Minda 7

I know Indira and I are being victimized. As the new arrivals, we get crappy time slots for everything. Including biweekly counselling. So she and I see Ms Birnbaum at her worst. Not only Monday morning uptight, usually hungover and looking like she ain't been laid in a while and has had yet another knock down drag em out with her husband.
Her look clearly conveys, "I'm a piece of merde and so are you, so don't dare mess with me."
Bring it on.
"Now Minda," she starts in that phony sacharine tone, "when we met last we were considering your competitive nature."
(News to me, I don't think I'm competitive.)
"Now let's go back in history. There was a serial killer, a man, who set the all time Canadian record at 188. So just why exactly did you go to 189, then stop, law low, do no more killings?"
"I'm interested to hear your theory on that ma'am."
"Well everything else in your file indicates being non-competitive. Never bothered with school sports. Never studied much, could have done much better according to your teachers. I'm guessing this is for a cause, as opposed to simply seeking the record, personal fame."
"Hard to argue with someone as perceptive as you, ma'am. I believe anything a man can do, a woman can do better."
She gasps, "you mean, you did all this for Women's Lib???"
With an innocent smile, I nod. (Good, she's buying.)
She goes into an absolute rage, "do you know how many centuries women have struggled for equality? For how many centuries they have had the reputation of being morally better than men? Along comes bonehead you, sets the cause back at least a century, all by yourself. Talk about an own goal. ..." The rant consumes the rest of our time.
As I go out, Nancy is waiting, "so, what kinda mood is she in?"
I grin, "I pass the torch to you."
"That good, huh? Bring it on!"
Heidi asserts, "according to the rules, we can't vote yet. Minda hasn't spoken on the topic."
With an effort of will a Prussian Guardsman would approve of, I drag myself away from my daydream.
Trying not to sound too smart ass, I speak quietly, "now to summarize, we have less than 300 books, mostly Harlequin. Should we sort alphabetically by author surname, like a real library? How long would it take? Say an hour. But that's only the first time. Everyone here is familiar with how DRO works. Must goof off all day, big five minute blitz at the end."
Pause for effect, "so, who wants to bell the cat? Who wants to face down the lions in the arena and tell them Caesar says sort alphabetically?"
Heidi grins, "given they'd be inclined to tar and feather us, maybe it's best to simply drop the issue. All in favor?"
Unanimous.
Ms Birnbaum looks more hungover than ever. "Now Minda, looking at this file, I confess to a certain confusion on motive. Had you chosen 189 people at random or say 189 postal workers, I might be able to understand that." Tries hard to smile, fails, "but well ah that is, every single one of those victims just happens to be Jewish. Given your surname is Zilberg, that seems a conflict of loyalty. Surely you could have found even a few goyim worthy of all that hate?"
"No ma'am, none at all. None of the goyim were ever guilty."
She leans forward, bug eyed, "guilty of what????"
"Ma'am, if you check the list real careful, you'll see none of the victims were ultraOrthodox."
Dry reply, "I already noticed that. So, what exactly are all these non-Haredim guilty of?"
"Insulting me ma'am, I mean for being ultraOrthodox."
She turns deathly white, faints by falling forward on her desk.
"Oh dear," says the clerk as she dials the nurse, "first time this has happened."
Hah, does that make me winner or what?
There's a loud and festive crowd in the Day Room. Nancy rings a bell and conversations taper off. "And now the moment we have all waited for. We decorate one of our number."
An aside, "may I have it?" She is passed a large foil star, cut out of pie plate, strung on a ribbon.
Huge smile, "I will now read the citation, 'For single handed gallantry going eyeball to eyeball with the enemy, in the enemy's own lair."
Loud cheers as she drapes it on me.
Someone asks, "when is that counsellor expected back from stress leave?"
Someone else replies, "I heard at least six months."
I suppose that makes me not a rookie anymore.
(So ends Part Two; the blog could be inactive for several months as Part Three is prepared.)

