The Flex of the Thumb

by James Bennett

  “I’m not sure I understand. I would very much enjoy seeing your manuscript, though.”

  “You are the one. If I have what you want, and you have what I want, then we will make a deal. Life is like that-you scratch my back and I scratch yours.” Revuelto put his handkerchief back in his pocket.

  Vano didn’t understand, but the professor continued: “In other words, you bring me Mary Thorne and I bring you the manuscript.”

  Vano wondered how you would bring one person to another person. “I don’t understand,” he said again.

  “Then let me repeat it: you bring me Mary, and I will bring you the manuscript.”

  Vano said, “I’m not sure what this means. I’ve never asked Mary for a favor before.”

  “Take it or leave it,” said Revuelto curtly. He went into a three-point stance and tried to shoulder block the two stubborn statues into the closet. This effort failed. “Caramba!” he bellowed. He threw a roundhouse right which socked one of the statues on the jaw. The statue felt no pain, but Revuelto had just fractured the middle two fingers on his right hand.

  Vano made a polite suggestion, “If you would like to give one of the statues away, I think I know someone who would enjoy having it.”

  “You do?”

  It was at this moment that Rita Lieberman came into view. She said to Revuelto, “I came to apologize for stabbing you.”

  “This is an amazing coincidence,” Vano observed. “Rita is the person I had in mind. I think she might enjoy having one of your statues.”

  “I swear it was an accident,” said Rita. “It was the bitch who was supposed to get it, not you. You can probably imagine how sorry I am.”

  The wounded professor couldn’t imagine much of anything. He was listening to Rita through waves of pain. “I bear no grudge,” he told her. “If you would like a statue, please help yourself.”

  “You serious?” Rita Lieberman took a long and lingering look at the imposing dimensions of the rigid member on each statue. “I wonder if they’re all the same size. Never mind, close enough. I have a powerful sexual appetite, and I’ve never been shy about a kink or two every now and then.”

  “You are welcome to have one,” Revuelto repeated.

  “You know what,” said Rita, “If I did have one of these dudes, I’d probably keep it waxed with paste wax. I’d probably give the pecker a second coat. I might even give that part a buff job, if you get my drift.”

  Revuelto gasped his way down to a seated position on the floor. He was about to faint beneath the acuity of his accumulated wounds and frustrations. “Do you have a car?” he asked Rita.

  “I don’t just have a car, I have a Vette.”

  “I think I have a broken hand. Would you be so kind as to drive me to the hospital?”

  “Hey—it’s the least I can do.” She swung one of the Aztecs up onto her shoulder before heading on down the hallway. Revuelto followed at a close distance. Vano watched them until they became very small. Rita’s right hand had a firm grip on the statue’s pecker.

  When the phone on Arnold’s desk rang, it was for Vano. It was Sister Cecilia, calling from the main desk downstairs. She told Vano, “There’s something urgent I have to talk to you about.”

  Vano went on down, where he found Sister pacing in the lounge. She looked around. “Your dormitory is nice, Vano. I’m glad you have such a nice place to be.”

  After a pause he responded by saying, “The dorm is very nice.”

  “I have some awful news, Vano. I thought it would be better if I came here to tell you in person.” Her large brown eyes were round and liquid.

  Vano sat down beside her on the sofa nearest to the window. “What is the news?”

  “I don’t really know how to tell you this. Your father died this morning of a sudden heart attack.”

  Vano receded into deeper hooommm. There was orange lava roiling outside the window.

  Sister Cecilia continued, “I don’t think he suffered, Vano. He was dead on arrival at the hospital.”

  When Vano finally found his tongue, he asked her, “How did it happen?”

  “I never did understand exactly what it was they were trying to tell me,” said Sister. “They said he burned himself on hot coffee in a restaurant, which caused him to have the heart attack.”

  Vano said nothing.

  “I don’t know how you could get a heart attack from a cup of coffee, but it’s what they told me, honest.”

