The Flex of the Thumb

by James Bennett

“I see,” murmured the chaplain. “No I don’t, what does that mean?”

  “It means our friend Weingrad has some terms we will have to meet. I’m putting you in charge. First of all, we’re going to have to build a chapel in his honor.”

  “I see.”

  “Second, we are going to have to bring a preaching crusade to campus. One of those evangelists. Who do you think we should pick?”

  The chaplain had no ready answer for this. He worried his rosary beads before he said, “I’m afraid I don’t know much about evangelistic crusades.”

  “You’re the chaplain, aren’t you? You must have some resources.”

  “Well,” said Johansen, “I have a few catalogues here.” He opened his briefcase so he could hand Reggie one of the evangelical catalogues.

  Reggie flipped some of the pages rapidly before he frowned. “What’s this card for?” he asked.

  “That’s one of the easy-order coupons. You get a discount if you use it.”

  Reggie was a little nonplussed by this approach. “Can you order an evangelist just like you would order a pair of trail boots from L.L. Bean?”

  “It would appear that way,” said the chaplain, “But I really don’t know very much about these things.”

  By this point, Reggie Rose was tired of the whole subject. He did not want to think any more about the Wilfong Weingrad chapel or the evangelists. In fact, he didn’t want to think about college business at all. “You pick someone,” he said wearily. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.” With that, he dismissed the chaplain.

  Johansen went back to his office. He turned catalogue pages from cover to cover, but it was disorienting. He didn’t seem able to make a choice. It wasn’t anything you could crank out on the mimeo machine. As a last resort, he threw one of the catalogues up in the air, to see how it might land; he seemed to remember choosing scripture lessons by this method. The catalogue fell open to Billy Joe Jim Bob of Tupelo, Mississippi.

  Chapter Seven

  The night that Vano had his date with Mary Thorne, he decided to drive the Town Car. First, though, he had to remove the many parking tickets from the windshield in order to drive.

  At the Kappa sorority, Mary met him on the porch. She approved of the vehicle: “Nice car. Very nice.” She was wearing a sleeveless, lemon colored linen sheath. The dress had a deep, square neckline with a white lace border. Mary was also wearing white button earrings, white bangle bracelets on each arm, and white pumps. Her manicured nails glistened with a frosted polish. Vano Lucas felt that he had never seen a woman so stunning, and in truth, he never had.

  “So where are we going?” she asked.

  Even though he was in solid, he felt the slightest trace of nerves. He was wearing a black suit, a white dress shirt, and a thin black tie which he had borrowed from Arnold Beeker. He finally said, “I’m very fond of cheeseburgers. How about McDonald’s?”

  “McDonald’s? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Maybe we could try Hardee’s.”

  “You expect me to go for the Big Mac dressed like this?”

  “Well, we could go anyplace you like, actually.”

  “Jesus Christ, come with me. If I’m going to the arches, I need to change first.”

  She took Vano up to her room, where she immediately began removing her clothes. Concurrently, she delivered Vano some new information. “My father is coming down here tomorrow. He wants to be here for parents’ weekend.”

  “That’s real nice, Mary.”

  “That’s what you think. He’s going to take me to some seminar at the Holiday Inn on starting up worm farms. My father is always starting up a new company of some kind. When I graduate, he wants to make me executive vice president in charge of worm farms. Can you believe it?”

  Mary was now removing her underthings. Vano asked her why.

  “There is dress up underwear, and there is dress down underwear. You’ve probably never thought about that, have you?”

  “No, Mary, I never have. I’ve never thought about worm farms either. I don’t know anything about them.”

  “Who does? Who cares?” Now completely nude, she asked a third rhetorical question: “With a body like this, do I belong behind a desk running a worm farm?”

  Vano stared at the shapes and textures of her exquisite body. It occurred to him that he ought to be experiencing a chain reaction of anatomical changes, but he found that he rested in a solid hooommm which was nearly unaffected. He didn’t even have a stiff. He changed the subject by saying, “I’ve been looking into changing my major, like you and I talked about. They’re going to have astrology now.”

