The Rosy Crucifixion 2 - Plexus

by Henry Miller

  Just as we were nearing the jetty which projected into the river I caught up with him, collared him firmly, and swung him around. To my utter amazement it wasn’t Spivak at all—it was crazy Sheldon. He didn’t seem to recognize me, perhaps because of the darkness. He slid to his knees and begged me not to cut his throat, I’m not a Polak! I said, and yanked him to his feet. At that moment my pursuer caught up with us. It was Alan Cromwell. He put a gun in my hand and commanded me to shoot Sheldon. Here, I’ll show you how, he said, and giving Sheldon’s arm a vicious twist he brought him to his knees. Then he placed the muzzle of the gun against the back of Sheldon’s head. Sheldon was now whimpering like a dog. I took the gun and placed it against Sheldon’s skull. Shoot! commanded Cromwell. I pulled the trigger automatically and Sheldon gave a little spring, like a jack-in-the-box, and fell face forward. Good work! said Cromwell. Now, let’s hurry. We’re due in Washington tomorrow morning early.

  On the train Cromwell changed personality completely. He now resembled to a T my old friend and double, George Marshall. He even talked exactly like him, although his talk at the moment was rather disconnected. He was reminding me of the old days when we used to act the clown for the other members—of the celebrated Xerxes Society. Giving me a wink, he flashed the button on the underside of his lapel, the very one we all religiously wore, the one on which was engraved in letters of gold—Fratres Semper. Then he gave me the old handclasp, tickling my palm, as we used to do, with his forefinger. Is that enough for you? he said, giving me another slippery horse-wink.

  His eyes, incidentally, had expanded to formidable proportions: they were huge goiterous eyes which swam in his round face like bloated oysters. This only when he winked, however. When he resumed his other identity, alias Cromwell, his eyes were quite normal.

  Who are you? I begged. Are you Cromwell or Marshall?

  He put his finger to his lips, in the manner of Sheldon, and went SHHHHHHHH!

  Then, in the voice of a ventriloquist, and talking out of the side of his mouth, he informed me rapidly, almost inaudibly, and with more and more celerity—it made me dizzy trying to follow him!—that he had been tipped off in the nick of time, that they were proud of me at headquarters, and that I was to be given a very special assignment, yes, to go to Tokio. I was to impersonate one of the Mikado’s right-hand men—in order to track down the stolen prints. You know, and he lowered his voice still more, training those horrible floating oysters on me again, flipping back the lapel of his coat, clasping my hand, tickling my palm, you know, the one we use for the thousand dollar bills. Here he began talking Japanese which, to my amazement, I discovered I could follow as easily as English. It was the art commissioner, he explained in chop-stick language, who had caught on to the racket. He was an expert, this guy, on pornographic prints. I would be meeting him in Yokohama, disguised as a physician. He’d be wearing an admiral’s uniform with one of those funny three-cornered hats. Here he gave me a prodigious nudge with his elbow and tittered—just like a Jap. I’m sorry to say, Hen, he continued, relapsing into Brooklynese, that they’ve got the goods on your wife. Yep, she’s in the ring. Caught her red-handed with a big package of coke. He nudged me again, more viciously this time. Remember that last meeting we staged—at Grimmy’s? You know, the time they fell asleep on us? I’ve done that rope-and-ladder trick many times since. Here he grasped my hand and gave me the sign once more. Now listen, Hen, get it straight … When we get off the train you walk leisurely down Pennsylvania Avenue, as if you were taking a stroll. You’ll meet up with three dogs. The first two,’ they’ll be fake dogs. The third one will run up to you to be patted. That’s the clue. Pat him on the head with one hand and with the other slip your fingers under his tongue. You’ll find a pellet about the size of an oat. Take the dog by the collar and let him lead you. Should any one stop you, just say Ohio! You know what that means. They’ve got spies posted everywhere, even in the White House … Now get this, Hen—and he began talking like a sewing machine, faster, faster, faster—when you meet the President give him the old handclasp. There’s a little surprise in store for you, but I’ll skip that. Just bear this in mind, Hen, that he’s the President. Don’t ever forget that! He’ll tell you this and that … he doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground … but never mind, just listen. Don’t let on that you know a thing. Obsipresieckswizi will make his appearance at the critical moment. You know him … he’s been with us for years … I wanted to ask him to repeat the name for me but he couldn’t be stopped, not for a moment. We’ll be pulling in in three minutes, he murmured, and I haven’t told you half yet. This is the most important, Hen, now get this, and he gave me another painful poke in the ribs. But there his voice had dropped to such a pitch that I could only catch fragments of his speech. I was writhing in agony. How would I ever carry on if the most important details were lost? I would remember the three dogs, of course. The message was in code, but I would be able to decipher that on the boat. I was also to brush up on my Japanese during the boat trip, my accent was a little off, especially for the Court. You’ve got it now? he was saying, waving his lapel again and clasping ray hand. Wait, wait a minute, I begged. That last part … But he had already descended the steps and was lost in the crowd.

