The Citizen, 1996-04-03, Page 5By Raymond Canon
International Scene
THE CITIZEN, WEDNESDAY, APRIL 3, 1996 PAGE 5.
There is balm
in Gilead,
Edgar
"Is there — is there Balm in Gilead?
—Tell me, — tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!"
I was haunted for years by those lines
from Edgar Allan Poe's poem, The Raven.
Haunted because
(a) I couldn't find Gilead on any CAA road
map, and
(b) I didn't know what 'balm' Poe was
talking about. Lip balm, I knew. That's the
goop you smeared on your kisser if it was
chapped.
The Atom, Hydrogen and Plutonium
varieties I knew — but I was pretty sure a
smart cookie like Mister Poe would know
the difference between b-a-l-m and b-o-m-b.
My confusion was compounded when I
moved to Northwestern Ontario and found
myself covered with sticky green buds one
otherwise lovely spring afternoon. My
neighbour, a veteran bushworker, laughed
and slapped his brawny thigh in delight.
"Bin standin' under a Bamagilleum tree,
haintcha?"
Bamagilleum tree? What the hell was a
Bamagilleum tree? I asked a forester friend.
Big kid
on the block
In case you haven't noticed it lately, the
United States is becoming increasingly
prone to flexing its muscles and pushing
other nations around. While some of this
may be due to the fact that the country is
going through an election year and thus the
candidates may have to show the voters that
they can be forceful when it apparently
counts, the fact remains that the American
political ego is getting in the way of
common political and economic sense.
The Japanese were the first to feel the
pinch. While Japan admittedly has a great
deal of progress to make in deregulating its
domestic markets, the fact remains that
countries prepared to take the time and effort
to enter the Japanese market frequently find
that the extra effort pays off, as it does when
any country starts to push its foreign trade.
However, the Americans all too often
seem to think that they can demand a certain
percentage of the market and get it; if they
do not, they immediately start screaming
about fair trade and start to put the political
pressure on.
They did this with the automobile
industry, forcing the Japanese to take more
American made cars than they had in the
past. It didn't matter that the Japanese cars
use a right-hand drive or look for things in
cars that the Americans do not; Washington
used all sorts of threats to get the Japanese to
"It's the Balm of Gilead tree he's talking
about. The locals call them Bamagilleums."
Fine. But I still didn't know what Gilead or
Balm meant.
Until I checked the Bible and found out
that Edgar Allan was actually quoting the
old prophet Jeremiah who asked the same
question ('though not of a raven) in Jeremiah
8:22.
'Balm' is a simple contraction of 'balsam'.
Which conies full circle when you realize
the 'Bamagilleum' tree that had me
buffaloed, is actually a variety of balsam
poplar. 'Balsam' from Gilead was a kind of
Biblical cure-all, supposed to be good for
whatever ailed you. .
Which brings me (finally) to the point of
all this scribbling. If you happen to run into
Edgar Allan Poe down at the tavern this
afternoon, would you pass on this message:
There is balm in Gilead.
Archeologists excavating the rocky slopes
overlooking the Dead Sea oasis of Ein Gedi
in Israel have uncovered the ruins of a
massive watchtower, its entrance jammed
shut with a giant round stone. Behind that
stone lies the secret of EM Gedi — a prized
balsam oil, so rare it was used to anoint
Hebrew kings as early as the sixth and
seventh centuries BC.
The leader of the archeology team, Yizhar
Hirschfeld, is sure the secret is in there.
"Nothing like this has been found anywhere
in the ancient world" he says.
see it the American way.
Of late they have turned their attention to
Canada. You would have thought that there
was no such thing as a Free Trade
Agreement. If Canada became too successful
in any one field in exporting to the U.S., it
suddenly became unfair to American
companies who didn't bother to ask about
their productivity; they simply started
screaming to Washington to do something
about it.
The most recent fracas has been over the
increased imports of software lumber from
Canada. We were, apparently, not supposed
to be so successful.
Twice before the Americans have
protested and twice an impartial panel set up
under the Free Trade Agreement has found
in Canada's favour. Not to be outdone, the
American producers screamed a third time
and, in return for a promise not to do any
more screaming for the next five years,
Canada promised to cut back on their
exports.
I'm still trying to find something in the
Free Trade Agreement that says the
Americans can do what they did.
Next to emerge on the scene was the
shooting down by Cuban jets of two
American planes, which had been warned by
the Cubans on a number of occasions that
they were breaking Cuban law by flying
over the island. Immediately after the planes
are shot down, Washington gets into a
frenzy and passes a bill which, among other
things, makes it illegal for any foreign
company doing business with the United
States to continue to do business with Cuba.
One of the sponsors of the bill, Sen. Jesse
Helms, gets up in Congress and says that
Canada should be ashamed of itself for
Apparently the smell was beyond sublime.
The Roman historian Pliny the Elder called
it the finest in the world — as did many
Jewish chroniclers.
So exactly how seductive was the Balm of
Gilead?
