TOP IN-NEWS STORY:
DIVA TO HEAD AMERICAN ASSOCIATION OF
NATURALLY-GIFTED ARTISTS; PROCLAIMS HER VOICE
A GIFT FROM GOD
Mezzosoprano Anna Stein Vows AANGA Boycott
Of All American Metamorphic Artists
There once was a diva named Anna
Who defined the vox humana
As a gift from God
Who gave her the nod
To avoid metamorphic artists
Like a Pox americana. (limerick.831)
Johnny Baker to Teddy Petrakis, August 13, 2055:
August 13th is the day when Japanese families visit their family graves. Yukio invited me to accompany him and his Mother to the little cemetery near Tokushima University where his father is buried. I felt honored. Yukio poured water over the gravestone, burned incense, lit two red paper lanterns. He and his mother prayed. She arranged three red roses, some ferns, and a huge white chrysanthemum in a black lacquered bowl on the grave.
Yukio’s father’s spirit came home with us on the subway. Yukio and his mother welcomed him with a ceremony at a little family altar she keeps on a kitchen shelf. Then they offered the spirit some saki and little dishes of various foods like grilled eel, which we shared with him for lunch. (Grilled eel supposedly restores your strength sapped by the heat, which was 106 degrees at 3 P.M.)
Yukio says his father’s spirit, riding on the east wind, often leaves the graveyard on its own and comes to haunt him.
Johnny Baker to Jeanette Baker, August 14, 2055:
Dear Mother,
Yukio’s father, a salaryman in robotic sales, took out a forty-year loan to buy Yukio arsogenes at the Ozaki Institute. “I had no fuckin’ childhood.” Drawing and calligraphy lessons began at two. Yukio studied four hours a day, seven days a week, for the next nine years. But there was no pleasing his father, who often smacked Yukio across the face to discipline him. He insisted that Yukio copy Hokusai. Yukio prefers drawing from his imagination.
Yukio went, “My father was a chain smoker. One day he dropped dead of a heart attack on a Tokyo street. May the gods forgive me! I was relieved at the news. I thought, at last he’s off my back. He won’t hit me anymore. Now I’ll draw and paint to please myself!
“The same night my father appeared to me in a dream. He said, ‘So you’re glad I’m dead and left wandering here in the dark! You ungrateful son! In punishment for your evil thoughts, I forbid you to draw or paint again on pain of death.’”
Am lucky to have Fritz for a father.
From Jeanette Baker’s journal, August 14, 2055:
Sister Lopez has signed a multimillion-dollar book deal for her autobiography, In the Hands of Homo Rapiens, which details her abduction, rape, clitorectomy, and nipple amputation by TCOLAM.
She says, “All the money will go to the creation of a new Gynarchist fighting organization, to be called ‘The Furies.’”
Sister Lopez: “All phallocratic religions, like Mormonism, sanction the oppression of wiminkind. The Furies dedicate themselves to a ceaseless struggle against the male gender’s misogynistic tribal cults.
“FEMINIZE THE HUMIN RACE!”
From Jeanette Baker’s journal, August 15, 2055:
I reread Johnny’s letters every night before I go to bed. It’s hard for me to accept that he’s living an independent life.
Johnny Baker to Jeanette Baker, August 15, 2055:
Dear Mother,
Today was the 110th anniversary of the end of the second half of the Global Tribal War. The anniversary’s a big deal here—daylong Memorial Service with Emperor at the Yasukuni Shrine. Crowd over three million, huge pyramid of yellow and white chrysanthemums, prayers to the Glorious Dead.
Yukio prayed at home to the popular favorite, Kuga Noboru. Kuga was wounded and captured by Chinese in 1931. He committed seppuku to atone for the shame of being taken prisoner. The emperor made him a god.
Yukio prayed to Kuga: “Please restore Nippon to her former imperial glory!”
Then he prayed to his father’s spirit: “Leave me in peace!”
My father, going hiking in the Alps, called to say good-bye. He sends you his regards. He told me to tell you that—like you—he’s sorry that I renounced my gift.
Sri Billy Lee Mookerjee
Johnny and I returned to Washington in the middle of September and put up at the K Street Shelter. We were on our spiritual honeymoon. In Japan, Johnny had learned to project upon me the attributes of our Motherworld, but he had only begun her journey to gain Gaian Consciousness. Now I had to help him experience herself as the Motherworld !