  As I walked along Pennsylvania Avenue, trying to give the appearance of a stroller, I realized with a sinking heart that I was really completely befuddled. For a moment I wondered if I were dreaming. But no, it was Pennsylvania Avenue all right, no mistaking it. And then suddenly there was a big dog standing at the curb. I knew he was an imitation one because he was fastened to a hitching block. That reassured me even more that I was in possession of my waking mind. I kept my eyes open to spot the second dog. I didn’t even turn around, though I was certain some one was on my heels, so anxious was I not to miss that second dog. Cromwell, or was it George Marshall—the two had become inextricably confused—hadn’t mentioned anything about being followed. Maybe, though, he had said something—when he was talking under his breath. I was getting more and more panicky. I tried to think back, to recall just how I had gotten involved in this ugly business, but my brain was too fatigued.

  Suddenly I almost jumped out of my skin. At! the corner, standing under an arc light, was Mona. She was holding a bunch of Mezzotints in her hand, distributing them to passers-by. When I got abreast of her she handed me one, giving me a look which meant—Be careful!—I sauntered leisurely across the street. For a while I carried the Mezzotint without glancing at it, flapping it against my leg as if it were a newspaper. Then, pretending that I had to blow my nose, I switched it to the other hand, and as I wiped my nose I read on the slant these words: The end is round like the beginning. Fratres Semper. I was sorely baffled. Maybe that was another little detail I had missed when he was talking under his breath. Anyway, I had the presence of mind to tear the message into tiny little bits. I dropped the bits one by one at intervals of a hundred yards or so, listening intently each time to make sure my pursuer was not stopping to pick them up.

  I came to the second dog. It was a little toy dog on wheels. Looked like a plaything abandoned by a child. Just to make sure it wasn’t a real dog I gave it a little kick with my toe. It crumbled to dust immediately. I pretended, of course, that this was most natural, and resumed my leisurely pace.

  I was only a few yards from the entrance to the White House when I perceived the third and real dog. The man shadowing me was no longer dogging my steps, unless he had changed to sneakers without my knowing it. Anyway, I had reached the last dog. He was a huge Newfoundland, playful as a cub. He came running up to me with big bounds and almost knocked me over trying to lick my face. I stood a moment or two patting his big warm head; then I circumspectly stooped down and inserted a hand under his tongue. Sure enough there was the pellet, wrapped in silver leaf. As Marshall or Cromwell had said, it was about the size of an oat.

  I has holding the dog by the collar as we ascended the steps to the White House. All the guards gave the same sig
n—a big wink and a little flutter of the lapel. As I wiped my feet on the mat outside I noticed the words Fratres Semper in big red letters. The President was coming towards me. He had on a cutaway and striped trousers; a carnation was in his button hole. He was holding out both hands to greet me. Why, Charlie! I cried, how on earth did you get here? I thought I was to meet … Suddenly I remembered George Marshall’s words. Mr. President, I said, making a low bow, it is indeed a privilege…

  Come right in, come right in, said Charlie, grasping my hand and tickling the palm with his forefinger. We’ve been expecting you.

  If he was indeed the President he hadn’t changed an iota since the old days.

