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The Emissaries: Beasts of the Code
The Emissaries: Beasts of the Code
The Emissaries: Beasts of the Code
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The Emissaries: Beasts of the Code

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Ren Gerdvilis is a young physics professor whose family immigrated to the South Pacific nation of Aotearoa after World War II. He has long had a sense that there is more to life than meets the eye, and yet he proceeds with his life normally, spending time with friends and colleagues and falling in love.



After a horrible accident that leaves Ren clinically dead for some time, he returns from heaven with a profound sense of the immense disparities occurring on the planet. He sees what his own family has endured, and he also observes how the present time has deteriorated to the point of imminent apocalypse. But while the forces of good have supernatural agents in the form of emissaries from heaven, the forces of evil have the Beasts, beings who have Ren in their sights and intend to eliminate him. Can he and his newfound love, Monia, survive to rid the world of torment, apathy, and greed, or will the Beasts prevail and bring about a world of darkness?



In this novel, after a terrible accident, a young professor experiences a profound change in the way he sees the world and pits himself against the supernatural agents of evil.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateJun 9, 2016
ISBN9781504302647
The Emissaries: Beasts of the Code
Author

J. H. B. Edmonds

J. H. B. Edmonds experienced death in 2008, existing for twentyfive minutes without a heartbeat. After he awoke, he became one of the world’s foremost emerging intuitive spiritual teachers. He teaches meditation groups, spiritual awakenings, and connections through Satsang, in which egoism is cast aside and where humanity can evolve into purely spiritual, happy, and loving beings. He currently lives in New Zealand.

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    The Emissaries - J. H. B. Edmonds

    © 2016 J. H. B. Edmonds.

    All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

    Balboa Press

    A Division of Hay House

    1663 Liberty Drive

    Bloomington, IN 47403

    www.balboapress.com.au

    1 (877) 407-4847

    Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

    The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

    Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

    Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

    ISBN: 978-1-5043-0263-0 (sc)

    ISBN: 978-1-5043-0264-7 (e)

    Balboa Press rev. date: 05/31/2016

    Contents

    Chapter One ~ The Cold War

    Chapter Two ~ Petulance Healed In Prayer

    Chapter Three ~ Aotearoa

    Chapter Four ~ Empathic Beginnings

    Chapter Five ~ Lewd Mark Of The Beast

    Chapter Six ~ Chronicles Of War And Love

    Chapter Seven ~ The Concordance Of Great Minds

    Chapter Eight ~ A Sequenced Awakening Portal Arises

    Chapter Nine ~ Ancients Of Truth

    Chapter Ten ~ The Pyjama Society

    Chapter Eleven ~ Successionary Revelations

    Chapter Twelve ~ The Greatest Mind That Ever Lived

    Chapter Thirteen ~ It Calls For Calm

    Chapter Fourteen ~ Tesla, The Genius

    Chapter Fifthteen ~ Tommy Black

    Chapter Sixteen ~ Refinement Of A Great Nation

    Chapter Seventeen ~ The Twin-Flame Rekindlement

    Chapter Eighteen ~ An Immortally Familiar Date

    Chapter Nineteen ~ From Gardner To Goon

    Chapter Twenty ~ Time Waits For No-One

    Chapter Twenty-One ~ To The Unutterable

    Chapter Twenty-Two ~ Earth Warning

    Chapter Twenty-Three ~ Ode To Tommy

    Chapter Twenty-Four ~ Another Emissary Is Born

    Chapter Twenty-Five ~ The Past Is The Past. Heal It, Let It Go, Move On.

    Chapter Twenty-Six ~ Love-Struck Twin-Flames

    Chapter Twenty-Seven ~ Stairway To Heaven

    Chapter Twenty-Eight ~ Blessed Nirvana, I Thee Come

    Chapter Twenty-Nine ~ Paradise Uplifted

    Chapter Thirty ~ Soroya, Norway ~ 0211 A.D

    Chapter Thirty-One ~ Of Brave Men, And An Earthly Queen

    Chapter Thirty-Two ~ The Kingdom Of Kush

    Chapter Thirty-Three ~ No-One Shall Stop Me!

    Chapter Thirty-Four ~ The Greatest Lie Ever Told

    Chapter Thirty-Five ~ Somnolence

    Chapter Thirty-Six ~ An Emissary In Disguise

    Chapter Thirty-Seven ~ An Unwelcome Visit

    Chapter Thirty-Eight ~ No Time To Waste

    Chapter Thirty-Nine ~ Cosmic Family, We Are

    Chapter Forty ~ Profile Of An Assassin

    Chapter Forty-One ~ Where Do We Come From?

    Chapter Forty-Two ~ Love In Bloom

    Chapter Forty-Three ~ Maddy The Magnificent!

    Chapter Forty-Four ~ Karmic Rebalancing

    Chapter Forty-Five ~ ‘Oh, The Willfulness Of Belief And Obliging’

    Chapter Forty-Six ~ It Never Ceases

    Chapter Forty-Seven ~ The Beast’s Lair

    Chapter Forty-Eight ~ It’s All About The Crystals

    Chapter Forty-Nine ~ Respite And Insight

    Chapter Fifty ~ Aotearoa To New York, To Pontecorvo

    Chapter Fifty-One ~ Pontecorvo, Italy

    Chapter Fifty-Two ~ It’s An Inside Job

    Chapter Fifty-Three ~ Cauldron Of Discontent

    Chapter Fifty-Four ~ Poneke

    Chapter Fifty-Five ~ To Hell And Beyond

    Chapter Fifty-Six ~ J’adore De L’expérience

    Chapter Fifty-Seven ~ Appalachian Mountains

    Chapter Fifty-Eight ~ The Sacred Mountain Of Takitimu

    Chapter Fifty-Nine ~ Lyran Meets Lyran

    Chapter Sixty Victory Or Defeat

    About the Author

    This story is dedicated to my fascinating and dear friend, Forrest, who lives at the foot of Takitimu maunga (mountain). An incredibly wise ‘old soul’, who at such a tender young age, on our walk together, skilled me on the common, botanical, and biological names, for all the plants, animals, and creatures, with such fanatical passion in his suring eyes, and heart. A message for all children and parents, that the magic is not found on a screen, but in the depths of the imagination, and in nature.

