Candy

by Terry Southern

  “The opening scene, after the break, is in a smart rest clinic in the French Alps. For the furnishings of this set no expense should be spared, no detail overlooked, to authenticate the desired mood—gracious living. The room is light and airy, the appointments exquisitely delicate. A very large picture-window affords a mountain panorama, a vista of rose-white snow, and sky the color of blue smoke.

  “On the bed, clad in a peignoir of topaz Chantilly, lies a girl patient. As the scene opens, her physician has just entered:

  DR. HERSHOLT:

  (pleasantly)

  Well, Bambi! And how do we feel this morning, eh?

  BAMBI:

  (frowning)

  What?

  DR. HERSHOLT:

  (tentatively)

  Well, I mean . . . uh . . . you know . . . how . . . do . . .

  BAMBI:

  (interrupting)

  Doctor, I had a dream last night—it’s been puzzling me ever since. (She looks puzzled, cute) I mean, dreams do have secret meanings . . . don’t they?

  DR. HERSHOLT:

  (seriously)

  Yes, child, very often they do. (Then in genuine interest) Now, why don’t you tell us about it?

  BAMBI:

  (after a sigh)

  Well, I dreamed I was in a big place—it reminded me somehow of my house . . . at home, in Glendale. And my father was there with me . . . always . . . we were together . . . alone. And I . . . I kept sucking him off. (She looks puzzled, cute) What does the dream mean, Doctor?

  “There is another commercial break here which blots out the doctor’s reply. The next scene opens in a crowded elevator of a New York office building in Columbus Circle. The camera pans down from above during the elevator’s descent, then cuts to the foyer where an elevator (a different one) is opening and a crowd of people issue forth. Among them is Bambi. She leaves the building and starts walking across Central Park. Near the lake she is attacked by a husky chap. He throws her to the ground, has her securely pinioned, and (it is the patient!) begins grappling wildly at her feet, smelling them, trying to force them up his nose, etc. A passing policeman (played by Edmond Lowe) sees the tomfoolery and rushes them with his stick.

  He drives the patient away with blows to the head and shoulders. He chases him for some distance, into the lake (there is an underwater fight scene, etc.). When the policeman gets back to Bambi, he finds she is furious—writhing around on the ground, seething with rage, frothing, groveling, etc. ‘I wanted a piece of that husky chap!’ she cries. ‘Suck! Fuck! Shit! Piss! Cunt! Cock! Crap!’ She is very cross. The policeman starts hitting at her with his stick—as he would a snake. ‘Your stick,’ she cries then, ignoring the blows. ‘GIVE ME YOUR STICK!’

  “Camera fades out slowly and into a Bellevue ward. It is a month later. Bambi sits in a wheelchair, stricken with paralysis. Ever since the attack, she has not been able to walk. Her doctor (played by Huntz Hall) believes it is psychosomatic. In one of his lines to his assistant (played by George Arliss) he says, ‘The girl has apparently lost the will-to-walk.’ Arliss replies, ‘I don’t get you at all, Doc,’ which gives rise to some smart banter and repartee, a nifty five-minute jeu-de-mots between Hall and Arliss on words like ‘walk,’ ‘work,’ ‘wouk,’ etc. This will be the first time Hall and Arliss have worked together, and we may expand that scene so it will come across as a sort of leitmotif of the whole, or else use it in bits, as filler, in the scenes that have profanity in them—which is about the knottiest problem we’re up against with this getting this piece on the boards.

  “To conclude, there are seven identical scenes which show Hall trying to coax Bambi out of her wheelchair. There is no dialogue in these scenes; they simply show Hall standing on one side of the room and beckoning to Bambi. The background music for these scenes is ‘Lover Man,’ played as though under water, by Lee Konitz. The curtain scene is not too bad. It shows Hall leaning against the window, trying to shoot some dope into the vein of his temple. There is a scuffling noise in the background; he drops his spike and turns. It’s Bambi, holding out her arms and walking slowly toward him. There is a smile on her face as she says, ‘Look, Doctor, I can . . . COME!’”

  Aunt Livia sat quietly when she had finished her reading, frowning down at the paper as though it were something not wholly satisfactory. “Of course, it wants more work,” she said, “a few wrinkles to be ironed out, some tightening up, brightening up, et cetera, but the first question is capital—how about it, Eddie, can I put you down for a few thousand?”

