Later, looking back on the scene that followed, Jimmy was never quite
sure just what had happened in just what order. For the first thing
that erupted was the table. Grundy had suddenly tilted back in his
chair throwing his heavy body over backwards. His legs, under the
table, served to catapult the heavy object straight up towards the
little spy window where the R.A. waited.
Bowdler had thrown his own empty glass straight at the eternally lit
little bulb that had supplied the only illumination.
Darkness, then the crash of the table, then Comstock had obeyed orders
and thrown himself flat on the floor. Next to him he had heard Bowdler
land heavily.
The second crash as the table fell to the floor was the signal for
Bowdler to grab Comstock by the arm and whisper, "Crawl after me."
Darkness and silence.
None of the other heart patients in the saloon had uttered a sound.
That was not surprising of course, as anything unusual that ever
happened was always the result of the action of the R.A.'s and it ill
behooved anyone to interfere with them....
The only sign of light was the little flicker that came from the R.A.'s
halo.
The sight of it was enough to make Comstock's blood run cold.
Hopelessly he wished for a heart attack that would make him _hors de
combat_, but for once that organ seemed impregnable.
Then, crawling on his hands and knees, crawling after the unseen
bulk of Bowdler, with fear in him like a live thing, Comstock died a
thousand deaths. In the darkness a bulky body had bumped into him,
and for a moment his heart had seemed to stop completely but then he
realized it was only Grundy. The man had whispered, "Not far now."
Most frightening of all had been the moment when his head had touched
the solid wall of the back room of the saloon. That had not been
frightening in itself, but what had happened next was the worst of all,
for suddenly the solid wall was no longer solid.
Frozen immobile, he had waited till Grundy had said, "Go on ... hurry
up."
Behind him Bowdler had pushed him, hard.
There was no choice. He went through the no longer solid wall.
Then there was another terrible period of darkness and silence and
crawling along on all fours.
Bowdler finally spoke and he no longer whispered. He said, and his
voice was harsh and loud, "It's all right now. We can stand up."
Then a light had flooded them.
And so here he was, Comstock thought dully, his brain feeling about as
perceptive as a plate of liver as he stood in the small room that had
no right to be where it was. Not that he knew where that was, but he
knew that The Grandfather would certainly not approve of a hideout, and
there could be no doubt that he was in such a place.
Grundy and Bowdler looked at him and enjoyed his manifest surprise.
* * * * *
Jimmy asked, "What, where, how, I mean...."
"We're not exactly fools, you know, Comstock old boy," Grundy said. "We
knew that the R.A.'s had us under observation. We knew, too, that it
was only a question of time before they came after us."
"But the saloon wall, how did we go through that?"
"Trap door, old sock, just a trap door." Bowdler grinned.
"And the tunnel we went through?" Comstock asked and then, looking
around at the sybaritic furnishings of the little room, he asked, "This
room, what is it?" Never in his life had he seen a room with such
over-stuffed chairs, such soft warm colors, such a concern for creature
comforts.
"Evidently," Bowdler said with an evil smirk, "Elmer Gantry 104 does
not really believe in the Spartan virtues that he preaches so loudly."
"You mean this belongs to a Gantry?" Earlier, the very idea of being
in a room that belonged to a Gantry would have made Comstock swoon,
but his experiences were evidently toughening him, for aside from a
certain feeling of breathlessness, and the knowledge that all the blood
had left his face, and a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, the
blasphemous information did not affect Comstock at all.
Bowdler was standing with his back to Comstock, his hands linked behind
his back, as he teetered back and forth from heels to toes and looked
at some three dimensional pictures that hung on Gantry's walls.
Only the fact that the n..e women in the round, true-color pictures
were young, between twenty and thirty years old, kept Comstock from a
heart attack. If they had been older, the obscenity of their n....y
would surely have made him pass out. He could not help wondering
how Bowdler could seem to enjoy looking at the young women. It was
incredibly revolting to Comstock's sense of the rightness of things.
