Pharaoh Ch. 25

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***Saturday, September 7, 2304***

When I came down to breakfast Stony handed me the paper and said, “Uh-oh.” And she was right on target.

About Those Four Points

Judith P. Mogumbo — North Porter Free Black Register — Saturday, Sept. 7, 2304

A more serious one today folks. Not to be a drag. Still love our Pharaoh. Still love our girl, our Alicia. Respect to both!


Another little birdie has been whispering in my ear lately.

About those four points. You know the ones I mean. The ones announced as Mrs. Roberta O’Leary’s fashion penalty on White Girl Pride Day. The ones that dropped Mrs. O’Leary’s score into a tie with Alicia Rochefort. The ones that caused our own Lady Florence to have to choose between the two girls. The ones that caused Alicia to become a finalist on Pharaoh-Wednesday. The ones that ultimately allowed her to lay on her back on the finest sheets in the world, to lay with legs spread, to lay presented in Tahiti. To lay and present her wet willing cunt and to be fucked by Pharaoh. Those four.

They always sort of bothered me. Dramatic it certainly was. Too dramatic?

Because this little birdie, I’ll never tell, has suggested that those same four points were assessed in error by the judges. Error! Mere ugly, awful human error!! A mistake? If so it was one for the ages, what is sometimes called a triple whopper with cheese. An error the likes of which we have not witnessed since Liz Partridge thought she could turn pink into blue, since she forgot the color of sheer fabric riding the lips of her pretty cunt.

An error. What kind of error we cannot guess. Who made the error and how it came to be we do not know. Just that it was an error. So says the little birdie.

If birdie is correct it may well have been Roberta on soft sheets in Tahiti with her legs spread.

Hmmm. Just food for thought. Nothing is confirmed. Nothing is certain. Nothing takes away from the stunning victory our good girl Alicia earned last Wednesday in Cleveland. Nothing suggests malfeasance. Just an error. Mere ugly, awful human error.

This reporter will not rest until the truth is revealed. Of that I can assure you.

And in what can only be considered a cruel coincidence, on the very same day this dreadful news came to your intrepid reporter, Mrs. O’Leary was released from the Psychiatric Ward of Lord William Fotheringay-Smith-Willoughy Beignet General Hospital. Thankfully, Roberta is said to be much improved. Our thoughts and prayers go out to her and to her lovely husband Rex.

See you in a few days!

Stony asked me what I thought.

“I think Mogumbo is a whacko. Ignore it.”

“I don’t know. What makes you call her a whacko?”

“She started it, she called me a douchebag.”

Stony stared at me and raised her eyebrows. I’m not sure what she meant by it but I took it as a positive.

For the rest of the day we pretty much just hung out. We were ready. Mr. Podomatskiavich showed up in the afternoon to receive Alicia’s belongings. We met at the door. I handed over the bags and a check for Alicia’s share of our property. We shook hands and he left without a word. Still, I could hear Mrs. P. crying in the car, keeping up the tradition so to speak.

Despite my strong words about her I wondered in the back of my mind if there was something to Mogumbo’s question, something about those four points. What was she after?


**** Sunday, September 8, 2304*****

Wedding day! I got down early and made us a fancy breakfast of Lucky Quarks, burnt toast and weak coffee. I think I was a little nervous. In my defense so was she. We were shy, awkward, dreamy. We didn’t stay together long, which was good. We might have driven each other crazy. She was meeting Briana at her Mom’s house to get her hair done and get dressed.

At the door we hugged and kissed. The next time I saw her would be with Pastor Ninkovich at the altar. We stowed her bags in the cab, we kissed again, hugged again, I-love-you’d again and she left. As I went back indoors I came across the paper. Uh-oh.

An Apology

Kwame Murdoch — North Porter Free Black Register — Sunday, Sept. 8, 2304

The North Porter Free Black Register has, since its founding 87 years ago, prided itself on exceeding our obligation to provide factual information in a professional manner. Yesterday we failed in that obligation.

A rogue reporter, relying on information from one sadly delusional source, posted an article which defamed our Pharaoh process, defamed our lovely Pharaoh-girl, Alicia Rochefort, defamed the esteemed Lady Florence Beignet, and defamed by extension all the good citizens of North Porter. My editorial staff failed in its obligation to negate, reject, and annul the mindless drivel presented by that reporter. For this I, as the chief editor and publisher, take full responsibility.

