Single Moms

Single Moms

  Copyright 2015 Bill Etem

  ebook cover by Kyra Dune

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1. Arguments in the Wilderness

  Chapter 2. The Enemy Patrol

  Chapter 3. The South Face of Mt. Desolation

  Chapter 4. Scenes in a Krull Tavern

  Chapter 5. Rendezvous in the Dark

  Chapter 6. The Enchanted Forest

  Chapter 7. Life in Menzies

  Chapter 8. Crack-Heads

  Chapter 9. Escape from Menzies

  Chapter 10. Single Moms Living the Sweet-Life in the Welfare State

  Single Moms

  Chapter 1. Arguments in the Wilderness

  Navorasicaa and her 5-year-old friend, Jocelyn, were sitting on their ruck-sacks high above the timber-line on a huge mountain. They were on the gentle northern slope, close to a prominent buttress of granite. Though they weren’t hidden completely from the sight of anyone who might be below them, they were well-camouflaged and were more or less invisible as long as they didn’t move too much. Both of them had their backs turned toward the cold north wind which was bursting down on them like an arctic gale. They were on guard duty. It would be difficult to find any other reason for two people to sit in one place on a mountain, and remain motionless as well, for hour after hour. It was their responsibility to watch for anything threatening, such as an Hibernian patrol. If one should materialize it would most likely be a thousand vertical feet below them, where the pine forest abruptly ended. Their thick woolen cloaks, along with a canvas tarp which worked better than wool at keeping the wind at bay, were not all that they had to keep warm. There were blankets and there was a bottle of bourbon if the blankets weren’t enough. At least the tarp and her cloak were enough to kept Navorasicaa warm, warm enough to allow her to think of other things besides the icy gale roaring through these Alps. And there was so much which had happened in recent days for them to think about! Al Mancini had returned to them, though he was no longer their slave, and indeed he had won his freedom via an official decree from Queen Brittany. The reunion with Al owed everything to his break-up with Jennifer. She turned out to be a really pushy and uptight chick, a classic control-freak sort of ex-girlfriend. Al decided he had to get away from her before she dominated him completely with her high-maintenance ways. Of course, as with most break-ups, each party probably had a comment or two to say about the other. No doubt Jennifer had some negative opinions about Al. Anyway, those two were no longer crazy about each other. Al had always been fascinated by the prospect of some single moms and their kids conquering Cromwell Town. And so, naturally, when he decided to make his escape from Jennifer he also decided to venture north, to find his former owners, from whom he had also once escaped. It took him two days of searching, and this was after he reached the high country, merely to locate the fixed ropes which led up and over the often vertical 7,000 foot South Face of Mt. Desolation, the great wall only a few miles from where Navorrasicaa and Jocelyn now sat. Al was presently with the rest of their company of warrior women and little kids, a little higher up on the gentle slope of the North Face. They were completely hidden from sight, or at least they were invisible to any patrols which might emerge suddenly at the point where the evergreen forest ended and the treeless slopes began.

  The sky was cloudless and magnificently blue. You might expect storm clouds to appear at any moment with a wind as strong as the one hitting Jocelyn and Navorasicaa. Amid the wind-driven ribbons of snow rushing past them, the two of them, sitting motionless and silent, were nearly indistinguishable from the rock buttress behind them. The reddish gray color of the canvas tarp which sheltered them from the wind blended in rather well and with the rocks all round them. It wasn’t just those on guard duty who had been languishing from tedium for day after day, waiting interminably in the cold for the signal fire which never came, waiting for any sort of sign from Luke and Seraphinaria. Those two only had to light a fire from atop the wall surrounding Cromwell Town, and the warrior women would be in position ready to scale the wall the following night, assuming they had the aid of a rope let down to them by their comrade atop the wall. The dreariness of life dragged on for days, at least until the day that Al Mancini showed up in their Alpine camp, amid their cluster of tents. And it was only two days after Al arrived that Luke and Seraphinaria returned to the mountain fastness, bringing with them two Hibernian refugees, young Debra and middle-aged Katie. Everyone was curious indeed about these latter two, who no doubt were now seen as traitors by their Hibernian countrymen, though they were heroes certainly to Luke and Seraphinaria. It was Katie and Debra after all who saved Luke and Seraphinaria from being tossed into a cage holding 4 big tigers. Katie O’Callaghan, it turned out, was also useful in another very significant way. Not only did she save Seraphinaria and Luke from the ferocity of the man-eaters but she offered them military intelligence which seemed almost too good to believe. Katie informed them that in the great Hibernian city of Menzies, which, eccentrically enough, was pronounced `Mingis’, 200 miles to the north of their present camp, there were 1,000 Avallonian prisoners of war loaded with chains and confined to the darkness and squalor of a huge dungeon. This frightful cage, medieval in its design and its monstrous proportions, might soon be breached by some daring modern adventuresses. If those 1,000 prisoners could be rescued, then, the warrior women might, with their numbers swollen with rescued prisoners of war, make another attempt at conquering Cromwell Town. Even if that attempt failed, their mission would still be a huge success provided they were able to get the prisoners back to their families in Avallonia.

