by John Barth
“By George!” I cried. “Do you know what I think? I think he enjoyed spanking you!”
There was a pause; Max allowed dryly that there might well be something to what I said. Anastasia looked perplexed from me to him, and he explained to her in an earnest tone that an examination of the sayings of Grand Tutors would reveal the quality of their insights to be not so much a complex subtlety as a profound and transcendently powerful simplicity, which the flunkèd sophistication of modern intelligences might confuse with naïveté.
“I would’ve,” she admitted. “That shows how naïve I am.”
She went on with her story: “It was about this time that Maurice Stoker began coming to the house to see Uncle Ira—it was during the election campaign and just after, when Grandpa Reg had been defeated, and everybody was wondering what would happen to Uncle Ira’s business. I thought Maurice was the most interesting man I’d ever seen: I liked the strong way he laughed, and I used to find excuses for coming into the study while they were talking, so I could see his black beard and those eyes of his, and I told Uncle Ira I thought Mr. Stoker must have the whitest teeth in the University. You know how young people are: when Uncle Ira said Maurice was a very flunkèd man who did naughty things to co-eds, and I mustn’t even come out of my room while he was in the house or I’d get a spanking, I was scared to death and more curious than ever. So I used to wave to him from my window when he’d drive up on his big black motorcycle, and he never waved back, but just stood in the driveway with his hands on his hips, and smiled at me.”
“I hate what’s coming,” Max groaned. “I hate this whole part.”
Anastasia went on to say that she had wondered in addition whether her Uncle’s threat was not in fact a kind of invitation to further spankings, though it did seem to her that he was more concerned about Stoker than about the procession of undergraduate young men—of whom, in these months, she made a very large number “so happy, pass their poor hearts,” virtually under his nose, he being preoccupied with the threat to his reference-book monopoly. It came to pass that quite often Stoker himself was in a position to afford transportation to and from the house to these visitors of hers, so frequent were his business-calls there, and thus he’d soon possessed himself of the details of her peculiar philanthropy. (“Can you imagine?” Anastasia asked us, as incredulously as if the event had only just occurred. “He thought I was letting them make love to me because I liked it! I mean just for my own sake! He actually thought I was promiscuous—he still pretends to think so!” I shook my head at this presumption, and Max covered his eyes.) Not long afterwards, eavesdropping at the study door, she’d learned something of the nature of what business was between her guardian and the visitor with the curly beard: the new chancellor, it seemed, had been elected by a narrow margin, and so was particularly interested in a rapprochement with Reginald Hector (who whatever his limitations as a political administrator, was still revered in New Tammany College for his role in Campus Riot II); he could not of course expect his beaten opponent to accept a post in the new administration, but it was an open secret that he sought the ex-chancellor’s support for certain controversial measures of policy with regard to WESCAC and the Quiet Riot. On the other hand, though Lucky Rexford was himself a wealthy man and a staunch supporter of the private-research economy, he felt obliged both by promise and by principle to make some gesture towards dissolving such monopolies as Ira Hector’s, which had flourished under the former regime. Now it was known that however sincerely he deplored Maurice Stoker’s activities, the Chancellor was bound to his alleged half-brother by Stoker’s firm hold on the Power Plant and Main Detention. What Ira Hector proposed (for it was he, not Stoker, who had initiated the interviews), was to establish Reginald Hector as the figurehead president of his reference-book firm—in fact his brother badly needed some such employment, not having an iota of Ira’s business-sense—in the hope that some quid pro quo could then be diplomatically arranged: he, Ira, would guarantee his brother’s support for Chancellor Rexford’s varsity policies; the Chancellor in turn could not only find grounds to spare the business headed by the lovable old professor-general, but might in addition see to it that Ira’s counterparts in the textbook field were not spared. The scheme seemed a likely one, but as a cautious entrepreneur Ira was suspicious of the new chancellor’s youth and the fact that Rexford’s own fortune had been inherited, rather than earned in the rough-and-tumble of competitive research—both which factors might lead him to put principle above interest, as it were, and proceed the more vigorously against any organization which attempted to negotiate with him. To minimize that risk, it were preferable that the overtures to negotiation be made by the Chancellor himself, who however must needs be assured by some close and disinterested advisor that they would not be rebuffed. The man for that work was Maurice Stoker: Anastasia heard her guardian offer him a sizable inducement to attempt it. But Stoker, while admitting with a laugh that the plot’s nefariousness appealed to him, and expressing his confidence that he could manage it with little difficulty, seemed not especially interested in the reward. This was the matter of their frequent meetings, which had reached an impasse: Stoker claimed frankly that he had wealth enough already, and desired only powers and pleasures, neither of which Ira Hector was able to offer him; Ira seemed unable to comprehend this attitude, or unwilling to believe in its sincerity, and so kept raising the amount of his bribe to no avail.
