Zoe’s Tale PART I Chapter Eight

â€Å"You seem sad,† Hickory said, as we took the shuttle back to Phoenix Station. Dickory sat next to Hickory, impassive as ever. â€Å"I am sad,† I said. â€Å"I miss my mother and father.† I glanced over to John, who was sitting in the front of the shuttle with the pilot, Lieutenant Cloud. â€Å"And I think all this moving and leaving and going is getting to me a little bit. Sorry.† â€Å"No need to apologize,† Hickory said. â€Å"This journey has been stressful for us, too.† â€Å"Oh, good,† I said, turning back to the two of them. â€Å"Misery loves company.† â€Å"If you would like we would be happy to try to cheer you up,† Hickory said. â€Å"Really,† I said. This was a new tactic. â€Å"How would you do that?† â€Å"We could tell you a story,† Hickory said. â€Å"What story?† I asked. â€Å"One that Dickory and I have been working on,† Hickory said. â€Å"You've been writing?† I said. I didn't bother to keep the incredulousness out of my voice. â€Å"Is it that surprising?† Hickory said. â€Å"Absolutely,† I said. â€Å"I didn't know you had it in you.† â€Å"The Obin don't have stories of their own,† Hickory said. â€Å"We learned about them through you, when you had us read to you.† I was puzzled for a minute, and then I remembered: When I was younger I asked Hickory and Dickory to read bedtime stories to me. It was a failed experiment, to say the least; even with their consciousness machines on, neither of them could tell a story to save their lives. The beats were all wrong – they didn't know how to read the emotions in the story is the best way I can put it. They could read the words, all right. They just couldn't tell the story. â€Å"So you've been reading stories since then,† I said. â€Å"Sometimes,† Hickory said. â€Å"Fairy tales and myths. We are most interested in myths, because they are stories of gods and creation. Dickory and I have decided to make a creation myth for the Obin, so we have a story of our own.† â€Å"And this is the story you want to tell me,† I said. â€Å"If you think it would cheer you up,† Hickory said. â€Å"Well, is it a happy creation myth?† I asked. â€Å"It is for us,† Hickory said. â€Å"You should know you play a part in it.† â€Å"Well, then,† I said. â€Å"I definitely want to hear it now.† Hickory conferred with Dickory quickly, in their own language. â€Å"We will tell you the short version,† Hickory said. â€Å"There's a long version?† I said. â€Å"I'm really intrigued.† â€Å"The remainder of the shuttle ride will not be long enough for the long version,† Hickory said. â€Å"Unless we then went back down to Phoenix. And then back up. And then back down again.† â€Å"The short version it is,† I said. â€Å"Very well,† Hickory said, and began. â€Å"Once upon a time – â€Å" â€Å"Really?† I said. â€Å"‘Once upon a time'?† â€Å"What is wrong with ‘once upon a time'?† Hickory asked. â€Å"Many of your stories and myths start that way. We thought it would be appropriate.† â€Å"There's nothing wrong with it,† I said. â€Å"It's just a little old-fashioned.† â€Å"We will change it if you like,† Hickory said. â€Å"No,† I said. â€Å"I'm sorry, Hickory, I interrupted you. Please start again.† â€Å"Very well,† Hickory said. â€Å"Once upon a time†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Once upon a time there were creatures who lived on a moon of a large gas planet. And these creatures did not have a name, nor did they know they lived on a moon, nor did they know that moon circled a gas planet, nor what a planet was, nor did they know anything in a way that could be said that they were knowing it. They were animals, and they had no consciousness, and they were born and lived and died, all their lives without thought or the knowledge of thought. One day, although the animals knew nothing of the idea of days, visitors came to the moon that circled the gas planet. And these visitors were known as Consu, although the animals on the planet did not know that, because it was what the Consu called themselves, and the animals were not smart and could not ask the Consu what they called themselves, or know that things could have names. The Consu came to the moon to explore and they did, noting all the things about the moon, from the air in its sky to the shape of its lands and waters to the shape and manner of all the life that lived in the moon's land, air and water. And when they came to these certain creatures who lived on this moon, the Consu became curious about them and how they lived their lives, and studied them and how they were born and lived and died. After the Consu had watched the creatures for some time the Consu decided that they would change the creatures, and would give them something that the Consu possessed and that the creatures did not, which was intelligence. And the Consu took the genes of the creatures and changed them so that their brains, as they grew, would develop intelligence well beyond what the creatures would themselves achieve through experience or through many years of evolution. The Consu made these changes to a few creatures and then set them back on the moon and over many generations all the creatures became intelligent. Once the Consu gave intelligence to the creatures they did not stay on the moon, nor shared themselves with the creatures, but departed and left machines above the sky, which the creatures would not see, to watch the creatures. And so the creatures for a very long time did not learn of the Consu and what they had done to the creatures. And for a very long time these creatures who now had intelligence grew in number and learned many things. They learned how to make tools and create a language and work together for common goals and to farm the land and mine metals and create science. But although the creatures thrived and learned, they did not know that they among all intelligent creatures were unique, because they did not know there were other intelligent creatures. One day, after the creatures had gained intelligence, another race of intelligent people came to visit the moon, the first since the Consu, although the creatures did not remember the Consu. And these new people called themselves the Arza and each of the Arza also had a name. And the Arza were amazed that the creatures on the moon, who were intelligent and who had built tools and cities, did not have a name and did not have names for each of their number. And it was then the creatures discovered through the Arza what made them unique: They were the only people in all the universe who were not conscious. Although every creature could think and reason, it could not know itself as every other intelligent creature could know itself. The creatures lacked awareness of who they were as individuals, even as they lived and thrived and grew on the face of the moon of the planet. When the creatures learned this, and although no individual could know it felt this, there grew within the race of these creatures a hunger for that thing they did not have: for the consciousness that the creatures knew collectively they did not have as individuals. And this is when the creatures first gave themselves a name, and called themselves â€Å"Obin,† which in their language meant â€Å"The ones who lack,† although it might be better translated as â€Å"The deprived ones† or â€Å"The ones without gifts,† and although they named their race they did not give names to each of their individual number. And the Arza took pity on the creatures who now called themselves Obin, and revealed to them the machines that floated in the sky and that were put there by the Consu, who they knew to be a race of immense intelligence and unknowable aims. The Arza studied the Obin and discovered that their biology was unnatural, and so the Obin learned who had created them. And the Obin asked the Arza to take them to the Consu, so they could ask why the Consu had done these things, but the Arza refused, saying the Consu met only with other races to fight them, and they feared what would happen to the Arza if they brought the Obin before the Consu. So it was the Obin determined they must learn to fight. And while the Obin did not fight the Arza, who had been kind to the Obin and took pity on them and then left the Obin in peace, there came another race of creatures called the Belestier, who planned to colonize the moon on which the Obin lived and kill all the Obin because they would not live in peace with them. The Obin struggled with the Belestier, killing all those who landed on their moon, and in doing so found they had an advantage; because the Obin did not know themselves, they were not afraid of death, and had no fear where others had fear in abundance. The Obin killed the Belestier, and learned from their weapons and technology. In time the Obin left their own moon to colonize other moons and grow their numbers and make war on other races when those other races chose to make war on the Obin. And there came a day, after many years, when the Obin decided they were ready to meet the Consu, and found where they lived and set out to meet them. Although the Obin were strong and determined, they did not know the power of the Consu, who brushed them aside, killing any Obin who dared to call or attack, and there were many thousands of these. Eventually the Consu became curious about the creatures they had made and offered to answer three questions for the Obin, if half the Obin everywhere would offer themselves up as a sacrifice to the Consu. And this was a hard bargain, because although no individual Obin would know its own death, such a sacrifice would wound the race, because by this time it had made many enemies among the intelligent races, and they would most certainly attack the Obin when they were weak. But the Obin had a hunger and needed answers. So one half of the Obin willingly offered themselves to the Consu, killing themselves in all manner of ways, wherever they were. And the Consu were satisfied and answered our three questions. Yes, they had given the Obin intelligence. Yes, they could have given the Obin consciousness but did not, because they wanted to see what consciousless intelligence was like. No, they would not now give us consciousness, nor would they ever, nor would they allow us to ask again. And since that day the Consu have not allowed the Obin to speak to them again; each embassy to them since that day has been killed. The Obin spent many years fighting many races as it returned itself to its former strength, and in time it became known to other races that to fight with the Obin meant death, for the Obin would not relent or show mercy or pity or fear, because the Obin did not know these things themselves. And for a long time this was the way of things. One day a race known as the Rraey attacked a human colony and its space station, killing all the humans they could. But before the Rraey could complete their task, the Obin attacked them, because the Obin wanted the colony world for themselves. The Rraey were weakened after their first attack and were defeated and killed. The Obin took the colony and its space station, and because the space station was known as a scientific outpost, the Obin looked through its records to see what useful technology they could take. It was then that the Obin discovered that one of the human scientists, who was named Charles Boutin, was working on a way to hold and store consciousness outside of the human body, in a machine based on technology the humans had stolen from the Consu. The work was not done, and the technology was not something the Obin at the space station could follow, nor the Obin scientists whom they had brought along. The Obin looked for Charles Boutin among the human survivors of the space station attacks, but he was not to be found, and it was discovered that he was away from the station when it was attacked. But then the Obin learned that Charles Boutin's daughter Zoe had been on the space station. The Obin took her from the station and she alone was spared among the humans. And the Obin kept her and kept her safe and found a way to tell Charles Boutin that she was alive and offered to return her if he would give the Obin consciousness. But Charles Boutin was angry, not at the Obin but at the humans who he thought had let his daughter die, and demanded in exchange for giving the Obin consciousness, that the Obin would make war on the humans, and defeat them. The Obin could not do this themselves but allied with two other races, the Rraey, whom they had just attacked, and the Enesha, who were allies of the humans, to make war on the humans. Charles Boutin was satisfied and in time joined the Obin and his daughter, and worked to create consciousness for the Obin. Before he could finish his task, the humans learned of the alliance between the Obin and the Rraey and the Enesha, and attacked. The alliance was broken and the Enesha were made to war on the Rraey by the humans. And Charles Boutin was killed and his daughter Zoe was taken from the Obin by the humans. And although no individual Obin could sense it, the entire nation despaired because in agreeing to give them consciousness Charles Boutin was their friend among all friends, who would do for them what even the great Consu would not: give them awareness of themselves. When he died, their hope for themselves died. To lose his daughter, who was of him and who was dear to them because of him, compounded this despair. And then the humans sent a message to the Obin that they knew of Boutin's work and offered to continue it, in exchange for an alliance and the agreement by the Obin to war on the Enesha, who had allied with the Obin against the humans, once the Enesha had defeated the Rraey. The Obin agreed to this but added the condition that once the Obin were given consciousness that two of their number would be allowed to know Zoe Boutin, and to share that knowledge with all other Obin, because she was what remained of Charles Boutin, their friend and their hero. And so it was that the Obin and the humans became allies, the Obin attacked and defeated the Enesha in due time, and the Obin, thousands of generations after their creation, were given consciousness by Charles Boutin. And among their number, the Obin selected two, who would become companions and protectors to Zoe Boutin and share her life with her new family. And when Zoe met them she was not afraid because she had lived with the Obin before, and she gave the two of them names: Hickory and Dickory. And the two of them became the first Obin to have names. And they were glad, and they know they are glad, because of the gift Charles Boutin gave them and all Obin. And they lived happily ever after. Hickory said something to me I didn't hear. â€Å"What?† I said. â€Å"We are not sure ‘and they lived happily ever after' is the appropriate ending,† said Hickory, and then stopped and looked closely at me. â€Å"You are crying,† it said. â€Å"I'm sorry,† I said. â€Å"I was remembering. The parts of it I was in.† â€Å"We told them wrong,† Hickory said. â€Å"No,† I said, and put up my hand to reassure it. â€Å"You didn't tell it wrong, Hickory. It's just the way you tell it and the way I remember it are a little†¦Ã¢â‚¬  I wiped a tear off my face and searched for the right word. â€Å"They're just a little different, is all.† â€Å"You do not like the myth,† Hickory said. â€Å"I like it,† I said. â€Å"I like it very much. It's just some things hurt me to remember. It happens that way for us sometimes.† â€Å"I am sorry, Zoe, for causing you distress,† Hickory said, and I could hear the sadness in its voice. â€Å"We wanted to cheer you up.† I got up from my seat and went over to Hickory and Dickory and hugged them both. â€Å"I know you did,† I said. â€Å"And I'm really glad you tried.†

