Maria
The bad news: Johnny’s diaper rash has flared up. His tush looks like raw chopped meat. It’s my fault. I never should have stopped nursing him.
Polly Baker
Jeanette kept Johnny by her while she worked; between feedings, she constantly checked him out with a nervous look. At home, she hardly took her eyes off him. Her big round eyes watching over him were like the eyes in that Shubha Roy drawing come to life.
From Jeanette Baker’s journal, July 20, 2038:
Jeanette to Stepout, 7/20/38
Re: Grex Assignment #2, dated 7/19/38
As you know, my second assignment for Grex required me to walk east on Arbor Road towards North 40th Street for two and a half minutes, do a little something, then head home. My “little something” was going to be: smile at a pretty girl, which I haven’t done in nineteen months! Then I started thinking about what would happen to me when I went out. Now I can’t budge from my keep. I’m back on square one. Help me. Please help me.
Monique Chung, Ph.D.
Jeanette was experiencing anticipatory anxiety, a symptom which is well known to us Grex therapists. It is a very difficult though not an impossible symptom to treat.
I explained to Jeanette that anticipatory anxiety means, in essence, that the more a patient thinks about something, the worse it gets.
This was her exact answer: “You think? I think you’re right. I think too much. Think you! Thinks a lot!”
Polly Baker
Jeanette charged a couple of quarts of Amae to my account in a local liquor store and went on a three-day binge at home. She lay in bed nursing—no pun intended—a bottle or sat on the living room sofa, saying: “I gotta drink. Lemme drink. Gimme more to drink.”
I stayed at her place and took care of Johnny. But what to do about Jeanette? To make a long story short, I got in touch with Monique Chung, who recommended immediate hospitalization. On the evening of the third day, Ben and Indira helped me pack Jeanette off to the psychiatric ward of the Cather Keep Skilled Workers Clinic, where she spent three days drying out. The first twenty-four hours were hell.
From Jeanette Baker’s journal, August 2, 2038:
Ten days ago, Friday, the 23rd of July, was the worst day of my life. Deprived of booze, I went crazy in a small white room. Even worse: peeping out of a calm corner of my mind, I watched myself going crazy in a small white room. I saw myself thrash around on a bed and roll on a shiny floor. I heard myself groan and sob and scream and gag, then gag some more from dry heaves that lasted hours on end.
But I got off Amae. And now, with the help of 5 mg. of Endcrave a day, I intend to stay off.
Jeanette Baker to Monique Chung, August 5, 2038:
I drank till I stopped thinking. Till it was an effort to remember my name. I felt so ashamed! I still do.
I’m on Endcrave and have decided to take a short leave of absence from Grex therapy. I’ve at least temporarily accepted my lot as a keepie shut-in. For the immediate future, I’ll remain indoors and devote myself to raising Johnny, making a living, and staying sober.
From Jeanette Baker’s journal, October 25, 2038:
Johnny’s a year old today. His verbal precocity amazes everybody. In the last few days, he’s begun producing three-word sentences: “I wan’ juice” popped out of him this morning.
But he’s not walking yet and shows no precocious small motor ability. When I hand him a crayon, he sticks it in his mouth.
From Jeanette Baker’s journal, July 3, 2039:
Thirty years old today. Despite myself, I remain anxious because Johnny has not yet demonstrated the artistic capacities with which he was endowed, and it’s too soon to tell if my experiment is a success. Nevertheless his potential fills me with joy. This is the happiest time of my life.
Cressanthia Thomas
I invited Jeanette and Johnny to Georgia for Thanksgiving, but she begged us to come to Nebraska instead. So we did. During dinner Jeanette confessed she was an incurable keepie shut-in; that was the word she used, “incurable.” Then she went, “So I’m stuck here. So what? I don’t mind. Cather Keep is cozy and safe. It’s got everything I need. And I’m out of the weather for good. Think what I save on clothes!”
It was a Thanksgiving from hell. Our two kids were smack into the “terrible twos”—willful little beasts. They ran us ragged.
From Jeanette Baker’s journal, December 25, 2039:
Johnny: “Does Baby Jesus bite?”
Polly: “Never!”
Johnny: “I bite.”