  Charlie was known as the silent member of our club. Because his silence lent him an air of wisdom we had mockingly elected him president of the club. Charlie was one of the boys from the flats across the way. We adored Charlie but could never get very close ix, him—because of his inscrutable silence. One day he disappeared. Months passed but no word from him. The months rolled into years. Not one of us had ever received a communication from him. He seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth.

  And now he was ushering me into his sanctum. The President of these United States!

  Sit down, said Charlie. Make yourself comfortable. He proffered a box of cigars.

  I could only stare and stare. He looked exactly as he always had, except, to be sure, for the cutaway and striped trousers. His thick auburn hair was parted in the middle, as always. His fingernails were beautifully manicured, as always. The same old Charlie. At the bottom of his vest, as always, he was wearing the old button of the Xerxes Society. Fratres Semper.

  You realise, Hen, he began, in that soft, modulated voice of his, why I have had to keep my identity secret. He bent forward and lowered his voice. She’s still on my trail, you know. (She, I knew, referred to his wife whom he couldn’t divorce because he was a Catholic.) It’s she who’s behind all this. You know … He gave me one of those big slippery horse-winks such as George Marshall had employed.

  Here be began to twiddle with his fingers, as if rolling a little ball. At first I didn’t catch on, but after he had repeated the gesture a number of times I realized what he was hinting at.

  Oh, the pel…

  Here he raised a finger, placed it to his lips, and almost inaudibly, went Shhhhhhhhh.

  I extracted the pellet from my vest pocket and unrolled it. Charlie kept nodding his head gravely, but making not a sound. I handed him the message to read; he handed it back to me and I read it attentively. Then I passed it back to him and he quickly burned it. The message was in Japanese. Translated, it meant: We are now inexorably united in brotherhood. The end is the same as the beginning. Observe strict etiquette.

  There was a telephone call which Charlie answered in a low, grave voice. At the end he said: Show him in in a few minutes.

  Obsipresieckswizi will be here shortly. He will go with you as far as Yokohama.

  I was just about to ask if he wouldn’t be kind enough to be a little more explicit when suddenly he swung round in his swivel chair and thrust a photograph under my nose.

  You recognize her, of course? Again he put his finger to his lips.

  The next time you see her she’ll be in Tokio, probably in the inner court. Here he reached down into the lower drawer of his desk and brought forth a candy box labelled Hopjes, the kind that Mona and I had been peddling. He opened it gingerly and showed me the contents: a Valentine greeting, a strand of what looked like Mona’s hair, a miniature dagger with an ivory handle and a wedding ring. I examined them intently, without touching them. Charlie closed the box and put it back in the drawer. Then he gave me a wink, flipped his vest flap and said Ohio! I repeated it after him: Ohio!

  Suddenly he whirled around again and thrust the photograph under my nose. It was a different face this time. Not Mona, but some one who resembled her, some one of indeterminate sex, with long hair which fell over the shoulders, like an Indian’s. A striking and mysterious face, reminiscent of that fallen angel, Rimbaud. I had an uneasy feeling. As I gazed, Charlie turned it over; on the other side was a photograph of Mona dressed like a Japanese woman, her hair done up m Japanese fashion, her eyes slanted upwards, the lids heavy, giving the eyes the appearance of two dark slits. He turned the photos back and forth several times. In awesome silence. I was unable to figure out what significance to give to this performance.

  At this point an attendant came in to announce the arrival of Obsipresieckswizi. He pronounced the name as if it were Obsequy. A tall, gaunt man entered swiftly, went straight up to Charlie, whom he addressed as Mr. President, and began a voluble speech in Polish. He hadn’t noticed me at all. It was lucky he hadn’t because I might have made a grave slip and called him by his right name. I was just reflecting how smoothly things were going when my old friend Stasu, for it was none other than he, stopped talking as abruptly as he had begun.

  Who is this? he demanded in his curt, insolent way, motioning to me.

  Take a good look, said Charlie. He gave a wink, first at me, then at Stasu.

  Oh, it’s you, said Stasu, extending his hand grudgingly. How does he fit into the picture? he said, addressing the President.

