Frank Georgalis – Writer

An Eye for A Tooth: (Book; Part I)

By:

Frank Elias Georgalis

PART I

All The Devil’s Men

One can understand why thousands of soldiers moved eastward from the west towards the Russian frontier in the year 1812, where Russian forces since 1811 had stationed themselves there, awaiting the event of intrusion in their country by Napoleon’s loyal troops.

The Historians with simple hearted conviction told the world that causes of the event were the insults passed to the Duke of Oldenburg, the ambition of the French emperor Napoleon, the stubbornness of Russia’s Alexander, the old generals’ craving for action, their yearning for triumph and the intriguing English crafty policy. Those and other reasons contributed to the destruction and loss of many thousands of lives and of course the stakes were high. High stakes one may say was a prime reason. One could understand that knowing that history repeats itself, knowing that there were other Napoleons and Alexander’s, not in name but in character, and ambitions generals and sergeants in the past, because of the stakes being so high. One though could never understand how high can the stakes be in a small town in Illinois called Danville where its biggest portion of its population of a little over 50.000 lived a little above poverty line, for a man named Don McCord, who from a young age engaged himself in crime, resulting in the destruction of property and human suffering. One knows and history tells us that greed for riches, the thirst for power and the taste of glory is a reason to kill or dying for.

The battle for high stakes takes place in high seas but one should know that for the same reasons the same thing occurs in small ponds. Don McCord was the small pond warlord. He was in charge of all the crime in that town, including gambling and prostitution.

If all the sergeants and coprals refused to fight in Napoleonic invasion of Russia would it be a war? If Alexander the Great and Napoleon never existed would there had been a Hitler, Mussolini and Hirohito, trying to follow on their footsteps? Would have been a WWII? If all the gamblers seized to gamble in Danville, all the Johns refused to solicit and all the girls refused to be whores would there have been a Don McCord. If there weren’t a Fagan and a Sykes, in Charles Dickens’s tale, “Oliver Twist”, would there have been an Oliver Twist and Nancy. Greed and ambition one may say are the main ingredients, but on the other hand, there may be stories written or told about many men and women who, obsessed with ambition and plagued by greed have accomplished their missions and became great philanthropists. That goes to show you that greed and ambition is not the root of all-evil. What is it then?

To us a later generation, contemplating in all its vastness the immensity of the accomplished fact, and wanting to penetrate its simple and fearful significance, those explanations must appear insufficient.

To us it is inconceivable that millions of Christians lost their lives and millions were tortured for Napoleon’s ambition, Alexander’s tenacity and England’s crafty policies. We cannot understand the connection between those circumstances and the bare fact of murder and destruction.

To us, a later generation, the causes of those events are many. The more deeply we search out the more causes we discover. But the reader must bear in mind from every bad clash something good comes out. We must understand all the quarrels start where something is broken and needed to be fixed. We also must remember that most of those who started to repair what was broken and remedy the unfair, had a bitter end. Germany’s Hitler destroyed himself, Italy’s Mussolini got hung and Japan’s Hirohito was demoted from a god to nothing significant. Don McCord’s fate and finish was no different than the fate of those who created violent events and lives were lost and pain suffering was administered to the ones who lived. Even, way after their demise the pain and suffering of the ones who were left behind continued for many years.

McCord looked and acted, like most so-called leaders, as a man who valued every minute of his time and believed what ever he thought was good and what ever he said was right. Being a lady’s man, not because of his looks, but for his materialistic possessions; it was a matter of McCord’s life style to always have a beautiful woman waiting for him in his office and mostly lying on his black leather couch, half dressed or half naked with a drink in her hand.

The door to McCord’s office was thrown open and an utterly attractive girl in her middle twenties, nicely dressed with high heels, white silk blouse and a black skirt reaching down to a few inches above her knees, with long dark hair and brilliant lipstick, entered the room and began to look around unfocused but with a mission in her eyes. First she surveyed the walls that were decorated with pictures McCord taken with several dignitaries and celebrities, and a large painting of a battle, men fighting with swords, while an angel on his gray horse flying above them. Then she looked at the ceiling and noticed the three low solid wooden beams, stretching parallel to each other five feet apart, all the way across, given it a rustic look.

