“Scene at the Gate”-Jack London

Burning Daylight and Dede Mason were fictional characters who were closely aligned to the real life characters if London and his 2nd wife-Charmian London-when London died in 1916 at 40 years of age, Charmian would later have an affair with good from of London's Houdini

Burning Daylight and Dede Mason were fictional characters who were closely aligned to the real life characters of London and his 2nd wife-Charmian London-when London died in 1916 at 40 years of age, Charmian would, later, have an affair with a good friend of London’s, Houdini

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“Oh, one thing more, Miss Mason, and I hope you won’t mind my being frank and straight out. You’ve struck me right along as a sensible-minded girl, and I don’t think you’ll take offence at what I’m going to say. You know how long you’ve been in the office–it’s years, now, several of them, anyway; and you know I’ve always been straight and aboveboard with you. I’ve never what you call–presumed. Because you were in my office I’ve tried to be more careful than if–if you wasn’t in my office–you understand. But just the same, it don’t make me any the less human. I’m a lonely sort of a fellow–don’t take that as a bid for kindness. What I mean by it is to try and tell you just how much those two rides with you have meant. And now I hope you won’t mind my just asking why you haven’t been out riding the last two Sundays?” He came to a stop and waited, feeling very warm and awkward, the perspiration starting in tiny beads on his forehead. She did not speak immediately, and he stepped across the room and raised the window higher. “I have been riding,” she answered; “in other directions.” “But why…?” He failed somehow to complete the question. “Go ahead and be frank with me,” he urged. “Just as frank as I am with you. Why didn’t you ride in the Piedmont hills? I hunted for you everywhere. “And that is just why.” She smiled, and looked him straight in the eyes for a moment, then dropped her own. “Surely, you understand, Mr. Harnish.” He shook his head glumly. “I do, and I don’t. I ain’t used to city ways by a long shot. There’s things one mustn’t do, which I don’t mind as long as I don’t want to do them.” “But when you do?” she asked quickly. “Then I do them.” His lips had drawn firmly with this affirmation of will, but the next instant he was amending the statement “That is, I mostly do. But what gets me is the things you mustn’t do when they’re not wrong and they won’t hurt anybody–this riding, for instance.” She played nervously with a pencil for a time, as if debating her reply, while he waited patiently. “This riding,” she began; “it’s not what they call the right thing. I leave it to you. You know the world. You are Mr. Harnish, the millionaire-” “Gambler,” he broke in harshly She nodded acceptance of his term and went on. “And I’m a stenographer in your office–” “You’re a thousand times better than me–” he attempted to interpolate, but was in turn interrupted. “It isn’t a question of such things. It’s a simple and fairly common situation that must be considered. I work for you. And it isn’t what you or I might think, but what other persons will think. And you don’t need to be told any more about that. You know yourself.” Her cool, matter-of-fact speech belied her–or so Daylight thought, looking at her perturbed feminineness, at the rounded lines of her figure, the breast that deeply rose and fell, and at the color that was now excited in her cheeks. “I’m sorry I frightened you out of your favorite stamping ground,” he said rather aimlessly. “You didn’t frighten me,” she retorted, with a touch of fire. “I’m not a silly seminary girl. I’ve taken care of myself for a long time now, and I’ve done it without being frightened. We were together two Sundays, and I’m sure I wasn’t frightened of Bob, or you. It isn’t that. I have no fears of taking care of myself, but the world insists on taking care of one as well. That’s the trouble. It’s what the world would have to say about me and my employer meeting regularly and riding in the hills on Sundays. It’s funny, but it’s so. I could ride with one of the clerks without remark, but with you–no.” “But the world don’t know and don’t need to know,” he cried. “Which makes it worse, in a way, feeling guilty of nothing and yet sneaking around back-roads with all the feeling of doing something wrong. It would be finer and braver for me publicly…” “To go to lunch with me on a week-day,” Daylight said, divining the drift of her uncompleted argument. She nodded. “I didn’t have that quite in mind, but it will do. I’d prefer doing the brazen thing and having everybody know it, to doing the furtive thing and being found out. Not that I’m asking to be invited to lunch,” she added, with a smile; “but I’m sure you understand my position.” “Then why not ride open and aboveboard with me in the hills?” he urged. She shook her head with what he imagined was just the faintest hint of regret, and he went suddenly and almost maddeningly hungry for her. “Look here, Miss Mason, I know you don’t like this talking over of things in the office. Neither do I. It’s part of the whole thing, I guess; a man ain’t supposed to talk anything but business with his stenographer. Will you ride with me next Sunday, and we can talk it over thoroughly then and reach some sort of a conclusion. Out in the hills is the place where you can talk something besides business. I guess you’ve seen enough of me to know I’m pretty square. I-I do honor and respect you, and… and all that, and I ..” He was beginning to flounder, and the hand that rested on the desk blotter was visibly trembling. He strove to pull himself together. “I just want to harder than anything ever in my life before. I-I-I can’t explain myself, but I do, that’s all. Will you?–Just next Sunday? To-morrow?” Nor did he dream that her low acquiescence was due, as much as anything else, to the beads of sweat on his forehead, his trembling hand, and his all too-evident general despair……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….. ………………………………………………….. “Of course, there’s no way of telling what anybody wants from what they say.” Daylight rubbed Bob’s rebellious ear with his quirt and pondered with dissatisfaction the words he had just uttered. They did not say what he had meant them to say. “What I’m driving at is that you say flatfooted that you won’t meet me again, and you give your reasons, but how am I to know they are your real reasons? Mebbe you just don’t want to get acquainted with me, and won’t say so for fear of hurting my feelings. Don’t you see? I’m the last man in the world to shove in where I’m not wanted. And if I thought you didn’t care a whoop to see anything more of me, why, I’d clear out so blamed quick you couldn’t see me for smoke.” Dede smiled at him in acknowledgment of his words, but rode on silently. And that smile, he thought, was the most sweetly wonderful smile he had ever seen. There was a difference in it, he assured himself, from any smile she had ever given him before.