    In addition, this story is dedicated also, to the life and memory of Alexander Prokhorenko; the life and memory of Oleg Peshkov; and, the life and memory of Alexander Pozynych. May God bless their souls.

    ‘And the beast’ he proclaimed. ‘I saw resembled a leopard, but had feet like those of a bear, and a mouth like that of a lion. It was given power to wage war against God’s holy people and to conquer them. And it was given authority over every tribe, people, language and nation.’

    ~ Apostle John

    The Emissaries~

    Beasts of the Code

    ..............

    How long are we here for mother?

    As long as it takes my love, to understand that we are not waiting for anything.

    When will that be mother?

    I don’t know that answer for sure. But in the meantime, shall we just sit by the fire and play an eternal game of no thinking, no speaking, and practice being faithful to God, and all that is, and let Him do any of that toilsome stuff for us, shall we?

    Well ok, that sounds like a cool game. I’d like to play mother. But how shall we communicate to play?

    We could practice the same way a deaf, or blind person does. Or how a tree does, or, we could just learn to listen from our hearts. I’m sure you will know precisely what I’m feeling, or saying. And I think, that I too, will know exactly the same as you! We won’t be alone, for the Stars, the Eagles, the Whales, and Tree’s, have been doing it all their life, and look at the marvels they’ve achieved, compared to them as her mother looked to the factory spilling chemicals into the river.

    Maybe the people who built that talked too much mother?

    Her mother laughed, feeling so blessed that she had a daughter with so much want and inquisitiveness to fulfill.

    Yes, maybe they did as she tried her amicable best to remain in her peace, than what was there.

    And, and, it all turned to poison, and began seeping into that once clean and beautiful river! her daughter espoused so innocently.

    A maligned sadness then began to fall upon her mother’s face. She had realized the consequences that the poison was having on the fish, the plants, and creatures, and the Earth’s soil. Talking is one thing my daughter, colluding is another, and....

    What is colluding mother? her daughter asked.

    She thought for a moment.Colluding my love, is when two, or more people, come to a crossroads of light or darkness. They either decide that they can make a difference to the Earth, to make it cleaner, healthier, and help it become as pure and pristine than what it is, or was, or, they can choose the darkness. Where they will see what’s in it for themselves, and not give any care or consideration for the outcome, or the significance.

    And, what was the other thing you were going to say mother?

    Her mother stopped, and thought for a moment. Hmmm....Ah, yes, I remember now. Acknowledgement was the other. Meaning my love, that it is realizing, that we are not owners of what is around us, but that we are simply the caretakers of a gift that we have been given. To carrying out our soul mission. It is important to show respect and appreciation for all the gifts you see and receive. To pray and give thanks, and to honor the Creator, and those who have shown care to them also. Our acknowledgement, is to keep it nurtured and sound, for that brings abundance too. Once we do this, we must treat everything as if it was our own, even though, we are simply care-takers. That we treat everything with utmost treasure, so we can teach others whom we share it with, to ensure the same. From the time we wake, to the time we fall to sleep.

    The young girl thought for a while. So, those who don’t care for these gifts, they’re not caring mother?

    Her eye’s fell to the earth, before she closed them and waited for God to provide for her an answer.

    When one lives with darkness my love, their mind is too consumed with fear. Fear of love, fear of forgiveness, fear of compassion, and fear of peace. It might be their way of hiding what they truly desire.

    The mother then took a glowing piece of red hot ember from the fire, and placed it on the ground beside them.

    Both the young girl and her mother watched it, as it slowly faded from bright red, to cold black. They both sat there for a time, before the young girl’s mother picked the piece of cold ember up in her fingers, and placed it back into the fire again. It began to ignite and glow, along with all the other embers in the fire.

    It’s alight again mother, look, it’s not dark anymore! the young girl expleted excitedly.

    Her mother just sat there and smiled to herself.

    We cannot be the change, without Oneness my love she conveyed softly to her daughter.

    Her daughter’s face lit up also. She got the lesson. We cannot be playful without the collusion and warmth of our own love, and the love of others, mother. We need each other!

    Her mother looked back to her and softly added. Precisely my love. Life is Love, and Love, my darling, is Light. Now let’s go. It’s time for us to go home now.

    Chapter 1

    THE COLD WAR

    Russia, 1973.

    It is a bitterly cold, and hostile country. Clouds of eerie, gray mist, slowly rolls across the vast, bucolic landscape of rural Votkinsk, as thirteen women load heavy baskets of swede, leeks, pumpkins, and cabbages, from the large garden onto a truck, ready to be taken to the market. Whilst a man, dressed in a hefty winter uniform, and carrying a rifle, though not a military officer, he however, appears to resemble one. He stands awatch from on top of the deck of the truck, supervising the workers, whilst another man sits quietly in the cab, smoking a cigarette, with a rifle spread across his lap.

    Ludmila Provenskova, Mila for short, is one of the workers in the field. She is happily married to Viktor, who has been stationed in Perm, on his second two year term doing military service, whilst Mila works at the large, produce garden, and taking care of their two children, Ljuben, and Alexa. She has just one close friend at the garden, Yulia, whom she confides in occasionally, but most often, she works diligently, and abidingly, without causing any trouble or antagonism to anyone.

    She does her days toil, and each afternoon, both her and Yulia, cycle the three and a half miles home together. However, this day takes a turn for the worse. It was something both she and Yulia had always dreaded, similar to other such times they had seen before.

    Mila whispers to Yulia. My hands are getting cold Yulia. I can’t feel my fingers. Look, they’ve gone bluey-white as Yulia and Mila quickly look vigilantly to where the guards are posted near the truck, before Yulia catches a glimpse at Milas’ fingers.

    You didn’t bring any mittens Mila? asked Yulia. Milas’ knuckles are close to ceasing, and showing obvious signs of chilblains. The affected areas on her fingers are angry, reddened, itching, and swelling fast. Sleet now begins to fall intensely, as she tries her aimless best to open and close her frozen and painful hands.

    Both women’s faces are glowing white. Their pinkish cheeks slowly fade to purple, whilst ice crystals begin to form across their eyebrows and over their tied head-scarves, underneath their thick woollen hats. It was the end of the growing season, and winter had come early. They had to get the last of the remaining crop inside, before they, like some of the vegetables, perished.

