President Kissinger E-Book

Donald Munson

• Herausgeber: Olympia Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

The very last book ever published by Maurice Girodias (apart from his own memoirs.) President Kissinger, from the short-lived Freeway Press, is a futuristic tale of what-might-be, as the great Henry leads us to one-world government through communism. Included in the mix are many of Kissinger's loves, revolutions in Africa, the Middle East, war with China, peace with the USSR, with all finally brought together under the blanket of the UN. Perhaps for its fictionalized accounts of "Kissinger's" many loves, shortly after this novel's publication Girodias found himself in the middle of a drug-sting operation by the feds on a harbor in the NY/NJ area. He wasn't quite deported, and his wife of the time forgave him for going there to meet a young woman in the first place, but Maurice never really worked again stateside, returning to Paris after the divorce. An odd end to an odd career.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

A TALE OF TWO DYBBUKS

CHAPTER I. CRYSTAL NIGHT, GOLDEN DAWN

CHAPTER II. HARVARD

CHAPTER III. ROCKEFELLER’S PROTEGE

CHAPTER IV. THE FIRST MARRIAGE

CHAPTER V. HENRY, SEX, AND POWER

CHAPTER VI. HENRY AND THE JEWS

CHAPTER VII. NANCY MAGINNES

CHAPTER VIII. THE YUGOSLAV WAR

CHAPTER IX. KISSINGER FOR PRESIDENT

CHAPTER X. THE YOUTH REVOLT

CHAPTER XI. GEOPOLITICAL PRESIDENT

CHAPTER XII. MS. KISSINGER

CHAPTER XIII. GERMAN-CHINESE ALLIANCE

CHAPTER XIV. EURASIAN WAR I

CHAPTER XV. THE WOMEN’S REVOLT

CHAPTER XVI. THE BLACK ZONE

CHAPTER XVII. ARMAGEDDON

CHAPTER XVIII. L’ENVOI

A TALE OF TWO DYBBUKS

The angels that are fashioned from fire have forms of fire but only so long as they remain in heaven. When they descend to earth to do the bidding of God here below, either they are changed into wind, or they assume the guise of men. Think of the difference!

The problems of incarnation and generation are infinitely complicated, sighed young Reb Yakele; all the more since the past is gone, the future does not yet exist and the present is an immaterial barrier between the two.

Shuffling along the dark road his companion, Rabbi Menachem Mendel, seemed to endorse that statement with his silence. Then he spoke up to mention the miraculous conception of Abraham ben Eleazar, which occurred in Franconia, several years after the Great War.

Like Cain and Abel, two brother dybbuks were indispensable to each other, said the Rabbi, by virtue of the fact that the principle of good and the principle of evil cannot exist if not by contrast to each other. Those two spirits were roaming the surface of the earth at night, just like the two of us at this very moment.

Their mutual hatred was the passion of their lives; but if you are a dybbuk, how can you express your passion without a body as an agent of expression? The answer is simple: you have to invade a body—after chasing the tenant soul therefrom. And then you can really get things going, with your man’s body combined with your dybbuk’s knowhow!

In a light trance, the younger man listened as they continued their interminable voyage through the pitch dark. The Rabbi was listing all the traits of each one of his two dybbuks, which contrasted them as sharply as day and night. One was of a seraphic disposition, although embedded in the essence of a dybbuk, which made him very unhappy, whereas the other was of the darkest diabolical nature, and enjoyed every evil fantasy inspired in him by the God of the Depths.

One day, the Rabbi continued, the two dybbuks heard that the time had come for the conception of Abraham ben Eleazar, an experimental Messiah about to be launched into the billowing, noxious fumes of the twentieth century. The evil dybbuk exclaimed that this was his chance to infiltrate a Messiah at the time of conception, and he gloated over the notion. A Messiah governed from the core of his soul by a perfectly malevolent dybbuk, that would be a fascinating novelty. The good dybbuk was of course horrified by his alter ego’s project. Since the two of them were inseparable, what would become of him, the good one, if his malevolent brother were to engage in such a solitary adventure? But the worst part of it was, of course, the foul perversion to which God’s experimental Messiah was about to be subjected, and the mass deception that would be engineered by his companion’s ruse at the expense of the suffering and confused world outside.

The conception was to take place in Furth, a little German city, between two ordinary humans, on August 27, 1922.

As the preconception ritual progressed in a bedroom overfurnished with useless knickknacks, in a confined atmosphere and rarefied light, the two dybbuks were holding each other haltingly in a corner of the room, fighting each other with the extreme passion of hate and love combined.

As the passions mounted on the bed, and as they mounted also in front of the bed where the two invisible dybbuks were locked in their mortal struggle, a unique and totally unexpected tragedy of fate occurred with the swiftness of lightning at the very moment of ejaculation. Racing and fighting at the same time, struggling to achieve and to prevent the sacrilege, the two dybbuks fused themselves with the substance of the two champion spermatozoa at the head of the seminal pack.

