IV
When Parris arrived at the cabin, McTeague was sitting next to the
fireplace, waiting for him. Greta was there, too. She was standing on her toes,
her wrists tied behind her. A sock was stuffed in her mouth, and her steel
collar had been replaced by a noose. The taut rope ran up and over a ceiling
beam, and the other end was tied to a steel hook in the wall. Greta's eyes were
filled with fear and dismay.
Parris wondered which of them his boss would kill first.
McTeague said, "Hello, Troy. Glad you could come by. Hope you don't mind
if Loopy joins us." At that moment Parris felt a big hand on his shoulder. Loopy
pushed him into the room. Parris hadn't spoken, but McTeague said, "No use
offering excuses. No use pleading for mercy. You betrayed us. You betrayed the
Ranch. You betrayed me."
His voice, which had been calm, grew louder. "I gave you your job. Gave
you countless opportunities to fuck the help, fuck the young women chosen for
the hunt, fuck the fucking raccoons if that's what you wanted. And you betrayed
me."
McTeague had risen and now stood close to Parris. Loopy held the back of
Parris's neck with one hand and had twisted Parris's left arm behind him with
the other. So when McTeague's blow came, Parris had only his right arm to try to
fend it off. He failed. The punch caught him on the side of the jaw, and his
knees buckled.
Loopy pulled him back up again and now had his forearm across Parris's
neck. McTeague went to work on Parris's belly, groin and chest. The blows were
methodical and powerful. After six or seven, McTeague stepped back. Parris was
limp in Loopy's arms.
"Now, Greta," said McTeague, when he had caught his breath, "we're going
to have a contest. We're going to see which of you has the stronger life force."
He picked up another rope from the sofa and tossed it, too, over the beam. One
end was formed into a noose, like the one around Greta's neck. He placed it
around Parris's neck, then pulled the rope taut. Loopy let Parris go, and the
weight nearly pulled the rope out of McTeague's grip. But he quickly got
control. He pulled until Parris toes barely touched the floor. "Strip him,"
McTeague said. Loopy ripped off Parris's shirt. The buttons popped off and
scattered on the floor. Then he loosened Parris's belt and pulled down his pants
and underpants.
"Shit," said Loopy, looking at Parris's penis. "What's all the fucking
excitement about? Mine's twice that size."
"Hold him up," McTeague said. Then he tied the rope to the handle of a
heavy wooden chest next to the sofa. "See if that'll hold him."
Loopy carefully let go of Parris. The chest budged, then stopped.
"That should do it," McTeague said. Parris's his toes were inches from
the floor, and his face was turning purple. McTeague went to Greta and pulled on
her rope until she, too, was suspended by the noose around her neck. Her legs
twitched as she desperately sought a foothold.
"A real pair of swingers," said Loopy, laughing at his own joke.
After half a minute, Parris began to get an involuntary hard-on.
"Guess he's thinking about you, darling," Loopy said to Greta. But she
was having problems of her own. Her face was turning purple, too, and she was
making little gurgling noises.
McTeague slapped her. "Stay awake and pay attention," he said. "The
object of this game is survival. If Troy succumbs before you do, we'll let you
live. For a while. If you die first, we'll do our best to revive Troy so he can
see what we do to your body."
Greta, of course, was oblivious to everything he was saying. Lack of
oxygen was slowly killing her. Meanwhile, Parris's body began shaking violently.
He had been unconscious even before they hanged him, but now bodily systems more
primitive and essential than consciousness were at work. The shaking subsided to
a tremor, then stopped. His erection went limp, and he pissed on the floor.
McTeague felt his chest. "No heartbeat," he said. He turned to Greta.
"You win."
# # #
Out of gratitude, McTeague let Loopy decide how Greta would die. And as
the young man outlined his plan, McTeague realized that, when it came to mayhem,
Loopy was an idiot savant.
McTeague had never heard of Ralph's Arena, but that wasn't surprising.