“It was the awfulest thing to listen to!” Anastasia said. “Maurice has a way about him … I don’t know how he does it, but he seems to make everybody worse than they really are, I couldn’t believe it was Uncle Ira I heard saying ‘There’s nothing on this campus can’t be bought by the man who can pay the price.’ Then Maurice began teasing that Uncle Ira liked to pretend to be selfish and hard-hearted, but actually he was a sentimental old do-gooder (which is just what I think!). The more Maurice teased him about founding the Lying-In Hospital and raising me out of pure generosity, the more Uncle Ira swore he’d done those things for nobody’s benefit but his own. When Maurice saw how upset Uncle Ira was, he vowed he’d do that business with Chancellor Rexford for nothing, the day Uncle Ira could prove it wasn’t simple good-heartedness with me and the Unwed Co-eds’ Hospital.”
“You see what a Dean o’ Flunks he is?” Max cried to me—who was gripping my stick with anger.
“It got worse and worse,” Anastasia declared. “After a while Uncle Ira was claiming he’d built the hospital just so he could interview the girls himself—he said he liked to ask them questions about how they’d gotten in trouble, and see them cry when they told their stories; he even said he liked to watch, in the delivery-room—I know it isn’t true! And Maurice said so himself, that Uncle Ira was trying to sound flunked, because he was ashamed of his passèdness … Well, I burst in and said I’d heard the whole thing, and told Uncle Ira he should be ashamed of himself for such fibs, and Maurice for leading him on. Uncle Ira was furious, but Maurice just laughed and said ‘What about her? Does she let you watch when the boys—[I can’t say it; you know what I mean]?’ Uncle Ira turned white—I did too!—but then he seemed to get hold of himself, and he said, ‘Stacey, this man is a wicked liar who’ll say anything that suits his purpose; but he also knows every flunkèd thing there is to know about people that they wish nobody knew of. So when he says you’ve been letting all those boys [you-know-what], he might be lying or he might not. I want you to tell me the plain truth now,’ he said: ‘if he’s lying I’ll throw him out, and Lucky Rexford can do his flunkèdest to break me to pieces. But if he’s telling the truth, I’m going to thrash you like no co-ed on this campus was ever thrashed!’
“It seemed to me Maurice got worried when Uncle Ira said that, because he said, ‘What do you expect her to do when you put it that way? You’re begging her to lie about it, even if it costs you your business! And you call yourself a selfish man!’ But Uncle Ira hardly heard him, he was staring so at me; and you know, I almost did tell a lie
, he scared me so much. And especially I didn’t want to get a spanking there in front of Maurice! But then Uncle Ira looked like he was ready to have a stroke, and the only thing I could think of was how important it was to calm him down and get it out of his system. And I hated to tell a lie anyhow, especially when it might ruin his business—”
“I wish I didn’t hear this,” Max said. “I wish this was finished.”
“I’ll bet anything you told him the truth,” I hazarded.
Anastasia nodded sorrowfully. “I couldn’t say a word at first, but I bent over his desk, the way I always did for spankings, and that was the same as admitting about the boys. Believe me, it was just for Uncle Ira’s sake; and Maurice—he’s so clever about these things—when Uncle Ira started spanking me, Maurice laughed and asked me wasn’t it true what the boys had told him, that I didn’t make love to them for my own sake at all, but just because they said it would hurt them if I didn’t? At first I thought he was saying that for my benefit; Uncle Ira even stopped spanking me for a minute and asked me was it true, and Maurice said, ’Sure, it wasn’t her fault; they told her they’d commit suicide or flunk their exams if she didn’t help them, and she believed them.”