Minda 6

Next time I'm on DRO, it's with Indira, the newest arrival. I plan on a snoozy day, but she has other plans. "I understand you're on the Improvement Committee."
"Ye-es."
"I further understand it is the most prestigious one here. I've heard dark mutterings there's people would push a shiv in you, to get your spot."
"Indira, what you heard was sarcasm, irony, a joke."
She blushes, "oh sorry. Still, I have a complaint, this Day Room is beyond diss-gusting."
"In what fashion?"
"How come that TV only gets CBC (Canadian Broadcasting Corp)? And it does look pretty old."
I sigh, "the prison has no budget for that. It came as a donation, when a bar upgraded. And no money for cable."
"And why are those mags so old and tattered?"
"Again, no money. What you see are donations from a ladies church group. Every few months, they send several cardboard boxes."
She pulls a face, "don't you get smart ass with me! Mosta those church ladies have husbands, right? Or at very least, brothers. Why doesn't that wonderful committee ask them to pack a little more variety into the boxes?"
"That would be because we and they haven't talked in years. It would be pointless for us to send any letter. Still, boxes keep coming, so they must feel at least a little guilty about us."
"So how'd it happen?"
"Was way before my time. This group was gung ho, going to show up, have entertainment. It went southwards and real fast, so say the old timers."
"Why??"
"Indira, stop, take a deep breath. Now I ask you, what do you see in the mirror?"
It starts to dawn. She blushes, "yeah, I hear you. Not like anyone stuck a gun in our backs, forced us into the time machine. If you are a lifer anyhow, why not go for the advantages? Pristine health, none of the aging diseases for the rest of your natural time span. Just one glitch, only one calibration will actually work. You occupy a body that's ten years old biologically for the resta your life."
"So you see Indira, in here everyone is equal. We treat each other like adults, not the kids we appear to be. Same with staff. Warden is real hard nose on that. Any staff show disrespect and they're on the carpet in her office, hearing the Riot Act."
She smiles awkwardly, "I get your drift Minda. Whereas the outside world, like those church ladies, get all freaky because they don't understand. Tell me, many suicides or murders in here?"
"One suicide, no killings in the last entire decade. No one carries homemade weapons or even owns any. Not even any fistfights. Verbal nasty, oh yeah, and often. But that's as far as it goes."
She laughs, "a stunning achievement compared to the rest of the corrections system. I suppose they'll give Warden an award for that. But no more budget money of course."
We both laugh.