The corrected facts are these. When Mrs. Roberta O’Leary was released yesterday from Lord William Fotheringay-Smith-Willoughy adana escort Beignet General Hospital she was heavily medicated and delusional. The discharge papers signed by eminent psychiatrist Lord Dr. Travis Kwaxx characterized her as follows: “A nut job, but no immediate danger to self or others.” Sadly our reporter met this damaged soul right at the hospital gate. Sadly that reporter listened with the ears of a child. Based on the words of Mrs. O’Leary, and only on the words of Mrs. O’Leary, that former reporter, Judith P. Mogumbo, published what can only be described as a scurrilous attack on the integrity of the voting system our town so proudly used on White Girl Pride Day. Based solely on the word of a “nut job” that former reporter sought to undermine the position of a Pharaoh-girl and the integrity of our leading citizen, Lady Florence Beignet. A disgrace.

I may now assert and report the following,

Nothing, not a single word, of Ms. Mogumbo’s story is factually correct.

Every audit has shown that the four points she questioned were applied correctly.

The ‘little birdie’ is now revealed to be none-other than Mrs. O’Leary herself.

Per Security Mrs. O’Leary has been re-admitted to the psych ward of Beignet General.

Per Security her husband, Ronald T. O’Leary, has also been admitted to that ward.

Ms. Mogumbo has been fired from her position at Free Black Register.

Security is currently holding Ms. Mogumbo for further questioning.

Sally Bowles Tinder-Murdoch will now replace Ms. Mogumbo.

Editor Charles C. Coxswain, who approved the piece, is also fired.

Eddie Ray Murdoch will now replace Mr. Coxswain.

I have personally extended a full and complete apology to Lady Beignet.

Dr. Kwaxx has now reversed his hospital’s “release of nut jobs” policy.

The Free Black Register now offers a twenty-five cent refund to any offended reader.

Readers may sign up for a refund on our website.

The Free Black Register will institute new ethics training for all writers.

The Board of Directors of the Free Black Register have graciously granted 35,000 shares of preferred stock to this paper’s Editor and Publisher for his prompt and decisive attention to these matters.

Once again, we apologize for our error. We are committed to earning your support and trust in the future.

Thank you.

Kwame Murdoch

Editor and Publisher

North Porter Free Black Register

Well, that wasn’t so bad after all. Even though I was still angry with her, I was sorry Ms. Mogumbo got fired. And I felt really bad about Roberta O’Leary and her husband. But at least now Alicia’s title of Pharaoh-girl was no longer under a cloud. Good.

I breathed a little easier and could focus again on being nervous about getting married.

But not for long. I had to pick up the rings. I called Klara but got no answer. It was still pretty early so I waited till 9 a.m. but again got no answer. I was getting a bit panicky but hung on till 9:45 when I jumped in the car to go find her. At 10 I was ringing the bell. The sign above still said Schöne Zunge, but a sign on the ground had the Klara name with the new logo below. But no answer to anything, phone, bell, knocks, screams. Those knuckleheads has disappeared. Lowers, I knew, even nice ones like Klara and her husband, can be like that.

It was so unfair. My plan down the drain. I cursed and kicked the door. Which hurt like hell since Heinrich had installed one of those burglar proof steel babies.

I limped back to my car. I had to leave to get myself ready so finally I gave up the idea of rings. Disappointed, but at least Stony wouldn’t be since she never knew the plan.

I went back home, showered and dressed in my nicest dark suit.


I stood at the altar with Willy. Waiting, as a bridegroom must. Willy supplied us both with blue thistle boutonnieres, thistle being the Scots national flower. I thought we looked pretty good and sensation was returning to my foot.

Behind us stood Pastor Ninkovitch smiling benevolently in white surplice and purple stole. By now he had only a very small bandage near his hairline. The spot where the chair got him.

Right at the dot of 1 p.m. there commenced a strum of speaking and laughter and hellos and so-beautifuls and congratulations and shhsshhs and readies? on the far side of the door to the lobby. Willy took my hand, “Be duin noo laddie.”

Two hard looking unsmiling cases of about 20 years, dressed elegantly for the event, entered as ushers. A stream of Stony’s people flowed through the doors, cousins and aunts and uncles, nephews and nieces and grandparents and friends, maybe 30 of them in all. The ushers helped the elders down the aisle and got them seated to my left. It looked like the guest list was going to be Stony 30, me zero. Can’t say it mattered though.

Two pretty little girls, they had to be nieces or cousins, adıyaman escort dressed all in white came in to strew orange petals. Willy squeezed my hand tighter. The crowd hushed.

A nod from the Pastor set the organist off on the traditional wedding march. Marvin Gay’s What’s Going On? from the 20th century. Beautifully executed.

