Chapter 2. A Letter
Our brunch on the porch consists of a ten kilograms heavy, and sliced, watermelon adorned with eight fried eggs – three for me and five for Don. This isn’t quite normal for me to eat three eggs for lunch. Most of the time I eat one or two. But today Don seeks to pamper me somehow – still have to find out why.
“How about some apricots for desert, bunny?” Hm, apricots after watermelon. He is the unsophisticated cook I always knew him to be. But what am I talking here? He never thought of food from a different perspective than that of an avid consumer. The rawer the food, the better for him.
“Sure, Don. Think you gotta bring the ladder out. Oh, please wear some trousers and a tee. I don’t want you to hurt yourself as you climb in that tree.”
“Ah, never mind. It’s not my first time climbing naked in trees. And why should I need the ladder? Look, I’m a monkey!” So it seems. A furless, and shameless, white monkey that throws with ripe reddish apricots at me. Then he wolfs some on his own, bit yellowish, after rubbing them on his hips.
“Hey, why don’t you give me the yellow ones?”
He won’t bother looking my way when answering to my question. However he shouts louder in the hope that I can hear his voice from ten meters behind his neck. Not for the sake of a moment he may care less that the neighbors ahead will hear him much better than me. Good that, at least, he talks with his mouth full, which partially attenuates the high notes, making his mumble less strident and less audible for that matter.
“The red ones taste much better. Plus I like their pulp to be more consistent, less juicy, like in the yellow ones. That’s why I throw the red ones to you and keep the yellow to myself.”
“Sh! Don’t shout so loud! What if you’ll catch the attention of a neighbor? They see you naked in a tree. They can even take a picture of you. Be careful and shut up. Best is you come down. I don’t need apricots anymore. Thank you for the desert.”
“So what if they catch me here?” He is incorrigible. “The big deal would be if they’d see YOU up here. A superb silhouette climbing like a cougar behind the green leaves, graciously resting on a branch and fixing the watcher with your cold stare, like a feline… Wow!”
“Do I have a cold stare, Don?” I raise from the table to move my legs on the lawn.
“I don’t think so. Was just fantasizing about cougars. But you’re more inclined to the side of a frightened bunny than that of a confident cougar.”
He jumps on the grass as he speaks to me, picking up the few fallen apricots from the ground, rubbing them with his hands and gulping like a hungry bear.
After a few short rounds under the Rhododendron, I return to the backyard with the intend of cleaning the table. Casually, I look over my laptop, left open and neglected on the porch. The candor of my garden flowers reverberates out of its cute screen. Inspired by Don and his habit to setup backgrounds with me nude in the garden (or elsewhere), I always take my time (and his camera) to shoot fabulous flowers and place them as wallpapers on my laptop. This gives me cozy moments before Christmas. But now I notice that a mauve reminder icon is flashing in a low corner of the glossy screen.
“Come over here, Don. On the patio! I just got mail that may be of great interest to you.” Calling him because I saw who the sender is.
“Allow me to keep the distance until I’m done farting, will ya?” Almost at the edge of the garden, he’s at a fairly safe distance not to ruin my senses with his natural digestion. Relieved, I look for the beige cushion, I grab it from the bench and throw it under my bum, then I try responding to him in a low voice, actually talking to myself.
“Yeah. What else? Take your time.” And I click on the necessary links and buttons to open Ruddy’s mail. As expected – and as the subject line indicated – it’s an analysis from the Scripture. We love Ruddy for his sharp studies, for his amazing insights into the Word of God and for his candid courage. Least but not last, we love Ruddy for his outstanding humor.
Don won’t come. I see him laying down on the blanket for an afternoon nap on the fluffy grass, so I start reading the new mail all by myself.
* * *
“Is Polygyny Scriptural Today?”
“One often asked Biblical question is polygyny, which is a man having more than one wife — not polygamy, which is either a man or woman having more than one mate. The latter is clearly condemned throughout the Scriptures.”
“The Catholic Church first outlawed polygamy and polygyny, but blessed men kept having mistresses (on the sly), or what the Scriptures call “concubines.” Go figure. We today would probably call them girlfriends or mistresses. This went on in America — with a wink — among men who could afford two mates — along with an understanding nod from wives, until the feminist revolution in the 1960s. Like cultic Christians, feminists are strongly opposed to polygyny, but not polygamy. Feminists have carried a strong sway over the courts in America, and the new laws heavily favor women in divorce settlements. A man caught with another woman outside his marriage can usually expect to lose everything he has, if his wife so desires a divorce from him. This very thing has stopped almost all men from having mistresses openly.”