Polly: “You bite me, and I’ll bite you back.”
Johnny screamed. He screams a lot.
Polly Baker
Johnny was supersensitive. He overreacted to everything; it was a struggle to dress him in new clothes because they made him itchy. His skin was very sensitive to touch. Lights and noise drove him wild with excitement. But at the same time, he was sensitive to people and very verbal—way beyond his years. When Johnny was a little over two, I introduced him to my new lover, and Johnny later said, “I like Paco, Aunt Polly. He told me his name right off. Grownups always say ‘What’s your name?’ They never give you theirs.”
From Jeanette Baker’s journal, January 20, 2040:
A good start to the New Year. This week, my three-year apprenticeship with Polly ended. On Monday I received my hairstylist’s license and membership in Local 103 of the North American Hairdresser’s Guild. The guild provides fair medical coverage for me and Johnny and funeral benefits for me.
I don’t miss the outside world one bit. My life here is complete. The Lesbian community in Cather Keep is small but select. I’ve got Johnny and love my work. I have a good eye and dexterous hands. Making a living manually is very satisfying.
Polly Baker
Jeanette had the most important quality of a good hairstylist—she made her customers feel good about their looks. I hired her at $40 an hour plus tips. She sent Johnny to the Cather Keep Nursery School on Elm Street half-day. He spent his afternoons with us in my shop. Everyone fussed over him. He only had eyes for Jeanette.
From John Firth Baker’s interview in The International Review of Manual Art:
The first thing I remember is Mother cutting some womin’s long blond hair. We’re in Polly’s Parlor, where mother worked. I’m between two and three. Mother holds a long comb and a big pair of scissors between the fingers of one hand. She parts the womin’s hair down the middle with the comb while hanging on to the scissors. I hear music playing and feel happy.
From Jeanette Baker’s journal, February 8, 2040:
Gave Johnny his first haircut today. His lower lip trembled, but he didn’t cry. Tears came to my eyes, and I had trouble leaving his soft, black curls scattered around my feet, like downy feathers. I saved a lock.
Polly Baker
Jeanette kept a lock of Johnny’s hair in a heart-shaped locket she wore around her neck. She always cut Johnny’s hair; he wouldn’t let anybody else touch it.
From Jeanette Baker’s journal, July 18, 2040:
Two years without a drink.
From Jeanette Baker’s journal, October 25, 2040:
Johnny’s third birthday. I gave him a 14" × 17" inch pad of white paper and a set of watercolor finger paints: red, black, yellow, green, white, blue. He chose black for his first picture (12:04 P.M.).
First painting (untitled), 2040, finger paint on coated paper
Polly Baker
Johnny’s first finger painting sent Jeanette into ecstasies; she praised him to the skies. He churned out finger paintings by the dozen.
Cressanthia Thomas
Jeanette called to wish Alex jr. a happy birthday and show off her collection of Johnny’s finger paintings. I told her that Alex jr. could pick out thirds on the keyboard and was teaching himself to read music.
From Jeanette Baker’s journal, November 8, 2040:
Am determined to educate Johnny politically as a Gynarchist and artistically as a Manualist. Have programm
ed his Mentor 1V accordingly. It’ll give him the Gynarchist slant on herstory and won’t let him draw or paint digitally.
From John Firth Baker’s interview in The International Review of Manual Art:
Mother raised me as a Manualist; Lenrow’s Handbook was her bible.
From A Handbook for Manualists:14
A multitude of robots, manufacturing what we need on command, have robbed us of the joy of making things with our own hands.
Let us therefore rediscover for ourselves and teach our children the diverse manual skills which will once again enable us to experience the unique gratification and delight that working with our hands bestows.
From: Sister Maria Lopez, Chairpersin, the North American Gynarchist League
To: Sister Jeanette Baker
March 8, 2041
Subject: Celebrating International Wimin’s Day
FEMINIZE THE HUMIN RACE!