Stony came thru the wide door escorted by Arlene. At first I could see only her face, her gorgeous smile and her laughter at the idea she was a bride. A glow, a grace and a shine of perfection. If God had an extra halo available He should have used it then. My bride! Then the rest of her. She wore blue chiffon organza to mid-calf, transparent with a pretty embroidered slip below. I didn’t know from chiffon or organza till later, but I knew what I liked. This. An orange belt set off the blue. She held a bouquet of wild flowers with matching flowers in her hair. Beyond perfection.

Arlene was the mirror image, orange dress with blue sash, with a jaunty blue hat in place of the flowers.

Only the two most beautiful women God ever created.

Next came Briana dressed in a lively yellow with that V-neck I so admire on her. Her breasts looked fantastic. She was followed by six bride’s maids, all dressed individually in bright colors, all beautiful. Bri’s eyes shone to me and then dropped down with maidenly modesty. Cool. I saw Draymond slip in a side door to a pew in the back. This surprised me.

Then a bigger surprise, Karla and Heinrich marching behind the bridal party, each holding a small pillow. I could see the rings shining on blue velvet. Goodness! They’d done it. And now are mysteriously our ring-bearers? Heinrich wore his white lab coat over a pair of shabby trousers. The thin hair on his head was all mussed with sweat, and he had the stiff Germanic bearing of one of the Kaiser’s bodyguards. He lacked only the saber. Karla had on a thigh high purple minidress with a tight fitted top that popped her nipple rings. They moved now with stately purpose behind the bridesmaids. I saw Draymond sneak out the back.

There was nothing traditional when we all met at the altar. I did get to kiss Stony once. Did hear Arlene say, “hmmm.” And then we did introductions of everyone to everyone. The Pastor of course. Stony’s clan to me. She walked me to the front pew to meet two grandmas, another Mrs. Montague in red and a Mrs. Mowanga in purple, and then Grandpa Mowanga, all of them dressed in Sunday go to meeting clothes. Then Briana and then Willy to everyone. Then Heinrich and Karla gave me the rings and I introduced them to everyone. Briana, as Maid of Honor, handed Pastor the Virginity Cert. He reviewed it with a smile and folded into his robes. Stony introduced the two hard boys, Alphonse and Diamond they were, cousins on her Dad’s side. Everyone talking and smiling and laughing till finally Pastor Ninkovitch called us all to order and we got underway.

And we got married.


Two big tents had been set up in Arlene’s back yard. They weren’t really needed. The weather was perfect. And there was still plenty of green space for us all to mingle.

I was standing beside her rose bushes with Alphonse and Diamond, chatting while Stony worked the crowd. We were drinking champagne, but I was careful to take very tiny sips. The cousins turned out to be pretty nice guys, reminded me in a way of Timmy and Jimmy from work. They were easier to tell apart, Alphonse was the one with the diamond earring, Diamond was the one with the ruby earring.

Alphonse was telling a dirty joke about a penguin and a nun just as Stony came to collect me. She caught part of it and gave him a stare that would send a penguin back to the stone age. The cousins backed away fast, Alphie saying, “Sorry Stony, sorry…I just…I didn’t mean…sorry,” and Diamond saying, “He didn’t…we were just…with you know…Jeff…don’t be…” And they were gone.

“Wow. Seems like they’re afraid of you.”

“Oh, they are.”

“Why? You’re their cousin.”

“Yeah. I think I inherited it from my Ma. They’re lucky Arlene didn’t catch them trying to corrupt my new husband. They’d be little piles of dust down there.”

Stony brought me around for more of the awkward introductions, but it didn’t last long. Bri and the bridesmaids (Cindy, Abimbola, Masika, Tricia, Lucy and Talisha in some order I’d eventually have to learn) came and kidnapped her. They put Stony in a circle to sing the traditional African bridal serenade, the words of which I did not catch. The girls all learn it in school. Diamond had recovered enough to corner Klara, who, not to be outdone in bravado, was clearly selling. As the serenade went into verse two, I saw those two slip in the side door to Arlene’s house. Heinrich conversed with Grandpa Mowanga in what sounded like the Yoruba language. Have to hand it to the old boy, Heinrich is a multifaceted guy. Willie was entertaining Arlene with yo-yo tricks, and appeared particularly afyon escort strong on walk-the-dog. Another friend with hidden depths. Pastor Ninkovitch held court with the grandmothers, working through some of the trickier passages in Ephesians. Whatever he said they were not buying it.

I got Stony back and we were subjected to a series of semi-coherent champagne toasts, each of us smiling to the other and remembering we wanted still to be alive next day. Diamond came out of the house adjusting his belt, sporting a huge white toothed grin. Our little flower girls were running in circles pretending to be airplanes, crashing and falling and staining their pretty white dresses green. Diamond went to his brother and whispered something. Three Scotsmen entered with band gear. The flower girl’s mom — another cousin — had to go over and chastise the girls. Alfie broke off hitting on Tricia and went in the side door his brother had used. I knew Karla would be in there drumming up business.

