260 lines
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Plaintext
260 lines
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Plaintext
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OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO oOOOO OOOO. OOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
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OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" .OOOOOO OOOOOo OOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
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OOOO oOOOOOOO OOOOOOO. OOOO oOOOO
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OOOO .OOOO OOOO OOOOOOOOo OOOO OOOO"
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OOOO oOOOO OOOO OOOO "OOOO. OOOO OOOOo .OOOO'
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OOOO .OOOO" OOOO OOOO OOOOoOOOO "OOOO. oOOOO
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OOOO oOOOOOOO..OOOO OOOO "OOOOOOO OOOOoOOOO"
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OOOO .OOOO"""OOOOOOOO OOOO OOOOOO "OOOOOOO'
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OOOO oOOOO ""OOOO OOOO "OOOO OOOOOO
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| There Ain't No Justice |
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| #31 |
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- Through the Darkling Night -
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by Spartacus
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A Sequel to "God Save the Children"
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Martin awoke in the realm of spirits. Its whole being ached. Its mind
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felt like a raw wound as it watched the flies begin to gather around the
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tiny naked body it had last inhabited. A lone rat which had been munching
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on the tender afterbirth was joined by another, which turned its attention
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to the baby's corpse. "Too soon, too soon..." it thought, and each thought
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brought a stab of fresh pain. Fusion had just been completed and the new
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bonds had not been able to loosen with age and advancing intellect. It had
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not hurt like this since the last time it had died as a dog.
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Martin was drifting slowly, ever so slowly, in the pure bright light.
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It did not know at all where its karma was taking it. As it recovered, it
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began to wonder.
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Its weaving course soon brought it near the brightly glowing sphere of
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another spirit. That spirit, amazingly, moved toward it. They communed. The
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exchange they had was far from mere words, including pictures and emotions,
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and some things not within the realm of human perception. But it went more
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or less like this:
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Martin: Greetings. I can see that you are far advanced upon the Path.
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Other : Yes, I have learned enough to have some power of free motion within
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the bonds of my karma.
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Martin: I presume you have come to give me aid or instruction.
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Other : That is correct. What do you call yourself now?
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Martin: Martin.
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Other : I know myself as Chee. I have watched you. If I may ask, in a
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recent physical life have you banned abortion in the United States?
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Martin: Yes, I have.
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Chee : I see the cause of your pain, Martin. There is something you must
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learn about karma. Karma brings souls the results of their own
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deeds, be they good, or bad. If one presumes to force change upon
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thousands or millions of physical lives, one must pay the price.
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The price is to experience a sampling of any suffering you may
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have caused. It is a way of instruction. One usually experiences
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a sampling of the goodness as well. But this is not always so.
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For one who does this in the name of a god, it is usually the
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suffering only that is received. One must know that one is God,
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that all are God, and God is in all of us, and that we are the
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authors of our own destiny by the laws of karma. And one must
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learn that the most good comes by the gentlest way. In your future
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lives, you must learn to convince, rather than coerce.
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Martin: But how much longer must I pay this price?
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Chee: One or two more lifetimes, I think. But my movement is still limited.
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I must leave you now. Farewell, Martin.
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Martin: Farewell, Chee.
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And Chee wafted quickly away, borne on the winds of destiny.
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Martin's journey was nearly complete. The trailing tendrils of its
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being, not quite healed, caught painfully on another single cell. It
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noticed, before being drawn in, that it was in a dingy inner city housing
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project. It noticed its mother was about twenty-five, maybe thirty, with a
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tired look on her face that seemed permanent, almost etched into the skin
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and bones and muscles. Then it was in.
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Helen Davis released a frustrated curse as she saw the tip of the
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indicator rod turn pink. She was almost ready to cry. She had thought she
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was beyond that. John was almost the only comfort in her miserable
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existence. Now he had gotten her pregnant.
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She had had a terrible premonition that this would happen, as she felt
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the condom break inside her. It just fit the pattern of her life. Lady Luck
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had never been a friend to her, and in fact seemed to take sadistic
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pleasure in inflicting misfortune upon her at every turn.
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There was no way Helen could support another child. The first one had
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forced her from school, put her on welfare. Though she loved him dearly,
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his very existence had destroyed her life. And no increase would be made in
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her monthly checks upon the birth of a second one. There was only one
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course open to her. If only she could do it despite the law, if only she
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could find a way...
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Martin brooded within itself, pulling away from the embryo as much as
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possible. It thought of how it had gone wrong in that previous life, how it
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wished it had all been different. The body grew, its thinking became less
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clear as it was drawn into the brain.
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It was not surprised when, in the third month, the safety of the womb
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was invaded. A long thick metal wire came in, scraped the walls of the
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uterus, questing. At last it found the embryo. Martin was enough part of it
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to feel the pain as the coat hangar severed the arm of the unborn child.
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The next stroke was fatal. The womb clouded with blood.
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Martin did not lose consciousness this time. It did not hurt as much
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as the last time. But still it tried not to remember its last moments in
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this latest life. It wished fervently it could at least have died
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painlessly.
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Helen was soon admitted to the hospital. She had a punctured uterine
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wall and was suffering terribly from an infection. Dr. Hedrick, upon
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examination, found that it might well be too late for her. She must have
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delayed seeking treatment for a long time. He could hardly blame her. He
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knew that even if she did live, the law would not go easy on her.
