Evelyn 4

Somewhat shook up by the display on the playground, I find it impossible to concentrate in school today. It jolts me out of my normal mode of easy cruising, forces me to think about myself.
And yes, I know I'm aboard the Titanic, steadily cruising towards the iceberg called Junior High. I know lots about it, having heard and overheard much from those with brothers and sisters there.
For boys, it is a difficult time, what with change of scenery, hormones, heightened demands of parents and teachers. Yet boys don't wake up in the morning afraid of being bullied, that was dealt with centuries ago. Oh sure, the authorities stonewalled, denied there was a problem; up til it became impossible to ignore the headlines. As in, boys showing up at school with a gun and list of names.
So nowadays, not finding friends is as bad as it'll get for a boy. Not so with girls. Since the bullying is not physical, nor do they settle scores with guns, the school system has utterly ignored the girls' problems. Illogical when you consider nearly 100% of teachers and principals are women now. But then, logic and the school system are at best distant cousins and at worst total strangers.
So, what is Job One? Deep Six the dresses. There is no real amount of shame in being merely poor, being among the 1/3 who are the grunge set. You don't hit the social circles but neither is bullying a problem. After all, you do have lots of moral support and company in your predicament.
However, anyone who shows up radically different can expect lotsa problems. Yet what to do about Mum? Impossible to talk with about anything, just gets angry and stubborn.
Hmm, maybe she'll catch some drastic illness and I'll get to live with my aunt. Unlikely, she is pretty healthy.
Perhaps the authorities will finally put her away for observation and rest. Come on, this is Victoria, with its surfeit of total off-the-wall eccentrics. If you walked down Douglas wearing nothing but fireman's hat and boots, unlikely you'd get more than a few curious glances.
If so attired, you spray painted obscenities on store windows, people would think it's political: you're a Communist giving an anti-capitalist rant. And while police would be quick to charge you with vandalism, they wouldn't think of referring you on the shrinks.
But if so attired and so spray-painting, you also yodelled or recited centuries old poetry or bus schedules; then the mental health authorities would sit up and take notice.
And while Mum is a certifiable loon, it's unlikely she'll go quite that far in showing it off to the world.
Somehow or other, the logic seems inexorable. If I can't solve the problem in one fashion or other, I'm gonna jump off Ogden Point. Last day before Junior High starts, get one last summer. Lousy plan, would splash around in the water. Some bonehead would rescue me, get his photo in the paper, maybe even a medal. Unless of course, I wore a coat with heavy metal tied on underneath, vanish instantly upon hitting the water.
Yes, what a cheerful thought. Suddenly my day seems a whole lot better. Still, it is only a last resort; I have a clear duty to at least try to solve the problem first.
I ask myself what G-d might say. I'd still be a kid, judged by more lenient standards and yes, I feel my reasons are good. If he wants to argue, bring it on.
I won't bore you with my next few weeks. Not a time I'd care to dwell on.
One morning as I leave for school, I see Sarah coming down my street.
She flashes a wicked smile, "I see she made you take that awful green floral again. Should wrap it around her neck, choke her til she's blue."
"I could nev-ver do that. They say green and blue don't go together."
We both laugh.
"Curious about Brent?"
"Why would I not be?"
"We ah realized we don't converse well at all. Gonna limit it to a little fun once or twice a week and him do my math."
I nod, "a mature, adult way to deal with it."
"Busy after school, errands or jobs?"
"No, it's done up."
"Good, we'll go to my place, catch up on everything. So, what's happening with you?"
"Mum's giving me Hebrew lessons."
"Oy! Every parent goes through that phase, sooner or later. She'll grow out of it."
We both laugh.
"So, how are you and the dream going?"
"Just last night, it gave me two new clues. In the dream, felt a pressure on my head. Checked with my hand, same shape of hat as the rabbi. Face seemed wierd, felt it. Beard, but light and thin, like a young guy."
"Makes sense, I recall the cop did call you 'kid'. One day, you'll figger it out."
(So ends Part One; the blog could be inactive for several months as Part Two is prepared.)

Evelyn 3

The day drags out to all eternity and then some. Sarah and Brent hang out together at recess and lunch, as if he's afraid she'll "forget". Talk about nerve, he sits there brazenly at lunch and does her math. I mean, it's not like other kids will squeal to the teachers, but the kids'll know.
Finally it registers on me, I'm jealous, losing my friend. And that is to say nothing of losing access to cable TV. Mum doesn't have, we only get CBC (Canadian Broadcasting Corp). Then I fell hot shame thinking of this, it's like saying the TV is more important than our friendship.
Finally, the day is over, I head home to do laundry. As I work, I comfort myself with one thought: tonight is Retro Western, from original films and TV shows of centuries ago. It's the only thing I ever watch at home, the rest of CBC is pure mind-numbing drivel.
By the time Mum gets home, the laundry is out on the clothesline in our postage stamp size backyard and the potatoes and vegetables she put out are peeled and sliced.
As we eat, she says, "time we had a talk."
I'm on edge, knowing that tone well.
"By now you know enough Jewish history to know it could happen anywhere, anytime. Not that you have to worry, you have an absolute right to go to Israel. Still, the job market there is never wonderful. To arrive without at least working class Hebrew would be a disaster. You have a duty to learn."
By now I'm planning strategy. If I openly defy here, argue any, it'll make her thrice as stubborn. I'll never be able to wiggle out of it. But she is a flake, moving from one idea to another at the drop of a hat. (with the notable exception of the dresses.) If I seem cool, relaxed, accepting, likely disinterest will set in in her in a couple months, hopefully.
"Yes Mum, I think you're right. Some kids are rude to me, because I'm Jewish. Guess it wouldn't hurt to enrol me in the basic course."
Proud smile, "glad you agree dear. Just one problem. The rabbi won't take any girls in the class, says it's too disruptive. I'll have to teach you."
I feel the Grand Canyon yawning open in front of my feet, the dizzying vertigo as I look down. Why me G-d? What did I ever do to you?"
"No time like the present, we'll start tonight."
I could argue that tonight is the only TV I watch, but it wouldn't work, just get her mad. So I counter-attack, "but Mum, you do office work. Your eyes must be tired."
"They are. That's why we'll do spoken weeknights and written weekends."
I groooan inwardly, oy!
Next morning I hafta get up earlier, take in the dry laundry. And yes, after school today, I hafta do some of hers, but not as much.
I'm already in a foul mood as I exit for school. Just before arriving at Sarah's, that foul mood becomes more so. There he is, brazenly walking her to school. I turn around another street so they won't see me.
And so I arrive at school a little later than they. There's a huge throng of kids, loud, gathered together.
Then I see it's Himself, proudly showing off the bruises on his butt. Some boys and girls congratulate him on finally finding a girlfriend. Some girls shamelessly pinch his butt, promising the same or more if he gets tired of Sarah.
I glance at the nearby window. Those morons could be in big trouble, if any teachers are in the staff room, hear the noise, look out. No face at the window. Where are they? Other side of the building, Smokers' Corner, making two hands do the work of three as they juggle coffee, cigarette and cell phone.
A nearby girl says, in smart ass tone, "see, missed your chance."
The bell rings, so I don't bother to reply.
"Guy's a total moron," she asserts, "best kind. Train em to do an-nything!! And I mean anything. How come you're so stupid you didn't?"
She's now talking to empty space, as I'm on my way inside.