    Here have these Yulia hastily offers, as she removes her wool and leather fingerless mittens. Quick Mila, put them on, before the guard see’s you.

    "But Yulia you can’t, your hands will freeze" exclaimed Mila sheepishly, as her face exuded astonishment.

    I’ll be ok, take them, put them on, quickly Mila! as Yulia conceals them in her hands, giving them to Mila, as she spies the guard standing on the deck of the truck catch what the two women are doing. He remains standing there idly, with his rifle in his hand, and casually walks away. Nonchalantly, he decides to light a cigarette, as other women begin carrying baskets of produce, walk towards him and onto the truck at the rear.

    It begins to sleet heavier now, almost to a white-out; while the remaining women continue filling their baskets before they carry them towards the truck. As the sky almost begins to go dark, a squadron of eight Lavochkin La-9 fighter planes, flying in formation, scream overhead.

    Are you ok? whispered Yulia. Mila, her shoulders to her ears. She has had enough. To her, living a life of humiliation felt like a prison.

    I don’t know, I hate it here replied Mila shaking her head. I didn’t know what he was going to do when he saw what we were doing.

    The other workers were already busy carrying baskets of produce from the garden. They were handing them across to another woman on the truck who began stacking them four baskets high from the front and working their way towards the back as the officer stood on the bed of it overseeing them.

    Another one of the other women, Tsenia, is a quiet woman, a Light Being, and someone who, in general, keeps to herself. Although strong, for this virulent emissary, not for a second was she under any obligation to abide or conforming by anyone, let alone believing, that she was the same rendition of her past. ‘I am a magical little girl and I will live this miracle merrily, and I will die here, and then I shall depart, to return home’, was her abiding mantra, in which ‘here’ meant, her playground where-ever and what-ever she wanted it to be. Principally, it was to be among the enchantment of nature and the trees, and home, Epsilon, the twinkly 11th dimension of the stars. Whether it was years, or twenty minutes ago, other than being purely and wholesome love in each escapement of time and timelessness, the presence of this moment was her opulent truth she stringently held close.

    Tsenia held a fond interest in crystals and healing, riding her horse, Ilairy, through the wilderness. Often she’d be playing her harp at home, to escape the mad 3D world. Beautiful and slender she is, with long, wild, dark brown hair, and deep, pale blue eyes. Tsenia is several years younger than Mila and Yulia. Her husband Grisha is stationed at Perm also, along with Milas’ husband, Viktor. One day, Tsenia and Grisha have budding plans to have children of their own, after he returns from his last requisition there.

    As she carries one of her baskets past the front of the vehicle, to load on board, the guard seated in the cab winds down his window. He mutters something crude toward her, as he throws his cigarette butt outside. You want to come inside this truck nice lady, where it’s warm and dry? the gravel voice heaved, as the heavy sleet now falling, made no effort to subdue the sickening offer and morbid feeling Tsenia Balakova always had for him. She couldn’t bear the sight of Pavel, as she gulped, hunching her shoulders around her ears as the thought of his seedy eyes peering through that thick, matted face, crevassed with wrinkles and crooked, tea-stained teeth. She offered neither a slither of a thought, to him in particular, principally where she and her handsome fiancé, Grishas’ plans together were concerned. This work was just a means to an end for her.

    Mila and Yulia were almost done, and were down the garden collecting the last two remaining baskets. As the other women, who were doing the same had completed their work, stood near the road, sharing a cigarette. They were covering their faces from the numbing Ural wind, whilst two others followed behind Tsenia, with the last of their baskets finally loaded onto the truck.

    As Tsenia, walked back past the truck, the cab door kicks open, as a leg flung itself out. Pavel reached with his hand to swing out his other leg as he laid his rifle along it with the barrel pressed on his boot toe. As with anyone, confrontation always came disguised as two battles to diffuse, not one. The painful obvious was the outer, the mischiefness of a heathen such as he, yet she plainly knew, that keeping her soul sacrosanct and unwaveringly pure, even in dark times such as these. But this morsel of a man, an unconscious human, she unwaveringly sensed in him, told her that this outer intrusion on her personal space required some dire methodology and instinct. As he lifted the rifle, he called to her again. I don’t like the way you ignore me young lady as he raised the rifle, pointing it at her as he steps out from the cab. It’s time you learnt some manners lady. Move yourself over here.... now! he commanded, towering over her as he drew out another cigarette, and proceeded to light it, pointing to the ground next to him. The other women standing around, stop what they are doing, as Tsenia motions slowly toward him, as he held the rifle now at her, while the other women were bringing the last of the vegetables onto the truck at the rear. As the officer on the back began to do a final count of baskets collected, Pavel took her by the hair with one hand as he removed his zipper down on his trousers with the other hand. The others were still busy loading the produce. The officer couldn’t hear the muffled cries and choking that was emanating from the front of the vehicle. Meanwhile Pavel’s feeble mind was in Heaven, as his head fell back, closing his eyes, as a smile warmed across his dense and pathetic face. Tsenia however, couldn’t imagine a hell as torturous as this Earth, wishing she was with her husband and home back in the stars.

    No-one either enjoys the thought of human alienation being stymied away so unexpectedly. And for Pavel, this was one such moment, where he’d wished he never suggested such a repulsive invitation to an angel such as her. As his bounds of pent-up desires began to draw closer and closer to a climax, he looked down too late, as she took his worthless morsel manhood between her teeth, tearing it away from his body with as much might as she could muster. Her gnashing pre-molars clenched so hard together like a vice. So intensely forceful, that blood began to immediately spurt profusely from between her fingers, than the sticky semen that never came. Pavel screamed for his life as she spat the sorrowful phallic fragment out on the muddied earth, as nerves and blood vessels hung from it, with his blood oozing down her chin like silk over satin. Panic-stricken, his now trembling hand reaches out for his rifle. Angrily and filled with dread, he began to cock it as his now vacillating hands elevated himself with shock and outrage to shoot Tsenia between her eyes. Swiftly and unknowingly, to the mortal creature, as another rifle barrel from the guard on the back of the truck cocked itself assuringly against the back of Pavel’s head.