"Sit down," Grundy said, "let's have a council of war."
Sitting on the very edge of the too-soft chair, keeping his back rigid,
Comstock kept his attention glued on Grundy and Bowdler. Now perhaps,
he would pick up some information of real value to the Fathers.
He noticed with some dismay that the other two men slouched back in
their chairs and seemed to be enjoying the ease of their surroundings.
He asked uneasily, "Is there no chance that the R.A. will follow us
here? Don't they know about this retreat?"
"Would any R.A. dare to contaminate a Gantry's home with his presence?
Relax, Jimmy." Bowdler sprawled out, his large t...h hanging over one
arm of the over-stuffed chair. "The only chance we're taking is that
Gantry may come here. I checked and found that he is conferring with
the Fathers today."
How easily these two men spoke the terrible words. It made Comstock sit
ever straighter on the very edge of the chair he occupied.
The cool air of the room which seemed to have been washed and cleansed
before entering the sacrosanct area was pleasant on Jimmy's heated face
even while he wondered how a windowless room could be so aired.
"I gather," Bowdler said as he smiled at Jimmy's obvious consternation,
"that you have never been in a home of one of the Thirty before?"
Dully, Jimmy shook his head no.
"You'll find, laddy boy, that this is a strange world we live in with
many paradoxes that to Grundy and me, demand an explanation. It wasn't
too long ago that we were like you and found only elderly ladies
attractive. But you know, as soon as we found out that the Thirty like
their women young, we too began to find something vastly exciting in
youth."
* * * * *
So alarmed that he dare not continue to look at Bowdler, Jimmy looked
around the room trying to find something to change the subject, some
object on which to focus. On a book shelf nearby he saw one of his
childhood favorites, and grabbed it with a feeling of relief.
It was a copy of Father Goose. He ran his eye over the first poem and
drew from the verse of Jack and Jill the knowledge that the world had
not gone insane. There, it was just as he remembered it,
"Jack and Jill went up the hill
To ..... a .... of water.
Jack fell down and broke his .....
And Jill came ........ after."
He riffled through the pages as Bowdler went on talking. On page ten
was another favorite,
"Little Polly Flinders
Sat among the cinders
Warming her pretty little ....
Her mother came and caught her
And whipped her little daughter
For spoiling her nice new ......."
But the assurance of the known faded away as Bowdler's voice went
rumbling on and on. "It occurred to both of us that perhaps there was
some reason why we are brought up to esteem aged women so much. After
all, if old ladies are as exciting as we are taught that they are, how
come the Gantrys and others of the Thirty only have young concubines?
This was one of the questions we asked ourselves, and we think we have
the answer...."
Grundy broke in, "Have you ever wondered, Comstock, why it is that the
only women who have children are the ones who are called up before the
Fathers?"
This was even worse than the time Comstock's father had told him the
"facts of life." Much worse, for what Grundy was intimating was at
variance with what his father had taught him. It was worse.
"Maybe," Grundy said broodingly, "just maybe there is a damn good
reason why the Fathers are called the Fathers!"
There are moments in life so terrifying that the very ground seems
to shift beneath one's feet. That was the sensation that Comstock
was experiencing. All was alien. He clung to the tattered copy of
Father Goose as the only tangible thread that held his reeling sanity
together. Averting his eyes from Grundy's and Bowdler's faces he
hurriedly read,
"There was a little girl
Who had a little curl
Right in the middle of her ........
And when she was good she
was very, very good.
But when she was bad she was ......"
Even the familiar rhyme failed in its lulling purpose. He could no
longer hide behind its chant-like curtain. Bowdler's voice went on,
striking ever more harshly at the roots of Comstock's being.
"What a mockery all of our lives would be if what Grundy and I think is
true. Suppose everything we have been taught is a lie. What then little
man? What then?"
From some unknown and previously untapped reservoir of strength
Comstock managed to dredge up the ability to say, "That's ridiculous.
There would be no reason under the two suns for that to be true. The
truth is mighty and will prevail."