Evelyn 2

Out the door I go, with school satchel and lunch bag. Down our narrow little street, no sidewalk on either side, no parking permitted. Most houses are only set a foot or two back from the street.
A block and a half away is Sarah's luxury townhouse condo. As I walk, I ponder. It's a stormy friendship, at least one big argument a week.
Two things only hold us together. First, we're the only Jews in James Bay Elementary. Second, we're both so far out of any competition with the rest of the girls. Me, because of those dresses, centuries old style, made by Mum. Her, the weight problem.
Surprise, she's actually ready when I arrive.
I say, "you look tired."
Goofy grin, "Dad bought a new computer game. We all sat up til 3 am. Didn't do any of my homework."
Not exactly news. He buys a new computer game every fortnight. She rarely does even half her homework.
Just as we arrive at school, Brent approaches me. Sticks out his tongue, a thumb in each ear, wiggles his hands, "my big sister saw the remake of 'Gone with the Wind'. Claims there are dresses in there just like yours."
"Dry up, bean brain."
"But she's right," he protests, "she ran prints of some of them. Take a look."
"Go away," I say, ignoring him. Ever since the time I thumped him then gave him a good spanking, he's been a total brat. Obviously angling for a rerun of the latter.
"No, don't go away," Sarah says, to my surprise. Takes a ping pong paddle out of her satchel.
His eyes go wide.
She grins, hugely, "don't be a dope. Surely even you can see you've struck out with Evelyn, she just plain doesn't like you. But see those trees over in the park. We'll go behind em after school, you pull down your pants and I give you 24. Sound like fun?"
"Yes! Oh yes!!"
"But don't think it's for free, not on your life, it's gonna cost. Every day for a week, you gotta do my math homework. Be right easy for a geek like you. We-ell, do we have a bargain?"
"Yes! Oh yes!!"
"Good, see you then."
The bell rings, Sarah and I head for our Grade Four class; Brent to the other one.
"Good morning, class."
"Good morning, Ms Henderson."
"We will now continue on the newspaper project. As you recall, each day we take one section of the local paper, discuss it some. Today, it's the business or financial section. Now what comments do your parents make about it?"
Thor waves his hand, eager to start.
"Yes Thor, go ahead."
"My Dad says of course you hafta give the job to Jews. Writing on stock market and such. After all, who knows money better? But Dad says it's a scandal which Jew they picked. The only one in town with no money? Now I ask you, what on earth would Evelyn's Mum know about the stock market?
"Lives in those three shacky streets they shoulda torn town a century ago. But the city won't, says it's near the cruise ship dock at Ogden Point, tourist attraction. And she doesn't even own a car. Now I ask you, what self-respecting stock market Jew would not own a car??"
Ms Henderson turns to me, "why not go to the source? Evelyn, do you know how it is your mother got that job?"
"She didn't ma'am."
Ms Henderson opens the paper, shows the small grainy photo to me, "but surely dear, that's here, is it not?"
"No ma'am, that's her sister."
Thor breaks into laughter, "you mean, Dad got all freaky bout something that stupid? Gonna pull a joke on him. Says he sees Evelyn's Mum in the supermarket all the time. Next time he starts shooting off his mouth, I'm gonna suggest, next time he sees her, ask for insider stock market tips."
By now the whole class is roaring with laughter.

Evelyn 1

I'm sitting at an outdoor table, sipping coffee and reading the paper. Sensing eyes upon me, I look up to see the rabbi. Not just any rabbi, The Rabbi. He's apparently deep in conversation with two yeshiva (religious school) students, but his eyes never leave me.
He bids the students to stay, approaches me. I'll take this standing up, less intimidating. I see I'm about an inch shorter.
Jovial smile, "reading about the court case?"
Drily I reply, "I was there, know more than those silly journalists. Why bother to read it?"
He roars with laughter, "you do have a dry sense of humor. Rumor has it you're leaving Israel, heading to Canada."
I nod.
He sighs, "now no offence meant, but you got off on the barest of legal technicalities. Lotsa people here in Jerusalem would happily kill you. Like some advice about Canada?"
"Yes please."
"Avoid Toronto, Montreal and Winnipeg, those big Jewish populations. You know how crazy they are about following the news. Other than that, Canada is a big place, lotta choice."
As he turns to leave, I sit, relieved. Could have been worse, a whole lot worse.
At this point I realize a policeman is there at my very table. He twists a smile, "tedious old windbag!"
We both laugh.
"Like my advice on Canada? I speak with some authority, a brother and two cousins there."
"Certainly sir, any advice would be most welcome, my Canada knowledge is limited."
"There just ain't even one Jew in Toronto who gives a rat's ass about Israel or who has for the last century. They wouldn't bother to waste five minutes of their precious time reading about it. Definitely go to Toronto, that's where all the real jobs are."
I gasp, "but sir, ah"
Huge grin, friendly tone, "kid, gonna ask only one question. Rather be the only Jew in town somewhere, cause all sorts of curiousity or rather be simply one more face in that huge crowd in TO?"
I nod, of course he's right.
At this point an alarm goes off. Suicide bombing? Gradually I realize it comes from Mum's room.
Gotta hurry now, pull myself together. In five minutes, she'll be outa the bathroom, in here pestering me if I'm not up.
It's the only dream I ever get, I mean of any great detail or vividness. Had it about once a month since age six.
I review it fast, there simply are no new clues.
I can't place the historical epoch of the dream. After all, cop uniforms over there rarely change. Hasids have been wearing the same stuff since the 1700's. And no, no car or gadget to place it.
As always, I'm struck by the sheer contrast. The Rabbi believes I'm guilty of some terrible sin, which will get me killed. The cop is decidedly flippant, as if it's no more than a penny ante charge, a week in jail or 100 shekel fine.
And as always, the overpowering sense that yes, if I can discover the meaning of this dream, I learn something big, important about life. There's a message in it somewhere.
"Come on Evelyn, stir those lazy bones and get out of bed. And wear the green floral dress today."
I groan inwardly. In this day and age, to wear a dress to anything other than your own wedding is perceived as a century outa date. Can't buy em anymore, she makes. And the green is the worst of the lot.
Still, utterly pointless to argue with any grownup, much less her.
As I spread jam on my toast, she listens to the weather on the radio.
"Good, no rain for several days. Come right home after school, no goofing off and watching TV over at Sarah's. Wash all your socks and underwear and those dresses, get it all on the line before I get home."
She's not joking, do it all by hand. Gotta make stuff last you know, machine wears it out. And the laundromat swallows too many coins. She only does sheets and a few of her things at the laundromat.
"And you make darn good and sure you don't swap lunch stuff with anyone. Especially that Sarah. Her parents don't ever pretend to be kosher. Drinking a glass of water at her place would be treyf."
I don't bother to argue, but with what I get for lunch, unlikely there will be takers for a swap. Besides, Sarah hears the exact same sermon about us. Neat, eh?