“Why, that was decent of him, wasn’t it?” I exclaimed. The image of Anastasia bent over the desk was much with me.
But she shook her head. “Don’t you see? As soon as he said it I realized that if I agreed that that was how it was—I mean on my side of it, because I’m sure those boys never said what they did just to take advantage of me—if I agreed, Uncle Ira might stop and drive Maurice away, and lose his business and all. So, awful as it was, I had to tell a worse lie yet: I had to say it was me that persuaded the boys to do what they did, because I wanted to fool Uncle Ira and because—I just enjoyed doing flunkèd things!”
“He knew you better!” Max burst out.
“Maybe so. But he did need to get it out of his system, Dr. Spielman. He started in again, and Maurice laughed, and I was crying all over the ledger-sheets, and worrying because my tears were making the ink run … But the worst was what happened next. Maurice told Uncle Ira he certainly must love me very unselfishly to get so upset over what I’d done; it just proved what a sentimental old fool he was! Uncle Ira really went crazy then: he spanked me harder than ever, and started crying himself, and he shouted, ‘I enjoy it! I enjoy it! There’s my profit, right there!’ I know he didn’t mean it! But he said ‘What do you think I raised her for? I love this!’ Oh, George, you can’t believe how it hurt him to say that! The ruler flew out of his hand, and he tried to spank me with his bare hand and couldn’t do it right; it didn’t even hurt. He was completely helpless, and I turned around and hugged him and told him not to worry, it had been a terrible spanking and had taught me a lesson I’d never forget. Maurice quit his laughing then and looked at me in the strangest way: it wasn’t just that he could see through what I’d said; it was as if he’d suddenly thought of something that upset him the way he’d upset Uncle Ira … I can’t say it right … but much as I hated him right then, it seemed to me he had some terrible need of his own.”
I struck the sand with my stick, and Croaker growled under me. “If you say he spanked you too, I’ll flunk him! There’s been enough spankings!”
Max said nothing.
“It wasn’t that,” Anastasia replied. “He just had an awful look in his eyes—I thought he was ready to cry himself, can you imagine? Then he told me in this strange voice that he knew very well I’d confessed on purpose to save Uncle Ira’s business, but he couldn’t decide just why, and before he made up his mind whether to help Uncle Ira or not he had to know some things: Hadn’t I really enjoyed it with those boys? And didn’t I let Uncle Ira spank me so I could get what I wanted from him? Mind you, I couldn’t tell which answers would be the right ones for Uncle Ira’s sake. Also there was this awful need on Maurice’s own face, like if I said the wrong thing it would do something terrible to him—but whether it might be better for him in the long run to have that terrible thing happen, I couldn’t tell either. I was confused! So finally I just told the plain truth: I said that what I enjoyed about the boys was just what I’d liked about playing with the maids when I was little: that it seemed to make them happy without hurting me. As for the spankings, they certainly did hurt, but the reason he mentioned wasn’t right at all: Uncle Ira had always been sweet to me, spankings or no spankings, but everybody needed to get things out of their systems now and then, and I owed Uncle Ira such a lot, and it was good for him in so many ways, he could spank me twice as hard and twice as often if he wanted to, and I thought it was just awful of Maurice to make him say those terrible things about himself!
