Anger

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From Wild (2012)

  I couldn’t allow even a line of it now on the PCT. I deleted each and every song from the mix-tape radio station in my head, pressing an imaginary rewind in a desperate scramble, forcing my mind to go static instead. It was my mother’s not-fiftieth birthday and there would be no song. Instead, I passed by high lakes and crossed over blocky volcanic rocks as the night’s snow melted on the hardy wildflowers that grew among them, hiking faster than ever while thinking uncharitable thoughts about my mother. Dying at forty-five had only been the worst thing she’d done wrong. As I hiked, I made a catalogue of the rest, listing them painstakingly in my head: She’d gone through a phase during which she’d smoked pot on an occasional but regular basis and had no qualms about doing it in front of my siblings and me. Once, stoned, she’d said, “It’s only an herb. Like tea.” It hadn’t been uncommon for my brother, sister, and me to be left alone when we lived in the apartment buildings full of single moms. She told us we were old enough to look after ourselves for a few hours because she couldn’t afford a babysitter. Plus, there were all those other moms we could go to if something went wrong, she said. But we needed our mom. During this same period, when she became really mad, she often threatened to spank us with a wooden spoon, and a few times, she’d followed through. Once she said it was perfectly okay with her if we wanted to call her by her first name instead of calling her Mom. She could be cool and often distant with her friends. She loved them, but she kept them at arm’s length. I don’t think she truly let any one of them all the way in. She held to her belief that “blood was thicker than water,” in spite of the fact that my family was rather short of blood relations who didn’t live hundreds of miles away. She maintained an air of insularity and privacy, participating in the community of friends, but also sealing off our family from it. This was why no one had swooped in when she died, I supposed, why her friends had left me in peace in my inevitable exile. Because she had not held any of them very close, none of them held me. They wished me well, but they didn’t invite me to Thanksgiving dinner or call me up on my mom’s birthday to say hello after she died.

• From Wild (2012)

  One night I stopped to camp, stripped off my sweaty clothes, dressed in every other piece of clothing I had, and quickly made dinner, zipping myself into my sleeping bag as soon as I finished eating, chilled to the bone, too cold even to read. I lay curled into myself in a fetal position with my hat and gloves on all night long, barely able to sleep. When the sun rose at last, it was 26 degrees and my tent was covered in a thin layer of snow; the water in my bottles was frozen, though they’d been beside me inside the tent. As I broke camp without a sip of water, eating a protein bar instead of my regular granola mixed with Better Than Milk, I thought again of my mother. She’d been looming for days, riding low and heavy in my mind since Ashland, and now finally, on the day of the snow, she was undeniably here. It was August 18. Her birthday. She’d have been fifty that day, if she’d lived. She didn’t live. She didn’t get to be fifty. She would never be fifty, I told myself as I walked under the cold and bright August sun. Be fifty, Mom. Be fucking fifty, I thought with increasing rage as I forged on. I couldn’t believe how furious I was at my mother for not being alive on her fiftieth birthday. I had the palpable urge to punch her in the mouth. Her previous birthdays hadn’t brought up the same rage. In past years, I’d been nothing but sad. On the first birthday without her—on the day that she’d have been forty-six—I’d spread her ashes with Eddie, Karen, Leif, and Paul in the little rock-lined flowerbed we’d made for her in a clearing on our land. On her three subsequent birthdays, I’d done nothing but cry as I sat very still listening with great attention to the entire Judy Collins album Colors of the Day, its every note seeming to be one of my cells. I could bear to listen to it only once each year, for all the memories of my mother playing it when I was a child. The music made it feel like my mother was right there with me, standing in the room—only she wasn’t and would never be again.

• From Cults Inside Out: How People Get In and Can Get Out (2014)

  Ross has chosen some of the most familiar models, and they are not without limitations. Good research acknowledges that it needs more ongoing support. By the end of her life, Dr. Margaret Singer had provided a rich body of work and insight into cult formation. It is impossible for anyone to operate in the realm of cultic studies and not know about Drs. Margaret Singer, Robert Lifton, and Richard Ofshe. However, we must still continue to look for more models of education that can be helpful. This book is a step in the right direction. Instead of merely repeating various theories without attribution, this book is carefully footnoted and offers rare insight into how these theories actually work in real situations with real people. Contained within the book are illustrations and examples of cultic histories, interventions, and statements about the problems associated with cults. This book will not disappoint, but rather it will provide insight and understanding. We can all be students, academics, and adventurous seekers of the “truth” and overcome adversity. But as seekers we must recognize that some organizations are harbingers of danger. Finding the truth is a process that is ideally transparent, engaging, and respectful of each person’s unique human spirit. Cathleen A. Mann, PhD Lakewood, Colorado October 2013 INTRODUCTION My work in the field of cultic studies began rather suddenly and serendipitously in 1982. People associated with a controversial religious group that targeted Jews for conversion infiltrated the paid professional staff of a Jewish nursing home where my grandmother was a resident. A person associated with the group tried to recruit my grandmother. When that attempt failed, the encounter quickly escalated into a hateful confrontation. When I arrived to take my grandmother out for lunch that same day, she was still quite upset about the unsettling experience. She was eighty-two years old at the time and nearing the end of her life. This covert activity aimed at the elderly angered me. My grandmother had the right to expect privacy, not to suffer the intrusion of an unwanted group bent on somehow exploiting her. In the years since this disturbing encounter, I have learned that destructive cults frequently target and exploit the elderly. Volunteers often provide meaningful help in nursing homes. There were many volunteers who regularly visited my grandmother’s nursing home. Some came specifically in response to requests residents made. But the idea that a group deliberately circumvented the usual process for entry and planted people in the nursing home staff to pursue a hidden agenda was deceptive and unethical. At the time I had no interest in cultic groups. My only purpose was to make sure my grandmother was as comfortable and happy as possible. She had survived enough hardships during her life and had the right to receive respect and live what was left of her life with dignity. I immediately reported the incident to the executive director of the nursing home.