Odyssey Compare/Contrast Essay

When Everett sees his daughters again for the first time since he’s escaped, they recognized him and their dad at first, but then remembered that their mom told them that he had been hit by a train and died. After hearing that, Everett goes to find Penny to which he discovers that not only has she changed the girls’ last names to her maiden name, Wharvey, but Penny got engaged while he was gone and is in line to get married the next day to her modern-day suitor, William T. Walldrip. Penelope did the complete opposite. Many suitors came to â€Å"woo† her after believing that Odysseus had died. She put them off with a trick, telling them that she would marry one of them once she finished the funeral shroud for Odysseus’ father, which she wove by day and secretly unravelled by night. She managed to deceive them for three years by doing this. After the three years, she was caught and the suitors demanded a decision. She cleverly came up with another scheme, an archery contest; a challenge that is nearly impossible for all but Odysseus. She did whatever she could to hold them off because she had hope that Odysseus would come home. On the other hand, these women have very different stories with many similarities. They were both confident in their decisions throughout the entire story. After Everett goes to jail, Penny is seeking out a new husband with better qualities than he has, one whom she says has to be â€Å"bona-fide† and can provide for her and the girls. Penny knows what she thinks is best, so she finds herself a â€Å"suitor†, Walldrip, that meets her standards. Penelope is left with a baby boy while her husband, Odysseus, is trying to find his way back home for 20 years after the Trojan war, and on top of that, her house is invaded by at least 100 suitors that are all trying to convince her to marry one of them. Penelope sees the suitors as nothing more than a bunch of greedy pigs and wants them out. These ladies know what they want and will do strive to accomplish it. They’re both fit for their husbands in their own ways. Odysseus and Penelope are both cunning, clever, and always thinking of a plan. Everett and Penny, though not sharing the same characteristics as Odysseus and Penelope, are quick-tongued, know-it-alls, and think in a selfish manner. The story of the loom symbolizes the queen’s, Penelope’s, clever and cunning tactics. The contest of the bow and axes is another example of her craftiness. In O Brother, Where Art Thou, Penny is known for saying: â€Å"I’ve spoken my piece and counted to three. † every time something doesn’t go her way, and if it doesn’t get fixed, she walks away; an example of her â€Å"know-it-all† attitude. Everett is always telling Delmar and Pete things like, â€Å"You two are just dumber than a bag of hammers! † They, Everett and Penny, are both always looking out for themselves. Everett tricked the boys into breaking out of jail, which lengthened their sentences, just because he heard that Penny was getting remarried. Penny found herself a new man, â€Å"a suitor† who met her standards and could help support her family. Finally, both Penelope and Penny put their husbands to the test before trusting them. Penelope tells the maids to move the marriage bed and once Odysseus sees this he quickly fills with anger because that bed was made special, made from a firmly planted tree trunk. She automatically knows it’s Odysseus. Penny had forgotten about Everett as if he had really been hit by a train and died. Once Everett proves that he’s just as â€Å"bona-fide†, she plans to marry him as soon as he finds her original wedding band. They both take their husbands back, but there was a catch in order for them to trust the men. These stories are completely different, yet alike in some situations. They were both single mothers while their husbands were gone. Penelope was loyal to Odysseus, but Penny couldn’t care less about Everett. They were both fit for their husbands in different ways, and were the reason their husbands wanted to come home. Overall, these women were both self-confident and strong-willed throughout either story, whether they were wives from the late 1930’s or Ancient Greece

Art Since 1945 12/07 Flashcards Example for Free (#1945)

Art Since 1945 12/07 related essay Chris Brown and Michael Jackson Mass immigration in the period 1945-c.70 a 1900 – 1945: Role of Women Innovator of the Modern Art Jeff Koons and Unknown Artist Art Appreciation Does Having a Recognizable Art or Design "Style" Limit One's Creativity? Art History - Modern Art:The Scene Since 1945 Art Quiz Artist 2 - Andy Warhol Marilyn Diptych, 1962 company About StudyMoose Contact Careers Help Center Donate a Paper Legal Terms & Conditions Privacy Policy Complaints Significance: -An overall composition with the only foreground that was created freely by letting paint freely move -canvas on the floor, the paint was dumped on the canvas – painting is very thick- used industrial house paint – Patriotic expression and style – an American style – Part of the work is knowing how Pollock does it -Inspired by native American sand paintings (sand design) Significance: – A challenge to question whether it is an object or fine art – Gets rid of individual expression of artist – Ironic message – recognizable image of recognizable celebrity put on gold background compared to the past of putting gold behind religious subjects – Iridescent gold on canvas with paint for marilyn’s image/silkscreen Significance: – Artist said anything can be a commodity and so he found an area in the air, called it a zone of immaterial pictorial sensibility – The artists threw a customer’s gold in the river, wrote a receipt, burnt the receipt and threw the ashes into the river – commenting on consumer culture by destroying the idea of physical art – the idea that â€Å"anyone will buy anything that is considered art† Significance: – Large, colossal, displaced land called Land art – Took tons of black basalt rocks to create this land art – Idea was focused on displacement, destruction and direction – Sometimes visible, sometimes not – Non-Traditional art Significance: – 13 plates on each side totalling 39 plates since it is a triangle – Each side relates to a time period – Made to give credit to women since they do not get much credit in history – Collaborative work of all women, different embroidery, carpenters, etc – shows all different contributions of women throughout time – Shaped like an equilateral triangle to symbolise equality – The floor contains 999 names of different women -Banal: every day, unimportant things that are not noticeable – but often precious moments – Sculpted by traditional sculptors, experts of porcelain, European craftsman – not ready-made sculpture which is a common misconception – A life-sized sculpture of Micheal and his pet monkey Bubbles – The sculpture comments about race and America, changing appearance to be famous, Michael Jackson’s skin – Inspired by pieta – comparing Jackson to Mary holding Jesus We will write a custom sample essay on

Learning Styles Term Paper Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 750 words

Learning Styles - Term Paper Example Cooperative learning finds the students working effectively in groups. The result is productive learning and if this cooperative learning is planned well the benefits are innumerable. The students should be allowed to work on topics of their own choice. This manner the student’s social and academic ability would improve. The teacher can group the students based on their ability and learning skill. Therefore every group would have a top student, a middle student, and a struggling student. Examination of certain strategies in teaching would enhance better learning. As Felder and Soloman said, â€Å"when planning and developing instructional material, strive for a balance of teaching styles to match various learning styles†.The four basic styles of teaching include formal authority, demonstrator or personal model, facilitator and delegator. Formal authority epitomizes the teacher who adopts a centered approach for the teacher feels responsible for providing and calculating the impartation of knowledge which the student is to obtain and assimilate. The relationship between the teacher and student as well as between the students is not given importance. Teachers who use the formal authority method concentrate more on the content of the lesson while the student is expected to receive this content. The teacher enlightens the content and materials in a manner that enables the students to receive the crux of the lesson and appreciate the essence of the whole time spent in learning.

Does learning how to properly express oneself help Dissertation

Does learning how to properly express oneself help - Dissertation Example The study does not attempt to supplant existing programs, rather, it seeks to work with it, and enhance existing programs. This is done by opening and providing alternative means with which violence may be prevented. Social scientists believe violent crimes to be crimes of expression. While conducting motivational speaking sessions at schools in New Orleans, I have noticed that there are not many school-based programs in the district. The programs that currently exist do not look at the juvenile problem of violence as a possible problem of expression. Disciplinarian measures such as suspension and expulsion along with tight security methods seem to be the proposed solution to the problem of school violence. In this state of ‘tight security’ to curb juvenile violence, the study offers an innovative method - creative expression as a means of violence reduction, of juvenile violence prevention. This approach is novel, as no such programs currently exist, especially in New O rleans. Problem Statement Despite data showing reductions in violent crime nationally, youth violence remains a serious problem (Feder, Levant, & Dean, 2010). According to the Bureau of Justice Statistic, more crimes are committed against students’ ages 12-18 at school than away from school (Roberts, Zhang, Truman, 2010). Students who ranged from ages 12-18 experienced approximately 1.2 million nonfatal crimes at school compared to about one million nonfatal crimes away from school. The figures represent total crime victimization rates of 47 crimes per 1,000 students at school and 38 crimes per 1,000 students away from school. The number of school days in a year is essentially equivalent to the number of non-school days in a year. Despite the balance of days between school and non-school days, most (63%) violent crimes committed by juveniles occur on school days (OJJPD, 2010). Violence is the leading cause of nonfatal injuries among young people (Hammond, Haegerich, & Saul, 2 009). According to 2008 FBI statistics, New Orleans had the highest per capita murder rate in the nation (Murder Capital Title, 2009). The intersection of teen violence and the murder capital was evident more than ever in 2006. As New Orleans was scrambling to rebuild from Hurricane Katrina, New Orleans emerged as the murder capital once again. Five teenage juveniles ranging from ages 16-19 were gunned down in a one incident. The horrific event prompted the mayor of New Orleans to call for the deployment of the Louisiana National Guard to patrol the streets of New Orleans. Despite turning New Orleans to mirror an Iraqi city with armed military soldiers patrolling its streets, the violence remained. Juvenile violence remained a problem in New Orleans despite the presence of the Army. Once again, another attempt of increased security results in no answer. Tighter security looks good, but it has not proven to reduce violent crime. In this regard, the urgency of finding alternative mean s of addressing the problem of juvenile violence on top of existing programs is of intrinsic value. This is to promote existing programs, and open other venues that may help the young person express their experiences. Purpose Statement The purpose of this mixed research study is to

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Biological - Essay Example Policy makers as well as the public deserve to get adequate information on the scientific justifications behind the work of scientists, and also the moral justifications for their work, particularly in the cases that it raises moral questions (Smith, 2009). This paper will present a case against the use of nonhuman animals in biomedical research, with reference to pertinent ethical and scientific arguments. There is not a time, in the past, when a very honest and open debate regarding the scientific experimentation that uses animals was more important. A discourse about the use of animals in scientific experimentations is highly called for, taking into account that there are many moral, ethical and social dilemmas surrounding the use of animals in scientific experimentation (Conn and Parker, 2008). Through this paper, the author will present the case against the use of nonhuman animals in biomedical experimentation, with the aim of informing the public about the issues that need to be explored before the practice is legalized or allowed to continue. The criticisms leveled against the use of nonhuman animals in biomedical research are grounded on a variety of ethical and scientific arguments. Some of the criticisms presented against the use of nonhuman animals in biomedical research range from those questioning the validity of the scientific research to the advancement of human medical practices, to those questioning the ethical nature of such research. The first argument against the administration of biomedical research using animals is that the use of animals has remained debatable, with regards to whether it is ethically permissible and allowable (Rollin, 2006). This argument is supported by the moral philosophers that have presented moral/ethical issues that cannot dismissed without a good reason. It is important to take into account that the moral boundaries defining relations are dynamic,

Police Chief William Bratton and his Transformational police Research Paper

Police Chief William Bratton and his Transformational police leadership style - Research Paper Example job following supposed personal difference with Giuliani and later in 2002; he worked as a private consultant with Kroll associates also known as LAPD’s. In 2007, the Los Angeles commissioner allotted him to a second five-year term (Bratton, 2011). Bratton rose speedily all the way through the ranks of the Boston police department, where he cleaned up the city’s subways and pioneered community policing. He cracked down on slight offenses when he became New York’s transit police, like turnstile jumping on the assumption that the people who commit severe crime subversive also commit minor crimes. When Bratton realized his dream of being the America top cop, he made sure that there was a 10 percent drop in crime rate (Bratton & Knobler, 2011). Bratton and his friends used computer mapping to locate crime hidings and then cleaned up the areas by means of law enforcement. Tools such as ‘quality of life enforcement’ were used to curtail minor crimes like prostitution, panhandling and squeegeeing in order to create the streets less tempting to bad criminals. He made all districts police commander answerable – they were to report problems and progress in their locales during departmental meetings. In 1994 William Bratton took over, disorder and crime were so high such that it appeared a city out of power. In America, the rate of crime was higher than anything else in 1980s was. He recalls that the atmosphere was in disorder, decayed and criminality greeted him when he was appointed as the head city’s transit police. NYPD too was in a state of confusion and inefficiency. So many lazy people, corrupt, ineffective staff who were demotivated and unaccountable, surrounded it. This department was confused due to valiant and unsuccessful hard work of Bratton predecessors to introduce policing into all day functioning practices. What Bratton needed was a huge shake up of attitude, accountabilities, leadership inspirational and direction sense, which he gave all

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Answering the three uestions - Essay Example Fourth, it fails to accommodate the changing needs of the company, the employees, and its customers. In addition, the employees are left to do much of their learning on an individual basis, and are left to find their own way of doing things. Employees feel less a part of the organization, and have less of a sense of value. In the case of Apex, it cost the company thousands of dollars in wasted steel. In a medical setting, an employee may not be updated on the most current laws and could place the company at risk for a lawsuit. In all cases, it results in inefficiency and a lowered standard of quality. Job descriptions are a critical part of a job training program, as they are the foundation that the job is built upon. A comprehensive job description tells the employee what is expected of them and what the position entails. It may elaborate on job requirements and special skills that may be needed. According to Erven, a good job description can, "help to sell jobs to recruits, develop training programs, motivate employees, make evaluation simpler, reduce turnover and reduce chances of litigation" (1). Training is more than just informing an employee how to do the job, or operate the machine.

