Chapter Nine Hope is a Woman – Killer

Chapter Nine Hope is a Woman‑Killer “You know, Michael, now that you’re so respectable, I think you’re more dangerous than you ever were.” — Diane Keaton in the role of Kay, Michael Corleone’s estranged wife, … after he has kicked her out and gone to the Vatican, Godfather III There are other ways to continue to kill your wife and not only not have to pay any consequences for these slayings of yours but to actually feel pumped up about committing them. In addition to getting your satisfaction exacted in material goods and the verbal slaughter of her. Gosh, there must just be a bazillion ways. But, by far and away, bar none, the most effective way to kill her legally, the method that will get her out of your way the fastest and forever—while at the very same time putting more moolah back into your own life and, most concertedly away from hers—is to take her children away from her. Forever. Not just physically but emotionally. All contact, totally out of her life. Cut them off completely from each other. Not that you really want them in yours at all, god no, mind you. It’s just that that is what you have to put up with in order that she not have them in hers. Plus it wouldn’t ‘look right’ to them, the kids. If you didn’t press—and push hard—for custody of them,. They might get the right idea that you didn’t want ’em; and, golly, that we just can’t have. At any cost. Their thinking that. Knowing the truth! And the older they got, then the more of exactly that they’d know: About who you truly are as a human, their father. Lawyer Jazzy Jinx told me that … told me, he did, that in the 20 years of his practicing family law, he’d seen scores of fathers go after the custody of their kids but these guys really not wanting them at all. Pursues custody, daddy does, for a reason far more compelling to him, however, than dealing with the kids as an actual in-house parent: he doesn’t want the kids to know that he doesn’t want them. Identifiably the same as with Mehitable True’s image problem! Usually, Jinx’d said, the scofflaw’s lawyer was in on the real scoop; and if the shyster played it right in court, then the paternal face would come off looking o-so smooth to his children. But with just enough of a hitch household-wise, that the judge would have to side with the mother, especially if the poor guy was, well, … indeed poor. Why then, he couldn’t possibly be held accountable for actually and daily parenting and caretaking the kids and for himself as well. She, the mom, would have to physically have them cuz he just couldn’t be expected to manage. ’Course, far poorer than daddy she almost always was, mama could be expected to. And so, in the end, father would still come out to the kids, looking like the rosy-though-wronged papa that he’d so much wanted to look like. Very, very respectable. But yet without having to have any accountability whatsoever at all as far as the day-to-day routine and care. Well, ya’ know, … as far as the work of raising up children after all! Phew! If his lawyer was in on it and could pull it off just right, Mr. Jinx had advised me. But, now, if the guy is wealthy or a pillar, like say, a doctor, a judge himself or a cop, a lawyer, a preacher, priest, rabbi or shaman, a professor, a politician or an executive, well, things looks-wise to a fellow pillar, that is, to the civil court family law judge, Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor, get mildly murkier, a bit trickier. If daddy were single, he probably wouldn’t get the kids as easily away from her as if he were married. But he might. Especially because the judge sees that he has the bucks to raise ‘em up completely independently—off of and away from the public dole. If he refuses to pay the child support—that which is preset and legally ordered according to the state’s proration charts—if he refuses to pay her just because she’s pissed him off but good, why, she may then pursue and have to go on federal or state assistance of some sort. So quite possibly based upon that, daddy might get the children—ya’ know, based upon the governmentally male-allocated, American tax dollar. Anyhow in the matter of the acquisition by a pillar of child custody, becoming married again is probably the first hurdle to get across. Got to go out and snag a nanny, a housekeeper, a cook and, most assuredly, a mother-surrogate. Also a semen spittoon, actually a handy and convenient, additional bonus, that nerveless vagina is. Other than in assisting Pillar to wrest away child custody, all of these extras for father just by his getting married again. Married to something respectable-sounding also. A former teacher, perhaps. One who uncannily, rather creepily that is, resembles physically his very own, now-dead mama, Detanimod—when the Boys’ paternal grandma was about the age of 68 or so, kind of a balding grandnanny‐surrogate for Jesse, Mirzah and Zane, really. One who is needy, one who, just as Mehitable had sought so hard to mold me into, has no sense of wholeness or completeness except when she is about the business of tending to her man—and, voila, Daddee’s got it made with that other pillar, the family law judge. After all, Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor? What had ‘the court’ up and done himself just a few short years prior to his ‘judging’ the Edinsmaier v True custody matter? Yup, it was him all right. He’d divorced his wife—after having initially had her carted off and stashed in a sanitarium way off somewhere claiming publicly—when he had to—that she was a screaming-banshee alcoholic. And then had gone and also himself remarried a respectable receptacle. A widow. Within that same first year afterward. And then? And then? But then? Then … Seizor—‘the court’—what did he do, that pillar? He up and took away with him as well—and on over to the Widow Woman for the purpose of their becoming his and her “second, transitioning family”—the first Mrs. Seizor’s four daughters while his now ex-wife wasn’t looking! Uuuhh, wudn’t lookin’ too good, that is—her languishing and Haldol-shuffling along there in that docility-doping, padded cellular domicile an’ all. * * * * First of all, no more child support outgoing. If you were paying any out at all in the first place, why, now it’s over! So even if you aren’t getting the raises, the promotions and the salary increments that you feel you’ve got coming to you, hey, you have, back into your pocket, more money! The child support bucks. What should always be, above all else, the biggest expenditure each month, the support of your young ones, is slambam back in that hip pocket of yours. And, better than that and best of all, not in hers! And now you can eke it out on those kids as you so choose to do. Or not. As a matter of fact from