The Queen’s Code

by Alison A Armstrong

  She usually doesn't listen this quietly, or for this long, Raul thought. Come to think of it, there's been something different about her all week.

  “That's it,” he stated. “Have any questions?”

  Kimberlee squirmed. “Actually, I do.” She hesitated, and then went for it. “I assume you have a good reason for everything you do. But I can't always figure out what it is.”

  She paused and he nodded, encouraging her to go on. “For awhile, I've wondered how come you tell me about the corporate politics. At first I thought you were griping. Then I thought you wanted to discuss them. But neither appears to be what you're looking for. Would you please explain why you do it?” she asked, trying to be as polite as possible.

  Raul thought about her question. To him, the answer was obvious and he felt reluctant to speak. But she sat there so seriously, and patiently, that he became compelled to answer.

  He cleared his throat, “I tell you what's happening in the company so you'll be ready to take over one day.”

  “Take over?” Her normally low voice squeaked. Suddenly, she clamped her hand over her mouth. Raul was perplexed, What is going on? She quickly put her hand down and looked patiently at him again. Interested. That sent him searching for more to say.

  “I thought you knew. You're the obvious choice. Given your age and my age. Your brains and my looks,” he joked. “No, seriously. It's at least a ten-year project but you deserve the opportunity.”

  He watched as Kimberlee's eyes grew wider and seemed to tear up. But she was obviously still listening.

  “You work your butt off, Kimberlee. You're here all the time. Before me and after me. You run the pit like a well-oiled machine. You've consistently improved output quarter after quarter. Though people had their doubts because of your youth, and, fairly or unfairly, because you're a woman.”

  She was still looking at him. Encouraging him with a small smile. He cleared his throat again.

  “Before I turned the processors over to you two years ago, the salespeople bitched all the time about their policies not being issued by month's end. And since that's their bread and butter, I caught hell. It never happens anymore. Because you deliver.” He smiled with glee, “The nay-sayers have all eaten crow.”

  “Of course,” he continued, “you still have plenty to learn. Training and managing those same salespeople is another challenge. But I think you'll be able to handle it.”

  She smiled and he caught a little nod. Raul considered, Anything else? Not that he could think of. “That's all. Does that give you what you wanted?”

  She nearly jumped out of her seat, “Oh yes! More than you know. Thank you!”

  He got the impression she wanted to hug him, but she didn't. She smiled happily at him on her way out the door and he thought again, What's different about her?

  KIMBERLEE, on her way out of Raul's office, passed Jack going in. He looked at her and she had her usual reaction, Lech. But in a split second, she caught herself.

  “What if there's a good reason for that?” popped into her head, and she looked in his eyes more closely. What she had always taken for carnal lust, which frightened and repelled her, she suddenly recognized as appreciation.

  Appreciation for what? She wondered. Noticing his eyes were an unusual gray-green color, she smiled and kept going.

  JACK shook his head in wonder as he entered Raul's office. He saw a similar expression on his friend's face.

  “What just happened?” he sputtered.

  Raul shrugged, clearly baffled. “She asked me a question and let me talk. In fact, she waited patiently for me to answer. That's never happened! What happened to you?”

  “She looked at me differently. Like she saw more,” Jack replied, scratching a stubbly cheek. “Wow.”

  They sat there for a while, watching as Kimberlee's graceful form moved among the processors. Men visibly perked up as she passed. Raul offered a piece of gum and, for once, Jack took it. Neither could put their finger on the difference in her. But they agreed it was good.

  MELISSA thought, What a disaster, as she brushed her auburn hair with a vengeance.

  The evening began normally enough: Kimmee had come over for Friday night pizza; Scott was late coming home, as usual; Melissa griped about it, as usual; the boys made a huge mess with their salads and she yelled at them. All pretty normal.

  The only abnormal moments involved Kimmee's reactions. When Melissa first complained about Scott, Kimmee smiled politely, instead of sympathizing. As Melissa continued, Kimmee looked uncomfortable and then as if she were in pain or something. As if biting her tongue. While Melissa ranted about the sloppiness of boys in general, Kimmee had actually gotten up and rushed to the bathroom. How rude!

