And then transformed itself into a ludicrous, droopy fat ass…
Suddenly Death returned!
And there was a sunflower explosion into infinity, and—
“—and then I came back to the cell.”
Gretchen tried to catch her breath; she’d been pouring out her report and sketching for half an hour. Both men were so deeply absorbed that they ignored her. Despite the painful shocks she had suffered, Gretchen was forced to chuckle. Shima was focused on the jade fly dead on 47 N. Ind’dni was studying her sketch notes with the concentration of a connoisseur of id blots.
At last Gretchen said, “So?”
“That explosion,” Shima asked the Fabergé fly. “The explosion into infinity…?”
“Was your attack-escape against me,” Ind’dni murmured. “In all likelihood it was cause of Miz Nunn’s abrupt return.” He looked up from the sketches. “I think you may agree, doctor, that it reveals most curious and unexpected relationship.”
“Between Gretchen and me? There’s nothing unex—”
“No, no. Between soma and psyche.” Ind’dni turned to Gretchen. “You are always a source of inspiration, madame.”
“Thank you, Subadar.”
“I devoutly wish I had you on my staff.” Back to Shima. “Now, doctor, have you drawn any astute conclusions from Miz Nunn’s exploratory?”
“I have; that I was right. It isn’t the Golem100 alone. There is an id population.”
“Yes. And?”
“That there’s an entire Phasmaculture.”
“And?”
“And that there is a link between Realworld individuals and Phasmaworld iddividuals.”
“Id-dividuals? Well put, doctor. I like ‘iddividuals’ very much. Anything else?”
Shima grimaced. “A rotten conclusion. Given my analysis of the scene: we’d have to know Ourworld individuals intimately before we could establish their links with Phasmaworld iddividuals, and vice versa. Summa: it’ll take ages to discover the source of the Golem.”
“Bravo, doctor!” Ind’dni beamed. “I agree in entire, with exception of your estimate of time required.”
“You don’t think it’ll take time? Why?”
“I come last, doctor. Now it is madame’s turn. If you have recovered stamina, Miz Nunn, please to give us your conclusions.”
“Well…” Gretchen began slowly, “as I said when I was reporting, Subadar, you were right to be concerned. The Infraworld is motivated by pleasure and satisfaction on the basic brute sublevel. But… But that’s what confuses me because I sensed so much danger and death.”
“Why the confusion, madame?” Ind’dni was faintly surprised. “Selfish pleasure may often endanger others. For the cruel carnivores is there not pleasure in slow killing? Have you never seen a cat delay final demise of a mouse?”
“That’s true.”
“Then with confusion resolved, what did you construct of dissolving images, the id blots that drifted and replaced and transformed? Are you able to interpret?”
“But I gave you my interpretations as I reported them, Subadar.”
Ind’dni shook his head ruefully. “Alas, there we have dilemma of laboratory experiment. The subject is too engrossed in the test to give objective estimate of experience.”
Shima broke in. “If you’ve come to different conclusions, Ind’dni, let’s have ‘em, for God’s sake. Don’t play cat-and-mouse with us!”
“Such was never my intent, doctor; I am no cruel carnivore. I have been able to interpret a few of madame’s primal perceptions… her senseeing, Dr. Leuz called it… and should like to submit same for your judgment.”
“Time estimate first,” Shima insisted. “Why’d you disagree with mine?”
“Because Miz Nunn has, I believe, achieved the goal of her Promethium trip. She has unconsciously disclosed true source of the Hundred-Hander-Golem beast.”
“What?” Gretchen exclaimed. “I did? When? How?”
“Who?” Shima shot.
“Your suspicions were correct; Winifred Ashley, Queen Bee of the hive.”
“How did you come to that interpretation of the id blots, Subadar?” Gretchen was bewildered.
“First I must point out that many of your perceptions were through your cloud-chamber-seventh-sense which Dr. Shima so brilliantly discovered. (Patience, I beg. The chain of induction is delicate and must be taken link by link.) In fine, madame, you were often sensing living energy auras which can be as powerful as subatomic particles.”
“Yes, and…?”