 

There was no sound of any kind, but glancing at the full size wooden horse and the full size wooden bull with a rope around its horns, facing the horse and looking so real and ready to charge against the horse; she almost heard a sound of fury and revenge. She also noticed the back double glass door leading into a parking lot. She watched the door longer than anything else knowing that Don McCord most of the time came through there. But the last real sound was the swift opening of the door as she came in. Suddenly that stillness was broken by the opening and closing of the main door in the front.

Footsteps were heard coming up from the main entrance; the man who entered the room where the girl was standing and evidently waiting was Don McCord  in person. He was wearing besides a fixed smile, a blue suit with a white shirt and a matching necktie. He was also wearing a light tan overcoat that came down over his round belly, fitting tightly around his body. His average in length dark brown hair had evidently just being brushed but a curly-luck was hanging down on his forehead. Seeing the girl waiting for him, he walked around to his desk, placed some package carefully on the side of his desktop and turned eyes the girl with the same grin without tuning his ears.

“Excuse me, honey, let me go to the bathroom for a moment,” said McCord walking towards the bathroom at the rear end of his office.

His walk with a quivering strut, his head was thrown a little back. His whole body was a little less than six feet high, with broad shoulders and prominent stomach and chest, had that imposing air of dignity, common among men of over forty-five who live in comfort. He came out after spending less than two minutes in there. On his way back he was rubbing his face lightly as he evidently put on some cologne.

“Good morning, honey. What brings you here so early? I left you in bed sleeping.”

“ I couldn’t sleep after you left so I came here to talk with you, “ said the girl.

“I am very glad to see you, my dear. Is there something important in your mind?” said McCord, taking a rag and heading for the wooden horse “Good morning, Haizum,” he said to the wooden horse. “This horse here could have been a champ. Look at the lines,” continued McCord, taking a step backwards for a better view. He paused for a long moment gazing at it with a great deal of amazement in his glance. Without saying another word, he began to wipe off some dust. “Do you know who Haizum is?

 

She nodded in assent, “You forgot where the painting on your wall came from?” she replied briefly turning her eyes on it

“Oh, yes, the painting. I knew you knew it. Anyway, Haizum is Angel Gabriel’s horse, according to Islam. Gabriel’s favor color is the blue. The color of blue has its bad and its good side. Blue, can describe the melancholic mood and ‘the skies are blue’ describes cheerfulness. Gabriel is the angel that delivers good news, for instance the annunciation; and he is also called the Angel of Death.

Being satisfied with his brief recital and the results of his dusting, examining his work diligently went to the bull. “Good morning Taurus,” he said, “This Taurus, I am sure you know, I had it done for my first wife. She was born in late April, she was a Taurus and behaved like a bull. She never appreciated his beauty.” All the time he was talking was wiping the wooden bull with careful and almost reverend-like strokes, while the girl was watching and waiting anxiously.

“The color of blue is also my favored color,” se said, posing as if he were having his portrait painted.

“I know you’re also moody,” Angela mumbled as if she were confiding into herself.

It was obvious that he took no interest in the girl’s statement; only what was passing through his soul had for him any interest. All that was outside had no significance for him, because everything in his little world depended as he fancied on his will.

“You see, these two creatures look startling and alive to me,” he continued lifting up the rope from around the bulls horns, dusted under and around the horns he then placed back as it was on the bull’s horns. “

“I said creatures. They aren’t God’s creatures they are man’s creatures. I created them. The craftsmen did their job. That is why they are very significant to me,” he said nostalgically, “No matter how startling and how beautiful they are, they still must be controlled to stay proper. The horse, as you see, has a harness around his nozzle and the bull, the rope around his horns. Those are rigged to be controlled, you have a controlling rig, but invisible to be proper,” stated McCord, mentioning his favorite word proper for the second consecutive time, walking back to his desk.

“Your hand, beating me up?” replied the girl smartly.

“I do not and I didn’t want to hit you last night,“ he said, in a different tone of voice, as he sat behind his desk. “But you forced me to hit you. Even now, I am ready to apologize to you and you are standing there like a tigress who is preparing to attack.”

“I am not big enough to fight you, but I am strong enough to leave you,” replied the girl, with a quivering lip and broken voice.