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  As my tale begins, Mouse is keeping a low profile in a little hole in the wall in Cat’s world. She is dressed in a flimsy rag, which is the modern fashion for the mice in Cat’s world, but which barely covers her nakedness and leaves her always feeling exposed and exploited. Still, our Mouse feels relatively safe from Cat because of her rebellious attitude, which his kind interprets as coldhearted spitefulness. This suits Mouse perfectly, for Cat disgusts her. “Ha! Cowards!” laughs Mouse, as yet another cat scurries past her little hole in the wall, hastening to get away from the hostile creature therein. “How fearful those big, strong cats become when they encounter anger from a powerless little mouse! I shall easily escape the fate of my sisters with mere animosity as my defense.” Indeed, it was not difficult for her to bring forth feelings of animosity. She hated being exploited in this cat-dominated world, never being understood or appreciated for her intelligence and sensitivity. And yet, whenever a cat stopped at the opening of her little den to look her over, she was seized with strange sensations that were both disturbing and frightening. But she refused to let the cats see her fear or, more especially, her secretly harbored hope that she might someday meet a real cat, like those she had read about in romantic novels. So she hissed and cursed at them, laughing to herself as they nearly tripped over their own feet in their hurry to escape her. She set her face in an expression of haughty disdain as she heard another cat approach. He was much larger than she was, as were all the others, but she reminded herself that size wasn’t everything. She was certain that her will was superior to his. She struggled to remain composed as the cat stood in the entranceway, his eyes moving leisurely over her body. The usual agitation burned in her. By what right did cats think they could ogle mice in that rude way? How did it get to the point where this was considered normal behavior? If she behaved like other mice, she was now expected to be flattered to have been honored with his attention! She jerked her chin up even higher and met Cat’s eyes with a look of disgust. He was uncommonly handsome, she grudgingly noticed. It was indeed unusual these days for a cat to care about his appearance at all. They were generally so scraggly and unkempt that it offended one to be anywhere near them. But then, the mice were so busy worrying about their own appearances that it rarely occurred to them to notice that the cats were not worth all the trouble.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The officers, forewarned by them, feigned not to see Calandrino and let him pass, laughing heartily at the jest, whilst he, without stopping, made straight for his house, which was near the Canto alla Macina, and fortune so far favoured the cheat that none accosted him, as he came up the stream and after through the city, as, indeed, he met with few, for that well nigh every one was at dinner. Accordingly, he reached his house, thus laden, and as chance would have it, his wife, a fair and virtuous lady, by name Mistress Tessa, was at the stairhead. Seeing him come and somewhat provoked at his long tarriance, she began to rail at him, saying, 'Devil take the man! Wilt thou never think to come home betimes? All the folk have already dined whenas thou comest back to dinner.' Calandrino, hearing this and finding that he was seen, was overwhelmed with chagrin and vexation and cried out, 'Alack, wicked woman that thou art, wast thou there? Thou hast undone me; but, by God His faith, I will pay thee therefor!' Therewithal he ran up to a little saloon he had and there disburdened himself of the mass of stones he had brought home; then, running in a fury at his wife, he laid hold of her by the hair and throwing her down at his feet, cuffed and kicked her in every part as long as he could wag his arms and legs, without leaving a hair on her head or a bone in her body that was not beaten to a mash, nor did it avail her aught to cry him mercy with clasped hands.

• From Under the Banner of Heaven (2003)

  from the cradle, knew no other life but polygamy,” Leavitt told Holly Mullen, a reporter for the Salt Lake Tribune, in August 2002. “He robbed them of their childhood. When I looked at this picture I realized it was about five women, all of them given in marriage by their mothers, all of them raised by their fathers to marry as children. They are victims of pedophiles, and they are victims of the state of Utah, which turned its back on polygamy for sixty years.” Leavitt’s case proved convincing in court. In August 2001, Green was convicted of four counts of bigamy and one charge of criminal nonsupport of his family. He was sentenced to five years in prison and ordered to pay $78,868 in restitution. A year later, Leavitt put Green on trial again, for the additional—and considerably more serious—charge of having sex with Linda Kunz when she was thirteen, a crime that could have put him in prison for life. This time around, however, Green got lucky: although he was found guilty of first-degree felony child rape, the judge gave him the minimum sentence, five years to life, to be served concurrently with his previous five-year sentence for bigamy. The relatively soft punishment riled many Utahans. Two days after Green was sentenced, an editorial in the Spectrum—the daily paper of St. George, Utah, an LDS stronghold less than forty miles from Colorado City—opined, Taxpayers and—most importantly—children lost during Tuesday’s sentencing hearing for now- infamous polygamist Tom Green. . . . In some polygamist relationships, particularly those involving young girls, there is a bit of brainwashing that goes on both before and after the illegal “marriages.” Girls are led to believe that such a relationship is one way to salvation. Then, they typically are taken as wives by men twice their ages. Without the context of spiritual marriage, there would be no debate that these are acts of pedophilia. . . . A man committed what amounts to statutory rape of a 13-year-old girl and, basically, won’t serve any time for it.