  Sister Cecilia had the Lincoln. Right after Vano packed a few of his things, they headed back to the condo. Vano spent the next two days deep in, sitting on the balcony. Sister wrote a lot of notes and did a lot of telephoning.

  On the third day, there was a graveside service in the cemetery. Two old men who had been business partners of his father were the only mourners besides Vano and Sister. Not even Gomez or Ann-Marie showed up.

  The minister, who wore a black hat and a black suit, prepared to read from a black book. He began his speech by saying, “Our Heavenly Father, we are gathered here to honor thy servant, Vernon Lucas, who walked the path of righteousness all his days.”

  Vano’s hooommm was the deepest he’d ever known. The earth shook like a subway in motion while his ears roared. The orange lava rising in all directions nearly formed an overhead canopy. Was this the Federation? Was he standing at the threshold of ultimate hooommm? He didn’t hear the rest of the minister’s words. Instead, he stared at his mother’s headstone, only a few feet away from the fresh-dug, open grave. It wasn’t so long ago that Ann-Marie had given him a blow job on this very spot. The memory was clear in its details, but void of emotional content. It was neutral.

  When the minister was finished with his remarks, it was time to lower the casket into the grave, but the grave was a tad too small. The gravediggers tried to force in into place with their feet, but the casket thoroughly wedged itself to the sides of the opening. One end of the casket was higher than the other. They covered it with dirt anyway, but when they were done, the dirt formed a peculiar, uneven mound, unlike any other grave in the cemetery.

  “It doesn’t matter, Vano,” Sister reassured him. “The position of the casket isn’t important. He’s with the Lord now, which is the only thing that really matters.”

  “The casket will be fine,” said Vano.

  In the middle of the night, Vano awoke from a sound sleep to find Sister Cecilia standing next to his bed. He pulled himself slowly into a sitting position. “Are we going to put your nightgown on now?” he asked her.

  “Vano, can’t you see my nightgown is already on? I just need someone to talk to. Everything is so up in the air.”

  “Of course.”

  The two of them lay on their backs side by side. Vano liked the smell of Sister’s skin and hair, as well as her baby powder. But he was located in a hooommm that was ever so solid.

  “I’ve been going through lots of your father’s things. Old files and records—those kind of things.”

  “That’s a good subject, Sister. I’ve been meaning to ask you a favor. Please send ten thousand dollars to a friend of mine named Herne Hill. He’s trying to start up a franchise business.”

  “I see.”

  “He’s at the Arbors, but I don’t think he’ll be there too much longer. You can send the money to him there.”

  “Of course, Vano. I’ll send it first thing in the morning.” Then she told him that she missed his father. “Do you think you’ll miss him too, Vano?”

  Vano had to think. A long time. Finally he said, “I doubt it.”

  “I know you and your father didn’t see eye to eye, but he’s dead now.”

  “My father always treated me like an unperson,” said Vano.

  “But please, he’s dead now, and we pray he’s at rest with the Lord. You mustn’t carry a grudge.”

  “I don’t have any grudge,” Vano explained. “There are no grudges in hooommm. I think it was important that my father treated me as an unperson. The reality may be, you can�
�t experience hooommm without first becoming an unperson.”

  “I’m just not sure sometimes, the things you say.”

  “Me neither.”

  Sister Cecilia rolled on her side to face him. Her mouth was six inches from his left ear, and the top of her nightgown was open. Vano took note of the dormant condition of her large brown nipples, but his zone was undisturbed. “Vano, I’m not sure what to do. What’s to become of me?”

  He asked her what she meant.

  “I’ve spent the last five years taking care of you and your father. Mostly your father. He always needed more looking after than you. I’ve spent the last five years cooking, cleaning, washing, ironing, keeping the checkbook balanced, shopping, running errands, and making sure Vernon remembered to take his medicine.”

  Vano didn’t reply.

  Sister continued. “What I’m saying is, everything’s so up in the air. I’m not sure what to do with myself. I don’t know the Lord’s will yet. It’s not a good time for me to be alone, so do you suppose I could come and stay with you for a while?”

  “Sure,” said Vano. “That would be nice.”