Minda 5

(change of narrator; Minda is now speaking; years in the future)
I knock quietly, no reply, then a little louder.
Nancy's sleepy voice, "whozit?"
"Me, Minda."
She opens the door, "for Chrissake, what are you doing at this hour?"
"You and I are on DRO (Day Room Orderly). We better go for breakfast soon or we'll be late."
Derisive snort, "rookie! No one shows for DRO on time, normal is an hour or more late."
"Remember Capt Bligh (our pet nickname for the Warden) said everything by the book today. Bigshot politco touring something nearby, could drop in unannounced."
"I'd forgot." She dresses quickly.
As we walk down the hall, I ask innocently, "so why is it you hate DRO so much? Few scattered books and mags to pick up, put back, not like we do janitorial."
Snippy tone, "Don't you start with me!"
As I recall, it's now Full Moon, perhaps she answers to its pull.
We eat in silence, then take up residence in the Day Room, lounging back, snoozing.
Later in the morning, she chooses three tattered magazines (all of them are). Easy tone, "here you go, Chatelaine, Woman's World and Redbook. Go on, take em, they won't bite. Open each to the index page."
I do.
Her finger points to "Troublesome in laws and how to cope"; she snorts, "as if you or I will have in laws to deal with, troublesome or not."
To, "what to do when you discover your husband frequents a gay bar"; "as if you or I will have a husband."
To, "recipe for the perfect Thanksgiving dinner"; "as if you or I will ever cook one or have anyone to cook it for."
To "when your kid fails math"; "as if we'll ever have one to worry about."
To "choosing the perfect curtain"; "as if they'd let us hang it here."
Her eyes are on me, appraising, "let's test your detective skills, smart ass. You asked why I hate DRO. You figger, tell me."
I grin easily, "because each and every one of them mags makes me wanna puke all over. And that's to say nothing of those sappy Harlequin romances."
"Close but no cigar, so, why do I really hate it?"
"Because it make you think of what you cannot be or have."
Curious look, "ok, now I ask you. How is it you are so utterly unaffected by all this?"
I shrug, "I don't look inside the covers, just pick em up, put em back."
She chuckles, "a very Zen thing to say, ever look at Buddhism?"
I blush hotly, "well ah that is I'd read some. It vanished on me when I felt the pull of the Dark Side. And now look where I am."
An hour after lunch, I rouse myself from my torpor and am in the very act of retrieving the two scattered mags when the Warden walks in. Now some people, I hate as a very matter of principle. Anyone that perpetually cheerful is either totally bonkers, on a triple dosage of antidepressants, or both.
Huge smile, I'm guessing phony, "ah Minda, you do such a good job on DRO."
(See what I mean.)
"I've been meaning to talk with you. You've heard of the Improvement Committee, headed by Heidi?"
I nod, but I'd prefer trekking to the source of the Nile with Darth Vader as expedition chief to doing any committee, much less that one.
"It's short one member. I'm recommending you. Once a month, this Thursday at seven."
I reply "yes ma'am" while throttling the desire to throttle her.
Once she's gone, Nancy turns on me. Nasty tone, "I've noticed a pattern here. You're the newest arrival, yet everyone kisses your butt shamelessly. And why? Simply because you ran up such a huge body count. I wanted that spot, even asked her for it."
With a look of fury, she turns, pulls her dress up, her panty down and moons me.
Without thinking, I do the exact same in reply.
Then we burst into convulsions of laughter. As this dies out, I remember something similar to this was on the list of possible side effects. Still, what can you do? No going back.

Minda 4

Savard, one of the Montreal biker set, finishes his story to a firestorm of laughter. Picking up his coffee cup, he turns to Pronovost, "that's everyone except you. Wimp! Chickensh**!"
Loud raucous cries demanding Pronovost's most embarrassing story ever. Awkward grin, "ok guys, now I had relatives out at Magog, would visit sometimes. So here I am, just left Montreal out on the autoroute on my Harley. I come up behind Tremblay, of the rival set, in his car.
"Now as I cruised behind him, I was positive. Saw the side of his face as he turned back and forth. Same car, same color, same model make and year.
"So, I goosed her to pass. Now when you got one hand on the bike, the other on an Uzi and 150 klicks of slipstream, you ain't in the mode of looking at fine detail, just do the job.
"I gave him and the car half a clip. It hit the ditch, rolled, exploded in a magnificent fireball."
Someone says, "but he's still alive."
Pronovost blushes, "that's the embarrassing part of the story. In Montreal, I never bothered reading the paper. In Magog, I always did. Next day, I discovered I'd blown away a clergyman."
Loud laughter, ribald comments.
As it dies, Savard turns to me, "you ain't a biker, so we wouldn't expect. But you are our friend. Think you could spare an embarrassing story about you?"
I grin, "sure, now my work was such I could move from city to city, much as I wanted. Moved often, just to keep em guessing. So here I am, in Toronto, ain't made any hits there yet, just casing. Meet this chick in a coffee house, we're seeing each other, but of course no long term commitment.
"So, just guess who my first hit proved to be, totally by accident. Unknown to me, the Revenue employee was her first cousin She had no way of knowing it was me of course. Still, I was afraid she might pick up clues if I hung around.
"So I told her I was moving again, my job. Then six more hits in TO just to keep the authorities guessing and hasta la vista baby."
Ooohs and ahs.
There's a stranger in Ms Shapiro's office. Introduced as Dr Anderson, she definitely has a mil officer look. "Mr Riley, take this as merely a warning, not a threat. Everything said in here is covered by the Official Secrets Act. To discuss it with anyone other than a person authorized by myself is an act of treason. Now in wartime, that means the death penalty. Still, you will discover our secrets remarkably easy to keep. First, futuristic enough that to talk about it anywhere other than a sci fi novel would get you labelled as insane or on drugs. Second, our secrets are sooo embarrassing. Now I'm guessing you don't like being laughed at. So, do I have your promise of secrecy?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Good, let's get started."
(So ends Part One; the blog could be inactive for several months as Part Two is prepared.)