• From Under the Banner of Heaven (2003)

  County, bringing the guilty to justice wasn’t going to be easy. Adding to the likelihood that no convictions would be forthcoming, both John Taylor and Willard Richards—the Mormon apostles who’d witnessed the murders— announced that they refused to appear in court, fearing (with good reason) that if they came anywhere near Carthage, they would immediately be killed. The trial was held, regardless. On May 30, to nobody’s astonishment, all nine defendants were found not guilty. Although the Mormons expected this verdict, they were nevertheless infuriated by it. An editorial in the Nauvoo paper declared, “The murderers can rest assured that their case, independent of earthly tribunals, will be tried by the Supreme Judge of the universe, who has said vengeance is mine and I will repay.” A month later, on the first anniversary of Joseph Smith’s death, Brigham spoke bitterly of the trial verdict and proclaimed that “it belongs to God and his people to avenge the blood [of His] servants.” Toward this end, he instructed church authorities to issue a formal “Oath of Vengeance,” which was immediately made part of the temple endowment ceremony, one of the church’s most sacred rituals. The oath required Mormons to pledge, “I will pray, and never cease to pray, and never cease to importune high heaven to avenge the blood of the Prophets on this nation, and I will teach this to my children, and my children’s children unto the third and fourth generations.” This solemn vow to take vengeance was recited by every Latter-day Saint who participated in the standard temple ritual until it was removed from the endowment ceremony in 1927, after the oath was leaked to the non-Mormon press, sparking an outcry from politicians and the Gentile public that it was treasonous. In the months following Joseph’s murder, most residents of Nauvoo didn’t need any prodding to seek revenge against Gentiles. Ever since the assassination, non-Mormons had stepped up their violent campaign to drive the Saints from Hancock County. Emboldened by the acquittal of Joseph’s killers, throughout the summer of 1845 anti-Mormon vigilantes led by Levi Williams (the primary defendant in the murder trial) roamed the county setting fire to Mormon homes and farms. By September 15, 1845, forty-four Mormon residences had been burned to the ground.

• From Under the Banner of Heaven (2003)

  Father in Heaven and He has revealed to me, at least in part, the outcome of all these trials.” Though Ron claimed to enjoy wearing a hair shirt, however, his actions suggested otherwise. The departure of his wife and their six children to a distant corner of the nation gnawed at him day and night. Over time his hurt was transformed into an implacable rage, and most of that anger was directed at the three individuals who, in his estimation, bore responsibility for Dianna’s decision to abandon him: Richard Stowe, Chloe Low, and Brenda Lafferty. Stowe, a pharmacist by trade and a neighbor of Ron and Dianna’s, was president of the LDS Highland Stake. He directed the stake’s High Council Court, which had tried Ron in August 1983 and subsequently excommunicated him. Much worse, in Ron’s view, Stowe had offered crucial financial assistance to Dianna, via the church, which had allowed her to survive while the divorce was being finalized; and Stowe had also provided a great deal of counseling and emotional succor. Chloe Low had been an uncommonly close friend to both Ron and Dianna for a dozen years. Her husband, Stewart Low, was the bishop of Ron and Dianna’s LDS ward, and had handpicked Ron to be his first counselor in the bishopric. Chloe had long admired the Lafferty family, and she went to Dan for chiropractic treatment when her back gave her trouble. As Ron and Dianna’s marriage began to fall apart, Chloe offered unstinting support to both of them, but when Ron’s behavior grew increasingly monstrous, she came down firmly on Dianna’s side of the fence. Once, when Ron was making life particularly unbearable for Dianna, Chloe invited her and her children to stay in the Low home for four days; on another occasion Chloe took them in for ten days. After the execution of the divorce, Chloe had been there to help Dianna and her kids pack up the shards of their broken lives and move to Florida. As Ron saw it, without Chloe Low’s advocacy and assistance, Dianna would never have had the wherewithal to leave. The greatest portion of Ron’s long-simmering wrath, however, was reserved for Brenda Wright Lafferty—Allen’s smart, beautiful, headstrong wife—whom Ron regarded as being instrumental in persuading Dianna to abandon him.

• From Fragments (7)