Segment Analysis of The Dark Knight Rises Essay

Segment Analysis of The Dark Knight Rises - Essay Example The chief of the police Gordon is a man of conscience and determined to fight against the crime and is willing to take lessons from its past mistakes. The character of Batman was in shadows and did not appear till the rate of crimes in the city again starting to swell. The Cat woman tries to get rid of her criminal career with the help of mercenary named Bane, who asks her to hand over Batman in return. Wayne Enterprises had been into loses since Bruce had withdrawn the fusion reactor for it could be used for weaponisation. Batman was captured by Bane with the help of Kyle the Cat woman and was imprisoned. While Bane take the whole city under siege by converting the fusion from reactor into an atomic bomb, and let his gang member to loot the city. Batman after months of training successfully escaped from the jail and asked Klye Fox (the man who runs Wayne Enterprises), Blake (an able young detective), Gordon and Lady Tate (member of Wayne Enterprises executive board) for their help i n order to take the bomb back from Bane. Police force start to take over the city from Bane’s gang, while Batman tried to neutralize the weapon, it is here when Tate stabs him with a knife her true identity Talia al-Ghul, Ra’s al-Ghul’s child who was helped to escape from the prison in order to complete her father’s mission to destroy the Gotham city. While Tate was looking for the bomb, Bane was killed by Kyle. Batman rushed to get the bomb out of the hands of Tate, who before dying destroys the reactor so Batman could not stabilize the bomb by placing it again in the reactor. Batman took the bomb to bay where it detonates, in the end the city mourned over the tragic death of its superhero, but Fox finds that Bruce had fixed the auto pilot and Gordon too finds the bat signal, later Alfred (fatherly figure for Batman), finds Batman with Kyle in Florence. The young Officer Blake resigns from the police force and take control of the Bat-cave (Anthony, 2012) . Segmentation Analysis: 1) Rate of crime in Gotham City: Since the last eight years the rate of crime had been controlled by the police chief and eradicated various elements of crime nurtured by the old chief. James Gordon a good and hones officers feels himself responsible for covering up the crimes of the old chief this segment of the movie takes place as: Uzbek military militia moving toward the airfield with Dr. Pavel a nuclear scientist in a van carrying three hooded prisoners, some special ops commandos and a CIA agent were bought by the scientist. The CIA agent killed two of the prisoners while interrogating for Bane, the mercenary and when he comes to the third prisoner it was revealed that it is Bane, a C-130 emerges and his militia man takes over the commuter jet and killed everyone except for the doctor and detonates the plane. 2) Hervey Dent’s Farewell: Goth city police department gathers to mourn over the death of their ex police chief, while Gordon plans to rev eal the crimes of the last chief for which batman was held accountable, but did not as his deputy praises his effort to reduce the crime, the mayor of the city plans to remove him in the spring. The event was hosted by Bruce (Batman) who was not there and Lady Tate wants to meet him for the reasons unknown to John Daggett (a businessman). 3) Revelation of true identity of Salina Kyle: Salina Kyle the cat woman disguised as a maid in the Wayne Manor, successfully open the uncrackable safe of Bruce and took out his mother’s necklace and out of curiosity start looking at Bruce’s pictures. At the same time Bruce arrives and tries to get her but she ran away by taking a lift in the congressman’

Midterm Learning Reflection Essay Example for Free

Midterm Learning Reflection Essay Introduction. You should print this out, although you may also use it as a template to type over. You will be writing two reflections this term: a midterm reflection and a final reflection. The final reflection is the one you want to have ultimately on your portfolio. Both your midterm and final learning reflections must be 700 to 1000 words, which is approximately two to three MLA-formatted pages. You can check your word count by going to Tools/Word Count on the menu bar. Style and Format. The writing style of the learning reflection is primarily expressive, but will also contain narrative elements. You do not need a Works Cited page unless you cite something. So, if, for example, you cite song lyrics, one of our texts, a poem, or even a work of art, then you need a Works Cited page. I’ve included one here to serve you for formatting purposes. File formats. We are going to be learning how to convert Word documents to pdf format so that they load more easily in a browser window. If you can, please practice with one or both of the following two methods, which are what I use (they are free). 1. Install a free pdf converter. These are not truly â€Å"free† in that they either force you to look at some advertising or they add a line on each page advertising the manufacturer of the software. I don’t have a problem with either of these and gladly suffer through the free advertising every time I convert a file to pdf, which I do all the time. The one I use to create all the pdf files for my classes is at http://www.pdf995.com/download.html. Download both the Pdf995 Printer Driver and the Free Converter (they are both free; they are required to work together, but for some reason, they are two separate downloads). After you go through the download and installation process, every time you want to create a pdf file from Word, all you need to do is select File/Print and then chose PDF995, which will show up as a â€Å"printer.† When you initiate this process of creating a pdf file, you will be prompted for a place to save the file, as well as a file name. Be careful to save the file to your H: drive or, if to your C: drive, to ftp (transfer) it over to your H: drive later. You will notice that some advertisements come up as the conversion process occurs. That’s the â€Å"price† you pay for the free conversion software. 2. The other pdf-conversion method I like is to use the free OpenOffice word processing software. This software should be in our labs. You can also download it for free on your own computer, from http://www.openoffice.org/. This is basically an open-source version of Microsoft Office. Once you’ve installed it (it’s large and takes a while to install), you can open any Word document with the OpenOffice word processing program (Open Document). Some of the original Word formatting may be lost – especially the header information with your last name and page number. You will need to add that back in; be sure you do it correctly. When you’re satisfied with the format, there is a little pdf icon on the toolbar that you can click, and that will automatically convert the document to pdf format. Learning Reflection Content. What should you discuss in your reflection? In general, you discuss what you’ve learned, what you’ve done especially well, what you’ve enjoyed – and the challenges you’ve encountered and how you might make changes in the future. Here are some suggestions for what to write about: †¢ Your experience transitioning from high school (or wherever you were previously) to a freshman in college, focusing on how you have grown as an individual and an independent student. †¢ Your experience in this particular course – your year-long freshman inquiry. In this regard, you should probably focus on the University Studies goals and the ways in which you have grown and developed with respect to those goals. I would expect that other courses have also contributed to the goal areas, so you might want to highlight any that have been particularly useful in that regard. †¢ Other experiences as a student here at Portland State. Portland State University’s mission is â€Å"Let Knowledge Serve the City,† which reflects the fact that we are an urban university. What have you learned with respect to community, diversity, and the connection between a learning community (the university) and the city in which it is located? Keep in mind that you may have acquired valuable experiences outside of the classroom, but still connected to your identity as a student. o Perhaps you have learned important lessons about discipline and time management as a student athlete, which may serve you well when you enter the workforce. o Maybe your involvement in activities with other students – such as taking dance classes or playing in the band or spending hours in an art studio or toughing out chemistry and physics labs – has improved your personal skills and brought to light new areas of interest, which you’ve pursued in your free time. o Or perhaps you’ve found out that you are a loner, that you haven’t connected very well with a lot of the people in your classes. As you reflect on this (or any other conclusions that some – maybe you – might consider, well, depressing), think of this is an opportunity to think of ways to make some changes in the future. †¢ A reflection, in other words, should include a self-assessment element as well as thinking along the lines of â€Å"What could I do better or differently in the future?† Consider the challenges you’ve faced, how you’ve overcome them, or how you’d like to overcome them in the future. Conclusion. Your reflection should end in a way that gives the reader the sense that you are closing up a chapter in your life and ready to move on, with some ideas in mind of what you might do differently. My suggestion is that you do not spend a lot of time critiquing the world around you; after all, you can’t change that very much. Confine your reflection to you and what you have learned and experienced. Dwelling on what you don’t like about a given course or program is not a reflection about you, but about something else. Works Cited Eakin, Paul John. How Our Lives Become Stories: Making Selves. Ithaca and London: Cornell UP, 1999. Fiske, John. â€Å"Popular Culture.† Critical Terms for Literary Study. Ed. Frank Lentricchia and Thomas McLaughlin. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995. 321 335. Harrison, Claire. â€Å"Hypertext Links: Whither Thou Goest, and Why.† First Monday. 7 Oct. 2002. 10 Feb. 2004 .