Arlene led Willy over to me and Stony. She said, “Willy has kindly offered us a band so we can have music, so we can dance. Friends of his. Isn’t that nice?”

We agreed it was nice. The three kilted men came over for introductions. They were Willy’s mates from the Scots Social Club, Lachlan, Malcolm and Graeme, respectively on bagpipes, fiddle and accordion. There were more toasts to us as the lads set up on the lawn.

Arlene calls for order. Turns out she has one of those piercing two fingers side of mouth whistles, the kind that goes through your brain like a Maxtra 32000 VS axion-turbo goes through a dark tunnel. Everyone snaps to attention. They are all afraid of her. She introduces the Pastor and he gives the blessing. Amen, says the crowd and a few of the old timers bless themselves. Arlene introduces Willy for the official marriage toast. The hum of chatter and laughter start up again. Willy climbs on a wobbly table in the middle of the yard. His stout hard muscled legs are lovely below the kilt. He holds a glass of champagne in one hand, a tumbler of whiskey in the other. Abimbola and Cindy shriek at something Diamond whispers. The two girls might be new to champagne. Heinrich tells some joke in Yoruba that really gets to Grandpa, who has to cough/laugh through it till Heinrich bats him on the back a few times. Willy and Arlene shush the crowd again. Arlene threatens the whistle but then holsters her weapon. Alfie and Klara emerge smiling just in time. I can see she’s missed a drop in her hair.

Willy begins:

Wheesht yourselves wee jimmies ‘n’ girls. Tis nae a time fur light frivolity. Tis a scared moment, th’ joining o’ twa souls. A’m juist noo meetin th’ bonnie ‘n’ gracious lassie, yer Stony, ‘n’ her bonnie maw, yer Arlene. Kin thay bide lang ‘n’ happy bides. Kin th’ sun ne’er set oan thair loue fur ilk ither. (applause, shrieks of ‘Stony!’, Stony kisses Arlene, Arlene cries, then they beam, then shsshing) Bit a’ve kent Jeff-er-ay fur mony years ‘n’ ah kin tell ye Mrs. Montague that yer lassie is getting a braw young jimmy. He’s a bawherr drookit aye, (cries of huh?, what’d-he..,? shsshing) bit if ah read th’ Montague clan correctly thay wull be th’ tonic o’ his lee, juist whit oor yoong laddie needs. (applause, a few ‘Jeff!’s) ‘n’ kin he be th’ identical fur ye wee Stony. Kin ye baith loue ‘n’ cherish yin anither fur mony a year. (Grandma Mowanga, swaying near the front of the crowd, cries ‘Preach it Willy!’) Kin yer bides be graced wi’ lee ‘n’ loue ‘n’ pure happiness ‘n’ laughter. (Grandma Montague, not to be outdone, cries out ‘Boy tellin’ Truth now’) Kin ye be blessed wi’ healthy bairns ‘n kin ye raise a fowk, (Huh? What’d he…, shssssh!!) ‘n’ kin it be pure tough ‘n’ pure mental. Kin it lest as lang as loue itself wull lest. (‘Say it, boy!’) ‘n’ kin God bless ye baith. (rabid applause, hums of pleasure and love.)

Noo hurl up yer glasses ‘n’ jyne me in a toast tae Mr ‘n’ Mrs Jeff-er-ay Rochefort (drinking, cheers, I find Stony and we kiss deeply to even bigger cheers.)

Noo let’s fookin’ dance.

That last one everyone understood. The crowd goes wild for Willy and rushes him for hugs and hallelujahs and smacks on the back. Diamond and Alphonse have him up on their shoulders to parade the yard, Willy shooting a wicked beaver as they march. He tumbles off to the ground but picks himself up with a huge smile. He is offered and graciously accepts a fresh whiskey, saying “Speech making is druthy wirk.”

The band begins a spirited version of Lovely Day with Malcolm on vocals. The ancient tune once made popular by William Withers is enjoying an enormous comeback, song of the year.

Stony looked at me. I looked at her. It would be our song.

We danced together for the very first time in the circle of love. When Malcolm came to the words, “Then I look at you/And the world’s alright with me” I knew I was home in her arms. That she was home in mine. I kissed her gently, reverently. The crowd hissed at it. We ignored them.

“How’d you like Willy’s speech?”

“It was nice. I think. Not sure I got it all.”

“Yes, Willy’s English kin be raucle.”

“Huh? What’s that mean?”

“Exactly what you think it means,” and I twirled her fast and then dipped her. I pulled my bride back up and kissed her passionately. There was no hissing this time.

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