  That man who now is reaching out for greatest might Will soon the state overturn — the danger is at its height. PITTACUS* LAST MOVE (30) From its line his last piece, untouched before, He has moved, and thus has prevailed once more. PITTACUS IN POWER (31) At every drinking-bout does he carouse, And silly triflers feasting fill his house. Well, let him boast in his exultant pride That he from Atreus* lineage won his bride. As he devoured the state with Myrsilus, So let him now, until success to us By Ares be restored, and we again Relax our wrath and soul-consuming pain, 64 Alcaeus And our intestine strife, stirred up 'mongst us By some Ol5niipian god: to Pittacus He gave the glory he to see did lust, But on our people mournful ruin thrust. PITTACUS THE UPSTART (32) The low-born upstart Pittacus they made The tyrant of our spineless wretched state. To him they all together homage paid. PITTACUS' ANCESTRY (33) They boisterously fill each cup With unmixed wine the whole day long. At night their blustering crowds turn up Where often they are wont to throng. Since first this fellow came on top. These customs never he forgot; For every night did he bob up. Then clanged the bottom of the pot. From such forefathers did you come, And yet you have an equal fame With freemen from a noble home, Who from the noblest parents came. 65 Lyric Songs of the Greeks PITTACUS AND DINOMENES (34) Thou, sitting by Dinomenes, A cup art drinking to its lees. PITTACUS' ARSENAL (35) For Hyrrhas' son and Dinomenes still Do gleaming arms the Myrrhineum fill? AN ATTEMPTED BARGAIN (36) The Lydians, father Zeus, did make advances To us, two thousand staters they would pay, To undertake, in case of circumstances, Into the sacred city to make our way. Between us so far there was no connection ; No favor had we yet received or known. But, like a cunning fox, he thought detection To escape when he the ease of it had shown. INSOLENCE OF THE OPPONENTS (37) Insolent crimes these men committed: None of them could be endured. Yet we often were defeated Ere our victory was assured. 66 Alcaeus RESIGN THYSELF TO PEACE, MELANIPPUS (38) Ah, Melanippus, why dost thou lament to mc? How canst thou think once more the sun's pure light to see, When over Acheron's whirling stream thou wilt have crossed? Come, seek not aher lofty things : recall the boast Of Aeolus' son, King Sisyphus, of men most sly, Who thought to him alone death never would come nigh. Yet he, for all his cunning, met his fate at last: The second time he Acheron's whirling river passed, The mighty son of Cronos in the world below Imposed on him a heavy task of grievous woe. TO ANTIMENIDES (39)

• From Cults Inside Out: How People Get In and Can Get Out (2014)

  We also touched on some of the concerns her spouse and family had expressed regarding dramatic recent changes in her life that seemed related to group influence. Our first day of discussion laid the foundation for further dialogue, tested what areas of discussion were most important to her, and maintained her interest. The first day easily consumed eight hours. At the conclusion of the first day, I asked the wife whether she would agree to meet again the following day. I also asked her to refrain from having contact in any way, shape, or form with anyone associated with the yoga group or guru. This prohibition specifically included e-mail, text messaging, phone calls, and communication of any kind. I explained that the many hours she had previously spent with the group and guru had been uninterrupted. Therefore, in fairness our discussion on balance must also not be interrupted. The family also expressed concern that her responses to the information presented must be genuine and spontaneous. Whatever she said would be her thoughts and not something coached or somehow based on instructions from the group or guru. These conditions prompted another emotional outburst. The wife expressed considerable anger toward her parents and especially her husband, accusing them of interfering in her life and trying to control her. At this point her brother stood up and offered his emotional response to the situation. He stated that, in his opinion, the situation was so serious that he’d given up time with his wife and children, driving several hours to attend the intervention. The wife noted her brother’s concern and responded positively to the importance of continuing our dialogue. We agreed to meet the following morning, and she also specifically agreed that there would be no communication with the group. The wife also decided not to return to her apartment and instead stayed overnight with her family at the house. As the husband drove me to my hotel, we went over the instructions I’ve given them during the previous day of preparation. I warned him to avoid an argument that might explode without me there to moderate the situation. The following morning we resumed our discussion. During this second day we focused specifically on the primary characteristics of a destructive cult in considerable detail. This discussion included specific examples of cultlike behavior, dynamics, and structure; we covered how these might parallel the yoga group and its guru. For example, what is the role of the guru in this particular yoga group? Is he a charismatic leader? Is he the defining element and driving force of the group? Can this yoga group be seen as personality driven and totalitarian? Working from this foundation, we reviewed the yoga group’s published literature, website information, and some e-mail communication between members of the group and the guru, which the husband had copied.

• From Cults Inside Out: How People Get In and Can Get Out (2014)

  In a CNN interview an official spokesperson for Scientology, Tommy Davis, was asked about the disconnection policy. He answered, “There’s no such thing as disconnection as you’re characterizing it.” However, Haggis publicly took issue with Davis. “We all know this policy exists. I didn’t have to search for verification—I didn’t have to look any further than my own home.” Haggis was referring to his wife who was told to disconnect from her parents when they left the church. He then concluded, “To see [Tommy Davis] lie so easily, I am afraid I had to ask myself: what else [is Tommy Davis] lying about?” Haggis later lamented, “What kind of organization are we involved in where people just disappear?” 906 Lawrence Wright, the reporter who wrote the article in the New Yorker about Haggis, later expanded the story into a sensational book about Scientology. 907 Jenna Miscavige Hill, the niece of David Miscavige, wrote a book about her own odyssey in Scientology. 908 She told the press, “My experience in growing up in Scientology is that it is both mentally and at times physically abusive.” Ms. Hill claimed, “We got a lousy education from unqualified teachers, forced labor, long hours, forced confessions, being held in rooms not to mention the mental anguish of trying to figure out all of the conflicting information they force upon you as a young child.” 909 Like other defectors, Hill says she has been branded an SP. 910 2012—Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise Divorce In 2012 when actress Katie Holmes filed for divorce against movie star Tom Cruise, all the historically troubling issues surrounding Scientology seemed to congeal and become fodder for the press. And the issue of disconnection in particular—and its potential for parental alienation—was discussed in some depth. It appears the famous couple was preparing for a contentious court battle over the custody of their six-year-old daughter, Suri Cruise. Holmes reportedly was unhappy about Scientology and didn’t want her child to be indoctrinated. The divorce became a magnet drawing increasingly bad press for Scientology. Former Scientologists were interviewed, and details about their allegations of abuse in the organization were reported about and broadcast globally. Media magnate Rupert Murdoch even weighed in, calling Scientology “a very weird cult” and Scientologists “creepy, maybe even evil.” Josh Forman, a matrimonial attorney and partner at Chemtob Moss Forman & Talbert in New York, opined, “I don’t think it would be very good for Tom’s career if he is seen as having a huge, dragged-out custody battle with Katie. I think they should really settle, and I see this as settling.” 911 Less than two weeks after the divorce filing, that is exactly what happened. Cruise quickly settled the divorce.

