X
Before us loomed what I can only describe as a mountain of red
female flesh. This flesh-mountain had once apparently been slightly
covered by embroidered silk lingerie, but this was now soaked in
moisture and reduced to the texture of wet tissue paper. The top of
the flesh-mountain ended in an amazing spectacle. It appeared as if
the head had no hair whatever; but starting from the bare scalp was
an extraordinary number of thin rods, six inches or so in length.
These rods stood out in every direction, and being of gleaming
metal, they gave to the head the aspect of some bright Phoebus
Apollo, known as the "far-darter;" or shall I say some fierce Maenad
with electric snakes having nickel-plated skins; or shall I say some
terrific modern war-god, pouring poison gases from a forest of
chemical tubes? Over the top of the flesh-mountain was a big metal
object, a shining concave dome with which all the tubes connected;
so that a stranger to the procedure could not have felt sure whether
the mountain was holding up the dome, or was dangling from it. A
piece of symbolism done by a maniac artist, whose meaning no one
could fathom!
From the dome there was given heat; so from the pores of the
flesh-mountain came perspiration. I could not say that I actually
saw perspiration flowing from any particular pore; it is my
understanding that pores are small, and do not squirt visible jets.
What I could say is that I saw little trickles uniting to form
brooks, and brooks to form rivers, which ran down the sides of the
flesh-mountain, and mingled in an ocean on the floor.
Also I observed that flesh-mountains when exposed to heat do not
stand up of their own consistency, but have a tendency to melt and
flatten; it was necessary that this bulk should be supported, so
there were three attendants, one securely braced under each armpit,
and the third with a more precarious grip under the mountain's chin.
Every thirty seconds or so the heaving, sliding mass would emit one
of those explosive groans: "O-o-o-o-o-oh!" Then it would collapse,
an avalanche would threaten to slide, and the living caryatids would
shove and struggle.
Said Madame Planchet, in her stage-whisper: "The serveece of the
young god of beautee!" And my fancy took flight. I saw proud vestals
tending sacred flames on temple-clad islands in blue Grecian seas; I
saw acolytes waving censers, and grave, bearded priests walking in
processions crowned with myrtle-wreaths. I wondered if ever since
the world began, the young god of beautee looking down from his
crystal throne had beheld a stranger ritual of adoration!
Silently we drew back from the door-way, and Madame closed the door,
reducing the promethean groans and the strong ammoniacal odors. I
did not see the face of Carpenter, because he had turned it from us.
Rosythe favored me with a smile, and whispered, "Your friend doesn't
care for beautee!" Then he added, "What do you suppose he meant by
that stuff about 'the price of life' and 'the choice of God?'"
"Didn't you really get it?" I asked.
"I'm damned if I did."
"My dear fellow," I said, "you didn't tell us what sort of place
this was; and Carpenter thought it must be a maternity-ward."
The moving picture critic of the Western City "Times" gave me one
wild look; then from his throat there came a sound like the sudden
bleat of a young sheep in pain. It caused Carpenter to start, and
Madame Planchet to start, and for the first time since we entered
the place, the birds of paradise gave signs of life elsewhere than
in the eye-muscles. The sheep gave a second bleat, and then a third,
and Rosythe, red in the face and apparently choking, turned and fled
to the corridor.
Madame Planchet drew me apart and said: "Meester Billee, tell me
something. Ees eet true that thees gentleman ees a healer? He takes
away the pains?"
"He did it for me," I answered.
"He ees vairy handsome, eh, Meester Billee?"
"Yes, that is true."
"I have an idea; eet ees a wondair." She turned to my friend.
"Meester Carpentair, they tell me that you heal the pains. I think
eet would be a vairy fine thing eef you would come to my parlor and
attend the ladies while I give them the permanent wave, and while I
skeen them, and make them the dimples and the sweet smiles. They
suffer so, the poor dears, and eef you would seet and hold their
hands, they would love eet, they would come every day for eet, and
you would be famous, and you would be reech. You would meet--oh,
such lovely ladies! The best people in the ceety come to my beauty
parlors, and they would adore you, Meester Carpentair--what do you
say to eet?"
It struck me as curious, as I looked back upon it; Madame Planchet
so far had not heard the sound of Carpenter's voice. Now she forced
him to speak, but she did not force him to look at her. His gaze
went over her head, as if he were seeing a vision; he recited:
"Because the daughters of Zion are haughty, and walk with stretched
forth necks and wanton eyes, walking and mincing as they go, and
making a tinkling with their feet; therefore the Lord will smite
with a scab the crown of the head of the daughters of Zion, and the
Lord will discover their secret parts."
"Oh, mon Dieu!" cried Madame Planchet.
"In that day the Lord will take away the bravery of their twinkling
ornaments about their feet, and their cauls, and their round tires
like the moon, the chains, and the bracelets, and the mufflers, the
bonnets, and the ornaments of the legs, and the headbands, and the
tablets, and the earrings, the rings and nose jewels, the changeable
suits of apparel, and the mantles, and the wimples, and the crisping
pins, the glasses, and the fine linen, and the hoods, and the veils.
And it shall come to pass that instead of sweet smell there shall be
stink; and instead of a girdle a rent; and instead of well set hair,
baldness; and instead of a stomacher a girding of sackcloth: and
burning instead of beauty."
And at that moment the door from the corridor was flung open, and
Mary Magna came in.
