At the conclusion of this session, which is a secret one, by the way, I want you guys to present Hen with the little testimonial which we prepared for him. His was a dangerous mission and he followed it to the letter … And now, before we get on with the business in hand, which is about the beer party to be held at Gifford’s home next Saturday night, I’m going to ask the little lady (a leer and a smirk here) to do one of her specialties. This number, I guess T don’t have to tell you, will be the well-known hoochee-koochee. She did it for the Mikado—no reason why she can’t do it for us. Anyway, you’ll notice she’s got nothing on, not even a fig-leaf. As an uproar threatened to break loose, he rapped sternly with his gavel. Before she begins her number let me say this to you fellows—I expect you to observe the performance in strict decorum. We’ve arranged this stunt, Hen and I, in order to arouse more interest in the activities of the club. The last few meetings were thoroughly disheartening. The real club spirit seems to have oozed away. This is a special meeting to bring out the old spirit of fellowship…
Here he gave three quick raps with the gavel, whereupon a phonograph in the kitchen started playing the St. Louis Blues. Is everybody happy? he cooed. O.K. Helen, do your stuff! And remember, shake those ashes clean!
The candelabras were removed to a sideboard against the wall; all but two of the candles had been snuffed out. Helen began writhing and twisting in the grand manner of the ancients. On the other wall her shadow repeated her movements in exaggerated style. It was a Japanese version of the belly dance which she was giving. One would have said she had been trained to it since childhood. Every muscle of her body was under control. Even her facial muscles she used with extraordinary skill, especially when simulating the convulsive movements of the orgasm. Not one of us twelve members budged from his rigid upright position. We sat there like trained seals, our hands motionless, our eyes following every little movement, which, as we knew, had a meaning all its own. As the last note died away George Gifford fell off his chair in a dead faint. Helen sprang from the table and ran into the kitchen. George Marshall rapped savagely with his gavel. Drag him out to the porch, he ordered, and douse his head in the bucket! Quick! We’ve got to get on with the minutes. This precipitated some grumbling and growling. Back to your places! shouted George Marshall. This is just the preliminary. Keep your shirts on and you’ll get a real treat. By the way, any one who feels like jerking off can excuse himself and go to the can.
All but George Marshall and myself rose in a body and exeunted.
You see what we’re up against, said George Marshall in a tone of utter despair. No matter what we cook up for them it’s hopeless. I’m going to make a move to dissolve the club. I want it read into the minutes in the regular way.
Jesus, I begged, don’t do that! After all, they’re only human.
That’s where you’re wrong, said George Marshall. They’re all picked men, they should know better. Last time we didn’t even have a quorum.
What do you mean, they should know better,’
Etiquette demands that you show no emotion. Nine of them are jerking off out there. The tenth one fainted. What are we coming to?
Aren’t you just a bit severe?
Have to be, Hen. We can’t coddle them forever.
Just the same, I think…
Listen, Hen, and he began to speak more rapidly, lowering his voice more and more. Nobody knows, except Charlie and me, what you went to Tokio for. You did a good job. They know all about it up above. This is just a little racket I thought up to throw dust in their eyes. After the meeting breaks up you, Charlie and me we’re gonna take Helen and go on a little bust. I didn’t want them to lose control or they might have pawed her to death. She’s fixing herself up in there … He gave me a slippery wink … Douching herself … A little alum, some Spanish fly. You know … My mother’s giving her a massage now. Look! He bent down to get something hidden under the table. See this? It was an enormous rubber penis filled with water. He gave a little squirt. Get the idea? That’s for Charlie. Don’t say a word about it, it’s a surprise. Being President’s no fun. He hasn’t had his end in for over a year now. There’s enough water in this—he shook the rubber penis lewdly—enough to make her piss from ears, eyes and nose.
This is gonna be fun, Hen. All on the q.t., of course. My mother’s in on it, but she won’t squawk. I told you once, remember, that the sun rises and sets in her ass.
Then he added something which completely dumbfounded me, so unlike George Marshall it was. Get this, Hen, he said, it’s right up your street: The man of India loves to see the waist bend under the weight of the breasts and the haunches; he likes long tapering forms and the single wave of the muscles as a movement surges through the whole body. Heroism and obscenity appear no more important in the life of the universe than the fighting or mating of a pair of insects in the woods. Everything is on the same plane.
He gave me again that enormous, slippery horse-wink which had so terrified me. Do you get it, Hen? As I was saying a moment ago, the old urge is spent; we’ve got to find new blood. You and I are getting along in years; we can’t do these old tricks with the same verve and gusto. When the war comes I’m going to join the artillery.
What war, George?
He replied: No more of that trapeze business for me.
The other members were now trooping back from the can. Never in my life had I seen such haggard, spent, dilapidated looking buggers. He’s right, thought I to myself, we’ve got to look for new blood.
Quietly they resumed their places at the table, their heads wilting like dead flowers. Some of them looked as if they were in a deep trance. Georgie Gifford was munching a stalk of celery—the very picture, saving the beard, of a silly old he-goat. The whole damned bunch were a disgrace for sore eyes.
A few raps of the gavel and the meeting was called to order. Those who are awake give heed! George Marshall began in a stern, peremptory voice. Once you called yourselves The Deepthinkers. You banded together to form an enclave, the famous Xerxes Society. You are no longer worthy of membership in this secret society. You have degenerated. Some of you have atrophied. In a moment I am going to call for a vote in order to dissolve the organization. But first I have something to say to our old president, Charlie Reilly. Here he gave the table a few vicious raps with the gavel. Are you awake, you miserable toad? I’m talking to you. Sit up straight! Button your fly! Now listen … In consideration of services rendered, I’m sending you back to the White House where you will serve another four years, if you’re re-elected. As soon as the meeting is over I want you to get into your cutaway and striped trousers and beat it. You have just about enough wits left to meet the demands of the War Office. By holding your tongue nobody will be the wiser. You’re demoted, dissolved, discredited. Here he turned his head and fixed my attention; How was that, Hen? All according to Hoyle. what? He lowered his voice and, speaking with terrifying rapidity again, he whispered out of the corner of his mouth: This is for you, a special … Man will change nothing of his final destiny, which is to return sooner or later to the unconscious and the formless.
With this he rose and, pulling me along, we rushed to the kitchen. A pall of smoke greeted us. As I was saying, Hen, we prepared a little surprise for you. With this he blew the smoke away. On either side of the kitchen table sat Mona and that mysterious creature with the long black hair whom I had seen a photograph of.
What’s this? I exclaimed.
Your wife and her friend. A couple of bull-dykers.
Where’s Helen?
Gone back to Tokio. We’re using these as substitutes. He gave me a terrific nudge and a slippery wink.
Cromwell will be here in a minute, he said. It’s him you’ve got to thank for this.
Mona and her lover were too busy playing euchre to even glance at us. They seemed hilarious. The strange creature will) the long hair was double-jointed; she had a fine moustache, firm breasts, and wore velvet trousers with gold braid down the