It appealed to folks in a different social stratum. The important thing was that
those folks enjoyed much the same kind of excitement that the hunters at the
Ranch paid so much for - though the setting was an oversized gym in a grimy
mining town, instead of hills and forests and a handsomely appointed hotel.
Sam Marx, who owned the arena and who had known Loopy since he was an
extremely delinquent juvenile, was at first reluctant to participate. He had
never been to the Ranch, though he had heard rumors about it. He was doubtful
about dealing with a lot of snooty WASPs. But he showed up anyway, a big man in
his early 60s. In his double-breasted suit, he looked like a film noir
gangster. This impression was enhanced by his thick black eyebrows and droopy
eyelids, and by the cigar clenched between his teeth.
Over drinks on the hotel veranda, Loopy explained what he had in mind.
As McTeague listened, it seemed almost as though Loopy and Marx were speaking a
foreign language. They talked about the relative merits of Mean Mountain
Mossback, Bigger Bertha, the Demon Sisters and the Midnight Midgets. At Loopy's
mention of the midgets, Marx's face lit up. "Great idea," he said. "They're down
in the Spartanburg right now, and I think we can probably get them by the end of
the month."
"Excuse me," said McTeague. "I'm totally lost. I understand Loopy wants
to use our young lady in some sort of snuff show, which is fine with me, but who
the hell are the Midnight Midgets?"
Marx snorted. "Only one the best goddam acts we've ever booked at
Ralph's. Hugely popular. Humor, pathos, raunchiness, and intense, raw violence.
They've got it all." He stopped and frowned. "But where's the babe? This won't
work without a pretty spectacular babe. You know, big tits, big hair, big eyes."
"That part I understand," said McTeague. He turned and gestured to one
of his security men, who led Greta out onto the veranda. She wore only white
bikini panties. Marx rose and bowed slightly, a courtesy that seemed incongruous
under the circumstances. Greta looked at him with expressionless eyes.
"She's a bit on the scrawny side," Marx said. "What happened to her
leg?"
"I stuck a knife in it," said McTeague.
Marx glanced at him. "I would have thought you had people who would do
that sort of thing for you." McTeague's face darkened, but he said nothing. Marx
gently pushed Greta's hair back from her face. "What about her ear? Did you do
that, too? And her eyelid?"
"No, that was done by .... Well, let's just say that neither Loopy nor
I was responsible," said McTeague.
Marx walked behind Greta. "I hope you don't mind, miss, but I'd like you
to push your panties down just a bit. Yes, that's it." He pointed to a raw,
deeply indented spot that had yet to heal. "And that?" he asked.
McTeague had grown exasperated. "Look," he said. "We're not selling a
thoroughbred mare, we're offering someone to be knocked around a ring and then
killed, for the delectation of a crowd of rednecks. Do you need Miss America for
this?"
Marx didn't answer. He continued examining Greta. Finally, he said,
"You're a lovely young woman. You'll be one of the loveliest ever to appear at
Ralph's." Turning to McTeague, he said, "You've got a deal. The Medical Center,
with which we, too, have a relationship, will get one quarter of the gate." He
moved closer and added, in a low voice, "I'm not in the killing business,
McTeague, but I doubt she will survive the Midgets."
They shook hands, and Marx handed McTeague and Loopy cigars.
# # #
Loopy and Greta climbed into the back seat of Marx's long black '79
Cadillac. Marx got behind the wheel. The windows were tinted so dark that
McTeague couldn't see Greta's expression as the car pulled away. He hoped she
was fearful and crying.
In fact, she was very calm. Loopy and Marx started talking about great
wrestling acts and some of the stupid things people did on amateur night. After
a while, Loopy said, "Mr. M, do you mind if I persuade this young lady to give
me a blow job?"