“The eyes watching you constantly: for the physical eye of sight substitute the psychological ‘I’ of ego. You were seeing yourself reflected in the Phasma-entities and, no doubt, they were seeing themselves reflected in you. The Phasmaculture is a world of mutual masturbation.”
“My God!” Shima exclaimed. “What a concept!”
“Now I come to most delicate link of all,” Ind’dni continued. “The dark woman-id watching you, Miz Nunn, who transformed into a devil mask… Examine your memory objectively… Look at your sketch again… Could the mask not have been the letter ‘R’ attached to its mirror image?”
“What? I never—”
“And supported by your Siamese-twin impressions?”
“It never occurred to—”
“The open trap which transformed into a coronet, then an imperial crown, then a crowned devil mask? Look at your sketch. Is not the mask the letter ‘R’ attached to its mirror image? What does a crowned ‘R’ suggest to you?”
“It can’t be mistaken… now! The Queen Bee. Regina.” Gretchen turned to Shima. “He was right, Blaise. I was too engrossed in the Pm trip to form any constructs.”
“Another delicate link,” Ind’dni went on. “The flying snow goose or the stinging bee?”
Shima nodded with conviction. “Regina, the Queen Bee. It has to be.”
“Indeed yes. We have established the prime source of the Hundred-Hander. It is generated by the colony, the hive of bee-ladies, but the colony is held together by its queen. The queen is the source.”
“So the queen is the house that must be destroyed,” Gretchen whispered.
“But what baffles me,” Ind’dni said slowly, “is the letter ‘double-U’ which turned into strong arms and then large buttocks. Why did it inspire the appearance of death?”
“Death appeared to me before that, Subadar.”
“Yes, in response to ‘R.’ Why subsequently in response to ‘double-U’?”
“Obvious,” Shima said. “For ‘double-U’ as in Winifred.”
“A little too obvious for me, doctor.” Ind’dni sighed. “Perhaps it is a flaw in the Bombazine attitude to reject the immediate obvious, yet I don’t like it. There must be a deeper, perhaps double implication in Death hovering over that letter, the robust arms, the buttocks…”
“Aren’t you creating unnecessary complications, Subadar?” Gretchen asked.
“Perhaps.” Ind’dni took a deep breath and smiled. “Or perhaps, to paraphrase Dr. Shima’s dictum, I am trying to meet the unknown with the unknown.” He took another deep breath. “At any rate we know where we stand vis-à-vis Golem100. It is an iddentity—thank you for the coinage, doctor—linked firmly to the psyche of Miz Winifred Ashley through the colony which she controls. If she can be deposed, the colony will be scattered and the Golem will have no home.”
“That’ll be a job for me,” Gretchen said firmly. “I’m in the hive. I’ll have to figure out a way to undermine Her Majesty.”
“Boring from within?” Ind’dni smiled. “A pardonable treachery in this fantastic situation. However, I suggest that the planning wait until tomorrow. This is not the time for sustained discussion. We’re all very tired and require rest.”
“He’s right,” Shima yawned. “I’m wiped. Come on, Miz Lig. Leave us go to bed, and no funny business.”
“It’s Jig, Mr. Jap. Can’t you ever remember?” Gretchen led the way to the door. “We’ll see about the f
unny business when we get to your place. There’s still earth on the terrace. Good night and Opbless, Subadar.”
Ind’dni made no response and no move to see them out. He sat and watched the Jig and the Jap leave with a horrified expression of enlightenment and incredulity.
18
“This is the original medieval mass from which the song was adapted,” Gretchen said, “or copied or stolen. I had it faxed for you, Regina, because I thought it would fit into your lovely Communist decor. Naturally, I used a modern piano score when I played it for you.”
Regina’s eyes were brimming. “This is the sweetest, most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received, BB. I’m overcome. Truly. Opbless, dear, and a thousand thanks.”
“Well, I knew you didn’t get that pianola roll,” Gretchen smiled from the piano, “so I dug out the music. That was the least I could do for you, Regina.”
“And played so beautifully! Didn’t she, ladies?”
“All heart.” Ildefonsa applauded. “All heart, hammer and sickle.”