  It was only a few days ago that Navorrasicaa was in the depths of despair; she was convinced that their entire venture into Hibernia had degenerated into an ugly farce. The signal fire never came from atop the walls. They could hardly conclude anything else but that they would either be rounded up by a Hibernian patrol or, at best, they would return home short two people, and return to a nation where they would be seen as bloody fools and abject failures, assuming they were fortunate enough to get back to Avallonia. Getting back to Avallonia and being seen as an abject failure and bloody fool was the best case scenario! The worst case scenario involved meeting some big ferocious cats face to face. But now the prospect of freeing those 1,000 P.O.W.s had put a spirit of hope and enthusiasm into the company of single moms and their kids.

  Navorrasicaa had plenty of time on guard duty to embellish her reveries, to ornament her thoughts with the most baroque and excessive details. She could well imagine in her mind’s eye Her Majesty Rabbi Queen Brittany Cohen-Schwartz, MBA, Ph. D. etc., etc., Queen of Avallonia etc., etc., Defender of the Faith etc., etc., as the monarch settled back into the luxurious folds of her favorite sofa, her legs splayed out before her and resting up on a coffee table, one hand holding a silver goblet filled with ale, the other hand holding a slab of roast beef or an enormous turkey leg. `So,’ began Her Majesty, addressing the crowd of females warriors, or at least addressing them in the imagination of Navorrasicaa, `you failed in your attempt to conquer the Hibernian Barbarians…..’ The Queen would pause here for dramatic effect; she would weigh the news she had just announced, and then she would proceed with her oration: `I told you, I say I told you, many weeks ago, that your defeat and humiliation were inevitable. What else could a sane person conclude? But did you listen to me? Hell no. You were lucky to escape with your lives. Listen to me now. I don’t want you setting out to consult this pagan Oracle at Glensheen. I know you want to find husbands. I know that men are scarce in my dominions, everyone knows most of the good ones were killed off over the years in these interminable Hibernian wars, wars which you tried to breathe new life into, and I know this Oracle at Glenshee
n has found a few husbands for some lonely girls, but I don’t want you resorting to pagan practices, consulting pagan oracles etc. As your sovereign, as both your temporal and your spiritual leader, I want you to comport yourselves like good Christian women. It’s true my authority is not absolute and I can’t forcibly prevent you from returning to paganism, but listen to reason for once in your miserable lives! I’ll find husbands for you.’

  `How? How are you going to do that? We want to listen to you, we want to do as you ask,’ began Seraphinaria, that is, began Seraphinaria in Navorrasicaa’s imagination. `We don’t doubt that you can scrounge up some sort of male refuse. But what assurances can you give us that the men you find will not be male garbage found by scraping the bottom of the proverbial barrel?’