Childhood sexual abuse and effects on marital functioning

Childhood sexual abuse and effects on marital functioning Childhood sexual abuse victimization has detrimental effects on a womans intimate relationships. Adult survivors of child sexual abuse may show difficulties in interpersonal relationships, including avoidance or fear of intimacy, showing low emotional engagement with partners and a pattern of withdrawing from couple interaction during times of high emotion. Adult survivors also may have trouble with trust and may have a poor sense of boundaries and have a sense of powerlessness. Survivors of this trauma often have difficulty establishing and maintaining intimate relationships and experience a high rate of sexual dysfunction. Also, women with child sexual abuse experiences are twice as likely to experience rape as adults and to report having been physically abused by their partners. Thus, this paper will guide me to this paper will channel me to conform and portray substantiation to my claim that childhood sexual abuse operates as a precursor to marital dissonance and marital dissatis faction. It may be unfair, but what happens in a few days, sometimes even a single day, can change the course of a whole lifetime. The Kite Runner Khaled Hosseini Childhood sexual abuse: The subject of child sexual abuse is still a taboo in India. A conspiracy of silence exists around the subject of abuse and a large percentage of people feel that this is a largely western problem and thus abuse, especially child sexual abuse does not occur in our country. Part of the reason of course lies in a traditional conservative family and community structure that does not talk about sex and sexuality at all (Study on Child Abuse: India 2007). Most of the time, parents do not talk to their children about sexuality and during puberty girls are not told about the physical and emotional changes that take place. What then happens is that all forms of sexual abuse that a child faces do not get reported even to close individuals. Children do not realize that they are being abused most of the time. Most victims report having buried the incident as a painful and shameful one not to be ever told to anyone (RAHI, 1998). As defined by the World Health Organization (1999), CHILD SEXUAL ABUSE is the involvement of a child in sexual activity that he or she does not fully comprehend; is unable to give informed consent to, or that violates the laws or social taboos of society. The activity between a child and an adult or another child who by development or age is in a relationship of trust, power or responsibility with the activity being intended to gratify or satisfy the need of the other person is what child sexual abuse is evident by (W.H.O., 1999). This may include but not limited to: The inducement or coercion of a child to engage in any unlawful activity The exploitative use of a child in prostitution or other unlawful sexual practices The exploitative use of children in pornographic performances and materials. Sexual violence is any act which may be verbal and/or physical which threatens to break a persons trust and/or safety. It includes rape, incest, child sexual assault, marital rape, sexual harassment, exposure and voyeurism. Yet, sexual abuse can be defined as severe forms of sexual abuse and other forms of sexual abuse. Severe forms of sexual abuse include: assault, including rape and sodomy; touching or fondling the child; exhibitionism forcing a child to exhibit his/her private body parts and photographing a child in nude. Other forms of sexual abuse include: forcible kissing; sexual advances towards a child during travel; sexual advances towards a child during marriage situations or other social occasions; exhibitionism exhibiting before a child and exposing a child to pornographic materials. The World Health Organization (1999) estimates that 150 million girls and 73 million boys under the age of 18 have experienced forced sexual intercourse or other forms of sexual violence involving physical contact. A review of epidemiological surveys from 21 countries, mainly high- and middle- income countries, found that at least 7% of females (ranging up to 36%) and 3% of males (ranging up to 29%) reported sexual victimization during their childhood. According to these studies, between 14% and 56% of the sexual abuse of girls, and up to 25% of the sexual abuse of boys, was perpetrated by relatives or step parents. Thus, it is important to understand the implications of such traumatic experiences and the effects it has on an individuals latter life. Child sexual abuse and its severity, onset and duration of abuse have a crippling effect on the victims life. There are a number of possible pathways by which childhood traumas could impact adult relationship outcomes, including marital satisfaction and disruption. Childhood traumas can result in intimacy disturbance (e.g. fearing, distrusting, and experiencing ambivalence about interpersonal closeness; impaired ability to trust), difficulties with sexual relating, increased probability of physical violence and revictimization, problems with emotional expressiveness and intimacy, and emotional avoidance, which may in turn interfere with effective relationship functioning (Briere,1992; Compton Follette,1998). Review of Literature: Clinicians have long operated under the assumption that early abuse represents a traumatic interpersonal experience with the potential to result in long-term difficulties with intimate partner relations. A number of theoretical models also point to intimate partner relations as an area of difficulty for adult survivors (e.g. Alexander, 2003; Finkelhor Browne, 1985; Polusny Follette, 1995). Among these theories, Finkelhor and Brownes (1985) traumagenic dynamics model has received a great deal of attention because of its utility for explicating the processes by which early sexual abuse may affect a variety of long-term outcomes (e.g. Coffey, Henning, Turner, Leitenberg Bennett, 1996). Although developed with sexual abuse in mind, the proposed traumagenic dynamics are likely to be common across various types of child abuse. Briefly, this model holds that the impact of childhood trauma can be accounted for by the dynamics of betrayal, traumatic sexualization, stigmatization, and powerlessness, which are said to alter childrens cognitive and emotional orientation to the world, and create trauma by distorting childrens self-concept, world view, and affective capacities (Finkelhor Browne, 1985). Finkelhor and Brownes (1985) dynamics are useful for conceptualizing how various marital outcomes may be affected by early maltreatment. For example, the dynamic of betrayal may come into play in the aftermath of abuse when victims come to realize that an adult (often a family member) has violated the tacit but fundamental trust that normally exists between children and adults. Neglect represents a breach of trust whereby adults, who are expected to provide care and protection, deprive children of basic needs such as food, shelter, medical care, and supervision. Traumatic sexualization, which refers to developmentally inappropriate and dysfunctional sexual behavior stemming from sexual abuse, may manifest in a variety of lasting difficulties, including increased vulnerability to sexual assault, over-sexualization of adult relationships, or aversion to sexual relations (Finkelhor Browne, 1985). A third process, stigmatization refers to internalized feelings of shame, guilt, and self- blame that arises from experiencing maltreatment. In the case of psychological abuse, for example, stigmatization may evolve from direct berating by the perpetrator. For other forms of maltreatment, stigmatization may develop in response to the secrecy that often surrounds abuse, reactions from family and the broader community upon the discovery of abuse, and from victims themselves. Carried into adulthood, stigmatization may contribute to lack of openness, feelings of detachment, and general dissatisfaction in intimate relations. Finally, the dynamic of powerlessness refers to a lack of self-efficacy that is said to evolve from the uncontrollable and repeated boundary violations that accompany maltreatment. Powerlessness engendered by early sexual and physical abuse may undermine survivors sense of control in relationships, rendering them less effective in asserting their needs during conflict and decision-making interactions with partners. In the extreme, such an imbalance of power or control may become a risk factor for additional victimizations within the marriage. Conversely, a preoccupation with issues of power may also manifest in compensatory striving on the part of victims to maintain or exert personal control in relationships. The extreme form of this tendency may again be linked to aggression, perhaps initiated by victims against their partners. An emerging empirical literature has begun to test clinical and theoretical assumptions linking maltreatment to long-term deficits in couple functioning. Most of these studies have been conducted with women involved in dating relationships. For example, compared to non-abused women, unmarried women recruited from college and community settings who were exposed to child sexual abuse report having less emotional trust in their partners and view their partners as less reliable in following through with important aspects of the relationship (DiLillo Long, 1999; Mullen, Martin, Anderson, Romans, Herbison, 1994). Although studies of sexual functioning typically have focused on female survivors sexual risk-taking that occurs outside the context of committed relationships (e.g. Orcutt, Cooper, Garcia, 2005), maltreatment has also been linked to sexual difficulties with intimate partners (Leonard Follette, 2002). In a study, women with a history of childhood sexual or physical abuse report engaging in less frequent sexual activity (Dinnerstein, Guthrie, Alford, 2004), whereas both women and men who experienced sexual abuse report more symptoms of sexual dysfunction, including pain during intercourse, difficulty achieving and maintaining arousal, premature or delayed orgasm, and anxiety about sexual performance (Najman, Dunne, Purdie, Boyle, Coxeter, 2005). These difficulties may contribute to survivors lower sexual drive and sexual satisfaction (Randolph Reddy, 2006), as well as greater negative affect while sexually aroused (Schloredt Heiman, 2003). Studies of unmarried individuals have found that a history of maltreatment is associated with later psychological, physical, and sexual victimization by an intimate partner (DiLillo, Giuffre, Tremblay, Peterson, 2001; Whitfield, Anda, Dube, Felitti, 2003). Conversely, links have also been found for both men and women between a history of child maltreatment and the perpetration of physical aggression against a partner (DiLillo et al., 2001; White Widom, 2003; Whitfield et al., 2003). Beyond group comparisons of victims and non-victims, evidence suggests a dose-response relationship between maltreatment and partner aggression, such that men and women from a community setting who were exposed to greater adversity as children (including maltreatment) are more likely to perpetrate partner aggression as adults (Anda, Felitti, Bremner, Walker, Whitfield, Perry, 2006). Difficulties in these more specific domains of couple functioning may contribute to general dissatisfaction and ultimately relationship dissolution for victims of maltreatment. For example, cross-sectional findings indicate that individuals with a history of maltreatment are less satisfied in their intimate relationships than are no maltreated individuals (DiLillo Long, 1999; Nelson Wampler, 2000; Whisman, 2006). Moreover, in the few studies that have examined marital functioning, both husbands and wives with a history of sexual abuse, physical abuse, or neglect experienced higher rates of separation and divorce than did spouses without such histories (Colman Widom, 2004; Finkelhor, Hotaling, Lewis, Smith, 1989; Whisman, 2006). The research conducted to date suggests that childhood traumas are indeed associated with marital outcomes in adulthood. For example, evidence from both clinical (Nelson Wampler, 2000) and community (Finkelhor, Hotaling, Lewis, Smith, 1989) samples suggests that childhood sexual abuse is associated with increased likelihood of experiencing relationship problems (DiLillo, 2001; Rumstein-McKean Hunsley, 2001). In addition, a lifetime history of physical attack has been associated with lower marital harmony and lower marital satisfaction in a national, population-based sample (Broman, Riba, Trahan, 1996). However, although the evidence is suggestive that the occurrence of childhood trauma is associated with marital outcomes during adulthood, most existing studies have looked at only one or a few childhood traumas and only one type of marital outcome (e.g., marital disruption or marital satisfaction). Therefore, based on available research, it is difficult to know whether the results obtained from the traumatic events evaluated in existing studies would be found for other traumatic events, and whether specific traumas would be associated with multiple marital outcomes. Similarly, insofar as people who experience one trauma are at elevated risk for experiencing other traumas, it is unknown whether the interpersonal consequences that are attributed to a particular trauma are independently associated with that trauma, or are secondary, due to their shared association with the co-occurring trauma. Finally, as with many studies in the area of marital functioning, samples used in some prior studies are small and not representative of the population of married couples, insofar as they are often based on people in treatment or convenience samples recruited from local communities, which thereby restricts the external validity of studies on childhood trauma and marital outcomes (DiLillo, 2001). Conclusion The current review shows implications for researchers and practitioners alike. Past research has mainly included women although the current literature suggests that among newlywed couples, a history of maltreatment may also be detrimental to husbands marital adjustment. This reinforce the need for future research to take a dyadic approach rather than focusing on only one partner. Maltreatment may have an increasingly negative impact on husbands marital satisfaction over time reinforce the need to examine longer term marital trajectories in relation to mens prior abuse. Extending the examination of change trajectories would enable the testing of the supposition that maltreatment places couples at risk for more quickly reaching critical levels of relationship discord. Studies could also examine the ways that couples with a history of abuse adapt to contextual shifts in the marriage, including those that arise during important developmental transitions already associated with marital de cline (birth of a first child; Huston Holmes, 2004). Clinical writings (Oz, 2001) also suggest that partners of abuse survivors may struggle with unique issues related to their involvement with adult victims. Examining these cross-partner effects will be important to further enhance our understanding of the dyadic impact of early maltreatment. From a treatment standpoint, the early stages of marriage may become increasingly difficult for adult survivors. Thus, child maltreatment should be considered part of the constellation of factors-internal and external to the relationship-with the potential to disrupt marital functioning.

Celebrating Nutrition Month at a School :: Health Nutrition Pyramid Diet

Nutrition Month Celebration Last July, Life College has a celebration for Nutrition Month. The program runs like this: In the morning, the students have a food fair, each level decorated their booth and sell cuisines. Elementary students sell nutritious food like fruit salad, pancit, eggs and etc. assisted by their parents. 1st year class was assigned to cook Seafood cuisines, 2nd year for Asia cuisines and 3rd year for World cuisines. While the food fair is on going, chosen grade 1to 4 students participated in Poster Making Contest. It was held in the Library at 9:00 am. The contest was not that easy because they must just used their fingers and natural food color for painting. A Grade 3 Matatag student won the contest. Aside from those activities, some of the students join the parlor games. Their activeness in the games showed that they are healthy and fit. Some of the games are Tug of War, Stop Dance and Pasa Buko. The food cooking competition started an hour and a half before noon. Each level and section are provided a list of ingredients that they must bring and use in making appetizer, main dish, soup, dessert and beverage. When the clock struck at 12:00, the judges start to taste and grade the food that they cooked. 2nd year students got the taste of the judges and won the contest. In the afternoon, the program is held in the Life Church auditorium. They have Quiz Bee about nutrition. You will see that all of the contestants are giving their best. 1st year Dependable got the 1st place, 3rd year A got the 2nd place and 1st year committed got the 3rd place. After few minutes of break, the Search for A1 child 2008 started. 6 children from the Preschool Department joined the contest. They are all smart and talented. The audience cheered when they saw these children dressed with their costumes related to fruits and vegetables, sport wears, and school uniforms. The mass stood up form their chair and clapped their hands when the children showed their talents.

Willa Cathers Paul‟s Case: A Study in Temperament Essay examples -- P

Willa Cather‟s â€Å"Paul‟s Case: A Study in Temperament† (1905) invites the reader to wonder, â€Å"What really is Paul‟s case?† Cather provides us with ample clues and descriptions of Paul‟s temperament with remarkable detail and insight into the human psyche considering that she had no formal background in psychology and that she was writing when Sigmund Freud was just beginning to publish his theories and was therefore writing by intuitive observation rather than by using a scientific approach. Because â€Å"Paul‟s Case† is written much like a descriptive analysis or case study in a patient‟s temperament, the reader is left with several details about Paul that are mysterious and psychiatrically and medically unexplained. The lack of a diagnosis for Paul has led many critics to develop their own diagnosis – some say Paul is a stereotypical homosexual, has Asperger‟s Syndrome or Autism, or that he has a combinati on of depression and anxiety. In my opinion, however, the most likely diagnosis for Paul is that he suffers from Narcissistic Personality Disorder. According to the DSM-IV, people with Narcissistic Personality Disorder are â€Å"preoccupied with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love† (Criterion 2) and believe that they are â€Å"„special‟ and unique and can only be understood by, or should be associated with, other special or high-status people† (Criterion 3). Paul‟s clothing gives us our first clue to his narcissistic attitudes about himself; in Cather‟s description of Paul‟s dress, it is apparent that Paul is attempting to rise above his lower-class status by mimicking the upper class‟ appearance. The collar of Paul‟s overcoat is velvet, and â€Å"there was something of the dandy about him, and he wore an... ...her was writing about a social disorder that had not yet been identified or studied. Despite the lack of knowledge about Narcissistic Personality Disorder when Cather wrote this short story, she provides readers with plenty of details to diagnose the boy themselves. Narcissism is the only diagnosis that can explain all of Paul‟s attitudes and behaviors, and that is why it is the disorder that he must be suffering from. Works Cited Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders: DSM-IV. Arlington, VA.: American Psychiatric Association, 2007. Print. Larry Rubin. "The Homosexual Motif in Willa Cather's "Paul's Case"" Studies in Short Fiction (1975): 127-31. Print. Perkins, Barbara, Robyn Warhol-Down, and George B. Perkins. "Paul's Case: A Study in Temperament." Women's Work: an Anthology of American Literature. New York: McGrawHill, 1994. Print.

Families NOT the Source of All Evil :: Are Families Dangerous

Families NOT the Source of All Evil   Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  According to Barbara Ehrenreich in â€Å"Are Families Dangerous?,† families are the most dangerous place to be, because of several reasons. First, for women the most unsafe place to be is inside her own home. This is because the people who love you the most are the ones who abuse and murder their loved ones. According to Charles Fourier, â€Å"the family is the barrier to human progress,† which leads me to believe that Ehrenreich is trying to portray the family as a downside to our society instead of a positive aspect of our lives. Subsequently, there is no such thing as the â€Å"functional† family, each and every family needs counseling and policies to provide guidance. Families cause damage to children because of a constant attack on one’s self esteem. Most importantly, according to Ehrenreich families are the source of violence within our world, she believes if we would disband our families our world would be a much improved living environment.   Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  The article I discussed was, â€Å"Are families dangerous?,† by Barbara Ehrenreich. This article gave copious reasons for what the family does to destroy ones self esteem or even ones physical well being. Ehrenreich stated numerous facts that supported her view upon the American family. She used two human sources, one being Charles Fourier (French Philosopher) and a British anthropologist by the name of Edmund Leach. Both of these men agreed that the family was the source of all evil within our society. She also used specific court cases that indicated domestic violence within the home. Each of these cases are widely known to Americans, due to the media coverage on each case. Allowing her to illustrate the numerous occasions domestic violence has occurred within in society.   Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  When my group discussed the facts that she brought forward within the article we each came to the conclusion that families are NOT the source of all evil in this world. Although, she cited an abundance of sources, we all believe families are what makes a child a proper and well-caring human being.