Table of Contents

"Susan" - novella length - entered December 31, 2006 to January 11, 2007 - the narrator is dragged out of her peaceful life, swept up in an international conspiracy.

All other items - please scroll down at right and click on "November 2006" for full Table of Contents.

Susan 10

One Thursday, I return from work to find a post card, the Post Office is holding a parcel for me. I'm more than a little curious. After all, who is there to send anything?
Next day I see it's from Gen Strasser's office, a letter and book.
"Seeing as how you're a civilian now, I can't give you orders. Still, please accept advice as a friend.
"Reading the enclosed book, you'll realize you have the legal right to sue for defamation of character; as do I.
"Not a wise plan. First, they'd love the publicity. An average title sells 100, usually only to the faithful. Second, upon winning your damages against Marxist-Leninist-Trotskyite Publishing House, it could be difficult to collect. As in, their only asset is a fifty year old printing press, scrap metal value only.
"Happy reading, 'conspirator'."
Titled, "The Conspiracy Which Dragged Canada into Overseas Deployment", it has certain factual errors.
The co-conspirators, that is Ari and myself, are on the wrong base in Germany. So wrong, it's actually a British base. His first name, middle name and hometown in the US are wrong. My middle name, age, education and pre-military occupation are wrong. As is showing me as a Regular, when I was a Reservist.
To read all this hoohaw, Gen Strasser and the whole Cabinet were simply putty in my hands. I dreamed up the whole thing, from scratch. Since I needed an American ally to pull it off, Ari is the logical choice, being distant relative of one of my friends.
I was of course well rewarded, Uncle Sam depositing a million and a half dollars in a Swiss bank, name of bank given, address on Bahnhofstrasse in Zurich given.
Hmm, wonder what would happen if I simply showed up there? Waved this book around as evidence, demanded to see my account? I sigh, likely men in white suits would haul me away for a short rest in a peaceful quiet institution.
Just as the conspiracy was nearing fruition, an emergency arose. Mrs Cohen returned early to discover Ari and myself, naked in bed. Whereupon she went to the kitchen, got two knives.
Screaming curses in who knows how many languages she pursued me around the base, still naked of course.
These worthies claim to have eyewitness statements from US soldiers.
Anyhow, this state of affairs, the pursuit, lasted a long time. Reason, American MP's were so totally overcome with such a wild hilarity, they were unable to mobilize. Eventually, an MP Sgt arrived upon the scene, got their butts in gear.
This incident was hushed up, since it happened at a critical juncture of the conspiracy, the night before the Canadian Defence Minister gave the press conference.
Immediately after, I was replaced by another officer and thrown out of the Army.
Charges against me were considered, never laid as US and German authorities stonewalled on the investigation.
And now, I'm merely biding my time, laying low, til I'm sure the scandal is over.
At which point, I'll go off on a trip, happily reunite with my money.
I ponder all this. If these people had even one ounce of credibility, my life wouldn't be so peaceful now. As in, endless phone calls from reporters and being accosted outside my office building.
As time passes, I slowly realize, this is the closure I needed. I had a darn good laugh and can now just go back to being me. And me is looking a little better now. In the spring, we'll be bringing out a few scifi titles; a welcome change from bean counting.

Susan 9

As Col Cohen stands to speak, I surreptiously look at expressions. Most convey that he is a respected officer and they are prepared to listen with an open mind.
Smile, "today each and every one of you gets the chance to grab history by the horns, change its direction. It goes without saying that everything said today is secret. Discuss it among yourselves after if you like, but not anywhere you'd be overhead.
"Joining us today is Lt Nachtenstein of the Canadian Army. Don't let the rank fool you, she answers directly to a Gen sympathetic to NATO causes. There's a reason she's here, not someone higher ranking. Above all else, they need secrecy. We're now talking about the first Canadian deployment abroad in over a century."
Oohs and ahs.
"Before we proceed, cultural background. First, they have only 1/10 of our population. Second, their economy has stagnated for a lot of years while ours grew. At present, Canadian Gross National Product per person is roughly 1/4 of ours. So, multiply 1/10 by 1/4 and that gives 1/40. For these people to spend a dollar pinches them as much as for Uncle Sam to spend forty.
"You are of course free to view this how you may. Consider it a totally inadequate contribution if you choose. Bottom line though, it's all they can afford, financially and politically. A more mature attitude would be, how can be get the maximum bang for the buck? Without further ado, Lt Nachtenstein."
They applaud.
I rise, "for the last dozen years, US garrisons in Germany have been short. Short enough an important role has never been addressed in that time. I refer to gendarme style patrols of rural and village areas during wartime.
"Front line duty for the Canadian contingent has been considered and rejected on technical grounds. Sad to say, everything we own is decades out of date, not inter-operable with you.
"However I can offer you one cheerful thought. When Ivan comes calling, fuel will be at a premium. Everyone competing with everyone else to get enough. Now if you look in the attached table, you'll see we can do it for 1/4 the fuel costs of yourselves."
Oohs and ahs.
Drily I continue, "open jeeps and trucks use a lot less than armored cars and armored Humvees."
Roars of laughter.
"I now open to questions."
The men, very polite, chivalrous. Some offer ideas for minor changes; others suggest different roles.
The women, mostly rude, denigrate the platoon and company, but stop short of shooting the messenger.
As questions cease, Col Cohen says, "Lt Nachtenstein and I will now withdraw. Carry out a free discussion among yourselves, then a secret ballot vote. Of course you have the right to reject this idea. But if you do, it forces these people into roles of less usefulness. Now if this idea is a success, it's really only a matter of time before their government ups the ante. On the other hand, if these people end up guarding some supply depot, you can rest assured you won't be seeing any increases in future."
We wait for half an hour; are informed the vote is 90% yes.
And so it goes, base after base.
When the job is complete, I send the results to Gen Strasser.
Two days later, the Canadian Defence Minister holds a press conference, announcing the big event.
And that is the end of the need for me. A real officer, a Col, arrives to sort out the details. After several days briefing this person, it's back home for me.
Somehow I just can't seem to readjust. It's like I've gone into the gym, built up so much that now I don't fit into my previous body armor.
My job seems the living end of triviality. My friends (?) Indira, Elke and Francesca seem the height of inanity. I feel itchy and bored and it just won't go away, month after grinding month.