  “I promise it wouldn’t be for too long,” she said. “Just till I figure out what the Lord has in mind for me.”

  “I’m sure it would be real nice to have you, Sister.”

  The following day, Sister Cecilia took one small suitcase and her trombone. She moved into the dorm with Vano, Robin, and Arnold. They set up an army cot for her at the north end of the room. She had only a few personal belongings, and Vano was more than happy to share his closet space with her.

  The first day after Sister took up residence, Mrs. Kuetemeyer stopped her as she was passing the main desk. “Hold it there just a minute,” said Mrs. Kuetemeyer. “I’d like to know what you have in the case.”

  “This is my trombone,” Sister explained. “I play it in a Salvation Army band. I hope I haven’t been disturbing you.”

  “I’ve been missing a Commodore personal computer for several weeks now. How do I know the computer is not in that case?”

  Sister Cecilia smiled. “This is a trombone case. I doubt if a computer would fit inside it.”

  “If you have nothing to hide, I don’t suppose you’d mind if I opened it up to take a look?” asked Mrs. Kuetemeyer.

  “You’re welcome to open the case.”

  Mrs. Kuetemeyer opened the case and considered the shiny trombone. She said, “Okay, but how do I know you can play it?”

  As soon as Sister played a few bars of Bringing in the Sheaves, Mrs. Kuetemeyer admitted she was satisfied. She even apologized.

  Apart from this one incident, the pattern of Sister Cecilia’s residency could not have been any smoother. She spent most of her time in prayer. She only practiced her trombone at noon, when the likelihood of disturbing people was remote. All the guys in the dorm enjoyed taking showers with her. She did laundry every day for Vano and his roommates, and she kept the room dusted with lemon Pledge.

  The very first words out of Mrs. Askew’s mouth were, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to give you another reminder about curriculum development. It’s truly an urgent situation.”

  Reggie Rose was peeved. Was this any way to greet a president? “Whatever happened to ‘good morning?’” he asked. “Or possibly, ‘have a nice day?’”

  “Good morning and have a nice day. Did you hear what I said?”

  “Yes, yes, I heard you. There’s nothing wrong with my memory.” He headed into his own office where he plopped down behind his desk. Mrs. Askew followed him expectantly. Reggie decided that she was just as gratuitous as she was officious. “Where’s the dean?” he asked her. “Where’s the academic dean?”

  “Do you really need to ask?”

  Reggie began to pout. “I suppose this means I’ll have to find the astrology teacher on my own.”

  “It looks that way,” Mrs. Askew confirmed. She chomped her gum.

  “But I’m the one who thought it up in the first place!” exclaimed the president. “What can I delegate?”

  Mrs. Askew had no answer. She assumed this was a rhetorical question and anyway, she was using her compact mirror to remove a lipstick stain from one of her front teeth.

  “Egad!” Reggie wailed. “My work load is awesome! It is crushing!”

  “It is lonely at the top,” observed the secretary, just before leaving.

  Reggie stood up to pace. First he paced right, then to the left. He couldn’t imagine where a person would look to find an astrology teacher. He racked his brain, but all he could think of was Bertie Kerfoot’s annoying bridge party from the night before. He experienced a fresh wave of dejection.

  Additional pacing and extended brain-wracking got him nowhere. He went to Mrs. Askew’s office. “Do you have the morning paper?” he asked.

  “Right here. But don’t do anything to the crossword.”

  Reggie took the newspaper to his desk. He began his search in the classifieds, piecing through the various headings: Real Estate. Employment. Automotive. Garage Sales. Then, under the boldface heading Services Offered, he happened upon the most intriguing item:

  ARCANE EXPRESS—astrology, Scientology, palms,

  phrenology, I Ching, Ying and Yang, ping and pong,

  cheech and chong, rosicrucian rites, llamaism, crystal balls,

  bones. If it’s weird, we probably do it. No waiting. Call

  today for an appointment.

  Reggie picked up the phone hastily to dial the number.

  The man who answered the phone said simply, “Arcane.”