Racism and the Criminal Justice System

Tor aaaresslng tne economic crlsls wnlcn Tlrst appeared In tne m10 ana late slxtl In other to restore sagging business profits, and then the welfare of working people had to be sacrificed. Another criminal Justice crackdown has become, intentionally or otherwise, a way to manage rising inequality and surplus populations. And the poor people where the one that suffered the situation throughout this process of economic restructuring, particularly poor people of color.Thus it is poor people of color who make up the bulk of American prison. Also, equality was one of the roblems that blacks suffered during Jim Crow laws and it was what white American fears most. Not until February 17, 1919, when thousands of African American soldiers fresh from victory in the Ardennes offensive marched triumphantly up Fifth Avenue, through Manhattan's cheering crows toa Harlem homecoming. This was because they had lived up to their end of the bargain with America.So they expected the full rights of Citize nship, nothing less, only a year earlier, while they fought in France. Jim Crow and other hated laws that stigmatized African Americans had been reaffirmed. But this civil rights moment was not to be. Instead the euphoria of victory evaporated to be replaced by the worst spate of anti-Black violence; labeled the Red Summer, the riots and lynchings would last from April to November 1919, claiming hundreds of lives, and leave thousands homeless.Mostly Blacks where the victims, at least twenty seven major riots and mob actions immobilized the nation's capital and cities large and small, including Chicago, Omaha, Knoxville, Charleston, and the delta town of Elaine, Arkansas, but something happened that whites had not expected. Emboldened by the war, whether from experience in the trenches or not the factory loor, or in the cotton fields of the rural south, blacks fought back; picking up any weapon that was at hand, their retaliation against armed mobs was swift.It was the first stirring s of the civil rights movement that would change America forever. Bibliography Mcwhirter Cameron. â€Å"Red summer†. New York: Herny Holet, 2011. Parenti Christian. â€Å"Lockdown America†. New York: Verso, 2008. Heard Alex. â€Å"The Eyes of Willie Mcgee†. Mississippi: Jim Leeson, 2010. Loury C. Glenn. â€Å"Race Incarceration and American Values†. Boston: Pamela S. Karlan, Tommie Shelby, and Loic Wacquant, 2008.

