Samantha, en.freejpg.com.arimages
There are two types of comparison, positive and negative, just like in any contest there are winners and losers. Most people cast all their attention on the winners, the beauty queen standing center stage under bright lights in her tiara, her arms full of roses. But I was going to focus on the losers, the vast majority of contestants, standing in the aisles, in the shadows, full of disappointment, or one loser in particular in my own beauty pageant which I was going to conduct at the breakfast table, in just a few minutes.
I don’t know why my mind was working so clearly this morning. Perhaps remorse made her go lightly on me the night before with her poison programs. But I knew I’d been poisoned. I just wasn’t ready to go gently into that soft night without one last jab, and I knew where to strike. These were soon to be Goddesses I was dealing with and the single cause of every dispute and rivalry between those on mount Olympus could always be summed up in one emotion, jealousy.
Ken and Mr. Tanaki were outside at the helm. Mr. Higgins was in his cabin sleeping. The children were playing together on a bunk up front, looking at one of Scout’s animal guides. The rest of us were all sitting down to eat at the large central table, a perfect opportunity for my test. Better yet, the women were clad informally, wearing bathing suits with light shirts thrown over them and open at the front, or tank tops and shorts.
I seated myself next to Claire just right, a few feet away, not so close that she could play her tricks on me but still within thought reading range. I took one slow, panoramic gaze around at all the company with the sharp eye of an arch connoisseur of beauty and began my game of ‘invidious comparisons’.
I began with breasts. The contest was over before it even started. Mary had the largest and fullest breasts, a thing I’d noticed on many occasions, with Helen a close runner-up. Samantha had almost none at all. She was distinctly flat chested. I wondered why she even bothered to put her bikini top on. Claire’s were middling, nothing to write home about. Jane’s were positively odd. They were the pointiest by far but too far apart and pointed in different directions. She had no cleavage. No, the prize went to Mary, and I imagined one of those tinfoil silver seals with little points all around it like the sun, with two blue ribbons hanging down, and in my mind’s eye, I pasted it right on her left breast, first prize.
Next, I considered arms and legs, waists and hips, necks and overall proportions. Jane and Samantha won the most in those categories and Claire none, as she was on the skinny side.
Finally, I chose to consider faces. Jane had the perfect nose, Mary the most impressive brow. I had to give Claire the prize for eyes and probably for hair. The winner, considering the entire shape and symmetry of face went to someone not present. It was Naomi and I pictured her in my mind with lingering relish.
I moved on to the consideration of lips. This was a subtle and complex question. Helen’s were the fullest, even to puffiness, but there was some inexplicable charm to Jane’s for she had the widest mouth. They were long and thin with a graceful curve to them like the lines of the hull of a ship. I tried to recall what they tasted like from so many years before, then I thought of what Helen’s might be like, and Mary’s.
It was at this point that I received a very sharp jab to my ribs from Claire’s elbow, no telepathy here, or rather telepathy and brute force combined. But with that nudge, I knew I’d won a battle. I had an effective weapon against the ‘Claire supremacy’. I could see into her head. Her defences were down. She was so angry she was shorting out, parts of her mind going haywire in disarray and confusion, juices flowing, while I was perfectly lucid, sipping my morning coffee.
I was a man again, with a little of the male chauvinist pig mixed in.
I stepped out into the cockpit to take a deep breath of the fresh sea air. Claire followed me and we walked to the prow of the ship for privacy.
“What was that all about” she burst out, still trying to regain her composure.
“We have to come to an arrangement” I began, “and it has to be mutual. And I had to show you that I had some bargaining chips on the table before this talk commenced so that it will be fair. If you want to make me a slave, and perhaps you might succeed, then you’ll get a worm instead of a man, and I can tell you right now you won’t like that. If you leave me any smattering of free will and identity, you’ll see that I’ll always use it to get back, to piss you off royally. And in that, I’ll succeed and only get better with practice. So from now on no more mind games. You have my heart but not my brain. Do you agree?”
Claire was in tears. “Yes, I agree to those terms completely. I want you as you are.”
We kissed, but it was a natural kiss, mutual and controlled on both sides, not one of those seductive, mind-fogging, sleep-inducing kisses of the days before.
