Origin of the Brunists

by Robert Coover

  “Well,” said Vince standing, extending his hand, “see you tonight at the adjournment.”

  “Let’s call it a recess,” Ted said with a smile.

  “It was really great, Vince, you were really great!” Etta kept repeating it, over and over, all the way home from the meeting, from all those cameras, all that noise, all those assurances, all the way home and into their bedroom, where now she stood at the mirror in her slip, putting clips and curlers in her hair. Large satisfied smile on her face. “Everybody couldn’t stop complimenting me afterwards.”

  Vince tossed his pants over a chair, sat on the edge of the bed in his shorts. “Well, chicken, you ain’t got the best yet, I been saving it.”

  “Really? You mean there’s something more?” She looked inquisitively at him through the mirror as she reached under her slip, pulled down her huge balloonlike drawers. She carried them over to the closet where her nightshirt hung on a clothes hook.

  “It is my pleasure to announce that they have just set up this here mayor’s special group for planning industry, and just by chance it turns out, ahem, that the old man’s gonna be on it.”

  “What!” She wheeled around, face alive with a big plump happiness. “Oh, Vince, that’s swell!” First real burst of enthusiasm he’d seen her register since he could remember.

  Vince felt great, heroic in fact, but he nodded with an affected disinterest, inspected his toes. “Even gonna bring in a few coins each month. Ted’ll be coming by next week, after this Bruno sideshow is closed down, to talk about it.” While he was talking, she turned her broad back to him, started to hoist the slip up over her big pink body. Vince tiptoed over behind her, reached suddenly around and hugged onto both breasts.

  “Vince! Help! I can’t see! Vince!”

  “Sshh! You’ll have Angie thinking I’m committing murder instead of just friendly rape!” She giggled girlishly, twisted her three hundred pounds around, tried to work her arms free of the entangling slip, but it was wrapped around her head, caught in the curlers. There was always something wonderfully oily about her body. Vince clutched onto the far breast with one hand, slid the still-whole one down over the mountainous range of her smooth bulbous abdomen, felt the groin flesh start and tremble. A man really had to stretch. “And, baby,” he whispered, releasing her breast to shove his shorts down, “we’re just seven short months away from city elections….”

  Vince was up on the ladder again Friday morning, feeling like a kind of king up there, when Burt Robbins and the shoeman Maury Castle came by. “Hey, Vince, got a minute?” Something phony in their smiles.

  “Hell,” Vince laughed carelessly, “this is the fifth goddamn time I’ve painted this same patch!” But he crawled down.

  “Vince, goddamn! Good to see you!” Castle grabbed his hand and nearly tore it off. “Listen, buddy, we got a great great project!”

  “Yeah?” Kept grinning, but he didn’t like the looks of it.

  “If you’re game,” Robbins added. The needle.

  “Listen, Vince,” said Castle, leaning forward like he was about to let go a secret, but his voice was just as loud as ever. “We got a hilarious idea—we thought we might bring the end of the world tonight. A little early.”

  “How’s that?”

  “A few of us is planning to pay a call tonight on old Ralphie—”

  “You mean—?”

  “Himebaugh,” said Robbins. “The guy who tried to bloody your nose with a filing cabinet.”

  Vince grinned. “So?” He felt himself getting sucked deeper and deeper.

  “So we thought we’d visit Ralphie tonight—in-cog-nito, as they say,” explained Castle, “and inform him we’re the Second Coming. You get the picture?”

  “Yeah, I think so—”

  “Well, how’s it grab you?”

  Vince rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, reached in his shirt pocket for a cigar. Didn’t grab him at all, not at all, but he supposed he’d have to go along. “But he’ll probably be over at Bruno’s house—”

  “We checked that out,” Robbins said. “They’ve got a long weekend coming up and apparently decided to spend this night at home, getting a good rest and winding up their private affairs.”

  Vince tried to look amused. “I dunno, Ted said—”

  “Whatsamatter?” Castle asked. “You Ted’s baby?”

  Vince smarted. “No, shit, but—”

  “Anyway, keep it quiet,” said Robbins, “but Ted’s in on this. You know how he feels about Himebaugh.” Robbins’ eyes were nothing but slits. Vince thought about the mayor and how he hadn’t had the nerve.

  “Well, come on, Vince!” Castle shouted. When that man opened his mouth it really whammed out of there. “You game, goddamn it, or ain’t you?”

  “Hell, I’m always game. Who else—?”