    You shoot woman, I shoot you, you decide.The guard’s voice spoke calmly as Pavel’s face turned into a gaping wide-mouthed, pained animal that had just had its mother taken away from it. Tsenia’s stomach emptied itself between her bended knees into the mud. In a few short minutes, the last faces he would see before his gushing wound bled him to death were the gathering group of women who watched in horror, as the grotesque symbol of a man, would be nothing but a rat clawing at what injustice that remained melted away, taking him to another hell worse than he had already made for himself.

    Tsenia by then had already begun to walk quickly down the road in tears. Crying and distraught, trying to escape, as the hem of her dress dragged in the putrid mud as she coughs up phlegm, wiping Pavels’ blood and serum from her bewildered and hysterical face.

    She had no preconceived plans of doing what she had done. It was as if someone, or something, just told her to do it, and get away fast as she could. Still trembling, she picked out remnants of sinew and skin from between her teeth. Tsenia never thought either, that by what she had done would render a severely bleeding man to his own deathly demise, but she never cared about any consequences, especially his. Not for one second, had she thought that he would perhaps stick a bullet into her own head, but as she walked away after spitting out his decrepit morsel into the mud, she expected it, and she was prepared for God to take things from there. And God did. It came in the form of Roman, a father of three children, himself a kind man, and a fair one. As he too was directed by impulses from somewhere higher, that told him that woman does not deserve to die. For a short moment, he assumed, that a small wound like Pavel’s would eventually stop bleeding and no-one else would need to die in this fiasco, even to a one lifetime reptile such as he, to one who had lived twenty seven. But he was about to be proven wrong, as Pavel’s misguided heart was still beating like a determined, fiery runner, gushing out blood like a gaiety geyser, as the colour began to run away from Parvel’s face, from purplish pink to a shade of morbid grey, then to ivory white, as his trousers around his ankles became soaked in a mass of red and rain. That same rain bought lightning in the distant midst. Its thunder muffled by screams so agonizing that even the dead would easily become aroused in their slumber, taking him with them, with every passing miscarriage paid with his own blood.

    Pavel had painfully realized that he had undervalued the merits of that higher power, and more particular Tsneia’s. One that he was ostensibly reminded too late, that he was nothing but a grovelling heathen of the most vulgar kind, where he would be soon on his next journey onwards, into fine specks of dust and nothing more. He was on the verge of ultimately paying his hefty price. Like an angry dog, he collapsed face first into the mud. Drained of his blood and not to mention his life, and the last sound he would hear would be his flailing heart B-bomp.....B-boomp.....B-boomp.....B-boomp, slower and slower, until his fate predicted it, he was gone, as the dusky dark clouds began to clear.

    At that very moment, a bright star began to twinkle in the dimming night sky. From above, an approving angel looked down upon, with adoration, healing, and peace again.

    Yulia calls out. Be careful Mila. And take a hot bath when you get home to your children, so you don’t catch cold as Mila offers a swift smile to her, as she turns to walk away before Yulia calls out again to her. Mila here, take this. It was a large crust of bread and a small jar of honey that the she had in her coat pocket. Mila looks taken back, but remains appreciative to her and gives her an indebted smile back.

    You are too kind Yulia, thank you. I must go now as Mila rushes off down the road. Her muddied shoes slosh uncomfortably in the stagnant quagmire under the now clearing evening sky. She hikes her dress under her rain jacket to prevent its hem dragging in the mud as she takes a bite of the bread. Still shaken by the incident, Mila cradles the cross hanging from her neck with her other hand. She gazes at it, looking for some expected light and guidance from God as she scurries toward her bicycle leaning on the fence, to catch up to Tsnenia, hoping to give her a hug.

    What Mila had seen went beyond the numbness in her fingers. Her pain, not once was due to her bearing witness to what had just occurred, for she had seen enough of that for much of her life. The stinging cold took her far away to her home. To her fire, and kitchen, her thick wood family table which sat to one side in the dining room. Her heart however, painfully longed for Viktor.

    Now home, drenched to the skin, and fiercely cold, Mila dresses and begins to prepare a simple meal of borscht and kvas with buckwheat porridge. Ljuben, her oldest child, brought in a handful of wood for his mother, while her daughter, Alexa, laid out the cutlery and some glasses on the table. She placed them carefully beside the ornately embroidered Russian placemats before walking to where a picture of Jesus hung on the wall. She lights a candle which sat below it. In the center of the table, sat a large square solitary candle placed inside a thick, short, rock candle-stick. Its surface caked in melted wax. As if it had seen many months of white droplets of many prayers, laughter, hopes, tears, and often merry times. But under the regime, those times were unrewardingly sparse and desolate.

    Mama, you look sad this evening, is everything ok? asked Alexa, as Ljuben’s eyes flash across to his sister as he continues to place several pieces of wood onto the fire. Mila’s eyes blinked several times as she stirred the pot of borscht one more time before she took the pot and ladled it into each waiting bowl. Its papa isn’t it? whispered Alexa to her mother, as she softly placed her palm on the back of her arm. Mila stopped, touching her hand onto Alexa’s, as Alexa reaches out her other arm, to hug her mother.

    Ljuben however, was always the quiet natured sibling of the family. He read people well for a young man. Not so tall in stature, or too lean, he was however a strong, fearless protector, particularly during their fathers’ absence. Though, what warmed his mothers’ heart more was his intellect, his smile, and his soft handsome eyes, but moreso, the depth in his soul. Just that alone would immediately lighten up her world in an instant. Alexa herself was much the same, except for the fact that she gave her adoration outward, always lending an ear for her mother, especially when she needed it. It was an undivided, feminine bond, that only women, particularly Russian women, would genuinely discern. By giving her mother unfettered patience, and the capacity to allow her mother to express her feelings in her own time.

    After what had occurred that late afternoon at the garden, posed a lesser effect on what was really on her mind, though she still felt so much pity for Tsneia. It only served to remind her of the hardships that everyone was facing, not once cursing Stalin, although she was well aware that his ruling was the catalyst for their toil. The numbness though wasn’t there. It was of Viktor. He was her everything, and he remained still a very handsome man since thirteen years earlier, when she met him selling magazines and soup in the street as a young and exuberant nineteen year old, not long after settling in Votkinsk from Kazan. They knew they had met somewhere before, as lovers from another land, another time and space. They couldn’t explain how, or why, they just knew it, and they both felt it too.

