Chapter Twenty Eight An Opera in Three Acts But with Five Parts
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| The Spin, the verbal fuckage on Legion True: just how “she, truly once more, has proved herself” to be “so, so evil and how we all again must band together, Boys, to fight The Witch and ban her from our minds once again so that she can’t hurt us. Yada, yada.” This –– this Invisibility – Making form of Mother – Fucking –– this Herry – behavior would continue … but not for very long. After all, Herry’s goal is control. Control by way of his passive – aggressive, yet outwardly laissez – faire, management and “administrative” fathering, Herry can bring it all about … as before: the utter and entire demise of the mother from the brains and the thoughts of Mirzah, of Jesse and of Zane. Just like all of the mothers, whether human or animal, and most of the other women characters in Walt Disney’s movies, that is, these Disney DEhumans, in their ponderously influential portrayals to vast numbers of children worldwide, are either invisible or … they are, early on, … dead. Bring about the parental death of Legion True, mother, by Herry’s manner of the silencing with folie à deux – obedience of Male – Identified McLive and, therefore, his making Legion True … again … invisible altogether –– in West Virginia at least. No voice from the McLive mouth. And Legion? Well, Dr. Legion True was to be vanquished and driven out of and away from Zane’s and Jesse’s and Mirzah’s minds for certain!
“MOTHER, YOU HAVE NO SONS! SONS, YOU HAVE NO MOTHER!”
Mostly though? Mostly … Herry Edinsmaier would be so fucked that I had bested him. “Fool me once?! Shame on you, Legion! Fool me twice?!! Shame on me, Herry!!” That, that … is what so sticks in Herry’s craw. The most. I had had … him … fucked –– instead of the other mother – fucking way around! And –– And –– Dr. Herod Edinsmaier was soooo not about to let the Truemaier Boys in on this shame of his. The very best and most male way he knew of to guard against their ever knowing just how thoroughly chagrined, disgraced and humiliated he truly was ... was to act like … I had never, ever even been out there. Denial. Silent, shunning denial. I was not there. Her coming to West Virginia –– well, it just hadn’t happened. No problem for Legion to become deadened … as deadened as before and he knew the doping, psychotropic junk – fuck drugs were deadening her … because, after all as before –– the mother never, ever even existed.
So. Retaliation by him? Back onto me or on the Boys? Well, yes, but only in the sense of Herry’s mind – fucking me back –– –– so that Legion’s very own babes won’t even remember their mother. That much daMan could, at least try, as Disney and that man’s film gang, to control. * * * * And the one sooo very not – at – all funny event of this second April’s excursion out to Grubtrop –– through which I still managed to smirk to myself? Well, that one would be the occasion of my and Jesse’s little car ride on over to a small city park on the outskirts of Montclank on the 08th day of April 1994, when I had had, on this first Friday out, the rental’s front passenger seat rather stowed with much of the trip’s stuff. Jesse traveled to this surreptitious site, then, sitting just behind me –– where it was that I could see his face fully in my rearview mirror. Allya’all will recall, Jury, from Chapter Four: This was the incident of the white knuckles on Aspire’s steering wheel. Jesse had seen me as Sam around the track after school and approved of leaving the grounds to quickly get away from the other athletes, I am thinking, so as not to have me not only possibly discovered but also so that there would be no need for Jesse’s explaining to anyone who the freakin’ hell I was to him and why someone such as this ‘Sam’ dude came around the schoolyard practice. “Before I die, Jesse, I am getting this down on paper. I have to write this down,” I had told him –– into the mirror just as we were pulling over to a complete stop inside the Montclank park in order to be able to visit freely. “I am not going to be dead and have had no way of leaving my Truth for you three to know. All you know now is what the judges ordered and what Herry and Ms. Fannie Issicran McLive have told you. So then: you don’t know. You all just don’t know. I have to write a book, Jesse. I have to.” To which statement of mine, Jesse, not batting one eyelash even and just exactly as distantly aloof and as detached and as indifferent … as freaking unfeeling as Herry himself is in all matters ,,, earth – shattering … replied, “ ... Okay, okay, sure. Sure, Ma, but the TV movie deal fell through cuz of you, didn’t it?” Predator Herod Edinsmaier tried to connive and to contrive with high – dollar Attorney Shindy Scheisser to make money off of my and the Truemaier Boys’ horror. Principally