  Reggie introduced himself. He said he needed a teacher for an introductory course in astrology. He also said that Entrada was committed to developing an entire curriculum in astrology sometime in the near future.

  The man on the other end said, “I can teach the course, Man.”

  “Are you sure?” Reggie asked. “I should tell you that it only pays one thousand dollars.”

  “A thousand bucks? I’m real sure.”

  “What’s your name?” asked the president.

  “Herne Hill” was the answer.

  Did he say Herne Hill? Reggie asked himself. “Did you say your name was Herne Hill?”

  “That’s what I said, Man.”

  “See here. Can you come to my office sometime next week for an interview?”

  “Count on it.”

  Relieved and proud, Reggie Rose hung up the phone. Not only was he setting the college back on the path to Godliness, he was also leading the way in curriculum development. Enthusiastically, he pounded his fist on his desk.

  Then Mrs. Askew appeared in his doorway. She declared, “A wealthy alum named Wilfong Weingrad just called. He wants to give the college 25 million dollars.”

  Before he could respond, Reggie needed to catch his breath. “Did I hear you say 25 million? Is that what you said?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “This is incredible. 25 million dollars would put us back on a firm financial foundation. I hope you told him we accept?”

  “I did, but he’s got terms.”

  “Terms?”

  “Terms.” said Mrs. Askew. “First, the college has to construct a chapel in his honor, in the center of campus. Second, the college has to bring an evangelical preaching crusade to campus.”

  Reggie was quick to put his enthusiasm on hold. “You mean like Billy Graham or Oral Roberts?”

  “I think that’s the general idea.”

  “Tell me something,” said Reggie. “What made him decide to give us all this money?”

  “He saw one of our chaplain’s memos,” she replied. “The one about God floating through the heavens.”

  “I see. Mrs. Askew, with these resources, I think Entrada may be on the road to a complete recovery. More than that, I think we may be standing on the threshold of a new age. What do you think?”

  “I think you’d better call the bank.”

  “Explain yourself.”

  “
I think you’d better call the bank and make sure he’s got the money. I’ve seen Wilfong Weingrad once or twice. I doubt if his elevator goes all the way to the top.”

  It was necessary for Reggie to put his enthusiasm on hold again. He stood up to resume his pacing. “Mrs. Askew, let’s get the ball rolling. I’ll call the bank. You get the chaplain over here ASAP.”

  As soon as Mrs. Askew left the room, Reggie called the bank. He asked a bank officer if Wilfong Weingrad really did have the money. The bank officer reported that Weingrad had 2500 passbook savings accounts in the amount of ten thousand dollars each.

  “Why does he do it that way?” Reggie asked. “Why doesn’t he have his fortune invested in a portfolio?”

  “Have you ever met Weingrad?”

  “No,” Reggie admitted.

  “Then don’t ask,” said the bank officer.

  But Reggie had to know, “Why are you giving me all this information about his financial holdings over the phone? Isn’t that a violation or something?”

  “Yes.” was the reply. “It is a violation. It’s just so weird, I can’t help telling people about it.”

  After Reggie hung up the phone, Chaplain Johansen arrived. The chaplain was carrying his briefcase.

  Reggie beckoned the chaplain to a chair and proclaimed, “I have an important mission for you.”

  Johansen sat down. “For me? You do?”

  “A very wealthy alumnus named Wilfong Weingrad saw your memo about God floating through the heavens,” the president informed him. “He was very taken with it.”

  “He was?”

  “That’s not all. Weingrad has 25 million dollars which he will give to Entrada if he’s convinced that this is a place with an appropriate fear of the Lord.”

  Chaplain Johansen whistled his appreciation. “That’s a lot of money.”

  “You ain’t just a-woofin’. And believe you me, this college could use the resources. I could show you in the trustees’ report, but right now we don’t have the time.”

  The president’s sense of urgency was making Chaplain Johansen nervous. “What is it you would like me to do?”

  “I’m appointing you liaison,” Reggie informed him. “I’m sending you out to secure the 25 million.”