Susan 8

Col Cohen begins, "whatever sins US soldiers may engage in, not your worry, that's for US MP's. You would report by radio anything untoward you witness, but not intervene."
I nod.
"The German civilian police have identified a serious lack and been badgering us for some time. That is, police themselves will be kept quite busy near to their stations. What is needed is auxiliary patrols by vehicle of rural and village areas. Highly unlikely you'd encounter real firearms - gun control is very strict here. Likely you could trip over homemade weaponry. Everything from settling old grudges to killing gays to burning down the nearest mosque or synagogue is likely to come out of the closet and fast. Now tell me, is that in keeping with the role you seek?"
It's a stroke of good fortune. I've been given an A list, a dozen items in no particular order of desirability. If anything on the A list shows, I'm to go for it and vigorously. If not, stall for time by getting every picayune detail approved by Gen Strasser.
I smile, "yes Ari, we can do business."
"Good, now the President himself has authorized this option. That secret will remain between you and me. For obvious reasons, the dangers of groupthink. If it became known Mr P was for, then any objections - perhaps valid - would vanish. The Bay of Pigs fiasco started in exactly that way.
"So Job One, cooperation of the Police Chief in Ulm. Job Two, a majority consensus among US officers on nearby bases."
And so the Col and I are ushered into the Chief's office. Negotiations are carried out entirely in German. Ari's is flawless, mine a whole lot better after that one-on-one instruction in the Crystal Palace.
The Chief is absolutely delighted to find someone finally addressing his concerns. Even more so discovering the job is to be done by Canadians.
With ridiculous ease we walk out with his written endorsement of our overall plan.
After the adrenalin buzz of achievement fades, I face an ethical issue. I clearly benefitted from the general prejudices here. First, the overpolite reaction to Jews, a hangover of past events. Second, the reputation of Canadians as opposed to Americans.
After much thought, I dismiss all this. We didn't cheat the Chief out of anything; two-sided transaction: he benefits and so do we.
The Col and I practise our presentation skills. He will start by introducing me and the cultural background. That is, US officers have every right to feel it is too small a contribution to make. However, that's all there is, the real question is how to make best use of it.
We will be attending officer meetings on a dozen bases. At each, a vote will be held. If overall 60% of US officers present vote to accept, it's a go.
If not, we'll try Plan B.
I ask Ari, "wouldn't it be a timesaver to present Plans A and B at the same time?"
Easy laugh, "now there is proof positive of being a rookie. Three times as much debate and then split the vote. We'd never manage to get a consensus."
I laugh.
He winks, "you'll soon see, these people are a lot more fractious than that publishing crowd you're used to."
We both laugh.

Susan 7

Col Cohen smiles, "but before we dive right in, there exists a problem. In order to fully understand how important the job is, we must first come to a meeting of the minds. I don't mean we have to agree, just understand.
"As it stands, there are large cultural differences between us. Oh yes being fellow Jews helps, but even that presents a problem. Being only half-heartedly Orthodox myself, I of course have a news obsession. In you, I detect the ultra tendency of disdain towards news."
I blush.
Grin, "no condemnation meant, merely pointing it out. Then add in the difference in gender and age perception. But all that pales into insignificance when stacked up against the Canada-US difference. Your culture has experienced a century of peace; mine as many years of war as of peace. Now some things I say may seem insulting, condescending. It certainly is not my intention. It's just I have to be sure you are capable of seeing the world through US eyes. Whether you agree or not is immaterial. So, up for a debate?"
"Oh yes Col."
Smile, "let's set a new rule. I'm not your boss, in fact we are equals in this process. When discussing things alone, let's go to first name. When anyone else is present, keep it formal. I'm Ari."
"I'm Sue."
"Refill that coffee. Once two Jews get going, it might never stop."
We both laugh.
"Now Sue, start by playing roles. I'm Canadian Minister of Revenue, you my chief statistician. I ask you to calculate exactly how many cigarettes Canadians smoke in a year. Is it doable?"
"No Col."
"You mean no Ari."
"Sorry Ari. It's not possible. First, some people grow their own tobacco. It's legal to do, to smoke it, to give it to friends. Only a crime if you sell it. Second, lotta US cigarettes are smuggled in through that Indian Reserve near Montreal."
"Ok, change roles. I'm Canadian Minister of Health. I ask you to tell me whether Canadians smoke more or less now than they did one year ago, five years ago and ten years ago. Doable?"
"Yes and no Ari. If the tobacco tax rose dramatically, it would have the effect of driving more people into cultivation or smuggling. If tax stayed fairly level, it could be done with accuracy."
"Good, I'm now Canadian Minister of Revenue, asking you to tell me how much alcohol Canadians drank? Possible?"
"Certainly not Ari. It's legal to ferment your own beer and wine, drink it, give it to friends. Only a crime if you sell. Then of course there are illegal stills."
"Good, now I'm Canadian Minister of Health, asking you to compare current alcohol consumption with past. Can it be done?"
"Same as with tobacco. If tax shot up rapidly, no. If taxes are fairly level, yes."
"Now I'm asking you to compare Canadian and US consumption of both. Is it possible?"
"No, different bureaucratic reporting mechanisms, it'd be like adding apples and oranges. Then every carton or bottle smuggled into Canada would have the statistical effect of making Americans appear to be bigger consumers."
"Good, now consider sex. Would it be possible to ascertain with any degree of accuracy what percent of marriages experience infidelity?"
"Unlikely, people would lie."
'But there are ways to track sexual behavior. Would you agree that looking at numbers of social diseases, abortions and illegitimate births would be a start?"
"Oh yes."
"Would you further agree that you could track the loosening and tightening of morality overall, by looking at those numbers?"
"Oh yes."
"You as a Canadian would see all these graphs as a flat line or gentle curve. American graphs on tobacco, alcohol and such sex figures spike up and down, very dramatically."
"How so Ari?"
"Up in war, down in peace."
It starts to dawn on me, where he's headed.
"There are other effects of war too. Now I ask you, imagine yourself an enlisted American, who loathes with an absolute passion either platoon or company commander."
"Ok."
"You are now on maneuvers in the swamps of South Carolina. Would you frag this person?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I would of course know the full weight of investigation would be brought to bear, even bringing in CSI experts from HQ if necessary."
"Yet if you were in the Nam jungles over a century ago, you'd be at least tempted?"
"Oh yes."
"Investigators have confirmed for an absolute fact that 600 American officers died at the hands of their own people. That's easier to prove; the identity of the culprit is a whole lot harder to establish. Further, 1,400 died under very suspicious circumstances, but no 100% proof of fragging. Now, stand back, tell me in one sentence what you and I have been kicking around."
"War loosens inhibitions, individual and collective, and causes the unthinkable to become commonplace."
"Bingo. Move to the head of the class. Everyone and his dog gets in on the act. Takes advantage of the chaos to do things they wouldn't dare in peacetime. And that certainly includes civilians too."
"I see, and you are about to tell me in what manner the Canadian contingent can help out, should war strike here."
Proud look of a prof whose student aced the exam, "I'm about to do exactly that."