"Just a little less of the copy-book maxims if you don't mind, old
man," Bowdler said. "Hear us out."
"Just suppose," Grundy bent his stocky middle body over so that he was
closer to Comstock. "Just suppose for the sake of argument, that we
are right. That our whole way of life is false. Look what that could
mean."
Bowdler broke in, excitement making his voice harsh and rasping.
"Suppose there is no real merit in old age. Suppose that the
one-hundred-and-fifty year olds whose intelligence we worship as a
matter of course, are really just senile old people! Then what?"
Grundy's face set. His mouth set in thin lines of derision. "I know for
a fact, that the Elders are just that. Elder. There's no magic in old
age no matter what they taught us in school or what they keep yelling
and yammering at us all the time. Old people are just old...."
Was there no end to the men's blasphemies? Comstock shook his aching
head wearily. First they had attacked the peak of all things, The
Grandfather. Next they had profaned the Fathers, and now the Elders.
What sacred functionaries were left to attack? None, he realized with
some relief. For the pyramid of his government was erected on the
broad base of the Elders, who were guided and advised by the Fathers,
who were in turn guided and led by that font of all knowledge, The
Grandfather.
Taking a deep breath and setting his heavy jaw, Bowdler said, "If The
Grandfather is a fake as I am beginning to believe, and the Fathers
a pack of self-seeking sybarites who stay in power just because they
are the most direct descendants from the original Thirty, and if the
Elders are doddering fossils whose intellectual powers are supposed to
befuddle us and keep us in place, than I say with Grundy, the time has
come to overthrow this foul regime."
So there had been a final blasphemy left!
This one was so gigantic, the meaning Bowdler's words conveyed, so
treasonable, that Comstock found himself waiting for the end. Just so
far could men go and no further. These two must be wiped out, destroyed
along with their poisonous statements!
The idea!
Overthrow The Grandfather!
The very lightnings would, must come down and blast the two impious
villains where they stood.
Comstock waited.
The lightnings, if they were coming, seemed long delayed.
But surely The Grandfather who was everywhere and knew all things must
have overheard these infidels.
Why then did He not strike them down, limb and body?
It was only then, that in the very back of Comstock's mind a nervous
little finger of doubt began to twist and turn, and finally asked a
question.
"Suppose," the little finger scratched on the blackboard of his cortex,
"suppose they're right ... suppose The Grandfather is not all powerful
and all knowing?"
Then he waited for the lightnings to strike him too.
And all the while he wrestled with himself his two friends sat in
strained silence, waiting ... waiting....
No lightning.
Some of the tension began to drain out of Comstock, and as it did,
Grundy and Bowdler exchanged knowing looks. Bowdler said at last.
"Welcome."
"Welcome, Jimmy." Grundy smiled, "now you are one of us."
One of them.
He had exchanged the peace and security of resting in Grandfather's
arms, of putting his weary head against Grandpop's long beard ...
Grandpop? How fast he was sliding.... He had exchanged the surety of
his life, for what?
For the friendship of two drinking companions. Somehow the swap did not
seem to his advantage.
Bowdler seemed almost to be able to read his mind, for he said, "Buck
up, Jimmy. You're going to find it's good to be a whole man. There are
rewards!"
But all Comstock could remember was the ease and safety of that which
he was surrendering. It came hard. Very hard.
"Growing up is always difficult," Bowdler said, his voice soft and full
of understanding. "But I promise you there are rewards."
What rewards?
Before Comstock could put his question into words, there was a crashing
sound at the door, the real door, not the hidden one by which they had
entered the sacred precincts of the Gantry's room.
The primapara of the door trembled beneath the assault that was being
launched on it.
Through the heavy wood they could hear the voice of authority. "Open up
in the name of the R.A."
All a tremble, Comstock searched his friends' faces for reassurance.
He found none.
Bowdler said, "I don't understand it."
"No point in going back the way we came, the R.A. will have found that
by now," Grundy said and his forehead was washboarded with worry.