals such as bull and ram the loose ends manifest themselves in horns. Man subconsciously recognized this when he chose bulls and rams to symbolize the male. The goddess was always personified as a woman but the god as a bull or ram. In many representations certain gods are portrayed with horns while Dionysus may have horns or show the bull’s hoof.

As the child develops he adopts characteristics of male and female models, these clothe the Anima and Animus. If your models are good I suppose your outlook is bright or brighter than if they aren’t. In my case my Anima models were terrible. They were formed by my mother and Gaines. Thus I had to dig myself out from under a load of feces to be as balanced as I am now while I have never been able to shed my negative outlook completely. There is still the touch of the sad sack about me that at my age I will never be able to shed.

However with the aid of Dr. Anton I have been able to deconstruct both my mother’s and Gaines baleful influence returning to a simulacrum of childhood innocence.

Angeline: Is Dr. Anton your psycho-analyst?

Me: So to speak Ange. He’s actually an alter ego existing only in my own mind. The great Dr. Anton Polarion.

Ange: (muffling a giggle) You talk to yourself?

Me: Yes, of course. How else can you integrate knowledge or solve problems? Dreams are just a form of talking to yourself. If you learn to dream properly you can resolve all kinds of problems. In terms of memory method I assigned my psychological studies to an imaginary person named Dr. Anton Polarion to work out my problems subconsciously and then notify me of the results.

Once again, if you think about it Ange, you will find subconscious projections of that sort are quite common. The Confessions of St. Augustine is a much revered book; it only makes sense if you believe a human can talk to an imaginary god and get answers. In point of fact Augustine was talking to himself much as I do with Dr. Anton except that I’ve always gotten better answers than Augustine ever got. Writing is talking to yourself and working out problems. That’s really the only way it can be done.

Of course if you walk down the street babbling out loud people are going to think you’re nuts. Don’t do that.

Still, Charles Dickens was frequently seen by his wife gesticulating as one of his imaginary characters and voicing his thoughts out loud to get them right on paper. So, as I say Dr. Anton extrapolated my Mother Constellation and separated it from Gaines and then separated both from my Anima while elucidating it so that I can understand my past correctly. Would you like to hear what my mother did to me, her own child?

Ange: Yes. But first who is Gaines and what does he have to do with your mother.

Me: William C. Gaines published comic books like Tales From The Crypt. His relationship to my mother comes from the way his comics portrayed women. His comics were quite misogynistic but very sexually stimulating. When my mother put me in the Orphanage it created a reaction such as that women could not be trusted.   My mind combined that with Gaines misogynism thus the two were twined on my Anima.

OK Ange? But bear in mind that a woman is only a woman who becomes a mother through necessity. Not all women are cut out to be mothers, mine wasn’t. Mine dealt me the kind of poker hand that a player looks at once and folds but I couldn’t fold, I had to play that crummy hand.

I know nothing of my mother’s girlhood. As I was born in May when she was twenty she must have been nineteen when I was conceived. I have seen a picture of her when she was eighteen; in that picture she looks grim and troubled. I suspect she was pregnant with me when she married. If so this would have been the first of the grievances she assigned me.

She must have graduated high school in nineteen thirty-six thus her girlhood was lived during the Depression. She never spoke of the period but she and that whole age cohort lived in almost a paralyzing fear that it would return all their lives. My father must have had a terrible time finding a job as in his desperate need to provide for us both he joined Roosevelt’s Civilian Conservation Corps. Thus, at work in the forests he was gone for long periods however sending most of his wages home. My mother was not wise in her use of them.

Rather than remain idle she dated at least one man who impregnated her in the back seat of a Chevy in the parking lot of a grocery store. My father came home to find her in that state. As you can imagine he was crushed when he got the news. He insisted she tell him who the guilty party was but in the way of women she refused to name his name. My father then began slapping her around but she still refused.

As I was standing against the wall watching I became distressed finally jumping on his back as he stood over her when she lay after having been knocked down. My father was at a loss of what to do. My mother warned me to run. My father said that no, he would never hurt his son.

I had stopped the beating but my mother got up and placed me against the wall telling me not to interfere and then lay back down to resume the beating.

Her astonishing reaction had a profound effect on my personality. Her action was totally incomprehensible to me. As my mother developed my father became more distraught. And then the little bastard was dropped. I presume my father walked out at that time because he was not around anymore and shortly thereafter my mother, myself and the little bastard moved out of our house and in with her parents.

Ange: Why do you call your brother ‘the little bastard’ Partly? That seems harsh.

Me: Perhaps it is Ange but he is not my brother, he is an, what you might call, Illegal immigrant. You have to consider the psychology of my mother. She was one of that lot that thinks the woman can do no wrong. Therefore she laid the blame for her infidelity on my father. Then his treatment of her, hitting her and then leaving, was an unreasonable response in her mind so she transferred her resentment of my father on to me, a constant reminder, not of her shame, but his unreasonableness.   She did whatever her female wiles permitted to injure my psyche, twist it, pervert it, thus becoming an evil presence on my Anima that over the years nearly completely debilitated me. From my experience my Anima had completely failed me leaving me distraught and incapable of responding properly.

From the time the little bastard was born she showed him preference over me, her first born. That is an unforgiveable sin. You can see that, can’t you Angeline?

Ange: I can certainly understand how you feel.

Me: I hope so. I only saw my father once after that. When he called at my grandparents. In the interim my mother had done everything to make me hate and fear my father. He must have found a good job, this last meeting must have been sometime in nineteen forty-one because he brought me this wonderful green corduroy suit with a stoplight badge on the pocket. I was apparently psychologically affected because in later years I wore a lot of corduroy and I still own a green corduroy sport jacket; it’s in the closet if you want to look at it.

Ange: How can you remember so precisely Partly? How old were you in nineteen forty-one, two or three?

Me: I’m two and half years older than the little bastard and while I remember the incidents dating it is merely a matter of reconstruction beginning from nineteen thirty-eight. I did have a lot of trouble disentangling the incidents and putting them in order but auto-suggestion and dreaming cleared that up. Took a while though.

Anyway, my father called me to him and I wanted to go but my mother had a hypnotizing threatening gaze fixed on me and I didn’t know what she would do if I disobeyed her so I didn’t go to him.

‘Oh, you’ve made him hate me.’ My father said.

Then my mother astonished me: she lied straight out. She said she hadn’t. First she refused to allow me to rescue her from a beating and now she told a bare faced criminal lie. My father turned, crushed, and walked out much to my mother’s satisfaction. I never forgave her of ever trusted her again.

What she did to my father next I have no memory of and can only guess. In Michigan during my entire childhood and youth people constantly threatened to put someone they didn’t like in the insane asylum. Apparently all a family member had to do was make a complaint and have the unfortunate committed. Once in you never got out. Of course it was more difficult for strangers to do that but still possible.

I have no idea what my father did, perhaps he was in despair at losing his son, whatever he did his mother had him committed, I’m assuming for being violent and was probably put down as criminally insane. My mother took great pleasure in testifying against him citing the beating he gave her but probably not the cause. He spent the rest of his life in Traverse City. One day decades later I got a call from her saying significantly: He’s dead. He’s dead, just like I was a fellow conspirator. ‘Who’s dead?’ I demanded. ‘Him.’ Came back the reply. ‘Your father.’ Lord. I’d forgotten all about him but that is a woman’s violence and vengeance. I learned a lot about women from mom.

Ange: All women aren’t like that Partly.’

Me: Perhaps not Ange but that doesn’t change my situation but that notion of responsibility is part and parcel of every woman. The man is always guilty. Besides when she had my father put away I remained as a living reminder of her guilt, or his, if she maintained that point of view. She somehow transferred her feeling of virtue to the little bastard while quietly punishing me.

As I say the last time I saw my father was in nineteen forty-one. I don’t know when my father was committed to Traverse City but in late 1943 she placed me with foster parents or rather perhaps as a boarder with a family named Smith where I remained until shortly after VE day in May of nineteen forty-five. Then I was transferred to a woman named Johnson not very far from my grandmother’s.

Ange: Where was your little brother at the time?

Me: Oh he came along to disrupt my life, the little prick, as a part of, I guess, collateral damage.

Ange: Did she ever visit you?

Me: I don’t ever remember seeing her at Mrs. Johnson’s but she came by maybe two or three times at the Smiths. She always wore real nice clothes. I could never understand why she didn’t have a little more in clothes money for me. Anyway, suffering rejection at the Smith’s just when I was beginning to trust them unsettled my mind and with problems caused by entering a new school a month or so from year’s end I began to become very morose. I suppose it was then that I acquired a depressed state of mind.

Mrs. Johnson could only take so much. She asked my mother to remove me. It was then that the horror of horrors struck. She put me away in the orphanage. I could never really place where the orphanage was in later years but it was only three or four blocks from my grandmother’s.

Ange: That’s close. Did she ever visit you? Take you overnight or anything?

Me: No. I didn’t see her for several years. She was always the hardest of hard hearted women. I used to roam all over in those years but it never occurred to me to go in that direction.

I was there in the orphanage for two years, nineteen forty-six to nineteen forty-eight. I don’t know if you understand what it means to be in an orphanage but it completely declasses you, places you lower than the Negroes in the social scale, you become a non-person, invisible. Carry the scars for the rest of your life in one way or another. A real soul shattering experience.

According to orphanage policy they farmed you out to foster homes at the age of ten, another really horrible experience I escaped because my mother remarried in nineteen forty-eight. I was pretty independent by that time so I knew I was in for it but I thought it was only eight years so I could manage it. As I look back I’d have to say I didn’t. By graduation time I was a basket case unable to function.

My mother’s method to torment me was to frustrate and deny me, to prevent me from enjoying my life at all. I have no idea how she talked about me but I was amazed when just before graduation a bunch of us were talking about what we were going to do. I mentioned I wanted to go on to college when a girl I hardly knew scornfully told me that I was not that I was going into the Navy for twenty years and could come back as a Chief Petty Officer. I asked her where she got that and she said my mother told her. I don’t know how she knew my mother but sure enough within a matter of days my mother took me to the recruiting office and signed me up. A couple weeks later and I was gone.

Thus she had me safely stowed away in the equivalent of the insane asylum for life just like my father. I might as well have gone to foster parents, it couldn’t have been any worse.

The problem with the Mother Constellation was I couldn’t find the motive for her hatred but as she and Gaines occupied my Anima I had no control of the right hemisphere, my Anima had completely failed me. Fortunately Dr. Anton was able to untangle the two stands of Gaines and my mother so that my Anima was freed. The final reckoning occurred just a couple weeks before I saw you standing there in Nordstrom’s and I recognized you as what my Anima should have been all along. In conventional terms: Love at first sight.

Ange: I don’t remember that Partly. I only have vague memories of you taking to me in the shower. How did I get there?

Me: Well, I came up for the Nordstrom’s grand opening and wandering through the high fashion department I saw you standing there almost as though you had a sign around your neck reading Rescue Me. When I got closer I realized that you must be catatonic. I put my arm around your waist and said: Come with me, Darling Girl. Gave you a little tug and led you to the limo.

Fortunately you were not yet beyond the range of contact so I was able to bring you back to consciousness. Since then you’ve been recovering well. Do you remember anything about the Sun and Moon?

Ange: Yes. There was a god and goddess and they married us. Is it true then that you are my husband and I’m your wife.

Me: Yes, it is Darling. You might say a marriage made in heaven. I’ve got you babe in my heart and on my mind and here beside me.

Ange: Alright. I don’t know how it happened but you have been in my dreams Love.

Me: And you mine. Now Sweetheart would you take the time to tell me your story. How did you get into that catatonic state?

Ange: I don’t know if I should. You might not like me so much then.

Me: Oh nonsense, Angeline, life is difficult at best. Let the dead past bury its dead. The way is forward. Let’s make our future the best years of our lives. You can’t make me stop loving you. You are part of me.

Ange: Well, alright.

 

Continue to Clip 8.

Vol. I, Clip 3: The Vampyres Of New York

 

 

Book I, Clip 3

The Vampyres Of New York

A Novel

by

R.E. Prindle

 

If you haven’t experienced that kind of mental agony you don’t know. I tossed and turned all afternoon and into the night. My brain was racked but not with pain. It was like all the connections had come loose and I had no control of my mental processes. There was no way to concentrate, to organize my thoughts to possibly think or be rational. It was like three fevers without temperature racking around in my brain.

I was exhausted and then possibly at one in the morning I heard a knocking. I sat up in bed wondering who in the world it could be. Then I heard Gaines again: Hello, I’m back. Let’s talk.

Well, Gaines! Of course I knew what was happening then. I was at that level of experience and conditioning between the birth process and more conscious experience. I had already cleared out the most compelling of my childhood fixations at forty-two when I integrated my personality. That freed me from compulsions and inhibitions but I gradually learned that there was another layer of control or influence yet beyond my reach. Gaines had now shown up so it was possible to free myself from that psychological layer. Small comfort at eighty but then few if any become so clear. Freud and Jung certainly never attained it. I flattered myself that I could be unique. The first of the New Men. Don’t smile, it was a pleasant thought.

This wasn’t the first incident of interior dialogue my mind had spoken to itself. I heard what they call voices back in my early teens. Of course like St. Augustine I had been convinced that one could talk to God. Unlike Augustine I wasn’t crazy enough to persist when God couldn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know when I asked.

And then back then I heard voices telling me to do inappropriate things like Kill your mother and Chuckles but I shut them up; I wasn’t to going to jail for any reason. And now, here was Gaines a more or less rational entity who would try to convince me to do evil I was certain. As in primeval days I was attached to the God Principle while Gaines was representing the Satanic Principle.

He seemed to be lodged in the right hemisphere just behind and above that ear. This puzzled me somewhat as I would have thought he would have been part of my Animus or Ego that being the male side of the brain; instead he was on my female side.