  `Let me try to get this straight in my mind. Let’s assume I’m a little dense upstairs,’ said Her Majesty Rabbi Queen Brittany, the Beautiful, the Benevolent etc., etc. `Let’s assume I have to take things slowly. Let’s see if I understand you correctly. One, you return to my dominions, your return to fair Avallonia, with your tails between your legs. Two, you return to your homeland in a manner which everyone agrees makes you miserable failures. Three, and now you have the insolence to ask assurances from your Sovereign? You have the arrogance, you have the insufferable arrogance to ask that I give assurances when I promise to find husbands for you? I remind you, yet again. You failed to conquer Cromwell Town. You failed! That conquest was your main or only objective. The conquest of that city was the engine which would drive no end of lucrative book deals, and lecture tours, by which you single moms would enrich yourselves. You failed to re-conquer a city defended by some girls and some pitiful old geezers. And yet you seem confident that I won’t strip you of your officers’ commissions? You seem to think I would never throw abject failures like out of my army? Am I missing something? Why, please tell me why, I shouldn’t throw the lot of you out of my army right now?......I suppose you think I would never jeopardize your kids. If I threw you out of my army, and if you couldn’t find work to support your kids, then I guess your kids will have to go to the orphanages.’

  Dr. Rabbi Queen Brittany Cohen-Schwartz rose from the sofa in Navorrasicaa’s mind’s eye. She stretched out her arms and curved her back in her beguiling way to reveal the new Brittany, the one which emerged after months of dieting and exercise. In her imagination at least, Navorrasicaa noticed how all of Queen Brittany’s courtiers marveled at her Majesty’s magnificently feminine hour-glass figure. The warrior women and their kids weren’t the only ones who had been starving during the recent months. Queen Brittany must have lost over 100 pounds! Gone were all those layers of flab which formerly covered her massive thighs, which once made her arms as thick as tree-trunks, which had swollen her belly to elephantine proportions.

  Then Navorrasicaa tried to imagine another conversation between two people she barely knew, and who had never met each other - Debra and Queen Brittany. The Queen would have to question the sanity of a 14-year-old girl who left her home and country to chase after a 9-year-old boy! The war had drastically depleted the male populations of two nations, but, all the same, talk about desperate measures for desperate times!

  Navorrasicaa’s reveries had to end sometime, and her thoughts now returned to her current situation. Two people, a grown woman and a little girl, huddled close together under a canvas tarp, each buried under sweaters and thick woolen cloaks.

  `I’ve been thinking about what a conversation between Debra and Queen Brittany might sound like,’ said Navorrasicaa as she inclined her head toward Jocelyn. `Debra and Mirabrasantes will relieve us of guard duty before too long, and I suppose this got me thinking of Debra.’

  `I’m hungry and cold,’ began Jocelyn, `and all you can think about is some make-believe conversation between two people who are strangers to each other? I’m freezing here and you’re off in your dreamland. I don’t get you.’

  `My, you’re in a bad mood! I have to think about something on guard duty or else I’d go crazy. Cold and hungry you say? What’s wrong with the food we give you? If you need another blanket why don’t you ask for one?’

  `I wish I was back at the orphanage,’ said little Jocelyn. `I wish I wasn’t freezing on this mountain’.

  `But you are on this mountain, and it is cold. So wishing you weren’t on this mountain and wishing it wasn’t cold is a total waste of time. When you are on guard duty, and nothing’s happening, you’re supposed to prepare for action, so when the action comes you will be able to remain calm, and you will be able to think coherently, so that you will be able to defeat the enemy when you engage the enemy, so that you won’t be flustered, so that you won’t just stand transfixed with confusion in one place, with your lower jaw hanging low while the drama which demands instant action unfolds all round you.’

  `And how is your day-dreaming about an imaginary conversation between Queen Brittany and Debra not a complete waste of time? How is that going to prepare you for any drama which requires instant action?’ asked Jocelyn.

  `I’m examining contingencies and possible eventualities. You think day-dreams are a waste of time? You’re a queer kid,’ said Navorrasicaa.

  `I am not a queer kid,’ said the sensitive little Jocelyn, as tears welled up in her eyes.

  `Well you have to admit you’re an odd duck,’ said Navorrasicaa.

  `I…am…not…I…am…not odd duck!’ sobbed Jocelyn.