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  She wondered if his remark meant that he did not find her desirable, or if he was just so confident that she would acquiesce to him if he did. He saw her confusion and laughed. More curious than ever now, she took the coy approach, saying, “I suppose you have too many mice to choose from to become overly excited about any single one, what with the harem of slaves you must have lined up to do your bidding.” She said this as if she was complimenting him, but the message was clear enough. One of the things she detested most about this modern cat’s world was the way mice were always so willing to debase themselves by selling their flesh to the cats as willing sex slaves. And yet, she knew it had to sting the cats’ pride to know that, even though they could buy virtually anything they wanted from the mice, they were, nevertheless, obliged to pay for it. In her remark, she was insinuating that he, too, would have to pay for favors, even though she suspected that it probably wasn’t true in his particular case. Cat was not put off by her remark in the least, however, and with a cool and steady composure he answered, “Even so, I am willing to give you the opportunity of being my slave if you ask me nicely.” He loved the way her eyes flashed in anger at his remark. He was enjoying goading her immensely. “I most certainly do not want to be your slave!” she huffed. How could he twist everything around so completely? She wished with all her heart she could wipe that Cheshire Cat smile off of his face! “If you didn’t secretly wish to be my slave you would not have brought it up to begin with,” he argued. His arrogance aggravated her, and her eyes flashed as her smirk became a sneer. “Could you really be so conceited that you think what I meant by my remark was that I wanted to be your slave?” “I would bet my tail on it.” “As confident as that, are you?” she challenged, looking for an opportunity to make him see how wrong he was. She was too inexperienced in the game to realize that he was baiting her. “Shall I prove it to you?” he asked, returning her challenge. “Prove—!” His audacity was really too much. An alarm of some kind flashed a warning inside her brain, advising her to be cautious but she was too provoked to heed it. Besides, it was exhilarating to finally meet a cat with a little bit of backbone and such a quick wit. Ancestral courage welled up within her in response to his challenging posture. She felt it was her duty to put him in his place, and so without another thought she blurted, “If you can prove anything but my utter disgust for you, I will be your slave for this very evening!”

• From Under the Banner of Heaven (2003)

  On September 16, Porter Rockwell was on his way to help a Mormon family salvage possessions from the ruins of one such incinerated home when he chanced upon Lieutenant Frank Worrell of the Carthage Greys—the same man who had been in charge of guarding the jail on the evening Joseph was murdered. Worrell had commanded the militiamen who’d conspired to fire blank cartridges at the approaching mob and had then stepped aside so the vigilantes could assassinate the prophet without impediment. When Rockwell encountered Worrell on that September afternoon, the latter was on horseback, chasing a local sheriff who’d had the temerity to express sympathy for the Mormons. As Worrell galloped after the terrified sheriff, Rockwell fired a rifle ball into Worrell’s gut. The victim “jumped four feet in the air,” said a witness to the shooting, “and rolled away from his horse dead.” The killing of Worrell significantly worsened relations between the Saints and their adversaries. A few days later, a band of Mormons captured a youthful Gentile man named McBracking, whom they suspected of burning Mormon homes. McBracking begged for his life, but the Saints weren’t in a forgiving mood. They castrated him, cut his throat, sliced off one of his ears, and shot him two or three times. As Joseph had preached three years earlier, some sins were so heinous that the only way the guilty party could atone for them was to “spill his blood upon the ground, and let the smoke thereof ascend up to God.” By now passions were at flash point on both sides of the conflict. Posses of enraged Mormons and Gentiles ranged back and forth across the county in a rampage of arson and plunder, burning more than two hundred homes. Worried that Hancock County was again on the brink of full-blown civil war, Governor Thomas Ford dispatched four hundred troops to Nauvoo, along with a committee of respected dignitaries (including renowned statesman Stephen A. Douglas) who were implored to negotiate a lasting solution to the hostilities. It had become clear to Brigham that there was no future for the Saints anywhere near Hancock County. On September 24 he sent a letter to Governor Ford’s blue-ribbon committee saying that in return for a cease-fire from the Gentiles, the Mormons would promise to vacate not only Illinois but the whole of the United States: they would depart the following spring, as soon as the prairie grass along their intended route west was high enough to provide forage for their beasts of burden. The Gentiles agreed to the deal on the first of October, giving the Saints a window of relative peace in which to build wagons and stockpile supplies in preparation for their mass evacuation.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Such was the form of government established by the Divine Law. For Moses and his successors governed the people in such a way that each of them was ruler over all; so that there was a kind of kingdom. Moreover, seventy-two men were chosen, who were elders in virtue: for it is written (Dt. 1:15): “I took out of your tribes wise and honorable, and appointed them rulers”: so that there was an element of aristocracy. But it was a democratical government in so far as the rulers were chosen from all the people; for it is written (Ex. 18:21): “Provide out of all the people wise [Vulg.: ‘able’] men,” etc.; and, again, in so far as they were chosen by the people; wherefore it is written (Dt. 1:13): “Let me have from among you wise [Vulg.: ‘able’] men,” etc. Consequently it is evident that the ordering of the rulers was well provided for by the Law. Reply to Objection 1: This people was governed under the special care of God: wherefore it is written (Dt. 7:6): “The Lord thy God hath chosen thee to be His peculiar people”: and this is why the Lord reserved to Himself the institution of the chief ruler. For this too did Moses pray (Num. 27:16): “May the Lord the God of the spirits of all the flesh provide a man, that may be over this multitude.” Thus by God’s orders Josue was set at the head in place of Moses; and we read about each of the judges who succeeded Josue that God “raised . . . up a saviour” for the people, and that “the spirit of the Lord was” in them (Judges 3:9, 10, 15). Hence the Lord did not leave the choice of a king to the people; but reserved this to Himself, as appears from Dt. 17:15: “Thou shalt set him whom the Lord thy God shall choose.” Reply to Objection 2: A kingdom is the best form of government of the people, so long as it is not corrupt. But since the power granted to a king is so great, it easily degenerates into tyranny, unless he to whom this power is given be a very virtuous man: for it is only the virtuous man that conducts himself well in the midst of prosperity, as the Philosopher observes (Ethic. iv, 3). Now perfect virtue is to be found in few: and especially were the Jews inclined to cruelty and avarice, which vices above all turn men into tyrants. Hence from the very first the Lord did not set up the kingly authority with full power, but gave them judges and governors to rule them. But afterwards when the people asked Him to do so, being indignant with them, so to speak, He granted them a king, as is clear from His words to Samuel (1 Kings 8:7): “They have not rejected thee, but Me, that I should not reign over them.”