Black House Chapter Twenty-four

24 D'YAMBA IS A BRIGHT and powerful spell; powerful connections form a web that extends, ramifying, throughout infinity. When Jack Sawyer peels the living poison from Mouse's eyes, d'yamba first shines within the dying man's mind, and that mind momentarily expands into knowledge; down the filaments of the web flows some measure of its shining strength, and soon a touch of d'yamba reaches Henry Leyden. Along the way, the d'yamba brushes Tansy Freneau, who, seated in a windowed alcove of the Sand Bar, observes a wry, beautiful young woman take smiling shape in the pool of light at the far end of the parking lot and realizes, a moment before the young woman vanishes, that she has been given a glimpse of the person her Irma would have become; and it touches Dale Gilbertson, who while driving home from the station experiences a profound, sudden yearning for the presence of Jack Sawyer, a yearning like an ache in his heart, and vows to pursue the Fisherman case to the end with him, no matter what the obstacles; the d'yamba quivers flashing down a filament to Judy Marshall and opens a window into Faraway, where Ty sleeps in an iron-colored cell, awaiting rescue and still alive; within Charles Burnside, it touches the true Fisherman, Mr. Munshun, once known as the Monday Man, just as Burny's knuckles rap the glass. Mr. Munshun feels a subtle drift of cold air infiltrate his chest like a warning, and freezes with rage and hatred at this violation; Charles Burnside, who knows nothing of d'yamba and cannot hate it, picks up his master's emotion and remembers the time when a boy supposed dead in Chicago crept out of a canvas sack and soaked the back seat of his car in incriminating blood. Damnably incriminating blood, a substance that continued to mock him long after he had washed away its visible traces. But Henry Leyden, with whom we began this chain, is visited not by grace or rage; what touches Henry is a kind of informed clarity. Rhoda's visits, he realizes, were one and all produced by his loneliness. The only thing he heard climbing the steps was his unending need for his wife. And the being on the other side of his studio door is the horrible old man from Maxton's, who intends to do to Henry the same thing he has done to three children. Who else would appear at this hour and knock on the studio window? Not Dale, not Jack, and certainly not Elvena Morton. Everyone else would stay outside and ring the doorbell. It takes Henry no more than a couple of seconds to consider his options and work out a rudimentary plan. He supposes himself both quicker and stronger than the Fisherman, who sounded like a man in his mid- to late eighties; and the Fisherman does not know that his would-be victim is aware of his identity. To take advantage of this situation, Henry has to appear puzzled but amiable, as if he is merely curious about his visitor. And once he opens the studio door, which unfortunately he has left unlocked, he will have to act with speed and decisiveness. Are we up to this? Henry asks himself, and thinks, We'd better be. Are the lights on? No; because he expected to be alone, he never bothered with the charade of switching them on. The question then becomes: How dark is it outside? Maybe not quite dark enough, Henry imagines an hour later, he would be able to move through the house entirely unseen and escape through the back door. Now his odds are probably no better than fifty-fifty, but the sun is sinking at the back of his house, and every second he can delay buys him another fraction of darkness in the living room and kitchen. Perhaps two seconds have passed since the lurking figure rapped on the window, and Henry, who has maintained the perfect composure of one who failed to hear the sound made by his visitor, can stall no longer. Pretending to be lost in thought, with one hand he grips the base of a heavy Excellence in Broadcasting award accepted in absentia by George Rathbun some years before and with the other scoops from a shallow tray before him a switchblade an admirer once left at the university radio station as a tribute to the Wisconsin Rat. Henry uses the knife to unwrap CD jewel boxes, and not long ago, in search of something to do with his hands, he taught himself how to sharpen it. With its blade retracted, the knife resembles an odd, flat fountain pen. Two weapons are twice as good as one, he thinks, especially if your adversary imagines the second weapon to be harmless. Now it has been four seconds since the rapping came from the window by his side, and in their individual ways both Burny and Mr. Mun-shun have grown considerably more restive. Mr. Munshun recoils in loathing from the suggestion of d'yamba that has somehow contaminated this otherwise delightful scene. Its appearance can mean one thing only, that some person connected to the blind man managed to get close enough to Black House to have tasted the poisons of its ferocious guardian. And that in turn means that now the hateful Jack Sawyer undoubtedly knows of the existence of Black House and intends to breach its defenses. It is time to destroy the blind man and return home. Burny registers only an inchoate mixture of hatred and an emotion surprisingly like fear from within his master. Burny feels rage at Henry Leyden's appropriation of his voice, for he knows it represents a threat; even more than this self-protective impulse, he feels a yearning for the simple but profound pleasure of bloodletting. When Henry has been butchered, Charles Burnside wishes to claim one more victim before flying to Black House and entering a realm he thinks of as Sheol. His big, misshapen knuckles rap once more against the glass. Henry turns his head to the window in a flawless imitation of mild surprise. â€Å"I thought someone was out there. Who is it? . . . Come on, speak up.† He toggles a switch and speaks into the mike: â€Å"If you're saying anything, I can't hear you. Give me a second or two to get organized in here, and I'll be right out.† He faces forward again and hunches over his desk. His left hand seems idly to touch his handsome award; his right hand is hidden from sight. Henry appears to be deep in concentration. In reality, he is listening as hard as he ever has in his life. He hears the handle on the studio door revolve clockwise with a marvelous slowness. The door whispers open an inch, two inches, three. The floral, musky scent of My Sin invades the studio, seeming to coat a thin chemical film over the mike, the tape canisters, all the dials, and the back of Henry's deliberately exposed neck. The sole of what sounds like a carpet slipper hushes over the floor. Henry tightens his hands on his weapons and waits for the particular sound that will be his signal. He hears another nearly soundless step, then another, and knows the Fisherman has moved behind him. He carries some weapon of his own, something that cuts through the mist of perfume with the grassy smell of front yards and the smoothness of machine oil. Henry cannot imagine what this is, but the movement of the air tells him it is heavier than a knife. Even a blind man can see that. An awkwardness in the way the Fisherman takes his next oh-so-quiet step suggests to Henry that the old fellow holds this weapon with both of his hands. An image has formed in Henry's mind, that of his adversary standing behind him poised to strike, and to this image he now adds extended, upraised arms. The hands hold an instrument like garden shears. Henry has his own weapons, the best of these being surprise, but the surprise must be well timed to be effective. In fact, if Henry is to avoid a quick and messy death, his timing has to be perfect. He lowers his neck farther over the desk and awaits the signal. His calm surprises him. A man standing unobserved with an object like garden shears or a heavy pair of scissors in his hands behind a seated victim will, before delivering the blow, take a long second to arch his back and reach up, to get a maximum of strength into the downward stroke. As he extends his arms and arches his back, his clothing will shift on his body. Fabric will slide over flesh; one fabric may pull against another; a belt may creak. There will be an intake of breath. An ordinary person would hear few or none of these telltale disturbances, but Henry Leyden can be depended upon to hear them all. Then at last he does. Cloth rubs against skin and rustles against itself; air hisses into Burny's nasal passages. Instantly, Henry shoves his chair backward and in the same movement spins around and swings the award toward his assailant as he stands upright. It works! He feels the force of the blow run down his arm and hears a grunt of shock and pain. The odor of My Sin fills his nostrils. The chair bumps the top of his knees. Henry pushes the button on the switchblade, feels the long blade leap out, and thrusts it forward. The knife punches into flesh. From eight inches before his face comes a scream of outrage. Again, Henry batters the award against his attacker, then yanks the knife free and shoves it home again. Skinny arms tangle around his neck and shoulders, filling him with revulsion, and foul breath washes into his face. He becomes aware that he has been injured, for a pain that is sharp on the surface and dull beneath announces itself on the left side of his back. The goddamn hedge clippers, he thinks and jabs again with the knife. This time, he stabs only empty air. A rough hand closes on his elbow, and another grips his shoulder. The hands pull him forward, and to keep upright he rests his knee on the seat of the chair. A long nose bangs against the bridge of his own nose and jars his sunglasses. What follows fills him with disgust: two rows of teeth like broken clamshells fasten on his left cheek and saw through the skin. Blood sluices down his face. The rows of teeth come together and rip away an oval wedge of Henry's skin, and over the white jolt of pain, which is incredible, worse by far than the pain in his back, he can hear his blood spatter against the old monster's face. Fear and revulsion, along with an amazing amount of adrenaline, give him the strength to lash out with the knife as he s pins away from the man's grip. The blade connects with some moving part of the Fisherman's body an arm, he thinks. Before he can feel anything like satisfaction, he hears the sound of the hedge clippers slicing the air before they bite into his knife hand. It happens almost before he can take it in: the hedge clippers' blades tear through his skin, snap the bones, and sever the last two fingers on his right hand. And then, as if the hedge clippers were the Fisherman's last contact with him, he is free. Henry's foot finds the edge of the door, kicks it aside, and he propels his body through the open space. He lands on a floor so sticky his feet slide when he tries to get up. Can all of that blood be his? The voice he had been studying in another age, another era, comes from the studio door. â€Å"You stabbed me, you asswipe moke.† Henry is not waiting around to listen; Henry is on the move, wishing he did not feel that he was leaving a clear, wide trail of blood behind him. Somehow, he seems to be drenched in the stuff, his shirt is sodden with it, and the back of his legs are wet. Blood continues to gush down his face, and in spite of the adrenaline, Henry can feel his energy dissipating. How much time does he have before he bleeds to death twenty minutes? He slides down the hallway and runs into the living room. I'm not going to get out of this, Henry thinks. I've lost too much blood. But at least I can make it through the door and die outside, where the air is fresh. From the hallway, the Fisherman's voice reaches him. â€Å"I ate part of your cheek, and now I'm going to eat your fingers. Are you listening to me, you moke of an asshole?† Henry makes it to the door. His hand slips and slips on the knob; the knob resists him. He feels for the lock button, which has been depressed. â€Å"I said, are you listening?† The Fisherman is coming closer, and his voice is full of rage. All Henry has to do is push the button that unlocks the door and turn the knob. He could be out of the house in a second, but his remaining fingers will not obey orders. All right, I'm going to die, he says to himself. I'll follow Rhoda, I'll follow my Lark, my beautiful Lark. A sound of chewing, complete with smacking lips and crunching noises. â€Å"You taste like shit. I'm eating your fingers, and they taste like shit. You know what I like? Know my all-time favorite meal? The buttocks of a tender young child. Albert Fish liked that too, oh yes he did. Mmm-mmm! BABY BUTT! That's GOOD EATIN'!† Henry realizes that he has somehow slipped all the way down the unopenable door and is now resting, breathing far too heavily, on his hands and knees. He shoves himself forward and crawls behind the Mission-style sofa, from the comfort of which he had listened to Jack Sawyer reading a great many eloquent words written by Charles Dickens. Among the things he would now never be able to do, he realizes, is find out what finally happens in Bleak House. Another is seeing his friend Jack again. The Fisherman's footsteps enter the living room and stop moving. â€Å"All right, where the fuck are you, asshole? You can't hide from me.† The hedge clippers' blades go snick-snick. Either the Fisherman has grown as blind as Henry, or the room is too dark for vision. A little bit of hope, a match flame, flares in Henry's soul. Maybe his adversary will not be able to see the light switches. â€Å"Asshole!† Ahzz-hill. â€Å"Damn it, where are you hiding?† Dahmmut, vhey ah you high-dung? This is fascinating, Henry thinks. The more angry and frustrated the Fisherman gets, the more his accent melts into that weird non-German. It isn't the South Side of Chicago anymore, but neither is it anything else. It certainly isn't German, not really. If Henry had heard Dr. Spiegleman's description of this accent as that of a Frenchman trying to speak English like a German, he would have nodded in smiling agreement. It's like some kind of outer space German accent, like something that mutated toward German without ever having heard it. â€Å"You hurt me, you stinking pig!† You huhht me, you steenk-ung peek! The Fisherman lurches toward the easy chair and shoves it over on its side. In his Chicago voice, he says, â€Å"I'm gonna find you, buddy, and when I do, I'll cut your fucking head off.† A lamp hits the floor. The slippered footsteps move heavily toward the right side of the room. â€Å"A blind guy hides in the dark, huh? Oh, that's cute, that's really cute. Lemme tell you something. I haven't tasted a tongue in a while, but I think I'll try yours.† A small table and the lamp atop it clunk and crash to the floor. â€Å"I got some information for you. Tongues are funny. An old guy's doesn't taste much different from a young fella's though of course the tongue on a kid is twice as good as both. Venn I vas Fridz Hahhmun I ade munny dungs, ha ha.† Strange that extraterrestrial version of a German accent bursts out of the Fisherman like a second voice. A fist strikes the wall, and the footsteps plod nearer. Using his elbows, Henry crawls around the far end of the sofa and squirms toward the shelter of a long, low table. The footsteps squish in blood, and when Henry rests his head on his hands, warm blood pumps out against his face. The fiery agony in his fingers almost swallows the pain in his cheek and his back. â€Å"You can't hide forever,† the Fisherman says. Immediately, he switches to the weird accent and replies, â€Å"Eenuff ov dis, Burn-Burn. Vee huv murr impurdund vurk zu do.† â€Å"Hey, you're the one who called him an ahzz-hill. He hurt me!† â€Å"Fogzes down fogzhulls, oho, radz in radhulls, dey too ahh huhht. My boor loss babbies ahh huhht, aha, vurze vurze vurze dan uz.† â€Å"But what about him?† â€Å"Hee iz bledding zu deff, bledding zu deff, aha. Led hum dy.† In the darkness, we can just make out what is happening. Charles Burnside appears to be performing an eerie imitation of the two heads of Parkus's parrot, Sacred and Profane. When he speaks in his own voice, he turns his head to the left; when speaking with the accent of an extraterrestrial, he looks to his right. Watching his head swivel back and forth, we might be watching a comic actor like Jim Carrey or Steve Martin pretending to be the two halves of a split personality except that this man is not funny. Both of his personalities are awful, and their voices hurt our ears. The greatest difference between them is that left-head, the guttural extraterrestrial, runs the show: his hands hold the wheel of the other's vehicle, and right-head our Burny is essentially a slave. Since the difference between them has become so clear, we begin to get the impression that it will not be long before Mr. Munshun peels off Charles Burnside and discards him like a worn-out sock. â€Å"But I WANT to kill him!† Burny screeches. â€Å"Hee iz alreddy dud, dud, dud. Chack Zawyuh's hardt iz go-ung do break. Chack Zawyuh vill nod know whud he iz do-ung. Vee go now du Muxtun'z and oho vee kull Chibbuh, yuzz? You vahhnd kull Chibbuh I ding, yuzz?† Burny snickers. â€Å"Yeah. I vahhnd to kill Chipper. I vahhnd to slice that asshole into little pieces and chew on his bones. And if his snippy bitch is there, I want to cut off her head and suck her juicy little tongue down my throat.† To Henry Leyden, this conversation sounds like insanity, demonic possession, or both. Blood continues to stream out of his back and from the ends of his mutilated fingers, and he is powerless to stop the flow. The smell of all the blood beneath and around him makes him feel nauseated, but nausea is the least of his problems. A light-headed sense of drift, of pleasing numbness that is his real problem, and his best weapon against it is his own pain. He must remain conscious. Somehow, he must leave a message for Jack. â€Å"Zo vee go now, Burn-Burn, and vee hahhv ah blesh-ah vid Chibbuh, yuzz? End denn . . . oho end denn, denn, denn vee go do de beeyoodiful bee-yoodiful Blagg Huzz, my Burn-Burn, end in Blagg Huzz vee mayyg reddy for de Grimsunn Ging!† â€Å"I want to meet the Crimson King,† Burny says. A rope of drool sags from his mouth, and for an instant his eyes gleam in the darkness. â€Å"I'm gonna give the Marshall brat to the Crimson King, and the Crimson King is gonna love me, because all I'm gonna eat is like one little ass cheek, one little hand, something like that.† â€Å"Hee vill lahhv you fuhr my zake, Burn-Burn, fuhr de Ging lahhvs mee bezzd, mee, mee, mee, Mizz-durr Munn-shunn! End venn de Ging roolz sooprumm, fogzes down fogzhulls veep and veep, dey gryy, gryy, gryy dere lid-dul hardz utt, on-cuzz you end mee, mee, mee, vee vull eed end eed end eed, eed, eed undill de vurrldz on all zydes are nudding bahd embdy bee-nudd shillz!† â€Å"Empty peanut shells.† Burny chuckles, and noisily retracts another rope of slobber. â€Å"That's a hell of a lot of eatin'.† Any second now, Henry thinks, horrible old Burn-Burn is going to fork over a substantial down payment on the Brooklyn Bridge. â€Å"Gumm.† â€Å"I'm coming,† says Burnside. â€Å"First I want to leave a message.