“Cultic Christianity is opposed to both polygamy and polygyny, and have classified them — on their own without Scriptural authority — adultery, as if they can decide for the Lord what is wrong and not. Most of our presidents had mistresses up through Eisenhower.”
“Due to the Cult influence, the courts today define as adultery the act of a man or woman having sex outside the marriage union. Not so in the Scriptures. Only a man having sex with a married woman is considered adultery. The penalty is clearly laid out in Lev. 20.10 & Deut. 22.22. A married man who has sex with a single woman has not committed adultery. This is cultic skulduggery — a scheme to keep men and women in chains. Of course, in the Lord’s eyes a woman who philanders around is not one of very much character or value.”
“This little mail is not necessarily making an argument for polygyny — it is rather a bit of research and study on that subject, following exactly with Scripture. You can answer the question for yourself, though; and this little letter is meant to help you with that.”
“Even if you think polygyny is still God-ordained, it’s not for everyone. In fact, not every patriarch had more than one wife; but it’s true that most of them did. God calls and chooses people for many different reasons and for many different duties in different times. Jeremiah he called celibate and sober and he remained that way. I’ve often thought though that he might have complained less had he had a little sex. But that was between the Lord and him.”
“Paul was called out of season and deserted his entire family to work for the faith. There are numerous reasons for a man to have multiple mates besides procreating. It stops the loneliness completely. Each person in the family has more of a sense of worth and need. I think it’s even more beneficial in the later years of life, when so many people are stuck in apartments and homes lonely. It’s also better in a spiritual sense, because someone always needs a taste of the Logos when there’s more than one mate in a family, and thus there are more to provide the Message. But today it depends mostly on the two original mates involved; some women will never be at ease with it. Practically today more men than not don’t need multiple mates.”
“Many people have cited and asked about Paul’s writing in I Tim. 3.2, as to whether he’s changing the law or not. The problem is that there is an ellipsis or omission that the translator must add to clarify the passage, or it can easily be misconstrued. Properly translated, this verse fits in with the Levitical laws which stated that the priest had to be a married man.”
“I Timothy 3.2:”
“3.2. Thus the overseer must be beyond criticism: husband of [at least] one wife, clear-headed, self-controlled, modest, generous to guests, able to teach.”
“In the above passage, Paul is reiterating that ministers should be married to at least one woman, or even more than one, and the passage does not condemn multiple marriage or mistresses. Some modern studies and researchers claim that having more than one wife matures men and makes them more attentive to their families and the Church.”
“Something else important in 1 Tim. 3.2 is the absence of the definite article before each “husband of one wife.” And I’ve translated it that way. If Paul would have meant for men to have only one wife and one wife only, then he would surely have written “the husband of one wife”; and would have most likely placed an article before wife. But he didn’t.”
“Even if we could justify in the Greek that 1 Tim. 3:2 recommends or mandates monogyny, Paul only specified it for bishops (the Paul’s & Timothy’s of the Church), overseers, and elders, but not for apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors, or even teachers. I’ve taught in the past that he was recommending monogyny for the heads of the Church because of the time constraints; but when you think about it, evangelists in particular, who have to travel the world, are much more busy. And in the Old Testament & New Testament the wives of the Church leaders were great aides, as most of them are today.”
“Another question that comes to memory was about how many wives David had. Some have said that he had only one. How they come to this conclusion I do not know, for here are the names of his wives.”
“King David, the Lord’s favorite of all people, had at least twelve wives:”
“1 Samuel 18:27; 2 Samuel 3:2; Abigail, widow of Nabal, 2 Samuel 3:3; Maacah, daughter of Talmai, king of Geshur, 2 Samuel 3:3; 2 Samuel 3:4; 2 Samuel 3:4; 2 Samuel 3:5; Bathsheba, 2 Samuel 12.24; 1 Chron 3.15; five more mistresses and wives in Jerusalem, which means that he had at least two of each in addition to previous wives along with at least one unnamed mistress, 2 Samuel 5:13”
“I remind you all that polygyny is NOT for everyone. Several men are married to wives still solidly in Cultic Christianity. Unless you want a divorce you can forget about it. And, I know many men who’re not in the least interested. Again there should be some special reason for it today: to procreate children, to aid your current family in some way, whether by working within the family or bringing in money or some special pleasure. And they’d have to be interested in the faith — if not someone with eyes to see, at least someone who wanted to aid in some way.”