• From Post Office (1971)

  Now he was pulling the old water fountain game on me. “Look, Chambers, try to be sensible. I got a drink of water, sat down, worked 30 minutes, then took my break. I was gone 10 minutes.” “You’ve hung yourself, Chinaski! You’ve been gone 40 minutes! I have seven witnesses!” “Seven witnesses?” “YES, seven!” “I tell you, it was 10 minutes.” “No, we’ve got you, Chinaski! We’ve really got you this time!” Then, I was tired of it. I didn’t want to look at him anymore: “All right, then. I’ve been gone 40 minutes. Have your way. Write it up.” Chambers ran off. I stuck a few more letters, then the general foreman walked up. A thin white man with little tufts of grey hair hanging over each ear. I looked at him and then turned and stuck some more letters. “Mr. Chinaski, I’m sure that you understand the rules and regulations of the post office. Each clerk is allowed two 10-minute breaks, one before lunch, the other after lunch. The break privilege is granted by management: 10 minutes. Ten minutes is—” “GOD DAMN IT!” I threw my letters down. “Now I admitted to a 40-minute break just to satisfy you guys and get you off my ass. But you keep coming around! Now I take it back! I only took 10 minutes! I want to see your seven witnesses! Trot them out!” Two days later I was at the racetrack. I looked up and saw all these teeth, this big smile and the eyes shining, friendly. What was it—with all those teeth? I looked closer. It was Chambers looking at me, smiling and standing in a coffee line. I had a beer in my hand. I walked over to a trashcan, and still looking at him, I spit. Then I walked off. Chambers never bothered me again. 17The baby was crawling, discovering the world. Marina slept in bed with us at night. There was Marina, Fay, the cat and myself. The cat slept on the bed too. Look here, I thought, I have three mouths depending on me. How very strange. I sat there and watched them sleeping. Then two nights in a row when I came home in the mornings, the early mornings, Fay was sitting up reading the classified sections. “All these rooms are so damned expensive,” she said. “Sure,” I said. The next night I asked her as she read the paper: “Are you moving out?” “Yes.” “All right. I’ll help you find a place tomorrow. I’ll drive you around.” I agreed to pay her a sum each month. She said, “All right.” Fay got the girl. I got the cat. We found a place eight or 10 blocks away. I helped her move in, said goodbye to the girl and drove on back. I went over to see Marina two or three or four times a week. I knew as long as I could see the girl I would be all right.

• From Post Office (1971)