  “I think we had better be going,” said Mrs. Kingsley in a grand manner. She seemed quite offended by the recitation as a whole. Mr. Kingsley was more ambivalent. He did not seem to think much of the project’s chances, and was quick to say so, in so many words, but on the other hand he was somewhat excited by the beauty of the girls—Aunt Livia and Candy—and the fact that one of them was involved in the arts in any way at all did intrigue him.

  “There’s a question here,” he said, fumbling momentarily for the right word, “. . . of . . . of taste, and I find myself wondering if . . . if . . .”

  Mrs. Kingsley rose to her feet abruptly.

  “You may remain here and be made a fool of, if you wish, Edward,” she said, “that is your affair. For my part, I am leaving immediately!” But before she left, she indicated Candy with a nod and said to Aunt Livia, with genuine feeling:

  “That your remarks may be a distasteful annoyance to adults is unfortunate, but that this lovely child should be exposed . . . to the eruptions of a . . . a sick mind . . . is not simply distasteful—it is criminal!” Whereupon Aunt Livia stuck out her tongue at the lady, and said: “Not so distasteful, I daresay, as your fat clit!” And Mrs. Kingsley shuddered visibly and strode away.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me,” said her husband, scrambling to his feet, making a quick bow to those at the table and hurrying out the door after Mrs. Kingsley.

  Uncle Jack sighed deeply, shaking his head.

  “Well, I can’t help but feel that was a mistake, Liv,” he said gloomily, “after all, they aren’t in arts, you can hardly expect them to share your—”

  “Perhaps,” said Livia, putting her papers away, “perhaps not. It may have quite excited Mrs. Kingsley though, you see. It’s very hard to know exactly what is taking place in her mind. Certain images may remain, and—oh, I don’t think old Kingsley will sink any money into it, if that’s what you mean. No, if my guess is any good, he’s more interested in getting into my pants, or our little niece’s here, because—”

  “That is not my meaning at all, Liv!” said Uncle Jack tersely. “Must you always mistake my meaning? What I mean to say is, quite simply, that you most probably have spoiled my chance with the Kingsleys for renewal of the Allerton contract! As I’ve told you time and time again, Mr. Kingsley is their representative in the matter, and the question has come up recently about—”

  “Oh dear, really,” protested Aunt Liv, “must you talk shop twenty-four hours a day! Good Lord!” She looked away haughtily, and it was quite clear that she was annoyed. “If you’ve no concern for me, you might at least think of our guest—spare her the boredom of such affairs!”

  “Yes, of course,” said Uncle Jack, turning his attention to Candy, “I’m afraid we’ve been neglecting you, my dear.” He gave her slender hand a little pat. “What about another drink?”

  “Oh no,” said Candy, a bit dazed by it all, “I simply couldn’t. I think I’d better get back to the hospital and see if Daddy needs anything.”

  “Right,” said Uncle Jack. “Well, one for the road, and we’re off.”

  In the car, it was decided that they would drop Aunt Livia at home—since she insisted she had “several affairs” to tend—and then Uncle Jack would drive Candy back to the hospital.

  When they reached the hospital, Jack said:

  “I’ll just come up with you for a minute to see how he’s getting along.”

  “What about Aunt Livia?” a
sked Candy, rather petulantly, “I mean, won’t she be waiting for you at home?”

  Uncle Jack didn’t answer at once.

  “I imagine you find Liv rather trying at times, don’t you, my dear?” he said instead.

  “Well, I don’t know how you can bear it sometimes,” admitted Candy. “She doesn’t seem to understand you at all . . . your needs, and . . . and . . .”

  “Quite right,” said Jack, reaching into the glove compartment and taking out a flask. “I could do with a bracer before seeing your father,” he said. “Here, you’d better have one yourself.”

  “Oh no,” said Candy, “I couldn’t.”

  “Right,” said Uncle Jack, having another. “Good girl!” He gave her a little kiss on the cheek. This pleased Candy, for they had not been very affectionate together since his marriage to Livia. And, in fact, Candy was a little jealous. “Well, I’ll just take this flask along in case,” he added, “—better safe than sorry, I’ve always said.”