Now that my head was clear I made a mental note to check my consciousness at regular intervals, like a speed test on a computer, or a virus scan, testing all my faculties to various benchmarks to make sure I was unimpeded and unimpaired. This was the antidote to Claire’s Siren song. It was invisible before, but from now on, whenever I let her ‘sing’ to me, I could see it as a faint shadow gliding through the mansion of my thoughts. And the shadow took on the form of Claire, as an avatar of sorts. I could sense her visiting my head. I didn’t always send her away. I often loved her visits, asked for them, inviting her in to spend the night in my head. But when she was inside my brain she could rearrange things, move this or that folder of opinions and interests to another place, tuck one in front of another in place of importance, my priorities, while I was sleeping, move the furniture around so to speak to her liking and tastes. The other trick she had was to plant pictures of herself everywhere and not only pictures but the memories of her kisses, her scent, her taste. The only difference now was that when I awoke, I could move the furniture all back and file all the pictures away as soon as she was gone.
Of the reprogramming she’d done in my head, which could even be invisibly ongoing, was a much more subtle and complicated issue. I’ll never know how much the intense love that I always feel for her is mine or her own designing, or if it even matters because all women design and always have, enhanced or not.
I suppose that’s the way it’s always been. A woman can bewitch a man with her perfumed charms, get him to agree to this or that, change his opinions in bed, seduce him into her ways of thinking before they fall asleep. But when he wakes up and eats and heads out to the driveway to work on his car in the fresh air and some buddy drops by, his old frame of mind returns. The changes are erased or almost. He’s his old, opinionated, immature, selfish self again and happy with that. It’s the way of the world.
But in some small, undetectable way he is changed. One small chip has been taken off the rock because just for a few minutes she has him half persuaded, thinking her way, imagining himself that other man she wants him to be. And the next night when she repeats her suggestions, whispering in his ear, enticing him to be that second man, it’s a little bit easier for him to agree and see things her way. And the third and fourth time it’s smoother and smoother, the transition. This is how you slowly but surely tame the beast.
I’m not quite sure why, but for some reason, I could never get into Claire’s head in the same way she could sneak into mine, like a thief in the night. Maybe it was a talent of her sex which men don’t have. Or perhaps it was because of her unhappy past that was mostly erased, that she had no childhood sanctuary to visit.
I could read her mind of immediate thoughts, clear and present. But when I tried to penetrate deeper into her soul, there was a veil, a woman’s sacred privacy in a very dark and narrow hallway, the entrance to her ‘id,’ which my ghost hand couldn’t lift. I visited and tried several times. Sometimes I thought I could hear sad sounds on the other side as if from a child whimpering and so I even dreaded to open it.
But speaking of children, after my happy reconciliation with Claire on deck I rushed to them, grabbing my small suitcase of books and telling them this was going to be our ‘school on the waves’. They’d eaten the wafers a day before, and Scout had already communicated her enthusiasm for learning from me, what treats I had, so they eagerly joined me at the table to imbibe whole volumes of poetry and lore. I read and read, or rather speed read, flipping the pages every few seconds and their sponge-like minds took in every iota of the words and my understanding of them with equal thrill. In the middle of this séance Helen saw and joined us, holding Scout’s hand and Kit’s, gaining vast new delights and insights into English literature every minute.
After the session, Helen took my hand and said: “Roland this drug that you gave us, this is the most wonderful day of my life. I can’t find a way to thank you enough.”
“Yes you can” I said, “it’s easy. Let me school your children every morning for two or three hours along with Scout. This activity is just as enriching for me as it is for them. You can join us if you want. I have books in several other languages, and that’s the next step, in a few days.”
“There’s one more thing you might help me out with; it’s Claire. We had a little spiff this morning. She might be feeling fragile, especially in her condition. If you could console her, be my emissary and tell her I love her, we all love her; it might help.”
“I’ll do this right away Roland and anything else you ask.”
‘Well let’s not get carried away’ I thought to myself.
But then one more thing came to mind.
“There’s one more thing you might help me with now that you’re telepathic. I’ve been getting vibes that something is up with the other women on this boat, that they’ve devised a way of controlling men’s minds. If you could find out the secret of their influence over Jaime and me, I would love to know.”
Even as I said this, I knew it was a lost cause. She would most likely fall in league with them right away and take over her own husband’s mind.