  “Astrology? You mean like horoscopes and that kind of stuff?”

  “I’m pretty sure. But I don’t think you can sign up for it until next semester or next year.”

  “That figures. As soon as it’s time for me to graduate, they start having all the good courses.”

  They went to McDonald’s. Mary was now attired in a Santa Barbara sweatshirt, designer blue jeans, and white sandals of patent leather. She ordered a Big Mac, regular fries, and medium Dr. Pepper. Vano had the same, except a cheeseburger instead of the Big Mac.

  Vano began by saying, “I’m real glad you told me about the worm farm, Mary. It helps me to get to know you better.”

  “Didn’t you hear what I said? He can wait till Hell freezes over before I have anything to do with a worm farm!” She slid three fries into her mouth.

  Vano decided it would be a good idea to change the subject. After a pause he said, “Mary, I’d like to ask a favor.”

  “So go ahead.”

  “I’d like to borrow a manuscript which belongs to Professor Revuelto. I talked to him last week. He said he won’t give it to me, but he’ll give it to you.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I’m not one hundred percent sure,” said Vano. “I think his exact words were, ‘you bring me Mary Thorne and I bring you the manuscript.’”

  “Oh Jesus.”

  “Like I said, I’m not completely sure what it means.”

  “Well I am,” Mary declared. “I know exactly what it means. He sends me this kinky stuff in the mail; he thinks I don’t know where it comes from. He wants me to come out to his house and take my clothes off so he can take erotic Polaroids.”

  “I see,” said Vano.

  “As if. He wants me naked so he can give me a rubdown with a mink glove, while he reads his pissy poems to me.”

  “I see.”

  “The bottom line is, Revuelto’s a pervert sweathog. What is this book that you want from him?”

  “It’s a book about folds in the earth,” Vano explained. “It isn’t published yet. I want to borrow it because my roommate and I would like to do some computations on the electromagnetic spectrum and possible fissures in the gravitational field.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Mary. She began eating her sandwich.

  Vano hesitated before speaking. “You now what, Mary? I should take my own advice. If you and I are going to get to know each other better, I should tell you something about myself.”

  Her mouth was full: “If it works for you.”

  Summarizing as carefully but efficiently as he could, Vano told Mary about hooommm. Then he told her about his visit with the particle people, and reviewed what they had revealed to him. He explained the difference between the particle mode and the ego mode. He pointed out how the ego mode was just a primitive phase of psychological evolution, much like the flexible thumb represented a different kind of evolutionary phase. He concluded by outlining how he surmised that ultimate hooommm was none other than the particle mode itself.

  Mary Thome’s mouth was open, in the shape of an O. “How long were you in that looney bin, anyway?”

  Vano smiled. “About ten days.”

  “Did I say you were dull?”

  “Not really, Mary, you just said that I wasn’t very interesting.”

  Mary tu
rned back to her fries and soft drink.

  “There’s one other point that’s kind of interesting, Mary. People like us, living here on earth, will probably never get to a higher plane of psychological development. That’s because even though our technology is advanced, our ego mode is primitive. We will blow ourselves up, one way or another, and sort of go back to the stone age. I figure that’s the way it’s happened on lots of planets for eons. Wherever there’s a humanoid life form. The technological advancement comes a lot faster because of the ego mode, but it’s the same ego mode that prevents control and judgment. There’s never enough time for the humanoids to reach a higher plane of evolution; they always have to go back to the beginning and start over. Anyway, that’s my basic conclusion on the meaning of existence. Of course it really isn’t mine at all, since it comes from the particle people.”

  Mary was finished eating. She said, “I don’t have any cigarettes. They sell them in the Convenience store. How’d you like to go get me a pack?”

  “Sure, I’d be glad to.”

  “I take Marlboro Lites.”