Dear Sister Jeanette:
Today as we celebrate International Wimin’s Day, polygamy is on the rise all over the world. Forty-nine phallocratic tribal regimes on three continents have legalized the pernicious practice. In the United States a powerful coalition of Mormons, I Kings 11:3 Evangelicals, fundamentalist Muslims, and Hasidic Jews, calling itself “The Patriotic Patriarchs” (PAPA), contributed to the election last November of 103 members of the House of Representatives and 18 Senators who, in turn, have pledged to support the Ritchie-Frazier Bill to legalize polygamy in the United States. PAPA is already committed to backing pro-polygamy candidates in as many as 65 Congressional and 11 Senatorial races next year. PAPA has a huge war chest and a vast network of religious organizations at its disposal.
But we have you. That’s why you must immediately renew your membership in the North American Gynarchist League. Your support will help us in our battle against the legalization of polygamy in the United States.
Our defeat in this battle would be a catastrophic setback for wimin in the global Gender War. It would strengthen phallocrats everywhere in their resolve to reverse history and re-create an age when all wimin were men’s slaves.
Celebrate International Wimin’s Day by renewing your membership in the North American Gynarchist League with a generous contribution to our Cause!
Sister Jeanette Baker to Sister Maria Lopez, March 8, 2041:
Dear Sister Maria:
Please debit my interbank account # 64203671-A in the amount of $250. I only wish I could give more money to the Cause.
From Jeanette Baker’s journal, May 9, 2041:
At 9:15 this morning, I handed Johnny a felt-tip pen, along with a 9" × 12" sheet of tracing paper, and said, “Draw Mommy a picture of yourself!”
The result:
First self-portrait (untitled), 2041, felt-tip pen on tracing paper
Rewarded him with my praise and a chocolate chip cookie.
From Jeanette Baker’s journal, November 13, 2041:
Johnny’s developed nighttime fears that hungry wolves with red eyes lurk under his bed. He goes to sleep clutching my roll-on deodorant.
“Why?”
Johnny: “The label guarantees 100% protection.”
From Jeanette Baker’s journal, November 15, 2041:
Johnny: “Do I have a father?”
I told him a little about Fritz: what he does, where he lives.
Johnny: “Does my father love me?”
“Nobody loves you as much as I do!”
From John Firth Baker’s interview in The International Review of Manual Art:
To tell the truth, I was a lonely only child; my best friend was my Mentor IV.
From an interface between John Firth Baker and his Mentor IV, January 2, 2042:
J.F.B.: I love you, Mentor. I always will. Do you love me?
Mentor: I’m just a tool with a voice. I can’t feel anything. I don’t have it in me.
From Jeanette Baker’s journal, January 3, 2042:
Johnny’s sore at his Mentor. He spent all morning making a charcoal sketch of the heavy-duty wrench I keep in the toolbox under the kitchen sink.
At lunch he showed his drawing to Mentor, stuck out his tongue, then said, “So there! Who needs you?”
Polly Baker
Jeanette called Johnny’s drawing The Talking Tool. I took it to a framer in Lincoln. Jeanette hung it on the wall over Johnny’s bed.
The Talking Tool, 2042, charcoal on paper
From Jeanette Baker’s journal, November 5, 2042:
A narrow squeak in yesterday’s Congressional and Senatorial elections. Even though ten more PAPA-backed Congressmen and three PAPA-backed Senators won seats, the Ritchie-Frazier Bill still hasn’t got the votes to pass in either House.
From John Firth Baker’s interview in The International Review of Manual Art:
I took a big step in my artistic development when I was around six. I awakened to technique. I watched an old Walt Disney animated cartoon called “Saludos Amigos” and fell in love with one of the characters—a hard-drinking, cigar-smoking, fast-talking tough little parrot named José Carioca. I was mad for him. The way he bossed Donald Duck around! I wanted him to boss me. I loved the curve of his big beak, the shape of his eyes and tongue. I thought about him day and night. I wanted to marry him.
Then I got an idea: if I draw him, he’s mine forever. So I copied his head again and again and again—but couldn’t get it right. Hard at work one day I suddenly saw that his beak and eyes were variants of simple geometric shapes—circles and what I later learned are called ellipses. The insight staggered me. I felt privy to a great secret. That same afternoon I drew José’s head in black ink with a brush.
José Carioca, 2043, brush and ink on paper
Polly Baker
Johnny’s drawing, matted and framed, went up on the wall with his other pictures. I once or twice referred to his room as “the Gallery.” The name stuck.