Minda 3

Ms Shapiro smiles, "we're a bit short on childhood details. Please just give me a quick summary and then I'll know where to get started."
"Yes ma'am, I grew up in an above income family, but not rich. The #1 factor would be my father."
She nods, encouragingly.
"To say egotistical, pompous and self-important would be an understatement, ma'am. Think of an analogy, George Bush with an ego as big as all Texas, with bits of Ghengis Khan grafted on."
We both laugh.
"He was 100% bound and determined he would only finance post secondary if I did the exact same as he, ma'am."
"What were your feelings on that?"
"I knew it would be a dead waste of four years of my life ma'am. No real talent nor even one iota of interest."
"So, how did your mother react to this?"
"She was very pragmatic and also anti-artsy, ma'am. Felt they should fund anything practical and marketable, whether university or tech. However, he had power of veto, controlling the purse strings."
"So, what did you do?"
"A year above the Arctic Circle. Came back with so much money, I only needed a bit of part time work, ma'am."
"So you might say, whether your father liked the results or not, he passed on numerous traits. An utter determination once you get in motion. A refusal to let others get in your way. A very self defined personality. A driving need for achievement."
I feel shaken, she's hit the target dead center. Maybe not as nuts as I took her for. I nod, uncertainly.
She backs off, rest of the session is easy stuff on high school academics.

Minda 2

I stop for a break while pumping iron. Pronovost, of Montreal Biker War fame, stops, sits next to me, "so, how's things between you and the Horrible Hebe?"
I sigh, "Lord alone knows, she has gotta be more nuts than mosta her clientele."
Wicked laugh, "that's the only kind goes into the psy field, mon ami. Be careful, over the years she has made lots people vanish into thin air, but lifers only."
"You reckon they drive off to a secluded forest, shoot you?"
"Not likely, no capital punishment in Canada. Meaning it'd take one slip up only and that whole Admin would face Murder One raps. Given they can't organize a handjob in a whorehouse, I find it hard to believe they could be that professional."
"Maybe a secret prison on Ellesmere Island, modelled on Siberia?"
"Again, unlikely. Troublemakers nev-ver vanish, only sucks."
"So, gimme your best guess."
"Injection, turns you into a zombie. Then off to a minimum security joint in the back of beyond."
I ponder a moment, "aren't we all becoming zombies here, in max? Would it matter if the process were fast or slow? Fast might even be more merciful."
His look is total surprise, never had that thought. He stares off into space a long minute, then, far away voice, "yep, reckon you're right." Chuckle, "still as a matter of principle, I'd die before I be polite to any of that crowd."
We both laugh, return to our workouts.
My secretary Bernie, sets his food tray down on the table, "so Boss, how's your day?"
"Same as any."
"That pi**ant publisher in PEI (Prince Edward Island) sent an email to your fan address, must have lost the private one. I forwarded it on to you."
"What did he say?"
Leans forward earnestly, "talk about cheek Boss, he wants you to donate all the royalties to some kid charity in PEI and revise three chapters."
I sigh, "Bernie, you're only in here for insider trading, just don't understand the lifer mindset. Money means zip to me. My only concern, it must be a legitimate registered charity. So, could you zip off an email to Revenue, see if it's on the registered list?"
"Sure Boss, no problem."
"Long as the charity is legit, I'm willing to negotiate, but my limit is one chapter. I'm just not in that mindset anymore, the gritty crime novel. I'm now off in outer space, my sci fi novel. It would take huge gear shifting to do 3, but one wouldn't be too hard."
"You know Boss, I realized I have a huge problem next year."
"Bernie, you get out next year, how could that possibly be a problem?"
"Well you see Boss, only reason I agreed to be your secretary for free, you get lots of email, 500 fan letters a day. And of course, since I pretend to be you, I get to write hot messages to hundreds of women all over. But once I'm out, well then I'm just back to being me." Sighs, "and me is so boring."
"Cheer up Bernie, I'll happily let you keep any of the fans you like. Continue to exchange emails with your favorites. Someone else can start on the routine list again."
"Wow, thanks a lot."