But I went on anyway. “It might affect the future happiness of our children. I can’t read their minds the way you can.”
She never did get back to me on this issue. I noticed her spending a great deal more time in the stateroom alone with her husband and the happy, bovine look on his face each time he came back up on deck. I did try to probe her thoughts every day as she joined in the school sessions and we joined hands. It was her second greatest delight after her new found love with her husband. We were now learning French and Latin and Greek together.
“Come on” I’d whisper in her brain, “what’s the trick, how do you beguile a man’s mind?”
“It’s nothing new” she’d say, “and no conspiracy. We just have a way of charming men, and now with our increased intelligence, we can turn up that charm to a much greater degree. Men are always thinking of such stupid problems, plots, settings, math equations and whatnot, Leonardo da Vinci stuff. It’s so easy for us to convince them when they’re in that muddle to just take a break. And then their minds open up to ours and we sooth them. Ken loves me more than ever now. He’s happier than ever, and I have you to thank for that.”
“But do you control him?” I replied.
“No more than a loving wife should” was her answer.
It wasn’t a satisfactory answer, so I went and found Jaime, lounging in the cockpit next to Samantha. I pulled him aside into the galley and posed him this question: “Jaime, do you see pictures of Samantha in all your thoughts?”
“I think of her all day long.” He replied. “Look I’m madly in love with her. We’re on a luxurious yacht in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. The sun is shining, the wind is blowing, and we’re sailing along. We’re on vacation and without a care in the world. Why wouldn’t I be thinking of her all day long?”
“Jaime, can’t you see that she’s flat chested.”
He stepped towards me quickly, and I thought he might even strike me, which he didn’t, just getting in my face with a threatening scowl.
“I don’t know where you’re going with this, but I don’t like it. Why are you trying to demean Samantha?’
“I’m not trying to demean her, just her complete influence over you. Don’t you see it? It’s crazy. You’re my closest friend, and I ask you to just review the situation in your best, unbiased, scientific mind.”
‘Give me a day.” He said and stormed out of the room.
I didn’t want to wait a day, so I went to see Jane, sunbathing on the front deck of the ship, bikini-clad, lying between Mary and Claire holding hands, the children in a similar formation just a few feet away.
This made it awkward, but I wasn’t going to abandon so important a mission.
So I broke in: “Jane I need to talk to you privately right away. It’s important.”
She got up and followed me to the mid-ship deck where no one could hear us.
“Jane” I said’ “as my dearest old friend you have to tell me, what is going on here?”
Her tan was by now so deep that I couldn’t tell if she blushed or not but she did hesitate, which was a good sign of conscience at work.
“Roland I could never hurt you in any way, but we women have developed some extraordinary powers from the wafers you yourself gave us, and they only get stronger each time we hold hands and commune. We race through each other’s minds at lightning speeds and through yours, only in your case, men’s I mean, we can change things, and you don’t even see us. I saw you looking at me this morning and felt your love. I know you love Claire. We even help her in that, filling your mind with images of her. But do you still love me?”
“Jane, I loved you long ago. I’ll always remember it fondly. You know that. I’m glad you love Mary, for Scout’s sake. I think it’s a beautiful relationship. But quit stuffing my mind with anything. Don’t you see how much a man can resent it? I can fight back. I can flood your brain and Mary’s and Claire’s and Samantha’s with abundant female deficiencies, faults, your daily inebriation, Mary’s stolidity, Samantha’s flat chest. I can overwhelm your minds with such a tidal wave of shortcomings you’ll shrink to the size of dwarves because I’m clever, so quit messing with us, with your little, sleep-inducing love nests, your Siren calls.”
“Tell this to the others right away. Otherwise, it’s all-out war and remember what a vengeance and a reckoning a man can keep up.”
Jane ran off to the front deck and laid down and held hands with all the women, sharing the news.
A woman’s weak spot is her self-esteem, so long battered by men, unjustly, I might add given all the burdens of childbirth and baby rearing she has to bear, unlike her male counterpart.
But now that her self-esteem was elevated by the thousands of nanochips sharpening her wits and lures and weapons in every way, I thought it would be a losing battle for men, that my threats were laughable, that they’d tower over us in self-confidence and bowl us over like so many bowling pins.