“AYE! Mock BB if you will, Nell,” Sarah Heartburn burst out, “but the PROLETARIAT were inspired by that SACRED ANTHEM to give their lives in the battle to wrest DEMOCRATIC art, science and freedom from the greedy grasp of capitalist, imperialist BOSSES!”
In the stunned silence that followed the outburst, Gretchen said, “I didn’t know you were a party member.”
“Oh, Sarah isn’t,” Ildefonsa said. “She played The Rebel Girl, a Precious Pearl who made the labor exploiters tremble with terror. I caught the show. That was her big Act One curtain speech. Pfui!”
“Now, now, Nellie,” Regina chided. “We mustn’t tease Sarah about that performance. Surely an actor can’t be held responsible for old-fashioned speeches in historical romances. Sarah was truly dedicated to The Rebel Girl and can’t be blamed for the silly words the author put into her mouth.”
“Who wrote it?”
“An Old Wave dramatist named Szechuan Finkel.” Sarah mused. “D’you know, I think they may really have talked like that back in the Red Flag days.”
“When was that?” Mary Mixup asked.
“Ages ago. I’m not sure. I think it was when some saint named Joe Stalin drove the bosses out of the temple—or vice versa.”
“But what was a boss?”
“A sort of Bigfoot with fangs.”
“It doesn’t matter, Mary,” Regina interposed. “All that’s ancient history now. BB dear, please play it again and we’ll sing it with you. We’ve been rehearsing in foreign languages, hoping I’d get the original pianola roll. We were going to play an underground Bolshevik International. Now we can, thanks to you, dear, so let’s organize, organize. Pi-girl! Make sure the vodka is iced.”
“Only frozen bathwater, Miz Winifred.”
“Quite all right, child. You don’t put the ice in the drinks; you ice the bottles. Now, BB…?”
“Once more, with solidarity, comrade,” Ildefonsa laughed.
“Oh, do be serious, Nellie. Our theme is ‘The Red Front Forever,’ and we must be sincere. We must believe in the coming revolution.”
Regina began to sing to Gretchen’s accompaniment:
Arise, ye pris’ners of starvation!
Arise, ye wretched of the earth.
For justice thunders condemnation,
A better world’s in birth.
No more tradition’s chains shall bind us.
Arise, ye slaves, no more in thrall!
The earth shall rise on new foundations.
We have been naught, we shall be all!
Regina bowed graciously to the applause. “Thank you, comrades, thank you. Solidarity forever, and Pi-girl where is our vodka? Next we have tovarisch Mary Mixup, our French mavin, to sound the tocsin of the despotic ruling class. Mary?”
The Queen made way for Mary Mixup who took her place alongside the piano.
Gretchen pointed to the music as though coaching her. “When you sing, mean it!” she whispered. “Regina never takes you seriously. Nellie Gwyn is always making fun of you. Don’t be in thrall. Assert yourself.”
Mary stared, then turned and began to sing:
Debout, les damnés de la terre,
Debout, les forçats de la faim!
La raison tonne en son cratère:
C’est l’éruption de la fin.
Du passé faisons table rase,
Foules d’ésclaves, debout, debout!
Le monde va changer de base:
Nous ne sommes rien, soyons tout!
Through the applause Gretchen whispered, “Debout! Debout! You should be all!”
“And now,” Regina announced, “Our own Yenta Calienta. The Jews of the world have always been in the forefront of the fight for freedom and the liberation of ethnic minorities.”
“But I couldn’t do it without my rabbi,” Yenta said as she took Mary’s place alongside the piano.
“What are you doing with Regina and her goyish friends?” Gretchen whispered. “They’re all dreck! Mary can never get a bargain straight. Nellie has no respect for money. Regina’s too rich to care. When you sing about liberation, mean it for yourself!”
Yenta cocked an eye at Gretchen, then turned and sang:
Sheit oif ir ale wer nor shklafen
Was hunger leiden mus in noit.
Der geist er kocht un ruft tzu wafen,
In shlacht uns firen is es greit.
Di welt fun gwaldtaten un leiden
Tzushteren welen mir, un dan
Fun freiheit gleichheit a geneiden
Bashafen wet der arbetsman!
