"You mean there was too much opposition to your being kicked out, so you
weren't?"
He slumped in his seat and regarded me balefully. With the pathos of a
squeaky hinge, he said:
"Head man. Top dog. Derelicted resident. Boss. Wheel. Me. Zan Blekeke."
And if I didn't get it now, I just didn't deserve to know. But I got it.
"You were elected president?" I said.
Zan Blekeke nodded gratefully. "Yus and so. Undeserving awful, but...."
He heaved his chest in resignation.
"No. Not at all," I protested. "Why, I think that's wonderful. You're
just the man for the job! Have another drink."
* * * * *
We ordered more drinks, and the Martian continued: "Membership
obviousless that whatsoever I closest intimute of Dear Late Doctor--"
here he raised his eyes again and clapped a hand to his chest before he
finished--"I should wallow in step-tracks."
"Why, absolutely," I agreed emphatically. "No question about it."
From talking to some of the SRI members after meetings or at beach
sessions, I had gained the definite impression that Zan Blekeke had been
a sort of a servant to "Dear Late Doctor," and would continue to be a
servant to whoever was elected in his place.
But instead, they had elected the Martian himself. Logical, in a
cockeyed way.
This was the first time I'd ever really talked to him. I'd seen him at
the few meetings of SRI I had attended, but he had seemed pretty quiet
there, letting others do most of the talking. He was in charge of
administering the daily Sun-Ray treatments, which I had taken once or
twice myself just for the experience; but on those occasions, he had
been very cold and professional.
_Closest intimute of Dear Late Doctor...._
I had never been able to find out much about the Doctor. He was too
sacred a subject for any of the members to even talk about. Of course, I
hadn't tried very hard, because I wasn't especially interested in this
assignment--I was supposed to be on vacation.
Now that a successor had been chosen, I wondered if the show was over
and everyone could go home. I asked Blekeke about it.
"Not while yet," he replied. "Colonial could be. All live one. Dear Late
Doctor--" hand to heart, face to Heaven, Amen--"often told wanted
colossal."
It wasn't too clear, but I nodded anyway. Frankly, my interest in the
whole thing was at a very low ebb. With the drinks and the effort of
untangling Blekeke's twisted English, I was becoming listless and
sleepy.
But he insisted on knowing where I had been when the meeting was held. I
told him I'd had to hurry back to New York for a conference with my
publisher.
He said, "Ah, yes. Writer." He pointed to the defense mech on the seat
beside me. "That typer?"
"Huh? Oh, no ... that's a portable radio. Carry it around with me, in
case the conversation gets dull." I was at the point where I didn't care
much what I said.
He must have taken it as a gentle hint, because in a little while he got
up and left, shrilling: "So gladly seeing you. Wanted know."