Susan 6

Col Cohen gives a boyish grin, "please, help yourself to coffee. Now I can assure you, it will offend me not in the slightest if you take a styrofoam cup. Everyone in B Company does, tells me I'm careless, my cups are treyf."
I do.
"So how was your flight?"
"Very pleasant Col."
Easy laugh, "now there's a switch, 90% of US soldiers - male or female - come out ready to do homicide. Ah I see why, your size. Those seats would actually be roomy for you."
We both laugh.
"I understand you've been to the mess in Company B, given the tour of the kitchen. I trust it is sufficiently kosher for you."
"Oh yes, Col, I am most impressed by it."
"And your room in BOQ (Bachelor Officer Quarters), satisfactory?"
"Indeed Col."
"Good now forgive me if I ask, what's a nice Canadian girl, ultraOrthodox to boot, doing in a place like this?", but in a tone which robs it of any offence. "I mean, surely this is where angels fear to tread."
I shrug, "you may find considerable anti-Americanism among other Canadians; I don't share the sentiment. I'm here because duty calls."
Laugh, "lemme guess now, I can see it in your manner. Back on civvy street, you were - gasp - a bean counter, right?"
"As Chief of Finance and Admin at Birnbaum Publishing, it was my duty to try to keep us in the black. Bean counter seems such a harsh term."
"But, you've never bean counted in the Canadian Army?"
"No Col."
"A point in your favor. You see, that's not what is at issue here. Neither you nor I have any real interest in monetary figures. We've been given a non-negotiable budget and a fixed contingent size. So our job, you and I, is simply to get the most bang for our buck, right?"
"Yes Col."
"For starters, the one infantry company, with open jeeps and trucks. No way on earth we could authorize any form of front-line combat role; be tantamount to murder. They ah do have body armor?"
"No Col."
"The motorized platoon, detail the armament on each APC?"
"One 20 mm cannon; Col, one .30 calibre machine gun."
"Are you aware the cannon has been obsolete for a quarter century now? It'd be as effective as a can opener on that alloy the neoSoviets use on all vehicles?"
"I am aware Col."
"What is the official Canadian explanation for the .30 cal? As opposed to a .50?"
"The rationale Col, is any vehicle can only carry so much weight. The more rounds you can get out there, the better your odds of hitting something."
"And are you aware the .30 would bounce harmlessly off neoSoviet body armor; the .50 would not?"
"I am aware Col."
"Are there plans to replace the .30?"
"It's been looked at Col. The experts assert the mountings are so flimsy, it could not withstand the much greater recoil and vibration of a .50. The price to retrofit something that old, beyond paying."
"Which com devices do you use?"
"XB-15's Col."
Loud gasp, "they've been obsolete for forty years. No component parts made, meaning you cannibalize. Meaning you are short. Who all gets devices?"
"At present, Col, privates and corporals do not; M/Cpl and up do. But it's getting worse, they're mooting around only Sgt's and up."
"Are you aware every US soldier has one?"
"Oh yes Col."
"So you accept, as absolute fact, I could not even begin to consider a combat role for the motorized platoon?"
"Indeed Col, Gen Strasser expected that very result."
Pensive smile, "Lt, I'm going to ask a very sensitive question. Our original terms of reference are that the Canadian contingent is only allowed to accept certain small help from us: temporary lodging til they're settled in, several instructors and some members sent on US Army courses. Absolutely no donations of any hardware item. How exactly open would the Gen be to altering this, just a little?"
"My read, Col, she personally is gung ho. She's tried to establish overseas reach for years, but without success. She's isn't calling the shots here though. Any alteration, however small, will end up in the hands of the Defence Minister and then the full Cabinet."
Chuckle, "I can certainly see why. Deathly afraid of appearing to be poor cousin to the US. Want to establish they did this under their own steam. Ok, to offer any form of weaponry would by hugely provocative. But you really do need the com devices. But, here's my pitch. We aren't doing this to aid you, it's an advertising gimmick. As of the point the Capt's and Sgt's see how well this stuff works, they'll put pressure upwards to buy. So you see, it's all to promote American jobs."
"Good so far Col, but I need more, a compelling reason to force them to accept."
"There is one. Whether or not you have proper communications impacts on what role you could get. With it, we can get you something high class; without, you wouldn't like what you see."
"Very well Col, I'll give it my best shot. Don't expect a speedy answer, you know how politicians dither."
"No rush, lots of time for you to become familiar with us. And now, enough business. Tell me, so many ultraOrthodox women are into Yiddish literature, are you?"
"Oh yes Col."
"Good, I'm quite new at it, sure would appreciate suggestions."
It must be a matter of urgency, my answer comes in several days. The original rules stand, no donations. However, in the matter of com devices only, I am authorized to borrow them for the duration of the German tour of duty. I am not to interpret this as carte blanche and borrow anything else.
I show it to Col Cohen. He flashes a wicked smile, "can't beat a politician for pure sophistry."
We both laugh.
"However, that's all we need, we can now roll em. Before we start, I notice you are tolerant and open minded. Allowed even our total buffoons to talk your ears off. So, what do you make of the size of the US contingent in this sector?"
"To the untrained eye, Col, it appears too big. This of course leading to all manner of idleness and drunken hijinks. But that's too big for peace. If Ivan comes calling, this sector is short some 5,000 soldiers to meet all its commitments."
"Generous you are. Some say it's higher. Well no matter, now tell me, why are we short?"
"It is neither lack of money nor lack of willingness to spend it Col. But even if you pay, there are only so many who show up, without of course a draft."
"Very good. I think it highly unlikely Ivan would invade over such a small shortfall. However, if the shortfall grows over the years, it could happen. The shortfall actually plays in the favor of the Canadian contingent. Lotta jobs to be done - real stuff - not make believe. Lotta choice. I'll show you all of course. But first feast your eyes on the Cadillac. This is the absolute best Gen Strasser could achieve without front-line combat status."