    For that moment, to Mila, it didn’t matter. Only the way in which Viktor had been treated by the Police during his agonizing years completing compulsory service for the military where he, like tens of thousands of other young men, whose lives had been filled with sentimental dreams of proudly fighting and protecting their beloved country, where some of them were met and dealt with by livered benighted acts and brutality. Treatment served by regiments trained under Stalin. To evoke mammoth fear into their innocent and adolescent lives until all that became of them was nothing but mesmerized and bewildered conformists who felt more like prisoners swallowed up by the mighty self-conceited red machine. On the outside, in the streets and in the town square, billboards and statues of a man classed as a hero to their country. This mans’ ideals of patriotic communism, was deeply ingrained, to such an extent that it gained liberation and freedom for no-one but himself through his sweeping policies which in his mind would change the USSR for the better, particularly since the infiltrative, Bolshevik era. Policies that were seen as nothing but a dictatorship, were frowned upon by nations, particularly by the West, as being totalitarian, monolithic and benign, however, the West themselves wasn’t a fine example either as the course of time would reveal.

    For Mila and Tsenia, they knew too well from reports coming out. About how mistreated their husbands were, under the mighty red flag, its blazing yellow star, sickle, and hammer. Nevertheless, it was, to them, still their country, and it was home. That was all that mattered, and to them, it could only get better. Their faith was rigid and unwavering, where they hoped and prayed, that one day, it would change for the better.

    …................

    Chapter 2

    PETULANCE HEALED IN PRAYER

    1983- Angels of the Trinity Church ~ Lewisburg~ Ohio

    ‘You will never feel lost, for Jesus died on the cross,

    He held you close to his heart as long as you remain,

    Have faith (have faith) and learn from Jesus,

    He will light your way, through darkest of nights, to the brightest sunshinin’ day!

    Slaves no more, peace ever-lastin’,

    You will never feel lost, for Jesus died on the cross,

    He held you close to his heart as long as you remain,

    Have faith (have faith) and learn from Jesus,

    For He will light your way,

    Through darkest of nights to the brightest sunshinin’ day!

    Slaves no more, and peace ever-lastin, Hallelujah!’

    Welcome brothers and sisters! Welcome again to this blessed house of God on this beautiful sun-filled Ohiya mornin’, came the vocal and raspy address from Pastor Lerwin B Walmer. And as we all know, that even if it’s rainin’ outside, it is still a time of rejoice brothers and sisters because every day is a blessed gift from God Almighty. We are all here today, in communion together, by the fact that our blessed God Almighty is waterin’ the seeds of this wondrous Earth by his almighty hand for all his children. Hallelujah!

    (Loud applause and ‘Hallelujah’ resounds from the congregation)

    Even if you hear racial prejudice, or hatred in the street comin’ from the mouths of any man, woman, or child, it will still be a wondrous day on this blessed Earth. Why? Because we have His good word right here as Pastor Walmer holds up the bible, and wiping his sweaty brow with a white triangular folded handkerchief which he took from the sleeve of his white robe. And that we shall never forsake those who have shamefulness and ridicule on their hands. His trembling emotion continued like a Texas steam-train, blistering with an influence through an old rundown station that hadn’t seen much in the way of light, or tourists, since the oil boom of ’23. That we, together good people. We pray for them and our families too, by drawin’ them all closer to God. Where they too shall know that the unconditionality of His love is possible, when we hold ours close to the faith in your good news oh gracious, dear Lord.

    The congregation responds by trumpeting out a crying, Amen!

    And to all you, good people, should the mountain tops shake and tremble, with the fury of hell-fire and earthquakes that do prevail, we pray that the mercy of the Universe is taken from the evil and wicked ones. That we will all rise up and keep this hope alive, to this glorious Earth which is given to us. Will it be that glorious day, when Jesus’ arrival, will see the new promise land that it is meant to be as is promised in here, as he holds aloft the good book. Do it now, every one of you! Be that change! How can you have a life without the love of Jesus in your heart? I am tellin’ you all here today, that this nation is not defined by the hatred and injustices of those who seek to put themselves above you dear Lord, but by the purity and sincerity of their hearts, if they should seek in findin’ you. And, it is through your son, Jesus, dear Lord, who has shown to us that victory will come to those who seek not by reactin’ with ferocity or unrighteousness, but to show them that God’s livin’ word is our breath and upholdin’ as the pastor reinforces himself, hammering the palm of his hand onto the top of the pulpit. His eyes bulged fiercely, with the conviction of his word that melted away by his smile, and warmth of his earnestness.

    Hallelujah!

    And it is through you Almighty Father, that it is through love, your love God, is our only road to redemption and your way. The pastor continues preaching as his eyes cast across his parishioners, some waving fans in their hands from the stifling heat.

    Hallelujah! from the congregation.

    His voice continues to tremble with conviction, as he holds the bible up in his hands. Knowin’ too, that the harbor of your love and devotion, lie’s a waitin’ for any torn ship out there in that seethin’ ocean, where they too can come and seek shelter in your harbor. Hallelujah!

    Hallelujah!

    And brothers and sisters, as our great Dr Martin Luther King preached to all people of this nation. Who taught your word, through him dear Lord, which he showed to us, that what we have here, is a promissory note by you, and by the wishes of our great leaders. Gods’ other great teachers, George Washintin,’ the noble Abraham Lincoln, the wishes of the courageous man himself, John F Kennedy, but none greater, than the Lord Jesus Christ himself. These brave and Godly men, who spoke to the people, on behalf of all the good people of this fine nation, until this blessed day, which we hold in our hands, that day will surely come. These men spoke of a time. A time when freedom was a right, for all people, not just the white man, for God doesn’t see the color of one’s skin, but only the color of their heart as his voice simmered to almost a calm, for a moment. And that promissory note good people, is that which is not determined by color of a man’s skin, but by the creed of their own conviction. One that is the right for all people, for every black and white man, that there should never be any notion, that no-one should uphold the will to have ultimate authority on any other human being, other than to being treated equally. The right and freedom to be first among equals, the individual right for all to enjoy happiness and self-determination to you good people gathered here today. As Jesus himself said, ‘Verily, I say unto you, none will be saved, unless they believe in my cross. But those who have believed in my cross, theirs too, is the kingdom of God.’

