Seven Wives - Excerpt

I have survived a series of unlikely attempts on my life. Someone out there - person or persons unknown - wants me erased. That's all I will say at this point without aone of my former therapists in the room to validate my sanity. As to the perseumptive assailant, I have several candidates in mind with unassailable credentials, more than a few theories, a steamer trunk full of suspicions. This is the way I went about my investigation: I wrote down on a legal pad all the people I had wrong (whose names I could still remember) and under that all the people who had wrong me (and who probably blamed me for their unspeakable behavior), a combined list that extended itself into the hundreds. I am an abrasive personality, though secretly soft-hearted. My second list, which was shorter, was comprised of acquaintances who imaged themselves wronged by me. These as a group were the least stable, the most likely to pursue vengeance years after the presumed offense. Then I accounted those for whom grievance was a way of life, people who couldn't cross the street without feeling disrespected by some passing car. Not to be omitted from consideration were former wives, all of whom fit into one or another of the categories. And then there were the women that I didn't marry, the ones who wanted (or said they wanted) greater intimacy, and the ones who wanted mostly to be left alone, and the ones who seemed to want both greater intimacy and to be left alone, women who thrived on the frission of ambiguity.

Of course there is always the possibility of circumstantial enmity, displaced vindictiveness. Whenever possible, I try to stay clear of the incomprehensible. Down that road lies madness.