Susan 5

I know nothing of hotels, apartment or otherwise, feel it wisest to approach the desk clerk a week before grad, "I just wanted to check. How do you people do checkout time on monthly bills? Wouldn't wanna overstay on my last day."
An amused look comes over his face, "Lt Nachtenstein, I can assure you, you need not worry."
"But it'll be the last day of the month. Should I take my suitcases in the morning? Go straight from class to the train?"
He laughs, "you need not worry about packing."
"Why?"
Grin, "they've extended your stay by a month. Ah I see by the surprised look they never got around to informing you. Let's just keep it our secret; wouldn't want trouble with the Crystal Palace (slang for National Defence HQ)."
"Does stuff like this happen all the time?"
Rolls his eyes, "gotta be a rookie to ask something so crazy. Of course, to paraphrase the Bible, the left hand doesn't know what the right is doing."
We both laugh.
Next day, I discover I've been exempted PT, scheduled for a meeting in the Gen's office.
Affable smile, "the forms people fill out on joining have questions that are vague, some open to interpretation. Still, there's a fairly serious error on yours. Under other languages, you list Hebrew and Yiddish, correct?"
"Yes, Gen."
"So imagine my consternation upon discovering you actually know German? And further, chose not to tell us?"
I groan, "Gen, I recall that question as alluding to some level of competence."
"So how competent are you in German?"
"You could arrange a test if you like Gen, but not very. Learned it as a byproduct."
"Byproduct??"
"If you know Yiddish anyway, Gen, some parents like you to get a smattering of German. Very similar spoken, but different alphabet."
"So, how much did you get?"
"Equivalent to one academic year, Gen, at 3 hours per week."
"Ah I see, one step up from a tourist."
"That's about it, Gen."
Grin, "that's all we need. Long as you can navigate by train, find meetings, buy food and so forth."
To my knowledge, there are no Canadian soldiers in Germany; that's mostly US, British and French facing off against the neoSoviets.
"Consider yourself sworn to secrecy, what I tell you. Things are starting to pinch up in the Cabinet. That pulpwood agreement with the US, up for renewal. Not going well, in fact the Americans have dug in their heels. Making it contingent upon some short of Canadian military showing over in Germany."
"Gen, isn't that like cutting off their noses to spite their faces? How do they get sufficient for their newspapers?"
Roar of laughter, "very good Lt, you've come a long way during your sojourn here. But they are that stubborn. They'd ration newsprint before they back off. So, here's the scoop, if anyone high ranking goes over to Germany to take a look, the Canadian newspapers catch wind. Endless speculation and of course time to rally anti-military sentiment.
"But an invisible person, a junior officer, could be there for months and no one would notice or care. We even have a cover story ready, just in case it becomes an issue. You have been sent as liaison officer, to study American communication networks, for when we have sufficient funds to upgrade."
"Are we likely to get such funds, Gen?"
Laugh, "not likely this decade, perhaps next. We aren't just going to dump you. Very thorough briefing, a month in HQ. Then, you're assigned to a US base near Ulm for two reasons; one company keeps kosher and the base CO, Jewish, is willing to aid our cause along. You need someone who can help open doors, help dig out info. And yes, the US of course wishes to keep this all quiet til it's a done deal."
"What size of contingent Gen?"
"One standard infantry company, with trucks and jeeps; one separate motorized platoon, with 3 APC's (armored personnel carriers)."
"Would not the Americans consider that rather small, Gen?"
"It's the symbolism that counts. Once you can show Canadian soldiers getting a function with a measure of dignity, it becomes much more politically palatable. After all, if all they do is change lightbulbs, it's a non-starter."
"In my view, Gen, it sounds foolhardy to send a Lt. Gotta be at least a Maj."
Indulgent smile, "oh but I agree with you, 100%. Now you tell me, is the absence of a Maj for a period of 6 months to a year likely to make waves?"
"I would assume so, Gen."
Chuckle, "I can assure you, the absence of a mere Captain for that long would get them sniffing around. That's how small we are."
"Gen, how exactly much respect is the mighty US Army gonna show a Lt?"
"You're my aide. Our ally Col Cohen has a dozen decorations. What more do you want for credibility than that?"
Renee looks exceptionally grim. At coffee time, she says quietly, "merde merde merde merde merde."
I know enough to understand that, raise an eyebrow.
"****ing called up. Can you ****ing believe they found a platoon for me?"
"How?"
"They say those lottery drawings are supervised by the Auditor General himself, to keep it totally fair and honest. Anyhow, there's this little town on the North Shore, La Tabatiere. Men fish, when they can. Women work in the fish plant, when they can. All the Social Insurance Numbers happen to be in a sequence, applied for through the fish plant. You guess."
"The random generator burped, became undone and now the town is emptied of women. Bad luck for you, my friend."
Loud groan, "you don't understand, it's not just my bad luck; but the very death of the town."
"Once they see TV and movies and espresso, there's no going home?"
"You got it, any idea how grim and primitive it is there? You seem different, something happened, right?"
"I'm not at liberty to say, but yes I too have been extended."
"They found you a contingent?"
"No, something else, paperwork."
Groan, "the Army has an endless appetite for that. Bad luck for you too, my friend."

