Word: witche
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Alex Sanders, 44, likes to call himself the King of the Witches. That title, Author June Johns informs us, was last officially held in the 15th century by Owain Glyndwr, the last independent Prince of Wales. Sanders claims to be a descendant of Prince Owain, although he does not bother to offer any evidence of this. He is, says Sanders, a hereditary witch-as distinguished from the converts that Miss Johns' overly sympathetic biography obviously seeks to attract...
...attractions of Sanderian witchcraft appear to be many, and Sanders' own London coven (witch group) seems to hold the liveliest "esbats" (meetings) in town. In addition to the baldishly handsome Alex, there is Sanders' wife Maxine, a young (and, judging from the book's photographs, shapely) blonde who acts as official fertility symbol. Like some post-Freudian group-therapy sessions, Alex's esbats are conducted in the nude. Only he is robed-or at least toweled-to facilitate instant identification as head witch...
There's only one hope left: the Witch Oenothea, who in a trade-off with a wizard long ago ended up with fire between her legs. And it's real fire too, because Fellini shows us a scene in which a long line of foolish-looking peasants wait with unlit torches at Oenotheas's bed. When their time comes, each devoutly places his torch between her legs to her sex, and "Poof." It is as if Fellini cannot bear to let us imagine anything. Anyway, Encolpius goes to Oenothea, and she "lights his fire," as it were, and he walks...
...such entrepreneurial witch, Madame Azteca, lives just across the border in the Mexican town of Reynosa. In one room of her shack, she works her magic sitting before two enormous, bubbling cauldrons, with mysterious colored powders arrayed on shelves behind. On the floor is a brilliant $500 red carpet-a payment from the Yturria family, whose only son Tony faced the gringo's draft two years ago. The witch tried her spells and powders on Tony's behalf, but he was inducted anyway. "The spirits just wouldn't cooperate," said Madame Azteca...
...long to get to the Met? The often suggested answer is Rudolf Sing's well-known preference for European singers. But the truth is that Home was not interested in making her debut in such customary mezzo roles as the bitch (Amneris) in Aida or the witch (Azucena) in Trovatore. What she wanted and got was a role demanding enough to show off a voice already broader in stylistic range than that of any soprano singing opera today...