time to time, you may wanna lavish it on ‘em—ya’ know, Joy Toy Boy-style. Incredibly easily continuing to purchase their affections! Reeling the Boys in and keeping them solidly hooked—if not keen on you as a human, then at least zealous about you as the Wallet. Best part though?! She doesn’t get a dime of it, let alone, any control over it, your money! Thank goodness, thank god for those judges. Secondly, there’s the matter of her deserving your revenge. After all, she was so horrible, such a terrible, shameful burden on you and your image, causing, you are certain of it to any who’ll listen—as Legion had also done to Mehitable’s façade as well,—causing all of the troubles that have plagued you and hindered you, even stopped you from achieving the utter success that you had so hoped for and just know that you should have become. Especially, that which you should have been, and so would have been—that entitled success—and all of it should have occurred so much earlier on in your career too … except for that Slut. And then just about worst of all, when that Pussy was supposed to tell you only what it was you wanted to hear and only when you wanted to hear it, the Twat didn’t! From time to time she’d actually go off on ya’ and tell you shit she said was Truth whether you liked it or not! Fuck on her for dumping that shit on you. Brazen Bitch. Who the hell does the Whore think she is, that Cunt! * * * * Well, she certainly won’t get away with it. Not if you show her and take those kids away from her. That would make for the baddest, breath-stopping stake anybody could drive through her. Oooo, there couldn’t be another like it even if you were to pick a tossed and rusty one up from off of a railroad plank and plunge it yourself into her very own chest. But. They’d probably come after you, and that’s not what you want when there’s this other just as effective way! Just like Mehitable’s incessant and hopeful quest regarding Legion. No prison time for Herry to mess with. No fortune lost to those evil lawyers in defending your actions to get rid of her. No chance of any loss of any part of your career at all, actually. As a matter of fact, all face would be saved. Which would surely not be the case whatsoever if you’d physically had to up and off her for real yourself. Yeah. Take the kids. No contact. If she were any kind of a real mother at all, that’d kill her in and of itself. Except … you could even still get the actual physical death, too! She’ll kill herself by her own hand! Suicide! All nice and neat-like. And I’m nowhere around at the time. Off the hook. Totally and completely off the hook again! Escaping myself, I’d be, from any and all accountability! Kinda like, O, … always! Yet … she’s, indeed, dead! Really dead! And no more bother to me whatsoever! Not ever! Yeah. Take those kids. No phone calls, no packages, no presents, no letters, not even a card on Mother’s Day. Nor one sent from her reaching any one of the Boys on their birthdays. Plus the utter worst: no knowledge, no input, no nothing. Give the goddamn Bitch nothing. Not a mother-fucking thing! Knowledge is power! And not having it, not knowing anything about anything, that’s the Whore’s absolute absence of power. A mama not having any knowledge about her own babies? Why, while withholding of that specific, particular knowledge is even more power, it is also simply absolute … crazy-making! It would so make it like the Boys’d never even had a mother. A biological one, that is. Never ever mention Legion’s name and keep them from all contact with her and their past with her. Make her an invisible mom. Like Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man. Only mama-like. It would. It would do it to her, hurl her over the edge. It’d really kill her. If she were a real mother, it would, wouldn’t it? The ultimate mother-fuck. Drive her to kill herself. If she were a true mother, it would. Mothers are always soooo, so goddamn hopeful. That’s why so many of ’em seem to be able to easily send us all off to make wars on each other! Incredible! They actually rely on pride and hope to bring us kids all—every damn one of us—back home safe and sound. How completely insane is that?! About that much—about that very opinion regarding the utter absence of reason that I personally have witnessed in far, far too many mothers, both modern and anciently ancestral ones, and certainly on that exact sentiment about the mamas’ children and their war–mongering? With Herod Edinsmaier I could never have agreed more about anything. When their kids are delivered back home to them dead in blackened boxes or breathing but bodily halved by roadside bombs, then those same, soooo–hopeful mothers? How suddenly dead themselves they be ... the very instant they first know this bit of information. Hope harms. Acts ... action ... reality ... reason: these are the things which save, which heal, that get the job done, that carry one through her very most evil of times, which do … the work. Hope kills. But Herry’s thinking went wrong, his own hopeful expectations not only great but so daftly unwise, “And that’s what Legion’ll do, too. She’ll keep on hoping and hoping and hoping. But I want her dead. She’s got no money to fight. I’ve got her. It’s working. She’ll do herself in. She’ll kill herself! Not because all hope is lost. Uh-uh. Because of quite the opposite: the same as those child warriors’ moms’ dying. She’ll try so mother–fuckin’ hard to keep it all up,to keep it all together that her heart’ll do her in. She’ll break! She thinks that ’cause she’s a mom hope’ll help her with the judges. Hah! She’ll fuck it all up all right! I’ve got the Cunt! It is working!” What Dr. Herod Edinsmaier did not know: He had lost. From the git-go. Legion True was never going to even consider the thought of taking her own life. Not even one time did I think to kill myself. That—suicide—is a true mother’s ultimate abandonment of her children. For any reason. Or during, as a matter of fact, the utter absence of ... all reason. A real mama knows this from the moment she first learns that she has conceived and subsequently chooses … to grow the baby. So … no matter how grisly and grim any of it all becomes—any of the growing and the caretaking and the raising up of wee ones to their adulthoods becomes, no matter the infernal internal snappings assailing her mind, a real mother would never do that to any one of her own babies. Dr. Edinsmaier’d lost. From the exact moment that he first personally chose to stride boldly out that big, brown front door of his own Othello Drive bachelor pad the evening of Monday, 06 June 1988, never to return through it or to us, his family. Indeed, Dr. Edinsmaier had just then, in that very instant, forfeited any possibility of redemption from the long view.