"Be my guest, son," Marx replied. Loopy grabbed Greta by the back of her
neck and squeezed hard. She winced but didn't cry out. "You know what I want,
bitch," he whispered. "Do it." She unzipped his pants, leaned over and began
sucking his dick. Tiffany had been right. It was enormous.
In less than half a minute, Loopy gave a mighty groan and filled her
mouth with cum. "That was nice, honey. Say, Mr. M, you want to pull over and let
me drive while she does you?"
"No thanks, Loopy," said Marx. "I've been faithful to my Molly for 40
years. I'm not going to break that record."
"Gee," said Loopy, "you Jews are more Christian than the Christians. No
offense intended."
"None taken. I presume you meant it as a compliment."
"Absolutely," said Loopy, though he had never before used "Christian" as
a compliment.
They drove on in silence until Greta startled them both by asking, "Who
are the Mighty Midgets?"
"It's the Midnight Midgets," Marx corrected her. "Though they're not
really midgets. They're dwarfs. You know, with short legs. All four of them are
under four feet tall. Used to be six in the act, but one fell off a bar stool
and broke his neck and another entered a monastery. I know it sounds crazy, but
it's God's truth."
"And I'm expected to fight all four of them?" Greta asked.
"Not exactly, Miss. You'll wrestle two at a time. It's like a tag team,
only you don't have a teammate and they do. They can bring in the other two for
relief as needed. No offense, but I'm not sure the replacement duo will be
needed. You don't look very strong."
Greta considered a reply but decided to skip it.
"These are tough little peckerheads," Marx went on. "I've seen 'em wear
down big, strong men. You grab one and toss him out of the ring, and the other
is biting your calf or punching you in the balls. Not that you have balls, of
course, but you get my drift?"
"And if I toss both of them out of the ring, or subdue both of them one
way or another, then what?"
"Then the other two little bastards come after you. It's quite a show.
They're as persistent as blackflies at a beach party."
Great, thought Greta. From sadist hunters to hungry buzzards to
bloodsucking midgets.
"I'm sorry about all this, Miss," Marx said. "Really, I am."
"Then why don't you just let me go?" asked Greta.
"No way," interrupted Loopy. "No way. You could ruin things for a lot of
people, including me."
"I'm afraid Loopy's right," said Marx. "Letting you go is out of the
question. The best you can hope for is that you'll survive your bout with the
midgets. Then we'll find some other opponents. Or maybe the best thing would be
for the midgets to kill you quickly. You know, put you out of your misery, so to
speak."
Greta thought about this. She wasn't miserable, just very weary. All she
had been through had given her a quiet confidence in her ability to survive. But
it had also left her exhausted in mind and body. What difference did it really
make whether she died in bed after a long life or was snuffed by midgets in a
wrestling ring? They drove on in silence for another half hour, then Loopy
grabbed her by the neck again and whispered, "Do me."
# # #
The midgets were booked for the last weekend in August. This gave Greta
12 days to prepare. She was living in a couple of rooms over a practice gym
attached to Ralph's. The arena was a dark brick jumble of a building at the end
of what once had been a busy shopping street. Now, most of the storefronts were
boarded. Connie, a big, raw-boned woman who worked for Marx, was Greta's keeper.
She was gruff but kind-hearted. She fixed Greta big breakfasts and hearty
dinners. "Gotta fatten you up," she said. "Like Hansel and Gristle."
Greta was allowed to work out in the gym. She lifted weights and skipped
rope. She even tried a couple of punches at the heavy bag, but she quit after
she broke a nail.
Sam took her and Connie into the arena one night and turned on all the
lights. In the middle was a shabby boxing ring. The covering on the ropes was
frayed and the mat had bare patches. Ringside seats were folding chairs. Further
back there were benches.
"It'll hold over 600," Marx said proudly. "We've packed in as many as
720 for really big events."
