“Okay,” I said reluctantly. “I’ll help you. Though just because it worked on a frog and a kitten doesn’t mean–”
She cut me off. “Oh, it’ll work all right. A male is a male, no matter the species.”
We chose a politician and printed out photos of him. He was a pompous Texan, self-righteous and sure of his right to control women in general and what went on in bedrooms when it didn’t suit his narrow-minded views. “A hateful man all around,” snapped Vera.
The ingredient Vera had used up on the frog and kitten, we ended up driving to Philadelphia to buy. A little back-street shop called Spellbound, presided over by a young hippie, bearded and bedecked with numerous charms.
“That was expensive,” said Vera on our way out.
“Glad you’re paying,” I said dryly.
As Vera had said, focus is the most important element in a spell. You can use all the fancy ingredients in the world, but without the ability to concentrate, the spell won’t work. I honed this particular skill from growing up dodging bullies. Danger can train you to focus like a laser beam. I had myself revved up.
“Let’s start tonight,” said Vera. “That okay with you?”
We were driving back to the office, our work at the medical center just about done. Trevor Uffelman had asked me out to lunch two days before and, deciding to be totally up front, I’d told him about my surgery. His eyes flickered; I could see he was surprised and then could almost hear the wheels squeaking in his brain. I hadn’t seen him since, but didn’t know if that was due to scheduling or if he was avoiding me. Fear and hurt were enjoying a heyday in the pit of my stomach.
“All right,” I said. “Let’s do this thing.”
* * *
“Senator Rauch resigned yesterday and cannot be reached for comment,” announced a plastic-looking blonde on FOX News. “His staff reports that he’s dealing with personal issues and illness but gives no details.”
Much speculation followed on CNN and MSNBC. “It’s as if he’s simply vanished!” shouted the bearded anchorman.
A few days later, CNN was the first to report that Congressman Edward Steele of Arkansas was forced to give up his seat due to a “health crisis.” His aides and family were oddly silent. For the next two weeks, one senator or congressman after another disappeared from the scene. The talking heads were screaming.
“There are rumors of foul play,” said one. It had not gone unnoticed which side of the political fence was being targeted.
“You mean murder?” asked his co-anchor with undisguised jubilation.
Vera giggled from her perch on her sofa. Three weeks had passed since our first attempt, which apparently had not been successful, though that had not deterred us. It became a challenge we couldn’t resist and so we’d persevered until the news reports rolled in. By this time, we had performed the spell on nine men: two federal and two state senators, two federal and two state congressmen, and one governor who’d been threatening to run for President.
“What’s going on, Mom?” asked Vera’s daughter from the kitchen.
I shot Vera a warning look, but she called back, “Good news, Chloe! Seems a lot of woman-haters and homophobes are vanishing from the political scene!”
“There is some speculation,” continued the announcer, “that a hit man is picking them off one by one.”
“What if someone gets blamed for murdering them?” I asked. My conscience could barely withstand what we’d done, let alone someone else getting blamed for it.
“Well, wouldn’t they have to prove the men are dead? Produce bodies? Of course,” she said, looking off into the distance, “their families might indeed want them dead now. It’s as if their father or husband has disappeared from the earth, yet they can’t inherit anything. Some relatives may indeed want to prevent any newly formed females from making embarrassing public appearances.”
“The changed men would still have the same DNA as before, right?” I said.
“I suppose so,” said Vera. “You do, don’t you?”
“Well, this might be different!”
Chloe never knew what her mother and I did, and after some sparring back and forth, we destroyed Melanthe’s notebook. None of the changed men were heard from again, except for a most unattractive Ms. Stanton who was picked up ranting in front of the capital building in Washington, claiming she was Congressman Stanton. She’d been drinking and possibly using painkillers and had wet her pants on the front steps.
“Guess she hasn’t gotten used to having that womanly urge to pee all the time,” laughed Vera.
“I’m not used to it either,” I said.
I suffered many a sleepless night over what we had done until finally I felt compelled to drive to Ithaca to have a consultation with a Buddhist monk, though I couldn’t really tell him what the exact problem was and had to make do with a vague reference to witchcraft.
The monk said, “Among the different magical powers, some are good while others are evil. There is also a great variation of levels. What we all should aim for is eradicating all defilement through the cultivation of wisdom.”
I told him I had done evil and didn’t know what to do. He gave me a list of what Buddhism considers evil. Our deeds didn’t fit any of the descriptions. Next I decided to try a Catholic priest, just to go in for a confession, though I’m not Catholic. But once I got inside the church, what could I say I had done? Used witchcraft to make women out of men? He might have believed I’d messed with witchcraft, but never the results, so what good would my confession do? I ended up walking out. This was something I’d have to figure out on my own.
After two months, Trevor Uffelman called, leaving a message on my cell while I was showing samples of wall treatments to our new client, Mrs. Leonard Sandbury, who was transforming an old church into a community theater. The message was (with several hesitations): “I-I’ve been thinking about you, about…what you told me. I don’t know how I am with it, but I feel I’d like to see you again. For some reason I don’t understand… (He didn’t finish that thought)…whether it goes anywhere or we just stay friends….are you open to having dinner?”
When I squealed and screamed and danced around, I knew I was truly a woman. You never see a man act like that, do you?
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