Then I realized that when Gaines had taken up a primal position in my consciousness I was sitting on the back steps of the Orphanage. When my mother had put me in the Orphanage and had walked away she had created this space in my mind, this psychological layer. Gaines and his evil comic books was therefore associated with my mother. Oh yes, my mother. Sometimes I wish I had heeded those early voices and offed both her and Chuckles. Chuckles, that mean assed bastard, was her second husband. They married when I was ten and I then came out of the Orphanage.

Well, you know, as I always told myself, you have to play the hand you’re dealt. I think I can say without comment that I played that lousy hand well. Here I was in New York City, the capital of the world, in a thirty million dollar apartment. Gaines wasn’t going to be a problem, after all, he was me and I was him. I had the upper hand with the God Principle on my side while Gaines might as well have been Abe Goldbladder of the Satanic Principle. I will discuss that more in my presentation to the New Serapion Brethren.

I was inside my skull with Gaines but my mind had cleared up, I might as well get started.

‘So, Gaines, what brings you here?’ A silly question because I already knew the answer. Still, in order to extinguish him I had to play along. However I did think it necessary to call in my old psycho-analyst Dr. Anton Polarion as an assist.

Who is Dr. Anton? I’m embarrassed to say this because then you might think I really am crazy. But that’s alright, I may be.

Dr. Anton Polarion came around several years ago when I was deep in my psychological studies. I was working a number of fields of study and I needed someone to handle the psychology for me when I was working another field. It was then I thought up Dr. Anton giving him the responsibility for memorizing and developing psychology.

I know it sounds kind of crazy but it’s not. Dr. Anton was and is a memory aide. If you read up on the art of memory you will learn that in Greek and Roman times people constructed memory palaces of many rooms extensively furnished and then assigned memories to various rooms and objects in order to more conveniently record them, prodigious feats of memory are recorded. Oh alright, but I wasn’t going to wander around a Memory Palace trying to find various rooms and objects with their assigned memories so I just handed the job to an imagined Dr. Anton rather than a Memory Palace. You can understand that can’t you? Seems reasonable enough to me but you never know what other people will think. Anyway Dr. Anton knows whereof he speaks. So when it comes to hearing voices it was now two to one against Gaines and I had another Ace or two up my sleeve.

I was loaded for bear and I was sure I could kick Gaines’ ass. Still, I had to hear Gaines out.

‘So Gaines, as I said, what brings you here?’

‘I’ve got some good advice for you,’ said Gaines.

‘Knowing who you are Gaines I doubt it could be good.’

‘Oh ho, you think you know who I am do you? Who am I?’

‘This will take some time Gaines but you’ve got as much as I do. I’ve been waiting for you for a long time. Your showing up here, now, puts things in place.   I’m going to call in Dr. Anton for support. You know who he is don’t you Gaines?’

‘Of course, of course. I know as well as you know me. Hello Anton, welcome to the conversation.’

Anton: Hello Gaines. Well, let’s get started.

Partly: The key here is the Orphanage and me sitting on the back step reading Tales From The Crypt. That was one sado-masochistic piece Gaines with a certain portrayal of women. Strangely that portrayal was reminiscent of my mother. It is between you and my mother that this psychology revolves around.

Anton: Yes, your mother transferred her hatred of your father to you after she had put him away and tried to destroy any happiness for you. It is no coincidence that after she had your father committed to the asylum she committed you to the Orphanage. Of course, she had ‘good reasons’ for doing so but they weren’t the real reasons. When you turned eighteen she thought she had you again, enlisting you in the Navy and having you shipped off somewhere where she would never have to see you to remind her of her crime against your father. Thus the association of your mother, sado-masochism and Gaines.

Gaines also provides your connection to the Jews although that application came later in life. The content of Gaines’ comics, the sado-masochism, is part of the Jewish Weltanschauung that Freud expressed so well and it is that that Judaicized you, making the Jewish culture part of your own. It is that part, this Satanic consciousness that drags your spirit down causing your chronic low depression. We’ll try to shake it here but it may now be integral to your mentality.

Leaving Gaines for a moment the pre-Gaines component was your mother’s extreme selfishness. Of course your mother was three months gone when she married your father. This didn’t create so much guilt as anger. She held your father responsible preventing her from doing whatever she thought she would be doing later. You were born in 1938 in the depths of the Great Depression.

Jobs were not easy to come by and although your father was a good provider, that is you had a roof over your head and a shack to live in, even so your father ran out of jobs so he joined the Civilian Conservation Corps and went to work planting forests. He was a good man; he sent most of his money to your mother. She unfortunately as you would learn was not a good woman.

It is difficult at this point to retrieve her motivation but she got laid in the back of a Chevrolet in the parking lot of a grocery store as you know well, Perry. She became pregnant with the little bastard palmed off to you as your brother. A child of sin he has always remained so. A point came where the pregnancy could no longer be concealed.

Needless to say the realization made your father angry. In an attempt to learn the culprit he began to punch her out. In the way of women she was stout refusing to give up his name. Your father said things like ‘I am out working CCC to provide for you and you’re out, words that were unintelligible to you. Do you remember that Partly?

Partly: Yes I do.

Anton: Less than two and half and you remember! What a memory Perry. The bastard was born, your father left and you saw him only once more several months later. Do you know what happened to him?

Me: No. Never saw him again after that last time.

Dr. Anton: Your mother had him committed to the insane asylum and he lived there all his life and died there.

Gaines: Wait a minute, wait a minute. You can’t know anything he doesn’t Anton. Where’s this coming from?

Dr. Anton: Just as you have been suppressed until now Gaines so has the knowledge I’m now revealing. It came in bits and pieces and I have put it all together. Partly is just now realizing it.

Where was I? Yes, committing him was a sadistic act on the part of a guilty woman. But it didn’t stop there Partly. To assuage her guilt while indulging her sadism she had removed her husband but you, a reminder of her crime, remained. She transferred her affection to her bastard and set out to torture and frustrate you. You remember the nightmares you had in high school where your mother was constantly betraying you? That was a subconscious recognition of what you wouldn’t allow yourself to acknowledge but still you knew.

The Orphanage was just four blocks from your grandparents house where you were living. She had to know the effect it would have on your mentality, you certainly did, but just as she had put her husband away in an asylum she put his memory away in another institution, the Orphanage.

Do you remember this Partly?

Me: Sure Anton, I remember but not as clearly and well organized as you do.

Dr. Anton: You’d be a better man for learning it although at eighty who gives a shit. You’ll take it to your grave soon enough.

Me: That’s alright Anton, I’ll die, as you say, a better man.

Anton: So your mother dropped you off and you were led away just like in prison or the asylum but with slightly better conditions. And thus you began to become who you used to be before your personality integration that introduced this current phase of your life at forty-two.

You became quite independent in that harrowing situation of the Orphanage. Fate left that copy of Tales From The Crypt lying on that little porch and a pain equal to your being abandoned seared your soul again striking through your subconscious to the structural level here. You were no longer a free man but controlled from, for lack of a better term, your subconscious. I don’t know how you made it through but here you are.

Your mother’s remarriage to the maniac Chuckles who was a match for your mother’s sadism nearly destroyed you during those eight long years until graduation. Enough of that for now. Let’s deal with Gaines here.

Me: Can we get rid of him?

Gaines: Hell no!

Dr. Anton: He is unfortunately part of the warp and woof of your personality but I’m pretty certain we can modify it and reduce his Satanic level considerably.

Gaines: Over my dead body.

Dr. Anton: Preferably Gaines, that is what we’re shooting for.

With that I collapsed back into my pillow exhausted but calmer with less of a feverish feeling. I was breathing somewhat heavily. I knew that this was a significant psychological event that had not yet achieved resolution and I was afraid to lose the thread. After about an hour Dr. Polarion returned. Anton was not an alter ego as Gaines but functioned more as a guardian angel, a good spirit so I welcomed him.

‘We’ve got to handle Gaines Partly.’

‘Yes. What is your suggestion Anton?’

‘This. It seems that Gaines is functioning as a node for a constellation of similar events. The two obvious strands of the constellation are he, that is your Jewish experience, and your mother. The first step must be to disentangle your mother and put her into her own constellation to be dealt with later. You already have a decent handle on her.

That leaves Gaines and your Jewish experience which is a distinct constellation which when knowledgeable about it you’ve done a lot a preparatory groundwork but certain resolutions are still necessary. That constellation has to be distended into its planetary elements so that each can be identified and dispensed with.

In addition there may be other elements concealed within or behind the constellation of which we have yet no knowledge. Time will tell.

And then there is what Gaines wants you to do which is why he’s made his appearance now. We’ll have to listen and go from there. You and I do understand that what he wants is going to be ridiculous and dangerous.

Me: OK Anton, your analysis is good and I do have a good idea what Gaines wants; I’ve also got my arguments ready and can direct him. But, God, this is painful.

Anton: Yes Partly, self-realization can be trying and I’m sure you’re in agony. You remember Hubert Selby the fellow who wrote his novel Last Exit To Brooklyn?

Me: Oh sure, Anton. Very interesting story. He was probing his mind to write his story. That once when he came up against a particularly painful remembrance it shattered him so that he had to take to his bed for a week writhing in agony. I can’t afford the time for that now. I have things to do and fields to plow.

Anton: You may have more than you think Partly. Get some rest and I’ll get Gaines back here in an hour or so. Control your feelings.

With images of Jekyll and Hyde in my fitful dreams was the titanic struggle of the Shadow with evil and the images of Superman and Clark Kent. Good must triumph over evil although it might not be as clear cut a victory as one might hope.

Just before dawn Dr. Polarion returned and shortly thereafter I heard Gaines’ Hello, I’m here.

Me: Alright Gaines. I’m ready.

Anton had already disentangled my mother from the constellational complex so he and I were dealing with just the Gaines/Jewish constellation. In that obscured constellation other traumas wouldn’t be clear at this time.

‘What’s up Gaines?’ Anton asked quietly with an implied menace that he wasn’t going to listen to nonsense.

Gaines: Why so hostile Doctor Polarion.

Anton: We know what you’re up to Gaines. I have to tell you that we know who you are and where you’ve come from so your Satanic power is negated.

Gaines: Oh, aren’t we clever. What is my pedigree Dr. Polarion?

Anton: Simply this: You infected Partly’s mind on that stoop of the Orphanage with your sado-masochistic claptrap. Partly only semi-consciously took in the sado-masochistic sexuality without knowledge of sex, he had to repress your Satanic influence and with some few exceptions he did. As he knew nothing of Jews and your own Jewishness that puzzling aspect of your Satanity was filed away for future reference. In the meantime following Jewish propaganda he was conditioned to revere Jews and did so.

Then in winter of nineteen fifty-eight in a fit of sado-masochistic lunacy the Jews pre-empted all TV channels at the same time on Saturday prime time and broadcast the most incredible pornographic sado-masochistic program imaginable. An hour of graphic snuff films depicting naked dead bodies being pushed about by bulldozers. The sexual implications were horrendous. While secretly fascinated Partly was resentful of the Jews for pushing this atrocity on him. Without articulating it to himself he was fatally disgusted. Also without noticing it he associated the ‘entertainment’ with you Gaines.

Gaines: I’m disgusting?

Anton: Eminently. Now, there comes an incident that was let slip by almost without recognition. Partly’s wife, now deceased, came from a Jewish background on her mother’s side; the father was nominally Catholic. The mother wanted a Jewish wedding while fearing that Partly would object. The venue was unimportant to Partly, in fact, with his Jewish conditioning he got a little thrill from it.

However to the Jews the notion that a Jewish girl would marry a, what they considered Christian boy, was anathema to them. Her parents approached all the synagogues in the East Bay but there was only one Rabbi in the East Bay that would consent to marry the couple. This was brought about by the intervention of his wife’s mother’s sister whose family was a prominent supporter of the synagogue. Even so the rabbi insisted on an interview with Partly.

As I say, Gaines, Partly had no religious scruples to marrying into a religious family, not quite true, he would never have married Catholic, and thought to be amiable with the rabbi. Both Partly and his wife were above religion despising them as relics from a primitive age. While Partly tried to be amiable the rabbi didn’t. Partly talked to the rabbi man to man while the rabbi as all rabbis do exalted his position believing as a Talmudic scholar that that worthless information placed him not only above Partly or his fellow Jews but all humanity and most of the angels. Resenting Partly’s familiarity he insulted Partly grievously as not worthy of a Jewish girl while being a Christian dog or words to that effect. At that point his respect for the Jews, intense conditioning or no, vanished.

This event was constellated with you Gaines and the TV atrocity to negate any positive feeling he had for the Jews. A couple decades of propaganda was wiped out in an instant. Partly’s future unpleasant relations with Jews will appear subsequently.

So that’s who you are Gaines. Satan on a stick.

Gaines: Yeah, well Dr. Polarion I know where Partly lives. I know he has suffered insults, injuries and indignities from many quarters including the ones you mentioned and I know this: He wants revenge. Who do you go to when you want revenge? Satan, baby, Satan. And here I am.

Anton: True, Partly?

Me: No. It’s true I have a lot of resentments but they’re from assholes and assholes can’t help being assholes; if they could they wouldn’t be assholes so one has to ignore them. It’s their cross to bear and I enjoy watching them be assholes. If Gaines thinks he’s going to lure me into criminal activity he’s not here.

Gaines: Kiss my ass Partly. Social unrest is developing rapidly, exponentially day to day. There are hundreds of racial and religious, what the authorities are pleased to call murders rather than the acts of war they are happening every week.

I know Partly that you were trained by your experiences to be a serial killer. You know it. I don’t know how you’ve resisted up to this time but now is the time to indulge those resentments. Not only are the cops overburdened trying to deal with all the killing and raping going on but they’re afraid to leave the station. Whole cities are no go zones for them. They’ll never identify you, never track you down. Come on buddy, let your inner Mr. Hyde see some light. Now’s the time for your revenge.

