Abraham Lincoln
JJ Goldstein stared at the face of Abraham Lincoln. He couldn't remember the last time he held a five dollar bill in his hand. He let his mind ponder on the things he could get with this note: A real leather jacket. JJ had heard the rumours. You could spend hours staring over the ramshackle markets in the more dubious areas of town. The clothes there were all badly made in the standard drab style, if style was a word you could use. They'd all be ill fitting, no matter how many you'd try on, and the cheap material would itch. All JJ's clothes itched. All clothes itched. It was part of the unity that all people in Britain felt: itchy clothes. But say a certain word, et voilà, the curtain would be pulled back and the punter would be lead into a labyrinth of clothes: denim jeans, leather jackets, sport shoes, watches that worked. Rumours are they are all recycled, stolen from undesirable, who had disappeared. All by mentioning that word. ``Dollars''. Perhaps there is magic that is stronger than the MERCIFUL ONE's.
Of coarse you cannot actually get hold of any dollars, not
legally. Any you do own, say by some miracle you found somewhere must
be exchanged into Divines at the official rate of $1 to
1.4. But to buy them would cost
5,000 per dollar. A month
salary; if you could find somebody to trade with; and you don't end up
in a back street gutter with a knife in you back.
Prostitutes would degrade themselves completely, offering to do any bizarre and perverse lesbian or manage á tois sexual acts a client with dollars desired.
Or fish, sea fish. There was a taste JJ longed for. A distant memory, from before the glorious revelation. JJ could buy a fish. A cod, from beyond these shores. Just the thought of buying something that was caught by a free man on a boat brought a tear to JJ's eyes. No boats are allowed now of course.
But the passion for a leather jacket, the offer of lesbian sex with two ``virgins'' or even the forbidden taste of cod were not going to make JJ part with this $5 note. No this was a present, a present from the most beautiful woman JJ had every known. More beautiful even than the WOMAN OF WOMEN. (A thought that could land a man in jail.) JJ thought back to the first day they met, as he held the note in his hand.
``She's a witch you know.''
``Eh ...sorry what''
``The DIVINE, she's just a witch, It's not right she should be using her powers like this. Indoctrinating young girls minds, making them violent like that'' JJ blinked his eyes trying to bring them in focus. His head was in agony. The girl in front of him was cleaning his face with a wet tissue. It stung.
JJ noticed the purple blazer and white blouse, and of course the long purple nails. ``But you're one of them. You're a Blessed, an Angel.''
``You might have a broken rib, I'll take you to a doctor I know. He's very good and has foreign drugs.''
``Why are you helping me like this?'' JJ asked.
``Because I'm an Angel, we are here to help. Here's a Taxi.'' She and the Taxi driver cautiously helped JJ into the back seat. JJ passed out.
When he came round again he was lying in bed. His ribs hurt like hell. They were bandaged tightly and JJ had difficulty breathing. The Angel he had recognised from the day before was sitting at the end of the bed. ``That was quite a beating they gave you, you must have really annoyed them. What did you do.''
``I don't know. I think I didn't give up my seat for one of them on the bus.'' JJ struggled for breath. ``That's what they screamed at me as they kicked me. I'm sure I must have done something wrong and they were completely justified.'' He knew the protocol and was hardly going to tell one Angel what he though of Angels in general. How these groups of young women, all dressed in there purple uniforms, act with complete impunity, enforcing the curfew laws, the Glorious Union laws. An internal arm of oppression.
``We're not all bad. Just occasionally a few of the younger ones get carried away with there new powers. As I said we're principally here to help.''