Ralph's was an institution, the center of what was left of the town's
social life. And it was affordable. For a typical wrestling night, ringside
seats were $25, and most of the rest were $10. For big attractions, and the
Midnight Midgets were definitely a big attraction, ringside cost up to $50. And
if the crowd was big enough, Sam opened up what he called the "sky boxes." Kids
could climb onto the rafters for $2 each. They got a great view and a chance to
throw peanuts on the crowd below. Every now and then, one fell. Three had died
that way, and another would spend the rest of his life being pushed around in a
wheelchair and pissing in a bag. But no one would have dreamed of suing Ralph's,
or Sam Marx personally. That would just spoil things for everyone else. Besides,
shit happened.
# # #
It was Friday night, the big night, and Ralph's was packed. The warm-up
act was a pair of local bullies who pounded the hell out of each other, but the
crowd didn't need much warming up. When the ring announcer introduced the
Midnight Midgets and the four little men ran down the aisle and clambered into
the ring, the cheers were deafening.
Then the midgets did their standard opening, running crazily all around
the ring, vaulting over one another, sometimes colliding, always in motion. One
attached a choke collar and leash to another, who scampered around on his hands
and knees and then raised a leg and pretended to piss on the announcer's
trousers.
The midgets wore black boots, black mesh tops and black jockstraps with
shiny black codpieces. They were misshapen, ugly and irrepressible. Octavius was
the leader, or at least he was supposed to be. The others - Federico, Polio and
Stone - constantly challenged him. And whenever he loudly and insultingly
referred to them as Curley, Larry and Moe, all hell would break loose. They'd
gang up on him, pummeling him and kicking his shins. Twice he had ended up with
a broken nose after such altercations, and once he got so pissed off he knocked
Federico out cold. When Federico hadn't revived after five minutes, a doctor
from the Medical Center was called in. The crowd had roared with laughter when
Octavius loudly implored his fallen brother to wake up before the doc harvested
his kidneys.
After a few minutes of such madness and mayhem, the announcer again took
the mike, and the midgets and the crowd fell silent.
"Facing the Midnight Midgets in mortal combat tonight is a lovely
newcomer to wrestling, Princess Starlight. Let's give her a very big welcome."
Greta walked slowly down the aisle, accompanied by Connie. A white silk
robe hung from her shoulders and hid her body. Connie climbed a short stepladder
and parted the ropes. Greta climbed after her and entered the ring gracefully,
regally, just as Marx had told her to. Not that she needed coaching. She knew
just what was expected this evening. She would give this crowd her best, even if
she died doing it.
Connie removed her robe, and Greta raised her arms above her head, like
a ballerina or a figure skater, and slowly turned around and around. The crowd
was awestruck. She was gorgeous. She wore only a G-string with silver sequins.
Body makeup sprinkled with silvery flecks made her gleam like a fairy queen.
Even the indignity her body had suffered at the hand of McTeague had been
transformed. Her left thigh was wrapped in a silvery bandage that looked like a
royal garter.
"Princess Starlight is new to wrestling, ladies and gentlemen," said the
announcer, "but she is used to performing before crowds. This ecdysiast
extraordinaire has tantalized audiences on three continents. She has stripped
and gyrated before prime ministers and presidents, plutocrats and pashas. She
has won the hearts and hardened the pricks of the rich and the powerful on three
continents."
The boilerplate was the work of Marx, who had an old-fashioned view of
promotion and marketing. He had also penned the copy for flyers and posters
proclaiming Greta an "oracle sans auricle, who hears the voices of the
long-dead and sees into the future." This approach wouldn't have worked in most
venues, but the crowd at Ralph's had come to look forward to it.
Finally, the introductions over, the announcer climbed out of the ring,
and the referee entered. The crowd hooted and jeered. His name, during his
wrestling days, had been Bad Bill, but he was now, by consensus, Blind Bill. He
did his part in the ring with wonderful officiousness, and everyone loved to
hate him.