Me: I think you’re right about the time being the right time Gaines but remember that Vengeance is mine saith the Lord. I’ve learned that it is true.

Gaines: Vengeance is mine saith the Lord? Listen to this guy. Are you putting me on Partly?

Me: Certainly not Gaines, certainly not. Remember you were kicked out of heaven for the religious offence of chutzpah. God stuck his boot up your ass and down you came. You always tempt men to their destruction by exploiting their own weaknesses. If I were to act in revenge I would surely be caught. Even at eighty I don’t want to be thought of as a criminal.

Gaines: No, you don’t want to be thought of as a criminal. Here’s a tip for you Partly…

Anton: I…

Gaines: You stay out of this Anton, this is between Partly and me.

As above, so below, right Partly? God’s will is supposed to prevail on earth as in heaven, right?

Me: I’m not religious but the Bible does say so. What’s your point?

Gaines: As a lawbreaker I was kicked out of heaven, right. If so, then it is God’s will that I be persecuted on earth also, isn’t it?

Me: Well, you have to believe the Bible.

Gaines: No, you don’t. Freud replaced the Bible but as a Jew he follows the Bible’s rhetoric. Freud and I are one and not only am I part of your mind but Freud is too. That’s one of my attributes that Anton the so-called psychologist forgot to mention. So, if it is God’s will that it is to be on earth as it is in heaven then it is permissible to punish Satanic practices as he punished me isn’t it? As a God fearing person it is imperative that you do so.

Well, there was a thought. The Jews consider themselves God’s viceroys on Earth and that they are doing God’s will by forcing his, or theirs really on the rest of mankind, punishing those who resist, that is anti-Semites. It was a tough argument to counter while Gaines had cleverly appealed to my suppressed desires. Anton was no help at this point.

Me: To punish is vengeance Gaines and as I say Vengeance is the Lord’s. Therefore I cannot punish Gaines, however there is the question of justice, lawbreakers should not be allowed the fruit of their crimes with impunity.

As we know God has no temporal means to effect his will on earth so he must use intermediaries as his chosen vessels hence the Jews claim to be that vessel. However if God spoke to the Jews then he can speak to me. Thus if like Saint Augustine I were to hear his voice enjoining me to administer His justice on earth as he does in heaven, that is kicking Satan off the earth then I could obey his will and be judge, jury and executioner here on earth as the Jews consider themselves. Well, Gaines, that is a thought I will have to give consideration.

Gaines: Yes it is. Further…

Anton: Hold, hold it, stop Gaines. Be gone. Hold up Partly, we have to think about this. Later Gaines, later. Go.

And with a sly wink at me Gaines wandered away. He would be back, of course. But he had given me something to think about. I knew I was going to think about it too and as Gaines knew I would rationalize his suggestion into reality but only in a ‘legal’ manner.

Anton just looked at me and shook his head. He knew what was coming. So did I but neither of us could as yet admit it.

-IV-

 

Once again I lay back exhausted. Still I had to get to work. In an agitated state of mind I reviewed the correcting of my piece for the New Serapion Brethren that I was titling The Vampyres Of New York. I had put some preliminary thoughts up on the internet so I was searching Vampyres Of New York when I was startled to find that there was an actual group called The Vampyres Of New York that claimed to be a worldwide organization. Its spokesman was some guy calling himself Father Sebastian. He was a young guy who would have been further ahead claiming to be Brother Sebastian; in another thirty years he might pass for a father.

Anything associating itself with vampirism had to be Satanic while the guy was absolutely touting himself as a religion. The crude Satanism of the nineteen sixties was obviously morphing into an attempt at a universal religion. This was a far cry from the historian Arnold Toynbee’s cry for a new universal religion to replace Christianity. Gaines was obviously right about the Satanism in Freud being a part of me but apparently the drive was to make Freudianism the basis of a new religion. Thus as Christianity as a Jewish based religion had represented the Godly Principle so Freud as a Jewish based religion would represent the Satanic Principle.

This was a revelation to me that while new I would have to try to work into my essay. I had to think about it a little so while I was thinking I tinkered around working out disguises. Having seen street activity for a couple weeks now I was uneasy walking around in my own skin; I didn’t want to become that well known.

So, as I thought I tried out mustaches, wigs, glasses, different outfits, so I could walk the streets so as not to become obvious. But, time was passing and I was driven back to my writing desk. I wanted to avoid Gaines as long as possible so I put in some long sessions hoping I would be so tired when I went to sleep that that bastard Gaines wouldn’t be called up. I was successful for the week left before going to Farquhar’s.

I was a day ahead of the deadline so I went out to get a couple two or three bottles of wine to take along. Wanted to show I was a regular guy. I am a regular guy but usually not that regular. Boy, NYC is an alkie’s paradise. What a fabulous selection of spirits. I don’t drink much but in my earlier days I could do a limited justice to the bottle. In those days I favored brandy. Really good stuff if you’re going to drink. Oh lord, if I had known then what New York showed my now I might have been the man who never returned.

I wasn’t after liquor though I wanted wine so I asked for and got bottles of Ramey’s Claret. Ramey is a good Napa Valley vintner while his claret is moderately priced and more than good enough, excellent in fact. The vintage was 2014 that particularly dry year and of small berries. Excellent, I thought it should go over. I’d had it before and it really is a great vintage.

For dress I wore a 1960 vintage sport coat I bought at a second hand store. Nothing was ready at James Carter and I had tried Lord and Taylor and other stores but none was showing other than those idiotic short jackets cut small and I thought I looked a heck of a lot better. Charles Tyrwhitt shirt, one of their higher priced dark blue and white mini stripes, black in a low light. So what’s a boy to do? Ralph Lauren had turned ludicrous after he left.

Ragnar drove me and my bottles of wine up to fifty-second street off Madison to Farquhar’s condo, very good, twelfth floor. As I entered the building an explosion went off maybe three blocks away in some direction I couldn’t determine. Somebody was acting up, hard to tell who. It was beginning to happen fairly regularly. Cops weren’t catching anybody. So many people and organizations were claiming credit for these things it must have been a nightmare investigating these things using only electronics.

As these things were getting more frequent they didn’t even make the headlines in New York while except for certain sites on the internet the rest of the country was totally ignorant of them. The permanent Obama administration was still trying to explain them away as the work of domestic terrorists, actually by now the terrorists were domestic although not so-called White Supremacists. If by Global terrorists it was only just that we should be bombed as was said and that brought the thought of Gaines back as Lessing was rattling the locks on the other side of the door.

Once that ritual was completed I was admitted into a small foyer with a second door and a number of locks which were only locked at night or when Lessing was away. The door was now open for which I was grateful.

Through the second door one entered directly into a large living room, perhaps eight hundred square feet cutting straight through the apartment to the floor to ceiling windows that looked into the windows across the street unfortunately.

The room was comfortably decorated with expensive furniture but not the costliest. The usual New York abstracts, tasteful, were on the wall facing lovely floor to ceiling bookshelves admirably stocked. Books do furnish a room, don’t they?

I was the last to arrive. Seated, looking at me with expectant bemused expressions were Max Savings, Mark Giusty and Baron Cammell the other members of the New Serapion Brethren. Lessing was apparently a bachelor or, as I was to find, a widower.

As I could see I was the oldest of the four. Lessing was seventy-two but still in his prime. How well I remember being fourteen and finding the age of seventy incomprehensible as young people still do. While even people in their thirties and forties expect people of seventy or eighty to be decrepit. Most of us aren’t. Certainly Lessing and I were in full vigor. Diet helps, three or four years earlier I had been compelled to give up my sugar diet, and I mean I love sugar, and that and an improved diet recharged me considerably.

Lessing was more robust than I being taller, probably six-two and bigger boned. He was filled out but not fat or even heavy looking, his face like mine was unlined while he had a full head of white hair as did I although mine was removable and his wasn’t. He showed a little surprise as I was nearly bald at our two previous encounters.

Lessing introduced me to Max Savings who was small, perhaps five-six, and slight. Max was the youngest at sixty-two. He was dressed like an undertaker, had a slightly weasely face with a pointed nose. He had a sharp intelligence.

Marc Giusty was Italian standing a half inch or so below me, seventy years old, still athletic looking, spent a couple hours a day in the gym as I was to learn, lean and long headed in the Italian manner, thin mustache and good features.

Last to be introduced was Baron Cammell. Baron was his first name and not a title. He would prove to be the most difficult member of the group for me.

By the time I was finished with the introductions Max had a bottle of claret open and the glasses filled. Well, you know, two fingers. One sips, this was a cultured group no full water glasses at one gulp. We accepted our glasses and looking at each other took a sip.

Lessing: Oh, very nice.

Marc: Yes. Haven’t seen the label before.

Baron: (Sniffing slightly.) Yes, quite distinctive.

Max: (Smiling.) Enough said.

Me: Yes, well, Ramey apprenticed for many years in France before setting up in Napa. I like Bordeaux style blend and claret hits the spot for me after reading all those old English novels where claret and wine were synonymous. I like this one. So, we’re all ETA Hoffmann admirers, um?

Lessing: Yes, we are that. By way of curiosity Perry, how did you come to Hoffmann.

Me: Oh, you want my origin story as the comic books say? OK Lessing, I’ve got one. I’ll do this in the best comic book style. It was a dark and stormy day back in the middle of the last century when a thirty-six year man shoulders hunched against the cold and rain looked into a shop window. Perceiving it was a book store he being a bibliophile pushed the door open. A blast of warm air hit him as heads turned to look at the stranger.   The man glanced casually about at the few inside, mostly help, with no particular object in mind. His attention was caught by a slip cased set of two. Always a sucker for so-called special editions he picked it up to examine it. ‘Hmm…’ he mused to himself, ‘Selected Writings Of Hoffmann? Hoffmann who?’ Extracted, Vol. I read from the title page, E.T.A. Hoffmann The Tales. The man had heard of ETA Hoffmann spoken of most highly and of course he knew of Offenbach’s opera Tales Of Hoffmann. Twelve dollars and fifty cents. OK.

Tucking the parcel under his arm under his coat and lowering his head against the blast he proceeded down the street. I was that man.

Me: There you go Lessing and an identical copy can be found on your bookshelf right over there.

Ha, ha, ha came as a chorus from the four men: Nicely done, Perry, nicely done.

‘The lad shows promise, doesn’t he?’ said Lessing.

Max Savings: This could prove interesting.

Me: And since then then I’ve added a dozen volumes filling out, I think, what’s available in English except for that magnificent nineteenth century volume you have on your shelf.’

Lessing: That one. I’m quite proud of that find. I tramped London looking for that one. But you have never reviewed Hoffmann on your site Perry, how come?

Me. I don’t feel adequately prepared Lessing. I have added a number of Romantic writers to my library in the last four years, Kleist, Tieck and like that but nothing in the way of critical reviews so I don’t think I’m prepared to speak authoritatively. And I still have to read Goethe, the key Romantic. If you’ve read my stuff you probably are aware that I speak without concern of contradiction. I can’t do that with Hoffmann yet. So, if I may ask, give me a thumbnail of yourselves.

Lessing: I’m host so I might as well go first. The salient point is that I spent my career practicing law, mainly real estate and financial issues. That is an area where much of the money sticks to the lawyer and I am in a comfortable situation as you can see having made my share or more of the money stick to me. Although remunerative I found the law and its cases fairly loathsome so as soon as I felt financially independent I left all that behind and turned my attention to what I loved much as you have Perry. Much more rewarding.

Max Savings: I’m not quite so financially independent as Lessing and still at my desk at Chase. I certainly am not so accomplished literarily as you and Lessing but I squeeze in time in an effort to keep up.

Marc Giusty: I was a university prof all my working life, loved it at Columbia uptown here. History was my subject. Unfortunately I was just a yeoman and not a star. I wrote a few papers for academic publications and a couple slim volumes that disappeared down the memory hole but allowed me to keep my position. By the way, this is a nice wine.

Me: Glad I chose to your taste. And you Baron.

Baron: I’m somewhat of a polymath, expert in several fields. I’m working on a unified field theory to arrange the liberal arts in a chronology with commentary. That’s all you need know of me.

Me: Quite so, quite so. Now that we’ve been introduced and had a little wine what say I begin my presentation? I’m anxious for your opinion and hope to please.

Lessing: That sounds right. What is the title of your presentation Perry?

Me: I call it The Vampyres Of New York.

I noticed a little uneasiness in the Brethren at the title. Lessing spoke:

Is this a vampire story, Perry? I thought the understanding was that we present historical essays.

Me: Exactly Lessing. But lesser known aspects, other sides so to speak and that is what mine is. Don’t let the title throw you. By the way as you’re not looking at the paper I spell vampire v-a-m-p-y-r-e. I chose the spelling to indicate a difference from a Dracula type blood vampire. My essay will concern what is known as psychic vampires. When I was searching Vampyres Of New York on the internet to see if my first couple of posts had registered yet I was surprised to find that there is actually an organization called The Vampyres Of New York, spelled with a Y.

I was further astonished that it claims to be worldwide although the claim seems a little dubious. At any rate the possible leader is a guy calling himself Father Sebastian who divides his time between New York and Paris.

As you know since the first Disney version of Star Wars a recent religion has sprung up based on the concept of the Force and whatever. It seems probable that the Vampyre organization is a type of Satanic religion too. This brings to mind that after the challenge to the Jewish religion in the West after the Scientific Revolution following the Enlightenment the Western Jewish religion under the Scientific challenge dissolved into a number of splinter religions seeking a center. The center of course came from the East and was called Zionism so that Judaism with some atavism and Zion are one.

Christianity has taken longer to find a new center but under the influence of nineteenth and twentieth century Satanism we may be seeing a jelling into some form of a universal Satanic religion. It is something to bear in mind. So my historical investigation is concerned with the Jewish and Christian religious disintegration of the previous two centuries under some sort of vampiric influence. Is that alright? It won’t offend any sensibilities?

