Thursday, January 20, 2011

A Grain of Salt (short end, chapter story)

Part Fifteen

A Grain of Salt
(Finality of the Saga “The Vanquished Plantations))

Chapter One
The Hypnotist

Hypnosis is not the best way to have a person refresh his or her memory, I’ve seen it done, and although it works, the psychologist, or the Psychiatrist (in essence the Hypnotist), is left with sorting out what elicited the client’s mind—le me explain in more detain: mixed inside this pot of crickets, the patient’s mind that is, is a the patients imagination, his fantasy, so when the truth comes out, it’s a tinge unreliable, if not blank, of the ugly wrong, or memory you are seeking him or her to unveil, among all this are of course true reflections, or recollections—but is there a therapist able to distinguish the truth from fantasy? Put a different way, some writers of novels—from page one to the end page—write fantasy, who comes to mind is H.P. Lovecraft: on the other hand, Hemingway took his experiences and used his imagination as a tool to enrich them novels of his. And Faulkner rest his southern soul, to a high likelihood, abducted stories form those he overheard, old lost tales, letters found, gossip here and there, all memories that carried some weight to them, some morsel of truth, and of course pre-screened to fit into his novels, with accounts of his and his family’s background, in crevices and corners with dark shadows. Perhaps the most obvious and truest to his writings of actual events, cloaked by different names, was F. Scott Fitzgerald, his stories of the Jazz Age, which he pinned. But under hypnosis we are highly suggestible people, swimming though layers of thoughts to get to the surface—some dream material.

Contact with the Divine

Cambodia and Vietnam, in 2010, was not that same old plague-infested times of the 1970s. When Ming was accidentally killed, in Zuxin’s apartment by accident in Phnom Penh, well not quite by accident, perhaps by mistaken identity, because the assassin or the killer had went there to kill Zuxin, so, Ming being at the wrong place at the wrong time you might say, took Zuxin’s place, nonetheless, the times never did change for Si, at least not in curing her need for some kind of revenge—a still haunting disease in her mind, needed a formula, a fix, settlement, even though she did kill her husband after finding out all his folly, but she was raped by the will of Zuxin, those she hired to rape her—to her was no different than the person she hired to kill Zuxin. That group rape had never healed properly. Call it mere female foolishness or frivolity, or demonic hallucinations, or perhaps old age dementia, but whatever you call it, it was blocked out inside her head.

Chapter Two
Ipso Facto

When she was brought to court for hiring the killer, whom was apprehended for the slaying of Ming, evidence was needed. Namely a confession would do, the slayer confronted was said to have said, “It was Si, who hired me, and she should be in jail too.”
So Si, who went under hypnosis, willingly—for she had no recollection of hiring the killer, had no foreknowledge of such an act, hence, that evidence could not be provided in the courtroom, and the courts were convinced the assassin lied.
“In most of the cases such as there is of these,” said Si’s lawyer, “which are almost exclusively males, an ex lover, or friend of the accused, drags the other person in out of payback for being caught. We are simply getting a testimony of a delirious fifty-year old jealous man, who wishes to do his ex lover wrong. He is ipso Facto ((an unreliable witness)(or, by the fact itself; it is done by the cover of something else)).

Chapter Three
Update (2011)
Finality of the Saga

Zuxin’s husband had died a decade before, and now justice was done for Ming, and whatever motive Si had will have to be dealt with elsewhere, if you know what I mean. And whatever motive Si had, or invented and mentally accepted, was not hard to find for a demented and troubled mind—graveyards are full of such people, who but God and the Devil can change to souls of men, God does it willingly, the Devil of course pulls and pushes, always feeling he is the rightful owner.
Morgan Carter, never sought revenge, he was too old for that, or too wise. He moved on, ignoring the encouragement offered by others to do so—perhaps a little dreamy and confused in his old age—now in his mid-70s. And he now lived some place in Minnesota, or is it Peru? I confess, I can’t put my finger on which one, perhaps both…

(No: 708) 1-20-2011