  `You wish you were back in some orphanage? How is that not queer? How is that not odd-duck-like? What was the name of that place we rescued you from anyway? Sisters of Misery, something or other, wasn’t it?’

  `Sisters of Mercy Orphanage. And I wish, I tell you, I wish! I wish! I wish! I wish I was back with Sister Claire and Sister Margarita. Sister Margarita taught me how to dress myself, how to wash myself, how to wish upon a star and how to draw pictures and how to say the ABCs. Sister Claire would sing lullabies to me when I was little. I thought she was my mother, but my real mom, she died.’

  `How are you ever going to get anywhere in life if you go back to that orphanage? Answer me that? It’s a dead end I tell you. It’s a hole that you don’t want to fall into. It’s a booby-trap that will blow-up in your face. It’s a….’

  `I liked the school at Sisters of Mercy Orphanage. The teachers and kids were wonderful. Everyone was so kind and cheerful.’

  `See, that’s what I mean when I say you’re an odd duck. What sort of kid likes school? A weird kid, I say. Don’t get me wrong. Reading and writing and doing your sums are very important. And it’s fun to meet new kids and make new friends. But who needs all that regimentation BS that the schools shove down your throat? They tell you when to get up, when to sit down, when to go to recess, when to go to lunch, when to shut up, when to stop talking to your friends, when to speak up and prove you’re not an idiot, when to talk to prove that you’re not an ignorant fool, when to speak softly, when to speak loudly, when to go home etc. Who needs all that crap? I ask you, who needs it? I mean, I’m glad I can read and write. I like to read mysteries and detective novels, and I admit I like a trashy romance novel once in a while. In philosophy I am a disciple of 3rd century sage, Johan Salrhinus, not that he is the alpha and the omega of plain speaking, but he was a sharp guy. He taught us in his 1st Postulate: “Sayeth not I wisheth. Sayeth not I wisheth I was not on this Mountain. Sayeth not I wisheth it was not cold. Accepth thy circumstances and preparest for thy future.”’

  `He didn’t say it that way!’ exclaimed Jocelyn.

  `OK. But getting back to my point, you’re crazy, you’re whacked-out, you’re out of your frickin’ mind, you’re a psycho - do ya hear me? you’re a psycho child! - you got major enormous issues in your head…now don’t start crying again, you know I’m just talkin’ a little trash. Don’t be so hypersensitive! Jocelyn, sweet-heart! I’m just joking with you. Lighten up would you? As I was saying, you really aren’t dealing with a
full deck if you think you have to put up with all that regimentation BS that the schools shove down your throat in order to become educated. I know you agree with me, because you’re smart, you’re no fool – I could see that the first time I saw you. I says to myself the first time I sees you: `that kid is both smart and beautiful, yes ma’am, that’s what I saids to myself, and I was right too. So stop crying and don’t be so hypersensitive. Only a fool would disagree with me on this point I’m making about the schools, right?’

  `Sister Margarita said if I was unhappy living with you warrior women I could talk to a lawyer and…’

  `Oh, Sister Margarita said you could talk to a lawyer did she?’

  `Yes, she said if I was unhappy I could talk to a lawyer. She said the lawyer would help me to return to Sisters of Mercy Orphanage if I was unhappy living with my new mom.’

  `Look here. I know life hasn’t been a bed of roses lately. You must have been scared to death to see all those wolves that surrounded us that day we met the witch…’

  `Vyryvyr isn’t a witch. She is just a rich woman who is able to buy enough food to feed a thousand wolves. The wolves obey her as if they were her pet dogs because she feeds them,’ said Jocelyn.

  `Well that’s a matter of opinion, isn’t it? I suppose Heliomirabellisima taught you that opinion, huh? Heliomirabellisima is a big cynic when it comes to the supernatural. Let’s deal in facts, shall we? It’s a fact that you brought up the subject of litigation. It wasn’t me. It’s a fact that Misevasundia loves you and wants to be your new mom. It’s a fact that you will break her heart if you talk to a lawyer and attempt to go back to the orphanage. It may not be a certified sure-fire indisputable fact, but I think we can trust Katie and trust what she says about these 1,000 Avallonian soldiers who are being held in the most miserable prison conditions in Menzies, which, again, is pronounced as Mingis, in that city in the middle of Hibernia. You can understand that we would be doing a good thing if we rescued those poor suffering captives being held in Menzies, right?’