  The kicker was when Scott finally got home. She gave him the cold shoulder he deserved. Instead of backing her up, Kimberlee had greeted him warmly and asked how his work was going. She had the nerve to listen to him talk about his job — for over an hour! As if his precious career doesn't suck up enough of our lives.

  Melissa didn't bother to listen to the blah, blah, blah. Instead, she put the kids to bed without anyone's help.

  And Scott absolutely ate it up, Melissa remembered. He said more words to Kimmee in one evening than he normally spared for his wife — his wife! — in a month. Asshole.

  She'd tried to get Kimmee's attention, but was brushed off multiple times. Kimberlee even apologized to Scott for being interrupted! Traitor. After all that, Kimmee had teared up as she hastily said goodnight to them both. As if!

  Melissa was completely lost, hurt and angry. This is my dearest friend. Looking in the mirror at her own dark brown eyes, she said aloud: “What's wrong? Why is she acting so weird?”

  III. Hatpins, Stilettos & Swords

  KAREN arrived early on Saturday afternoon. Claudia encouraged her to enjoy the garden while she finished preparing the tea and coffee. Since the third chair was empty, Karen had a chance to examine Burt's recent addition to the unique set.

  While she stared in awe at the exquisitely carved piece of furniture, the artist came up beside her.

  “What do you think?” Burt asked, his voice soft and gravelly.

  “I think it's astonishingly beautiful. Evocative. Has Kim seen it yet?”

  “Nope, not yet,” he replied. “She finally comprehended the original table and chairs when she came to Claudia for help. After ten years of thinking the images were roses, that was a bit of a shock. But she hasn't noticed this one yet.”

  Karen shook her head. “If she had to open her heart to recognize the images of Claudia, I can't guess what it'll take to see this.”

  “I've been thinking about that too. She might have to learn to love herself. And open her eyes to her own strength and beauty.”

  Karen smiled. “Yes, that may be it. I hope that happens for her.” Hmm, have I opened my eyes to my own beauty? Probably not. I can only see it through Mike's eyes. Another thing I miss. For a while, through his vision, she'd felt beautiful, inside and out.

  “What had you make it?” she asked, coming back to the present.

  Burt grimaced. “Claudia was waiting and waiting and waiting. Month after month. I had to do something.” He smiled. “This was my way of willing Kimberlee to come around.”

  “Kind of like magic, huh?” Karen teased.

  Burt briefly touched her arm. “Don't you think we could use some magic?” His bushy eyebrows rose inquisitively. Then his deep brown eyes grew moist. His voice lowered, “At least, it was a way to add my blessing to these proceedings.”

  Karen impulsively hugged the big man. She was gratified by a hearty embrace in return.

  CLAUDIA could not help but smile as Kimberlee blurted out: “Why do women do it? It doesn't work. It drives men away. Or to silence, at least. We don't get what we need out of it. What's the point?”

  They had barely sat down. Claudia chuckled, pleased beyond her most hopeful expectations. “My, how far we have come.”

  Kimberlee a
sked, “What do you mean?”

  “I am only pointing out that, merely a week ago, it made perfect sense to you. You have experienced a paradigm shift. Now it is difficult to imagine what was completely normal before.”

  “But to your question,” Claudia added, “let us take a moment to put the proverbial nail in the coffin. Or it will still be possible to go back. Remember: What is the point of punishing men? Why did you do it?”

  “Hmm. Let me think. Got any clues for me?” Kimberlee asked.

  “Yes. Picture the men. As they are being punished; after they have been punished. What do they look like?” Claudia said.

  Karen unexpectedly chimed in, “I can see them. But it starts before they're punished. They look strong, powerful and full of themselves. That's what we hate. It's somehow threatening.”

  Karen sipped her coffee and continued, “While we criticize them, or cold shoulder them, or remain unimpressed, they look chastised. Little boys being spanked, or wagged a finger at. After their initial shock, they look dismayed, disbelieving.”