Lessing: If it is historical we have no objections.

Me: Alright. I’m pretty sure this will be a different approach to what you’re used to so I have a prologue explaining the difference between a Dracula type Vampirism and psychic Vampyrism which will concern us. This is longish but not hugely long so fill your glasses and sit back. It is written out so feel free to interrupt at any time for explanations or comments, discussions or whatever.

OK? I begin: The Vampyres Of New York.

 

Clip 4 following contains the text of Vampyres Of New York.

Part I, Clip 2, The Vampyres Of New York

 

 

The Vampyres Of New York

Part I, Clip 2

The story continues…

As I say some sort of subconscious stirring had drawn me to New York. When I first walked into James Carter I felt stirring in my brain but now there was a deeper agitation foreboding a brain change. At my age, of course, there was always something happening, your body diminishes a bit while mental adjustments are constant but this felt more like a sea change, a premonition of a brain crunch, going in one door and coming out another.

Over the past decade or so I had had three major crises. The first was the strongest, a tremendous electrical discharge at the top of the frontal lobe. My whole power train from brain to genitals lit up, transparent as it were, I had no means to evaluate it nor was I aware of any changes in my behavior.

The second occurred a few year later, the electrical discharge was not so strong only flashing from my heart. Something had changed but I couldn’t tell what. The third that happened was only a couple years ago just before my wife died but only disalienating however I did then notice some personality changes as bits and pieces of personality fell into place. I had greater self-confidence and a bit more forceful personality, I lost my usual diffidence that had been diminishing I now noticed from the first two events.

They say that coming events cast a shadow before them. In my case that has to be true because I began to ruminate on the notion of dual personalities. I do not mean split personality but dual personality, twins of a sort, both aware of each other, nothing hidden from each. Biologically speaking the physical structure is made up of two halves, from two separate identities. That is the sperm and ovum come together to form one organism, two different and unrelated strands of DNA and the two strands retain separate identities as the brain retains two separate halves joined by another organ, the corpus collosum, that allows communication between the two halves.

At some time in the distant past a predecessor organism contained all four sex chromosomes, XXXy, but when sex evolved dividing chromosome in two the male received one X and the y while the female received the other two Xs, but the three Xs are not identical. So, the male has an X passive right side and the active sperm left side of the brain, hence the celebrated feminine side to the male personality.

The female has an active X from the sperm and passive X from the ovum.

The psychoanalysts Freud and Jung at the beginning of the twentieth century then named the ovum side of the brain the Anima and the left the Animus. So really the individual whether male or female has the elements of a dual personality.

This fact has always been recognized being frequently portrayed in literature although usually unconsciously. The first representation, although the exponents weren’t aware of the source was the opposition of God and Satan, Good vs. Evil impulses. There was a conflict between the wish to be good and the reality of being evil. This was a psychological problem that had to be explained; thus the serpent in the Garden of Eden story and also that of Lucifer being kicked out of heaven. Thus early civilized man explored the nature of psychology.

Certainly in my early life the whole notion of God and Satan was relegated to the realm of fable. By the beginning of the nineteenth century in the Western world and the Western world only biology became a source of explanation thus the story of ETA Hoffmann, The Princess Brambilla that is a discussion of the Anima and Animus.

Perhaps the most famous dual personality story of the nineteenth century was Robert Louis Stevenson’s Dr. Jekyll And Mr. Hyde. A story that concerns two aspects of the Animus. In Stevenson’s story Dr. Jekyll has suppressed a wild aspect of his Animus by emphasizing a respectable persona that he needed to succeed in the world as a physician. However Jekyll longed for the rough and rowdy days of his youth represented by the other person of Mr. Hyde. Hyde, to say the least, was uncivilized.

The repression of Hyde was so strong that Jekyll couldn’t indulge him. This being the golden age of science, while Jekyll was the experimental sort, he discovered a potion or drug that temporarily released the Hyde persona of his Animus or Ego. This was fine except for with each repeated dosage Hyde become more obstreperous finally indulging his passions in murder. He was on his way to becoming a serial killer.

Now with police hot on his trail Hyde took the antidote to turn himself back into Jekyll but alas he found the little abyss back too wide to jump over. He had become his opposite.

Stevenson’s little novelette became one of the most influential books of the twentieth century. Without fully understanding it the cat was out of the bag although it came in many different colors.

Perhaps one of the most interesting investigations was that proposed by the American writer, the great Edgar Rice Burroughs. He created one of the fundamental characters of the twentieth century, the great man beast, Tarzan Of The Apes.

Burroughs himself was entranced by Stevenson’s Jekyll and Hyde. The idea of a dual personality had a great appeal to him. Of course the novelette was new at the time presenting a startling idea. Psychology, specifically psycho-analysis, presented startling findings to the public that had to be absorbed but couldn’t or wouldn’t be absorbed for fifty years or more and then by the chosen few. Burroughs also had a great interest in psychology.

Concurrent with these developments was the newly risen conflict between civilization and the primitive with their conflicting demands on the perplexed mind of humanity. The notion was, especially propounded by the anthropologist James G. Frazer in his multi-volume The Golden Bough was his vision that the primitive mind was overlain only by ‘a thin veneer of civilization.’ Scratch a civilized man and the primitive beast beneath would emerge, not too unlike Jekyll and Hyde.

Influencing Burroughs alongside these was Darwin’s theory of evolution. Mixed and shaken well what came out of Burrough’s mind was Tarzan of the Apes.

As a ‘true’ story of course the novel is preposterous. Generally speaking the literati rejected the novel for its obvious impossibility refusing to see the allegory of the times which it was. The story is beautiful in a mythological way.

Tarzan was a thoroughly divided man just as was his model Stephenson’s Jekyll and Hyde. No less preposterous I might add. If you set a matrix over the two stories they are the same. Burroughs himself had two personalities and he believed that all people did to a greater or lesser degree, correctly as it would seem.

Thus Tarzan or John Clayton, Lord Greystoke to give him his real name and title was born an English aristocrat on a voyage to Africa. Pirates seized their ship depositing them on the coast of Gabon just below the falls of the Congo. A tribe of great apes, more resembling the Missing Link than any known species assaulted the homestead of the man, wife and child castaways killing the mother and father. The son would have been killed by the great bull ape except that a female named Kala who had just lost an infant snatched the babe from the cradle running away with it and defying anyone to harm it.

Thus the human Tarzan became a feral child raised as a beast among the Great Apes without acquiring the thin veneer of civilization. However an Englishman to the bone, a member of the greatest race of the human species, was always an Englishman no matter what the circumstances. His parents humble but well constructed cabin weathers the elements for a decade or so until Tarzan discovers it and enters to find it well supplied with children’s books thoughtfully brought by his expectant real mother. He thus discovers that he is not a funny looking ape but something else altogether. As the picture showed a boy and conveniently put the letters B-O-Y beneath it cleverly putting picture to type or two and two make four as we say he learned that the was a boy.

Teaching himself to read using the convenient dictionary his pop brought along he acquires the thinnest veneer of civilization. Probably learned chemical formulae from dad’s convenient chemistry text book although that is mere speculation on my part. At that point he acquired a dual personality. He was both a beast and a semi-civilized man. However he prefers the skimpiest loin cloth with tails hanging down front and back to the most luxurious tuxedo.

That’s the way Edgar Rice Burroughs rewrote Stephenson’s Jekyll and Hyde while integrating the latest and most advanced ideas of his times. Altogether an excellent intellectual achievement.

Stephenson’s idea wasn’t exhausted by Burroughs’ treatment. Indeed, the idea became a staple of at least pulp literature. I’m not going to trouble you with an exhaustive study but here’s a few highlights that are very interesting. The idea of the hero with a day job and an after dark avocation had taken root.

We have The Shadow of Maxwell Grant. Not just a couple dozen novels as with Burroughs’ Tarzan but well over three hundred of them. Grant was a magician. No, really. He was a practicing magician, as such he undoubtedly had an interest in hypnotism. Grant said that The Shadow had the power to cloud men’s minds so that he was invisible. That’s hypnotism and there are many more evidences in the novels.

As with Burroughs’ Tarzan some fans come from print others through other media. By 1930 when The Shadow appears the other media includes, movies, radio and comics that had come into existence. However the characters created by the movies and other media were much different than what issued from the minds of Burroughs or Grant. (Real name Walter Gibson.)

Thus Grant’s Shadow is composed of interesting dualities. On the macro level The Shadow represents the Godly mind while the evil criminals he destroys are in the Satanic mold. The Shadow might even be construed as Godliness’ last stand. The Satanic model would increase in dominance until in 1966 Time Magazine blazoned its cover in black and white with the question Is God Dead? That was quite shocking tearing the fabric of society.

In that same year the Jew Ira Levin published his novel Rosemary’s Baby telling of the birth of Satan’s child, Little Andy. The novel was followed by the Jew Roman Polanski’s horrific film of the same name in 1968 as the Satanic side of the human mind replaced the Godly. From Rosemary’s Baby flowed the Charles Manson murders. It’s been hell since.

On the micro level The Shadow himself was the alter ego of a man named Kent Allard who in vampire fashion assumed the identity of Lamont Cranston. We at the time knew only of the radio Shadow and Cranston. In the novel Allard faked his death in South America removing all traces of his existence. Returning to New York he terrorized his lookalike Lamont Cranston into allowing Allard to operate in his identity while sending Cranston overseas. Thus by day Cranston was a playboy around town and at night he was The Shadow, a vigilante fighting evil. It seems that it would be difficult to be a playboy without a nightlife but Allard/Cranston managed it. The Shadow is an integral part of my own mentality, perhaps in opposition to the evil William C. Gaines.

By the late thirties Burroughs and Grant were spawning all kinds of imitators. While comic strips in newspapers had existed since the turn of the century comic books came into existence in the mid-thirties giving whole new dimensions to the dual personality. Comic books as we know them were created by the character Superman in 1938 first in Action Comics and then in his own name.

The comic book was wholly a creation of Jewish talents pushing a Jewish agenda. As such, whether we knew it or not the comics reflected the Jewish view of life or Weltanschauung. The Jews have been described as a peculiar people and indeed their history confirms the evaluation. The Kent Allard/Lamont Cranston/Shadow triumvirate more or less sums up the Jewish experience.

Twentieth Century US experience in which I lived most of my life was one of discovery for me. In my childhood that followed the death camps of WWII I never actually knew a Jew as a Jew. Like Kent Allard they had merged into a new disguise that for a novice or even experienced person was extremely difficult to penetrate. I knew they existed because I read about them and there was a synagogue in one of the most conspicuous places in town while the only Jew that identified as a Jew was called Sheeny Sheyer and he was a haberdasher. Beyond that I scarcely knew Jews existed until the really big 1958 Holocaust fest show. That was my introduction. Since then, of course, Judaism has been one of the central thread of my studies.

Jews have developed the dual identity into an art form. As the saying goes: Sometimes they don’t know who they are.

As they are living in other people’s countries, since 1800 they have tried to adapt by adopting local haberdashery while adopting personal names in the local manner. Of course in mid-nineteenth century European population pressures compelled the State to order their peoples to assume last names, just as in our day population pressures have forced the adoption of a unique number to identify the specific individual. Thus there might be umpteen John Smiths in the US but you have to have the right number to identify your John Smith.

In the Jewish case a man might have gone by the name of Isaac Ben Abraham, that is Isaac, the son of Abraham. Under the new system he had to choose a last name. The Jews usually named themselves after articles of value or distinction. Hence all the variants of Gold, Silver and precious stones. Isaac Ben Abraham might become Isaac Goldbladder or Isaac Silvermaster or, Perhaps Heinrich Heine. Going into the twentieth century then all Westerners had a first and last name and any number of intervening names their parents might choose.

As most of these names were either German or Russian upon coming to the US many chose to translate the name into English; thus Sumner Rothstein became Sumner Redstone. Sumner itself being considered an assimilative name. David and Michael are the most popular Jewish first names. Some, like Edward G. Robinson the actor, anglicized their name more completely, his European name being Emmanuel Goldenberg (Gold Mountain.) Behind that not unlike Lamont Cranston who might have been Kent Allard was a Hebrew name and that was his real identity. So a Jew automatically had a dual identity, his public name by which he was known at large and the name with which he was registered as a Jew.

On might say then that he was always in disguise in the broad world, a secret foreign agent reporting, as it were, to the synagogue. His people came first before his ‘adopted’ country. This is a source of much confusion to non-Jews while Jews lie when they say their ‘adopted’ country is their first loyalty. Interesting that they adopt a country but the country doesn’t adopt them.

When comic books were developed in the mid-thirties they were almost exclusively Jewish hence expressing the Jewish Weltanschauung. All the characters had dual identities.

Thus Superman migrated from the planet Krypton and ‘adopted’ Earth as his chosen planet. His Krypton identity was Superman while his earthly identity was the wimpish Clark Kent. Capt. America was the Jewish identity while Steve Rogers was his goyish identity. And this continued with the comic book characters Batman and Robin identities.

Now, the Jew has always felt inferior to the other; Cain was the big strong other while Abel was the lesser younger brother. Clark Kent was a weak human while the Jewish Superman was a powerful extra-terrestrial. Steve Rogers was a 98 lb. weakling while Capt. America while lacking true super powers certainly outperformed human beings.

The creators of these characters mostly anglicized their names, Jack Kirby, Stan Lee, but not all. So these people had multiple real identities. When you think about it, it is fairly incredible.

When the super characters began playing out in the post-war years the publishers had to search for new themes and they tried everything settling finally into crime but then as Crime Does Not Pay William C. Gaines finally hit the main vein with sado-masochistic horror comics, thus Weird Tales and Tales From The Crypt et al..

That’s where I came in and leave off. I was surprised to find myself ruminating on this subject like this especially as I am beginning to find movement in my brain that signifies some sort of development. When I hit seventy-five I began to notice subtle brain changes followed by electrical discharges the significance of which I am just now understanding. So, I felt some changing was coming but I couldn’t tell when. I found out; it was imminent.