  `Yes.’

  `Ok, so let’s go and rescue them. Think how happy those poor prisoners will be when they get back with their families again. And think how much money we’ll make. People will pay money to hear us on a Lecture Tour. That’s where we go round the country explaining to crowds of people in lecture halls about all of the heroic deeds that we did while rescuing the 1,000 poor suffering wretches. And people will pay money to buy the books which we will write which will explain and document and elaborate on all of our heroic actions in rescuing the poor prisoners. You’ll get your cut of the profits. I mean, you’re risking your neck out here on guard duty, aren’t you? Of course you are. You heard about the man-eating tigers. And now you’re risking your neck. You’re cold and hungry and risking your neck while keeping a look-out for possible Hibernian army patrols, so, though you are just a little kid, you’re being a hero, and actually, if you want to know the truth, the fact that you are a little kid heightens your heroic actions: if some old guy dies on guard duty, who cares? He’s already lived most of his life anyway. But if you die on guard duty, then think of all that you will be missing: you’ll never go to Prom, you’ll never have a man propose marriage to you; you’ll never have children of your own; you’ll never know those wonderful blissful sweet moments when you and your sweet-heart are holding each other close, under the moon-lit or starry sky, as you stroll together down some warm tropical beach, or as you swing on some porch swing with the intoxicating perfume of honeysuckle and oleander all round the two of you. So, you’re either a damn fool or else you are being super-heroic out here risking your young neck on guard duty, because you are risking all of that bliss and happiness, and so much more, so that you can help other people. But it would make you even more heroic if you didn’t complain about being hungry and cold, and if you didn’t bitch about your new mom. Look at poor Jasmine. Al cut her open and dug out her appendix that one day, and he didn’t know what the hell he was doing. She is a brave little kid. She endured a lot of pain and she didn’t threaten Al with legal action if he botched the operation. Did she threaten Valmyristarsis, the woman who adopted her, with litigation? Of course not. Luke was incorrigible at the orphanage. They insisted on kicking him out. No one wanted to adopt him except Mirabrasantes. And now she has to deal with both his smart-ass mouth and with the mouth on that 14-year-old Hibernian girlfriend of his, that Debra chick. That would really be a kick in the balls for Mirabrasantes, so to speak, if Luke got himself a lawyer and tried to sue his new mom. He probably wasn’t real pleased with his new mom when he and Seraphinaria were sitting in that cage next to those screaming tigers back in Cromwell Town. She was as responsible as anyone for getting him into that miserable position. But it’s news to me if he ever mentioned suing anyone. I’ll tell you what. I’ll make you a deal. When we get back to Avallonia I’ll help you find a lawyer if you are still unhappy with Misevasundia, if you still don’t like having her as your new mom. I’ll help you return to the orphanage if that’s what you really want. But in the mean time, try to be stoical and brave and heroic. Try to watch for enemy patrols without complaining. Think about all the money you will make from the Lecture Tour. Think of all the money you’re going to make from the books we’re going to write, the books which will explain, document and elaborate on the all the heroic deeds you’ve been doing. So, like I said, first, let’s go rescue those poor prisoners. And like I also said, if you are still unhappy with your new mom after we rescue those prisoners, the ones Katie told us about, then I’ll help you find a lawyer, and I’ll support you and what you want to do. I’ll get you back to the orphanage if that’s what you want. OK? Is it a deal, Jocelyn?’

  `OK.’

  `And try to remember that Misevasundia loves you. She loves you as much as she loves her other kids. I know she does. She might not be very good at showing it sometimes. Big Girls can be impatient and demanding. Old ladies can be rude and they don’t always seem like they are filled with sunshine. Just give her a chance, ok?’

  `OK,’ said little Jocelyn who was now able to smile a little bit. At least she was no longer sobbing.