by using his and Ms. Fannie Issicran McLive’s and aa’er Varry Wussamai’s lies. Even the flamboyant, bloviating stretches that weren’t even near half – truths uttered from Dr. Edinsmaier’s former employer, Dr. Freddie Goldstein, as that fat man had flounced himself so as to sprawl out upon the witness chair during his testifying. That pretentiousness and posturing which amounted to courtroom theatre in order to cover up the reality of the unaccountability of Dr. Herod Edinsmaier –– even in his workplace situations as a pathology resident at a university’s medical center. Those falsehoods including Pedophile – “Doctor” Richard Gardner’s fictitious, bogus yet so, so brutalizing “parental alienation syndrome” –– but only as his woman – loathing, fake fuck is exclusively used and accused against and clobbered onto mothers –– now permanently entered into various courts’ documents everywhere as ‘evidence’. And those very same lies and denials all, every last one of them, bolstered and backed up by reams of so – respectable – and so – honorable – sounding judge names and those men’s androcentrically decreed, thus, certainly – so – set – in – stone and binding words. Lots of money. Through the based – on – a – true – story Hollywood or New York City film industry. Well, as a matter of fact, Jury, for about as exactly as much worth as that term life insurance policy which, along with Frieda Chicken Guthrie’s mothering encouragement, I still own –– and which is most current and active … and seemingly enrages Pissant, Tiny – Plane Pilot Herry –– to this actual day, that is. “$100,000 plus 5 percent,” Jesse, blasé and carefree – like and seemingly himself already very, very much desensitized to the complete revulsion that all of this revelation rather was, announced to me from the backseat that he had actually seen that figure stated pretty much in that exact phraseology and positively confirmed to his satisfaction the fact that the made – for – television movie rights’ contract itself was in thickness and breadth … “many, many pages” long. Two things Jesse did not know. “What’s the ‘ … plus 5 percent … ’ mean, Mom?” and whether or not, for sure, it had been because of me –– and because of my not consenting on my end of the industry’s handshake to the whole quite – literally mother – fucking deal altogether, that the entire filming fuckage had ( … apparently … ) fallen through! “Wasn’t it, Mom?” Of course, stunned, I had not one frigging inkling about the whole damn shebang, let alone specifically regarding the “5 percent” part of it all, so had lamely mumbled something back to Jesse about how all of this was probably just a pretty ordinary matter, “Ya’ know, made – for – TV movie contracts, no doubt, are, Jesse, ya’ know, kind of standard stuff. Routine and all. Prob’bly.” Trying so, so hard not to let Jesse see the hands quaking in their grip on the steering wheel and the lone tear tracking its way down the cheek to my chest. “M’god, om’gaaawd , m’fuckinggaaawd, what the hell has the Great and Wonderful ‘Healer’ Herod up and fucking done now? What has Herry – Daddee bin Terrorist in his predation gone and done now?!” These words in my mind’s ear by the voice of the DEhuman who’d thought she could conjecture virtually all of what Herry could “come up with” to soul – murder me. But this? This one had me entirely off guard. Off hypervigilance, actually, is more like how completely I had just been caught. I was mortified, I am ashamed to say. Humiliation I can handle; hell, degradation is so very commonplace for us DEhumans and geometrically multiplied so for those of us DEhumans who are court – bashed mothers. The shame and embarrassment I had was not in knowing Herry and Mr. Shindy Scheisser tried this. It was in now knowing that Herry had surprised me at his trying to get this particular subcategory of mother – fucking accomplished. Thinking woman that I am, I was pissed at myself that this had not come to my mind on my own, that I hadn’t thought up first the fact that Herry Edinsmaier would, indeed, try something so evilly walloping as this movie deal … in order to just stash more $cash$ into his wallet. So that I could have been a step or two or three ahead of him on spilling such pigswill, on felling such fuckage. The very next afternoon after this Montclank exchange with Jesse inside the rented Aspire, I had met up for an outing with Zane. We had agreed to get together for a visit in the one shelter with its two picnic tables of that itty bitty park, as a matter of fact, not too far from Herry’s house –– the same one actually at where, several days later, I dropped Mirzah off after our last breakfast with one another at the Bob Evans’ Restaurant. There, Zane confirmed all of what Jesse had told me –– right down to and including the fact that it was Herry’s wholly known and utterly attention – grabbing intent ‘to prove’ to ‘the public masses’ inside the entrails of this television film special … just how it was that Legion True had killed him, … him, the poor, poor innocent biodaddee, Dr. Herod Edinsmaier. “Well, you know, don’tcha, Ma,” Zane finished his query more in the style of a declaratively stated fact than at all a question, “in it Herry was gonna make you out to look like … the murderer.” This unnerving unearthing necessitated telephone calls home to Grace, to Linda, Cyan Song, Stormy, Teri Lynn and to László. We all agreed that there was probably nothing, without my and my contractual dealings with film officials through attorneys, nothing at all that Horrid Herry could actually ‘do’ to go ahead with this made – for – television movie thing. I calmed. And exhaled –– even without my rocking chair … there in the back of Ol’ Black, … to expedite and advance sleep. A thing –– sleep –– for which I have great reverence. Speaking of movies and matters theatrical and Herry’s many, many – page, very thick film contract for $100,000 plus 5 percent of something else, I am reminded, the similarities are so stark, so blatant ... of Rabid Woman – Hater August Strindberg, a Swedish playwright of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. In his 1888 play Miss Julie, rapist and hypnotist Jean, who is of course the author himself played out in the 1999 movie by Mr. Peter Mullen, states to Miss Julie, that role blazingly portrayed by Ms. Saffron Burrows, that “sleep should be respected.” This from Jean’s lips just before Strindberg’s character rapes Miss Julie, then hypnotizes her into committing suicide! This from out the pen of the guy who believed in his time as single – mindedly as Pornography – Purveying Pappy Herry does now in the rotgut inferiority and filthy, wiling connivance of us DEhumans, … actually writing Poet Verner von Heidenstam this mother – fuck, “ … and if I had to define my present standpoint it would be: Woman, being small and foolish and therefore evil, should be suppressed like barbarians and thieves. She is useful only as an ovary and womb ... ” and in 1887, this separately written fuckage from daMan Strindberg: “ ... all the things I have tossed off! ... four kids, the fifth on its way, and two wives.” Herry didn’t exactly get me as hypnotized as he would’ve liked to have – after successfully wresting away from me the Truemaier Boys and vanquishing me to invisibility: I never did seem to ‘do’ for Herry what he so wanted me, by my own hand, to get done for him: that is, the killing of Legion True ... by my own self. By my committing that particular suicide so as for Herry to have succeeded in getting me … dead –– dead, dead, dead as he had long, long wished for me to be! Yet, of course, … without Dr. Herry Edinsmaier’s actually having to do the messiness of murdering me himself –– and, thereby, saving his own skin with his own money – earning prowess left quite intact and very much untouched, unthreatened. * * * * The based – on – “a – true – story” thing? I have had a long, long time, most of it all quite alive and deeeep – breathing myself actually, to ponder on what Herry Edinsmaier would have coached “his” movie’s producers, its director, the writers and screenplay artists, the movie’s casting chief and its technical – or content – authenticity people … about what he would have advised crew members into actually placing into the context of its filming. Into the plot, the drama, the story itself! Would Dr. Herod Edinsmaier have really, true as they all are, tried to include in the Strindberg – styled movie all, or any, of his behaviors, of his own comings and goings and thinkings and doings, his daily itty bitty indecencies and, well, those entirely and mother – fuckingly evil ones also? Those, too, of Herry’s own woman – loathing dictator, the effective, mighty mentoring and wife – and daughter – crushing guru, Juggern Aut Misein Edinsmaier? The true memoir, the real life and the rurally isolated and roughshod – ridden “times” of his sooo, so dominated mother, Detanimod, 14 “times” made pregnant in 20 consecutive years’ worth of her very own breathing!? The “workings” or, more accurately and importantly, the utter absence of any work by Herry’s sister, Dr. Mi Sprision O’Revinnoco, to ‘do’ as she, a pediatrician, was required and mandated by compulsory United States law to do! Mi Sprision and O’Revinnoco –– as in … misprision and conniver. Instead of her reporting the crimes of dissemination of harmful materials to minors, of child endangerment and reporting her brother, Herry, Dr. Mi Sprision O'Revinnoco concealed knowledge of Herry’s felonies, ones in which she did not assist him nor ones in which did she participate but, nonetheless, crimes of which she was most, most aware. Hell, I’d fucking begged her! Begged her for her help. So, she