by Jim Musgrave
“All right. Tell me what I should say to the beast,” I said.
“Tell the beast he is like Commodore Nutt. He is a man who looks like a boy inside!” Seth laughed uproariously and ran out of the room.
I thought about what the lad had said. It was a strange statement, but it made some kind of perverse sense when I combined it with what Bessie had just told me about the nature of these men. I could perhaps lead Doctor Foote into my trap with a letter that made a claim very close to what little Seth was communicating. If these perverts believed they were offering the purest kind of love, then they must also believe they are pure. What can be purer than a child’s innocence?
“I believe I may have what I need to tell this gentleman in my letter,” I said. “Your Seth has given me the clue,” I added.
“Really? How do you know it will work?” she asked.
“I cannot be certain it will. I can give it a try, however. Let me see if I can explain it to you.” I sat back in my Edwardian chair and struck a pose of concentration. I kept thinking about Lewis Carroll and the book he wrote for his dean’s little daughter, Alice.
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland was a book I read after returning from war in 1865. It was a strangely soothing fantasy that gave me hope during the most psychologically trying time of my life. In a way, it was the innocent nonsense that made it so attractive to me. Like the war I was in, it made no sense at all, and yet if you looked at how you were surviving, it made all the sense in the world.
“What if these men are tortured children who really don’t like themselves and what they are doing? However, since they cannot accept their own loss of innocence, they project a fairytale kind of reality--albeit an adult sexual reality--upon their victims. Does this make any sense?” I was hoping Missus Mergenthaler would keep up with me on this.
“I suppose so. What you’re telling me is these men want the innocent child who believes this man is his rescuer or his salvation. His hero.”
“Quite right! So, I might say in this letter something to the effect that we have a ten-year-old who wants a man who can take her to a land where one can have innocent fun and games and at the same time learn about being a grown-up.”
“I see what you mean, Patrick. You could use wording that will attract the psyche of this man to groom a child into adulthood. The child should be sold as innocent, however, and not one who has been used by others before,” she pointed out.
“By all means! This will be a virgin who has never been fouled by any other person other than the invited. She is as pure as driven snow. Like young Alice in her Wonderland, she is waiting for the excitement of nonsense to enrapture her. I will create a nonsense letter that contains within it a request to play and then anoint the little queen into adulthood.” I stood up and walked over to where Bessie was sitting. She rose also, and we both came together for a brief hug.
“I can’t tell you who this man is, but I can say that he will deserve being made a fool. And, if I can trap Jane the Grabber and her band of miscreants as well, then my duty will have been accomplished. Thank you for everything. I will be here on Friday to take Seth downtown to the museum.” I walked over to the door and stood there.
Bessie gave me a small wave. “You don’t suppose Mister Charles Lutwidge Dodgson had perverted intentions towards his Alice, do you Patrick? I have read that he takes nude photographs of young girls for artistic purposes, of course. There is presently quite a romantic fantasy involving children being sacred, what with poems by Mister Wordsworth and Mister Shelley.”
I thought about this quite seriously for a moment. “No, I don’t believe he did. He does smoke cannabis oil, but I think this is because he wants to break through his mathematical mindset and romp with children. I did read that he rejects the Calvinist notion of original sin. Instead, he believes that we are born with an inborn divinity. Innocence is such an appealing reality, it even attracts deviants.” I closed the door behind me and walked out into the night.
The juxtaposition of the wealth around me as I walked down Fifth Avenue, combined with the thoughts I was having about Doctor Edward Bliss Foote and his filthy pederasty, made me quite ill at ease. I was even filling my mind with twenty-seven-year-old Poe again, as he lay with his thirteen-year-old bride, Virginia. By all accounts Edgar and Virginia were deeply in love with one another and played together almost as children.
It is believed they did not have marital relations until she turned 16. She was never pregnant, however, so who can say? Perhaps they behaved as children, and it was Poe who remained the innocent husband until she died. He was a Catholic, like me, and we often lust after whores but keep our sweet, innocent Madonna to ourselves. But, in some men, they wanted to make the innocent into the whore before she can decide for herself about such adult matters.
I wanted to help Becky and Bessie find a way to give back to these poor women a bit of the innocence that had been taken from them at a young age. When that innocence has been taken by the likes of Jane the Grabber, my job becomes that much easier to stomach.
Percy Bysshe Shelley in his poetic finery came to my mind then, and as his image filled my consciousness, so did that of Edward Bliss Foote, John Hoffman and William Tweed. Were Foote and Hoffman romantic pederasts? Did Tweed protect them? I was going to set the trap to find out.
I had memorized the poem by Shelley after the war, when I was reading Alice’s Adventures. It was a poem that fit my anti-war attitude at the time. It’s about a great ruler who comes to nothing in the end. Perhaps Foote, Hoffman and Tweed were like Ozymandias with the great statue of his image standing alone in the desert, and on the pedestal of the statue the inscription says:
‘My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings: Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!’ Nothing beside remains. Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, the lone and level sands stretch far away.