-II-

What prompted me to ruminate on dual personalities, the Jekyll and Hyde syndrome, was unknown to me but from the rumblings in my brain I knew something was brewing. Whatever abominable motives I had for coming to New York City were about to out themselves; I sensed that.

I still needed a wardrobe. I had come to the realization that I needed different garb for different situations, that is, essentially, multiple identities. Ragnar was much more familiar with the city and as his time was at my disposal I asked him to show me around some thrift shops; I needed second hand clothing.

I met him at the building’s entrance where we stopped and chatted with Ottmar the doorman for a few minutes. Ragnar gave Ottmar an opportunity to look me over and evaluate me. I put on my maximum gravitas for Ottmar, which I also assumed for the outing with Ragnar. I was sure I passed Ottmar’s test and while I couldn’t be sure I saw that he was tentatively satisfied.

Ragnar was gifted with an almost perfect knowledge of the city’s streets so I let him lead our two man parade. While walking along we passed a wig shop, I guided Ragnar in. The shine was showing through the sparsening hairs on my own head while I had always been fascinated by Andy Warhol’s use of wigs. They were good disguises.

There was a wonderful array of wigs. I picked out a grey one for dignity, a blond one to look vainglorious and a dark one, I suppose for variety but maybe in imitation of Elvis. I was interested in disguising my own paucity of follicles (God, that’s labored, isn’t it?) I can’t bring myself to say bald, but like with Warhol, for effect. An obvious wig draws people’s attention away from your actual appearance making an identification less possible. So, I was three wigs closer to my objective.

Ragnar brought us up to a block or so of thrift shops. I began selecting street clothes. There were any number of styles to choose from, very nearly any time period. Especially since the Great Migration under Obama’s third term, permanent dictatorship actually, one could buy almost any style in the world, naqibs, dashikis, everything.

The ’16 election ended the ‘democracy’ as you well know. God, that was a mess. I was irate when they refused to inaugurate Trump after he had taken a full sixty-five percent of the popular vote and all the electoral votes save New Mexico. We, of what was dubbed the Outsider Party, were irate but the Insider Party small as it was had the fire power and already controlled the apparatus so there was little that could be done in that surprise move.

At least the battle lines were drawn although little in the way of revolt has appeared yet. Some very minor skirmishing in places like Chicago and some Southern cities but nothing unmanageable yet. Remarkably quiet but with a feeling of real tension. Trump had no choice but to go back to New York City. Winning by that margin and being denied his office, of course, exposed the Insiders to the world and the mask did come down, both here and in Europe. Embarrassed the Insiders stripped Trump of his fortune leaving him with a relative pittance, he definitely had to sell his 757.

Even as Trump was returning to New York the Insiders threw down the walls and immigration exploded. They give us five million as the official number but it is probably ten to twenty million judging from the streets of New York which is where millions landed. Speaking as the ghost of John Rocker one doesn’t hear so much dozens of foreign languages but that English seems to be missing.

In an odd turn of events on our journey I noticed ‘scribes’ with tables set up for customers who wanted to send a letter back home but were illiterate. Talk of medieval times; there was no longer an appropriate name for it. I found myself buying strange things. I got a very nice Lubavitcher outfit, also a perfect disguise, weird hat and all for not too much. I picked up a naqib or burka that I thought would be a terrific disguise. You could carry weapons and nearly anything under the voluminous folds without fear of detection. Plus as an apparent woman you were generally ignored, invisible.

I also asked Ragnar to get me a couple handguns. He agreed before he realized what he had admitted but we both let that slide. I have no idea why I thought he could do it nor did I realize why I wanted them. We were fully loaded on the walk back to the condo. Perhaps spurred on by Ragnar’s ability to get guns I asked if he knew martial arts.

‘Oh sure. That was one of the Carmichael’s requirements. I also serve as a bodyguard. I’m Black Belt. Why?’

I wasn’t sure why. ‘You look like you can really handle yourself Ragnar. Good shape, athletic build, just wondered? Work out?

‘Absolutely. I don’t bulk up like a body builder but I’ve put on enough muscle to deal with things, get the right weight you know. May I ask you a few questions?’

‘Sure, go ahead. If they’re discreet.’

‘A friend of mine recognized you from your picture on your web site. He says you’re the writer Partly Wright. True?’

‘Partly Wright Delivers The Truth? Yes, that’s my stuff. Your friend reads me?’

‘He’s on the conservative side and says you lay it out as it is.’

‘That’s my goal Ragnar, that’s my goal. Good to learn somebody else thinks so too. Is your friend political?’

I was trying to find out if Ragnar was part of some secret political organization but I couldn’t come out and ask without seeming nosy.

‘Is your friend in a political set?’ I asked hoping that sounded like a generality.

‘No, we just talk at the gym about things.’

Talk at the gym? OK. There was a possibility. I let the subject drop for the time being as we were approaching the condo. We threw the bundles into the grocery cart as I reminded him to be ready for my first fitting at James Carter.

-III-

I woke up next morning and realized that I was due at James Carter for my initial fitting. I looked forward eagerly to the thought of realizing my desire for a bespoke suit, still, other thoughts crowded my mind. I wondered what my real reason was for being in New York. Yes, I was aware of the good reasons but I sensed subliminal reasons I wasn’t able to articulate. And then there were the brain stirrings that usually preceded some sort of mental adjustment. So far each had been more liberating after the trauma while I believed I had cleared out all of the fixations that had influenced my behavior. At the same time I sensed, or I knew of from study, that there was a level of conditioning that lurked below the subconscious in a sort of basement or foundation of the mind. Perhaps that was stirring. I would soon find out.

Alighting from the limo I was greeted on the sidewalk by the manager, a little too effusively I thought; there was no reason to leave the store. As he escorted me up the stairs to the second floor it hit. The seventh step up I felt, even heard, the brain crunch as I slightly staggered against the rail. Fortunately the manager was ahead of me and didn’t see me lurch or whatever grimace was on my face. I was slightly dazed and mentally unsteady as he brought the lead tailor out to introduce me to him.

I could feel the cold professional appraisal, I knew I was being evaluated for what status I would be assigned.

‘Abe, this is Mr. Partly Wright for whom we will be making several suits’. He said, adding a few suits I hadn’t mentioned as he saw that Abe was giving me a fishy eye bordering on disapproval or even hostility in an effort to forestall any affront by Abe to drive me off.

‘And Partly this is Abraham Goldbladder our tailor and one of the finest in New York’, Abe growled, ‘And anywhere else.’ ‘I’m sure you to will get along swimmingly, won’t you Abe?’

‘I’m sure.’ Abe said glowering at me, sawing the measuring tape across the back of neck a couple times. ‘Partly is it? Come this way and we’ll get started.’

I followed into the work area where Abe turned swiftly and stood glaring at me, uncertain of how to begin.

‘I know who you are Mr. Wright.’ He said sternly. ‘Follow me.’

‘Well,’ I said to myself, ‘This explains who some of the people are who Ragnar noticed following me. It isn’t that I didn’t think The Tribe mightn’t be tagging my movements but this confirmed it, moved my suspicions from paranoia to fact, so to speak.

Abe led through a corridor or two, down backstairs to a door he flung open with an imperative gesture to pass through. I found myself in an alley, a dank smelly alley, narrow and confining. At first I thought that Abe had thrown me out, refusing to serve me but, no, he followed me out and stood confronting me.

‘We know who you are.’ He repeated sternly as though demanding a reply.

I paused a moment gathering my fractured wits about me while trying to assume a commanding but condescending humorously mocking posture. This confrontation would determine the quality of my stay in New York. Abe believed that confronting me in amongst the smelly dumpsters in the alley would be an insult to put me at a disadvantage. Abe had no way of knowing that I had dealt with his tribesmen in a more than somewhat intimate basis in my working years and was quite familiar with Jewish tactics.

I smiled and chuckled at him trying to exude the air that Abe was in his proper habitat and that I was fully aware of it. I did succeed to his obvious discomforture.

‘I’m sure you do, Abe. I’m just surprised that you have finally come out into the open. Am I in your habitat now?’

It was important for me to get the upper. I knew that Abe would try to get me angry while not being able to imagine any other arguments than the Semitic canards that had come down through the ages forming the basis of his peoples’ minds. I therefore imagined myself smoking the avuncular or grandfatherly pipe chuckling quietly at the young one’s impertinence. If I could get Abe steamed so much the better.

Abe flushed a little, losing his edge, when he realized that I had said that he was in his element in the alley amongst those godawful dumpsters.

‘We want to know what you’re here for. What’s up your sleeve?’

‘Oh Abe’, I chuckled, ‘you’re not going to lay that paranoid trip on me are you? Do you fear the other that much?’

‘Fear what other?’ He said, jutting out his jaw a trifle. ‘We aren’t afraid of anyone.’

‘Oh Abe, you know, the ever present fearsome anti-Semite. Those you have to shut down and silence by any means necessary.’ I took an imaginary draw on my imaginary pipe to keep a steady low.

‘We know from your writings that you’re an anti-Semite Wright, the lowest form of scum on the planet.’

‘By ‘we’ I presume you’re including the American Jewish Committee and Anti-Defamation League, possibly the SPLC, Abe?’

He snorted non-committally refusing to answer.

‘Only in the Jewish mind, Abe.’ I replied to his question with a smile and a knowing laugh. ‘Anti-Semitism is only Jewish fear of the other in action. You just can’t face who you are; any criticism smarts so bad because it tells you the truth about yourselves. The truth is that Jews always live in societies that are superior to you and that clashes so furiously with your fantasies of superiority that it drives you mad.

There is evidence. Consider the Jews transported from a relatively primitive backwater town like Jerusalem to the stupendous magnificence of Babylon. The Jewish imagination was dwarfed. Thus you have madmen like Isaiah and Ezekiel proclaiming Jewish superiority and opening the gates to the Persians.

The same scenario has been repeated ad infinitum throughout history including your opening the doors of the United States to unlimited diverse immigration. That’s the same thing as opening Babylon’s doors to the Persians or Spanish doors to the Moors not to mention then opening Moorish doors to the Spaniards. It is incontestable Abe.

Jewish frustration erupts into mass murder. The Jews attempted to compete with and subject the Roman Empire. That ended in the complete destruction of Israel and the leveling of Jerusalem and the Temple. Undismayed your people continued the war finally erupting at the beginning of the second century murdering half a million people in Alexandria and Cyprus under the most barbaric conditions. A true crime against humanity.

The result of that episode was a manhunt to destroy any and all Jews. Sixteen hundred years later after the resulting collapse of civilization your Jews again thought to kill all Europeans. Sabbatai Zevi posing as a messiah thought to usher in the millennium in 1666. Your Jews in Europe were selling their possessions for peanuts to have a last fling as money wouldn’t matter after the redemption. The redemption failed and the Jewish revolt never happened.

I’m skipping over a great deal Abe, just the highlights now. Then in 1914 you instigated the Great European Holocaust that after the terrible wars from ’14 to ’45 has continued to today when you have refused to seat the elected presidential candidate Donald Trump.’

Here Abe lost control a little, I was succeeding. ‘That was only social justice. I’m sure you know that in 1920 five elected Jewish representatives to the New York legislature were refused their seats and sent back to New York City.’

‘Not because they were Jewish Abe, because they were Socialists.’

‘What’s the difference?’ Abe let slip.

‘In answer to your question, none.’ I laughed as merrily as I could without seeming forced. I had admired a lesson Marshall McLuhan had given to Tim Leary in the Sixties of the old century that when confronted by hecklers the best reproof was to just open your mouth and laugh them off. Drives them crazy and it seemed to effect Abe that way who should have known better with his age and experience.

‘But the situations are not comparable Abe. Of course with the elected candidate refused we still needed a president. Hillary, the defeated candidate was not possible and there were no alternates legally available so you people set aside all law, all precedent and said Obama would continue as president for life. And then you had the gall to get your three Jewish representatives on the Supreme Court to declare it constitutional. Fourteenth Amendment my ass.’

‘That was a problem that had nothing to do with we Jews.’

‘One thousand Rabbis said otherwise Abe. Deny as you will. Then out of sheer malice you destroyed Trump. Stripped him of everything for having defied you. Took everything, even renamed Trump Towers the Goldman Towers. Don’t know why you left the other half of the name off. Everyone knows who Obama’s boss is.

So, really Abe, I’ve got your number, you don’t have mine. I know you, you know me. I’m just here to get some clothes because your company reminds me of Eric Ross. It gives me some continuity. You’re going to have to make my suits for me.’

So saying l slipped inside the door quickly throwing the dead bolt. Abe hammered and shouted to no effect. Accepting the inevitable he walked the length of the dark smelly alley emerging into the light to the amusement of those watching. Abe’s planned humiliation of me turned back on him.

Abe had a short discussion with his manager but as there would be a fair amount of money involved he accepted his fate and began my first fitting.

I had won this one but the strain told on me. My head was rattling as Ragnar drove me back to the condo. I felt uneasy if not outright sick while the laughter in my head I had experienced in the alley came back.

Ottmar smiled me in and the elevator wait seemed interminable before I got the he thirty-first floor and all the door locks unlocked, rushing into the bedroom to leap into bed. I had just pulled the covers to my chin when I heard that low chuckle and a voice say ‘Hello.’ There was no one there but the voice went on: ‘Hello. Yes it’s me. It’s Gaines.’

‘Gaines? Who the hell is Gaines?’ I found my mind answering.

‘You remember me. Gaines? The comic books? Tales From The Crypt, Weird Tales? Remember? I’m why you came to New York.’

‘Gaines?’ Oh, I know what has happened. My own personal Mr. Hyde has shown up. I had acquired a dual identity. ‘I just want to sleep Gaines. Come back later.’ He did cease and I dropped into a fitful sleep.