  She finished with, “Afterwards, their shoulders droop. Their heads hang. But most important, they're not powerful anymore. Their bravado has been stolen and they're weak. And we feel comfortable again.” She stared into her cup.

  Claudia sat back in awe. It was poetry to her; sad, tragic even, but poetry. She had thought she would have to draw it out of them both. She looked to see if Kimberlee understood. The tears pooling in her eyes said it all.

  Claudia waited in silence. She felt blessed to have been only sixteen when she was in their position. Less damage to process, to reconcile, to forgive myself for, she remembered.

  “Grandmother?” Kimberlee said, her voice small, reminding Claudia of when the beautiful young woman was sixteen herself — and Claudia was forbidden from handing over her inheritance. The inheritance that would have saved fifteen years of suffering.

  “Yes, dear?”

  Kimberlee blew her nose. “Obviously, I'm emotional about this. But I'm confused, too. Why should I care that we steal men's power? Siphon it off? Drain it like blood? Honestly, why should I give a damn? I'm like Karen — I'm one of the women who feel safer when men are weak. I hate to admit it, but it's true. It's been true as long as I can remember.”

  Claudia suppressed a gasp. Another poet, she thought. Clear and concise. Brutally truthful.

  She steadied herself before she spoke. She knew they would criticize themselves more than enough. She did not need to provide that. It was her job to provide perspective, compassion, understanding; and, ultimately, an alternative.

  “Thank you both. You have been startlingly, beautifully, disarmingly honest. And accurate,” Claudia began. “This is the state of affairs. This is the natural outcome of comparing men to an idealized woman — the Perfect Person.”

  “How so?” Karen asked.

  “Yeah, how does that work?” Kimberlee added.

  Claudia replied, “Compared to the Perfect Person, men appear to be doing the wrong thing on purpose. In other words, misbehaving. When someone misbehaves, they must be punished. When someone consistently misbehaves, his power must be taken away or limited severely — to prevent a bigger disaster. When someone belongs to a group that is known for misbehavior, his power is removed preemptively. This is how most women relate to men.”

  Kimberlee was bent over and looked as if she might be choking. “Are you all right, dear?” Claudia asked. The dark head nodded.

  After some moments, still looking in her lap, Kimberlee whispered, “But what if they've proven that they can't be trusted? That they're bad?”

  Although Kimberlee did not know it, Claudia knew precisely of what she spoke. But there were still more pieces of information needed to disarm that particular bomb. She prayed she could help Kimberlee around this barrier now, in the abstract.

  “I think you are asking about dangerous men,” she began. Kimberlee looked up suddenly, her bright eyes wide in surprise.

  Claudia continued, her words gentle but firm. “It is true that there are dangerous men. Unfortunately, when a woman has encountered one, especially as a child, she often concludes that all men are dangerous. Then she spends a lifetime defending herself against all men, not only the ones who deserve it.”

  She added, “It is even more tragic than you can imagine.”

  “Why?” Kimberlee asked suspiciously.

  “Because most women subscribe to the idea that ‘the best defense is a good offense.’ With the belief that she must defend herself against all men, she actually attacks them. This leaves the 97 percent of mankind that is healthy and honorable having to defend themselves from her.”

  Claudia sighed and continued, “Since men are Single Focused, if they have to defend themselves, they cannot simultaneously defend the woman that they would otherwise have gladly protected. In other words, they cannot defend her because they have to defend themselves from her. Thus, she is left on her own, when she could have had most men on her side.”

  “It's exhausting,” Kimberlee exclaimed and looked abashed at her accidental admission.

  “Yes,” Claudia responded slowly, “it is a heavy sword to lug around.”

  “What's the alternative?” Karen interjected.

  Claudia suspected Karen was uncomfortable with the tension palpable in Kimberlee. If Karen's going to teach this, I'll have to train her to allow the tension instead of always easing it.

  Claudia replied simply, anticipating, “Lay it down. Lay down your sword.”

  “But how will I protect myself?” Kimberlee asked, her eyes desperate.

  Claudia sipped her tea, leaving the question hanging in the air between them.