  It was quite dark when they reached Mr. Christian’s room, but they found him just as they had left him, half sitting up, staring straight ahead.

  There was only one chair in the room, so Candy sat on that and her Uncle Jack sat on the floor, leaning on one elbow, taking occasional sips from his flask.

  They sat without speaking for a long time, but finally Uncle Jack put his head down on the floor and dozed off. When Candy noticed, she came down beside him and tried to wake him up, gently, saying:

  “Uncle Jack . . . Uncle Jack. You mustn’t go to sleep here, on the floor, you’ll take cold.”

  He stirred, reaching out to her with one arm.

  “Oh, let me just be here a moment,” he said, “Liv never lets me sleep.”

  “Be here with me, sweetheart,” he added imploringly. It was the first time he had used the old name he had always called her before his marriage, and it almost brought tears to Candy’s eyes.

  “Oh you poor darling,” she murmured, pressing close to him.

  “Yes, give me your warmth,” he said in hushed urgency, “how I need your warmth! Liv is so cold.”

  “Oh my poor darling,” said Candy as he nestled his head between her breasts and pressed her closer.

  “Give me your true warmth,” he said, raising her sweater and her brassiere and taking her breast in his mouth.

  In the lamplight her Uncle Jack’s face was exactly like that of her father’s, a fact which could hardly have escaped Candy as she watched him, nursing, stroking his head and sighing, “Oh my poor darling, oh my poor baby.”

  Meanwhile Uncle Jack’s hands were not idle, but had found their way beneath her skirt and along her legs into the sweetening damp.

  “Give me all your true warmth,” he said, one hand fondling her tiny clitoris, the other pulling down her white panties.

  “All my true warmth,” breathed Candy, “oh how you need my warmth, my baby,” and she lay very still while he undressed her and then himself; but when he thrust himself into her, forgetting her taut hymen, the girl cried out, and apparently this was overheard by the nurse in the corridor—because she rushed in at that moment, flinging the door open wide and shrieking in horror at the sight of these two, stark naked, hunching wildly half beneath the sickbed.

  “Great God!” she screamed. “Have you no shame! Have you no shame!”

  A husky woman, quite six feet tall and heavily built, the nurse threw herself against the pair who were writhing in oblivion.

  “Great God!” she kept shouting. “Great God!” And through her raging strength and the tumultuous abandon of the lovers, the bed overturned, and all four—the fourth being Mr. Christian himself—were sprawling together in a heap.

  “Good Grief!” cried Candy, in genuine alarm. “It’s Daddy!”

  The confusion was compounded by the fact that the bedclothes and mattress had tumbled on top of the group—all, that is, except Mr. Christian, who had scrambled clear at the last instant.

  He stood, smiling benevolently, and stared at the mattress as it heaved and bumped about wildly, with now a foot, now a muffled exclamation escaping from beneath . . .

  It would be difficult to determine what he thought of this unusual spectacle; but surely some idea formed in his disabled mind for, after a few seconds, he went and gathered up the clothes of Uncle Jack, which lay strewn about the room, and then opened the door and disappeared into the corridor.

  A moment later Candy herself emerged, panting, and pink with humiliation. She had but one idea—to run, to fly from this ignominious situation before it continued a second longer.

  She had her skirt and sweater on in a jiffy. Never! she thought, slipping out the doorway. No, never! . . . It couldn’t . . . it simply never could have happened!

  The mattress went on plunging up and down for a time—and then, propelled by a particularly severe jolt, it flew off to the side. Beneath the sheets and blankets though, the struggle continued as furiously as ever. The reason for this was that Uncle Jack, half-buried in the bedding, had somehow fastened on to the nurse, thinking she was Candy.

  “Your warmth!” he cried, unaware of his fatal error. “Give me your warmth!” Gripped tightly between his legs he held the nurse’s upper arm which, because of its corpulence, he took to be Candy’s thigh. “Now! Now give me all your WARMTH!” he gasped as he strove through the final ineffable seconds of his ecstasy.