Susan 4

At coffee time, Lt Savard joins me uninvited, breezy smile, "no hard feelings eh?"
I laugh, "at first yeah. Soon disappeared once I saw everything; realized I got off easy."
Grin, "in real life, not this Army crap, I'm Renee."
"I'm Sue."
"So Sue, what do you make of all that?"
"I gathered at least half those people were boasting rather than trying to keep whatever secret, you included."
Roar of laughter, "guilty as charged, hard to fool an editor. What else do you make of it?"
"I have the strangest feeling you're about to tell me a story, that shows how much we really have in common."
"Ah, what was your first clue?" Leans forward, talks quietly, "the good General victimized me in the same fashion as you, and for the exact same reason."
"How so?"
"What do you know of Catholocism and the French Quebec experience Sue?"
"Well Renee, cities and towns mostly died out, some 98% atheists or so I'm told. Have to go back into the Eastern Townships, find farmers; or North Shore, find fishermen. Others in hazardous jobs, such as miners, are often true believers."
"Very good. Now, a true believer, a genuine dyed in the wool old fashioned sort, honors which tradition each and every Friday?"
"Fish of course, no meat."
"So, just guess Gen Strasser's involvement in all of this?"
In a flash it hits, "exemption of course. Up to now, the Army has been unwilling or unable to provide fish. Hence, they've let off the small number of people involved."
"Good so far, Sue, now how do I fit in?"
I groan, "like me, they intend to find some previously exempt followers for you."
Renee gives a wicked laugh, "I can assure you, hell itself will freeze solidly over before they ever find sufficient followers for either me or you. Total waste of our time."
"Still, I suppose it beats minus 40 degree temperatures out on the wind swept plains near Moose Jaw."
She laughs, gives me a mock punch on the arm, "now you watch, we'll soon figger who the other victims are and why. Wanna go boozing tonight?"
"Sorry, against my principles, nothing personal."
"So the strongest indulgence you do is coffee?"
"Oh yes."
"Good, we'll do it sometimes. I like you, smart enough to figger this all out. Honest too, not one Jew in a hundred woulda had enough jam to face the class and admit something like that."
"Well, it seemed fairly obvious to me."
"Maybe obvious to the rest too; they just refuse to admit it."
Back in class, Gen says, "all right, I noticed who you talked with. Let's test those communication skills."
Each pair includes a caller and a drawer. The caller (plus all others present) see the geometric design on a paper. The drawer doesn't, given a blank paper and pencil. Different diagrams for each pair.
It's wildly hilarious, as people try to convey geometry verbally, get hopelessly lost, produce nothing close.
Renee and I are last, she drawing, I calling, "now north is up and east is right. Place your pencil on the bottom left corner. Good. Now without drawing, move the pencil 3" east and 1" north. Good, now start, draw a line straight north for 3 1/2". Good. Now northeast 2". Good. Now west 1". Good. Now nother 2" northeast. Good. Now south 2". Good. That's it."
I see looks of envy all around.
Far away voice, Gen says, "never ever seen that before. Very good, Lt Nachtenstein."
As we file out, Renee says quietly, "you blew that bigtime."
"How so?
"Saw her look, very proprietorial. Show any further talent and you could find yourself a regular officer rather than Reservist."
"Thanks for the warning."
Back in class, Gen grins, "Lt Nachtenstein, please come up front. Poetry reading, starting at this page."
I shrug, surely the Army is beyond nuts. It's "Cremation of Sam McGee", chronicling Yukon Gold Rush days. I recall it from school, it has a nice rhythym, which I fall into.
After, I sit wondering what on earth all that was about?
As I watch everyone else argue the point before, during and after; I know I was had. Tricked into revealing another good officerial trait.
As we file out, I say quietly to Renee, "don't start on me; I realize I blew it."
She shrugs, "too late now, damage is done. Just in future, remember you are in Rome. Start acting like your fellow Romans."
Finally, my big chance to appear inept. Driver training in Jeeps; I'm the only one of us not possessing a civvy driver's licence. My satisfaction in this is diminished by knowing only a Sgt instructor is witnessing all this and not the Gen.
Even then, it misfires. Sgt is ever so helpful, ever so patient, ever so cheerful and finalizes with the verdict that I did quite well for a total beginner.
The Warrant Officer flashes an impish grin, which makes her look years younger and actually likeable, "today we test out certain traits. Sangfroid, following orders, your innate ability to cope or not with the chaos of civil disturbance, more colloquially known as riot."
Laughs.
"One of the most famous quotes of history is 'don't fire til you see the whites of their eyes." This may sound very inspiring, but it has a serious flaw, everyone's eyesight is different. To keep y'all equal, we've painted that yellow line. When your turn comes, you will face 30 rioters-holograms, coming one by one. You are not permitted to fire until at least one foot crosses the yellow line. Shoot early and it costs points. The computer will score you, based on how quickly you fire after the foot crosses and how accurately you hit.
"Careful aim is important. Use more than 30 bullets and it costs you points.
Pointing to me, the enternal first time victim, "take your position, tell when ready."
First few seconds, I feel freaked. Then an icy calm comes over me and I say quietly, "start."
It seems ludicrously easy, as I stack up 30 chest hits with 30 shots. After all, it's pointblank range.
As I watch the others, I realize it isn't so easy. Everyone else is penaltied for at least two early shots; some as many as a dozen.
Renee manages the job with 35 bullets, coming second. It goes downhill from there. Several blew away the whole 100 round clip and then were subsequently killed by simulation by these rioters.
WO asks me after, "so, did it not intimidate you, fact all those rioters were much bigger than you?"
"Why should it? Made a bigger target."
Roars with laughter, mock punch on my arm, "I see the Army screwed up bigtime, downchecking all them Jews. Gotta find more like you. How did it feel?"
"Awesome, like standing atop Everest or K2."
Sad look, "gotta learn a little more maturity yet. Can't afford those sorts of feeling when you are in charge of thirty homicidal maniacs."
I blush hotly.
Grin, "that's better, a good start."

Susan 3

So here I am, Saturday morning, sitting in an uncomfortable folding chair in the Armory, along with a hundred bemused others. Why? The letter - sent registered - promised all sorts of mayhem to any who failed to show, without pre-authorized absence.
It's fairly easy to see how the presence of a military draft in Canada would have escaped my attention. After all, it's not like I bother with newspapers - that ultraOrthodox upbringing.
What surprises me is no one else around appears to have known of it either. Must be small and low-key.
A fat leather dyke looking Sgt had been checking attendance at the door. Soon she proclaims all to be present except two authorized absences.
A Col rises, "good morning everyone, thank you so much for fitting me into your busy schedule. My experience has been that people simply do not function well when they don't understand the why. Further they don't understand the why til they know the history."
Loud groans.
Cheeky grin, "bear with me, I'll keep it short and not so sweet."
Her eyes scan the crowd, stop on me, points, "you there, yes you, stand up."
I do.
"You look like you didn't sleep through history class. Turn your mind back over a century; post World War 2, the Lester Pearson and Pierre Trudeau era. Describe Canada's military, and be as unflattering as you think necessary."
"Characterized by chronic foot dragging on all NATO commitments, ma'am, always seeking out the cheapest and easiest job. But #1 in the world in peacekeeping."
"Very good, don't stop now. What killed off the glory days of peacekeeping?"
"Beyond doubt, ma'am, Afghanistan. The Liberals led the way in, but only in a peacekeeping role. The Harper Conservative government switched that to an out and out combat role."
"What happened next?"
"They got sucked into pro-Bush Iraq ventures, ma'am."
"I see, and just how did the voters react to that?"
"With absolute fury, ma'am. Ever since, it's been total isolationism, won't even accept peacekeeping roles."
Sly grin, Col says, "there you go. I didn't bore you with history, one of your own did."
Roars of laughter.
"Here's where we come in. Like every other issue in this overregulated land, the Supreme Court of Canada has declared total equality between genders in the Canadian Forces. As it happens, sufficient men always step forward, a draft is never needed. Sufficient women do not. Some of our activities include leasing the air bases at Gander and Moose Jaw to USAF; providing them with perimeter security.
"Don't even think of calling your own Doctor; you'll deal with ours. Assuming you're healthy enough; all of you go. Now, questions?"
Oh yes; lotsa them; very hostile.
I've been given a card, my time for the medical. All is routine till I'm asked about special dietary; I reply kosher.
With that, Doctor takes me to Col's office.
Col examines my file, "live alone eh?"
"Yes ma'am."
"No one else you cook for? No guests coming over?"
"No ma'am."
She drives me to my apartment in the Jeep, checks my cupboards and verifies I have two sets of dishes.
Reading the official exemption letter, I realize I could be in trouble later. They haven't exempted me for all time; merely stated it is not viable to feed me now. They reserve the right to change this later.
As weeks slide by, I let it drop; just one of those close things. So, imagine my surprise to find myself summoned to another meeting with this same Col.
She introduces me to Gen Strasser, from HQ, who manages somehow to look both hard and beautiful. Appraising look, "raised Gur Hasidic, my guess."
I sense the trap; of course show knows otherwise; trying to provoke indiscreet reaction.
"No Gen, Lithuanian school of thought."
"What are the differences?"
"Well Gen, Lithuanian is more into intense study; Hasids more into song and dance."
Indulgent smile, "that's men doing either. As for the women, a lot less difference. Ignoring the differences in sexual practices permitted; the womens' lives are nearly identical, are they not? As in, working to support Mr Wonderful as he does all this?"
"I sense insult in your tone, Gen, perhaps an apology would be in order."
Easy smile, "ok, I'm sorry if it sounded a bit nasty. Now answer my quesiton. Are the lives of the women remarkably parallel or are they not?"
"They are, Gen."
She opens a file, "your blood chart, completely clean, no drug history whatsoever. Maybe one in a thousand shows up like that. When we see it, we don't believe in wasting. Of late, we've been criticized that a lot of minorities seem to wangle exemptions. Our math shows once you gather a platoon, you've achieved critical mass for food. Then, anything like kosher or halal is possible."
I groan inwardly.
"For that, a platoon commander is needed, a Lieutenant. That's you, you're going for a course in Ottawa. Four months, after that, you're qualified as a Reservist Lt. We may not activate at that time, but we have the right to in future, assuming we find you sufficient followers."
I counter-attack, "and just how am I going to get food through this course?"
Grin, "you ever hear of apartment hotels, kitchenette included, rent by the month? We'll get you two sets of dishes and a food allowance, do your own shopping."
"I would suggest Gen, your plan is crazy, bordering on criminal negligence. To actually combine Hasids and Lithuanians? You or whoever advised you is outa their minds."
Both Col and Gen roar with laughter.
Gen smiles sweetly, "wll now, you just passed the test. I vastly prefer officers who call it as they see it. For sure you're in now."
I grooooan inwardly, but what can you do?