† There is a silence. The next thing Henry hears is a curious whooshing sound and the joined smack-smacks of sodden footwear parting from a sticky floor. The door to the closet beneath the stairs bangs open; the studio door bangs shut. A smell of ozone comes and goes. They have gone; Henry does not know how it happened, but he feels certain that he is alone. Who cares how it happened? Henry has more important matters to think about. â€Å"Murr impurdund vurk,† he says aloud. â€Å"That guy's a German like I'm a speckled hen.† He crawls out from beneath the long table and uses its surface to lever himself up on his feet. When he straightens his back, his mind wobbles and goes gray, and he grasps a lampstand to stay upright. â€Å"Don't pass out,† he says. â€Å"Passing out is not allowed, nope.† Henry can walk, he is sure of it. He's been walking most of his life, after all. Come to that, he can drive a car, too; driving is even easier than walking, only no one ever had the cojones to let him demonstrate his talents behind the wheel. Hell, if Ray Charles could drive and he could, he can, Ray Charles is probably spinning into a left turn off the highway at this moment why not Henry Leyden? Well, Henry does not happen to have an automobile available to him right now, so Henry is going to have to settle for taking a brisk walk. Well, as brisk as possible anyhow. And where is Henry going on this delightful stroll through the blood-soaked living room? â€Å"Why,† he answers himself, â€Å"the answer is obvious. I am going to my studio. I feel like taking a stroll into my lovely little studio.† His mind slides into gray once more, and gray is to be avoided. We have an antidote for the gray feeling, don't we? Yes, we do: the antidote is a good sharp taste of pain. Henry slaps his good hand against the stumps of his severed fingers whoo boy, yes indeed, whole arm sort of went up in flames there. Flaming arm, that will work. Sparks shooting white hot from burning fingers will get us to the studio. Let those tears flow. Dead folks don't cry. â€Å"The smell of blood is like laughter,† Henry says. â€Å"Who said that? Somebody. It's in a book. ? ®The smell of blood was like laughter.' Great line. Now put one foot in front of the other.† When he reaches the short hallway to the studio, he leans against the wall for a moment. A wave of luxurious weariness begins at the center of his chest and laps through his body. He snaps his head up, blood from his torn cheek spattering the wall. â€Å"Keep talking, you dope. Talking to yourself isn't crazy. It's a wonderful thing to do. And guess what? It's how you make your living you talk to yourself all day long!† Henry pushes himself off the wall, steps forward, and George Rath-bun speaks through his vocal cords. â€Å"Friends, and you ARE my friends, let me be clear about that, we here at KDCU-AM seem to be experiencing some technical difficulties. The power levels are sinking, and brownouts have been recorded, yes they have. Fear not, my dear ones. Fear not! Even as I speak, we are but four paltry feet from the studio door, and in no time at all, we shall be up and running, yessir. No ancient cannibal and his space-alien sidekick can put this station out of business, uh-UHH, not before we make our last and final broadcast.† It is as if George Rathbun gives life to Henry Leyden, instead of the other way around. His back is straighter, and he holds his head upright. Two steps bring him to the closed studio door. â€Å"It's a tough catch, my friends, and if Pokey Reese is going to snag that ball, his mitt had better be clean as a whistle. What is he doing out there, folks? Can we believe our eyes? Can he be shoving one hand into his pants pocket? Is he pulling something out? Man oh man, it causes the mind to reel Pokey is using THE OLD HANDKERCHIEF PLOY! That's right! He is WIPING his mitt, WIPING his throwing hand, DROPPING the snotrag, GRABBING the handle And the door is OPEN! Pokey Reese has done it again, he is IN THE STUDIO!† Henry winds the handkerchief around the ends of his fingers and fumbles for the chair. â€Å"And Rafael Furcal seems lost out there, the man is GROPING for the ball Wait, wait, does he have it? Has he caught an edge? YES! He has the ARM of the ball, he has the BACK of the ball, and he pulls it UP, ladies and gents, the ball is UP on its WHEELS! Furcal sits down, he pushes himself toward the console. We're facing a lot of blood here, but baseball is a bloody game when they come at you with their CLEATS up.† With the fingers of his left hand, from which most of the blood has been cleaned, Henry punches the ON switch for the big tape recorder and pulls the microphone close. He is sitting in the dark listening to the sound of tape hissing from reel to reel, and he feels oddly satisfied to be here, doing what he has done night after night for thousands of nights. Velvety exhaustion swims through his body and his mind, darkening whatever it touches. It is too early to yield. He will surrender soon, but first he must do his job. He must talk to Jack Sawyer by talking to himself, and to do that he calls upon the familiar spirits that give him voice. George Rathbun: â€Å"Bottom of the ninth, and the home team is headed for the showers, pal. But the game ain't OVER till the last BLIND man is DEAD!† Henry Shake: â€Å"I'm talking to you, Jack Sawyer, and I don't want you to flip out on me or nothin'. Keep cool and listen to your old friend Henry the Sheik the Shake the Shook, all right? The Fisherman paid me a visit, and when he left here he was on his way to Maxton's. He wants to kill Chipper, the guy who owns the place. Call the police, save him if you can. The Fisherman lives at Maxton's, did you know that? He's an old man with a demon inside him. He wanted to stop me from telling you that I recognized his voice. And he wanted to mess with your feelings he thinks he can screw you up by killing me. Don't give him that satisfaction, all right?† The Wisconsin Rat: â€Å"BECAUSE THAT WOULD REALLY SUCK! FISH-BRAINS WILL BE WAITING FOR YOU IN A PLACE CALLED BLACK HOUSE, AND YOU HAVE TO BE READY FOR THE BASTARD! RIP HIS NUTS OFF!† The Rat's buzz-saw voice ends in a fit of coughing. Henry Shake, breathing hard: â€Å"Our friend the Rat was suddenly called away. The boy has a tendency to get overexcited.† George Rathbun: â€Å"SON, are you trying to tell ME that â€Å" Henry Shake: â€Å"Calm down. Yes, he has a right to be excited. But Jack doesn't want us to scream at him. Jack wants information.† George Rathbun: â€Å"I reckon you better hurry up and give it to him, then.† Henry Shake: â€Å"This is the deal, Jack. The Fisherman's not very bright, and neither is his whatever, his demon, who's called something like Mr. Munching. He's incredibly vain, too.† Henry Leyden folds back into the chair and stares at nothing for a second or two. He can feel nothing from the waist down, and blood from his right hand has pooled around the microphone. From the stumps of his fingers comes a steady, diminishing pulse. George Rathbun: â€Å"Not now, Chuckles!† Henry Leyden shakes his head and says, â€Å"Vain and stupid you can beat, my friend. I have to sign off now. Jack, you don't have to feel too bad about me. I had a goddamn wonderful life, and I'm going to be with my darling Rhoda now.† He smiles in the darkness; his smile widens. â€Å"Ah, Lark. Hello.† At times, it is possible for the smell of blood to be like laughter. What is this, at the end of Nailhouse Row? A horde, a swarm of fat, buzzing things that circle and dart about Jack Sawyer, in the dying light seeming almost illuminated, like the radiant pages of a sacred text. Too small to be hummingbirds, they seem to carry their own individual, internal glow as they mesh through the air. If they are wasps, Jack Sawyer is going to be in serious trouble. Yet they do not sting; their round bodies brush his face and hands, blundering softly against his body as a cat will nudge its owner's leg, both giving and receiving comfort. At present, they give much more comfort than they receive, and even Jack cannot explain why this should be so. The creatures surrounding him are not wasps, hummingbirds, or cats, but they are bees, honeybees, and ordinarily he would be frightened to be caught in a swarm of bees. Especially if they appeared to be members of a sort of master bee race, superbees, larger than any he has seen before, their golds more golden, their blacks vibrantly black. Yet Jack is not frightened. If they were going to sting him, they would already have done it. And from the first, he understood that they meant him no harm. The touch of their many bodies is surpassingly smooth and soft; their massed buzzing is low and harmonious, as peaceable as a Protestant hymn. After the first few seconds, Jack simply lets it happen. The bees sift even closer, and their low noise pulses in his ears. It sounds like speech, or like song. For a moment, all he can see is a tightly woven network of bees moving this way and that; then the bees settle everywhere on his body but the oval of his face. They cover his head like a helmet. They blanket his arms, his chest, his back, his legs. Bees land on his shoes and obscure them from view. Despite their number, they are almost weightless. The exposed parts of Jack's body, his hands and neck, feel as though wrapped in cashmere. A dense, feather-light bee suit shimmers black and gold all over Jack Sawyer. He raises his arms, and the bees move with him. Jack has seen photographs of beekeepers aswarm with bees, but this is no photograph and he is no beekeeper. His amazement really, his sheer pleasure in the unexpectedness of this visitation stuns him. For as long as the bees cling to him, he forgets Mouse's terrible death and the next day's fearsome task. What he does not forget is Sophie; he wishes Beezer and Doc would walk outside, so they could see what is happening, but more than that, he wishes Sophie could see it. Perhaps, by grace of d'yamba, she does. Someone is comforting Jack Sawyer, someone is wishing him well. A loving, invisible presence offers him support. It feels like a blessing, that support. Clothed in his glowing black-and-yellow bee suit, Jack has the idea that if he stepped toward the sky, he would be airborne. The bees would carry him over the valleys. They would carry him over the wrinkled hills. Like the winged men in the Territories who carried Sophie, he would fly. Instead of their two, he would have two t housand wings to bear him up. In our world, Jack remembers, bees return to the hive before nightfall. As if reminded of their daily routine, the bees lift from Jack's head, his trunk, his arms and legs, not en masse, like a living carpet, but individually and in parties of five and six, wander a short distance above him, then swirl around, shoot like bullets eastward over the houses on the inland side of Nailhouse Row, and disappear one and all into the same dark infinity. Jack becomes aware of their sound only when it disappears with them. In the seconds before he can once again begin moving toward his truck, he has the feeling that someone is watching over him. He has been . . . what? It comes to him as he turns his key in the Ram's ignition and flutters the gas pedal: he has been embraced. Jack has no idea how much he will need the warmth of that embrace, nor of the manner in which it shall be returned to him, during the coming night. First of all, he is exhausted. He has had the kind of day that should end in a surreal event like an embrace by a swarm of bees: Sophie, Wendell Green, Judy Marshall, Parkus that cataclysm, that deluge! and the strange death of Mouse Baumann, these things have stretched him taut, left him gasping. His body aches for rest. When he leaves French Landing and drives into the wide, dark countryside, he is tempted to pull over to the side of the road and catch a half-hour nap. The deepening night promises the refreshment of sleep, and that is the problem: he could wind up sleeping in the truck all night, which would leave him feeling bleary and arthritic on a day when he must be at his best. Right now, he is not at his best not by a longshot, as his father, Phil Sawyer, used to say. Right now he is running on fumes, another of Phil Sawyer's pet expressions, but he figures that he can stay awake long enough to visit Henry Leyden. Maybe Henry cut a deal with the guy from ESPN maybe Henry will move into a wider market and make a lot more money. Henry in no way needs any more money than he has, for Henry's life seems flawless, but Jack likes the idea of his dear friend Henry suddenly flush with cash. A Henry with extra money to throw around is a Henry Jack would love to see. Imagine the wondrous clothes he could afford! Jack pictures going to New York with him, staying in a nice hotel like the Carlyle or the St. Regis, walking him through half a dozen great men's stores, helping him pick out whatever he wants. Just about everything looks good on Henry. He seems to improve all the clothes he wears, no matter what they are, but he has definite, particular tastes. Henry likes a certain classic, even old-fashioned, stylishness. He often dresses himself in pinstripes, windowpane plaids, herringbone tweeds. He likes cotton, linen, and wool. He sometimes wears bow ties, ascots, and little handkerchiefs that puff out of his breast pocket. On his feet, he puts penny loafers, wing tips, cap toes, and low boots of soft, fine leather. He never wears sneakers or jeans, and Jack has never seen him in a T-shirt that has writing on it. The question was, how did a man blind from birth evolve such a specific taste in clothing? Oh, Jack realizes, it was his mother. Of course. He got his taste from his mother. For some reason, this recognition threatens to bring tears to Jack's eyes. I get too emotional when I get this tired, he says to himself. Watch out, or you'll go overboard. But diagnosing a problem is not the same as fixing it, and he cannot follow his own advice. That Henry Leyden all of his life should have held to his mother's ideas about men's clothing strikes Jack as beautiful and moving. It implies a kind of loyalty he admires unspoken loyalty. Henry probably got a lot from his mother: his quick-wittedness, his love of music, his levelheadedness, his utter lack of self-pity. Levelheadedness and lack of self-pity are a great combination, Jack thinks; they go a long way toward defining courage. For Henry is courageous, Jack reminds himself. Henry is damn near fearless. It's funny, how he talks about being able to drive a car, but Jack feels certain that, if allowed, his friend would unhesitatingly jump behind the wheel of the nearest Chrysler, start the engine, and take off for the highway. He would not exult or show off, such behavior being foreign to his nature; Henry would nod toward the windshield and say things like, â€Å"Looks like the corn is nice and tall for this time of year,† and â€Å"I'm glad Duane finally got around to painting his house.† And the corn would be tall, and Duane Updahl would have recently painted his house, information delivered to Henry by his mysterious sensory systems. Jack decides that if he makes it out of Black House alive, he will give Henry the opportunity to take the Ram out for a spin. They might wind up nose-down in a ditch, but it will be worth it for the expression on Henry's face. Some Saturday afternoon, he'll get Henry out on Highway 93 and let him drive to the Sand Bar. If Beezer and Doc do not get savaged by weredogs and survive their journey to Black House, they ought to have the chance to enjoy Henry's conversation, which, odd as it seems, is perfectly suited to theirs. Beezer and Doc should know Henry Leyden, they'd love the guy. After a couple of weeks, they'd have him up on a Harley, swooping toward Norway Valley from Centralia. If only Henry could come with them to Black House. The thought pierces Jack with the sadness of an inspired idea that can never be put into practice. Henry would be brave and unfaltering, Jack knows, but what he most likes about the idea is that he and Henry would ever after be able to talk about what they had done. Those talks the two of them, in one living room or another, snow piling on the roof would be wonderful, but Jack cannot endanger Henry that way. â€Å"That's a stupid thing to think about,† Jack says aloud, and realizes that he regrets not having been completely open and unguarded with Henry that's where the stupid worry comes from, his stubborn silence. It isn't what he will be unable to say in the future; it's what he failed to say in the past. He should have been honest with Henry from the start. He should have told him about the red feathers and the robins' eggs and his gathering uneasiness. Henry would have helped him open his eyes; he would have helped Jack resolve his own blindness, which was more damaging than Henry's. All of that is over, Jack decides. No more secrets. Since he is lucky enough to have Henry's friendship, he will demonstrate that he values it. From now on, he will tell Henry everything, including the background: the Territories, Speedy Parker, the dead man on the Santa Monica Pier, Tyler Marshall's baseball cap. Judy Marshall. Sophie. Yes, he has to tell Henry about Sophie how can he not have done so already? Henry will rejoice with him, and Jack cannot wait to see how he does it. Henry's rejoicing will be unlike anyone else's; Henry will impart some delicate, cool, good-hearted topspin to the expression of his delight, thereby increasing Jack's own delight. What an incredible, literally incredible friend! If you were to describe Henry to someone who had never met him, he would sound unbelievable. Someone like that, living alone in an outback of the boonies? But there he was, all alone in the entirely obscure area of Norway Valley, French County, Wisconsin, waiting for the latest installment of Bleak House. By now, in anticipation of Jack's arrival, he would have turned on the lights in his kitchen and living room, as he had done for years in honor of his dead, much-loved wife. Jack thinks: I must not be so bad, if I have a friend like that. And he thinks: I really adore Henry. Now, even in the darkness, everything seems beautiful to him. The Sand Bar, ablaze with neon lights in its vast expanse of parking lot; the spindly, intermittent trees picked out by his headlights after the turn onto 93; the long, invisible fields; the glowing light bulbs hung like Christmas decorations from the porch of Roy's Store. The rattle over the first bridge and the sharp turn into the depths of the valley. Set back from the left side of the road, the first of the farmhouses gleam in the darkness, the lights in their windows burning like sacramental candles. Everything seems touched by a higher meaning, everything seems to speak. He is traveling, within a hush of sacred silence, through a sacred grove. Jack remembers when Dale first drove him into this valley, and that memory is sacred, too. Jack does not know it, but tears are coursing down his cheeks. His blood sings in his veins. The pale farmhouses shine half-hidden by the darkness, and out of that darkness leans the stand of tiger lilies that greeted him on his first down-valley journey. The tiger lilies blaze in his headlights, then slip murmuring behind him. Their lost speech joins the speech of the tires rolling eagerly, gently toward Henry Leyden's warm house. Tomorrow he may die, Jack knows, and this may be the last night he will ever see. That he must win does not mean that he will