If Pancho had any reply for that, I don't know, for Gleda came in. She
was wearing her hair blue and she wore a really striking pattern of
iridescent blue paint with a double snake pattern coiling up her legs
and torso.
The party got under way very quickly. Gleda supplied the alkie and
treacle and everyone nibbled their own synthetic protein out of their
pouches. The combination soon had an hilarious effect on the gathering
and a couple that I didn't know, a boy and girl in particolored green
and blue, starting throwing small articles of furniture at the Eyespy
over my head.
Couldn't hurt the Eye, of course, but I was kept pretty busy dodging.
Then Thais suggested a quick game of Clobber. I must confess, not
without satisfaction, that I cheated a little and peeked through the
bandage so I could land a real lulu on Pancho's long pointed nose.
When Gleda stopped the bleeding and he was on his feet, someone asked
Lyra for a song and the cry was taken up by all. I caught a glimpse of
the five Venerians' round eyes peering at us out of the kitchenette.
But Gleda was saving them for the last--the _piece de resistance_.
Lyra tore down a drapery and staggering a bit from two or three too
many alkie-and-treacles, wrapped herself in it from head to foot. There
was a shocked sort of gasp from the watchers. Professor Cripps turned
red under his yellow paint.
Gleda put a tape on the MusiKall and Lyra went into her act. I've never
seen anything like it. Swaying like a cobra, her bare feet pounding
out the beat on the plastic floor, she raised the temperature about
ten degrees in that room. Her green painted lips twisted in agony, her
eyes rolled in the chromatic mask of her face. An old folk tune--not
the sort of thing she generally did. Something that really tore at the
heartstrings. A song that dated centuries back. History and the sense
of our way of life lived in that room for a few short moments. Her
voice was a blood-stirring trumpet--
"Mairzy Doats and Lammsy Doats
And little kiddsie Divy--
A Kiddlee Tivy Tooo Wouldn't you--?"
When it was over, there was a breathless hush in the room. I wondered
where in the world Gleda had gotten that MusiKall tape--It had probably
cost her plenty.
There was only one thing, I thought, that could top that. "Gleda," I
said. "_Now._" Besides if the gooks didn't earn their prots, what about
my fee? I was already losing protein on this deal. Passage to Venus
isn't cheap.
The Venerians trooped in and squatted on the floor while Gleda made the
introductions. The room began to smell very like an embalming room must
smell.
"May I present Clare, Vivian, Gail, Evelyn and little Jean. They're
going to sing for us." Cheers from the guests. I glanced triumphantly
at Pancho. The Professor seemed fascinated. "And," added Gleda archly,
"they may even tumble for us." The Venerians looked at one another,
tittered and flushed dark green. I was glad to see they were all on
friendly terms with Jean.
Clare struck an attitude, crest erect, and waited until everyone quit
shuffling around. Presently, they sang. I think it was singing. Very
cultural. Very esoteric. Also very noisy. It sounded rather like they
were all in pain.
After what seemed to me a very long time, they grew silent. There was
a smattering of discontented applause. Gleda glared at me. I looked at
Thais in dismay. "They also dance," she said weakly.
"Yes," Pancho said. "Let's see them dance!"
"By all means," Gleda said, still eyeing me.
"Dance, fellows," I said hopefully.