It was the smile of one who knew him just a little bit, of one who was just the least mite acquainted with him. Of course, he checked himself up the next moment, it was unconscious on her part. It was sure to come in the intercourse of any two persons. Any stranger, a business man, a clerk, anybody after a few casual meetings would show similar signs of friendliness. It was bound to happen, but in her case it made more impression on him; and, besides, it was such a sweet and wonderful smile. Other women he had known had never smiled like that; he was sure of it. It had been a happy day. Daylight had met her on the back-road from Berkeley, and they had had hours together. It was only now, with the day drawing to a close and with them approaching the gate of the road to Berkeley, that he had broached the important subject. She began her answer to his last contention, and he listened gratefully. “But suppose, just suppose, that the reasons I have given are the only ones?–that there is no question of my not wanting to know you?” “Then I’d go on urging like Sam Scratch,” he said quickly. “Because, you see, I’ve always noticed that folks that incline to anything are much more open to hearing the case stated. But if you did have that other reason up your sleeve, if you didn’t want to know me, if–if, well, if you thought my feelings oughtn’t to be hurt just because you had a good job with me…” Here, his calm consideration of a possibility was swamped by the fear that it was an actuality, and he lost the thread of his reasoning. “Well, anyway, all you have to do is to say the word and I’ll clear out. And with no hard feelings; it would be just a case of bad luck for me. So be honest, Miss Mason, please, and tell me if that’s the reason–I almost got a hunch that it is.” She glanced up at him, her eyes abruptly and slightly moist, half with hurt, half with anger.