Continued in Clip Three.

Part I: Vampyres Of New York

 

 

The Vampyres Of New York

A Novel

By

R.E. Prindle

Clip I

 

The years add up. It was when my total was approaching eighty that I took stock of my life. All the things I had put off to some distant future now loomed important as I now realized I was in the only future I had left. The future was limited. Any day now in all probability.

I had been dissatisfied with my appearance for some time. Time had passed and I hadn’t kept up with it. I was dressing as I had thirty or forty years ago. It was time to invent a new persona, get a new haircut, buy some new clothes. As improbable as it may seem I fixed on the persona of Cary Grant as he appeared in the old fifties movie To Catch A Thief. Of course my looks were nowhere near Cary Grant’s at that time still I was slender and not totally homely, besides clothes make the man and you can buy clothes. I offed to LA in pursuit of the perfect garb.

While I found the perfect outfit, plaid jacket, a couple pair of pants and a cravat I did take what would turn out to be a short sighted view. I should have selected a wardrobe rather than an outfit. Nevertheless as I returned home I thought I was passable. It would take a while to get comfortable in the new persona but I thought the cat was in the bag and the bag was in the river. I was passable for the old hometown but I had my sights set on New York City.

I had always wanted to spend a year in NYC and environs to enjoy all the cultural attractions. The Sixties in which period I had devised the desire no longer represented The Big Bagel as some people now call it. Then in that impoverished city you could rent a loft of 3000 square feet for fifty dollars a month not only in a deserted building but a whole dilapidated neighborhood. Today in the same areas condominiums are going for tens even hundreds of millions of dollars. Whole neighborhoods have been razed to build enormous buildings. There was that expense I now had to consider. An apartment in a building I considered suitable might go for anything from fifteen to twenty-five thousand dollars a month. While I was not exactly down to my uppers I quailed to think of spending possibly three hundred thousand dollars for a year’s worth of shelter. Call me a piker.

I’d rather abandon that particular item on my bucket list but then I remembered that some people needed house sitters while they were off perhaps on an extended tour of the world. I didn’t think there was much of a chance but I contacted an online agency, filled out the forms and much to my surprise was advised of a situation a month later. Six weeks after that I was on a flight to The Big Apple, as some other people express it. Imagine fortune smiling on me like that.

And believe me fortune was smiling. I had previously emailed a photo of me dressed for the occasion and had received a photo of the guy who would meet me at the airport. A wise precaution as it turned out. Leaving the plane the driver and I quickly spotted each other but also waiting to greet me was a guy holding a sign that said Partly Wright. I don’t know he was but I’ll explain later. Unless I forget.

My driver was a big fellow who looked like he might have had past. He took my carry on which was all I had; at that moment I realized how ill prepared I was for a year’s stay. What was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking anything, I had subconscious motives as it turned out. The driver, Ragnar, led me out to one of those white stretch limousines about thirty feet long. I was the sole occupant in this huge room complete with bar and TV both ofwhich I ignored.

Arriving in the Tribeca neighborhood the limo stopped in front of a forty story condominium building. I knew from the pictures I’d received that the apartment was luxurious but the reality of the building was daunting, massive, all marble. Ragnar passed me by the doorman and the elevator carried me to the gold painted door on the thirty-first floor. Long grocery haul I thought.

Squaring myself away as we said in the Navy I pressed the button.

In the old days there would have been a peephole but now three separate cameras scanned the hallway to ensure the way was clear. Need I say the photos did not do justice to the apartment? This was splendor. Obviously done by an interior decorator. The ensemble was spectacular, a large entry and living room in quiet warm earth tones, splendid artworks, abstracts, decorated the walls. Lining the long wall was a magnificent library, floor to ceiling shelves with a little rolling ladder. No kidding. Windows looked out over the bay to the East and the views of the Hudson and the wastes of New Jersey to the South were spectacular.

Dazzled beyond comprehension I was only vaguely aware of answering the usual questions about the flight while as it was now six-thirty in the evening I was politely shown to a bedroom to clean up and relax a bit as dinner was to be served at seven-thirty. This respite was much needed as I was somewhat dazed by my marvelous even unbelievable situation. Freshened and somewhat less dazed I took my assigned seat at table.

The condo itself must have cost the Carmichael’s tens millions of dollars. That I was going to live there a year for free flabbergasted me. The table at which we were sitting was an absolute work of art such as would have satisfied royal tastes throughout the ages. The graceful chairs were a delight to sit in. Contrasting those were a plain white setting made in China that appeared to come from Restoration Hardware or Williams-Sonoma; in fact I know they did because I had an identical set at home. Rather strange I thought.

As I sat staring at the original of Columbus Discovering America I knew I was in the home of intellectual wild men. Perhaps my eyes were open too wide because the mistress of the table, perhaps some reincarnation of the goddess Diana the Huntress in the disguise in which she entombed the father of us all, Merlin, asked: Is something wrong Mr. Wright?

‘Oh, no, no, ‘Mrs. Carmichael, I replied quickly, just a little giddy from the long flight. You know how they pack us in these days. If you like you can call me Perry which is what I’m known by instead of Partly or Mr. Wright. Mother had a sense of humor that used to entertain us all.’

‘I know all about that, Perry. My given name is Lady, which I do go by, Lady Margaret Carmichael in full that leads to some amusing situations, and this is my husband Miles. This gentleman here is our friend Lessing Farquhar. We hope you’ll both be friends.’

‘Oh, I’m sure…’

‘You must be wondering why we chose you to housesit during our absence?’

‘Well, Lady, I was born in the bottom of a wishing well; I just figured my wish was granted. Sometimes the gods do favor us as I’m sure you know. But apart from that what were your and Miles reasons?’

Farquhar let out a little smarting laugh, ‘Perhaps you thought you’d died and entered Valhalla?’

‘Something like that. Was it my charming picture?’

‘That too. But the three of us are historians or amateurs at least. Would it surprise you to know we’ve read your writings on your blog?’

‘Not surprise, but shock. I do have a couple million reads so somebody must have keyed in but one never knows who. It is only occasionally someone lets drop a hint that they may have; very seldom does anyone own up to it.’

‘You have a couple million reads?’ Farquhar asked surprised.

‘Yes, and what is gratifying is that my audience is thoroughly educated as T.E. Wogglebug characterized himself. A metric company, Quantcast, that keeps track of these things places my post-grad readership at between 160-220 percent of normal while grads are about 120-150 of normal. I was somewhat astonished at that. So while shocked or perhaps amazed that you have read something not really surprised. Gratified however.’

‘Judging from your writings you are certainly well read. May I ask what sort of education you have?’

‘Oh sure. I interpret education in the broadest sense. As to formal education, High School in ’56, college at California State College, Hayward- now California State University East Bay- some graduate work at UC Berkeley and the University of Oregon but no advanced degrees. I found college useless although I did learn what I was supposed to do, that is, the method. I know how to progress around the bases.

But my real education, baseball cards, stamp collecting, comic books, sci-fi and all that, took place outside bricks and mortar school. Probably the most influential source was that of comic books although I am unable to say what it is I learned. Some I can, but mostly not. My comic book education took place from after WWII to just after 1950 when I was force weaned.

If you know anything about comics you know William C. Gaines EC comics. Originally EC stood for Educational Comics but after Gaines introduced the horrid Tales From The Crypt genre he changed the initials to mean equally preposterously, Entertaining Comics. They were horrid. They blasted my brain. I could hear and feel the crunch. Those comics were evil. While reading one I said to myself: They shouldn’t let us little kids read this stuff. But I stood in line for the next month’s issue down at the magazine store. I didn’t realize it then but the store was a venue for what passed as pornography at the time. Do gooders were there to tell us we shouldn’t read comics. We knew it but we didn’t care.

Educational bits and pieces. The comics were almost wholly a Jewish operation. Gaines himself was Jewish although he has an Anglo name. All his artists, writers and inkers and whatever were Jewish too although most assumed Anglo names. Not being aware from seven to eleven when I read this stuff I had no idea of how Jewish comics were. I recently reviewed an issue of my favorite, Plastic Man, on the internet and was astonished to see that he was a thoroughly Jewish hero. I had no idea. Still it was somewhat disguised, nowadays, in the new comics like the X-Men the heros flaunt their Jewishness. Superman in retrospect was also very Jewish.

But as I say the horror comics, Tales From The Crypt, Weird Tales and that ilk transfigured my brain. It was only two years ago that I realized the negative influence of Gaines and his filth. I still don’t understand how I reacted.’

Farquhar interjected: ‘That’s interesting. Problems? What sort of problems were you having?’

‘Mostly pressures in the head. Not headaches, from which I have never suffered, but pressures; an awareness of the perimeter of my brain, knots and twists in my brain. For a longtime a big knot over my ear, right side of my brain. Then later it crossed over to the active or left side. I had serious electrical discharges.’

‘And you believe this came from EC Comics?’

‘I don’t believe it, I know it.’

‘Well, Lessing is it?, after a few decades these issues came to a head, after an attack two years ago I unraveled the mystery in a dream so that the cause having been recognized the symptoms disappeared. I am now free of EC, or think I am. I don’t know that I can ever get it out of mind.’

‘That’s rather extraordinary isn’t it?’

‘Not really. Basic Freudian psycho-analysis runs through the version of self- analysis of the much despised Emile Coue. Coue was the ‘I’m getting better every day in every way.’ guy. Much misunderstood.   It was just really buried, not so much a fixation as a state of mind. When my brain crunched, which is what I suppose the knots symbolized it just took decades of probing to get at them.’

‘It’s amazing you could do that.’

‘Maybe. But a few decades ago I read The Divine Pymander of Hermes an ancient self help book in which the demon Poimander approaches the scholar just as he is about to enter the dream state. Poimander introduces himself to the near sleeping scholarly inquirer to advise him that he is there to help. He will show the scholar what he wants to know. All the scholar has to do is keep in mind what he wants to know and Poimander will guide him to it.

This is essentially Coue’s process. Access the subconscious so that it is working in the direction you want it to. The power of positive thinking of, I believe, Bishop Sheen in the fifties. For instance I wanted to remember a girl’s name from high school and it was completely blocked. I could look at her picture in the high school year book and not recognize her. Then one morning coming out of the last sleep or dozing, a little bar like from a slot machine dropped in front of eyes with the name Donna Meininger in black and white. Doesn’t always work quickly but it works.’

‘Freud was a very clever man but I still find psycho-analysis distasteful. Freud should never have invented it.’

‘Actually Freud didn’t invent it, he collated it from numerous sources while giving it his peculiar cast. He systematized long known ideas. He was extremely well read in is chosen field. He was of the German culture so he had access to all the Romantic writers in the German language. The Germans were miles ahead of anyone else except for possibly the French. A universal prejudice against the Germans prevents the translation of much of German literature.

But who I consider one of the greatest writers, E.T.A. Hoffmann was a very astute psychologist from whom Freud appropriated wholesale.’

At this point I saw Farquhar’s ears perk up.

‘Freud himself read Hoffmann as he refers to him and I’m sure he read a great deal of his work giving him much food for thought. The West, and here by West I mean the US, France and England, doesn’t appreciate Hoffmann the way it should as we have only translations of a few of his more bizarre tales. A couple things have appeared or have been reprinted recently such as The Devil’s Elixers and the Serapion Brethren that are truly breathtaking, especially The Serapion Brethren. Astonishing grasp of psychology.’

Farquhar: ‘You’re a great admirer of Hoffmann then?’

‘Oh yes, but to continue. Freud was central to understanding the fifties and beyond but the fifties especially. I was not fully aware of that at the time being too young and dumb but since. After comic books as an educational influence came the influence of movies, records and finally TV. The movies of the fifties were obsessed with the hysterical fear of alien attacks from outer space. This was obviously influenced by the nuclear race. All sorts of monsters freed from the Freudian Id arose to confront us. We all knew and loved The Creature From The Black Lagoon, also the giant carrot that came from outer space.

The basic pornography of the comic books, and they were nearly pure porn, became invasive and more influential. Every week was a new challenge. As I had been immersed in comic books I became immersed in science fiction, both movies and print. And sci-fi was great stuff. Bradbury and Heinlein were my big stars in books although I read so much stuff I couldn’t tell you who the authors were. In movies Richard Matheson’s The Incredible Shrinking Man was really astonishing, life changing. I gave up on sci-fi after reading Williams Tenn’s amazing stories. At that point I decided sci-fi was just a waste of time.

Nevertheless the earlier influence of comics was immeasurably strengthened. This whole comics, sci-fi was shatteringly presented and encapsulated by a real lie ‘sci-fi- event in late 1958 that really cracked my brain while causing deep resentment against a society that would do such a thing.

I think you people may be old enough to remember if you haven’t blocked it out. It will come back to you if you did see it. Israel had been established and the ’56 Israeli and Arab war had been fought and won by the Jews. Ever paranoid they undoubtedly feared an adverse reaction or, as they put it, a rise in anti-Semitism. For some reason the Jews found their casualties as the hands of both the Germans and Soviets unjust. Unable to resist the Soviets and under whose control they were they concentrated on the German camps naming it a holocaust.

On a certain Saturday night in November as I remember they commandeered all the TV networks and independent stations countrywide so that no one could escape watching it other than turning off their sets which solution I’m sure occurred to nobody. They then showed scenes from the camps that I’ve never seen since. Totally emaciated nude bodies were piled into a small mountain perhaps thirty feet high and maybe a hundred feet long, I’m working from memory. A Caterpillar was then fired up belching black smoke as the blade moved into this huge pile. What the intent of the driver was I don’t know as it didn’t seem possible the driver could move such a huge mass while the bodies would have tumbled down on the driver’s head. This was truly horrific, exceeding Tales From The Crypt by a factor of at least ten and it made the same impression on me as EC’s tales when I was eight and nine.

In some strange way that viewing closed off my early education and I began the current phase.

