The Flex of the Thumb (18 page)

Revuelto was red in the face and humiliated. “Naturally,” he said, through clenched teeth. He dropped his pants. He stood still, facing the examination table.

Nurse Greve took a long and searching look at the nail file in his back. “This looks familiar,” she observed. “This looks like the nail file that's been used to stab Mary Thorne. Is that possible?”

Humiliated and in intense pain, the professor seethed an answer: “Yes. I'd say it's even likely.”

“No kidding.”

“I am standing here with my pants down, in great pain. Would you please do what it is you have to do?”

But remembering the well-favored curvature of Mary Thorne's posterior, Nurse Greve was getting a little vertigo of her own. She licked her lips. “You mean this stabbing was intended for Mary Thorne?” she asked Revuelto.

Revuelto seethed again, “I assume it was. Yes.”

“Then maybe she should be the one here getting the tetanus shot.”

Revuelto was ready to turn and strangle her, but Nurse Greve plunged the needle into his buttocks.

Then she sat him on the exam table. She removed the dart from his temple and the nail file from his back. As soon as she cleaned both wounds, she bandaged them. She was still thinking fondly of Mary Thorne, all the while. “Maybe it would be a good idea if you sent Mary in for a tetanus shot as well,” she suggested.

“What for?”

“It never hurts to be too careful, is all I'm saying.”

Revuelto went directly back to the campus. His head hurt and his butt ached, but his back was the keenest misery of all. When he reached his office, he found Vano Lucas waiting for him. With supreme effort, the professor squeezed his way behind his desk.

Vano had never seen an office so cluttered. In addition to the three life-sized statues of naked Aztec warriors, which more or less defined the path to the desk, Revuelto's office contained the following items: two overstuffed chairs, two filing cabinets, a bronze statue of Simon Bolivar, a bust of Cervantes, a pink plaster-of-paris flamingo, a Looney Tunes train set, a pair of praying hands cast in pewter, a statue of the Blessed Virgin, a portrait of the pope, a portrait of Eva Peron in a two-piece swimsuit, a bronze wall figure of Quetzalcoatl, and a huge stainless steel crucifix.

Revuelto was terse with him: “What do you want?”

“I came to ask if I could borrow your book on folds in the earth,” said Vano politely, using the phrasing he had rehearsed.

Stiff with pain, Revuelto nonetheless discovered an urge to tidy up. He began moving things around. “I know you. You are in my anthropology class. You sit still in your seat in the back row, but never say a word.”

The depth of Vano's
hooommm
predicted a long delay. Revuelto's observations were accurate, but he couldn't think of a reason for confirming them. He finally said, “Yes, that's so.”

Revuelto was trying to heft the Aztec statues into the office closet. Each of the statues weighed 35 pounds. With much effort, the wounded professor managed to cram one in, but neither the second nor the third would fit. “Why did I buy
three
of these??” he blurted out.

If it was a question intended for him, Vano couldn't think of what the answer might be. He wondered if he ought to be helping with the lifting of the statues.

“What interest do you have in folds in the earth?” Revuelto asked him.

Vano replied, “It may be possible to locate
ultimate hooommm
in this lifetime.”

“I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about.” Revuelto struggled some more with the statues. He pushed and pulled, he tugged and swore, but the closet would not accomodate them. “The book is not published yet,” he said.

“I know it isn't published yet,” said Vano. “I wonder if you might let me borrow the manuscript.”

Revuelto was fatigued and hurting. He took out his handkerchief in order to wipe the sweat from the folds which circumscribed his chubby neck. “Now I know you. You are the boyfriend of Mary Thorne. You are the one.”

It took Vano a few moments to form the reply. “Not exactly, I guess. Mary and I have never had a date, but she does get heat for me.”

“
Madre de Dios
!! You
are
the one!” A return to dizziness intensified Revuelto's level of discomfort. No one guarded a more febrile lust for Mary Thorne than did he. He wrote fantasies about her, which he kept collected in a loose leaf notebook. He sent her anonymous, amorous sonnets through the mail. He mopped his brow once again while looking Vano over carefully. “Can it be that you are the one?”

“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.”