The Feet of God

25 - IT’S ALL KARMA

By the time the old woman and me stepped out from behind the bookcase, we returned to a room full of a dozen or so remaining Reapers wait’n for their evening meditation.  I stocked the bar with booze (except for a small bottle I stuck in my boot) while Ma navigated herself to her overstuffed chair.

With a sidelong glance toward sweat-soaked Rufus I took down a fresh glass and filled it with ice and a healthy pour, which I personally delivered to Ma.  Then I found a comfortable spot for myself at the back of the room.

Ma spoke to her audience.  “O Reapers!  You are my best and my brightest, my senior lambs, the most accomplished disciples of the teachings of our Master, Krishna Merman.  From humble beginnings as spare change artists sitting on sidewalks full of puke, dog shit and passed out homeless bums, you have pulled yourselves up by your Doc Martens and found yourselves elevated to portfolio managers in one of the most innovative spiritual communities in America.”

“What’s that?” a Reaper asked.

“Lamb, it is you who have proved by your example the truths of the Loud Enlightened One, reaping the bounty of the land along the way.  And now it is you who I turn to for counsel and advice on how to handle this adversary who strikes at our heart like a dagger from across the Red Sea.”  Ma paused to clarify.  “You know, of course, I’m talking about Moses Remington, right?”  There followed a communal murmur of understanding and agreement.  “Well, what shall our collective response be to this threat to The Path?  We must ask ourselves, What Would Merman Do?”

A really hefty earth goddess stood up.  “Most Reverend Ma,” she began, “the Taxpayers Ignoring Tax Slavery is a grassroots organization of angry and marginalized misfits, so it has a certain feeling for the current mood in the country.  I prophesize it will grow like a festering carbuncle as fear and ignorance spread.  I propose we enter into negotiations with Moses and his kind and offer to sell them the farm.  And then maybe move operations to somewhere nice, like, say, France?”

Ma leaned forward in her chair.  “Are you serious?  Take a seat.  I’m not selling this piece of land where I stand, or sit, or lie as the case may be.  You all better understand this right away, every dirt clod and broken shingle in this damned compound belongs to me, the Grande Bodhisattva, the Avatar of Avatars, the Shemama of Shamans.  I don’t necessarily want something that isn’t mine, but I want everything that is.  Next.”

A strapping youth stood up.  “Hey, Ma!” he waved.

“Hello, Seth,” she acknowledged the boy.  “Pray tell, WWMD?”

The freckle-faced Reaper with hazel eyes smiled as he shyly tried to smooth away thick curls of hair from his forehead.  “Ya know, we could always do a night call.  Four or five of us with a pound of sugar could do some serious damage to their war machinery.”

Ma’s tongue circumnavigated the rim of her cocktail.  “Aggravate them?  Yeah, that’s sending a message all right, but not quite the forceful response I was hoping for.”

Ma set her glass down on a low table and massaged her bald head.  Then a somewhat distraught Reaper cried out, “Why are we here, Ma?”

“Because we’re not anywhere else, silly.”

Another Reaper questioned in a loud voice, “So what do we do?  I mean, WDWD?”

“While it is true a Smith & Wesson will beat five Aces, it is also written one should never spit in a man’s face unless his mustache is on fire,” came the serene and wise reply.

The Reapers all nodded and seemed notably impressed.  Ma perceptively smiled at her intimate gathering and nodded in return.  She added all-knowingly, “If there is anything worse than a hopeless romantic, lambs, it is a hopeful one.”

“Why do they hate us?”

“Tell them not to hate beautiful people, we mean them no harm,” Ma smiled all benevolent.

There was a chorus of agreement and fist-bumps following this pronouncement, but for myself, I gotta admit, I had no freakin’ idea what the old woman was ramblin’ on about.

“O Reapers, sit back and learn,” Ma gazed off into infinity.  “To kill the head of the snake you must first attack the snake’s body.  The followers of Moses Remington love him because they believe he will make them rich.  We need to make them poor.  We need to sue.”

The gathering gasped as one.

“We’re not going to go after the group, mind you, since they’re lawyered up and fully insured.  No, we’re going to sue each and every individual member of the damned Taxpayers Ignoring Tax Slavery and Americans Saving Society.”

Orange arms folded in defiance.  “Well, whattaya think they’ll say to that?”  A look of triumph showed from the old woman’s face as assembled Reapers gave each other assorted looks of horror.

“How do you do it, Ma?” shouted a Reaper.

“I try, God knows, I try.”