  Powerful as she was, the big woman could not dislodge her arm from that viselike clamp. She did, however, manage to catch hold of a metallic object which was on the floor (a brass bedpan) with her free arm and, by dint of crashing it repeatedly and hysterically on the head of her ravisher she finally succeeded—the straining muscles of Uncle Jack’s legs suddenly went slack and let her go.

  Once she had gotten to her feet the nurse quickly regained her professional efficiency. She righted the bed, replaced the mattress and bedding, and then, with a lusty heave, she lifted Uncle Jack—not doubting for a moment that he was Mr. Christian—set him in it and put his nightgown back on him.

  Having tidied up and satisfied her sense of order, she paused and looked about the room. She was not at all certain what had happened . . . surely there had been a girl fornicating with—with the patient . . . but where was she?

  One thing was evident: the patient’s head was bleeding and would have to be dressed immediately. She sighed heavily and gave a last, brief glance to her assailant before going to get the gauze and antiseptic.

  Though unconscious, the patient’s smile—the same sweet smile as before—fashioned his mouth and illumined his face, rather angelically.

  6

  NEXT MORNING CANDY stepped out of the shower’s biting embrace, now feeling fresh and restored after a sound sleep; she slipped on her bathrobe and hurried down to get breakfast.

  Before starting her toast and coffee, she turned on The Sunrise Symphony, a morning program of recorded music. Soon she heard the disquieting chords of Bartok’s Miraculous Mandarin Suite.

  “Darn!” she said, realizing she’d missed the nerve-shattering introduction and the hideously discordant section where the elderly sex pervert is murdered by gangsters.

  The orchestra was just finishing the formless waltz of the syphilitic prostitute as Candy was putting bread in the toaster, and it was about to begin the anguished cacophonies of the scene where the old mandarin is stabbed and strangled, when the telephone rang. . . .

  “Hello?” (It was Aunt Livia’s voice.) “Is Uncle Jack there?”

  “Oh!” Candy said, feeling very confused and embarrassed. She had succeeded in putting the previous day’s events out of mind and now, at the sound of Livia’s voice, it spilled back in untidily—all of it—the scene at Halfway House with the Kingsleys, the visit to the hospital . . . Oh, why had she done it! . . . But Uncle Jack’s need of her had been so great, so—so aching. . . .

  “Would you mind putting your Uncle Jack on the phone!” said Livia.

  “Why, Aunt Livia, whatever are you talking about?” C
andy asked in real, almost relieved, bewilderment.

  “Well, I just happened to notice that my husband didn’t come home last night,” said Aunt Livia with heavy sarcasm, “and for some strange reason I thought he might be in your bed!”

  “Uncle Jack? Do you mean Uncle Jack?”

  “That’s right. Uncle Jack!”

  With a loud click the golden slices sprang up in the toaster, one of them jumping right out and tumbling on the floor.

  “But—but what makes you think he’s here?” Candy said, nervously picking the toast up from the floor.

  “Put him on the phone!” Aunt Livia demanded.

  “Now, Aunt Livia, there’s no need to—”

  “Cut the crap!” she thundered.

  “But Uncle Jack isn’t here I tell you! He isn’t here!”

  For a few seconds there was silence, as if Aunt Livia was digesting this information. Finally she replied with tremendous authority:

  “Put that rat-bastard on the phone!”

  “But Aunt Livia—”

  “Cut the crap, you little tight-puss bitch!”

  Candy summoned all her dignity. “I’m sorry, Aunt Livia,” she said, “but I don’t propose to be talked to like that by anyone. Furthermore, I simply don’t know what you’re talking about. Good-bye!”

  With that she replaced the phone firmly in its cradle and stood up to brush off her bathrobe, for she’d been unconsciously crumbling the piece of toast she’d picked up and her lap now was completely covered with it. She was quite certain that she had done the ‘right thing.’ Really, there were limits to—to how much vulgarity one could permit and—

  The phone rang again, cutting short this train of thought.

  “Where do you suppose he is then?” Livia asked in a quite normal tone of voice, just as if the conversation had not been interrupted.

  “I’ve no idea,” Candy replied. “Have you tried phoning his office?”

  “His office? No, I haven’t tried that. That’s not a bad idea. I’ll do that right now. . . . I’ll catch up with that rat-ass and believe me, when I do . . .” and she hung up.