The overhead mike hovered just above him as he called Octavius and Greta
to the middle of the ring. "Okay, now, I want a good, clean match. No more than
two midgets in the ring with the lady at one time. And if she happens to be on
the ropes, the midgets who are outside are to leave her alone. No punching her
or tripping her or holding her.
"Princess Starlight, you'll be taking the midgets on two at a time
because you're nearly twice as big as any one of them. We believe in fair play."
Then he stepped back and said in a louder voice, "Okay, shake hands and
come out RASSLIN'!"
Greta extended her hand. Octavius grabbed it and yanked her forward. She
tripped on his extended foot and landed flat on her face. In an instant, he was
on top of her, one arm around her neck. With his other hand, he reached down and
squeezed her left breast hard. Federico joined him in the fun. He pinched and
twisted her nose, then he slapped her face half a dozen times, forehand and
backhand.
Greta was dazed. It had all happened so quickly. If this kept up, she
was finished before she had a chance to fight. But they didn't keep it up.
Octavius released her, stood and raised his arms. Federico joined him. They
paraded around the ring to the applause of the crowd.
Greta struggled to her feet and staggered over to the ropes. She wanted
to climb out and go home. As if she had a home to go to. Stone and Polio
attacked just as she was lifting one leg over the middle strand. They shoved her
back into the ring, then climbed to the highest rope and leaped at her. Polio
missed, but Stone landed right on her injured leg. Greta cried out in pain and
grabbed her thigh. The bandage had been ripped off, and the ugly stab wound was
exposed. Connie had put stitches in it, but they had burst, and now blood was
flowing freely.
"Blood, blood! Bloody flood!" yelled Octavius. The other midgets took up
the cry, "Blood, blood! Bloody flood!" Soon the whole hall was filled with the
chant.
Greta managed to get to her knees, but Stone, in the exaggerated motions
of a circus clown, tiptoed up to her from behind and kicked her in the butt. His
boot landed in the same spot the buzzard had taken a bite out of, and now more
blood flowed.
"Blood, blood! Bloody flood!" The chant was louder and more enthusiastic
than ever. Greta was on her hands and knees. She lowered her head. Rage and a
grim determination filled her heart. Suddenly, she lunged forward and tackled
Federico. She climbed on top of him and started punching him in the face as hard
as she could.
Meanwhile, the referee had gotten into the act. He grabbed Polio under
one arm and Stone under the other and hauled them over to the edge of the ring.
"Out, you little bastards," he yelled, as he sent them tumbling through
the ropes and onto the arena floor.
"Blind Bill, over the hill. Blind Bill, over the hill," someone cried.
And the crowd took up this new chant. Octavius, after surveying the scene with
an expression of boredom, sauntered over to where Greta was pounding Federico.
"Shall I help my little brother?" Octavius asked loudly. "No," cried
some the crowd. "Yes," cried a larger group. "Take her down and stomp her,"
yelled one lone voice. Others took it up, "Stomp her, chomp her, mash her guts."
Octavius came at Greta from behind. He reached one hand around her face,
his thumb in one of her eyes, and pulled her backward. She fell onto the mat,
and before she could protect herself he slammed a booted foot into her belly.
Greta curled up in anguish. Octavius then kicked her viciously in the
kidneys. She screamed, stretched and again rolled onto her back. Her body was
wracked with spasms.
Octavius helped Federico to his feet. Federico, his nose bleeding and
his right eye swollen shut, knelt and kissed a big emerald ring on Octavius's
left hand. It was, as the crowd knew, the Ring of Invincibility. All this
ceremony was intended to give Greta a chance to recover. But she had been badly
hurt, and the best she could do was to roll over again, onto her stomach. Polio
ran into the ring and pretended to bite the referee's leg, while Stone tossed
the leash and dog collar to Federico. He slipped the choke collar around Greta's
neck and pulled sharply just as she was trying to get up. She toppled over onto
her side. Then he pulled her by the neck around the ring. She tried desperately
to loosen the collar, but she couldn't get her fingers under the chain.