“Oh, but that isn’t fair,” she cried. “You give me the choice of lying to you and hurting you in order to protect myself by getting rid of you, or of throwing away my protection by telling you the truth, for then you, as you said yourself, would stay and urge.” Her cheeks were flushed, her lips tremulous, but she continued to look him frankly in the eyes. Daylight smiled grimly with satisfaction. “I’m real glad, Miss Mason, real glad for those words.” “But they won’t serve you,” she went on hastily. “They can’t serve you. I refuse to let them. This is our last ride, and… here is the gate.” Ranging her mare alongside, she bent, slid the catch, and followed the opening gate. “No; please, no,” she said, as Daylight started to follow. Humbly acquiescent, he pulled Bob back, and the gate swung shut between them. But there was more to say, and she did not ride on. “Listen, Miss Mason,” he said, in a low voice that shook with sincerity; “I want to assure you of one thing. I’m not just trying to fool around with you. I like you, I want you, and I was never more in earnest in my life. There’s nothing wrong in my intentions or anything like that. What I mean is strictly honorable-” But the expression of her face made him stop. She was angry, and she was laughing at the same time. “The last thing you should have said,” she cried. “It’s like a–a matrimonial bureau: intentions strictly honorable; object, matrimony. But it’s no more than I deserved. This is what I suppose you call urging like Sam Scratch.” The tan had bleached out of Daylight’s skin since the time he came to live under city roofs, so that the flush of blood showed readily as it crept up his neck past the collar and overspread his face. Nor in his exceeding discomfort did he dream that she was looking upon him at that moment with more kindness than at any time that day. It was not in her experience to behold big grown-up men who blushed like boys, and already she repented the sharpness into which she had been surprised. “Now, look here, Miss Mason,” he began, slowly and stumblingly at first, but accelerating into a rapidity of utterance that was almost incoherent; “I’m a rough sort of a man, I know that, and I know I don’t know much of anything. I’ve never had any training in nice things. I’ve never made love before, and I’ve never been in love before either–and I don’t know how to go about it any more than a thundering idiot. What you want to do is get behind my tomfool words and get a feel of the man that’s behind them. That’s me, and I mean all right, if I don’t know how to go about it.” Dede Mason had quick, birdlike ways, almost flitting from mood to mood; and she was all contrition on the instant. “Forgive me for laughing,” she said across the gate. “It wasn’t really laughter. I was surprised off my guard, and hurt, too. You see, Mr. Harnish, I’ve not been…” She paused, in sudden fear of completing the thought into which her birdlike precipitancy had betrayed her. “What you mean is that you’ve not been used to such sort of proposing,” Daylight said; “a sort of on-the-run, ‘Howdy, glad-to-make-your-acquaintance, won’t-you-be-mine’ proposition.” She nodded and broke into laughter, in which he joined, and which served to pass the awkwardness away. He gathered heart at this, and went on in greater confidence, with cooler head and tongue. “There, you see, you prove my case. You’ve had experience in such matters. I don’t doubt you’ve had slathers of proposals. Well, I haven’t, and I’m like a fish out of water. Besides, this ain’t a proposal. It’s a peculiar situation, that’s all, and I’m in a corner. I’ve got enough plain horse-sense to know a man ain’t supposed to argue marriage with a girl as a reason for getting acquainted with her. And right there was where I was in the hole. Number one, I can’t get acquainted with you in the office. Number two, you say you won’t see me out of the office to give me a chance. Number three, your reason is that folks will talk because you work for me. Number four, I just got to get acquainted with you, and I just got to get you to see that I mean fair and all right. Number five, there you are on one side the gate getting ready to go, and me here on the other side the gate pretty desperate and bound to say something to make you reconsider. Number six, I said it. And now and finally, I just do want you to reconsider.” And, listening to him, pleasuring in the sight of his earnest, perturbed face and in the simple, homely phrases that but emphasized his earnestness and marked the difference between him and the average run of men she had known, she forgot to listen and lost herself in her own thoughts. The love of a strong man is ever a lure to a normal woman, and never more strongly did Dede feel the lure than now, looking across the closed gate at Burning Daylight. Not that she would ever dream of marrying him–she had a score of reasons against it; but why not at least see more of him? He was certainly not repulsive to her. On the contrary, she liked him, had always liked him from the day she had first seen him and looked upon his lean Indian face and into his flashing Indian eyes. He was a figure of a man in more ways than his mere magnificent muscles. Besides, Romance had gilded him, this doughty, rough-hewn adventurer of the North, this man of many deeds and many millions, who had come down out of the Arctic to wrestle and fight so masterfully with the men of the South. Savage as a Red Indian, gambler and profligate, a man without morals, whose vengeance was never glutted and who stamped on the faces of all who opposed him–oh, yes, she knew all the hard names he had been called. Yet she was not afraid of him. There was more than that in the connotation of his name. Burning Daylight called up other things as well. They were there in the newspapers, the magazines, and the books on the Klondike. When all was said, Burning Daylight had a