  The Convenience store was only across the parking lot, so Vano was back in no time at all. Mary lit up right away, then blew a wobbly smoke ring toward the ceiling. “Look,” she began. “You’re a good kid, and you’re not dull like I said. I don’t know where you’re coming from, though. I know what getting heat is.”

  Of course, Vano thought to himself. Sometimes in hooommm meanings just fell into place like jigsaw puzzles. Getting heat was to Mary what hooommm was to him. Of course. But he didn’t say anything, he simply chewed on his ice.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Mary suggested. “The heat is gone, but maybe one for the road would be nice. Did you ever do it standing up?”

  Vano tried to remember by thinking of Ann-Marie. “I can’t say for sure, but I think maybe I have.”

  “Okay then, how about this? Did you ever do it in a football stadium?”

  “No.”

  “Neither have I. See? There’s something we have in common. About this Revuelto thing, I’m not making any promises. I’m not saying I will, but I’m not saying I won’t. It might not be any worse than going to a seminar on worm farms.”

  “You’ll think it over then?” Vano asked.

  “I’ll think it over. You did bring the heat, but I’m still not making any promises.”

  “That’s fair enough, Mary.”

  “How about one for the road in the football stadium, standing up?”

  “That would be real nice, Mary.”

  They tried sexual intercourse in the end zone, first standing up and then lying down in the grass. It didn’t work either way, though, because Vano couldn’t establish a sufficient erection. As ravishing as she was, he couldn’t find enough focus. They finally gave it up when Mary said, “Jesus Christ, this never happened to me before.”

  Vano knew he wouldn’t be seeing Mary any more. He wondered if he would miss her. But he didn’t see Ann-Marie anymore, and he hardly missed her at all. “Actually, Mary, it isn’t happening to you. It’s happening to me.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. I never thought this could happen to me.”

  “It’s just my zone,” said Vano, in a loud voice. He was entering a hooommm as deep as any he’d ever known. Orange lava elevated in the darkness above the stadium on all sides. It formed a textured, layered canopy.

  When Mary said something about a blow to her self-esteem, her distant voice was swallowed by the deep, rumbling roar and intense vibration. He might have told her that’s one of the pitfalls of ego mode existence, but he felt suspended out of his own body while the earth wobbled precariously on its axis. Suddenly, she seemed so far away and so long ago.

  Vano thought he might be passing over into ultimate hooommm, leaving all the world as he knew it behind.

  He wasn’t, though. When the deep zone finally ebbed, he was still beneath the goal posts. It was dawn, and Mary was gone.

  The middle of the following week, President Rose summoned Chaplain Johansen. The timid cleric arrived carrying stacks of printed material.

  The impatient president wasn’t inclined to beat around the bush: “Tell me where we stand on this evangelistic preaching mission stuff.”

  Chaplain Johansen cleared his throat. “I’ve filled out an order form on Billy Joe Jim Bob of Tupelo, Mississippi.”

  “Is he any good?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “How much does he cost?”

  “I have no idea. He has four first names.”

  “Is that good?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Reggie was frustrated; he felt like that ought to be enough conversation about traveling preachers. “Let’s move along to the Wilfong Weingrad chapel.”

  Johansen opened his briefcase and began removing material. He had been to see the famous architect, Prosper Tornquist. Prosper Tornquist had drawn up a few preliminary sketches, which the chaplain showed to Reggie.

  The Tornquist proposal was to build a 1:2 scale replica of Westminster Abbey. His drawings called for vaulted ceilings, flying buttresses, countless leaded, stained glass windows, chandeliers of crystal, and a huge stone altar of Purbeck marble. There was to be carving and statuary throughout the building. “Isn’t this sublime?” Johansen asked.

  But as soon as President Rose absorbed the implications of these drawings, he was appalled. “This is preposterous!”

  “You don’t like it?”

  Reggie decided outrageous would be a good word. “This is outrageous! We would spend almost every penny of the 25 million dollars just building this chapel!”

  “Is that bad?”

