Mona gave me a searching look. What's the meaning of this act? it said.

I put my hand on her arm, lightly, as if I were laying a divining rod on it. «He has something to say to you. Listen quietly. It will make you feel good.»

All eyes were focused on Ned. He blushed and stammered.

«What is this?» said Marcelle. «What did he say that was so wonderful?»

«I guess I'll have to say it for him,» I said. I took Mona's two hands in mine and looked into her eyes. «This is what he said, Mona... ' I never knew that one human being could transform another human being as Mona has transformed you. Some people get religion; you got love. You're the luckiest man in the world.'»

Mona: «Did you really say that, Ned?» Marcelle: «How is it I haven't transformed you?» Ned began to sputter.

«I guess he needs another drink,» said Marcelle. «No, drink only satisfies the lower appetites,» said Ned. «I'm searching for the elixir of life, which is water, according to Henry.»

«I'll give you your elixir later,» Marcelle rejoined. «How about some cold chicken now?» «Have you any bones?» I asked. Marcelle looked perplexed.

«I want to eat them,» I said. «Bones give phosphorus and iodine. Mona always feeds me bones when I'm exalted. You see, when I'm effervescent I give off vital energy. You don't need bones—you need cosmic juices. You've worn your celestial envelope too thin. You're radiating from the sexual sphere.»

«What does that mean in plain English?» «It means that you feed on seed instead of ambrosia. Your spiritual hormones are impoverished. You love Apis the Bull instead of Krishna the charioteer. You'll find your Paradise, but it will be on the lower level. Then the only escape is insanity.»

It's as clear as mud,» said Marcelle.

«Don't get caught in the clock-work, that's what he means,» Ned volunteered.

«What clock-work? What the hell are you talking about, you two?»

«Don't you understand, Marcelle? I said. «What can love bring you that you haven't got already?»

«I haven't got anything, except a lot of responsibilities,» said Marcelle. «He gets it all.»

«Precisely, and that's why it feels so good.»

«I didn't say that! ...Listen, what are you talking about? Are you sure you're feeling all right?»

«I'm talking about your soul,» I said. «You've been starving your soul. You need cosmic juices, as I said before.»

«Yeah, and where do you buy 'em?»

«You don't buy them... you pray for them. Didn't you ever hear of the manna that fell from the sky? Ask for manna to-night: it will give tone to your astral ligaments...»

«I don't know anything about this astral stuff, but I do know something about ass,» said Marcelle. «If you ask me, I think you're giving me the double entendre. Why don't you go to the bathroom for a little while and play with yourself? Marriage has a queer effect on you.»

«You see, Henry,» Ned broke in, «that's how they bring things down to earth. She's always worrying about her nookie, aren't you, dear?» He stroked her under the chin. «I was thinking,» he continued, «that maybe we ought to go to the burlesk tonight. That would be a novel way to celebrate the occasion, don't you think? You know, it gives you ideas.»

Marcelle looked at Mona. It was obvious they didn't think it was such a hot idea.

«Let's eat first,» I suggested. «Bring that coat in, or a pillow... I might want something on the side. Talking about ass,» I said, «did you ever take a good bite... you know, a real bite? Take Marcelle, for instance... that's what I call a tempting piece of ass.»

Marcelle began to titter. She put her hands behind her instinctively.

«Don't worry, I'm not biting into you yet. There's chicken first and other things. But honest, sometimes one does feel like tearing a chunk out, what! A pair of teats, that's different. I never could bite into a woman's teats—a real bite, I mean. Always afraid the milk will squirt into my face. And all those veins... Jesus, it's so bloody. But a beautiful ass... somehow you don't think of blood in a woman's ass. It's just pure white meat. There's another delicacy just below the crotch, on the inside. That's even tenderer than a piece of pure ass. I don't know, maybe I'm exaggerating. Anyway, I'm hungry... Wait till I drain some of this piss out of me. It's given me a hard-on, and I can't eat with a hard-on. Save some of the brown meat for me, with the skin. I love skin. Make a nice cunt sandwich, and slap a little cold gravy over it. Jesus, my mouth's water-ing...»

«Feel better now?» said Ned, when I had returned from the bathroom.

«I'm famished. What's that lovely puke over there —in the big bowl?»

«That's turtle shit with rotten eggs and a bit of menstrual sauce,» said Ned. «Does that whet your appetite?»

«I wish you'd change the subject,» said Marcelle. «I'm not overly delicate but puke is one thing I don't like to think about when I'm eating. If you have to talk dirt I'd rather you talked sex.»

«What do you mean,» said Ned, «is sex dirt? How about that, Henry, is sex dirt?»

«Sex is one of the nine reasons for reincarnation,» I answered. «The other eight are unimportant. If we were all angels we wouldn't have any sex—we'd have wings. An aeroplane has no sex; neither has God. Sex provides for reproduction and reproduction leads to failure. The sexiest people in the world, so they say, are the insane. They live in Paradise, but they've lost their innocence.»

«For an intelligent person you do talk a lot of nonsense,» said Marcelle. «Why don't you talk about things we all understand? Why do you give us all this shit about angels and God and the booby-hatch? If you were drunk it would be different, but you're not drunk... you're not even pretending to be drunk ...you're insolent and arrogant. You're showing off.»

«Good, Marcelle, very good! Do you want to hear the truth? I'm bored. I'm fed up. I came here to get a meal and borrow some money. Yeah, let's talk about simple, ordinary things. How was your last operation? Do you like white meat or dark? Let's talk about anything that will prevent us from thinking or feeling. Sure, it was damned nice of you to give us twenty dollars right off the bat like that. Mighty white of you. But I get itchy when I listen to you talk.. I want to hear somebody say something... something original. I know you've got a good heart, that you never do any one harm. And I suppose you mind your own business too. But that doesn't interest me. I'm sick of good, kind, generous people. I want a show of character and temperament. Jesus, I can't even get drunk—in this atmosphere. I feel like the Wandering Jew. I'd like to set the house on fire, or something. Maybe if you'd pull your drawers off and dip them in the coffee that would help. Or take a frankfurter and diddle yourself... Let's be simple, you say. Good. Can you let a loud fart? Listen, once I had ordinary brains, ordinary dreams, ordinary desires. I nearly went nuts. I loathe the ordinary. Makes me constipated. Death is ordinary—it's what happens to everybody. I refuse to die. I've made up my mind that I'm going to live forever. Death is easy: it's like the booby-hatch, only you can't masturbate any more. You like your nookie, Ned says. Sure, so does every one. And what then? In ten years your ass will be crinkled and your boobs will be hanging down like empty douche bags. Ten years... twenty years... what difference? You had a few good fucks and then you dried up. So what? The moment you stop having a good time you grow melancholy. You don't regulate your life—you let your cunt do it for you. You're at the mercy of a stiff prick...»

I paused a moment to get my breath, rather surprised that I hadn't received a clout. Ned had a gleam in his eye which might have been interpreted as friendly and encouraging—or murderous. I was hoping somebody would start something, throw a bottle, smash things, scream, yell, anything hut sit there and take it like stunned owls. I didn't know why I had picked on Marcelle, she hadn't done anything to me. I was just using her as a stooge. Mona should have interrupted me... I sort of counted on her doing that. But no, she was strangely quiet, strangely impartial.