Minda 1

The prison psychologist Ms Shapiro smiles warmly, "Mr Riley, always a pleasure to see you. My very best client, more progress than anyone."
(Yikes, what does that say about the rest?)
"Everyone else gives off all those hate vibes, hating the prison system, all pyschologists, anyone in a position of authority. Most manage to hate all women and a few throw in the bonus of antiSemitism. Yet you, cool affable, hate no one at all, despite having done more murders than all the rest of my caseload combined."
I smile uneasily, wondering where she's going.
"Everyone else gives a lot of yes or no or grunt which could be either. Not you, very helpful. Mostly you have four standard lines:
1. I don't know, ma'am.
2. I never thought about that before, ma'am.
3. I'd prefer not to talk about that, ma'am.
4. I consider that taboo, ma'am.
Now depending on which one you answer to any particular question gives a lot of insight. I'm immensely pleased with our progress thus far. But ah, how do you feel about these appointments?"
I stare at her in wild disbelief.
Grin, "ah once again too polite to state the obvious, sick to death of me and more."
I blush.
"Mr Riley, it's not my job to drag you in here every two weeks for the rest of your life, but it is within my authority to do so. I really only need you here til the psy profile is complete. So, if you considered being just a bit more helpful, it'd save a lot of appointments."
I ponder a moment, "all right ma'am, bring it on, I'll try anything except taboo."
"Good, now do you admit, informally of course, that you did the crimes you were convicted of?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Now the harder question, motivation. You did 188 serial killings of Revenue employees. Yet your tax history was carefully examined in court. Never in arrears, never late, never re-assessed, never in dispute. So, where exactly does all that hate come from?"
I blush, "ma'am, it all got started by accident."
She gasps, then, "a little more detail please."
"Yes ma'am, see the first killing was in a coffee house 1:30 pm on a Monday. See my job was Tuesday to Saturday. I'd been at the library and borrowed a Sartre book. Now this coffee house had an L shape edge, where counter staff and other customers couldn't see. Anyhow, this fat swine comes in, calls me a fairy for reading that stuff. I feinted with a right, then left uppercut to the nose, really only meaning to give him a hefty dry cleaning bill. Unfortunately it was the exact angle to drive the nose bone into the brain. My coffee was in a styrofoam cup, so the fingerprints went out the door with me. Cool and casual, walked out, no one noticed me. Wasn't until later, on the news, discovered that loudmouth was actually a Revenooer."
Struggling not to laugh, "and then?"
"Some things in life feel so darn good, ma'am, you simply do not stop."
"I see our time is up. Thank you for being so candid."

Table of Contents

Rivka - entered September 11 to October 9, 2007 - an ultraOrthodox girl finds problems adjusting to mainstream life.

Tzeporah - August 10 to September 10, 2007 - a refugee from the past finds it necessary to remain hidden.

Caroline - May 7 to 14, 2007 - so what happens when both parents die of drug overdose, leave you growing up with Grandma?

All other items, last full table of contents was done April 2007. For ease of finding, please scroll down at right and click on "April 2007".