    There was only standing room left in the now humid gallery of the church. The fans above did very little to quell the heat, if only modestly. Mothers, sisters, and grandmothers, waved a fan, a piece of paper, even their bibles. Anything they could find next to them, to keep themselves cool in the suffocating summer heat, as the congregation clapped their hands calling out, Hallelujah, hallelujah, praise the Lord!

    And let it be known at this time good people, that our time is a surely comin.’ That redemption is for everybody who wishes to join, by walkin’ with Jesus, through all the wages of war across this land, and what has recently occurred in Philadelphia, and also here in Ohiya.

    Pastor Walmer was referring to the racial attacks between white and black citizens. Flare-ups raged across the country, since the shooting of a seventeen year old youth, who went by the name of Zebodiah George, in Philadelphia, just two weeks earlier. On television and in the local newspapers, these two mistreated and misunderstood accused boys were now in another hell. Sombrely, wearing white prison scruffs, they were shackled together at their ankles. They were served their adjournment, as their sobbing family in the court held back their tears as the two earnestly left the dock, their heads bowed in shame.

    In them old days, times were different Pastor Walmer continued. As always, black folk were read so wrong. Maybe them white folk felt cleaner, smelt prettier, and therefore were more intelligent, so they presumed he added dryly. Yeah, that’s what it was. You make one foul step onto their property, you’ll surely be knowin’ it. Oh yeah, they’ll talk to you proper y’know, being polite an’ all. But they’d drop that hint, that they will take care of everythin’, where everythin’ pretty much didn’t really include you in any of the equation. Unless they be talkin’ about animals, workin’, and fixin’ things. The Pastor reached forward, placing his hands on the pulpit. Graciously he paused, as he reflected on the bloodshed in Alabama, and across Indiana, before this tragedy unfolded. That was about the time, when guns were invented the pastor alluded. "After that, they made laws that said, that ‘Only whites shall possess guns.’"

    Strange how life is sometimes the pastor continued. Even stranger is how some folk see a rainbow, while others look for the pot of gold and miss the scintillating array of colors up there in the Heavens, that can be right here too. Them rainbows are remindin’ us about somethin’ that’s inside us people pressing his hand to his heart, his eyes pouring with such want, sincerity, and love. "That everlastin’ rainbow of faith and hope. That pot of gold has for a long time, eventually created suffocatin’ black lakes and oceans, now extinct plants and fishes, where their hatred, their want for money, only brought blood. Never mind any unforeseen plight the good Earth might be sufferin’, for its cold hard cash they desire, not love. They don’t really know what that is, or will ever be. Not wantin’ to think, that maybe their lives weren’t dependent on it, at least, not ever thinkin’ of their children’s truth they them there ruinated. So really, slavery back then is a little different to the kind of slavery it is now, by which the cream of the crop are too proud to acknowledge the shackles they’re being fed. These days good people, it just has a different mask, but I say this waving his finger. The definition is still the same. Now it’s white on white, black on black. Hispanic, Asian, rich against poor, it doesn’t matter. It is them whom we must stand up to. The Beast’s who be implementin’ their slavery laws over us, both black and white. Who keep not just black people, but all citizens of this great land, clamped in chains based on age, race, religion, and income. We are all American’s good people, and we will overcome the hostility and injustices dealt to us, by that evil force which is attemptin’ to abominate this great land. But know this people. We will rise up. Hallelujah!" as the pastor held the bible up high in his hand, his trenchant face filled with conviction.

    Hallelujah!

    The nation for too many, long years, had witnessed more bloodshed that the good Lord could disseminate. Angry and militant protestors were captured on state television shouting as those rattled boys were being arrested, ‘Go back to where you come from Negroes!’ The bystanders, who stood outside the Philadelphia Central Courthouse, to see those two boys charged with grievous bodily harm, were vicious in their verbal attacks. They were rightfully and appreciably pained to hear about what had happened to Zebodiah. Both black and white communities joined in defiance together. There were more charges pending once Police had completed their preliminary inquiries, as the incident, they say, was inflamed by being high on glue, hatred, and other drugs. Crystal they believed. They didn’t know what the hell they were doing, where blind hatred is so misconstruded from fear no less. Those two kids, born to drug parents, didn’t have a single clue how to raise a puppy dog, let alone a human being. One thing leads to another, and of course, those poor kids ended up messing around with other street kids, and that only makes things a whole lot worse for everyone, especially poor Zebodiah, who didn’t want trouble, only love. He was a good boy. He sure loved his mama and papa, his two younger brothers, and his older sister, Jessie-May, the news reported, who just began her law degree down in Florida. Only God, his mama, pappy, and siblings, knew what kind of boy Zebodiah would have turned out to be. He had the skill and height to play NBA if Clarke and Skinner, those two who cornered him in that alley, and beat him up good. No-one heard the screams as the Vine Street Expressway ran above North 21st St, where the beating had occurred. All it took was that single pistol bullet, that went through the back of that young innocent boys head as he was laying face-down in the street, with Clarkes’ knee in Zebodiah’s back, whilst Skinner intimidated him with language so vile, that he could have easily been the devil himself. Skinner was covered in satanic tattoos on his arms, although it was the Knights Templar cross on his forehead, and the whites of his eyes tattooed red, that told any half decent soul, that he must have been one sick boy.

    Pastor Lerwin B Walmer continued. Nonetheless good people, we must still pray for the family of Zebodiah, and those two boys, who will be locked up until they are forty or fifty years old. We must not fight by the sword, but by the word of God. And whoever comes to Him unclean, He will make you clean again, and the glory of this house is furnished for no-one else but you. And I say unto you all brothers and sisters, that there is plenty of room for everybody, in the hope of the new land! Amen brothers and sisters!

    A rousing Hallelujah expelled from the congregation, as the sermon ended, with the church choir and congregation, to sing a closing hymn. (Piano introduction begins)

    ‘You will never feel lost, for Jesus died on the cross.

    He held you close to his heart as long as you remain,

    Have faith, have faith and learn from Jesus,

    He will light up your way,

    Through darkest of nights to the brightest sunshinin’ day,

    Slaves no more,

    Have faith, have faith and learn from Jesus,

    He will light up your way,

    Through darkest of nights to the brightest sunshinin’ day,

    Peace ever-lastin’.

