The Dynamics between Men and Women - 718 Words

Gender The dynamic between male and female is extremely complex. Over the course of human history, men have primarily dominated over women in nearly every aspect of human interaction and daily life. Despite the large progress that has been made in recent decades, women are still heavily subordinated by the male gender both in the workforce and in the private sphere. Examples of this domination of men can be seen in many aspects of everyday life including: interpersonal and social interaction, family, among peers, in education, and in the media. The interpersonal and social interaction of male and female is proven to be highly dominated by the male gender. The ways that people describe one another are based on the differences that are identifiable by physical and mental individualities. Richardson uses language to illustrate interaction which is ingrained in the psychology of the society. Men are stronger than women and therefore it is mankind which dominates. This is also illustrated in th e iconography of advertising where women are often seen handcuffed, gagged, and in some way physically suppressed by the dominant male. Society is patriarchal and male domination is a factor in everything, including the family setting. In the past, the father was seen as the authority figure and disciplinarian while the mothers job was to cook and clean. This is visible in advertising where the proper woman is wife and mother, cleaning house in heels and pearls while cooking aShow MoreRelatedThe Social Dynamics Between Men And Women Of The 1920s1436 Words   |  6 Pageslover s passion, his devotion, his doggedness, but in life, especially today, wouldn t we call them stalkers and stop far short of praising their virtues? It is often difficult to draw a fine line between both a romantic and a fool. I have not really studied the social dynamics between men and women of the 1920s, but to today’s standards Jay Gatsby stands more toward a fool.The general argument made by many c ritics of Jay Gatsby is his efforts to pronounce his undying love towards Daisy BuchananRead MoreAnalysis Of Beyond The Veil By Fatima Mernissi1240 Words   |  5 Pagespundits specifically by men for their own personal benefits. In Fatima Mernissi’s book Beyond the Veil: Male-Female Dynamics in Modern Muslim Society, Fatima Mernissi focuses on sexual relations between men and women and how it effects societal dynamics. In the novel, Fatima Mernissi attempts to narrate the sexual inequality of women in the Muslim world and explores deeply in male-female relationships as a component of the Muslim society. She fears that the involvement between a man and a woman, whichRead MoreFeminism In Beyond The Veil1305 Words   |  6 Pagespundits specifically by men for their own personal benefits. In Fatima Mernissi’s book Beyond the Veil: Male-Female Dynamics in Modern Muslim Society, Fatima Mernissi focuses on sexual relations between men and women and how it effects societal dynamics. In the novel, Fatima Mernissi attempts to narrate the sexual inequality of women in the Muslim world and explores deeply in male-female relationships as a component of the Muslim society. She fears that the involvement between a man and a woman, whichRead More`` What Athleticism Is This, That Those Her Golden Tresses By Edmund Spenser989 Words   |  4 Pagestresses by Edmund Spenser is a fascinating poem describing the dynamics of desire that surround men and women. There are distinct differences between men and women, especially in how they attract one another and how they make decisions. Through this poem I felt that Spenser is expressing the beauty that women may harness to attract a man to be her mate. Spenser compares women to hunters when he describes the tactic used by women to attract men. Spenser formerly goes on to describe the feelings that comeRead MoreAn Analysis Of Susan Glaspell s Trifles 1606 Words   |  7 PagesThe play Trifles written by Susan Glasp ell is a mystery story of a murder that takes place in a small farming town. At the time the play was written women in the united states were still not given the opportunity to vote. It is through the mystery of this murder that we find the role of gender to be a major factor throughout the entirety of the play. In the play, we are given tandems of females and males to follow as they seek to solve the mystery of how Mrs. Wright’s husband was murdered. TheRead