Gen Strasser smiles as she stands in front of a dozen of us, "let's have some fun. Everyone has to say how they left the parental home. After that, the others ask questions. I'll lead off. Between second and third year of university, I ran off to San Francisco with my neo-hippy boyfriend."
Someone asks, "how'd it work out?"
"Not as well as I'd hoped. Before he'd been there a week, he decided he was Gay with a capital G."
Howls of laughter.
With other questions, they soon pin her into an admission that sex had been unequal in the oral department.
I start tentatively, "well actually my parents threw me out. They refused to accept the job I'd taken at Birnbaum Publishing. Said it was too secular."
Someone asks, "would you agree that, though the books are published for adults, there is nothing Birnbaum publishes that you could not display in your main bookshelves, and your kids see?"
"Certainly, it's been company policy since Day One."
"Would you further agree they could improve the bottom line by loosening a bit?"
"Economically, probably; reputation is another matter."
Lt Savard, complete with charming French accent, says, "hands up all who say she's lying, hiding something big."
At least half.
Lt Savard continues, "come on now, don't BS me, I'm from Montreal, seen lotsa you Jews. This here is a manufactured scandal, right? For the benefit of the resta you, works like this. Family loyalties ain't what they were in the past. Now it's devil take the hindmost. Don't have enough money to marry off all the daughters, you unload the least likely. Lifeboat ethics."
I start to blush.
Smart-ass tone, "now Lt Nachtenstein, I ask you, have you at least once considered that this is what really happened? Despite what they say?"
"I'd prefer not to answer."
Gen Strasser jumps in, "park all that garbage at the door. Here we have to trust each other; at some point, we could die together. Answer the question."
"The intention of someone is not known to humans; only G-d knows for sure."
Smug look, "fair enough, give it your best guess."
"Of course you're correct. I've seen many sins, far worse, left unpunished, and by stricter parents."
I sit feeling miserable; does not last long.
Lt Savard was thrown out following a huge argument at the grandparents' farm. Two of the girls with farm backgrounds soon trap her into revealing it was after being caught in flagrantis during bestiality.

Susan 2

Nervously Nathan gestures me aside, so we won't be overheard, "Sue, can you do me a huge favor?"
"What?"
"Run this envelope to the Financial Building."
"We do have a courier contract."
He blushes, "truth is, my Dad is beating up on me these days. Checking all the courier waybills, taxi vouchers and long distance calls and such. And this isn't real business."
"As in?"
"Yeah, feel it, it's money, I owe Abe from the poker game."
"You could go."
"You know how he is, talk my ear off, I'd be gone two hours."
I laugh, "he certainly would, I'll take it."
"Thanks, I owe you, anything you like from the coffee bar downstairs."
I don't mind the air. I return to find two pod neighbors in heated debate over a manuscript for a romance novella. I do my best to ignore them, concentrate on my specialty, sci fi.
"Oh yeah," Naomi says louder yet, "let's go for a tiebreaker vote, ask Susan to read it."
Barb guffaws, "have you lost your ****ing mind? Fat lot she'd ever know about romance. I mean, when was the last time she had any of that?"
Both laugh.
Naomi walks the few feet over to me, grin, "guess you couldn't help overhearing? Care to read this?"
"It would not be fair to the manuscript, I'm prejudiced, believe all romance stories are pure dreck."
Easy laugh, "exactly what we want, open minded of a sort. So, if you say it's good, then it is, right?"
I grimace, "I can flat out guarantee that won't happen."
"Fair nuff, you read it, tell us about everything other than the romance. Review setting, characterization, plot."
Some days you just can't win. It actually was good and so I said.
Nathan drops by, collecting a dollar from everyone for the group lottery effort. Raises an eyebrow, "always meant to ask you, you 're against gambling, yet play this, why?"
"Publishing is psychotic enough, even when you're surrounded by people who know what they're doing most of the time. What if y'all won without me? Your Dad would hire all new staff."
"So you view it not as gambling, but insurance against the unthinkable?"
"Very nicely put, now you tell me Nathan. Suppose you won, what would you do?"
He doesn't hesitate one nanosecond, "you'd guess I'd rush off and be a surfer, but you're wrong. I'd march straight into Himself's office, tell him he's long past it, overdue to retire."
I laugh, but after I realize, his Dad's doing ok; it's Nathan I wouldn't care to bet on.
A few months later, I find myself sitting across from Himself.
Gentle smile, he proffers a chart, "pretty bad, eh? Represents sales of all sci fi, by all publishers." Takes out another chart, "somewhat better, your own results. Still, what do you suppose these two charts tell me?"
"First, my days are numbered. Second, don't bother sending my resume to the other publishers."
Another smile, "hate to throw you out on the street, so I won't. Your word what I say next stays secret?"
"I promise."
He groans softly, "had a knock-down-drag-em-out with Nathan."
"Bad?"
"I'll say, he's decided to make Aliyah (emigrate to Israel)."
"I doubt if he'll like it there."
Chokes with laughter, then sober smile, "which makes you in charge of Finance and Admin when he goes."
I groan inwardly, but what can you do?
Kind smile, "you are so good at math, so well-organized, surely it wouldn't be a problem for you."
"Actually, only a problem adjusting."
Sly grin, "look at the bright side; revenge on some who have ticked you off."
I smile wanly, but I know he's dead wrong. In my experience, revenge simply does not work. It creates a circle, whatever energy you put out, comes back to you in a slightly varied form.
As well, think climate. If we were prosperous, there's margin for error. We aren't, we're no better off than any other small publishing house. Any move causing rancor and dissension will pinch, where it hurts, the bottom line.
Translation: I hafta be fair and reasonable even dealing with the likes of Naomi and Barb.