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Presently Martin's delicate feelers caught on yet another incipient
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human life. This one was located inside a black woman, about thirty years
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old, in a middle class home. It wondered if this one, too, was doomed to
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die.
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In the third month, still no attempt was made to dislodge the embryo.
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Two more months passed. Nothing. Time went on, the fusion progressed.
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Thought became infrequent, then ceased entirely. Still it lived. This time,
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it was male. Martin's last conscious thought before birth was, "I hope I
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don't get tossed in a dumpster again this time."
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***
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On July 27, in St. John's Hospital, Malcolm John Brown was born. In
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his early years, he was taken good care of by an attentive mother, who took
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an extended leave of absence from work for him, then changed to a part-time
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job. His father also helped, when he was home. At least one of them needed
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a full- time job, or they would not be able to afford to pay the bills.
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Malcolm had a fairly happy early life as an only child, until he was
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three. Then his mother became pregnant again.
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"Mrs. Brown," explained the doctor, "I don't really know how to say
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this. But I've looked at the results of the genetic tests, and this child
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will almost certainly develop a form of muscular dystrophy. He will live
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four, maybe five years, getting weaker and weaker, until some vital muscle
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stops working. There is no known cure. If this happened five years ago, I
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would have recommended considering abortion. But now..."
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The child, Jacob Jamal Brown, was born nine months later. As he grew,
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he soon began to get weaker instead of stronger. Medical expenses for his
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treatment were appalling. Mrs. Brown could not return to a full-time job,
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as at least one parent constantly needed to be around to take care of
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Jacob.
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Malcolm wondered why his little brother was always sick. He never got
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any new toys anymore, or much attention. He felt sorry for Jacob, and loved
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the boy, but part of him also hated his brother for being born.
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The elder Browns were under constant emotional strain, both because of
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Jacob's illness and Malcolm's constant bad moods and pleas for attention.
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Malcolm became a troublemaker at school, and they had to deal with that,
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too. Jacob was constantly getting worse.
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In time, Jacob died. The funeral was small and simple, involving only
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Mr. and Mrs. Brown, Malcolm, and a few close friends and relatives. Not
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many people had ever known Jacob.
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After the death of their youngest son, the Browns found themselves
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nearly bankrupt. They had to sell their house, and lived with relatives.
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Malcolm never did get many new toys, or luxuries, and the entire family
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bore the emotional scars of living with, and for the parents, raising, a
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terminally ill child.
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As the boy Malcolm grew to manhood, he began to be interested in
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politics. It was something he had a gift for discussing. He formed a set of
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political views that would remain with him for life. One of these was drawn
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from the bitterest experience of his short, but all to eventful life. He
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favored the legalization once more of abortion. He really had loved his
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brother, and hated to see him die slowly and in agony.
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He developed his skill for rhetoric further, becoming the most
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valuable member of his high school's debate team. He was elected Senior
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Class President. At hearing the news of this, he said to himself, "Who
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knows? Maybe I will get involved with real politics one day. And then just
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think what could happen."
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As he went through that last year of high school, one thing really
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bothered him. There was student, an immigrant from China, Chee-Ling Hsee,
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who usually had a faraway look on her face, as if she were seeing other
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worlds. She looked vaguely familiar to him, but he could not place her face
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anywhere. And she always watched his debates. And smiled both mysteriously
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and knowingly.
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***
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Chief Justice Malcolm John Brown was making his resignation speech. He
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thought back over his career as he recited his carefully rehearsed words
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with much feeling, and little intellectual concentration. His early legal
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career, his decision to follow his dream in politics, becoming a judge,
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entering the State, then Federal Supreme Court. His debating and speaking
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skills had served him well, first in gaining public support, then in
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swaying the opinion of his fellow Justices. Surely the most important case
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during his time as Chief Justice had been the State of Arkansas vs.
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Samuels. Elise Samuels had had an illegal abortion when she found out her
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child would be afflicted by the same incurable disease as his own brother.
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His emotionally charged appeal, including an account of his own
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experiences, had made possible a unanimous decision to once more declare
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the laws that forbade abortion unconstitutional. Even that old Republican
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codger Smythe had agreed. It was the highlight of both his career and his
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life.
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He was nearly finished with his speech. There she was, in the crowd.
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As always. Chee-Ling had attended every public speech he had given in his
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career. Yet she never spoke to him. Just sat in the audience, looking
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vaguely familiar and smiling in that puzzling way. She always showed up
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just on time, and when his speech was over, applauded, then quickly left.
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He had occasionally considered filing a complaint for harrassment, because
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he felt as if she were somehow stalking him. But she had never done
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anything but listen to him speak.
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As he left, beginning his first day in retirement, his first day out
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of politics in forty years, he saw her. This time she hadn't left. He
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turned from his course toward his chauffeured limo and approached her,
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almost as if he had been called. He noticed that, although he knew that she
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was about his age, she looked to be only in her mid-thirties.
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He spoke first. "You have been following me for fifty years,
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Chee-Ling. Watching me. Why? Who exactly are you?"
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"Please, call me Chee. I am a friend. That is all I can tell you at
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this time. I have been watching you to keep track of your progress.
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Of what kind of person you have become. I must say you have done
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well."
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"I hardly know any more now than I did before."
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"But it is a start. If you would be so kind as to meet me for lunch
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next Friday, there are things we must speak of. Important things."
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"All right. Friday it is."
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"Call me at 555-1342. I will talk to you then. Farewell, Malcolm."
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"Farewell, Chee."
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