“Freiheit! Freiheit!” Gretchen whispered. “Sheit oif! Sheit oif with your rabbi!”
“Next, our ‘Rebel Girl, a Precious Pearl’ will favor us with the ‘Internationale,’ as sung for the finale of the play of the same name.”
“But not, I say, NOT in drab English. In the only VERO language of BELLEZZA ARTI!”
●●●●
“What does Regina know about beautiful art? She’s just a rich reactionary. What do any of them know? Yenta is commercial. Mary’s too dumb. Nell’s insincere.”
Compagni avanti! Il gran partito
Noi siam dei lavoratore.
Rosso un fior c’è in petto fiorito;
Una fede c’è nata in cor!
Noi non siamo piu nell’officina,
Entro terra, nei campi, in mar,
La plebe sempre all’opera china
Senza Ideal in cui sperar.
“Avanti, Sarah! Avanti! Leave these superficial UNCREATIVE women. They’re beneath you.”
“Miss Priss has chosen the precise tongue of Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels,” Regina said. “They are the godfathers of our glorious Bolshevik Epiphany, and she perhaps may become the godmother.”
“Regina’s always putting you down,” Gretchen hissed. “She’s rich and vulgar. They’re all vulgar and common. The twins are marital perverts. Nell Gwyn is worse than a whore.”
Wacht auf, Verdammte dieser Erde,
Die stets man noch zum Hungern zwingt!
Das Recht, wie Glut im Kraterherde,
Nun mit Macht zum Durchbruch dringt.
Reinen Tisch macht mit den Bedrängern:
Heer der Sklaven, wache auf!
Ein Nichts zu sein, tragt es nicht länger—
Alles zu werden strömt zuhauf!
“Wacht auf, Priss! Wacht auf! Wake up. Get out of here. You’re too nice and decent for these rotten women who’re completely without cultivated manners.”
“It’s no secret that our beloved Nell Gwyn is the color of our beloved Revolutionary Red Flag,” Regina smiled, “but I do have a secret to reveal. She is of Spanish descent, and that rara avis, a titian Castilian.”
“And she’s a bile-green turkey, Nell. Green with envy. She knows you ought to be holding the meetings in your beautiful apartment and running them in your high style. She’s jealous of you. They all are.”
Arriba los pobres del mundo
En pié
los esclavos sin pan
Y alcémon todos al grito de
Viva la Internacionál!
Rompamos al punto las trabas
Que impiden el triunfo del bien
Cambiemos el mundo de fase,
Hundiendo el imperio burgués!
“Triunfo, Nell! Triunfo! Viva la Internacionál! Believe what you sing. You know damned well that you should be the queen.”
As the depressed Gretchen strolled the Strøget, chewing over her failure to arouse the bee-ladies to a hive revolution against Queen Regina, she was astonished and delighted to see Blaise Shima bearing down on her like the Flying Dutchman, full-sail and silent. She ran to meet him, seized his arm, and before they could exchange greetings was pouring out an account of the psalm-singing for the coming of the glorious Bolshevik epiphany.
“… And then the twins, Oodgedye and Udgedye, sang it in Russian and I handed them the same number— You two are the only really liberated women here, and all the rest hate you for it; Regina, Priss, Sarah, Yenta… Why don’t you get lost from this dull scene? Why don’t you take the song to heart? Same result. Nothing…
“My God, I’m glad we ran into each other, Blaise. I’m heartsick. I couldn’t start a palace revolution in the colony, even with malice, jealousies, rivalries, anything. Regina binds them together, and she’s too strong. The Queen Bee has got to be removed if we hope to scatter the hive and wipe the Golem. But how?
“Don’t bother to answer, Blaise. It was a rhetorical question. I know the answer and it sickens me, but it’s the only way out for us and the rest of the Guff. I’m going to the P.L.O. and buy a contract on Winifred Ashley with the PloFather. She can and will wipe her. It’s horrible—neither of us is a deliberate destroyer—but there’s no other way. What do you think, Blaise? Will you go along with it? God knows what Ind’dni will do when he finds out—that cat finds out everything—but are you with me? What do you think?”
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