MoreIs Sexism Still a Force in Our Culture?1212 Words   |  5 Pagesin Our Culture? Sexism against women has been prevalent for hundreds of years, despite the fact that there is nothing inherently sexist about human existence, or that of other animals. In fact, there exist a number of animal species that are not sexist, and the sustained prevalence of sexism among humans is a topic that necessitates investigation. This paper examines sexism as it relates to contemporary culture, with particular emphasis paid to whether women have overcome the oppression that theyRead More Property as Feminist Dynamic in Weltys Delta Wedding Essay examples1014 Words   |  5 Pages Property as Feminist Dynamic in Weltys Delta Weddingnbsp;nbsp; In our traditionally patriarchal society, primogeniture is the norm for inheritance of property. For anyone other than a first-born son to inherit the family estate is unusual. Even more unusual is inheritance by women, who in many localities were forbidden from owning property. Thus, the pattern of inheritance which Robbie notes in Delta Wedding is a significant departure from cultural norms. Eudora Welty depicts a domesticRead MoreSimone De Beauvoir And Frantz Fanon And The Oppression Of Women1649 Words   |  7 PagesSecond Sex.† De Beauvoir tackles the oppression of women. While not a minority, women are written out of society by a more dominant male society, and experience oppression like that felt by the minority. Like minority groups, women are relegated to a status of â€Å"otherness† in society, which defines them as outside the bounds of the accepted and controlling group, men. De Beauvoir was a revolutionary academic and advocate for the cause of women, at a time when such a cause was minimal. As such anRead MoreEssay on Gender and Sexuality897 Words   |  4 PagesWhat does it take to be a man or a woman? Our sense organs alone do not determine whether we are men or women. Our gender includes a multifaceted combination of beliefs, behaviors, and characteristics. How do we act, behave, and talk like a man or a woman? Each one of us has a sex, a gender, and a gender identity that are all aspects of our sexuality. These aspects describe who we are, in different personalities and attributes but related. Society’s categories for what is masculine and feminine mayRead MoreThe Institutions Of Classroom Dynamics944 Words   |  4 PagesThe institutions of classroom dynamics in educational settings reveal social differences in the American educational system. Within the American educational system, students and teachers alike are subject to both visible and invisible forms of inequality and difference. Within this system, concepts, such as the double bind, subordination of women, and androcentrism expose how both student/teacher dynamics and student/student dynamics define gendered boundaries. Moreover, these boundaries perpetuate

The Tell Tale Heart By Edgar Allan Poe - 853 Words

hrough the first person narrator, Edgar Allan Poe s The Tell-Tale Heart illustrates how man s imagination is capable of being so vivid that it profoundly affects people s lives. The manifestation of the narrator s imagination unconsciously plants seeds in his mind, and those seeds grow into an unmanageable situation for which there is no room for reason and which culminates in murder. The narrator takes care of an old man with whom the relationship is unclear, although the narrator s comment of For his gold I had no desire (Poe 34) lends itself to the fact that the old man may be a family member whose death would monetarily benefit the narrator. Moreover, the narrator also intimates a caring relationship when he says, I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult (34). The narrator s obsession with the old man s eye culminates in his own undoing as he is engulfed with internal conflict and his own transformation from confidence to guilt. The fixation on the old man s vulture-like eye forces the narrator to concoct a plan to eliminate the old man. The narrator confesses the sole reason for killing the old man is his eye: Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees - very gradually - I made up my mind to rid myself of the eye for ever (34). The narrator begins his tale of betrayal by trying to convince the reader he is not insane, but the reader quickly surmises the narrator indeed is out of control. TheShow MoreRelatedThe Tell Tale Heart By Edgar Allan Poe1161 Words   |  5 PagesOut of a vast quantity of these English historians, one stood out to me, his name is Edgar Allan Poe. Poe’s writing had its own unique gothic and horror style. The story, The Tell-Tale Heart is one of his very popular pieces of literature, it not only tells a story, but uses Poe’s unique style of writing to silently incorporate different genres, themes, and symbolism to create a sub-story within the text it self. Poe was born in Boston Massachusetts on January 19, 1809. At the young age of just 2 yearsRead MoreThe Tell Tale Heart By Edgar Allan Poe1569 Words   |  7 PagesIn the short story â€Å"The Tell-Tale Heart,† author Edgar Allan Poe employs several literary devices such as symbolism, allegory, and imagery. These devices enable us to see and better comprehend the story’s events through the eyes of the narrator. The narrator explains that he is extremely nervous but clarifies that he is not insane; he even goes so far as to share an event from his past to prove that he is not crazy. He believes that he loves the old man and has nothing against him except his horribleRead MoreThe Tell Tale Heart By Edgar Allan Poe Essay1477 Words   |  6 Pagesyourself and others that you weren’t in the wrong for doing something bad? Well, the narrator in the story The Tell-Tale Heart does. Edgar Allan Poe is known to write stories that are of Dark Romanticism. Dark romanticism is a literary genre that showcases gothic stories that portray torture, insanity, murder, and revenge. The story â€Å"The Tell-Tale Heart† is no different. Edgar Allan Poe does a great job with making the readers wonder throughout this short story. This allegory makes reader’s questionsRead MoreThe Tell Tale Heart By Edgar Allan Poe1502 Words   |  7 PagesThe author Edgar Allan Poe created a beautiful writing piece called â€Å"Tell Tale Heart†, which included literal elements such as mood, tone, and point of view. The story included a tremulous mood for the reader to be able to feel the excitement of the story. According to the text â€Å"Tell Tale Heart†, it states â€Å"And now at the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror.† This illustrates that the details of the storyRead MoreThe Tell Tale Heart By Edgar Allan Poe986 Words   |  4 Pagesbade the gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream.† The Tell Tale Heart is one of Edger Allan Poe’s most famous and creepiest stories. The premise of this gothic short story is that a man’s own insanity gives him away as a murderer. By using the narrators own thoughts as the story Poe displays the mental instability and the unique way of creating a gothic fiction. While other stories written by Poe reflect this same gothic structure and questionable sanity, this story has aRead MoreThe Tell Tale Heart By Edgar Allan Poe1133 Words   |  5 Pages Written in 1843, The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe incorporates nearly all of the gothic elements. While this piece of art may not contain all of the gothic elements, it is the epitome of a gothic short story. In The Tell-Tale Heart, the setting seems to be inside an old house, which strengthens the atmosphere of mystery and suspense. The madness and overall insanity of the narrator illustrates the sense of high, overwrought emotion. The presence of creaking hinges and the darkness representRead MoreThe Tell Tale Heart By Edgar Allan Poe1644 Words   |  7 Pages Edgar Allan Poe was a prominent American writer whose writing reflected his tragic life. He began to sell short stories for profit after being forced to leave United States Military Academy for lack of financial support. Over the next decade, Poe published some of his best-known works, including The Fall of the House of Usher (1839), The Raven (1845), and The Cask of Amontillado (1846). It is in these stories that Po e established his unique dark writing style that often have the recurring themeRead MoreThe Tell Tale Heart By Edgar Allan Poe1030 Words   |  5 PagesA Guilty- Mad Heart â€Å"Burduck then goes on to ponder how Poe used cultural anxieties and psychological panic to advantage.