  “Bring anybody you want. We already talked to Cheese Johnson and Georgie Lucci, and they’re coming. Anybody else you like.”

  Cheese. Known the bastard for years and never knew anybody called him Cheese. Maybe one of these guys thought it up. “Okay. Where do we go?”

  “Over to my place first,” said Castle. “We’ll oil up the machinery before. I’m at 701 Elm, first white house on the corner of Elm and Seventh. Seven sharp.”

  “Okay,” said Vince, working up a grin around the cigar. Get a free drink or two out of it anyhow.

  “Oh, and Vince, bring an old sheet.”

  “Jesus loves me, this I know,

  Cause ole Bruno tol’ me so!

  Little ones to him belong,

  His is short, but mine is long!”

  sang old Cheese Johnson at the top of his goddamn funny nasal voice.

  “Yes, Jesus loves me!

  Yes, Jesus loves me …!”

  bellowed old Vince and old Sal Ferrero and good old Georgie Lucci.

  “Hey, you guys, can it! You’ll have us all in the clink!” hissed old Burt, but he was laughing, old Maury was laughing, everybody was laughing to beat hell.

  “Ifn Jesus loved you, you wouldn’ talk thetaway!” slurred old Cheese. Vince giggled.

  They stopped and staggered out of the car.

  “This the place?” hollered Georgie. “Looks all dark.”

  “Ssst!” That was old Burt the goddamn spoilsport. “Pipe down! We’re still a block away. We’ll walk the rest. Now look, you crazy bastards, calm down or you’ll spoil the gag!”

  “Oh, Jesus Christ, boys!” moaned old Cheese, falling all over himself. “Don’t spoil the gag! Oh, Jesus!”

  Arms over each other’s shoulders, they careened down the street. “Hey, wait!” That goddamn Robbins again.

  “Maury, old buddy, call that fucking deacon off our ass, for God’s sake!”

  Robbins laughed. “Shit, Vince, all I want is for you to get your goddamn sheets on. It’s no party without them.”

  They paused for that business. Felt all stuffy inside. Vince thought he’d gag. Couldn’t find the damn eyeholes. Then two fingers nearly put his eyes out. “Got it now, Vince, old buddy?” That goddamn Castle had a voice carry to Singapore.

  “Now, listen,” said Robbins. “Don’t forget the point is this: you guys are spirits from the other world, see, and—”

  “Oh earthling Ralphus!” cried old Cheese Johnson, staggering around in hilarious circles. “We are spirits—”

  “Hold it! hold it! You got it, but we’re not there yet. Now remember: you’ve come to pick Ralphie up and escort him to the spaceship.”

  “Spayshit,” said Sal Ferrero solemnly. Castle guffawed. Sal got quieter and funnier the drunker he got.

  “Tell him, above all, he’s not to wear any earth clothes, nothing, just a sheet, see, and then—”

  “Sheetsie,” said Sal.

  Robbins and Castle were laughing themselves sick. Old Burt could hardly talk. He was a lot nicer guy tonight. Maybe it just took awhile to get to know him. “And then you lead him right down to Main Street, and when you get him to city hall, you—”r />
  “Shittyall,” said Sal.

  “Jesus Christ!” howled the sheet that had old Georgie in it. “Sal, you’re a goddamn riot!”

  “Riot!” affirmed Sal, and everybody broke up again.

  Robbins hissed. “It’s right there, next house! Now remember: when you get him in front of city hall, you—”

  “We pull off his sheet,” said Vince. Sure goddamn hard to breathe in this thing.

  “You’ve got it!”

  “Jesus, Vince!” cried the tall thin sheet with the silly-ass nasal voice. “You’ve got it!”

  “But why ain’t you two guys wearing sheets?”

  “Hell, he’d recognize our voices in a minute, Vince, spoil the gag. Look, see that hedge just over there? Me and Maury’ll wait behind that, watch how it goes. If you need us, we’ll be there. Now, go to it!”

  The four sheets approached old Ralphie’s house.

  “Damn, Sal, at least stand up right!”

  “Riot!”

  “Okay,” announced old Cheese, “watch this!” He picked up a handful of pebbles and flung them at a window. Himebaugh’s face appeared in it. “Light the torch!” Georgie struck a match to the torch, then lifted it flaming over his head. Old Ralphie’s eyes nearly shot right out of their sockets. Johnson lifted his elbows, shook the sheet. The others imitated him. Himebaugh opened the door a crack, poked out his terrified white face. “Oh earthling Ralphus! We are spirits from the upper worlds come to transport thee hither!” Except for the twang, it was a great fucking act. Himebaugh stepped gingerly out onto the porch, dressed in one of those funny Brunist nightshirts. “Our spaceship awaits thee!”