The crowd roared its approval. "Bitch in heat, hit and beat!" someone
cried. Then that chant filled the hall. Federico dragged Greta to a corner of
the ring and tossed the end of the leash over the ropes to Stone, who grabbed it
and pulled with all his might. Greta was slowly lifted off the mat and against
the ropes, her head pulled so far back that she was facing the crowd upside
down. She was completely defenseless and choking to death.
Polio jumped down to the floor of the arena, crawled under the ring, and
emerged with a huge wooden mallet. It looked like something from a movie
cartoon, something made by the Acme Mallet Co. This was always a favorite with
the crowd. Someone called out, "Hammer of Thor, bang the blonde whore. Hammer of
Thor, bang the blonde whore."
Greta was close to losing consciousness. Octavius, with a great show of
ceremony, had ripped off her G-string. He and Federico pulled her legs apart,
then Federico pushed aside his codpiece and grabbed his prick. He did a little
dance, then tried to rub it against Greta's pussy, but even with her legs
spread, it was too high for him to reach.
Polio shoved him aside and raised the mallet. Greta, of course, couldn't
see the blow coming. With a mighty swing, he brought the Hammer of Thor down on
her right foot.
It crushed a dozen delicate bones. Even though she was on the verge of
asphyxiation, the pain was excruciating and she screamed a scream that was
stifled in her constricted throat. At that moment, the leash broke, and Stone,
whose whole weight had been supported by it, hurtled backward off the edge of
the ring and into the crowd. He landed in the lap of a huge woman whose massive
behind covered two folding chairs. The woman pushed the midget onto the floor
and rose slowly.
"It's Maxine," someone shouted. Then a new chant began: "Maxine, lardo
queen. Maxine, lardo queen." She waddled over to the stepladder, and two men
pushed her from behind.
Meanwhile, Greta, free at last of the collar, had managed to wrestle the
mallet from Polio and had given him a mighty whack. She could no longer stand,
so she was on her knees, trying to contend with Federico and Octavius, who were
dancing just out of reach.
She didn't see Maxine force her way between the ropes. She didn't see
Maxine's small, angry eyes in a face that resembled a huge ball of dough. Greta
knew nothing of this new danger until Maxine reached down and grabbed her by the
neck. She pulled Greta upright, spun her around, then sent her sailing into the
ropes with a mighty shove. Greta bounced off the ropes and landed face down with
a thud. The midgets started to move in, but they retreated as Maxine stepped
forward, straddled Greta and sat down so suddenly that the whole arena shook.
Her 350 pounds forced the air out of Greta's lungs in a loud whoosh.
Maxine leaned forward and pulled Greta's head back. She slipped a huge forearm
across Greta's throat, grabbed her thick wrist with her other hand, and began to
rock backward. The last thing Greta saw was Octavius dancing in front of her,
brandishing his prick. The last thing she heard was the crack of her own neck.
It took all four midgets and the referee to pull Maxine off Greta. When
Maxine was back on her feet, the crowd roared, and she blew kisses to them.
Greta's body lay lifeless and preternaturally flat. Blood trickled from
her nose and mouth, forming a little red puddle on the mat. The coroner, a stout
man in overalls, examined her and pronounced her dead. A trim young doctor from
the Medical Center, who had accompanied him into the ring, concurred: Greta was
quite dead.
Then the coroner dragged her by one arm to the edge of the ring, climbed
down and flipped her over his shoulder. As he carried her out, a freckled
12-year-old girl stroked Greta's hair and said, "It sure is purty."
Her younger brother rubbed his hand across Greta's back and shouted,
"Look, glittery shit!"
# # #
McTeague was in the kitchen, discussing the dinner menu with Henri, the
chef. "There will be seven of us," said McTeague. "Two board members, a
prospective donor, three Hunt Club alumni and myself. Carnivores all. How about
that pork tenderloin you do so well, the one with the orange glaze?"