“As far as the man goes I’d have to apply what Paul required of the Leaders of the Church in I Tim. 3.4-5:”
“4. He must rule his own house properly, having children in subjection with all respect.”
“5. Indeed, if anyone does not know how to rule his own house, how can he care for a Divine Assembly?”
“If he fit these requirements then he’s capable of handling multiple mates; if not I’ll guarantee you he’s not.”
* * *
This email from Rubby stirs up a host of innate fears that I preferred to have forgotten, but now they are raising above my soul like a foggy dark cloud of squeaking bats. What if I am not the only woman in Don’s mind and house? What if he would gently offer to bring in some new, fresher, flesh? Could I manage a ménage à trois? My head is spinning and I feel dizzy. My fears and emotions grasp my guts. I freeze in front of all these questions and anguishes.
No! I have to fight him, to lure him, to seduce him. This is what I have to do!
I can’t give up! And I won’t! At any cost.
I close the lid of my laptop and look around, bit scared. A huge swooshing stork hovers in haste to her nest, right atop a distant power mast that I often used to zoom in with the camera – capturing beautiful images of the stork and her mate feeding their little ones. The sky is blue and the breeze is mild. Not a single sign of the terrible tempest raving through my soul. Getting out of my deck chair, I walk slowly towards the orchard, holding the laptop under my left arm. Don’s farting session concluded with a comfy nap in the shadow of the apricot tree.
I find myself analyzing him. He’s so cute in his sleep. Memories of countless nights when I was holding him against my breasts, like a living teddy bear, return to my mind. I stop and shiver. How would that be to share his chest with another woman? Will that make me a lesbian? Nah! I chase this image away. I’m desperate to keep my man as my exclusive teddy bear. My own and only one. MY Toy Boy! Am I selfish for thinking like that?
One way to find out. “Don! Hey, Don! Wake up!” And I steadily shake his leg with my toes until he deigns to open an eye.
“Oh, bunny. You are so beautiful. Looking up at you from this perspective made me hard in an instant. Come and ride me, will ya?”
This can be one of the worst moments he chose for a ride, really!
“Let’s have an intellectual talk first. Consider it the foreplay. Here. Read this. A mail from our friend Ruddy. What do you think about his Scriptural arguments?”
I handle him the laptop, that I thoughtlessly opened with the push of a fingernail.
“Well, honey, as I often told you, I still have to live to see who will be the wiseguy winning a Scriptural debate against Ruddy.”
Don grabs the laptop from my hand, thoroughly arranging the lid to fit his angle, and then meticulously types the password so he may gain access to my account.
“Have you read it, bunny?” He asks me with a detached voice. I feel a premonition dwelling in a far corner of my mind.
“Yes. I did. I got shivers as I went through it.” Actually, I can feel a slight tremor in my voice. Can Don be aware of it?
“Ah? Is it that bad? The end of the world behind the corner? Hah, hah.”
“Don’t joke with these things. And no, it’s not about the end of the world. It’s about something more actual, much more serious.”
At this point, he must get the message that I am very – and I mean very – preoccupied.
“I see… Aha… Polygyny. Yes, nice letter.”
“Don’t you bother reading it?” I look at him, disarmed. My heart is beating faster and faster.
“I did, early on in the morning. Before you were chatting in the garden with that alien Wishguy. What was his name? Oh yes, Cron – like in a cron job. He he he.”
“And?” My head aches and I’m afraid not to explode.
“And what? Tell me, what’s the problem with this letter?” His calm crosses the border of sarcasm, or is it just my thinking?
“There’s no problem with the letter. The problem is with me.” I said it, finally. Right after speaking out that I have a problem with the letter, and not that there’s an external “problem” within the letter, right after that I felt relaxed. The little confession takes all my inner tumult out with her.
“With you? Why?” He looks up at me, from the ground where he keeps laying and fingering that touch pad of my laptop.
“Don’t play the fool with me, Don.” I feel the nervous pressure is about to veer back into my head.
“Ah, so that cold and void beast of fear came around you once again. When it bites at your soul, the wounds are so deep and so ugly that it takes months to heal.” Yes, it is not the first time we have discussed this matter. I think I know about all the theoretical reasons considered by Don and served to me on a comfortable plate of confidence.