  Vince’s line: “Come, friend! Makest thee haste!” Christ! stumbled all over the goddamn s-t's! “The Destroyer cometh!”

  “B-but tonight?” whined the old guy. He was cracking all apart. Very different pose from what Vince had seen yesterday. “We thought—isn’t it—?”

  “Well, our plans is got changed,” said old Cheese, ad-libbing it. “Now git your ass in gear, Ralphus!”

  Himebaugh stiffened, eyebrows slid down off the top of his head. “I don’t know who you are,” he sighed, “but you’re wasting your time.”

  “Tie ’em!” cried Sal. Georgie snickered. Vince had to piss.

  “Listen, ifn you don’t git comin’,” hollered Johnson, sliding all the way back into his cruddy accent, “we’re gonna shag off without ye!”

  Himebaugh shook his head wearily, went in, shut the door. Could hear the key working in the lock.

  “Jeez, Cheese, it’s that goddamn hillbilly accent of yours,” Vince complained. “There ain’t no hillbillies in the other world, don’t you know that?”

  “Whaddaya think we oughta do, bust in an’ git him?”

  “Naw, what good would that do? Let’s go ask old Burt and old Maury.” Vince led the way to the hedge. Nobody there. “Why those goddamn sonsabitches!”

  “Fairweather friends,” said Cheese.

  “Left us in the fucking lurch,” said Georgie.

  “But all is not lost!” announced old Sal, lifting off his sheet and producing a fifth of bourbon. “I borrowed this from good old faithful Maury’s liquor cabinet.”

  “Hey! Good man, Salvo!” laughed Johnson, whipping off his sheet. “Uncork that mother!”

  “Three cheers for old Sal Ferrero!” proposed Georgie, and they all hip-hip-hoorayed while pissing on a tree. Then the four of them sat down on their sheets behind the hedge and passed the bottle. “Well, what’ll we do next?” asked Georgie.

  “Let’s go visit old Wosznik and spook his mutt,” suggested Johnson.

  “We can burn down a couple houses,” Georgie offered. “Vince has got a hand we can use.” The bastard.

  “Let’s go hang a buncha rubbers in the little tree on Cunt Hill,” Johnson said.

  “Where’s that?” Vince asked.

  “That rise out by old Number Nine—”

  “Mount of Redemption,” said Sal.

  “I never heard it called that,” Vince said. “When did it—?”

  “Tiger Miller’s old buddy Lou Jones made it up.”

  “What’s the point?”

  “What’s the point of any cunt?” asked Georgie, and they all laughed idiotically at that.

  Vince chugalugged on the fifth, got what he supposed was more or less his quarter, then handed it to Georgie. “Think I’ll bug out, fellow phantoms. Go get me some shuteye.” Thrust himself to his feet, staggered away. Fact was, he’d been thinking all night about poor Wanda Cravens. She never knew why he never came back. Poor kid. Shouldn’t have been that way. Man can cut out without being crude. Go tell her now. Wanda honey, I’m being a good boy now. Gonna be mayor, see, can’t fuck it up. You understand, hunh? Good girl. Lotta fun, but. Meant to tell you before, but I been busy—oh yes, very very busy. Too bad. Awful sorry. You know I am. Listen, though. You’re a cute kid. I’ll keep my eye out for you, know what I mean? Anything you ever need. Count on me.

  Yeah, this was the place okay. Stumbled up on the porch, thumped the door, then staggered on in. Whoo-ee! shouldn’t have chugalugged. House dead still. All the junk gone. Jesus, maybe she’d moved. Light on in the bedroom. She was just grabbing up her ragtag robe when he reeled in. In her skivvies, snow-white, but her cute titties were flying free.

  “Oh, Vince! Landsakes, you give me a fright! I was takin’ a bath. Didn’t know who it could be out there bumpin’ around.”

  “Who else’d it be?”

  “Well, I jist didn’t know, I thought maybe, you know, day after tomorra bein’ the end a the world and all, I jist thought—”

  “Oh yeah. That.” Vince thought of old Ralphie and grinned. Lights all funny in the damn room somehow. He blew out his cheeks. “Hey, listen, Wanda, I didn’t mean to butt in or nothing, I just only came to tell you—”

  “Vince, I never knowed you to drink so much.”