"An excellent suggestion, Monsieur. And we have fresh avocadoes that
would be quite nice for salad. And scalloped potatoes?"
"Yes, that sounds fine."
There was a knock, and they looked up to see Loopy standing in the
doorway. He had a long package under his arm.
"Loopy, I'm so glad to see you," said McTeague. "How did it go? With our
lady friend?"
"It was truly awesome," said Loopy. "The midgets really worked her over,
then this big fat woman - well, I've got a videotape, and I don't want to spoil
it for you."
"It's a long box for a videotape."
"Oh, this," said Loopy. "No, this is from the Medical Center. They sent
it to show their appreciation."
"Well, that's a rare treat," said McTeague. "We're usually sending them
packages."
"Yeah, well, wait til you get a load of this," Loopy said. He ripped the
top off the cardboard box. Inside, packed with frozen gel in sealed plastic
bags, were two human legs. McTeague didn't need to see the stab wound in one of
them to know they were Greta's.
"Damned nice of them," he said.
"Distruggio said to roast 'em like lamb," Loopy said. "He suggested some
kind of Italian herb. It's written down in the note on the box."
"Henri," said McTeague. "Change of plans. I want you to roast these. And
there will be eight for dinner. My young friend Loopy will join us." He paused
for a moment, then added, "Cook the entire legs, but serve only the thighs
tonight. Freeze the calves. I'd like to save them for my dogs."
"I have not seen your pets lately, Monsieur," said Henri.
"No, I sent them to my sister in Knoxville. Because of the recent
unpleasantness. But now that this whole unfortunate affair has blown over,
Ginger and Jeebies will soon be back where they belong."
"Very good, monsieur."
McTeague and Loopy walked out into the dining room and stood in front of
the big window. "Looks so peaceful, doesn't it?" said McTeague.
"Yeah, I've had a lot of fun here."
"But you still plan to leave?"
"Yeah, me and a buddy was going to Mobile and New Orleans next month,
but I have to put it off til spring. I found out there's a federal warrant out
for me, so Judge Vinson, he suggested that me and my brother Al go to Canada for
a while."
"Well, if you ever need any references, I'd be delighted to help. You've
been a loyal employee and you've shown a lot of initiative." He put his arm on
Loopy's shoulder. "I think you're a natural for the security business."
They talked some more, until Loopy said, "If it's okay, I'm going to run
over to Bunkhouse One. I kinda got a date with this girl who works in
housecleaning." McTeague laughed. "Go ahead. Have your fun. Then come by and
have dinner with a bunch of old farts."
"Thanks, sir. I wouldn't miss this dinner. I guess the next best thing
between being between Greta's legs is eating them."
# # #
At the home of Sam and Molly Marx, in a quiet, unpretentious subdivision
about a mile from Ralph's, Sam was sitting at the kitchen table in his
underwear, reading the paper. "It says here they're cloning humans," he said.
"Like they did to that sheep."
"Maybe it will be a blessing," said Molly, who was busy on a complicated
needlepoint project.
"It doesn't seem right," said Sam. Then he sighed.
"You're worried," said Molly, "and don't tell me it's this cloning
business What's the matter?"
"It's that girl who died Friday night."
"The one the poster called an 'oracle.' What did you mean by that?"
"Well, it's strange," said Sam. "She told me that she wasn't afraid to
die, but if she did, the midgets wouldn't be the ones to kill her."
"She thought she could defeat the Midnight Midgets? She must have been
meshuga."
"No, she didn't know anything about the midgets. She just told me she
had a dream that told her she would die at the hand of no man."
"But she did," said Molly. "The midgets are men - small men but still
men - and they killed her."
"No. The midgets didn't finish her off. Big Maxine did. Squashed her
flat and then broke her like a dry twig. It was terrible."