“Please, Don, spare me the theory. What if you decide to take another woman for you? I’m really scared!” I think I blushed. He certainly noticed but avoids telling me.
“Don’t be. I already made my decision.”
“I love you too much to have you share my body with any other woman. So you can breathe of relief about that but…”
“But? There’s always a but!” I hate those “buts” from the bottom of my heart.
“There is, of course. But, like any man, I have to quench my fantasies a way or another…”
“Don’t start the swinger theme again, please! Please?” I might have many fears haunting my spirit, but (again a “but,” this time mine!) his fantasies are a real mess, and a very disgusting, piggish one, I can tell you that for sure!
“Don’t worry, dear. No swinging, promise. Didn’t I mention to you that I do not like sharing body fluids with any other person on earth but you? Isn’t this technicality enough to calm you down?” I also fear his professional tone because, sometimes, he may conceal an intent from me right in the middle of a so-called “technicality.”
“Seems that it isn’t.” I return in a still cold voice, sort of… “The way you have fantasies, I have emotions nibbling at my brains. These are tormenting my soul down to bottomless abysses. All your technicalities, and all your love washing me and pampering me in speechless happiness and limitless light; all that you do and say to me can’t stand a single moment of doubt.” Damn, that sounds good, must note it down before I forget it. “A woman’s soul is made of glass. It takes a needle to leave a scratch on it and just a word to break it to pieces. This letter from Ruddy opened that old forsaken suspicion box crawling beneath my subconscious. And here we are: I’m torturing you with my renewed confusions. I feel at lost… Help me, Don!” And I surrender, as I always did in front of him.
“That’s why God gave thee, women, to us, men. So we can wash you with love and pamper you with light, for better and for worse. Now, if you’d be smarter than your fear box and rerun what I just told you, then you’ll be laughing at me. Because I spoke something in my technicalities. Did you miss that or not?” What I didn’t miss is the grin on his face.
“Let me see… Can you say it again?”
“Sure, here you go: Didn’t I told you that I do not like sharing body fluids with any other person on earth but you?”
“You rascal, you brutal bastard, you lewd old man!”
“Pardon?” That grin grew now in a full blown laughter. But my rage shouts louder.
“You find it appropriate to have sex with alien women? Is this what you meant when saying that you do not like sharing body fluids with any other person on earth but me?”
“Yes!” My mischievous man shows me a cheerful face and gives me a candid answer.
“I feel my chest is going to explode. How can you say ‘yes’ on a whim?”
“It’s not at all on a whim. I thought it through and, mostly, I worked hard to acquire this capacity.” One can imagine… But who knows? Maybe he is right. Best is for me to trust him, because he never let me down. However, I prefer to play the crazy jealous woman a little bit more. It helps me with discharging my emotions and maybe it helps him with thinking at novel technicalities.
“What capacity? Fucking nymphos on Jupiter?” Oops, that may be qualified as yelling, but he won’t bother.
“Did I fuck one? I don’t remember.” Cold as steel, it’s like he’s in the process of lecturing a novice user about common logic.
“But you had them suck your cock. All of them. Twenty-four nympho-whores!”
“And you assisted at the scene and then you said it was okay with you. As long as I don’t fuck them.” Think I’m blushing again. Wish I could control that.
“You crazy man with your computer logic. Now you’re driving me mad. Can’t believe what I’m hearing. So you still wish for other women. Why? Haven’t I done everything for you? Every crazy thing you requested from me. I always obeyed you and this is my reward? Don’t you love me anymore?” And here I go, with a renewed anvil of old dusted fears falling through my pants. But hey! What pants? We’re both naked in the garden.
“Calm down, sweetie. Your desperation got you far away, to the land where no sun shines, to the realm of the dark irrationality, where your next nonsense would be to seek revenge against me. Calm down, Doris, and listen up!”
“I’m listening…” Say I sighing and hiccuping. Yes, the good part is that my man can sense and react positively at my dramas. This because we befriended before getting married and, most importantly, that we never broke that friendship into the somehow antagonistic “official” positions of the “husband” and the “wife.” A “husband” may keep secrets from his “wife.” And a “wife” will definitely have some secrets shelved away from her “husband.” But best friends just talk and listen, and fuck, for that matter.
“Here, let’s wash the tears away before we start reasoning again, shall we?”
“Yes, sure…” I whisper still sighing. Best friends always care for the happiness of each other. After he fucks my soul he offers to wipe my tears. But what’s a good fuck without a tad of tearing pain?