Scene4 Magazine — International Magazine of Arts and Media
Scene4 Magazine: La Femme La Mujer La Donna with Lia Beachy
Scene4 Magazine-inSight

november 2008

with Lia Beachy

A Work of Fiction

‘The time has come,’ the Walrus said,
‘To talk of many things:
Of shoes-and ships–and sealing-wax–
Of cabbages-and kings–
And why the sea is boiling hot–
And whether pigs have wings.’

 -Lewis Carroll
 Through the Looking-Glass

It was a moonless night when they gathered in the room with walls of dark green wallpaper and bookshelves fifteen feet high. Brown leather couches and fat fluffy red chairs were filled completely except for one. Cigar smoke sat silently in the air, pressing against the french doors and windows. Amber-colored liquids swayed inside crystal rocks glasses or “lowballs” as they were inclined to call them. A Rocky Mountain bull elk head hovered on a plaque above the fireplace mantle. The fire crackled and glowed, readily eating up cherry and alder woods. A low murmur of voices vibrated throughout the room.

One of them, dressed in a grey wool 3-button, notched lapel, double vented Brioni suit, walked into the room with a single sheet of paper in hand and spoke.

“If no one has anything else to add at this moment, I would like to read off the specifications.”

Several voices responded.  

“Read them.”  “Let’s see what we got.”  “Go on.” “You have our full attention.”

One of them sat down in the empty suede-upholstered chair, rubbing the bottom right hand corner of the paper between thumb and index finger.

As several of them coughed, sniffed and cleared their throats, a piece of alderwood popped loudly.  

Then silence.

One of them began to read aloud.

“Age no more than 45 years old. Height between 5' 5" and 5' 8". Chest no more than 36C. Waist no more than a 30. Hips no more than 42.”

Another voice bellowed from the end of one of the couches next to the 1907 Duffner & Kimberly lamp.

“I still say the hips should stop at 36.”

One of them answered.

“You’re opinion has been noted, but the majority feels the hips must not reflect something deemed “unobtainable” by the average citizen.”

One of them continued.

“An oval face with pronounced cheekbones, full lips, brown hair, brown or green eyes and of course glasses. Attractive enough, but not overtly sexy. Must be married over 10 years and have at least 2 children. Must believe in the bible as a Christian. Must support the NRA. Must support capital punishment. Must oppose same-sex marriage. Must oppose abortion. Must oppose stem-cell research. Must be able to memorize great amounts of data and deliver said data effectively in front of large groups of people. However, must have a quality that can never be mistaken for elitism or intellectualism. College-educated, but no Ivy league schools. Essentially she must be pretty but not too pretty, smart but not too smart, feminine and maternal but not too womanly.”

Another voice chimed in.

“Bring home the bacon, fry it in a pan, and never let me forget I’m a man!”

The room buzzed with laughter.

One of them continued.

“She will be a force that will keep national security our number one priority. She will show the average man and woman that we have not abandoned them and that success is possible if they continue to sacrifice and work hard. She will tell them how they will be saved. She will convey the message and be an example for all female citizens. She will be our symbol of hope that we will steer towards the perfect and right way for all nationals.”

“And only real nationals. True patriots,” said a wizened and raspy voice.

The room murmured again with clucks of approval.

One of them continued.

“If all in this room are in agreement, we will begin production tonight. All in favor say, ‘Aye’.”

A deep-registered chorus of affirmation filled the room.

“All not in favor say, ‘Nay’.”

The room was struck dumb.

One of them got up from his chair and walked towards the door.

Several of them began to stand and stretch. Others walked towards each other in the room or the large walnut side table that held half a dozen decanters and four silver trays filled with Cohibas, Romeo y Julietas, Montecristos and Quinteros.

“And what if we create her and train her and we lose hold of her,“ said another nasal-toned, tenor-pitched voice from the middle of the room.

One of them stopped at the doorway and turned to look back.

“Do not worry, my dear man. It has all been taken care of and she will do what she’s told. If not, we will break her, sweep up the pieces, dust ourselves off and start all over again.”

One of them walked out. The low murmur of voices began to rise in volume. The glassy-eyed bull elk stared down in silent submission.


©2008 Lia Beachy
©2008 Publication Scene4 Magazine

Scene4 Magazine — Lia Beachy
Lia Beachy is a writer and a Senior Writer and Columnist for Scene4.
For more of her commentary and articles, check the Archives


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