  “Before I answer your question directly, let us take another look at this ‘sword,’” she said. “How it functions and how well it actually performs. Is that agreeable to you both?”

  The women nodded, with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm.

  “The most accurate word for what we are referring to is ‘castration,’” Claudia began.

  “Isn't that a bit harsh?” Karen protested.

  “Yes, the word is harsh,” Claudia replied. “But no more harsh than the action, or its effects.”

  “Okay, I'm listening.” Karen responded.

  “In Webster's dictionary, the word ‘castrate’ means ‘to deprive of strength, power, or efficiency; to weaken.’ Its synonym is ‘emasculate,’ which is a little milder and the preferred word to use around men. Even the word ‘castrate’ can make a man flinch.”

  “I prefer ‘emasculate’ too,” Karen said.

  “Most women do,” Claudia responded. “But watch that you do not use it to avoid confronting the brutality of what women do. It must be faced head-on. Or it will never stop.”

  “Umm, not to be dense or anything, but why should it stop?” Kimberlee asked tentatively.

  Claudia took a moment to compose. Remember, Missy, they know not what they do, she reminded herself. They have never seen what is possible between women and men without castration and objectification. It is hard to imagine what you have never witnessed. They cannot conceive of the power of the Queen's Code.

  She decided to try a different tack, hoping to create compassion. “Kimberlee, have you ever felt backed into a corner? Where you felt pushed and pushed until you exploded, finally reacting in self-defense?”

  Kimberlee nodded.

  “Were you proud of it? Is it what you would have done if you had not been pushed that hard?”

  She waited while Kimberlee thought.

  “Usually I regret my reaction. But in those situations, I can't think. The person is in my face. The pressure's too great,” Kimberlee said.

  Claudia nodded, thankful for the opening. “Imagine that this is how women on the attack seem to men. Pressure with no relief. Pressure provoking the most primitive, defensive response, which they struggle to control. And which most men deeply regret.”

  Kimberlee protested, “But they should control it! They're ri
diculous! Once Mathew threw a wrench across the lawn. And Raul got so wound up, he punched a wall!”

  Claudia suppressed a smile, a moment too late. “What?” Kimberlee demanded. “What're you smiling about?”

  Claudia pressed her eyes closed, slowly shaking her head. Please, God, help her see this. She opened her eyes and willed herself to be patient.

  “I will answer your question. But first, are you willing to see something from a completely different point of view? From a man's point of view?”

  Kimberlee ran her fingers through her hair, pulling hard on the short strands, as if to pull her brains out too. “Ugh! This is soooo hard. Why's it this hard? I just wanted to stop Frog Farming!”

  Thank you, God, Claudia thought and responded firmly. “Castrating men is the foundation of Frog Farming. It is the ‘how’ of Frog Farming. The act of diminishing men and the attitude that they deserve to be diminished. Castration is how all women bring out the worst in men.”

  KIMBERLEE groaned and closed her eyes.

  “Claudia, I feel sick,” she said, putting her hand on her roiling stomach.

  She was surprised at Claudia's gentle response. “I know, dear. I felt sick too when I found out.”

  “You did? How come?” Karen asked.

  “Even though I was only sixteen, I had already attacked my father and brothers. And experienced the long-term effects of castrating men.” Her grandmother looked sad.

  “Would you tell us about them?” Karen interjected, reminding Kimberlee that she, too, was confronting this topic. I am not alone, she thought gratefully.

  “Of course,” Claudia replied. “But you might want to write this down. It is worth reviewing from time to time. If you are ever concerned that you are castrating men, simply look for its effects.”

  Kimberlee reluctantly turned to a fresh sheet in her spiral notebook. Unlike Karen, she wasn't into taking notes. Okay, if we've arrived at the foundation of Frog Farming, I'd better pay close attention.

  “First, the Long-term Effects,” Claudia declared. “Over time, when a man is castrated in a relationship, in a family, in an organization — even in a society — he will respond to women in a way the opposite of his nature. One of his initial reactions will be to keep his distance instead of seeking intimacy.”