mighty connotation–one to touch any woman’s imagination, as it touched hers, the gate between them, listening to the wistful and impassioned simplicity of his speech. Dede was after all a woman, with a woman’s sex-vanity, and it was this vanity that was pleased by the fact that such a man turned in his need to her. And there was more that passed through her mind–sensations of tiredness and loneliness; trampling squadrons and shadowy armies of vague feelings and vaguer prompting; and deeper and dimmer whisperings and echoings, the flutterings of forgotten generations crystallized into being and fluttering anew and always, undreamed and unguessed, subtle and potent, the spirit and essence of life that under a thousand deceits and masks forever makes for life. It was a strong temptation, just to ride with this man in the hills. It would be that only and nothing more, for she was firmly convinced that his way of life could never be her way. On the other hand, she was vexed by none of the ordinary feminine fears and timidities. That she could take care of herself under any and all circumstances she never doubted. Then why not? It was such a little thing, after all. She led an ordinary, humdrum life at best. She ate and slept and worked, and that was about all. As if in review, her anchorite existence passed before her: six days of the week spent in the office and in journeying back and forth on the ferry; the hours stolen before bedtime for snatches of song at the piano, for doing her own special laundering, for sewing and mending and casting up of meagre accounts; the two evenings a week of social diversion she permitted herself; the other stolen hours and Saturday afternoons spent with her brother at the hospital; and the seventh day, Sunday, her day of solace, on Mab’s back, out among the blessed hills. But it was lonely, this solitary riding. Nobody of her acquaintance rode. Several girls at the University had been persuaded into trying it, but after a Sunday or two on hired livery hacks they had lost interest. There was Madeline, who bought her own horse and rode enthusiastically for several months, only to get married and go away to live in Southern California. After years of it, one did get tired of this eternal riding alone. He was such a boy, this big giant of a millionaire who had half the rich men of San Francisco afraid of him. Such a boy! She had never imagined this side of his nature. “How do folks get married?” he was saying. “Why, number one, they meet; number two, like each other’s looks; number three, get acquainted; and number four, get married or not, according to how they like each other after getting acquainted. But how in thunder we’re to have a chance to find out whether we like each other enough is beyond my savvee, unless we make that chance ourselves. I’d come to see you, call on you, only I know you’re just rooming or boarding, and that won’t do.” Suddenly, with a change of mood, the situation appeared to Dede ridiculously absurd. She felt a desire to laugh–not angrily, not hysterically, but just jolly. It was so funny. Herself, the stenographer, he, the notorious and powerful gambling millionaire, and the gate between them across which poured his argument of people getting acquainted and married. Also, it was an impossible situation. On the face of it, she could not go on with it. This program of furtive meetings in the hills would have to discontinue. There would never be another meeting. And if, denied this, he tried to woo her in the office, she would be compelled to lose a very good position, and that would be an end of the episode. It was not nice to contemplate; but the world of men, especially in the cities, she had not found particularly nice. She had not worked for her living for years without losing a great many of her illusions. “We won’t do any sneaking or hiding around about it,” Daylight was explaining. “We’ll ride around as bold if you please, and if anybody sees us, why, let them. If they talk–well, so long as our consciences are straight we needn’t worry. Say the word, and Bob will have on his back the happiest man alive.” She shook her head, pulled in the mare, who was impatient to be off for home, and glanced significantly at the lengthening shadows. “It’s getting late now, anyway,” Daylight hurried on, “and we’ve settled nothing after all. Just one more Sunday, anyway–that’s not asking much–to settle it in.” “We’ve had all day,” she said. “But we started to talk it over too late. We’ll tackle it earlier next time. This is a big serious proposition with me, I can tell you. Say next Sunday?” “Are men ever fair?” she asked. “You know thoroughly well that by ‘next Sunday’ you mean many Sundays.” “Then let it be many Sundays,” he cried recklessly, while she thought that she had never seen him looking handsomer. “Say the word. Only say the word. Next Sunday at the quarry…” She gathered the reins into her hand preliminary to starting. “Good night,” she said, “and–” “Yes,” he whispered, with just the faintest touch of impressiveness. “Yes,” she said, her voice low but distinct. At the same moment she put the mare into a canter and went down the road without a backward glance, intent on an analysis of her own feelings. With her mind made up to say no–and to the last instant she had been so resolved–her lips nevertheless had said yes. Or at least it seemed the lips. She had not intended to consent. Then why had she? Her first surprise and bewilderment at so wholly unpremeditated an act gave way to consternation as she considered its consequences. She knew that Burning Daylight was not a man to be trifled with, that under his simplicity and boyishness he was essentially a dominant male creature, and that she had pledged herself to a future of inevitable stress and storm. And again she demanded of herself why she had said yes at the very moment when it had been farthest from her intention