† (Grim Phantasms, G.A. Cevasco). In The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe, a nameless man narrates the story of how he murdered an elderly man because of his eyes. In his short story The Tell-Tale Heart, Poe shows the themes of guilt and the descent into madness through the narrator, in this gothic horror story. Edgar Allan Poe wrote many gothic tales throughout his lifeRead MoreThe Tell Tale Heart By Edgar Allan Poe879 Words   |  4 PagesIn between guilt, paranoia and obsession The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe uses several literary elements to support the themes of the story. The story is based on a gruesome murder of an old man. The author uses madness, obsession and guilt as themes to prove how the narrator is truly twisted and insane. Madness is the first theme of the story; in the beginning the narrator tries to convince the audience he is not mad (insane). â€Å"TRUE!... nervous very, very nervous I had been and am; but whyRead MoreA Tell Tale Heart By Edgar Allan Poe1156 Words   |  5 Pagescontain some level of madness. For example in the short stories â€Å"The Yellow Wallpaper† by Charlotte Perkins Gilman â€Å"The Tell-Tale Heart† by Edgar Allan Poe, both of the main character in these stories believe that they are perfectly wise, but their out of control behaviors proves that they’re mentally ill or to be more specific insane. In the short story â€Å"A tell-tale heart† the unknown narrator is telling us a story about his neighbor who is an old man but his of a vulture: blue pale eye is what

Part Four Chapter III Free Essays

III Andrew had spent hours deciding which clothes he ought to wear for his first day’s work at the Copper Kettle. His final choice was draped over the back of the chair in his bedroom. A particularly angry acne pustule had chosen to bring itself to a shiny tight peak on his left cheek, and Andrew had gone so far as to experiment with Ruth’s foundation, which he had sneaked out of her dressing-table drawer. We will write a custom essay sample on Part Four Chapter III or any similar topic only for you Order Now He was laying the kitchen table on Friday evening, his mind full of Gaia and the seven solid hours of close proximity to her that were within touching distance, when his father returned from work in a state that Andrew had never seen before. Simon seemed subdued, almost disorientated. ‘Where’s your mother?’ Ruth came bustling out of the walk-in pantry. ‘Hello Si-Pie! How – what’s wrong?’ ‘They’ve made me redundant.’ Ruth clapped her hands to her face in horror, then dashed to her husband, threw her arms around his neck and drew him close. ‘Why?’ she whispered. ‘That message,’ said Simon. ‘On that fucking website. They pulled in Jim and Tommy too. It was take redundancy or we’ll sack you. And it’s a shitty deal. It’s not even what they gave Brian Grant.’ Andrew stood perfectly still, calcifying slowly into a monument of guilt. ‘Fuck,’ said Simon, into Ruth’s shoulder. ‘You’ll get something else,’ she whispered. ‘Not round here,’ said Simon. He sat down on a kitchen chair, still in his coat, and stared across the room, apparently too stunned to speak. Ruth hovered around him, dismayed, affectionate and tearful. Andrew was glad to detect in Simon’s catatonic gaze a whiff of his usual ham theatrics. It made him feel slightly less guilty. He continued to lay the table without saying a word. Dinner was a subdued affair. Paul, apprised of the family news, looked terrified, as though his father might accuse him of causing it all. Simon acted like a Christian martyr through the first course, wounded but dignified in the face of unwarranted persecution, but then – ‘I’ll pay someone to punch the fucker’s fat face through the back of his neck,’ he burst out as he spooned apple crumble into himself; and the family knew that he meant Howard Mollison. ‘You know, there’s been another message on that council website,’ said Ruth breathlessly. ‘It’s not only you who’s had it, Si. Shir – somebody told me at work. The same person – The Ghost of Barry Fairbrother – has put up something horrible about Dr Jawanda. So Howard and Shirley got someone in to look at the site, and he realized that whoever’s doing these messages has been using Barry Fairbrother’s log-in details, so to be safe, they’ve taken them off the – the database or something – ‘ ‘And will any of this get me my fucking job back?’ Ruth did not speak again for several minutes. Andrew was unnerved by what his mother had said. It was worrying that The_Ghost_of_Barry_Fairbrother was being investigated, and unnerving that somebody else had followed his lead. Who else would have thought of using Barry Fairbrother’s log-in details but Fats? Yet why would Fats go for Dr Jawanda? Or was it just another way of getting at Sukhvinder? Andrew did not like it at all †¦ ‘What’s the matter with you?’ Simon barked across the table. ‘Nothing,’ Andrew muttered, and then, backtracking, ‘it’s a shock, isn’t it †¦ your job †¦Ã¢â‚¬â„¢ ‘Oh, you’re shocked, are you?’ shouted Simon, and Paul dropped his spoon and dribbled ice cream down himself. ‘(Clean it up, Pauline, you little pansy!) Well, this is the real world, Pizza Face!’ he shouted at Andrew. ‘Fuckers everywhere trying to do you down! So you,’ he pointed across the table at his eldest son, ‘you get some dirt on Mollison, or don’t bother coming home tomorrow!’ ‘Si – ‘ Simon pushed his chair away from the table, threw down his own spoon, which bounced onto the floor with a clatter, and stalked from the room, slamming the door behind him. Andrew waited for the inevitable, and was not disappointed. ‘It’s a terrible shock for him,’ a shaken Ruth whispered at her sons. ‘After all the years he’s given that company †¦ he’s worried how he’s going to look after us all †¦Ã¢â‚¬â„¢ When the alarm rang at six thirty the next morning, Andrew slammed it off within seconds and virtually leapt out of bed. Feeling as though it was Christmas Day, he washed and dressed at speed, then spent forty minutes on his hair and face, dabbing minuscule amounts of foundation onto the most obvious of his spots. He half expected Simon to waylay him as he crept past his parents’ room, but he met nobody, and after a hasty breakfast he wheeled Simon’s racing bicycle out of the garage and sped off down the hill towards Pagford. It was a misty morning that promised sunshine later. The blinds were still down in the delicatessen, but the door tinkled and gave when he pushed it. ‘Not this way!’ shouted Howard, waddling towards him. ‘You come in round the back! You can leave the bike by the bins, get it away from the front!’ The rear of the delicatessen, reached by a narrow passageway, comprised a tiny dank patch of stone-paved yard, bordered by high walls, sheds with industrial-sized metal bins and a trapdoor that led down vertiginous steps to a cellar. ‘You can chain it up somewhere there, out of the way,’ said Howard, who had appeared at the back door, wheezing and sweaty-faced. While Andrew fumbled with the padlock on the chain, Howard dabbed at his forehead with his apron. ‘Right, we’ll start with the cellar,’ he said, when Andrew had secured the bicycle. He pointed at the trapdoor. ‘Get down there and see the layout.’ He bent over the hatch as Andrew climbed down the steps. Howard had not been able to climb down into his own cellar for years. Maureen usually tottered up and down the steps a couple of times a week; but now that it was fully stocked with goods for the cafe, younger legs were indispensible. ‘Have a good look around,’ he shouted at the out-of-sight Andrew. ‘See where we’ve got the gateaux and all the baked goods? See the big bags of coffee beans and the boxes of teabags? And in the corner – the toilet rolls and the bin bags?’ ‘Yeah,’ Andrew’s voice echoed up from the depths. ‘You can call me Mr Mollison,’ said Howard, with a slightly tart edge to his wheezy voice. Down in the cellar, Andrew wondered whether he ought to start straight away. ‘OK †¦ Mr Mollison.’ It sounded sarcastic. He hastened to make amends with a polite question. ‘What’s in these big cupboards?’ ‘Have a look,’ said Howard impatiently. ‘That’s what you’re down there for. To know where you put everything and where you get it from.’ Howard listened to the muffled sounds of Andrew opening the heavy doors, and hoped that the boy would not prove gormless or need a lot of direction. Howard’s asthma was particularly bad today; the pollen count was unseasonably high, on top of all the extra work, and the excitement and petty frustrations of the opening. The way he was sweating, he might need to ring Shirley to bring him a new shirt before they unlocked the doors. ‘Here’s the van!’ Howard shouted, hearing a rumble at the other end of the passageway. ‘Get up here! You’re to carry the stuff down to the cellar and put it away, all right? And bring a couple of gallons of milk through to me in the cafe. You got that?’ ‘Yeah †¦ Mr Mollison,’ said Andrew’s voice from below. Howard walked slowly back inside to fetch the inhaler that he kept in his jacket, which was hanging up in the staff room behind the delicatessen counter. Several deep breaths later, he felt much better. Wiping his face on his apron again, he sat down on one of the creaking chairs to rest. Several times since he had been to see her about his skin rash, Howard had thought about what Dr Jawanda had said about his weight: that it was the source of all his health problems. Nonsense, obviously. Look at the Hubbards’ boy: built like a beanpole, and shocking asthma. Howard had always been big, as far back as he could remember. In the very few photographs taken of him with his father, who had left the family when Howard was four or five, he was merely chubby. After his father had left, his mother had sat him at the head of the table, between herself and his grandmother, and been hurt if he did not take seconds. Steadily he had grown to fill the space between the two women, as heavy at twelve as the father who had left them. Howard had come to associate a hearty appetite with manliness. His bulk was one of his defining characteristics. It had been built with pleasure, by the women who loved him, and he thought it was absolutely characteristic of Bends-Your-Ear, that emasculating killjoy, that she wanted to strip him of it. But sometimes, in moments of weakness, when it became difficult to breathe or to move, Howard knew fear. It was all very well for Shirley to act as though he had never been in danger, but he remembered long nights in the hospital after his bypass, when he had not been able to sleep for worry that his heart might falter and stop. Whenever he caught sight of Vikram Jawanda, he remembered that those long dark fingers had actually touched his naked, beating heart; the bonhomie with which he brimmed at each encounter was a way of driving out that primitive, instinctive terror. They had told him at the hospital afterwards that he needed to lose some weight, but he had dropped two stone naturally while he was forced to live off their dreadful food, and Shirley had been intent on fattening him up again once he was out †¦ Howard sat for a moment more, enjoying the ease with which he breathed after using his inhaler. Today meant a great deal to him. Thirty-five years previously, he had introduced fine dining to Pagford with the elan of a sixteenth-century adventurer returning with delicacies from the other side of the world, and Pagford, after initial wariness, had soon begun to nose curiously and timidly into his polystyrene pots. He thought wistfully of his late mother, who had been so proud of him and his thriving business. He wished that she could have seen the cafe. Howard heaved himself back to his feet, took his deerstalker from its hook and placed it carefully on his head in an act of self-coronation. His new waitresses arrived together at half-past eight. He had a surprise for them. ‘Here you are,’ he said, holding out the uniforms: black dresses with frilly white aprons, exactly as he had imagined. ‘Ought to fit. Maureen reckoned she knew your sizes. She’s wearing one herself.’ Gaia forced back a laugh as Maureen stalked into the delicatessen from the cafe, smiling at them. She was wearing Dr Scholl’s sandals over her black stockings. Her dress finished two inches above her wrinkled knees. ‘You can change in the staff room, girls,’ she said, indicating the place from which Howard had just emerged. Gaia was already pulling off her jeans beside the staff toilet when she saw Sukhvinder’s expression. ‘Whassamatter, Sooks?’ she asked. The new nickname gave Sukhvinder the courage to say what she might otherwise have been unable to voice. ‘I can’t wear this,’ she whispered. ‘Why?’ asked Gaia. ‘You’ll look OK.’ But the black dress had short sleeves. ‘I can’t.’ ‘But wh – Jesus,’ said Gaia. Sukhvinder had pulled back the sleeves of her sweatshirt. Her inner arms were covered in ugly criss-cross scars, and angry fresh-clotted cuts travelled up from her wrist to her inner arm. ‘Sooks,’ said Gaia quietly. ‘What are you playing at, mate?’ Sukhvinder shook her head, with her eyes full of tears. Gaia thought for a moment, then said, ‘I know – come here.’ She was stripping off her long-sleeved T-shirt. The door suffered a big blow and the imperfectly closed bolt shot open: a sweating Andrew was halfway inside, carrying two weighty packs of toilet rolls, when Gaia’s angry shout stopped him in his tracks. He tripped out backwards, into Maureen. ‘They’re changing in there,’ she said, in sour disapproval. ‘Mr Mollison told me to put these in the staff bathroom.’ Holy shit, holy shit. She had been stripped to her bra and pants. He had seen nearly everything. ‘Sorry,’ Andrew yelled at the closed door. His whole face was throbbing with the force of his blush. ‘Wanker,’ muttered Gaia, on the other side. She was holding out her T-shirt to Sukhvinder. ‘Put it on underneath the dress.’ ‘That’ll look weird.’ ‘Never mind. You can get a black one for next week, it’ll look like you’re wearing long sleeves. We’ll tell him some story †¦Ã¢â‚¬â„¢ ‘She’s got eczema,’ Gaia announced, when she and Sukhvinder emerged from the staff room, fully dressed and aproned. ‘All up her arms. It’s a bit scabby.’ ‘Ah,’ said Howard, glancing at Sukhvinder’s white T-shirted arms and then back at Gaia, who looked every bit as gorgeous as he had hoped. ‘I’ll get a black one for next week,’ said Sukhvinder, unable to look Howard in the eye. ‘Fine,’ he said, patting Gaia in the small of her back as he sent the pair of them through to the cafe. ‘Brace yourselves,’ he called to his staff at large. ‘We’re nearly there †¦ doors open, please, Maureen!’ There was already a little knot of customers waiting on the pavement. A sign outside read: The Copper Kettle, Opening Today – First Coffee Free! Andrew did not see Gaia again for hours. Howard kept him busy heaving milk and fruit juices up and down the steep cellar steps, and swabbing the floor of the small kitchen area at the back. He was given a lunch break earlier than either of the waitresses. The next glimpse he got of her was when Howard summoned him to the counter of the cafe, and they passed within inches of each other as she walked in the other direction, towards the back room. ‘We’re swamped, Mr Price!’ said Howard, in high good humour. ‘Get yourself a clean apron and mop down some of these tables for me while Gaia has her lunch!’ Miles and Samantha Mollison had sat down with their two daughters and Shirley at a table in the window. ‘It seems to be going awfully well, doesn’t it?’ Shirley said, looking around. ‘But what on earth is that Jawanda girl wearing under her dress?’ ‘Bandages?’ suggested Miles, squinting across the room. ‘Hi, Sukhvinder!’ called Lexie, who knew her from primary school. ‘Don’t shout, darling,’ Shirley reproved her granddaughter, and Samantha bristled. Maureen emerged from behind the counter in her short black dress and frilly apron, and Shirley corpsed into her coffee. ‘Oh dear,’ she said quietly, as Maureen walked towards them, beaming. It was true, Samantha thought, Maureen looked ridiculous, especially next to a pair of sixteen-year-olds in identical dresses, but she was not going to give Shirley the satisfaction of agreeing with her. She turned ostentatiously away, watching the boy mopping tables nearby. He was spare but reasonably broad-shouldered. She could see his muscles working under the loose T-shirt. Incredible to think that Miles’ big fat backside could ever have been that small and tight – then the boy turned into the light and she saw his acne. ‘Not half bad, is it?’ Maureen was croaking to Miles. ‘We’ve been full all day.’ ‘All right, girls,’ Miles addressed his family, ‘what’ll we have to keep up Grandpa’s profits?’ Samantha listlessly ordered a bowl of soup, as Howard waddled through from the delicatessen; he had been striding in and out of the cafe every ten minutes all day, greeting customers and checking the flow of cash into the till. ‘Roaring success,’ he told Miles, squeezing in at their table. ‘What d’you think of the place, Sammy? You haven’t seen it before, have you? Like the mural? Like the china?’ ‘Mm,’ said Samantha. ‘Lovely.’ ‘I was thinking about having my sixty-fifth here,’ said Howard, absent-mindedly scratching at the itch Parminder’s creams had not yet cured, ‘but it’s not big enough. I think we’ll stick with the church hall.’ ‘When’s that, Grandpa?’ piped up Lexie. ‘Am I coming?’ ‘Twenty-ninth, and what are you now – sixteen? Course you can come,’ said Howard happily. ‘The twenty-ninth?’ said Samantha. ‘Oh, but †¦Ã¢â‚¬â„¢ Shirley looked at her sharply. ‘Howard’s been planning this for months. We’ve all been talking about it for ages.’ ‘†¦ that’s the night of Libby’s concert,’ said Samantha. ‘A school thing, is it?’ asked Howard. ‘No,’ said Libby, ‘Mum’s got me tickets for my favourite group. It’s in London.’ ‘And I’m going with her,’ said Samantha. ‘She can’t go alone.’ ‘Harriet’s mum says she could – ‘ ‘I’m taking you, Libby, if you’re going to London.’ ‘The twenty-ninth?’ said Miles, looking hard at Samantha. ‘The day after the election?’ Samantha let loose the derisive laugh that she had spared Maureen. ‘It’s the Parish Council, Miles. It’s not as though you’ll be giving press conferences.’ ‘Well, we’ll miss you, Sammy,’ said Howard, as he hauled himself up with the aid of the back of her chair. ‘Best get on †¦ all right, Andrew, you’re done here †¦ go and see if we need anything up from the cellar.’ Andrew was forced to wait beside the counter while people passed to and from the bathroom. Maureen was loading up Sukhvinder with plates of sandwiches. ‘How’s your mother?’ she asked the girl abruptly, as though the thought had just occurred to her. ‘Fine,’ said Sukhvinder, her colour rising. ‘Not too upset by that nasty business on the council website?’ ‘No,’ said Sukhvinder, her eyes watering. Andrew proceeded out into the dank yard, which, in the early afternoon, had become warm and sunny. He had hoped that Gaia might be there, taking a breath of fresh air, but she must have gone into the staff room in the deli. Disappointed, he lit up a cigarette. He had barely inhaled when Gaia emerged from the cafe, finishing her lunch with a can of fizzy drink. ‘Hi,’ said Andrew, his mouth dry. ‘Hi,’ she said. Then, after a moment or two: ‘Hey, why’s that friend of yours such a shit to Sukhvinder? Is it personal or is he racist?’ ‘He isn’t racist,’ said Andrew. He removed the cigarette from his mouth, trying to keep his hands from trembling, but could not think of anything else to say. The sunshine reflected off the bins warmed his sweaty back; close proximity to her in the tight black dress was almost overwhelming, especially now that he had glimpsed what lay beneath. He took another drag of the cigarette, not knowing when he had felt so bedazzled or so alive. ‘What’s she ever done to him, though?’ The curve of her hips to her tiny waist; the perfection of her wide, flecked eyes over the can of Sprite. Andrew felt like saying, Nothing, he’s a bastard, I’ll hit him if you let me touch you †¦ Sukhvinder emerged into the yard, blinking in the sunlight; she looked uncomfortable and hot in Gaia’s top. ‘He wants you back in,’ she said to Gaia. ‘He can wait,’ said Gaia coolly. ‘I’m finishing this. I’ve only had forty minutes.’ Andrew and Sukhvinder contemplated her as she sipped her drink, awed by her arrogance and her beauty. ‘Was that old bitch saying something to you just then, about your mum?’ Gaia asked Sukhvinder. Sukhvinder nodded. ‘I think it might’ve been his mate,’ she said, staring at Andrew again, and he found her emphasis on his positively erotic, even if she meant it to be derogatory, ‘who put that message about your mum on that website.’ ‘Can’t’ve been,’ said Andrew, and his voice wobbled slightly. ‘Whoever did it went after my old man, too. Couple of weeks ago.’ ‘What?’ asked Gaia. ‘The same person posted something about your dad?’ He nodded, relishing her interest. ‘Something about stealing, wasn’t it?’ asked Sukhvinder, with considerable daring. ‘Yeah,’ said Andrew. ‘And he got the sack for it yesterday. So her mum,’ he met Gaia’s blinding gaze almost steadily, ‘isn’t the only one who’s suffered.’ ‘Bloody hell,’ said Gaia, upending the can and throwing it into a bin. ‘People round here are effing mental.’ How to cite Part Four Chapter III, Essay examples

Causes and Consequences of the Montgomery Bus Boycott free essay sample

The leader of the Bus Boycott was a local preacher called Martin Luther King who formed the Montgomery Improvement Association to orgnaise the boycott and the protest made him the leader of the Black Civil Rights Movement until his assassination. SO no Montgomery Bus Boycott, no non-violent direct action, no I have a Dream speech, no Million-Men march etc. 5. During the Boycott, the Ku Klux Klan attacked the homes of Black leaders this turned public opinion against the Whites. From then on public opinion, specially in the north, PLUS the Federal Government openly supported Black Civil Rights. 6. Rosa Parkes became the mother of the Civil Rights movement: a role model, not only for Blacks, but also for women. In particular, the bus boycott showed ordinary Black men-and-women-in-the-street that little as they could do individually nevetheless, if they stood together and each did their little bit, that we shall overcome one day. We will write a custom essay sample on Causes and Consequences of the Montgomery Bus Boycott or any similar topic specifically for you Do Not WasteYour Time HIRE WRITER Only 13.90 / page