win; proud empires and noble epochs have gone down in defeat, and the Crimson King may burst out of the Tower and rage through world after world, spreading chaos. They could all die in Black House: he, Beezer, and Doc. If that happens, Tyler Marshall will be not only a Breaker, a slave chained to an oar in a timeless Purgatory, but a super-Breaker, a nuclear-powered Breaker the abbalah will use to turn all the worlds into furnaces filled with burning corpses. Over my dead body, Jack thinks, and laughs a little crazily it's so literal! What an extraordinary moment; he is laughing while he rubs tears off his face. The paradox suddenly makes him feel as though he is being torn in half. Beauty and terror, beauty and pain there is no way out of the conundrum. Exhausted, strung out, Jack cannot hold off his awareness of the world's essential fragility, its constant, unstoppable movement toward death, or the deeper awareness that in that movement lies the source of all its meaning. Do you see all this heart-stopping beauty? Look closely, because in a moment your heart will stop. In the next second, he remembers the swarm of golden bees that descended upon him: it was against this that they comforted him, exactly this, he tells himself. The blessing of blessings that vanish. What you love, you must love all the harder because someday it will be gone. It felt true, but it did not feel like all of the truth. Against the vastness of the night, he sees the giant shape of the Crimson King holding aloft a small boy to use as a burning glass that will ignite the worlds into flaming waste. What Parkus said was right: he cannot destroy the giant, but he may find it possible to rescue the boy. The bees said: Save Ty Marshall. The bees said: Love Henry Leyden. The bees said: Love Sophie. That is close enough, right enough, for Jack. To the bees, these were all the same sentence. He supposes that the bees might well also have said, Do your job, coppiceman, and that sentence was only slightly different. Well, he would do his job, all right. After having been given such a miracle, he could do nothing else. His heart warms as he turns up Henry's drive. What was Henry but another kind of miracle? Tonight, Jack gleefully resolves, he is going to give the amazing Henry Leyden a thrill he will never forget. Tonight, he will tell Henry the whole story, the entire long tale of the journey he took in his twelfth year: the Blasted Lands, Rational Richard, the Agincourt, and the Talisman. He will not leave out the Oatley Tap and the Sunlight Home, for these travails will get Henry wonderfully worked up. And Wolf! Henry is going to be crazy about Wolf; Wolf will tickle him right down to the soles of his chocolate-brown suede loafers. As Jack speaks, every word he says will be an apology for having been silent for so long. And when he has finished telling the whole story, telling it at least as well as he can, the world, this world, will have been transformed, for one person in it besides himself will know everything that happened. Jack can barely imagine what it will feel like to have the dam of his loneliness so obliterated, so destroyed, but the very thought of it floods him with the anticipation of relief. Now, this is strange . . . Henry has not turned on his lights, and his house looks dark and empty. He must have fallen asleep. Smiling, Jack turns off the engine and gets out of the pickup's cab. Experience tells him that he won't get more than three paces into the living room before Henry rouses himself and pretends that he has been awake all along. Once, when Jack found him in the dark like this, he said, â€Å"I was just resting my eyes.† So what is it going to be tonight? He was planning his Lester Young?CCharlie Parker birthday tribute, and he found it easier to concentrate this way? He was thinking about frying up some fish, and he wanted to see if food tasted different if you cooked it in the dark? Whatever it is, it'll be entertaining. And maybe they will celebrate Henry's new deal with ESPN! â€Å"Henry?† Jack raps on the door, then opens it and leans in. â€Å"Henry, you faker, are you asleep?† Henry does not respond, and Jack's question falls into a soundless void. He can see nothing. The room is a two-dimensional pane of blackness. â€Å"Hey, Henry, I'm here. And boy, do I have a story for you!† More dead silence. â€Å"Huh,† Jack says, and steps inside. Immediately, his instincts scream that he should get out, take off, scram. But why should he feel that? This is just Henry's house, that's all; he has been inside it hundreds of times before, and he knows Henry has either fallen asleep on his sofa or walked over to Jack's house, which come to think of it is probably exactly what happened. Henry got a terrific offer from the ESPN representative, and in his excitement for even Henry Leyden can get excited, you just have to look a little closer than you do with most people decided to surprise Jack at his house. When Jack failed to arrive by five or six, he decided to wait for him. And right now, he is probably sound asleep on Jack's sofa, instead of his own. All of this is plausible, but it does not alter the message blasting from Jack's nerve endings. Go! Leave! You don't want to be here! He calls Henry's name again, and his response is the silence he expects. The transcendent mood that had carried him down the valley has already disappeared, but he never noted its passing, merely that it is a thing of the past. If he were still a homicide detective, this is the moment when he would unholster his weapon. Jack steps quietly into the living room. Two strong odors come to him. One is the scent of perfume, and the other . . . He knows what the other one is. Its presence here means that Henry is dead. The part of Jack that is not a cop argues that the smell of blood means no such thing. Henry may have been wounded in a fight, and the Fisherman could have taken him across worlds, as he did with Tyler Marshall. Henry may be trussed up in some pocket of the Territories, salted away to be used as a bargaining chip, or as bait. He and Ty might be side by side, waiting for rescue. Jack knows that none of this is true. Henry is dead, and the Fisherman killed him. It is his job now to find the body. He's a coppiceman; he has to act like one. That the last thing in the world he wants to do is look at Henry's corpse does not change the nature of his task. Sorrow comes in many forms, but the kind of sorrow that has been building within Jack Sawyer feels as if it is made of granite. It slows his step and clenches his jaw. When he moves to his left and reaches for the light switch, this stony sorrow directs his hand to the right spot on the wall as surely as if he were Henry. Because he is looking at the wall when the lights go on, only his peripheral vision takes in the interior of the room, and the damage does not seem as extensive as he had feared. A lamp has been toppled, a chair knocked over. But when Jack turns his head, two aspects of Henry's living room sear themselves onto his retinas. The first is a red slogan on the cream-colored opposite wall; the second, the sheer amount of blood on the floor. The bloodstains are like a map of Henry's progress into and back out of the room. Gouts of blood like those left by a wounded animal begin at the hallway and trail, accompanied by many loops and spatters, to the back of the Mission sofa, where blood lies pooled. Another large pool covers the hardwood floor beneath the long, low table where Henry sometimes used to park his portable CD player and stack the evening's CDs. From the table, another series of splashes and gouts lead back into the hallway. To Jack, it looks as though Henry must have been very l ow on blood when he felt safe enough to crawl out from under the table. If that is the way it went. While Henry lay dead or dying, the Fisherman had taken something made of cloth his shirt? a handkerchief ? and used it like a fat, unwieldy paintbrush. He had dipped it in the blood behind the sofa, raised it dripping to the wall, and daubed a few letters. Then he'd repeated and repeated the action until he had wiped the last letter of his message onto the wall. HELLO HOLLYWOOD CUM GET MEE CK CK CK CK But the Crimson King had not written the taunting initials, and neither had Charles Burnside. They had been daubed on the wall by the Fisherman's master, whose name, in our ears, sounds like Mr. Munshun. Don't worry, I'll come for you soon enough, Jack thinks. At this point, he could not be criticized for walking outside, where the air does not reek of blood and perfume, and using his cell phone to call Sumner Street. Maybe Bobby Dulac is on duty. He might even find Dale still at the station. To fulfill all of his civic obligations, he need speak only eight or nine words. After that, he could pocket the cell phone and sit on Henry's front steps until the guardians of law and order come barreling up the long drive. There would be a lot of them, at least four cars, maybe five. Dale would have to call the troopers, and Brown and Black might feel obliged to call the FBI. In about forty-five minutes, Henry's living room would be crowded with men taking measurements, writing in their notebooks, setting down evidence tags, and photographing bloodstains. There would be the M.E. and the evidence wagon. And when the first stage of everybody's various jobs came to an end, two men in white jackets would carry a stretcher through the front door and loa d the stretcher into whatever the hell they were driving. Jack does not consider this option for much longer than a couple of seconds. He wants to see what the Fisherman and Mr. Munshun did to Henry he has to see it, he has no choice. His grim sorrow demands it, and if he does not obey his sorrow's commands, he will never feel quite whole again. His sorrow, which is closed like a steel vault around his love for Henry Leyden, drives him deeper into the room. Jack moves slowly, picking his way forward the way a man crossing a stream moves from rock to rock. He is looking for the bare places where he can set his feet. From across the room, dripping red letters eight inches high mock his progress. HELLO HOLLYWOOD It seems to wink on and off, like a neon sign. HELLO HOLLYWOOD HELLO HOLLYWOOD. CUM GET MEE CUM GET MEE He wants to curse, but the weight of his sorrow will not permit him to utter the words that float into his mind. At the end of the hallway to the studio and the kitchen, Jack steps over a long smear of blood and turns his back on the living room and the distracting flashes of neon. The light penetrates only three or four feet into the hallway. The kitchen is solid, featureless darkness. The studio door hangs half open, and reflected light shines softly in its window. Blood lies spattered and smeared everywhere on the floor of the hallway. He can no longer avoid stepping in it but moves down the hallway with his eyes on the gaping studio door. Henry Leyden never left this door yawning into the little corridor;he kept it closed. Henry was neat. He had to be: if he left the studio door hanging open, he would walk right into it the next time he went to the kitchen. The mess, the disorder left in his wake by Henry's murderer disturbs Jack more than he wishes to admit, maybe even more than he recognizes. This messiness represents a true violation, and, on his friend's behalf, Jack hugely resents it. He reaches the door, touches it, opens it wider. A concentrated stench of perfume and blood hangs in the air. Nearly as dark as the kitchen, the studio offers Jack only the dim shape of the console and the murky rectangles of the speakers fixed to the wall. The window into the kitchen hovers like a black sheet, invisible. His hand still on the door, Jack moves nearer and sees, or thinks he sees, the back of a tall chair and a shape stretched over the desk in front of the console. Only then does he hear the whup-whup-whup of tape hitting the end of a reel. â€Å"Ohmygod,† Jack says, all in one word, as if he had all along not been expecting something precisely like what is before him. With a terrible, insistent certainty, the sound of the tape drives home the fact that Henry is dead. Jack's sorrow overrides his chickenhearted desire to go outside and call every cop in the state of Wisconsin by compelling him to grope for the light switch. He cannot leave; he must witness, as he did with Irma Freneau. His fingers brush against the down-ticked plastic switch and settle on it. Into the back of his throat rises a sour, brassy taste. He flicks the switch up, and light floods the studio. Henry's body leans out of the tall leather chair and over the desk, his hands on either side of his prize microphone, his face flattened on its left side. He is still wearing his dark glasses, but one of the thin metal bows is bent. At first, everything seems to have been painted red, for the nearly uniform coat of blood covering the desk has been dripping onto Henry's lap and the tops of his thighs for some time, and all the equipment has been sprayed with red. Part of Henry's cheek has been bitten off. He is missing two fingers from his right hand. To Jack's eyes, which have been taking an inventory as they register all the details of the room, most of Henry's blood loss came from a wound in his back. Blood-soaked clothing conceals the injury, but as much blood lies pooled, dripping, at the back of the chair as covers the desk. Most of the blood on the floor came from the chair. The Fisherman must have sliced an internal organ, or severed an artery. Very little blood, apart from a fine mist over the controls, has hit the tape recorder. Jack can hardly remember how these machines work, but he has seen Henry change reels often enough to have a sense of what to do. He turns the recorder off and threads the end of the tape into the empty reel. Then he turns the machine on and pushes REWIND. The tape glides smoothly over the heads, spooling from one reel to the other. â€Å"Did you make a tape for me, Henry?† Jack asks. â€Å"I bet you did, but I hope you didn't die telling me what I already know.† The tape clicks to a stop. Jack pushes PLAY and holds his breath. In all his bull-necked, red-faced glory, George Rathbun booms from the speakers. â€Å"Bottom of the ninth, and the home team is headed for the showers, pal. But the game ain't OVER till the last BLIND man is DEAD!† Jack sags against the wall. Henry Shake enters the room and tells him to call Maxton's. The Wisconsin Rat sticks his head in and screams about Black House. The Sheik the Shake the Shook and George Rathbun have a short debate, which the Shake wins. It is too much for Jack; he cannot stop his tears, and he does not bother to try. He lets them come. Henry's last performance moves him enormously. It is so bountiful, so pure so purely Henry. Henry Leyden kept himself alive by calling on his alternate selves, and they did the job. They were a faithful crew, George and the Shake and the Rat, and they went down with the ship, not that they had much choice. Henry Leyden reappears, and in a voice that grows fainter with each phrase, says that Jack can beat vain and stupid. Henry's dying voice says he had a wonderful life. His voice drops to a whisper and utters three words filled to the brim with gratified surprise: Ah, Lark. Hello. Jack can hear the smile in those words. Weeping, Jack staggers out of the studio. He wants to collapse into a chair and cry until he has no more tears, but he cannot fail either himself or Henry so greatly. He moves down the hallway, wipes his eyes, and waits for the stony sorrow to help him deal with his grief. It will help him deal with Black House, too. The sorrow is not to be deterred or deflected; it works like steel in his spine. The ghost of Henry Shake whispers: Jack, this sorrow is never going to leave you. Are you down with that? Wouldn't have it any other way. Just as long as you know. Wherever you go, whatever you do. Through every door. With every woman. If you have children, with your children. You'll hear it in all the music you listen to, you'll see it in every book you read. It will be part of the food you eat. With you forever. In all the worlds. In Black House. I am it, and it is me. George Rathbun's whisper is twice as loud as the Sheik the Shake the Shook's: Well, damnit, son, can I hear you say D'YAMBA? D'yamba. I reckon now you know why the bees embraced you. Don't you have a telephone call to make? Yes, he does. But he cannot bear to be in this blood-soaked house any longer; he needs to be out in the warm summer night. Letting his feet land where they may, Jack walks across the ruined living room and passes through the doorway. His sorrow walks with him, for he is it and it is he. The enormous sky hangs far above him, pierced with stars. Out comes the trusty cell phone. And who answers the telephone at the French Landing Police Station? Arnold â€Å"Flashlight† Hrabowski, of course, with a new nickname and just reinstated as a member of the force. Jack's news puts Flashlight Hrabowski in a state of high agitation. What? Gosh! Oh, no. Oh, who woulda believed it? Gee. Yeah, yessir. I'll take care of that right away, you bet. So while the former Mad Hungarian tries to keep both his hands and voice from trembling as he dials the chief's home number and passes on Jack's two-sided message, Jack himself wanders away from the house, away from the drive and his pickup truck, away from anything that reminds him of human beings, and into a meadow filled with high, yellow-green grasses. His sorrow leads him, for his sorrow knows better than he what he needs. Above all, he needs rest. Sleep, if sleep is possible. A soft spot on level ground far from the coming uproar of red lights and sirens and furious, hyperactive policemen. Far from all that desperation. A place where a man can lay his head and get a representative view of the local heavens. Half a mile down the fields, Jack comes to such a place between a cornfield and the rocky beginnings of the wooded hills. His sorrowing mind tells his sorrowing, exhausted body to lie down and make itself comfortable, and his body obeys. Overhead, the stars seem to vibrate and blur, though of course real stars in the familiar, real heavens do not act that way, so it must be an optical illusion. Jack's body stretches out, and the pad of grass and topsoil beneath his body seems to adjust itself around him, although this, too, must be an illusion, for everyone knows that in real life, the actual ground tends to be obdurate, inflexible, and stony. Jack Sawyer's sorrowing mind tells his sorrowing ache o f a body to fall asleep, and impossible as it may seem, fall asleep it does. Within minutes, Jack Sawyer's sleeping body undergoes a subtle transformation. Its edges seem to soften, its colors his wheaten hair, his light tan jacket, his soft brown shoes grow paler. An odd translucency, a mistiness or cloudiness, enters the process. It is as if we can peer through the cloudy, indistinct mass of his slow-breathing body to see the soft, crushed blades of grass that form its mattress. The longer we peer, the more clearly we can take in the grass beneath him, for his body is getting vaguer and vaguer. At last it is only a shimmer over the grass, and by the time the Jack-shaped pad of green has again straightened itself, the body that shaped it is long gone.