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1522819_194223224102405_1755529198_3oJewawares! -two philosophies-“Separatists” and “Inclusionists”!

November 15, 2013 at 9:00pm

 

       This note is an acknowledgement that there are  two main groups in the Jewaware community ( those that are aware of who the jews are, what they, as a people are striving to accomplish, and the power that they,currently, have  and the  ways  they use that power). Generally, included in this knowledge is an awareness of jewish history,awareness of the talmud, and an ability to access that knowledge thru non- jew approved sources. What I want to do is put ourselves (jewawares) into two categories, that seem to dominate this  movement. I am not going  to analyze whether one view is correct as  much as to,simply,give you my take on the components that make up each movement,in a general sort of way.One approach to outing jewish power is thru the “Separatist” approach.It is currently made up of  pure blooded, white Aryans,or, in some cases, slightly compromised blood mix.They see the jew as, primarily, targeting their own race, and, pretty much, see it as a direct fight between the white man and the jew;there may be a few black separatists, or Arab separatists, but their numbers are miniscule compared to whites. The other, I call the “Inclusionists”, they accept  the jew at  his word, that he has, indeed, included all non -jews as adversaries to jewish aims and as targets for enslavement.Because of this, an “Inclusionist”  prefers to embrace all non jews as potential brothers or comrades and acts,accordingly. The following paragraphs will go into these two divisions  in more detail. At the outset, It’s important,if our movement is to mature, and we are to have some success in our endeavors,  to,clearly,separate these two movements for they have some irreconciliable differences while,also,having some commonalities that make for possible temporary cooperation.It also allows the two groups  to disavow needless baggage of the others as they focus on the jew fight!

Now, I will analyze the “Separatist” jewawares, then the “Inclusionist” and having done that offer up a few examples of areas we differ,which are severe, and areas  we can agree.Since there is a “rope pull” going on about a desire to bring certain gentile groups into our midst, and there seems to be no way to appease either side,in my opinion, the only, intelligent, course of action is to create two different and distinct entities (political parties?),swirling around the jew, outing him for his treachery in much the same way that , in America, the democrats and republicans swirl around the jew protecting him and following his orders. It is also my hope that gathering around a “Separatist”,-“Inclusionist” dynamic,we can quit the petty attacking each other over the issues neither is planning to give on and focus on our common agreements. Now for “The Separatist” view.1495165_195881167269944_537924981_o

From my vantage point, “Separatists” have great pride in family, race and Country.Being jewawares, and knowing how our government has been coopted by internationalists at the top,I think it’s safe to say  that country pride is not  a reference to those in power but to the land they grew up in and the neighbors they have come to know.Most, as I said before, are a white, caucasian, aryan extraction, and have a belief in keeping the race pure and separated. Some hold the  position that other gentile groups don’t, fully , deserve  a human classification.Many see Muslims and  Arabs to be a threat to their way of life due to their mass immigration into European countries and their, supposed, desire to spread sharia law everywhere. They, mostly, understand that the jew has been orchestrating much of these problems from behind the curtain but are still convinced that  as much attention must be foccussed on  other ethnic behavior as  on the jew.They believe god or nature separated the races for a reason, and bad things happen when they interact too much.They are , also, fully convinced that many of these other gentiles are, hopelessly, coopted into the jew camp, thus, further, making  their interests in working with other gentile minorities null and void.