We don't know. The trees from which the
oils were extracted became extinct about
1500 years ago. So we don't have any Balm
of Gilead to smell — but that doesn't mean
we won't have some soon.
The archeologists hope to analyze samples
scraped from the ancient EM Gedi vats from
which the famous Balm of Gilead can be
reconstituted and no doubt, put on the
market to fight it out with Brut, Mennen and
Arid Extra Dry.
But they might want to think twice about
it. The Jews of Ein Gedi were famous for
only one thing the fragrant 'balm' they
produced. And they guarded their secret with
fanatical care. In fact, the archeologists also
uncovered a centuries-old inscription on the
floor of a synagogue in the ancient town. It
reads: "Cursed be he who reveals the secret
of the village."
I don't know. I'm not superstitious, but if I
was in Yizhar Hirschfeld's desert boots, I'd
think hard before I got involved in re-
marketing Balm of Gilead as a roll-on
deodorant.
And Yizhar, if some night you answer a
rap on the door and find a raven standing
there, I'd forget the project altogether.
trading with Cuba; he likened it to the
British Prime Minister of the late 1930s,
Neville Chamberlain, stating that he could
do business with Hitler. Apparently it is all
right for the United States to do business
with tin-pot dictators or even with
Communist China.
To tell foreign companies with whom they
can trade and with whom they can not is the
height of folly. But, as I said, this is election
year in the U.S. and even President Clinton
got into the act. After all, all those Cuban
American votes'in Florida are important at
such a time.
There are other disputes bubbling away.
One is the question of rights on the west
coast fishing grounds where talks have just
been broken off by the Americans. Another
is the harassment of Canadian potato
producers in eastern Canada trying to export
to the United States. The Maine potato
farmers have yet to recognize the fact that
Canada produces better and cheaper potatoes
than is the case in Maine. Rather than get
their act together, it is easier for the
American farmers to scream to Washington
for help.
It is simply amazing how big a cry-baby
the greatest nation on this planet can be
when it puts its mind to it.
GOT A BEEF?
Write a
letter to the
editor
The
Short
of ►t
By Bonnie Gropp
Photographic harem
"I know I probably shouldn't be drawing
this to anyone's attention, because she's only
18, but have you seen this?"
So spoke the middle-aged father of two
teenage girls as he handed over a photo of
Ida Castillo to one of his friends. Castillo,
for any who don't know, is the Latin
bombshell charged in the case of the missing
Loomis millions taken last summer. She was
also, a decade ago, the voluptuous teen
model, whose bodacious tah-tahs, peeking
below a cut-off t-shirt, adorned a page of
The Toronto Sun with her appearance as one
of the regularly featured Sunshine Girls.
Now while one might think that making
off with $1 million from a $3.1 million•
armoured-car heist would be fairly
notorious, it actually seems to be the least
noted public foray Castillo has made.
Though taut, trim figures are not exactly at a
premium in the 18-year-old category, it
appears that this earlier attention getter of
Castillo's has been the source of more
titillating observations than her foray as a
felon.
And with its republication over and over
the past few days in The Sun lithe Ida, who
hadn't been on this earth long enough to settle
at the time of the photo shoot, will probably be
adorning garages and shops all over the
province.
For decades, pin up girls have graced the
walls of males' domain. While I do appreciate
beauty, my insecurities, particularly since 40
years of gravitational pull has altered the shape
of me somewhat, lessen my enjoyment of my
husband's enjoyment of it. I have, therefore
considered myself rather fortunate that he
has never decorated his domain with shots of
nubile young beauties.
Not so a lot of his gender. I have on many
occasions found myself dazed by four walls
Of soft focussed glam shots depicting
luscious nymphets in all states of dress and
undress. I glance surreptitiously for what
seems an eternity trying not as you might
think to see, but rather not to see.
It's not that nudity offends me, nor does
the average male's preoccupation with such a
variety of it. But, it has always bothered me
that never in this mix of blonde, brunette and
redhead is there one shot, not even a
conservative head-and-shoulders of "the
wife". At the office a man will usually have
the traditional family photo, but on this male
turf, not a sign of his spouse's existence. Do
they not belong in this realm of the erotica?
Is this a fantasy world, a photographic
harem? Or has it just never been suggested
to him?
Comedian Tim Allen in his routine speaks
of the garage as a male zone, where a
woman is not welcome. "The spiders aren't
in there because it's dirty. They're there so
she won't go in," he says. I have respect for
the idea of people needing space, of hiving a
place of their own, but I've always felt that if
my warrior is going to be plastering his with
pictures of pretty little things, he better
include one of this old gal for the record.
After all, I wouldn't want him to get used to
perfection.
So last Saturday when I found, to my
dismay, a clipping of the memorable 18-
year-old Ida magnetted on the side of his
tool chest, I presented him with an
ultimatum — if I could show him a picture
of someone whom he would have to admit
was more gorgeous would he get rid of that
picture. Good sport that he is he agreed. Ida's
out, I'm in and the gallery in my warrior's
domain is one I can live with.
Arthur Black
18