Simultaneously they reached the outside envelope of the egg, and the symbiotic love-hate energy which had dominated their fate welded them into one single missile which pierced the female mass with a silent screech; and so was conceived Abraham ben Eleazar who has since made his way in the world as Henry A. Kissinger.

The Rabbi paused and absent-mindedly wiped his bleary eyes. The icy wind was blowing with intractable malpleasure.

Rabbi Mendel continued his strange story with a few remarks. Cases of joint and simultaneous impregnation have never been recorded by science, but that does not necessarily make them impossible, especially when the human process is wilfully monitored by a dybbuk, let alone two.

My son the doctor, added the old Rabbi, whose name is Moishe and who is about your age, Reb Yekele—my son swears that such prodigies would be made possible because of the matter-transforming properties the dybbuks are alleged to possess.

Moishe, bless his name, says that obviously, in the case of our Abraham ben Eleazar, miracles have been compounded. A double sperm fused together as. only one should create a single twin; or if you prefer, two humans fused in one. And Moishe says that this is indeed the case with our subject—who appears to have a double set of chromosomes in every cell, and a double physical density, a double stock of energy, a double mental capacity, a double everything. Those things are rather incomprehensible to me, but if the Highest has so decreed, who am I to dispute his judgement?

Whatever medical science would have to say on the subject, I trust that I will not surprise you if I suggest to you that our Abraham may have two souls as well, or perhaps three. He is animated in contradictory manners by the two dybbuks, and at the same time he is still acting as God’s envoy. Such a theological conundrum I have not encountered once in the course of a long life!

But in God’s realm, nothing is impossible, and miracles must be received with no more than humble gratitude.

Is our Abraham theMessiah? He has the ability to change the fate of mankind, and isn’t that a supernatural power? But how can you recognize the Messiah in this day and age? He may appear to us in a business suit carrying a slide rule.

The fact remains that, whoever may be Abraham ben Eleazar, his soul is inhabited by two dybbuks. The evil one has kept him under his empire in the first half of Abraham’s lifetime, and the seraphic one took over at mid course. But between those two the struggle will never cease.

Dybbuks will be dybbuks.

CHAPTER I. CRYSTAL NIGHT, GOLDEN DAWN

Four huge muffled explosions shook the old city on its venerable foundations.

Their noise suddenly covered the din from the brawling troops and the rhythmic, warlike chanting. An awesome silence followed.

From his high vantage point just under the roof, Heinz was able to catch a plunging perspective of the street, the patrician mansions in noble array, and, at the end, deployed with severe elegance, the old synagogue which had long been the pride of Furth. Flames were running up behind the high windows of the Alte-Schule, illuminating the historical facade against the evening darkness. The ancient stained glass was breaking out in iridescent cascades under the condensed violence of the heat. For an endless moment every other sound vanished, all that could be heard was the distant rumbling of the flames and the slow rain of glass hitting the flagstones.

Standing in the darkness of the dormer window, Heinz was invisible from the street, but he could see every detail of the complex architectural decor at his feet, dramatized by the dancing lights and shadows from the fire. A decor set for high tragedy ... A fifth explosion, deafening, shook the air once more as the oriental dome of the Alte-Schule started a miraculous ascent, propelled by a gigantic tail of flames, and in turn broke into jagged fragments of wood and masonry, f ailing heavily all around the burning structure.

Heinz’s gaze shifted quickly back to the Heineman’s house, which seemed dangerously close to the blaze. All doors and shutters were closed, and Heinz felt anguish pressing at his heart: had they managed to escape through the back? Dr. Heineman could hardly walk, Frau Heineman would be in hysterics, in the hands of her maids, and Genia would be writing a poem, perhaps, or pensively brushing her luminous golden hair. But certainly not looking at all that rotten flesh in the street.

A horrible, prolonged shriek brought him back to the temple, which he saw was now a mass of flames and shadowy beams. A black scarecrow figure ran from a dark porch nearby straight into the heart of the raging fire, and the dancing shape was instantly erased without leaving a trace. Heinz had recognized the crotchety silhouette of mad Reb Mendel, the beadle. Had he been trying to rescue the Torah? Or was he seeking instant annihilation together with the love of his life, the beautiful, ancient synagogue which had been for so long his entire universe?

The sky above reigned in perfect purity over the scene of rage and death, as the soul of the synagogue was rising on a bed of flames, borne by a million prayers, to take its invisible place in the memory of the universe. The rabble down there became vociferous again, celebrating the holocaust with orchestrated cheers. Several hundred country bumpkins dressed up in the same cheap, smelly brown uniform with the swastika-stamped armband—blind drunk, retching, reeling, and clamoring for revenge—were filling the streets. And now they were banging at the high gates of the houses closest to the synagogue, ostensibly in search of rich Jews.