knew of them. Hers merely an itty bitty, little neglect of duty by a public official, a doctor, a children’s physician, a pediatrician!!!, for chris’sake? Suppose Herry would include all of that in his film? And the acts of those other Edinsmaier family members of his in the movie, too? Like his brother Atwater’s as well as his own, Herry’s, fondling (at a minimum!) –– and worse! Worse than their frotteuristic liberties! Those of the two brothers’ actions just taken and perpetrated –– perpetrated by them upon their three littlest sisters, Murielle, Celeste and Kay?! For the teevee audience’s “education!” … any of these behaviors, too, in Always – a – Teacher Herry’s ‘edifying documentary’ for the masses, do you think, Jury?! Would Herry recount in his movie how Daddee Juggern, daMan’s very own wife – loathing father, had forced Detanimod to climb and take harvest from the mulberry tree, pregnant for her very, very first time –– and then tell and show us all, in it, how the first – time mama – to – be had slipped and fallen down out of the tree … but caught herself yet, of course, not before mightily pulling and stretching herself so!?! Such that she ... well, she fucking miscarried! Detanimod aborted! Forced his spouse, Juggern had, into this heinous and entirely preventable “accident” because of his own tyrannical commands as a ‘husband’. “Just cuz a woman’s pregnant doesn’t mean she can’t work like a slave,” Juggern Aut Misein Edinsmaier had mother – fuckingly maintained. “Like the slave she truly is for you,” he, indeed, most certainly got across … seeded … to his six, strapping male offspring. To his six sons! Exactly such the same androcentrically generated tripe as had been patriarchally religious “leader” and “reformer” Martin Luther’s and playwright August Strindberg’s assessments of us DEhumans as well. Before cancer besieged and overtook her daily breathing, in her own few yet forceful breathes, Detanimod herself revealed to two of us daughters – in – law that that “wife – as – slave” directive –– had been one on which she, right around the 1930 – decade’s midst after the Great Crash and Depression, had repeatedly been soooo, so well – instructed –– “till I got it!” “Taught” to her … by the DEhuman’s very own nasty ( … read that, male – identified) … in – laws! Would Herry have the screenwriters compose the parts with the scenario which was the one accountable for Detanimod’s “need” for Juggern Aut Misein Edinsmaier’s two – month (at the least!) banishment from her marital bed, … hell, from the entire physicality of the gawddamn farmhouse altogether!?! Exiled by her, his very own wife, by overwhelmingly fucked Detanimod he was, Juggern Aut the great Bass County republican party leader and lay priest of Fatlantic’s saints john and jude roman catholic church, to live all of those days and nights of his down at the Holstein beasts’ milking parlor, she in outraged and constant fear for the past, real or future, impending rapes by him of her very own baby girls!?! Would Herry tell the Truth?! Finally?! Would Herry tell the Truth?! The outrageous and so sick, sick Truth that never, never, never in all of those 49 years and 11 months before she died in her lovely springtime, before she died then on the 10th day of May 1985, of metastasizing and fulminating ovarian … ovarian, fucking mind you !!! … cancer, just one month’s worth of time shy of what would have been then that very June her 50th wedding anniversary to that tyrant and terrorist, the Truth that not one time ever did Juggern say to her, “I love you. Detanimod, I love you.” The literally mother – fucking, head – banging Truth that 14 pregnancies later, that 12 full – term birthings and 11 babies, five girls and six boys, later –– all of them in the so short period of just 20 consecutive years’ span of one woman’s lifetime, all in just two decades’ time, and all, every fucking one of the 11 of them, all of them raised up to and through at least one college degree each, the Truth that: this specific woman – hater, Juggern Aut Misein Edinsmaier, Herry’s very own father, had done to his wife Detanimod just as he himself Herod had done to his own wife Legion: never, never, never, one time even, telling her that … he loved her. The sick and twisted Truth would Herry tell? That Juggern, that roman catholic force of a violating and terrorizing old man, thought during all of his days, including those when he was actually quite a young man as well, that saying those three little words to a woman meant that he wanted to fuck her? To have sex with her? How would –– in this film of Healer Herry’s … how would that stinking thinking play out, Jury? And so, well, did he? In my head I screamed to that old despotic rapist, “Well, did you?! Did you, Juggern? Well?! Did you ever the fuck, fuck Detanimod!?! Even just 14 mother – fucking times