    ..................

    As the service comes to an end, a cheerfully young and effervescent Adromedean, Nevin McCaw, squeezes himself between the parishioners and church pews, to go outside the church to play. Carefree, he brushes past his mother and father, who were still gathering their bibles and belongings.

    C’mon Odelle Nevin cried out excitedly to his sister. Let’s go and climb the tree out yonder. His big white eyes were wide and filled with eagerness, as he turned to his sister, busily motioning her with one hand, as the parishioners began to leave and talk among themselves. Outside next to the church, near Hubert Kremmertons cornfield fence stood a large, lone red oak tree. Under it was a thick old matted rope and swing with an old branch tied at the bottom for the children to sit upon, where Patrice Neville, Nevins’ friend from school, was already playing on. It was a similar tree and swing which they had at their home too.

    Odelle as usual, was as ‘pretty as a strawberry sweet-cake’, as her momma and pappy would say to her, even when she’d dress up like tomboy too, but she didn’t care. That was her way, especially if she and Nevin would help their pappy cut wood, feeding their chickens, or when fetching corn down behind the rusty old wheat grinding shed where the clothes wire ran from the wooden fence, near where Morten parked his old Ford pick-up. But for Odelle, today was a special day, as she always looked forward to church and hearing the good news. Odelle loved getting all pretty, wearing her sweet white dress with a white ribbon waist bow. Her dress was dotted with tiny red tulips, and her hair was woven in tight pigtails, with red ribbons. She wore little white and red striped socks folded down to her ankles, and her favorite black leather strap buckle shoes.

    She dashes out after her brother, with a whimsical smile on her face. Perhaps she was thinking a bit more about Pastor Walmers’ sermon, which hadn’t quite sunken in yet. Nevertheless, the two joyfully jostled through the parishioners in the center aisle, toward the large entrance of the church, as she scurries, reaching out to her brothers’ hand ahead, calling out ‘Wait for me Nevin, wait for me!’ For free-spirited Odelle, she loved to dance and play, so why try anything, with the devil on your shoulder? When just being love and play was all that mattered, was her notion. That was how she always looked at life, and Nevin too, was much the same.

    Nevin was almost outside the church, eager as a mustard seed to go play outside. As usual, he liked to wear his black boatman hat which he had beside him in church, khaki trousers, and a crisply ironed, white, long sleeved shirt he wore only for church. Most of all, he loved his pair of brown leather shoes he got for his birthday last July. His mother Esther mattered meticulously about tardiness and dress, as any other mother would, insuring at all times that her children took pride in themselves, particularly for the good Lord.

    Don’t you go gettin’ your clothes dirty now you two eh Esther calls out, as she beams with a smile that could melt drizzled honey over an apricot oatmeal pie. She turns to Morten, as he says goodbye to the Clausen family, and their father Reuben, shaking their hands.

    As Morten caught up with Esther, taking her hand and placing the other in his pocket, Esther whispers to Morten. Wasn’t Pastor Walmer on fire this mornin’ Morten? attentively as she always was, in her broad accented Ohio drawl. It was a mighty bad what happened to little ole Zebodiah too, she lingered forlornly to her husband. Morten could only shake his head, as he mulled over another young life lost.When I saw that picture of him Morten, on the television y’know, before that killin’ took place? I mean, I could see that he had all the pickin’s that he was going to be a good boy as she paused for a short moment. Her face squinted as she took an air full in her lungs. I could see it in his eyes. And that stack of books he had in his hands. Yeah they were schoolin’ books. Morten placed his arm around Esther. And, you know, God almighty knew it too, like me. That boy would have gone to university too I reckon Morten. Just seems a pity what them two kids did to him.

    Morten could never argue with what his wife had shared to him, as he turned to her. Well they didn’t know that it would ruin Zebodiahs’ short life, and theirs too I be reckonin’ darlin, he conceived.

    Esther took a handkerchief from her cardigan sleeve and wiped a budding tear from her eye as she sniffed. I could imagine that those two juveniles are lyin’ awake in their cells right now she lamented. Betchya their eyes are a poppin’ and a blinkin’. Sobbin’ and a cryin’ like babies, like they’ve never cried before. It’s just so doggone sad.

    Sure was Esther. Downright criminal if you ask me darlin’ Morten added. An’ I be seein’ too, what Pastor was talkin’ ‘bout eh.

    There was a pause, as his eyes squinted briefly, and then returned. They both began to walk outside through the open, grand church doors, as the glistening sun’s rays lit its way upon them. An’ that time is gonna come soon Morten proclaimed. That change, an’ all. You mark my word Esther. Morten breathed in, filling his chest as he stiffened his cheeks, cupping his large, burly hands over Esthers’ as they turned to walk outside. She wraps one arm around his waist, as Morten kisses her temple.

    It’s a mighty fine as always to see you both here today Morten. It was Tiki Ledger, an old friend of Mortens’. Tiki owned T.L Ledgers Trucking firm in Dayton St, off the highway heading north out of Lewisburg, where Morten once worked. He reached his hand out of his pocket to shake Morten’s.

    Good mornin’ to you Tiki, mornin’ Dolly Morten replied, smiling as always, as he tucked his bible under his arm. You’re both are lookin’ a mighty fine today. Morten was gracious, as his face beamed appreciatively. After all, it was needed after Pastor Walmers’ heart-wrenching sermon.

    Tiki, and his wife Dolly, were the first black family to start their own business in Lewisburg. For Tiki though, in the early years, he had found much racial oppression from some of the white townsfolk, who in the late of the night, thirteen years earlier, tried successfully, to burn down his business. It was like hell had rained down like a meteorite on a schoolyard, as the fire brigade came a flashin’ and hollerin’ Tiki cried out. I remember bein’ all covered in soot and shock as he tried to explain to Morten and his friend, Luther McWilliam, afterward, about what confronted him. Its bell wassa ringin’, drowned out by the noise of the inferno, until it stopped out front of the fire he continued. As he recalled that fateful night of terror, where young Jody Luck, a neighbor, and his friend Carmen Vermont, had already began fighting the blaze. They were so, so kind, and others too. Still, they were in their night-shirts an’ all they were, when the fire and police arrived, as they began passin’ bucket after bucket of water, from a line stretched out to the farm trough over yonder. Tiki felt an aimless sense of sheer bewilderment fall across him, as he recalled how they fought the fire, until the sounds of birds began to sing, waking to the new morning.