  That’s for you to determine, said Charlie blandly.

  Hmm, mumbled Statu. He’s never been good at anything. He’s a failure through and through.

  We know all that, said Charlie, thoroughly unruffled, but just the same. He pressed a button and another attendant appeared. See that these men get to the airport safely, Griswold. Use my car. He rose and shook hands with us. His behavior was exactly that of one holding such a high office. I felt that he was indeed the President of our great Republic, and a very shrewd, capable President to boot. As we reached the threshold he shouted: Fratres Semper! We wheeled around, saluted in military fashion, and repeated:

  Fratres Semper!

  There were no lights on the plane, not even inside. Neither of us spoke for some time. Finally Stasu broke into a torrent of Polish. It sounded strangely familiar to me yet I was unable to make out a word except Pan and Pani.

  Talk English, I begged. You know I don’t speak Polish.

  Make an effort, he said, it will come back to you. You spoke it once, don’t act dumb. Polish is the easiest language in the world. Here, do this … and he began making sibilant, hissing sounds like a serpent in rut. Now sneeze! Good. Now gargle! Good. Now roll your tongue back like a carpet and swallow! Good. You see … there’s nothing to it. The rudiments are the six vowels, twelve consonants and five diphthongs. If you’re dubious, spit or whistle. Never open your mouth wide. Suck the air in and push your tongue against your closed lips. Like this. Speak fast. The faster the better. Raise your voice a little, as if you were going to sing. That’s it. Now close your palate and gargle. Fine! You’re getting it. Now say after me, and don’t stutter: ‘Ochizkishyi seiecsuhy piaifuejticko eicjcyciu!’ Excellent! You know what that means—’Breakfast is ready!’

  I was overjoyed with my own fluency. We rehearsed a number of stock phrases, such as: Dinner is served, the water is hot, there’s a strong breeze blowing, keep the fire going, and so on. It was all coming back to me readily. Stasu was right. I had only to make a little effort and the words were there on the tip of my tongue.

  Where are we headed for now? I asked in Polish, just to vary the rigmarole.

  Izn Yotzxkiueoeumasysi, he replied.

  Even that long word I seemed to remember. A strange language, this Polish. It made sense, even if one did have to perform acrobatics with one’s tongue. It was good exercise, it limbered up the tongue. After an hour or two of Polish I would be more than fit to resume my study of Japanese.

  What will you do when we get there? In Polish, of course.

  Drnzybyisi uttituhy kidjeueycmayi, said Stasu. Which meant, in our own vernacular, Take it easy.

  Then he added, with a few oaths which I had forgotten, Keep your mouth shut and your eyes open. Wait for orders.

 
; In all this time he hadn’t said a word about the past, about our boyhood days on Driggs Avenue, about his good-natured old aunt who used to feed us from the ice-box. She was such a lovable creature, his aunt. Always spoke—in Polish, that is—as if she were singing. Stasu hadn’t changed a bit. As sullen, defiant, morose and disdainful as ever. I recalled the fear and dread with which he inspired me as a boy—when he lost his temper. He was a veritable demon then. Would grab a knife or a hatchet and make for me like lightning. The only time he ever seemed sweet and gracious was when his aunt sent him to buy sauerkraut. We used to filch a bit on the way home. It was good, that raw sauerkraut. The Poles were extraordinarily fond of it. That and fried bananas. Bananas that were soft and over-sweet.

  We were landing now. Must be Yokohama. I couldn’t make out a blessed thing, the whole airport was enveloped in darkness.

  Suddenly I realized that I was alone in the plane. I felt around in the darkness but no Stasu. I called to him softly, but no answer. A mild panic seized me. I began to perspire profusely.

  Getting off the plane two Japs came running forward to meet me. Ohio! Ohio! they exclaimed.

  Ohio! I repeated. We tumbled into rickshaws and began moving towards the city proper. There was no electricity, evidently—nothing but paper lanterns, as if for a festival. The houses were all made of bamboo, neat and trim, the sidewalks were paved with wooden blocks. Now and then we crossed a tiny wooden bridge, such as one sees in old prints.