Johnny Baker to Jeanette Baker, September 24, 2055:
Dear Mother,
I’m back in D.C. working in the church shelter on K Street. I mop the floors, serve the meals, and obey my guru in everything. Obedience to him gives me peace of mind. Yes, I still miss drawing but, at the same time, feel immensely relieved that I no longer have to live up to your expectations for me as an artist. I was always worried about failing you. Pleasing you meant more to me than anything. That was my whole life. Now I live to gain Gaian Consciousness. Forgive me for causing you pain.
Jeanette Baker to Johnny Baker, September 24, 2055:
Arriving D.C. with Polly tomorrow noon.
Polly Baker
I booked Jeanette and me a double room for two nights at a bed and breakfast on Truman Avenue in Washington. We left our bags there and went to the shelter on K Street. Jeanette was determined to confess to Johnny that she had experimented on him as an infant in order to stimulate his brain development.
She said, “I considered him an object—not a humin being. I see now, that was an evil thing to do. I must beg his forgiveness.”
You know what? I felt as guilty as Jeanette. After all, I had bank-rolled her. I was her accomplice in experimenting on her baby. The question is, Why did I do it? I’ve given that a lot of thought over the years. I think I did it in hopes of going down in history as the womin who helped Jeanette Baker make a visual artist to order—to create a creative humin being.
Katherine G. Jackson
At the same time, though, you mentioned earlier that you were against Jeanette setting herself above the law, the Created Equal Act. How do you square that?
Polly Baker
I can’t. I was torn both ways. You know what? My desire for a little bit of immortality got the better of me.
From Jeanette Baker’s journal, September 25, 2055:
Late this afternoon, I confessed to Johnny that I’m a mother–artist-maker. I told him in detail how, when he was an infant, I gave him “the lust of the eye” to implement his arsogenes.
I said: “Forgive me for experimenting on you.”
Johnny: “You weren’t a mother to me. What were you? A monster! I wasn’t your baby. I was a thing to you. It’s horrible. How could you? Weren’t you ashamed? Go home! I never wanna see you again!”
Polly Baker
Next morning, Jeanette and I caught the 8:02 Chicago express. She had a panic attack boarding the train.
Sri Billy Lee Mookerjee
Johnny told me how he had been experimented on by his mother.
He said, “She didn’t love me for myself. I was only a means to an end for her. What am I to you?”
“You and I are one.”
From Jeanette Baker’s journal, September 27, 2055:
5:15 A.M. Awake all night.
From Jeanette Baker’s journal, September 28, 2055:
5 A.M. Ditto. Palpitations.
From Jeanette Baker’s journal, September 29, 2055:
8:12 A.M. Overslept. Dry mouth, sweaty palms, palpitations.
Polly Baker
Since coming home, Jeanette looked like hell—there were these dark bags under her eyes—and her heart wasn’t in her work.
But she said cheerily, “I’m not depressed. Polly, you gotta believe me. I’m on top of this! Put your mind at rest! Put your mind at rest!”
I re
member she repeated herself a third time: “Put your mind at rest.”
From Jeanette Baker’s journal, October 3, 2055:
To my future readers:
My reason: “Death is the mother of Beauty; hence from her,
Alone, shall come fulfillment to our dreams
And our desires.”
Wallace Stevens (1879–1955)
My method: Still (8:15 P.M.) up for grabs.
My madness: Take your pick.
My Last Will & Testament: I leave everything I own—$21,071.30 in savings, personal belongings (furniture, cookbot, VR equipment, etc.), my stainless-steel Swiss barber scissors, clippers, assorted other hair-cutting tools—to my son, John Firth Baker, whom I request to pay my aunt Polly the $1808 I owe her. I also leave to him any royalties due me from the eventual publication of this journal.
My epitaph: “I shall not wholly die.” (Horace, 65–8 B.C.)
Jeanette Baker to Johnny Baker, October 3, 2055:
Darling Johnny. It’s 8:31 P.M. This will be posted to you early tomorrow morning your time, so you won’t be able to interfere with my plan to kill myself—I can’t decide how. (2 options)
Forgive me. Good-bye my darling son—my own. I’m much nearer to you than in D.C. and so much happier. No, Johnny, I take it back. I won’t beg your forgiveness—hate me!—hate me! But open your gift—that alone will save you.