Molly put down her needlepoint. "What are you saying, Sam? You were in
love with this girl?"
"No, of course not. I've never loved any woman but you. But she was
about the age that Sara would have been. I should have found a way to protect
her."
"It's a violent business, Sam. But without Ralph's, this town would dry
up and blow away."
"I know," Sam said sadly. "Well, maybe you're right about the cloning.
Maybe it will be a blessing. Maybe the Medical Center will find a way to
reproduce this young woman. They got her body, of course. I'm sure they've
carved her up. Desecrated her corpse. It's terrible what they do there. No
prayers, no vacher, no burial."
"But it helps people," said Molly. "People get organs they need. Just
last week Ruth Bayer got a coronet transplant. It's a blessing."
"No. It's corneas, not coronets," Sam said gently. "Anyway, cutting up
corpses is wrong. And I'm ashamed I give them so much business."
They fell quiet. After a while, Molly asked, "What do you know about
this girl? What was her name? Was she Jewish?"
"No. She was Polish Catholic. At least, she said her father was Polish
Catholic. Her mother was some kind of Protestant."
"The Polish Catholics did terrible things to Jews back in the old days,"
Molly said, without looking up from her work.
"This isn't the old days. Greta - that was her name - I'm sure she
didn't hate Jews. Young people in America today, they don't hate Jews. Or blacks
or Mexicans. They don't hate gay Ghanaians or Croatian cross-dressers. They're
all very tolerant."
"Yes, they just shoot anyone who comes along," said Molly.
"No, only a few crazy ones shoot people. Most don't give enough of a
damn to kill anyone."
"So, did you sleep with this Greta?"
Sam put down his newspaper. "Molly, Molly, I've never so much as kissed
another woman in 40 years. Except for those phony kisses people do when they
pretend to be glad to see one another."
Molly looked up and smiled at him. She put away her needlepoint, got up
and kissed the top of Sam's head. "Come to bed," she said.
"Go on up," he said. "I'll be there in a minute. Save my place." He
always said, "Save my place." After Molly left, he sighed again, deeply, and
scratched his chin. He had lied to Molly. While he had never shtupped another
woman since he was married, he had kissed Greta, and it wasn't the sort of
social kiss that polite Southerners are always doing.
It had happened Friday morning. He had gone to the little apartment next
to the gym, and Greta was sitting at the table, crying. Connie was fixing
breakfast and trying to ignore Greta's sobs. "What's the matter?" Sam asked.
"What can I do?" Greta stood and glared at him, her face full of pain and anger.
She wore only an undershirt and panties, and she was the most beautiful thing he
had ever seen. She opened her mouth to speak, but instead she began sobbing and
pounding his chest. Finally she collapsed against him.
He embraced her, tentatively, tenderly. He was filled with compassion.
And something else. "I'm sorry, little Greta," he murmured. "I'm sorry I can't
save you." She took a deep breath, stepped back and straightened her shoulders.
"I know," she said. "I know you can't. So I'll try to put on a good show. Your
bloodthirsty mob will get their money's worth."
"Maybe your dream was right, Greta," Sam said. "Maybe you'll survive. I
believe in dreams." She smiled a strange smile, then stepped forward and kissed
him lightly on the lips. He pulled her to him and kissed her long and
passionately.
Then he pushed her away. Her beauty pained him. To look at her was to
risk a broken heart. Maybe that was why, in the movies, lovely young women were
put in mortal danger and sometimes snuffed. Maybe that was why, at Ralph's, the
crowd was so uncomfortable at first, when beautiful women were on the card, and
cheered so lustily when these young beauties were eliminated.
Love and death. Eros and Thanatos. Freud had written about that sort of
thing. A very deep man. And a Jew. Turned the world of psychology upside down,
with all that business about the unconscious.
Sam suddenly became aware that his musings had left him with a very firm
hard-on. He headed upstairs, hoping it would last long enough for Molly to
enjoy.
THE END