Rivka 11

As it turns out, I never have to testify. The case is postponed for a variety of reasons a half dozen times, each time triggering yet another media feeding frenzy.
Hard to believe how many barrels of ink were splashed on how many thousand dead trees, all concerning poor little me who steadfastly said, "no comment."
Endless guys ask me out for coffee, but no one asks for a second time or ever calls. Why? Some are obviously intimidated, in awe of me. Others clearly see through the media hype and realize I'm not at all like what they were hoping for.
The Army takes umbrage. I am tossed for conduct unbecoming an officer. Now it ain't often you can wiggle out once the draft gets you in the gunsight. So, I suppose that makes me the winner.

Rivka 10

Morning coffee break everyone files in. Just as everyone has poured and taken a chair, Indira speaks up, "hope you don't mind if I interrupt your conversations a few minutes."
Looks of curiosity.
Wicked smile, "noticed a pattern in life. Them who boast a lot, usually half or more is pure hot air. Who you gotta watch, them who say zip."
The looks get more curious.
"This is from Saturday's paper, one of us is mentioned in a verry juicy story."
Cries of "who?"
"Patience, now it seems there is this very famous Cabinet Minister. Not famous for achievement in his Cabinet portfolio, but for speeding and philandering."
"You mean Herzog?"
"Indeed I do. His wife is suing for divorce, named one of Us as co-respondent."
Blank looks.
"Ah you need one more clue. What ethnic group is a Herzog anyhow?"
Stupified looks, one says, "you mean she named Rivka?"
"Not just named her, gave her pride of place. Over a dozen women's names are given, I quote 'the worst of the lot is that notorious bimbo Rivka Nachtenstein, who has an ongoing S&M relationship with another unnamed Minister as well."
Laugher, loud congratulations.
I grin, "oh come on, that's a common name, probably confused me with someone else."
Indira smiles wickedly, "a way too modest you are. I Googled and you're the only one."
"I ah well ah"
"Save the denials for the court, we want all the juicy stuff. So what all did you do?"
Drily, "I think it would be easier to say what we didn't do, shorter list. No candlewax or piercing."
"Why not?"
"Haven't got around to it yet."

Rivka 9

Our second gathering, Cindi addresses the crowd, "remember the fun game we agreed to play? Whoever's name is drawn, hasta tell their most embarrassing story."
Roars of approval. As it dies down, I say quietly, "I promised no such thing."
Cindi grins, "fine then be a wimp if you choose. Now as we agreed two per evening. Myself, how about that? It was back in high school, our family was visiting the grandparents' farm." She goes on to give a long and outrageous story of being caught in flagrantis during bestiality.
As I listen, I realize it's harmless to give my story.
My name is drawn next. "It was during my final year of high school, two months away from grad. Up til that point, I'd been hoping to continue on, do post secondary."
Pin drop silence, they're all leaning forward attentively.
"I was doing volunteer work at the synagogue. One of my jobs was the e newsletter. We-ell someone hacked into the program. The title line was untouched, but when you opened it, it was a huge ass mooning you, all drawn in tiny swastikas."
Loud laughter.
"The caption said you've been e mooned by Siegfried the Great, Kommandant of the Warsaw Ghetto."
They're convulsing with laughter louder than for Cindi; Cindi even looks a little envious.
As it dies down, I continue, "anywhere other than ultra Orthodox, that woulda been laughed off and the culprit found or not eventually. Not so the Black Hats, zero sense of humor. All my so called friends and that wimp I was supposedly engaged to dumped me."
Their looks are now sober.
"So I finished high school, left. It was after that they discovered it had been done by the Rabbi's own son. I coulda gone back, but by then decided I didn't want to."
Cindi breaks the awkward silence with, "in honor of the event, we all draw a swastika on each ass cheek, something for Rivka to aim at."
It proves to be a hilarious event and I decide in future to always provide some novelty in my routine, keep the girls happy.