Chapter 6: Two Visits
Thursday was the day I wanted to visit Becky and see how Irene was doing. I also had the appointment with Doctor Foote and his electro-magnetic machine at two in the afternoon. It was raining as I walked uptown to the Theater Plaza District. The horse-drawn carts and handsome cabs were making muddy ruts on the streets where we still had no cobblestones. The practice was still prevalent whereby a gentleman always stood on the outside of the woman he was escorting to protect her from the muddy splashes caused by the wheels of passing vehicles. We wanted to keep our women dry, and yet we didn’t really care about their human dignity. The ironies of our age were too numerous to avenge, but this case was getting to the heart of the most persistent evil practiced against women that existed.
I was wearing the same wool coat and porkpie cap that I had worn the day before when I had made the appointment, but I had no umbrella, so I was quite soaked when I entered Doctor Foote’s offices on Lexington Avenue. The same nurse was on duty, and she smiled up at me from behind her desk. “Mister O’Malley, it’s good you could make it in this downpour! Could you please fill-out these forms before you see the doctor?” She lifted two sheets of paper, and I walked over and took them from her. “There are fountain pens on the tables over near the waiting room chairs;” she pointed toward the leather armchairs across the room.
A fictional identity was not needed for this investigation. I simply wanted to ask the good doctor a few questions that might bring out some information as to his personal dealings with the Palace Theater and Jane Haskins. I had no expectation that he would admit any wrong doing, but I did have a couple of questions I believed might wheedle something out of him.
I had completed the basic health survey and other personal information when the nurse told me the doctor would see me. I was almost dry by then, but I shook my hat out just to be certain it looked presentable. The long, spiraling staircase was elaborately decorated with flowered steel balustrades and the steps were also of ornately flower designed black metal.
Doctor Foote’s office was very large and filled two suites. The doctor was in
his vest and shirtsleeves, seated in a plush leather chair, perusing one of the letters. There were boxes lined up along the wall that were filled with cords of letters and postcards. There was his medical diploma above him on the wall, and there were also photos of Foote shaking hands with Susan B. Anthony and my own girlfriend Rebecca Charming Jones. Standing beside his large desk that was covered with pamphlets, newspapers and letters--on a table all its own--was his electro-magnetic machine.
This machine, which was also sold through the mails, was compact in appearance. It had a lacquered wooden frame with small shelves on each side wing, and a small, pull-out drawer just under the electrical system. Above the electronics was a gauge that seemed to register the number of volts that this machine was able to put forth into the patient’s body.
As for the electronic miracle magnet, it appeared to be a collection of metallic levers and wires patched into a black felt-covered backboard. In the center of these parts was a much larger circular gadget that had different copper contacts all around the outer perimeter and a lever that moved to each of these contacts in turn. The numbers on each contact went from low numbers on the left side to high numbers on the right.
“I notice you have fixed your gaze on my electro-magnetic wonder, Mister O’Malley. During my professional career I have annually treated, successfully, hundreds of patients laboring under different chronic diseases, whose faces I have never seen.” Doctor Foote made a motion with his arm toward all the boxes of letters. “My files contain letters from every State and Territory of the United States, from nearly every part of Europe, from some portions of Asia and Africa, and also from every province of the British Isles and South America.”
“That’s quite impressive indeed,” I said. “I suppose I am fortunate to have you treat me in person,” I added.
“Yes, you are fortunate to be living in the hub of the New World as it reaches out into the scientific frontier overseas. As a physician, I am but a conduit to bring you these marvels which are fascinating kings and queens and mesmerizing the masses around the world. What malady have your brought me, Mister O’Malley? Nurse Walters says you specifically asked about the electro-magnetic therapy. To be honest, I usually apply this on women, as they are the ones who suffer most from a lack of electrolysis. Could you be specific as to what you believe is your physical problem?” Doctor Foote carefully threaded the right side of his long mustache with his fingers and stared over at me.
“I am afraid I have been experiencing an unwholesome attraction toward girls younger than sixteen. In fact, if they are ten, I become quite inflamed with uncontrollable passion. There is something about the virginal beauty and innocence of a girl that age that drives me mad with desire!” I tried to keep my voice low and seething with emotion, and I kept my eyes fastened on the doctor’s face as I unearthed my fictional confession.
Instead of chastising me for my secret longing, Doctor Foote arose from his chair and walked around his desk, keeping his eyes riveted upon mine as he did so. As he walked, he clicked his tongue and shook his head sympathetically. When he reached me, he stopped and looked up at the ceiling. “Are you aware of the Perfectionists?” he asked.
“No, I’m afraid I am not,” I admitted.
He looked back down at me. “These are people who live together in complete harmony and believe in Biblical Communism. They recognize neither private property nor private relations. In effect, they are polyamorous communists,” he smiled down at me, probably expecting that I understood what he meant.
“What do they have to do with me?” I asked.
“I visited one branch of this Oneida Community. Even though they have been run out of towns for decades, because of their beliefs, their children are in perfect health, and the adults, because they exemplify open relationships and the sharing of parents, are also never jealous and enjoy change and invention. What is important to you, Mister O’Malley, is the fact that love of any kind should not be shamed or rejected. Instead, it should be accepted and glorified!”