in 50 frickin’ years, for chris’sake, Juggern!?!” Talk about Swedish Strindberg’s and German Luther’s incubator !!! “To bear babies for him till she dies of it! That is all woman is good for. That is all she should ever want or need to be,” Luther declared once upon another mother – fuckingly sick, sick and European Witches’ – Burning time. Well, the mother – and probable daughter – raping, pernicious savage who Juggern himself was, … he, at the least, didn’t kill the family’s farm dog or deliberately cause the deaths of Detanimod’s heifer calves –– as other isolating and terrorizing, rural husbands most certainly have done –– and, for that? For that she must have been ever, ever so grateful. Workers struggling against domestic abuse and violence and persons laboring at such battered women’s shelters today would be able, I am thinking, to use the patriarch, Juggern Aut Misein Edinsmaier, as the poster dad for … well, for literal father – fuckingness. And to show, to demonstrate, too, in Atwater Edinsmaier and in Herry Edinsmaier (at the least!) the veritable ‘ease’ by which such entire family fuck becomes cyclically … generational. Would the Good and Most Wonderful Bull’s – Snout Sniffing Jokester have the movie’s scriptwriters interview and portray any of, let alone, the majority of the 40 to 50 DEhumans whom Herry himself had degradingly described inside the pages of his little blue, half – pint, spiral notebook with the Creighton University emblem on its cover? And, particularly from out of said notebook, about Ms. Fannie Issicran McLive would Dr. Edinsmaier carefully explain to the film’s directors what –– as Herry had also long, long ago whispered to me in his version of ‘sweet nothin’s’ during his rendition of ‘foreplay lovemaking’ –– … what his Next Cunt in the Stash, his Sheriff of Nottingham to the Boys and to me, had really been to him when Herry was a student back at Fatlantic High School, that is: “a very fat girl who used to talk to me between classes at the lockers at school” instead of … his “high – school sweetheart” –– which was, now, how he was trying to verbally parade her around as, then, having meant to him. And since inside an American “civil” court of family law it is easier there to lie to and to deceive others than almost anywhere else in the entire World, would Liar Edinsmaier merely continue as Pants On Fire or would he at last come clean about his having schmoozed and hoodwinked the mousy, frumpy custody evaluator, Ms. Male – Identified Carrie Canard? About his having been throughout every single one of our 12½ years of married and parenting lives together a praetorian, diehard atheist suddenly gone back, when pressing for custody of Zane, Jesse and Mirzah, to disingenuous genuflectin’ and to faking fundamentalist – faithfulness to the bazillion canons of roman catholicism in order to fool deciders in charge of custody determination? Would Dr. Edinsmaier in made – for – television “reality” finally be at all truthful about those two women whom he, on two separate occasions, left lying anesthetized, unconscious and unattended by him and his “professional” expertise upon small Iowa towns’ operating room tables –– without his services as a frozen – section pathologist upon whom they, their families, their surgeons and their OR staffs all absolutely depended? Left them both there Narcissist and Duty – Derelict Herry did, whilst he slept in, the two DEhumans to be later awakened from their unimportance –– but yet to not know if they were or were not … whole, fine and healthy! Would we all view in the film, Jury, Dr. Edinsmaier’s slashing, under – his – breath, verbal assault along with his sideways smirking sneer over to Zane and to Mirzah and to Jesse in my presence and all of us constrained and, thus, captured within the Shitbox Dodge wagon? The one about my participation in the 1987 Iowa Games road race? “Finish the 10K?! Hell! Legion couldn’t even find the track to run it on! Let alone, finish it!” And would that particular truth – telling be followed by an accurate accounting of the snidest attack on me of nearly all time: Herry Edinsmaier’s Sunday, 02 October 1988, upside – my – skull wallop –– wherein the Teacher, with all three Truemaier Boys again listening, picked up that nearby object off his Othello Drive rolltop escritoire, the thing that turned out to be a used, unwashed, stainless steel (and not a sterling silver) teaspoon and possessively swung it pendulum – style betwixt his right thumb and index finger back and forth and back and forth like a metronome directly in front of my face, “Fuck, Cunt! I don’t have ‘my doctor – doctor wife’ to dangle in front of anyone or show off to my family and friends anymore!” Me –– me, the mother who had literally grown out of herself the three most perfect, most Aryan, blonde, blue – eyed boy children ever. |