. . . and there is a Catskill eagle in some souls That can alike dive down into the blackest gorge And soar out of them again . . .
Abbattista simply laughed again. “Come in, Bobby. I’ll answer your questions about the tiger, but first I want to show you what we were doing.” Abbattista led Bobby through an indoor/outdoor recreation room with an indoor/outdoor pool. Diffused light filtered through the staggered wood roof and made the water sparkle. The pool was roughly twenty yards wide everywhere except the center, which branched out another five yards to accommodate lap swimming. Above the pool was a loft full of recreational equipment. Bobby noted several frames on the wall as he passed. Abbattista’s degree (in English Literature) from Princeton University; a series of horse racing pictures—one a giclée of a photo finish, the horse in focus stretching its neck for the tape; a picture of Abbattista decades younger with President Ronald Reagan at some kind of rally; a Latin phrase that read Mensus eram coelos, nunc terrae metior umbras. Mens coelestis erat, corporis umbra iace; and finally, a dollar bill, framed off-center in a cheap wooden frame. In the context of the other materials, Bobby thought the dollar quaint, and a little bit cheesy, but maybe Abbattista was that kind of guy. The Latin phrase was stenciled onto a small two-inch plaque. With Abbattista and Timur walking a few steps ahead of him, Bobby took the plaque from the desk and put it in his pocket. They continued outward, through a glass door separating the recreation room from the backyard, the lawn sloping toward the Pacific Ocean. Ahead, Bobby could see four other men standing near a chalked circle in the grass. Each of them held a bamboo shaft. Behind them a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree view of the ocean signaled the end of the property. The men were an odd bunch. One was nearing seventy years old. He was wearing a servant’s uniform, stripped down to a white tank top undershirt and black dress pants. He had sweated through his undershirt, making it transparent, and his hairy, soft, brown chest was showing. Two of the men were younger than Bobby, in their early twenties. One of them spun the bamboo stick casually in circles, his eyes never leaving Bobby’s. The fourth man was enormous. He had the kind of body that could only be achieved through a careful diet, constant weightlifting, a healthy dose of powders, proteins, herbs, and vitamins, and also jabbing a syringe full of steroids into your thigh once or twice a week. His hair hung down over his eyes in tight brown ringlets, and he had circles of blood splattered on the chest and sleeve of his shirt. Abbattista spoke to the old man in the tank top, “Tamba! Give me your stick, please.” Tamba handed his bamboo shaft to Abbattista and looked at him expectantly. “We have a new sixth; you may go back to work.” “Thank goodness,” Tamba said. Abbattista threw the shaft to Bobby who caught it instinctively.
“Are you familiar with the fourteenth century poem, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight?” “I’m a little behind in my reading of fourteenth century poets.” “What poetry do you read?” “Busta Rhymes?” “You’re even a little behind on your hip-hop,” Abbattista said. “Sir Gawain is not a very interesting piece. It has a little bit of fun homosexual subtext. A tiny bit of chaste heterosexual eroticism. Some decent alliteration if you can get into the old English. They made a movie recently. It was . . . okay.” Bobby remained silent. He watched Abbattista, who was beaming with a great sense of satisfaction and anticipation. “What’s remarkable about the poem,” Abbattista continued, “is that it gives us our first real indication of the effects of feudalism on Anglo-Norman society. The knights in Sir Gawain are bored. They lack the physical challenges of farming or defending the realm; they lack the instinctual struggle for survival that was characteristic of the heroes in earlier poems such as Beowulf and Gilgamesh. So, not having real problems, they begin to challenge one another to complex social and physical gaming. I can decorate my wife more beautifully than you can, or I can make a ludicrous promise and then work an entire year just to keep it, all in the name of honor. We’re doing the same thing here. We’re gaming.”
