mr a. t. blake wasnt given to the kind of overly complex, overly rational thinking of the modern age. He had simple, black and white rules that governend his life and his actions. He equated money with happiness, and lived his life accordingly.. and I must admit.. contrary to the whispered propoganda that prolifacy was unhealthy.. was an exceptionally happy man..

 

This particular morning.. given the vagaries of life.. and fortune.. was an especially good one. Out on the patio, the sunlight was particularly radiant, nursing the fruit trees and the fresh cut lawn with a golden warmth. The sky was a pale hazy blue. In the distance.. cars.. perhaps luxury cars.. hummed their way down the freeways.. to.. possibly.. lucractive business deals .. or luxurious luncheons.. sur la herbe..

 

I could say honestly.. that it was one of those days that rested like a crown.. on the forehead of a man with clear convictions..

 

The croissants were.. execeptional.. delicate and lightly toasted.. the butter rich and fresh.. to his left.. his daughter Rosie.. laughed as a butterfly spun across her plate .. tossed her long golden hair .. stared down her little nose.. flashed her white teeth..

 

How could Mr Blake explain then, the sudden gut wrenching anxiety he felt as he watched his daughter in her childlike spontenaity.. a stabbing, deeply unfamiliar emotion of insecurity.. or why he felt that he was being carefully studied.. by something hungry.. insatiably hungry..

 

ii

 

one the benfits of wealth.. is of course.. psychotherapy.. it's a relatively expensive belief system.. that allows the enquiring to understand the various hairballs thrown up by the subconcious.. whithout attaching any moral quality or injunction to the experience..

 

mr a. t. blake.. up until this time using his therapy to salve his already withered conscience on unscrupulous business practices.. like theft from pension funds.. found himself seated on a couch.. avoiding the eyes of doctor g. v. burton.. reading the spines of the numerous books.. watching woman on the street below..

 

the doctor clears his throat... more rich, pregnant silence follows..

 

mr. blake.. this anxiety is clearly related to stress, to overwork..  paranoia.. yes.. a very strong term.. is simply a byproduct.. in this case.. easily treated.. by rest.. take a vacation..

 

the doctor writes out a prescription.. mr.. blake.. well.. lets call him alfred.. stares at the fine black hair on the herr doctors knuckles.. wonderswhy an educated man has bones like someone who has laboured in construction his entire life.. dismisses the thought.. visualises his calendar in his mind.. crossing out entire days of appointments.. shifting deals from one month to the next.. like pieces on a checkerboard.. 

 

iii

 

alfred is exceptionally bad with faces. only one seems clear in his mind. his daughter. A habit of never engaging directly with the eyes of another, makes for a more effective, mechanical way of dealing with life.

 

if he were honest with himself.. he'd admit that the old adage of the eyes being windows to the soul.. bothered him.. hadn't a german also said.. the voice was one half of love?

so he preferred to work through a complex system of intercom and cellular technology.

 

His father once said.. that if you lacked the brutality necessary to build wealth.. hire someone brutal to do it for you..

One can't become personally involved in the life of other people. It makes for weakness.. cultivate an autocratic contempt for the middle class.. loathing for the poor..

 

iv