    Tiki nevertheless was always the optimist, even under such scrutiny by a small and vicious group of redneck vigilantes. And as usual, in a sleepy town like Lewisburg, when it came upon times such as these, all the black community and a few white folk, pitched in to help out. Including the county sheriff, Chad Braddick, as much as any other good kinfolk that happened to have their ‘crate of chickens’ kicked out of them. Though, it was a kindly gift. A real something special he wouldn’t have expected in a million years, that sent a shiny tear run down Tiki’s face, when his business finally opened again seven weeks later. The townsfolk decided to celebrate, with floats and a brass band, and the church built a float for the parade also. And surprisingly for Tiki, it was assisted by a small check in a little white envelope. Sheriff Braddick had slipped it into his jacket pocket for him, from the church, as a token of support for something that should never have occurred. It sure did make Tiki’s face beam like a rainbow, and he did chuckle too, seeing a replica of one of his trucks and his new business with a great big sign across the front. It proudly said T.L TRUCKING IS NOW OPEN FOR BUSINESS!! with Molly and Daisy, the Coffey twins, proudly waving the flag of red, white, and blue out in front, with Patrices’ father, Henley driving.

    ................

    Morten returned the compliment. Nice to see you too Tiki, and good mornin’ to you Dolly, pleasure to see you both at church.

    It’s always a pleasure to see you again Morten, how you doin? Good afternoon to you too Esther, you’re lookin’ as lovely and beautiful as always today. It’s so wonderful to see you as Tiki shook his hand and then Esthers’, which she was wearing her favorite cerise colored cotton gloves.

    Why, thank ya Tiki Morten replied handsomely. Yes, well I’ve always said that my lovely wife looks as beautiful as a swan dancin’ on a hot corn griddle eh. For a moment there was a brief pause I mean a fine-lookin’ black swan that is as he turned, casting a cheeky grin to Esther, Tiki, and then to Dolly, as they all broke out in merry laughter and surprise.

    And you Mr McCaw, I’ll be roastin’ you on that corn griddle when you get home smirked Esther, as she tugged at her silk scarf, swiping her husbands’ arm with it as he cowered, feeling as if he stole a cookie rather than stealing his wifes’ endearing fondness.

    Well, you know Morten Tiki replied. When you get to my age, you begin to realize that time starts goin’ a mighty long faster than it was when I was young an’ foolish. Now, I guess I’m just tryin’ to behave now for all the mischief and scandals us Ohiya scally-wags used to get up to a long ways back. Don’t you remember darlin? as he turned to his wife who already had a suspicious sideways grin on her face, as if she wished she only knew just half of what she’d heard of her husband. Tiki could only look at her shoes, before spying her scowling face, before they let out an uproarious explosion of laughter together.

    Well Tiki, you know, I guess it’s God’s way of sayin’, be good, and I’ll give you a short happy life, than being a galavantin’ tyranny upon this town and fer livin’ in sin fer such a long, long time, too long if you ask me! as all four of them again fell again into a voluptuous mirth of hilarity.

    The Ledgers had been in Lewisburg longer than Morten could remember, even way back when their kin, and Mortens’ too, were slaves. Tiki was shorter than Morten. He was a heavy chested, burly man, with a smile full of teeth, thick side-burns, and a large handlebar moustache. As a respected businessman, he always took pride in how he dressed. He wore a dark bottle green jacket and matching cotton trousers, a brown waistcoat, with a chain attached to a watch tucked in one pocket. Tiki always encouraged his workers to attend church every Sunday, without expectation, and he felt a good deed in giving most generously for the fine work of Pastor Walmer.

    The following day.

    Little Nevin, the judicious Adromedian, is talking with his mother while she is hanging washing out on the wire line outside by the corn field. It’s a warm and breezy, sun-filled day outside in their small yard on Swishers Mill Road.

    Momma, why do I have to go to school? Nevin asks inquisitively, as he throws a small orange rubber ball into the corner of the wall of their house, bouncing it off the footpath, trying to catch it as many times as he can without dropping it.

    Because you have to Nevin, it’s the law, and the law says that havin’ a good education helps you in life, to gettin’ a good job an’ all. Esther stops for a moment, placing her hands and her hips, shaking her head in amusement as she looks towards her son with a fleeting, wry smile. She bends down again, into the washing basket, to hang out her green dress, some of Morten’s underwear and trousers, some pairs of Odelle and Nevin’s white socks, some towels, and his blue boxers. Nevin honey, why do you go askin’ such a question? speaking softly to him.

    Esther thought for a while, unsure about whether her answer to Nevin was going to be an honest one. And just to be sure and trusting of the law, she thought it would be an opportunity to gage her sons’ opinion, even for an innocent, and obviously intelligent eight year old boy such as him.

    Well? came the reply, as his curious mind, keeping its precision like a ticking clock. That was, in between what he knew, and how many clean catches he could make, before he would drop another through his fingers, as the sun glared off the path and the white painted wall of their rural house. Do you really think we live in a free country momma, and does the law really know everythin’? I mean what’s good for you, pappy, Odelle, and me? What do they know that we don’t already?Nevin retorted, as he began to display an air of un-trust in the law makers, whether they really did care for him, and his family, as much as they would advocate. Perhaps he was thinking about what Pastor Walmer had said, about the crime of those two boys, and their victim, whether they were feeling repentant for what they had done to poor Zebodiah.

    Well son, I don’t really know that answer. You know that our ancestors came here, to Ohiya long, long ago. Slaves they were as she folded a towel in half and draping it over the line. Esther paused, and looked across the distant horizon sighing. The horrible pain of that period had never left her. She continued gathering the last of the laundry from the line, as she turned back to Nevin as he had now sat cross-legged on the grass, tossing the ball from one hand to the other. Even now, there’s still slavery in this land son. But they wouldn’t be admittin’ it. They’ll never be sayin’ this, but I know as she tapped her forefinger

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