“All this time, you know, Uncle Ira was sitting in his desk-chair, making noises, and I was standing beside him holding his head against me. But when I finished talking he put his head down on his papers and wouldn’t let me comfort him at all. Then Maurice took hold of my arm-his voice wasn’t teasing the least bit any more; it was like he was begging me, if you can imagine it, and he said, ‘Now tell me the Founder’s truth, girl.’ And what he asked me was, didn’t I find it even a little bit exciting to—to have Uncle Ira bend me over the desk and spank me like that? What a horrid idea! It was the flunkèdest thing I’d ever heard of! But his eyes were just blazing, and there was something about his face—I’d never seen such an expression! Uncle Ira sat up and looked at me, and I realized what he’d think about himself if I said it was just for his sake I’d let him spank me. But the other was such a flunkèd thing to say, what Maurice wanted to believe! Much worse than pretending about the boys; I could hardly make the words come. But I said, ‘If you must know, I guess it is a little bit exciting, in a way.’ I thought that ought to satisfy him, but he squeezed my arm harder and said in that same voice, ‘In what way?’ How was I supposed to know what to say then? All I knew was that I had to say something awful, and the only thing I could think of was what I’d hear the boys say sometimes; I didn’t even understand it, whether it was possible for girls too, I mean, or how it could apply to a thing like spanking, but something told me it was the right thing to say …”
Anastasia’s cheeks flamed; but she pressed on, even regaining her disconcerting glibness. “So I looked him straight in the eye, and I said, ‘When Uncle Ira spanks me with his ruler, Mr. Stoker—it gets me all hot!’ Do you see why I had to say that, George?”
In truth it was not until later I learned her exact meaning, but I thought I had the general sense of the situation, and took my cue from Max in praising once again her astonishing selflessness and deploring the flunkèdness of which she had been victim.
“I could have died for shame!” Anastasia declared. “But it turned out Maurice didn’t believe a word of what I said. It was as if that’s what he’d wanted to hear, all right, but it made him mad to hear it—because he wanted it to be true and knew it wasn’t. He almost hit me himself! ‘Flunk you!’ I remember him shouting at me. ‘How far will you go?’ Then out of a clear sky he tells Uncle Ira he wants to marry me (what he really said was, he had to marry me), and he looked at me in this twisted kind of way; it scared me to see him. He said he’d guarantee Uncle Ira’s business would get twice as big if I’d marry him. It was strictly a business deal, he said: if Uncle Ira wanted to prove what he’d bragged about before, here was his chance; it would be like selling me for a big profit. But he ought to understand (this was Maurice talking) what he was letting me in for …”
“I will kill him, Max!” I vowed.
But Anastasia bade me hear her out. What Stoker’s proposition came to, it developed, had not even the technical respectability of marriage: she was to become upon his completion of Ira’s business, the mistress of Stoker’s every whim and craving—the which, he hinted darkly, were as infinite in number as they were bestial in character.
“It was a terrible spot to be in,” she said. “If Uncle Ira said no, he’d lose his business and have to admit he was generous at heart; if he sai
d yes, he’d lose me—and he really did need me—and probably hate himself besides for what he’d done. I wanted to decide for him, so he wouldn’t have to blame himself; but I didn’t know which to choose either, I loved them both so …”
“You loved them?” I cried, and Max, equally astonished, said, “Stoker too yet!”
“Well, you know what I mean: he was really terribly upset! It was perfectly plain to me he just needed somebody to get things out of his system with, and he was as afraid of showing it as Uncle Ira was. Why do you suppose men are that way?”
I was sure I didn’t know.
“Anyhow, I couldn’t say a word, and neither could Uncle Ira, and Maurice wouldn’t. He walked out of the study with this set look on his face, and Uncle Ira and I kind of followed after, as if we could’ve been going up to our rooms or out for a walk or anything. We ended up out front where Maurice’s motorcycle was, and it seemed to me Uncle Ira must have been wanting me to go with Maurice, or he would have made me stay in the house. Or maybe he thought I was leading the way, I don’t know. Anyhow Maurice got on the motorcycle and started up, and everybody kind of hesitated, and it didn’t seem to me there was anything I could do then but go with him; everybody seemed to be waiting for me. I don’t remember deciding: one minute I was standing with Uncle Ira, the next I was in Maurice’s sidecar and off we were going, just like the wind, and Maurice threw back his head and laughed!”
She tisked her mouth-corner. “That was a couple of years ago. And you know, he did keep his word to Uncle Ira, even though in a way he didn’t have to—I mean, since he had me anyhow. I think that was very good of him, don’t you? There’s something really decent about Maurice, way down deep.”