Perhaps the generation to which I belonged that was raised on those vile comic books began to come of age in the Sixties so that movies have come to more and more resemble those comic books of William C. Gaines. I suppose in some weird ways those comics were a major influence informing US history since. Unfortunately I haven’t determined the exact effect they had on me since as I think the effects were deeply subliminal.

So, there you have it the basis of my education, everything since is just accumulating knowledge.

Farquhar: ‘My mother wouldn’t let me read comic books so I have no ability to grasp their psychological effect.’

Miles: My mother also. As I remember parents were virtually united in opposing them. I’m surprised your mother let you read them.’

‘She didn’t Miles. I was in the orphanage in my top reading years and beyond her or anyone else’s control. Within very elastic limits I did what I chose. As an orphan I rejected anyone’s authority and that was almost complete. I roamed and investigated. I was completely independent; almost no supervision. I would brook no interference and there was little compulsion although I was feared and hated by the house mothers. I was as free as I’ve ever been except for maybe now.

When my mother remarried she threw away my two foot pile of comic books for which I have never forgiven her.’

All three people were staring at me for some reason. Finally Lady spoke: ‘For all that you don’t seem to show any ill effects. You are certainly well mannered.’

I realized then that I had probably said more than I need have since all I was asked essentially was whether I had a college degree and from where. ‘No matter,’ I said, ‘Be that as it may. Between comics and Freudian psychology I’ve been able to put things in order. Poimander, so to speak, has shown me the way. I expect to enjoy New York immensely.’

It was now fairly late and as I was running on West Coast time I was getting fairly tired while it showed. I was shown to my room and very gratefully dropped off to sleep immediately between very high quality sheets. It was bliss.

-II-

Having now climbed part way up the mountain I had set myself from youth at the age of eighty I had reached a plateau. I luxuriated myself in bed until after ten then got up and shaved and showered feeling somewhat like a new man. This year was going to be my year.

Emerging from my room, itself decorated with beautiful pictures I emerged into the glorious light flooded living room with its wonderful, actually, picture gallery. I was luxuriating in this glow when Lady and Miles entered the room.

‘Good morning Perry.’ They said in unison.

I felt so good. I broke into a big smile quite uncharacteristically and gave them as good as I got with a bright cheery hello to both. I did feel good for perhaps only the second time in my life and I’ve forgotten the first, all weights were lifted from my shoulders.

Lady and Miles explained that they too were fulfilling a lifelong dream of spending a year in Europe pointing out the delights they expected to find. Shifting to me they pointed out many features of New York that I might not have found myself but sad to say as my year was to progress differently than I had planned I never visited any of them.

I gave some indication of my intentions most of which I never fulfilled while reassuring them that their apartment was in good hands. I assured them I intended to have no visitors as I wanted as few as possible to know where I lived so that they need have no fears.

After viewing the great library with them both I was taken downstairs to be introduced to Ottmar the doorman. Little did he know that his life was about to enter a new phase. He looked fiercely protective of his domain which pleased me greatly. Nothing like a good bulldog to keep the strays away.

Surprisingly they offered me the services of their chauffeur Ragnar and the accompanying limousine as they wanted to keep him employed so as not to lose him to someone else in their absence. I gratefully accepted. Ragnar too was about to enter the Twilight Zone. Free rent and transportation, there was a lifelong dream realized, was more than could be expected. And so the next morning my benefactors, for what else could they be, left for the delights of Europe such as they might be in this age of foreign invasion and I was left alone in my own little paradise.

I spent the rest of the day at home relaxing, ordering my mind and browsing the wonderful library. As Lady, Miles and I were roughly the same age I had most of the classics they did although their editions were much finer than mine. There was a nice selection of history and picture books, really nice art stuff, so I just put my feet up and loafed and loafed. It really felt good. Lord, what a wonderful feeling. May you have such joy yourself.

On Saturday, that is the next day, I called Ragnar to bring his limo around and had him drive me up to the Met to view some more pictures and objets d’art.

Ragnar along with Ottmar were both Germans which pleased me greatly. Ottmar was older and more regal but with a very fine mind while Ragnar, somewhere, over thirty, was harder looking, seeming to more on the qui vive, perhaps a little shady. We hadn’t much to say at the moment as I was twenty-five feet away in the back and he was behind the wheel. I preferred it that way. It gave me time to think. We would become more familiar but enough for now.

Ragnar pulled up in front of the Met walking back to open the door for me. I could have popped out myself and preferred to but I thought it best to give myself maximum gravitas and maintain appearances. After all, this was New York City. I can tell you I got great respect emerging from a limo especially as I was dressed in my new persona of grey slacks (when was the last time you heard pants referred to as slacks?) green plaid jacket and princely cravat. I smiled around benignly at the gapers and mounted the steps.

The museum while not crowded was busy and I drifted from gallery to gallery in a sort of fugue or dream state. I hadn’t become blasé so soon. I had stopped without thinking before a Claude landscape. My gaze was directed at it but almost in a state of self-hypnosis as my mind was occupied with other thoughts. I wasn’t really seeing anything when a voice as though from a dense fog came to my left ear: ‘Well, Partly Wright unless I’m mistaken.’

Startled at being recognized I turned to see Lessing Farquhar. I stammered, searching for his name as Lessing popped into my mind. ‘Lessing, hello, what a coincidence.’

‘Not really, Perry, I saw Ragnar and the limo on the street. He told me you were here. I’ve been wanting to talk to you so I popped in.’

‘And you found me. I presume you no longer work, then?’

‘No, thank the gods, no. I chucked that a few years ago. I made enough, especially in my thirties and forties and have had a couple nice inheritances since so I have no need for a job and no regrets about it. Lawyering wasn’t that much fun, anyway. I take it you no longer have your shoulder to the wheel?’

‘Not remuneratively and not that wheel but I do my best to help struggling humanity along. Being above the fray gives you a better perspective. I just study and write; keep up the blog.’

‘Seeing the shape the world is in it doesn’t seem you’re having much luck with your endeavors.’

‘I haven’t effected any major changes yet but I may have had some success moving things forward, changing attitudes.’

‘A bold claim. How’s that?’

‘Well, Lessing, you know that a few years back, a decade or so. The savage Liberals were raging unobstructed as very few seemed to realize the true situation what with Ignatiev calling for the extermination of Whites without a dissenting voice. I was if not the first, one of the first, taking him seriously and sounding the alarm. Over the succeeding period I’ve been ahead of the curve in exposing and denouncing the Liberal agenda. Today it seems that a new awareness, consciousness, of what is being propagated has developed and that consciousness seems to reflect the attitude I’ve been trying to foment so I think, I hope, that my voice on the voter has not been without effect.’

‘Just you and your computer, is that it? I’ve found your site interesting myself. Do you have many readers?’

‘I’ve got a couple million reads over the decade I’ve been writing plus a lot of my stuff gets republished on other sites so I have no idea of my true reads. Suffice it to say I seem to see ideas reflected. If you’re a reader Lessing I’d have to consider myself a success.’

‘Actually, Perry, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I was interested to learn that you’re an E.T.A. Hoffman reader, especially The Serapion Brethren. I’ve been enchanted by the book myself, so much so that I’ve been organizing a New Serapion Brethren. I have myself and two others. I thought you might be interested in joining us. Instead of writing stories we’re studying history and trying to trace the back stories, the things that get overlooked behind the printed histories. Do you think you might be interested?’

‘I’d be very interested, Lessing, and flattered by the invitation. I’m in accord. You know how I think as you’ve read my stuff so you know the byways I search. No surprises? So, yes.’

‘Excellent, Perry, excellent. I’ll give you a call for our next meeting that should be a couple weeks from now. I have to go now, have some things to do. Expect a call tonight or tomorrow. ‘Till then.’

And Lessing got up and walked away. Wonderful, there was nothing I wanted more than congenial company to discuss the weighty problems.

After spending a pleasant afternoon touring the Met I went back to my digs, don’t you love calling a thirty million dollar condo, digs? I sure as heck do. Be that as it may I went ‘home’ to plan my next moves.

-III-

I spent that Sunday sitting looking out the floor to ceiling windows at the light dancing off the waters and boat traffic drifting around. I sat musing on how to order my miraculous year. Obviously one carry on bag of clothes wasn’t going to do me much good nor would one suit of clothes. Still, I breathed easy, I was content, even happy at the prospect of building a new wardrobe. What the heck, at eighty what did I have to lose, life is short and what was left ahead of me was even shorter. I might not even live out the year. I had enough so I wouldn’t go broke unless I lost all self-control, so what the heck.

From viewing street activity I also realized I would need several wardrobes. Driving around with Ragnar yesterday I realized what a diverse population, what bizarre costumes Manhattan boasted. Of course being well dressed was essential but there were neighborhoods in which it might be perilous. Hell, looking at some areas I saw it might be wise to buy a dress or two and bob my hair. I must have passed through Tranny Central. Anyway, shopping was first on my list. And then I was ravenous to visit New York’s fabulous book stores.

I made the Strand Bookstore my first objective but then when Ragnar pulled up I suddenly decided to go to Harry’s for a haircut and professional shave. I began using Harry’s razors a few years before, I had always wanted to visit the shop so now was the time.

I could have walked up to McDougal Street but I thought it best to use the limo. I’m sure the style of my arrival wasn’t unique in New York, still it placed me in a certain class. Fortunately I was early or I might not have gotten in. I didn’t really need a haircut; two years previously I had devised my hair style and had gotten those Hollywood invisible cuts to maintain the same appearance at all times.

A couple snips and the haircut was finished, a few more moments for a shave and Ragnar whisked me over to the Strand. Billed as having miles of aisles the selection was incredible. You can imagine what New Yorkers could sell as used books. I actually came away with a couple hundred pounds of books including a great five volume set of Bancroft’s record of the 1893 Chicago Columbian Exposition that I intended to offer as a gift to Miles and Lady. No home is complete without one.

Well, you know, you don’t cover miles of aisles in a minute or two and I was not even thinking lunch amidst all those volumes so it was four before I called Ragnar around and let him load the tonnage. New York, New York, what a wonderful town. Of course I hadn’t gotten to the underside yet.

If you don’t like books you won’t understand the exhilaration I felt the next morning looking at the mound of books sitting on the living room floor the next morning. I never got enough books for Christmas and always the wrong kind as a kid so whammo!- all the disappointments of those Christmases wiped away in one fell swoop. That Columbian Expo set was a real delight. Maybe I’ll keep it and get Lady and Miles something else.

Bedtime found me still flipping pages and fondling covers. But, too much fun…I still had numerous duties and miles to go.

Lessing had called so I was obligated to write something for the meeting of the New Serapion Brethren two weeks hence. I decided to devote the day to wardrobe building. While no expert on New York still back on the Coast I had had my trusty computer with the ability to search. Oh yes, I ordered a new HP for my stay. I had visited New York way back in the seventies, but believe me, that was then and this was now so not exactly a novice I wasn’t much more. The images on the net had given me some idea of what to expect along with reading New York Magazine. It was almost as though I had visited the stores.

The first thing I needed was some shirts, shorts too, but I figured that if I found shirts I would find shorts and perhaps socks too. I selected Charles Tyrwhitt for my shirts. Tyrwhitt was just a block up from James Carter on Madison Avenue. The latter was my choice for suits.

I was familiar with both stores’ merchandise both from the net and catalogs. The world at my doorstep and all that. Picking up a couple dozen shirts from Tyrwhitt didn’t involve any agonizing decisions although there was a moment’s hesitation over a couple ties, I finally settled on five and bounced out of the store. I noticed a couple idlers as I got into the limo but didn’t think too much of it.

Tyrwhitt is modestly priced while James Carter is on the high side, nothing like Brioni, but respectably high priced. They consider themselves expensive but fifteen hundred for a jacket is chicken feed compared to Brioni. If you really want to spend money believe me, you can do it. I wanted to make an impression at Carter so we pulled up in front while I took a long time getting out of the limo. As I sat there I noticed the idlers from Tyrwhitt drifting down to Carter’s.

Could have been the limo but then they weren’t that rare in the Big Bagel, as some people call it.

James Carter was high fashion dress. It was one of these classy stores, maybe three thousand square feet a floor, three floors, lots and lots of what they call negative space. Of course on a good day these guys could probably do a hundred thousand so I guess empty square footage didn’t count against them too much. They’d probably have to have ten mill a year to make it. I was there to help them over the hump.

When it comes to today’s fashions I am no admirer of them either men’s or women’s. It’s not because I have a long memory although I will confess that as I was going to buy bespoke the designs I had in mind were very close to 1956. Check out the jacket Ferlin Husky wears on his record Boulevard Of Broken Dreams. But that involved no nostalgia or fogeyism; I just didn’t like the short jacket too big for your britches look that prevailed.

And that’s all they had on display, these horrid short jackets that look like they’re two sizes too small including the more than tight fitting high water pants that they used to laugh at hillbillies for wearing. I was study a manikin trying to keep the look of disgust off my face when I was approached by a salesman elegantly decked out, obviously gay. But then what would expect in a men’s store? After all, that’s where the boys are. He wasn’t objectionable just that arch attitude they have.

Nice looking fellow about six-three, slim, trim, and a million dollars on the hoof.

‘Is there anything I can do for you?’ He arched.

‘Is this the only style of suit you’re showing?’ I arched back.

‘This is the style of today.’ He replied.

‘Does that mean the only style you show?’

‘This is THE style. It is what with it men are wearing.’

With it? I hadn’t that one for a while.

‘Yes. I’m a very with it guy but I interpret ‘it’ perhaps in a somewhat different manner. Perhaps I should confer with your tailors in the bespoke department.’

‘That would be second floor, to your right.’

‘Many thanks.’ I said drily.

Then someone who might have been the floor manager swept up and said: ‘Here, let me show you up.’

I almost said: Lead on MacDuff but I had gotten that one out of my system decades ago; I don’t quote Shakespeare anymore. To be or not to be is a good workhorse but even that has fallen into desuetude.