........................LA QUENELLE..............

……………………LA QUENELLE…………..

Now my conception of “Inclusionists” would be that it encompasses all ppls concerned with jewish power from all gentile ethnicities .They are aware of the culture clashes going on, but consider it more of an orchestrated phenomenom than an, inevitably, negative occurrance while admitting that , currently, it is a, mostly, negative occurance.They look to the proclamations of the protocols in using various gentile , ethnic  interactions as a source  of conflict and as a buffer distraction from the elite, talmudic jews which plays out in such areas as  wars between gentile powers fought for jewish profit and jewish aims,and massive immigration with the purpose to undermine the host nation and dilute the base, etc.They understand that jewish power comes from a divided  goyim and so believe  the antidote to that is to create a unified goyim. To him, this means being careful to use respectful language when referring to all gentiles and to trace conflicts to the  jew source rather than bog down on the pawn, gentile irritant which then raises suspicion and trust issues among all involved.Views on race  can vary a lot,  but a decision has been made that to defeat the jew,as many noble, gentile bodies are needed as possible.

A conflict ,I have noticed arising, by being one loosely defined  jewaware entity, is amongst the predominant white  element, who seem to demonstate a dislike, bordering on hatred, for blacks, especially, but other gentiles as well. This has taken the form of  daily rantings in public, demonstrating their lack of respect, and reinforcing the opinion that  other ethnicities are at war with the white man,for example,  with post after post of black on white horror stories.I have yet to recall any positive posts by these “Separatists” concerning their target gentiles of concern.This  troubles  “Inclusionists” who  would prefer to post stories that might elicit  curiosity, and interest from other gentiles rather than the distrust  that is, currently, occurring.

This leads me to my claim that forming two movements to accomodate each side, or political party  would be the best solution  for both sides to target their own message without the infighting that the jew soooo likes!For me as an “Inclusionist”, the idea of recruiting someone, only to be undermined by my own people in that effort by opposite signals being sent at strategic moments, makes me believe that outreach without clarity of purpose can not be accomplished, and for clarity of purpose to take hold, like minded thinkers on the basics of operation need to come together and  unlike minded thinkers need to be removed . Look folks, everyone is waiting for some dynamic occurance to happen to wake us up. The jew, himself , has proved that  it takes a coordinated attack to make progress towards a goal.He has also, divided up his resources into seemingly opposite camps. He covers every area of dissent with his own.It’s really not such a monumental occurrance to,fracture ourselves a bit, strategically, in this fight.This is my call for that-both groups can contribute, even join hands on occasion, but there are irreconciliable differences in the jewaware community that precludes working together, daily .”Separatists”, don’t want” Inclusionist” baggage to rebut, and neither do Inclusionists want to deal with separatist claims that they disagree with.Focussing on the jew, is what we all have in common ,and whether that be ending the fed, fighting Obamacare, or stopping our troops from supporting Israel, we all have a dog  in that fight.Let’s come together when we have the same dog in the same fight, and stay apart, otherwise and, in this fashion ,we can best keep our eyes on the prize (Jewish power and it’s abuse and removal). A final thought is that if we did separate our efforts, when we do come together, lets leave our conflicts at home and focus on the current goal which brought us together.

So to wrap up, I think we need to divide our jewaware zionist challenging strategy into two political parties so that our primary concern of stopping jewish power over our lives, doesn’t get bogged down with secondary issues that many of us differ on.I have identified, the dividing line as “Separatist” and Inclusionist” , primarily over issues of” to what extent various goyim ethnicities are to get envolved with this fight”, a fight that the jew wins by dividing and conquering us-Thanks!

...............PEACE,YA'LL....................

……………PEACE,YA’LL………………..

Jewawares! -two philosophies-”Separatists” and “Inclusionists”!

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