  You rotten bastard! Cocksucker!” The supervisors never bothered Butchner. Nobody ever bothered Butchner. Then I heard him again. “All right, baby! I don’t like that look on your face! You’re on my list, mother! You’re right there on top of my list! I’m going to get your ass! Hey, I’m talking to you! You hear me?” It was too much. I threw my mail down. “All right,” I told him, “I’m calling your card! I’m calling your whole stinking deck! You wanna go right here or outside?” I looked at Butchner. He was talking to the ceiling, insane: “I told you, you’re on top of my list! I’m going to get you and I’m going to get you good!” O for Christ’s sake, I thought, I really sucked into that one! The clerks were very quiet. I couldn’t blame them. I got up, went to get a drink of water. Then came back. Twenty minutes later I got up to take my 10 minute break. When I got back, the supervisor was waiting. A fat black man in his early fifties. He screamed at me: “CHTNASKI!” “What’s the matter, man?” I asked. “You’ve left your seat twice in 30 minutes!” “Yeah, I got a drink of water the first time. Thirty seconds. Then later I took my break.” “Suppose you worked at a machine? You couldn’t leave your machine twice in 30 minutes!” His whole face glistened in fury. It was astounding. I couldn’t understand it. “I’M WRITING YOU UP!” “All right,” I said. I went down and sat next to Butchner. The supervisor came running down with the write-up. It was written in longhand. I couldn’t even read it. He had written in such fury that it had all come out in blots and slants. I folded the write-up into a neat package, slipped it in my rear pocket. “I’m going to kill that son of a bitch!” Butchner said. “I wish you would, fat boy,” I said, “I wish you would.” 5It was 12 hours a night, plus supervisors, plus clerks, plus the fact that you could hardly breathe in that pack of flesh, plus stale baked food in the “non-profit” cafeteria. Plus the CP1. City Primary 1. That station scheme was nothing compared to the City Primary 1. Which contained about one-third of the streets in the city and how they were broken up into zone numbers. I lived in one of the largest cities in the U.S. That was a lot of streets. After that there was CP2. And CP3. You had to pass each test in 90 days, three shots at it, 95 percent or better, 100 cards in a glass cage, eight minutes, fail and they let you try for President of General Motors, as the man said. For those who got through, the schemes would get a little easier, the second or third time around. But with the 12-hour night and canceled days off, it was too much for most.

• From Post Office (1971)

  They were in his eyes, under the hair, in his ears, on his privates, in his mouth … everywhere. And he’d just sit there and smile at me. Laugh at me, while the flies ate him up. Maybe he knew more than any of us. I’d pick him up and carry him into the house. “The little dog laughed To see such sport; And the dish ran away with the spoon.” “God damn it, Joyce! I’ve told you and told you and told you.” “Well, you were the one who housebroke him. He’s got to go out there to crap!” “Yes, but when he’s through, bring him in. He doesn’t have sense enough to come in himself. And wash away the crap when he’s finished. You’re creating a fly-paradise out there. “ Then as soon as I fell asleep, Joyce would begin stroking me again. That couple of million was a long time coming. 15I was half asleep in a chair, waiting for a meal. I got up for a glass of water and as I walked into the kitchen I saw Picasso walk up to Joyce and lick her ankle. I was barefooted and she didn’t hear me. She had on high heels. She looked at him and her face was pure small-town hatred, white hot. She kicked him hard in the side with the point of her shoe. The poor fellow just ran in little circles, whimpering. Piss dripped from his bladder. I walked in for my glass of water. I held the glass in my hand and then before I could get the water into it I threw the glass at the cupboard to the left of the sink. Glass went everywhere. Joyce had time to cover her face. I didn’t bother. I picked up the dog and walked out. I sat in the chair with him and petted the little shitsnot. He looked up at me and his tongue came out and licked my wrist. His tail wagged and flapped like a fish dying in a sack. I saw Joyce on her knees with a paper sack, gathering glass. Then she began to sob. She tried to hide it. She turned her back to me but I could see the jolts of it, shaking her, tearing her. I put Picasso down and walked into the kitchen. “Baby. Baby, don’t!” I picked her up from behind. She was limp. “Baby, I’m sorry … I’m sorry.” I held her up against me, my hand flat on her belly. I rubbed her belly easily and gently, trying to stop the convulsions. “Easy, baby, easy now. Easy …” She quieted a little. I pulled her hair back and kissed her behind the ear. It was warm back there. She jerked her head away. The next time I kissed her there she didn’t jerk her head away. I could feel her inhale, then she let out a little moan.

• From Post Office (1971)

  “You’re a wise son of a bitch, aren’t you?” “I’d rather you didn’t curse me, sir!” “Wise son of a bitch, you’re one of those sons of bitches with a vocabulary and you like to lay it around!” He waved my papers at me. And screamed: “MR. JONSTONE IS A FINE MAN!” “Don’t be silly. He’s an obvious sadist,” I said. “How long have you been in the Post Office?” “Three weeks.” ‘“MR. JONSTONE HAS BEEN WITH THE POST OFFICE FOR 30 YEARS!” “What does that have to do with it?” “I said, MR. JONSTONE IS A FINE MAN!” I believe the poor fellow actually wanted to kill me. He and Jonstone must have slept together. “All right,” I said, “Jonstone is a fine man. Forget the whole fucking thing.” Then I walked out and took the next day off. Without pay, of course. 4When Jonstone saw me the next 5 a.m. he spun in his swivel and his face and his shirt were the same color. But he said nothing. I didn’t care. I had been up to 2 a.m. drinking and screwing with Betty. I leaned back and closed my eyes. At 7 a.m. Jonstone swiveled again. All the other subs had been assigned jobs or been sent to other stations that needed help. “That’s all, Chinaski. Nothing for you today.” He watched my face. Hell, I didn’t care. All I wanted to do was to go to bed and get some sleep. “O.K., Stone,” I said. Among the carriers he was known as “The Stone,” but I was the only one who addressed him that way. I walked out, the old car started and soon I was back in bed with Betty. “Oh, Hank! How nice!” “Damn right, baby!” I pushed up against her warm tail and was asleep in 45 seconds. 5But the next morning it was the same thing: “That’s all, Chinaski. Nothing for you today.” It went on for a week. I sat there each morning from 5 a.m. to 7 a.m. and didn’t get paid. My name was even taken off the night collection run. Then Bobby Hansen, one of the older subs—in length of service—told me, “He did that to me once. He tried to starve me.” “I don’t care. I’m not kissing his ass. I’ll quit or starve, anything.” “You don’t have to. Report to Prell Station each night. Tell the soup you aren’t getting any work and you can sit in as a special delivery sub.” “I can do that? No rules against it?” “I got a paycheck every two weeks.” “Thanks, Bobby.” 6I forget the beginning time. Six or 7 p.m. Something like that. All you did was sit with a handful of letters, take a streetmap and figure your run. It was easy. All the drivers took much more time than was needed to figure their runs and I played right along with them. I left when everybody left and came back when everybody came back.