I know many of you consider eighty to be a ripe old age but let me say as one who knows, eighty is not as old as it looks. It may be for some people, but for those of us who have either been lucky or taken care of themselves it is not a problem. I can walk for miles, believe me, a flight of steps was no difficulty, I could have taken them two at a time although my knees aren’t what they were.

Because of my early childhood I had always played the goof or clown when under stress. Over the decades using self-analysis and Coue’s auto-suggestion I had cleared out my fixations allowing me to function in a more or less clear state but I had still buckled under pressure.

Apparently there was another kind of conditioning beneath the fixations. I could feel the stirrings in my undermind but was unable to identify the cause although I would soon experience the effect. But not now.

While you may think a fitting trivial it was a profound test for me. It was a question of whether I could avoid being a mark or not. Men have all kinds of ways of marking each other as to how they will be treated; a great part of it in the clothes line is the clothes one is allowed to wear; another, if you break through the clothes taboo as I had several decades ago was to mark the clothes. While chance may allow most men to buy good clothes, markings he might not notice are affixed as it were to the clothes.

Unless you pass judgment for instance in suits you will not be allowed four buttons on the cuff. You will only be allowed three and in some instances two. Tailoring flaws such as bunching behind the neck and others define your station in masculine circles. These markings are always honored by others in the industry so that even if you know the markings it is nearly impossible to correct them.

I had always been in the three button class with a bunched neck in the fabric. I had been successful in my mid-years far exceeding most of my contemporaries thus their anger and resentment at being surpassed by someone they believed their inferior enraged them. And so I was marked. To complain about being marked is to no effect other than to give your tormenters pleasure. You can demand four sleeve buttons or whatever but in no way can you compel the tailors to correct the mark. There is a code.

The amusing thing is that since tailors are most frequently homosexuals their fellows are given top status in their tailoring so that they can pass other tests. Now I would not only have to appear as an A man but probably have to beg or should I say, command, a homosexual. It would be in the stance, the voice, the manner and most importantly in the eyes. My haircut was good; I had seen to that. Barbers are tough ones too because they are very astute analysts and excellent markers. It is hard to get by them. They don’t go to school either they just learn and assimilate thus becoming supreme judges.

The manager was going to interview me first before I was allowed to see the tailor. The various marks he exhibited indicated homosexuality. As I say I had been experiencing subliminal stirring for several weeks indicating deep changes. I had even had an event simulating a heart attack that had been a significant psychological adjustment. Since then I had been more confident and much less diffident so I pulled up my reserves and went to work on the manager who gave his name as Steve.

Our eyes locked. He betrayed the insecurity of the homosexual; I saw and he recognized my recognition giving that appeal for acceptance that I knew so well. I smilingly overrode him as my eyes acknowledged him and subordinated him but the contest was not settled. My stance and mannerisms secured my masculinity over his although I began to feel that I was acting the Macho Man and that would give the wrong signal. Now, if I could control my voice. My undermind gave, wincing, but didn’t erupt just yet. I was in control and meant to stay that way.

‘And what can we do for you, Mr. Wright?’ Michael Ignatiev asked.

‘I’m here to buy some sartorial splendor, Michael.’ A little too florid indicating frivolousness.

‘This is the place isn’t it? That’s a very nice jacket you’ve got on now. May I ask who made it?’

‘I don’t mind. This is a Brioni designed by Eric Ross circa 1975.’

‘Nineteen seventy-five? Really? I know Brioni of course but I haven’t hear of Eric Ross.’

‘He was a little before your time. I don’t remember his last name. Like your James Carter Eric Ross was his son’s two first names just like your founders’ the Osipov’s. He was Jewish, in love with English styling adapted to US traditions also, like your shop. He mixed in everything. He was big on the cowboy look…;

‘Cowboy, eh? You seem knowledgeable about James Carter. You learned about us where?’

Dewey turned around to show his back. ‘See how the seams turn toward the shoulders in the back? Cowboy style. I almost didn’t patronize Eric Ross because of that. Once I got started there was no stopping me. Loved the stuff; I’m so happy are careers coincided. In answer to your question I studied your internet site. It tells you what you what you want your customers to think of you.’

‘Oh yes, our internet site. So what happened with Eric Ross?’

‘I was in a different business but we both epitomized the Sixties, made it through the seventies and expired at the same time.’

‘What happened?’

‘The Sixties ethic wore out at the end of the seventies. As the saying goes: This too will pass and it did, tragically. The Sixties weren’t what they were supposed to have been but they were still the Sixties. Charles Manson was imprisoned for our sins. Big changes happened too fast while there was no time to adapt. I was in London in late seventy-eight, looked around and all the peacocks were wearing grey and black. I realized the ethic was dead. I rushed back to buy a black straight legged suit from ER and told it him it was over. The Sixties we loved so much were no longer happening.

The record business I was in collapsed in on itself and changed over to CDs at the same time leaving me high and dry while Eric Ross was caught in the midst of a big expansion, Japan actually, quite like yourself. Many parallels that drew me to you. ER had a store full of expensive obsolete goods and a container of Brioni suits sitting on the dock in Italy that he left stranded because he didn’t have the cash and couldn’t get the credit. Boom! Just like a Stuka dive bomber that didn’t pull out of the dive.

I got some memories out of it although I wasn’t laughing at the time, not even for show. As I say Eric Ross was rather slavishly devoted to the English ideal. His son’s initials are ER so he devised his brass buttons after the royal insignia. My wife and I were visiting the Rothschild estate, Waddington, open to the public we weren’t invited, and I was wearing the blazer with the ER buttons, Elizabeth Regina in England not Eric Ross. I kept getting these looks while being gently shunned. It wasn’t until a couple years later that I figured it out.

By the way if you like old seventies movies and TV reruns you will be able to notice ER clothes appearing frequently.   They usually give a shot of the cowboy back. He was quite the rage.’ My voice and delivery was perfect.

‘That is humorous. So, you like fine clothes? Nothing downstairs interested you?’

‘Nice work, wrong styles. When the style changed to that American Gigolo look back then, if you know that movie, I stopped buying and haven’t begun again till now but I still reject current styles. They’re offensive. Looks like someone’s telling you you’re too big for your britches; like wearing a baseball cap backwards. So, I want something more along the line of what I’m wearing, longer skirts than currently, hate those short jackets. Of course we can skip the cowboy influence. I’ll want some different fabrics also.’

‘Yes, we can do that. I think it will be a pleasure working with you. How about Tuesday at ten AM for your first fitting?’

‘Of course, that would be fine.’

I should have known about the fitting. Strange me, expecting to be fitted the same day.

I phoned Ragnar then talked to a salesman before Ragnar pulled up a few minutes later.

As I walked out of the store the idlers were still waiting. One approached and said: The Jews gave us monotheism.

I shrugged him off and hopped into the limo.

-IV-

The limo had just pulled from the curb when Ragnar asked if he could talk to me. I said sure, just park the limo somewhere and I’d come up front. I didn’t want anyone invading my private space in back. Unlike Rosa Parks I had no qualms in the back. Nowadays it is being said that as a Commie she, or they, planned the situation. If so, I wonder, was the guy who told her to move in on it. If it was staged was the media in on it?

Ragnar had his ways and means as he drove the limo under a building containing any number of limos. Money has its prerogatives including private parking lots. I went up front and slid into the passenger’s seat.

Ragnar hesitantly asked me what the guy had said to me. I replied: He said we owed monotheism to the Jews.

‘Why would he say that to you?’

‘I don’t know who he represents, Ragnar, but I assume he was referring to my critical historical essays on the internet in which the Jews are given their true historical roles. I assume that my criticisms have taken effect but in defense of the Jews monotheism is considered preeminent. This happens fairly frequently back home.’

‘But how would he know you? You’re new to New York while being from far away?’

‘This is the internet age, Ragnar. As the saying goes, you can run but you can’t hide. Contrary to propaganda society is full of secret societies while with the internet they are effective anywhere in the world. Did you notice the guy at the airport holding up the card with my name on it? I have no idea what organization sent him. If the Carmichaels and I hadn’t maintained internet contact exchanging pictures of you and I, I might have mistakenly gone with him or them.

I might be floating face down on the East River now or perhaps six fathoms down in cement shoes. When you’re in movement you’re more vulnerable.’

‘You think they would have killed you?’

‘Why not? I can’t imagine they just wanted to talk to me?’

‘Who are you? I noticed other people following the limo or showing up wherever you go. Who are these people?’

‘Ragnar, you’re asking the wrong guy. I don’t know who they are and don’t particularly care. I’m sure there is more than one group involved. Possibly the Feds, possibly Jewish organizations, possibly homosexual groups, some freelance guardians of public morals, Reds of some sort, hard to tell. I write critical historical articles that ‘offend’ the hyper sensitive. For all I know they might be admirers who don’t know how to approach me. I do speak for at least a large minority. That’s the way it is; nothing I can do about it.’

‘And they already know that you’re in New York?’

‘Of course, the internet, Ragnar, the internet. There’s nowhere you can go without them following you around. They all have cell phones and post lookouts to track your movements. Believe it or not they have nothing better to do. The Jews, for instance, on the fiftieth anniversary of Kristalnacht posted guys on the hill outside my house in case, I suppose, I consecrated the day by bombing a synagogue. They’re all nuts, crazy as loons, obsessed by their fantasies, reality is just an impediment to their beliefs. Actually I’m used to them; if they weren’t there I’d be disappointed because they would no longer think I was important.

Sort of like Gloria Vanderbilt who got a lot of press attention when her parents were getting a divorce. Every morning a gaggle of reporters were waiting outside the house. She got used to them, one morning when she and her parents were no longer news the reporters weren’t there. ‘Mommy,’ she said, ‘Where are my reporters?’ I feel the same way. If they weren’t around I’d have to ask what went wrong.’

‘Watching you on Kristalnacht? The Jews really give us Germans a hard time. I’m not so sure us Germans were in the wrong.’

‘Of course you weren’t Ragnar, but Bismarck made a mistake in not occupying and annexing France in eighteen seventy-one. Instead he settled for Alsace-Lorraine and a bundle of cash. You Germans paid a heavy price for that in the World Wars and after. And of course the Jewish war against you continues today and has spread to the United States where the Jews have convinced Americans that they too are Nazis and guilty for their extermination. Scratch a White person they say and you will find a Nazi. It’s crazy.’

‘I don’t understand how Bismarck has anything to do with Hitler.’

‘The Interdependence Of Things as your great writer ETA Hoffmann called it. It’s all connected Ragnar, it’s all connected. You just have to find the connections. If Bismarck had conquered the whole of France, incorporating it into a Greater Germany much as did Charlemagne, then sending tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands of settlers into France instead of having them emigrate to the US and Russia he would have created a huge country that would have changed the destiny of Europe.’

‘The French would never have tolerated that.’

‘Sure they would have. When Caesar conquered Gaul Roman settlers flowed in changing the demographics of what was then Celtic Gaul creating Roman Gaul. The Gauls, however reluctantly, accepted a superior civilization eventually getting comfortable with it. There might have been more trouble if the Gauls had been superior but then they weren’t.

Later the German tribes invaded, Franks and what have you, that dominated the Gallo-Romans by force creating the country as France, the land of the Franks. Napoleon wiped out perhaps the majority of Franco-Germans in his wars since he favored the taller Germans over the shorter Gallo-Romans as soldiers. Still in eighteen seventy-one there was a large body of Franco-Germans who would have blended with Bismarck’s new immigrants. Sure it would have been a taut situation for a generation or two but the German civilization was superior to the French so as life would have been better under the Germans it wouldn’t have taken too long for the populations to meld.

The result would have been a reuniting of the two western parts of Charlemagne’s empire creating a European super state that would have drawn all Europe into its orbit. There would have been no WWI and consequently no WWII. England would have been trapped between a Greater Germany and the US. How that would have worked out is anybody’s guess. So as I see it Bismarck not having Napoleon’s vision blew it when he retired back into the newly united German States.

Now, consider the European situation today Ragnar.

The result of WWII that left Europe and Germany prostrated was that the Jews undeservedly scored a huge moral victory. Having mounted the dais as victorious victims they unleashed a propaganda campaign against not only Germany but the West as a whole that totally morally disarmed both Europeans and Americans leaving the Jews to call the shots. I think it was one of your German generals who said that peace is war by other means. Perceptive fellow he.

The West has been bled white of more billions than you can count supporting the failed State of Israel. Indoctrinaires such as France’s Sarkozy and the dumbest woman on the planet, Angela Merkel, of Germany have worked in combination with the Jews to destroy Europe. As in Spanish days when the Jews opened the doors to Moslem invaders the three have conspired to flood Europe with Negro and Moslem hordes.

Sarkozy who was unable to pass a law compelling White women to marry Negroes has instead opted to flood France with Africans who will eventually mongrelize Europe. Merkel has welcomed, indeed, invited millions of Moslems into Germany and hence Europe that has overstrained social, economic and political matters while stressing water and food supplies to the point of exhaustion. The whole structure has actually been broken down. The whole of Europe will be impoverished except the Jews.

Unlike the Roman and German invasions of Gaul and France in which a higher civilization did or would have replaced an inferior one the millions of Moslems and Africans now colonizing Europe represent either primitive or medieval inferior peoples. Africans and Moslems have no hope of maintaining any semblance of European civilization. Nor can they be taught. There lies the great tragedy.

All this is the result of Bismarck’s not following through and annexing France into a Greater Germany. Had he had vision all of this could have been avoided. Europe would have been a happier place. The Bolsheviks would never have been able to appropriate Russia. The Jewish people would have of course continued their activities to destroy Europe with what result we can’t see. As peace is war by other means peace may have favored their plans as much as war. Perhaps today Europe would have been a Jewish empire anyway. So, Ragnar.’

-V-

The story continues in Clip 2.