“Pardon me,” he said with a half-bow. “I’m a longsuffering man, but I can’t endure mockery of my Cloth. Come, Peter. I think I begin to understand your antipathy to your sister.”
The instant the door closed, Lora threw herself at Danty. “Oh, you’re wonderful” she cried, and thrust her tongue into his ear. “I’ll go find some more drinks-I want to wash away the taste of that slug Won’t be long!”
And, rising, she added to Sheklov, “What’s yours, Don? Whiskey? Rightly”
Left alone with Danty, Sheklov thought himself by main force back into the conservatively disapproving role that fitted his pose as a successful Canadian salesman, and said, “You told the minister you’re a reb. I hope you were only -uh-needling him?”
Danty gave a shrug. “Well, I didn’t invent the term, but I find it easy to put on.”
Sheklov’s mind raced. How to strike a balance between ostensible conformity and real interest? Once again he recalled Bratcheslavsky, squatting on the floor in distant Alma-Ata; the old man had said, “Reb! That’s a word to bear in mind. There’s something going on. From here one can’t find out exactly what. Official smog surrounds the reality. Maybe it’s just another term for what we used to call stilyagf,’or jet-set. On the other hand, maybe not.”
He felt suddenly dizzy. Those dark eyes were boring into his again. Could the liquor-? No, of course not. It was far weaker than the 140-proof Polish vodka he . . .
From a very great distance a voice that was recognizably Danty’s reached him. It was saying, “You want I should join the church Powell runs? Twenty million people watch his sermons every Sunday. That makes him a holy man?”
And then the appalling, incredible thing happened. He continued, ” ‘Those who are full of desires for self-gratification, regarding paradise as their highest goal, and are engaged in many intricate scriptural rites just to secure pleasure and power as the result of their deeds for their future incarnations-‘ ”
And Sheklov went on with it. He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help it. Cold terror raged through him at every funeral-bell syllable that he muttered, but he heard his own voice, out of control, inexorably finishing the quotation.
“‘Whose discrimination is stolen away by the love of power and pleasure and who are thus deeply attached therein, for such people it is impossible to obtain either firm conviction or God-consciousness.”‘
Sweat crawled on his palms. The last time he had heard that truth, it had been in another language, in Banaras, and Donald Holtzer had never been to India.
That was his cover blown to bits.
.x.
Later, he got extremely drunk. His cover as Holtzer. was proof against that-it had been tried to the limit during training sessions-and anyway the same thing was happening to a lot of other people. starting with Prexy, who fell down at about eleven-thirty and had to be discreetly removed. Then there was a curious blurred interlude involving two women who claimed the right to go to bed with Turpin because their husbands were necking with each other. He didn’t follow the logic of that, but it came to blows, and one of them departed with a swollen eye that would call for her best cosmetic skills tomorrow.
Yet everyone was shaking Turpin’s hand, or kissing his wife, or both, with enormous warmth, and saying, “Marvelous party, Dick You must come to our place very soon!”
What’s the standard o1 a “good party”? The fact that no one was taken to the hospital?
Danty and Lora had disappeared early. Something about a night-ride? He wasn’t sure, but he hoped . . .
Do I? He struggled to think through the alcoholic haze, and concluded that he hoped yes. If they were drunk enough to crash into a bridge on the superway, that would rescue him from his terror. In this country for a matter of hours, and already betrayed by his own stupidity! He felt as though he had exposed himself on the street, knowing there was a policeman within shouting distance.
Ultimately, a little before the last guests left at one o’clock, he found his way to the room he’d been allotted -normally Peter’s-and screamed at a group of three men and two women using the bed. They went away, spitting at him, and he collapsed.