“Glorified?” I was now certain I was getting into the strange philosophy that made Doctor Foote a child molester. “How can wanting to have intercourse with a child be glorified?”
“Do you realize that particles of matter are all the time dying in your body and fresh ones are as constantly taking their places, when you are in a condition of health? Some physiologists say that we change our bodies completely as often as once in seven years. What you feel is a love of change. Conservatives want to stop change, but we progressives embrace it! Sex is but a manifestation of that change, and you should never condemn yourself for wanting to make love with anyone!” Doctor Foote had a strange gleam in his eyes, and I believed I could use his so-called progressive polyamorous communism as a way to blackmail him into testifying against Jane the Grabber.
I was now into my act wholeheartedly, as I had already obtained the information that I needed to secure my plan. “That’s wonderful news, Doctor! I believed that what I felt was a mortal sin. What can you do for me? I suppose I have animal magnetism, and it simply needs to be altered in some way, correct?”
“Right now, I am more concerned that you understand how to react to your feelings toward the young. What you must realize Mister O’Malley is that acting upon your desires must be what you control. Under no circumstances does one attempt to sexually comingle with another human being—no matter what the age—unless that person is in agreement and permits such activity. It is not the act itself that causes the damage; it is whether or not it is permitted by both parties.” Doctor Foote kept nodding his head as he spoke as if he were convincing himself as he was trying to convince me.
This was exactly what I wanted to hear. I was not so clear about his particles of matter and Biblical Communism, but his belief that one only needed to have permission from the other party in order to commit a sex act upon him or her, was the important legal point I needed to set my trap.
“Thank you, Doctor Foote. What you say makes logical sense. I will never proceed to act upon my desires unless consent is given completely.”
This seemed to give him permission to arise and walk around his desk to his electro-magnetism machine. The table it was on had wheels under it, so he pushed it over until it was directly next to me in my chair. “Now, Mister O’Malley, I am going to give you a charge to counter the obvious imbalance of animal magnetism in your body. This will not hurt in the least. You may feel a slight vibration throughout your arm, into your chest and down over your groin area, but that is natural. This therapy will assist you in controlling your unwanted desires so you may control them and be able to obtain full permission before you attempt to make advances of this kind in the future. Please, remove your coat and shirt.”
I took off my wool coat and white shirt and folded them over the top of the chair. I sat back down in the chair, bare-chested, and watched the doctor as he attached wires with metal contacts on the ends to my arm, chest and right leg. These wires were connected to the electro-magnetic machine.
He then used his thumb and index finger to move the metal needle on the inner circle to a place on the mid-range of numbers of the voltage control device. Finally, he pushed a red button on the panel, and I felt it. A buzzing and tickling sensation began to reverberate along my arm and over my chest. It then started to tingle in my groin area, and I became quite embarrassed because I was becoming sexually aroused.
I grabbed my coat from the back of the chair and spread it over my lap. Doctor Foote did not seem to notice, or care, as his attention was riveted upon the gauge at the top of the machine. When the red needle reached a certain point, he shut off the flow of electro-magnetism.
“There! How do you feel, Mister O’Malley?” he said, as he detached me from the machine.
“I feel quite soothed and in control,” I said, hoping this was the response he was expecting from me.
“Fine! The charge will stay with you for at least a week. You may then repeat the therapy if you believe you nee
d more control over your urges. Pay my nurse on your way out, and you may also reserve another appointment if you wish.
I made another appointment so as not to cast suspicion, but I was not planning to be back until we had set our trap and obtained results. With some good fortune, we would be able to entice Doctor Foote into a compromising situation wherein he had no other choice than to turn against Hester Jane Haskins and her organization and turn them in. I needed to first draft the correspondence to send to Foote, and I wanted to peruse it with Bessie before I mailed it.
My second visit that day was to see how Becky was doing with Irene. The girl might also have some inside information about what was happening at the Palace Theater. When I arrived at the Theater Plaza apartments where Becky resided, I was once again met with a strange sight. Outside, standing in front of the steps leading up to the brownstone, were Becky and her new roommate, Irene. They had luggage all around them on the sidewalk, and there were two drivers loading it into their horse-drawn hackneys. As I approached them, Becky was in quite an emotional upheaval. She was flinging dollar bills to the men as she shouted instructions to them. Little Irene seemed to be in a semi-trance, standing like a statute and getting in the way.
“This will all go to 238 Fifth Avenue. We must be there before five, as Missus Mergenthaler will be leaving shortly thereafter. All of my furnishings can be loaded later by the moving men. Irene Sanders! Could you please help these men or get out of the way?” Becky’s face was flushed and she prodded the girl in her side until she moved back against the front porch staircase.
“I want a cigarette!” Irene said.
“None of my girls smokes. When are you going to begin learning how ladies behave?” Becky asked.
“Hello ladies,” I said, walking out of the crowd onto the sidewalk and up to where they were standing. “What happened, Becky?” I gave her a brief hug and held her at arm’s length.