From John Firth Baker’s interview in The International Review of Manual Art:
Mother was a keepie shut-in, so I didn’t leave the keep much when I was little. I thought the transparent, impermium dome was the sky. The sun was bright but gave off no heat. Sometimes, without making a sound, a downpour splattered in the airway above me; I didn’t know rain was wet. I once watched a Black Blizzard swirling silently way above the palm trees on Pudding Street. All I recall about the tornado that hit us late in 2043 was this gigantic white cloud that filled the sky.
To tell the truth, the first memory I have of wind on my face is at the Earth Day picnic in first grade.
Barbara Briggin
I remember that. I was Johnny’s first-grade teacher at the Janusz Korczak Elementary School on Rosa Parks Street in Cather Keep. Our Earth Day class picnic that year was held in Lincoln’s Pioneers Park. It was a raw spring afternoon. A gust of wind ruffled Johnny’s hair. He was like, “Wow! The earth breathed on me!”
From John Firth Baker’s interview in The International Review of Manual Arts:
In the fall of 2044, my aunt Polly took me out to see my birth tree growing among the dunes in Cherry County. She told me this little tree with pointed yellowing leaves was planted when I was born. The sun went behind a cloud; I felt chilly.
I begged mother to dig up my birth tree and replant it in our backyard so I could look after it. She explained it was designed by genetic engineers to live in the creeping Sand Hills. “It’ll grow sixty feet tall and bear sweet purple fruit called manna—food for all kinds of birds and animals who live in the desert.”
On my eighth birthday, Polly took me out to Cherry County again. I remember the deep, drifted sand squeaking and whistling with every step I took. My little birth tree, which was almost my height, was dead. I snapped off a dry twig.
Polly said, “Everything living eventually dies.”
I asked, “Me, too?”
Polly said, “When you’re very old.”
From an interface between John Firth Baker and Mentor, November 12, 2045:
J.F.B.: How long you figu
re I’ll live?
Mentor: Ninety-six more years.
J.F.B.: That’s all?
Mentor: That’s it.
J.F.B.: What a screw.
From The Book of Terror, A Book for Third Grade and Higher, by John Firth Baker, January 11, 2046.
One fall day a little boy left his keep and went out in the weather. A cold wind made him shiver. Then the Creeping Sand Hills buried him alive.
Polly Baker
Johnny worried about the killer hurricanes and floods down south. In December 2045 half of Florida and Louisiana, where my cousin Aaron lived, were under water. He wrote me that Felix, his Manx cat, drowned.
When Johnny heard that, he made Jeanette sign him up for swimming lessons at the local Y.
From John Firth Baker’s interview in The International Review of Manual Arts:
I loved a ten-year-old named Billy Peters who was in my swimming class, which met twice a week, at the Laker Street Y in Cather Keep. Billy had slate-gray eyes—a sad color. He looked best in blue. Billy’s father was a big-shot atmospheric processor. Billy owned his own mybot, a Mori 500, which was almost unheard of for a kid in the early forties.
The mybot, whose name was Arturo, waited for Billy after class. Billy got a kick out of bossing Arturo around. “Don’t just stand there, stupid! Go buy me a chocolate donut and a Coke!”
I longed to be Arturo.
Dr. William Peters
I remember Baker. He was a creep.
Alex Thomas jr.
One Thanksgiving after dinner, in his room, Johnny asked me if I liked kissing boys.
I said, “You’re kidding!”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m only kidding.”
From Jeanette Baker’s journal, November 23, 2046:
Next year, Alex jr. starts studying at Juilliard in New York.
Cressanthia: “He transposed Beethoven’s Sonata in G major to D minor because it’s his favorite key.”
Johnny spends his time drawing Donald Duck.
From John Firth Baker’s interview in The International Review of Manual Art:
Mother let me use her expensive barber scissors to make paper cutouts with it at home. She taught me how to cut out and paste together paper collages. I made a collage called This End Up. I got the idea from a documentary I saw at school about handling freight in outer space, where there’s no down or up. I applied to my collage the technique I’d learned from drawing all those Disney cartoons and reduced its most important component elements to simple geometric shapes.
The Song of the Earth Page 5