{{{{{{{{{}}}}}}}}} (a last big hug) & XXXXXXXXX’s
from your loving Mom
From Jeanette Baker’s journal, October 4, 2055:
At 1:12 A.M. I looped my old black patent leather belt through its buckle around the chrome-plated clothes rack in my bedroom closet, then tested it with one good tug, which tore the buckle off. Will now (1:32) go with panty hose—à la Momma.
Sri Billy Lee Mookerjee
Johnny woke me a little after seven holding a hard copy of his mother’s suicide note in her hand.
“Read this,” he says and reads it again over my shoulder. First, she giggled hysterically. Then he said, “That’s mother all over! I should’ve known!” Then she screams, “Mother! How could you do this to me?” Finally, he said, “It’s my fault! I told her I never wanted to see her again!”
Polly Baker
Johnny called me around six-fifteen, local time, and Paco and I ran upstairs to Jeanette’s apartment. Her bedroom door was ajar; all her shirts, skirts, and pants were piled neatly on her bed, and the clothes closet’s double doors were wide open.
Jeanette’s corpse, in a white bra and panties, was hanging from the middle of the chrome clothes rack. Her knees were bent. Her lower legs were sprawled out behind her on the closet floor, among some overturned shoes. Her naked feet were purple; likewise, the hands at her side. Her head was flopped on one shoulder—the left, I think. Her face was bluish gray and all bloated. Her swollen tongue protruded from her mouth.
I remember thinking, “Oh, no! Not again!” and then I called Johnny.
He was like, “I got my wish. I’ll never see her again!”
Paco took charge of everything, calling the police and whatnot. I remember the cops were nervous; they didn’t know what to say. One asked me to leave the bedroom while she and her partner took Jeanette down. I remember feeling guilty and angry.
You know what? I still feel guilty and angry.
Sri Billy Lee Mookerjee
I took Johnny back to Cather Keep the evening of that same day, Monday, October 4th, 2055—one long day! We went straight to Polly’s house at 124 Kuttner Street. Outside the door, Johnny turned to me and said, “I’m an orphan.”
Polly Baker
The first words to me out of Johnny’s mouth were, “Did you see Momma’s body?”
He called her “Momma,” like he did when he was a baby.
I lied and said, “No.”
“I want to read the autopsy report.”
Paco said, “I’ll arrange it.”
From: John A. Hayes jr., M.D., Associate Medical Examiner
To: John Firth Baker
Sub.: Report of Autopsy, Office of Chief Medical Examiner, City of Lincoln, Nebraska
Date: October 5, 2055
Name of Decedent: Jeanette Baker
M.E. Case No.: 219-B
Autopsy Performed by: J.A. Hayes M.D., Associate Medical Examiner
FINAL DIAGNOSES
HANGING
A. Circumferential ligature of neck (panty hose)
B. Circumferential deep ligature furrow
C. Livor mortis in glove and stocking distribution
EXTERNAL EXAMINATION
Received in a bag: 1 pair of white underwear shorts and 1 bra.
The unclothed body is that of a well-developed, well-nourished 5'4", 115 lb, white femayle, whose appearance is consistent with the reported age of 46. Muscular rigidity is past, and lividity is in the lower extremities, anterior face, and distal upper extremities (“glove and stocking” distribution).
The body is cool.
The atraumatic scalp is covered by straight, black hair, approximately 14" in length, tied up with a scrunchy hairband. The face is atraumatic. The blue iredes have dull corneae with marked bulbar and palpebral conjunctival congestion; scattered petechiae are present. The nose is atraumatic, with bloody purge issuing from nostrils. The lips show drying change. The oral cavity contains natural dentition in good repair. Evidence of injury: Hanging
When the decedent is initially viewed, a ligature extends circumferentially around the neck; the ligature consists of tan panty hose (Juno brand, size M) the legs of which have been twisted together and tied once. The knot is positioned in the right submandibular region. When the knot is removed, the ligature furrow circumference around the neck is 11"; the uncompressed neck below the level of the ligature mark has a circumference of 13½". The ligature mark is a deep furrow, with a parchment-like base, approximately 5/8" in width to 7/8" at the greatest width (in the region of the knot). The furrow is transverse to slightly oblique rising slightly towards the right side. No other trauma is present on the neck.
