Neanderpundit

To fans of Thomas Harris? you are gonna love this book.

I’ve always been a HUGE fan of Dr Lecter. And while it is obvious he is out of my league by light years, if there were a fictional character I could be, it would be Dr Lecter. And this book reinforces that immensely.

I have always had what my friend Jenny calls “anm overdeveloped sense of justice”. I like it when the bad guy dies. IN fact, I like it when the bad guy dies horribly, in pain, begging for his life. if you like that too, read this book.

THe book also talks about what happens to people like that- they become dead to other things, as Hannibal becomes, in the end. Like the folks at the Nurmburg trials became. I understand that. Doctors are similar- they can only process what they can, getting too close to a patient makes it likely they would have to stop doing their jobs.

Anyway, again, if you like Harris, read this book. If you don’t, don’t bother. Hell, if you never READ anything by Harris, read “black sunday”. It’s an eye opener.

No, I’m not talking about the fear that someone you know is in danger, or the fear that you might have trouble making the bills, I’m talking about roller coaster fear- that instantaneous and particularly intense fear that you are going to die, the fear you experience when the evidence of your senses tells you that you have an urgent appointment elsewhere and your body attempts to dematerialize to make that appointment.

I stay away from rollercoasters, and no longer drive like an idiot, so I don’t have much opportunity to experience this fear, but I have felt it, nonetheless.

I used to go spend time at a friend’s hunting camp, up in the UP, eh? I drove up one weekend and started a fire in the egg-stove, checked that the draught was good, and hit the hay.

My friend had had some people break into the cabin, as well as raccoons, and one animal that did sufficient damage that it could only have been a bear. SO i made sure everything was secure before I bedded down.

Middle of the night, I get up to drain my lizard, and walked to the pipe in the wall used for that purpose. I pulled off the cap, stood and peed, stood a minute longer out of sheer inertia, and staggered back to the rack.

Unbeknownst to me, Cal, one of the guys who also used the camp, had hiked in an hour or two before, let himself in, and upon hearing me pee decided he needed to piss too.

Cal is a tall man- my face comes to the middle of his chest, and possibly the hairiest human being I know. In total darkness, in the middle of the night, naked to the waist, I bump into Cal’s hairy chest, and for a moment am trapped int he certain knowledge that a large hairy creature has invaded the cabin, and is moments away from making a meal of me, and my heart beat three years off the end of my life, and (according to cal) I screamed like a girl.

Now, I would be embarrased by this. I should be embarrassed by it. In fact, I am embarrased by it.

But not nearly as much as Cal. I’m not going to describe the loosening of cal’s bowels, nor the fire we had to build outside to burn his soiled long underwear, because he said he’d tie my legs in an overhand knot if I ever did.

Fear can be a powerful thing. I’m just glad I’d peed first.