  “It’s worse than bad. Read the trustees’ report sometime if you don’t believe me. We need money to upgrade the physical facilities, the curriculum, and the faculty.” Having said this, Reggie got out his sketch for the Weingrad chapel. This drawing had been prepared the previous evening, by Bertie Kerfoot, in a state of advanced inebriation. It was drawn on a grocery bag with egg salad grease stains.

  The Bertie Kerfoot drawing called for a ten by twenty foot building of two-by-four studs and grade B exterior plywood. It was to be painted with red barn paint, which could be purchased for 25 dollars per five gallon bucket. It was to be roofed with tar paper and tin. It was to have a front door, a back door, and two 30-inch windows.

  “This building can be constructed for 2600 dollars!” beamed the president.

  “It’s awfully small,” Chaplain Johansen felt obliged to point out.

  “So? Nobody ever goes to chapel services anyway, you told me so yourself.”

  “That’s true. But it doesn’t have any religious symbols in it. I don’t think it would be very inspirational. It doesn’t have any heat or bathrooms, either.”

  Reggie Rose waved his hand. “We can worry about the fine print later on.” He was fatigued in the extreme by this entire conversation. “You need to get yourself up to Salinas to ferret out Weingrad’s estate. Show him your own sketches if he wants a look at some kind of prospectus. You probably won’t have to, though; just let him do most of the talking.”

  “How will I get there?”

  “His home is located in a rather remote spot, I’m told. You’ll probably need a road map.”

  “I don’t have a road map,” the chaplain explained.

  “Then you’ll have to get one, won’t you?”

  “I don’t have a car, either.”

  “Egad, Man! You’ll have to take charge! Must I be responsible for everyone’s sphere of duty?” He dismissed the chaplain summarily.

  When Vano returned to the dorm on Monday, following his philosophy class, Arnold was waiting for him. “Mary Thome was here a little while ago,” was the information Arnold provided. “She brought Revuelto’s manuscript.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “It’s more than nice, Vano, a lot more. It’s exactly what we need.”

  “It’s very nice.”

  “How did
she talk Revuelto into giving her the manuscript?” Arnold wanted to know.

  “There’s no telling. Mary is very persuasive, especially when it comes to men.”

  Robin Snook burst out laughing. He was lying on his bed, lighting farts, and reading from a Far Side Gallery collection of cartoons. Arnold Beeker was trying to ignore him. He told Vano, “It was in that large manilla envelope over there. I hope you don’t mind, but I went ahead and opened it.”

  “I don’t mind,” said Vano. He sat down to take a look at the manuscript. It consisted of 340 typed pages, in a neat stack. “This would be nice to read.”

  “I’ve been thumbing through it,” said Arnold. “It’s all in there. All the places are named. What I have to do now is calculate latitudes and longitudes and then plug them into Professor Crevecouer’s program.”

  After a few seconds, Vano asked, “Shall we do it now?”

  Arnold took off his glasses in order to adjust the adhesive tape which secured the frames. “I wish it was that easy. Crevecouer’s program is stored in the computer in the registrar’s office. If we’re going to do this, we have to access that system.”

  “Perhaps we should just use your computer,” Vano suggested.

  “Impossible. This is only an IBM compatible. It doesn’t have near enough memory. The computer in the registrar’s office is a huge mainframe.”

  Robin Snook burst out laughing again. “Check this out,” he said. He showed them a cartoon of two amoebas playing poker and complaining about their hands. Vano laughed, but Arnold was annoyed.

  “With all due respect,” he told Robin, “I’m trying to get something accomplished here.”

  Robin cut a noisy fart and then blew cigar smoke into Arnold’s face. “You need to lighten up,” was his advice.

  Vano asked Arnold, “What would we have to do to run Professor Crevecouer’s program?”

  “We would have to access that system through this computer.” Arnold was using Kleenex to dab at his eyes, which were tearing from the cigar smoke.

  Vano was receding into a much deeper hooommm. He stared at the monitor, where the screen saver took the form of a flexing thumb moving horizontally at a slow pace. After several seconds he said, “I think we should try.” Saying this, he bumped the mouse.