Facial congestion is prominent, with scattered periorbital petechiae noted.
Johnny Baker to John A. Hayes, M.D., October 5, 2055:
Dear Doctor Hayes,
The decedent #219-B was my Mother, Jeanette Baker. Can you please tell me 1. What are periorbital petechiae? 2. Did she suffer much? 3. How long did she take to die?
John A. Hayes, M.D., to Johnny Baker, October 5, 2055:
Dear Johnny Baker,
Periorbital petechiae are tiny purplish hemorrhages surrounding the eyes.
I estimate that your Mother was unconscious within fifteen to thirty seconds and took from four to five minutes to die.
You have my deepest sympathy.
Johnny Baker to J. A. Hayes, M.D., October 5, 2055:
Thank you for your help.
Please—one thing more. What does “the blue irides have dull corneae with marked bulbar and palpebral conjunctival congestion” mean?
J. A. Hayes, M.D., to Johnny Baker, October 5, 2055:
The decedent’s eyes have lost color and luster.
The Rev. Theodore Petrakis
I arrived home from Oberlin Saturday noon and went straight to Johnny, who was in a daze. During the day, everybody gathered around him at Polly’s: Emma Torchlight, Alex Thomas, his mother, my mother, Indira, Ben Shrapnel, Bashy Weinberg. Oodles of people from the Hairdressers Guild plus half the Keep stopped by.
The news made the rounds late in the afternoon that the Corn-huskers had whipped Colorado 21–12.
Johnny raised his eyes to the ceiling, gave a big grin, and called out, “Ma, you hear?”
Emma Torchlight
Sitting side by side, Johnny and I talked about Jeanette. Johnny said, “Srimaanji’s my mother now.”
Polly Baker
Johnny recalled to me braiding Jeanette’s hair one night in the kitchen some five years before. He said, “It’s the happiest memory of my life.”
Alex Thom
as jr.
Johnny hugged me and went, “Thanks for being here.” Then he said, “I can’t believe this is happening.”
Polly Baker
After supper Johnny, Paco, and I arranged Jeanette’s funeral. Johnny decided to have her cremated and her ashes scattered around the old homestead in Cherry County—just like her mother.
Francisco (Paco) Gonzalez
Jeanette was cremated Sunday in the Scott Bluff Crematory. Monday morning, I picked up her cremains in a shiny bronze urn, which a bunch of us took out to the old Powder Horn Ranch in Cherry County.
Polly Baker
Around noon that Monday, for the second time in my life, I dumped the ashes of a family member out of a bronze urn in Cherry County. Then, like Jeanette had once done before him at the same spot, Johnny recited that bleak little poem I can never get straight.
Katherine G. Jackson
To what shall I compare my life?
Streaking west,
above Bayonne,
a jet trail at dusk.33
Polly Baker
The whole thing for me was like a recurrent nightmare from thirty-three years ago.
Francisco (Paco) Gonzalez
I saw Johnny kneel down and very gently, with the back of his hand, brush off a bit of his Mom’s cremains that had settled on one of his shoes.
Sri Billy Lee Mookerjee
The things you remember! I remember thinking Johnny needs a haircut. And I remember looking around and feeling mighty pleased that the metamorphic “water bugs” released on the sand dunes with my blessing only two years before had irrigated them; they were covered with reddening bunch grass.
The Rev. Theodore Petrakis
I remember Johnny saying, “I’m hungry! How can I be hungry at a time like this?”
Johnny Baker to Teddy Petrakis, October 9, 2055:
D.C.’s half flooded.
I wish I was dead.
Teddy Petrakis to Johnny Baker, October 9, 2055:
I pray for you twice a day. So does Mother, who sends all her love.
Johnny Baker to Teddy Petrakis, October 9, 2055:
Be happy your mother is alive. How I envy you! Like Welles says, “I begrudge the world its joy.”34 Been rereading her collected poems. They make me feel close to Mother. She loved them so. That reminds me. But of what? I forget. I can’t think straight.
The Song of the Earth Page 16