This digression brought Helen logically to the main topic of her letter: the oppression of women. “This is a subject I’ve given a lot of thought to, and I think I have the answer. I’ve tried to encompass in my theory all the sociological, mythological, religious, philosophical, muscular, economic, cultural, musical, physical, ethical, intellectual, metaphysical, anthropological, gynecological, historical, hormonal, environmental, judicial, legal, moral, ethnic, governmental, linguistic, psychological, schizophrenic, glottal, racial, poetic, dental [this was the logical link], artistic, military, and urinary considerations from prehistoric times to the present. I have been able to synthesize these considerations into one inescapable formulation: men can knock the shit out of women.”
Helen’s letter went on to point out the implications of her formulation for the theory of the so-called black matriarchs: it tore the theory all to hell. In a later day, Helen might have gone on to add (with a slip of the pen owing to hunger): “There’s no male chauvinist pork like a black male chauvinist pork.” Now she contented herself with pointing out how her own mother still deferred to her father even in his immobilization, keeping on the safe side in case he ever came out of it. As Louise often said, “He ain’ gon [pronounced, by Louise and others, as if it were a French word, never as “gone”] hab no scuse to box my jaws.”
Helen’s letter so impressed Oreo that it led her to do two things: adopt a motto and develop a system of self-defense. The motto was Nemo me impune lacessit—“No one attacks me with impunity.” “Ain’t no nigger gon tell me what to do. I’ll give him such a klop in the kishkas!” she said, lapsing into the inflections of her white-skinned black grandmother and (through her mother) her dark-skinned white grandfather, as she often did under stress.
She called her system of self-defense the Way of the Interstitial Thrust, or WIT. WIT was based on an Oriental dedication to attacking the body’s soft, vulnerable spaces or, au fond, to making such spaces, or interstices, where previously none had existed; where, for example, a second before there had been an expanse of smooth, nonabraded skin and sturdy, unbroken bone. To this end, Oreo developed a series of moves that made other methods of self-defense — jiu-jitsu, karate, kung-fu, savate, judo, aikido, mikado, kikuyu, kendo, hondo, and shlong — obsolete by incorporating and improving upon their most effective aspects. With such awesome moves (or, as Oreo termed them, blōs) as the hed-lok, shu-kik, i-pik, hed-brāc, i-bop ul-na-brāc, hed-blō, fut-strīk, han-krus, tum-blō, nek-brāc, bal-brāc, bak-strīk, but-kik, the size or musculature of the opponent was virtually academic. Whether he was big or small, fat or thin, well-built or spavined, Oreo could, when she was in a state of extreme concentration known as hwip-as, engage any opponent up to three times her size and weight and whip his natural ass.
She was once inadvertently in the state of hwip-as when she was riding in her uncle’s car. A man standing on a corner as the car passed had seen her and had made sucking noises to denote his approval of her appearance. Oreo did not consciously know she had heard these primitive sounds, but as she was getting out of the car, she was in such an advanced state of hwip-as that when she yanked at the ashtray, mistakenly thinking it was a door handle, she heedlessly created for her uncle the only three-door club coupe in America.
Half WIT
Oreo’s tutors were on vacation. She needed something to do to occupy her fourteen-year-old mind for a few weeks, so she put an ad in the papers. Three days later, she received a phone call from what sounded like a young white man.
“May I speak to Miss Christine Clark?” he asked.
“This is Christine Clark.”
“Are you the girl who advertised in the Situations Wanted column of the Inquirer?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Dr. Jafferts. I’m the medical examiner for district five. I was wondering if I could interest you in a job?”
“I hope so.”
“Your ad said you’re a recent college graduate.”
“Yes, it did say that.”
“And your field was Chinese history?”
“Yes.”
“I see,” he said. “Well, let me tell you a little about the job we have in mind. In this job, you’d be negotiating government contracts.”
“Chinese history doesn’t exactly prepare—”
“That’s all right,” he said generously. “We would train you. This job doesn’t come under civil service. You’d be working with another woman. The job involves some traveling within a hundred-mile radius of the city. Do you drive?”
“Yes.”
“The job pays ninety-five to start and gas-mileage money. The hours are nine to three-thirty, five days a week. How does that sound?”
“Fine.”
“Now, here’s the catch. Would you submit to a medical examination for the job?”
“Certainly. Where’s your office?”
“Well, I don’t exactly have any particular office. I have to travel all over the district. I can give you the examination over the phone.”
Aha, thought Oreo. “Over the phone?” she asked.
“Yes. You’d be surprised at how thorough a phone examination can be.” He paused, then said, “Do you have a house or an apartment?”
“House,” said Oreo.
“And where is that located?”
She gave him her address.
Are you alone?”
Oreo decided to go along with him. “Why, yes.”
“I just asked because some of the questions may seem highly personal. But this is a combination psychological and medical exam, so don’t be alarmed.”
“I promise,” said Oreo.
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen,” lied Oreo.
“Are you a virgin?”
Which answer is better for a shmuck like this? she wondered, and, having decided, said, “No.”
“Would you mind telling me the color of your underclothes?”
Oreo covered her mouth to keep from giggling.
“I mean, are they white or different colors like pink, blue?” “All white,” said Oreo.
“Um-hmm. And what material are they? Silk, rayon, cotton?”
“Nylon.”
“I see. Now, would you mind telling me all the words you know that mean sexual intercourse?”
With a wicked smile, Oreo said, “Certainly. Procreation, cohabitation,coition, coitus.”
“No, no!” He sounded terribly disappointed. Then, clearing his throat, he said calmly, “I don’t mean… scientific terms. I mean just any words that might come to mind or that you might hear on the streets, for instance.”
“I’m sorry,” Oreo said. “Those are the only ones I can think of right now. Could I come back to that question?”
“Of course, of course,” he snapped. “Now, have you ever admired your body in a mirror?”
“Sure. Often.”
“Have you ever been roused? Does music ever make you want to—?” He broke off, then he said, “I’ve finished the psychological examination. Now I want you to take off your clothes and give yourself the medical.” After a few moments he said, “Are they off?”