• From Post Office (1971)

  The truck drivers would come in: “Where’s Chinaski?” “He’s down at the coffee shop.” They’d come down there, have a coffee, and then we’d walk up the alley and do our bit, take a few cartons off the truck or throw them on. Something about a bill of lading. They wouldn’t fire me. Even the salesmen liked me. They were robbing the boss out the back door but I didn’t say anything. That was their little game. It didn’t interest me. I wasn’t much of a petty thief. I wanted the whole world or nothing. 6There was death in that place on the hill. I knew it the first day I walked out the screen door and into the backyard. A zinging binging buzzing whining sound came right at me: 10,000 flies rose straight up into the air at once. All the backyards had these flies—there was this tall green grass and they nested in it, they loved it. Oh Jesus Christ, I thought, and not a spider within five miles! As I stood there, the 10,000 flies began to come back down out of the sky, settling down in the grass, along the fence, the ground, in my hair, on my arms, everywhere. One of the bolder ones bit me. I cursed, ran out and bought the biggest fly sprayer you ever saw. I fought them for hours, raging we were, the flies and I, and hours later, coughing and sick from breathing the fly killer, I looked around and there was as many flies as ever. I think for each one I killed they got down in the grass and bred two. I gave it up. The bedroom had this room-break encircling the bed. There were pots and the pots had geraniums in them. When I went to bed with Joyce the first time and we worked out, I noticed the boards begin to wave and shake. Then plop. “Oh oh!” I said. “What’s the matter now?” asked Joyce. “Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” “Baby, a pot of geraniums just fell on my ass.” “Don’t stop! Go ahead!” “All right, all right!” I stoked up again, was going fairly well, then— “Oh, shit!” “What is it? What is it?” “Another pot of geraniums, baby, hit me in the small of the back, rolled down my back to my ass, then dropped off.” “God damn the geraniums! Go ahead! Go ahead!” “Oh, all right …” All through the workout these pots kept falling down on me. It was like trying to screw during an aerial attack. I finally made it. Later I said, “Look, baby, we’ve got to do something about those geraniums. “ “No, you leave them there!” “Why, baby, why?” “It adds to it.” “It adds to it?” “Yes.” She just giggled. But the pots stayed up there. Most of the time. 7Then I started coming home unhappy. “What’s the matter, Hank?” I had to get drunk every night. “It’s the manager, Freddy.

• From Post Office (1971)

  I walked up and rang the doorbell. A little window opened in the door. I couldn’t see the face. “Registered letter!” “Stand back!” said a woman’s voice. “Stand back so I can see your face!” Well, there it was, I thought, another nut. “Look lady, you don’t have to see my face. I’ll just leave this slip in the mailbox and you can pick your letter up at the station. Bring proper identification.” I put the slip in the mailbox and began to walk off the porch. The door opened and she ran out. She had on one of those see-through negligees and no brassiere. Just dark blue panties. Her hair was uncombed and stuck out as if it were trying to run away from her. There seemed to be some type of cream on her face, most of it under the eyes. The skin on her body was white as if it never saw sunlight and her face had an unhealthy look. Her mouth hung open. She had on a touch of lipstick, and she was built all the way … I caught all this as she rushed at me. I was sliding the registered letter back into the pouch. She screamed, “Give me my letter!” I said, “Lady, you’ll have to …” She grabbed the letter and ran to the door, opened it and ran in. God damn! You couldn’t come back without either the registered letter or a signature! You even had to sign in and out with the things. “HEY!” I went after her and jammed my foot into the door just in time. “HEY. GOD DAMN YOU!” “Go away! Go away! You are an evil man!” “Look, lady! Try to understand! You’ve got to sign for that letter! I can’t let you have it that way! You are robbing the United States mails! “ “Go away, evil man! I put all my weight against the door and pushed into the room. It was dark in there. All the shades were down. All the shades in the house were down. “YOU HAVE NO RIGHT IN MY HOUSE! GET OUT!” “And you have no right to rob the mails! Either give me the letter back or sign for it. Then I’ll leave.” “All right! All right! I’ll sign.” I showed her where to sign and gave her a pen. I looked at her breasts and the rest of her and I thought, what a shame she’s crazy, what a shame, what a shame. She handed back the pen and her signature—it was just scrawled. She opened the letter, began to read it as I turned to leave. Then she was in front of the door, arms spread across. The letter was on the floor. “Evil evil evil man! You came here to rape me!” “Look lady, let me by.” “THERE IS EVIL WRITTEN ALL OVER YOUR FACE!” “Don’t you think I know that?