Robert Coover - Origin of the Brunists

Ted shrugged. “Nothing to thank me for, Vince. You’re the right man for the job, that’s all. Probably be about eight of us. Not too much in the way of rewards, twenty or so a month probably, but it might lead to some good things.” Ted stood.

“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.”