“Are you bored, sir?” Bobby asked. “Why don’t you step into the circle, Bobby?” Bobby looked at Abbattista. He glanced around at the other men, who were all looking back at him. Then he stepped into the chalk circle. “Charles, get in there with him, please.” The big mass of muscles swept curly hair out of his eyes and joined Bobby in the circle. Bobby raised his bamboo shaft and held it between himself and Charles. “Bobby, you and Charles try to stay in the circle. We’ll try and get you out.” “You better be able to cover my back,” Charles said in thick, clipped English. Bobby realized he wasn’t fighting Charles, but rather alongside him. He spun completely around and set himself square. From both his ten o’clock and two o’clock, the young men were advancing, bamboo held upright. Behind Bobby, Timur and Abbattista advanced on Charles. One of the young men came in first, swinging his stick low at Bobby’s feet. Bobby brought his own down fast enough to deflect the blow, but the other man stepped quickly in to level a shot at Bobby’s head. Bobby got the stick just high enough to send the swing glancing harmlessly above him. The first man struck again, a quick shot at Bobby’s shoulder. It connected and Bobby felt pain course through his chest and up into his throat. The second man darted in again, jabbing the end of his shaft at Bobby’s neck. Charles spun in a circle to defend Bobby, deftly parrying away a weak jab by Abbattista. In a fluid motion, Charles smacked the second young man solidly on the nose, splitting it. The man stumbled back; blood appeared beneath his palm and dripped onto his chin. “I owed you that one, Rife,” Charles grumbled. The first man advanced again on Bobby. Bobby easily parried his attack and then struck back, connecting a weak strike on the man’s kneecap. The young man with the busted nose, Rife, came forward, fire in his eyes. He hit Bobby’s bamboo shaft so hard it almost vibrated out of his hand. While Bobby was trying to reset himself, the other man struck him on the shoulder, sending him to his knees. Bobby stood up again quickly and swung a wild arc; his attackers dodged backward, out of the circle.
“When does this end?” Bobby said, his breath ragged. “When you’re out of the circle or we give up trying to get you out.” Charles turned his head to whisper to Bobby, “Abbattista’s stick is thicker and heavier, be ready for that when he comes at you.” Bobby didn’t have time to respond. Rife was advancing again. He and the other man were coming at him at the same time from different angles. He could hear the clacking of wood against wood as Timur and Abbattista struck at Charles. Bobby wanted to walk out of the circle, but he doubted he’d get his interview if he did. Rife struck Bobby in the calf. Bobby instinctively lowered his staff to defend his legs, and the other man took advantage of the opening, swinging a berserk thrust at Bobby’s head. Bobby felt the wind whoosh past his face and realized that had it connected, he’d be concussed, at best. When Rife darted in for another blow, Bobby planted his shaft in the dirt and swung himself around it. Rife’s strike glanced harmlessly off Bobby’s bamboo, and he wasn’t positioned to protect himself from Bobby’s legs. Bobby connected firmly with Rife’s kneecap, and the other man crumpled to the ground.
“Well done, Bobby,” Abbattista said. “We haven’t seen that move, even from our Olympic fencer.” Rife lay groaning on the ground. “Should we make sure he’s okay?” Bobby asked. Abbattista lowered his shaft and walked to where Rife lay. He leaned over him and wiggled his kneecap. Rife groaned loudly in protest. “I’ll get the medic.” Abbattista motioned toward the house. When Bobby turned to see where he was pointing, instead he saw Timur’s bamboo shaft, winging its way directly into his face. Bobby managed only to look upward, catching the full brunt of the impact on his chin rather than his nose. The first thing he saw was an explosion of stars, then all the color drained out of the backyard, and then the grass came up fast and cradled his body. Far off in the distance, just before he blacked out, he heard Abbattista say, “Well, I guess nobody said stop, did they?”
~~~
Point your reader in a certain direction, and they’ll do the rest. The less educated and disciplined they are, the more their imagination will compensate.”
I thought the above quote was very telling, even more so these days... If we read, choose certain games to always play, watch only one type of television; e.g., only those with some kind of violence in it, we begin to form a certain bias, a certain body of knowledge that, if allowed, will form our perception of life from then on... Imagine, if you would, that those who read their horoscope each day, or the conservative Fox news daily, or even the Old Testament routinely, that you may have kept your mind from exploring the heights and breadth of the knowledge that is available to all of us...