  Must really be swaying. “Well, I ain’t accustomed to it.” Couldn’t quite see if she was all covered up with the robe or not.

  “Vince, I’m sorry, but I have to ask ye to go. It’s all over now, what we was—”

  “All over!”

  “Yes, for some time now. I thought you knowed or guessed. I been comin’ to the light, Vince. And I gotta have my soul all clean for the end. I’ve sold all I had and give all the money away, and I ain’t gonna do nothin’ sinful. Leastways with the powers of—”

  “Wanda! You ain’t saying you’re turning me out!”

  “Vince, I gotta! It ain’t what I want or don’t want, things is different now. Jist one more day, Vince—”

  “Wanda! How can you do it? I—you just—” He felt all knotted up. And she was so calm, so cold. Had she forgot how it was between them? “Please, I—”

  “Vince, it was a mistake. I was lonely and you was nice to me, but we cain’t go makin’ that mistake all over agin.”

  “Mistake!” Jesus, she was cutting him something awful!

  “Now stop it, Vince! You’re drunk. Let’s be honest, I was a good thing for you, somethin’ for fun on the side, but—”

  “Wanda!” He slumped to the bed by where she was standing, felt like bawling, took her hand. She didn’t understand, everything was wrong, he felt awful. “Wanda, Wanda, I love you! Couldn’t you tell that? You don’t know how you’re hurting me!”

  “Oh, really, Vince! You’re gittin’ silly!”

  He could smell the damp fragrance of her bathed crotch. My God, what was she doing to him? “Wanda, please! Try to understand! Listen, I’m gonna be mayor here! Don’t that mean nothing to you?” Maybe he should just tumble her to the sack and lay her. He worked her robe apart with his nose, pressed his face against her white-pantied groin, felt the nylon whistle along his beard.

  “Vince, don’t—!”

  He laughed the old laugh. “The mayor, baby!” Got a wrist before she could get away.

  “The baby’s watchin’!”

  “That never stopped us—”
r />   “No!”

  Shoved her hard to the bed. Springs twanged. Caught the wide-eyed drool of the baby, staring over the side of the crib. Heard Davey. She hit out, but no life in it. They all want it. “Please, Wanda!” he whispered hoarsely, as he wallowed down over her. “Once more, Wanda! for old times! for the old mayor!” She turned her head, wouldn’t let him kiss her. He unbuckled his pants, fingers thick and fumbling, whipped the fly open, reared his rump up and shoved his pants and shorts to his knees. Couldn’t bother getting the pants off her. Slide in past the legband. She squirmed—

  “Please!”

  “Oh Wanda, you don’t know how you’re hurting me!”

  “I love you!”

  “One more for the old mayor!”

  “The mayor, baby!”

  Vince lurched up off the bed, tripped over his own pants, whammed to the floor on his hands and knees. Johnson, Ferrero, and Lucci stood in the doorway splitting their goddamn drunken guts with laughter. “You goddamn sonuvabitching cocksuckers!” screamed Vince. Pants all tangled up somehow. Baby howling like a maniac. Davey padding in. Wanted to take a swing, hit anybody. But Jesus, he realized he had nothing left in him and he was going blind to boot.

  “Well, so this is how we talk to the spirits!” grinned Johnson. “Well, boys, I for one am goin’ to join this here religion!”

  “I believe!” cried Georgie. Jesus, they could hardly stand.

  “Now you two fellers take a restrainin’ grip on old Dad there, so’s he don’t break the spell,” Johnson said, then hiccupped, “and let’s see ifn I cain’t git a message through to the holy kingdom.”

  Sal and Georgie rubberlegged over. Grabbed Vince unconvincingly just as he’d got his pants up. Georgie shoved his pants down to his ankles again. “Don’t want you running out on us again,” he said. Vince struggled, but just didn’t have any goddamn strength.

  Johnson unzipped his fly and reeled forward. Wanda cowered pale against the head of the bed, clutching the robe tight around her neck, but showing a bright white glimpse of snatch. Wasn’t her fault, she was too scared to realize, but still it made Vince mad, showing what she had like that. Lights were still screwed up. And he couldn’t sort the noises. Like a fucking circus or something. Watched the scene, but had to think about it to be sure he was seeing it. Was Johnson into her? No, he was still standing there, showing off his instrument, pulling out his shirt, and hiccupping. “Le’s git the Comin’ on the road!” he was saying to Wanda.