Thus it was for the past Olympian Winner, who had left the physically oriented world to embark upon his true desire--to write--that he was confronted with just how many people shared his personal goal, while, at the same time, newspapers were losing status as the predominant news source as television and the Internet had shown that it could reach people faster and more reliably... The only problem being that, often, the one things that had been ensured in the printed world was that it was research and documented before it went to print... Now, those who chose different reasons or goals for their programs often found that truth was not even relevant...
But for a mystery, a murder mystery in particular, there at least needed to be a body... Thus, The Horoscope Writer opens when Detective Leslie Consorte was called to a crime scene--one that began at one point and extended at least three miles--quite gruesome! But that was not why Bobby Morgan Frindley. Age 26. BA. Journalism. University of Southern California. GPA: 3.72 was reading the newspaper. He was looking for a job and was trying to write a resume for a news media internship, but got no further than his name and education. He had no experience. But wasn't that what an internship was for? He would try for it! Even so, as he entered the building, he whispered, "said, “God? I know I haven’t prayed since July. I know I don’t really deserve a favor, per se. But, uh, please help me get the job here? Amen.”
But it was his notoriety as a champion that got him recognition from the editor, no less... who had been his fan--even cheered for him! But then didn't see him as working there. Until he heard somebody scream, the horoscope writer quit! Suddenly Milo had a new writer right in front of him... So, while, Bobby might have even read his horoscope that morning before he had left home, he acknowledged that he knew nothing about astrology, or how to read them... Soon, he was writing his first horoscope, for himself: Writing as Ask Ambrosia: Bobby wrote: “Libra—You will make significant forward progress only to find yourself suddenly lost in a strange, new land.”
He was given one bit of worthwhile advice. Contact a local astrologer and see if she would help him slide into his new role. Bobby hit it off well with her, maybe too well, since he was willing to admit he was more than half-way in love with his neighbor across the street... only problem she was married and her husband was in the service... Bummer! Still the astrologer agreed to help him... But it was one of those bad nights for his neighbor and she begged Bobby to dance and keep her awake... And then notice of an email caught their attention...
Before he even could get started, Bobby received a message. It was a list of horoscopes along with a warning. If he didn't print them, one of the predictions would come true. If he ignored them, all of them would come true...
It had been during that drunken night, that they had gone too far... not only with each other, but, as Sarah, laughing, thinking it was all in fun, had sent those horoscopes forward to print!
Setting off chaos and madness as first, one horoscope came true...and another... predictions of violence or fortune--it didn't matter because everybody "believed" what was being written! Soon the terror was affecting everybody! Now police vehicles were appearing from all directions, as horoscopes proclaiming treasure started hunts across the lands... It didn't matter that violence was a part of all of it!
I have to ask, is this a sign of our times, when fake violence in fiction is no longer just fake. That it is being incited for other purposes, mostly by people who are no longer able to separate out good and evil. This is a book that clearly ensure readers know the difference... Because Bobby has God behind him...
“But there is something you haven’t done yet. You haven’t shaken my belief in the existence of God. When I threatened you over the phone two nights ago, you said I hadn’t ever met the horoscope killer; you said how could I believe that I was that special? But I had met you. I’d even had dinner with you... I’d had my own experience with performance-enhancing drugs. I’d even recognized their effect on the body of the tiger. Every step of the way, God showed me exactly what I needed to see. God brought me to this moment for the purpose of stopping you.”
I have to ask, is this a sign of our times, when fake violence in fiction is no longer just fake. That it is being incited for other purposes, mostly by people who are no longer able to separate out good and evil. This is a book that clearly ensure readers know the difference... Because Bobby has God behind him...
This extraordinary novel not only gives you a mystery to solve, a question about those who choose astrology to guide their lives, but, more importantly, lets us know that when we call upon His name, in faith that God will provide needed guidance, He will do exactly that. It's unique, it's scope is expansive, and, yet, exactly what we need to know today... God's Truth. God's Love.
GABixlerReviews
This extraordinary novel not only gives you a mystery to solve, a question about those who choose astrology to guide their lives, but, more importantly, lets us know that when we call upon His name, in faith that He will provide needed guidance, He will do exactly that. It's unique, it's scope is expansive, and, yet, exactly what we need to know today... God's Truth. God's Love.
GABixlerReviews
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