nally  denounce  each   other  in   the  Embassy
where  they  are  referred  to  the We  Don't Want  To Hear
About  It  Department,  and  eased  out  a  back  door into
a  shit-strewn  vacant  lot, where  vultures fight  over fish
heads. They Hail at each other hysterically.
  'You're trying to fuck me out of my commission!"
  "Your  commission!  Who  smelled  out  this   good  thing
in the first place?"
  "But I have the bill of lading."
  "Monster!  But  the  check  will  be   made  out   in  my
name."
  "Bawstard!  You'll  never  see the  bill of  lading until
my cut is deposited in escrow."
  "Well,  might  as well  kiss and  make up.  There's noth-
ing mean or petty about me."
  They  shake  hands  without  enthusiasm  and   peck  each
other  on the  cheek. The  deal drags  on for  months. They
engage  the  services  of  an  Expeditor.   Finally  Marvie
emerges  with  a  check  for  42  Turkestan kurds  drawn on
an  anonymous  bank  in  South  America,  to  clear through
Amsterdam,  a  procedure  that  will  take   eleven  months
more or less.
  Now  he  can  relax  in  the  cafes  of  The   Plaza.  He
shows  a  photostatic  copy  of the  check. He  would never
show  the  original  of course,  lest some  envious citizen
spit  ink eradicator  on the  signature or  otherwise muti-
late the check.
  Everyone  asks  him  to  buy  drinks  and  celebrate, but
he laughs jovially and says, "Fact is I can't afford  to buy
myself a drink.  I already  spent every  kurd of  it buying
Penstrep for Ali's  clap. He's  down with  it fore  and aft
again.  I  came  near  kicking  the  little  bastard  right
through  the  wall  into  the  next bed.  But you  all know
what a sentimental old thing I am."
  Marvie does  buy himself  a shot  glass of  beer, squeez-
ing a blackened coin out of  his fly  onto the  table. "Keep
the change." The waiter sweeps  the coin  into a  dust pan,
he spits on the table and walks away.
  "Sore head! He's envious of my check."
  Marvie  had  been  in  Interzone  since "the  year before
one"  as  he  put  it. He  had been  retired from  some un-
specified position in the State Dept. "for  the good  of the
service."  Obviously  he  had once  been very  good looking
in a crew-cut, college boy  way, but  his face  had sagged
and  formed  lumps  under the  chin like  melting paraffin.
He was getting heavy around the hips.
  Leif  The  Unlucky was  a tall,  thin Norwegian,  with a
patch over  one eye,  his face  congealed in  a permanent,
ingratiating smirk.  Behind him  lay an  epic saga  of un-
successful enterprises.  He had  failed at  raising frogs,
chinchilla, Siamese fighting fish, rami and  culture pearls.
He  had  attempted,  variously  and  without  success,  to
promote   a   Love   Bird   Two-in-a-coffin   Cemetery,  to
corner  the  condom  market  during  the  rubber shortage,
to run a mail order  whore house,  to issue  penicillin as
a  patent  medicine.  He  had followed  disastrous betting
systems  in  the  casinos  of Europe  and the  race tracks
of  the  U.S.  His  reverses in  business were  matched by
the incredible mischances of his personal life.  His front
teeth  had been  stomped out  by bestial  American sailors
in  Brooklyn.  Vultures  had  eaten  out  an  eye  when he
drank  a  pint  of paregoric  and passed  out in  a Panama
City  park.  He  had  been  trapped  between  floors  in an
elevator  for  five  days with  an oil-burning  junk habit
and sustained  an attack  of D.T.s  while stowing  away in
a foot locker. Then there was the  time he  collapsed with
strangulated intestines, perforated ulcers and peritonitis
in  Cairo  and  the  hospital was  so crowded  they bedded
him  in  the  latrine,  and the  Greek surgeon  goofed and
sewed  up  a  live  monkey  in  him,  and  he   was  gang-
fucked by the Arab  attendants, and  one of  the orderlies
stole the penicillin substituting  Saniflush; and  the time
he got clap in his ass and a self-righteous English doctor
cured  him  with  an  enema  of  hot, sulphuric  acid, and
the  German  practitioner  of  Technological  Medicine who
removed  his  appendix  with  a  rusty  can opener  and a
pair  of  tin  snips  (he considered  the germ  theory "a
nonsense.")  Flushed  with  success  he then  began snip-
ping  and  cutting  out everything  in sight:  "The human
body is filled up  vit unnecessitated  parts. You  can get
by vit one kidney. Vy have two? Yes  dot is  a kidney....
The  inside  parts  should  not be  so close  in together
crowded. They need lebensraum like the Vaterland."
  The  Expeditor  had  not  yet  been  paid,  and  Marvie
was  faced  by the  prospect of  stalling him  for eleven
months until the  check cleared.  The Expeditor  was said
to  have  been  born on  the Ferry  between the  Zone and
the Island. His profession was  to expedite  the delivery
of merchandise. No one  knew for  sure whether  his serv-
ices were  of any  use or  not, and  to mention  his name
always  precipitated  an  argument.  Cases were  cited to
prove his miraculous efficiency and utter worthlessness.
  The  Island was  a British  Military and  Naval station
directly opposite the Zone. England  holds the  Island on
yearly  rent-free  lease,  and every  year the  lease and
permit  of  residence  is  formally  renewed.  The entire
population  turns  out,  attendance  is  compulsory,  and
gathers  at  the  municipal  dump.  The President  of the
Island is required by custom to crawl across  the garbage
on his stomach and  deliver the  Permit of  ъesidence and
ъenewal  of  the Lease,  signed by  every citizen  of the
Island,  to  The  ъesident  Governor who  stands resplen-
dent  in  dress  uniform. The  Governor takes  the permit
and shoves it into his coat pocket:
  "Well," he says with a tight smile, "so  you've decided
to let us stay another year have you?  Very good  of you.
And  everyone  is  happy  about  it?...  Is  there  anyone
who isn't happy about it?"
  Soldiers  in  jeeps  sweep  mounted   machine-guns  back
and forth across the  crowd with  a slow,  searching move-
ment.
  "Everybody  happy.  Well  that's  fine." He  turns jovi-
ally to the prostrate President. "I'll keep your papers in
case  I  get  caught  short.  Haw  Haw  Haw."   His  loud,
metallic laugh rings out  across the  dump, and  the crowd
laughs with him under the searching guns.
  The  forms  of   democracy  are   scrupulously  enforced
on  the  Island.  There  is  a Senate  and a  Congress who
carry  on  endless  sessions  discussing  garbage disposal
and  outhouse  inspection,  the  only  two  questions over
which they have jurisdiction.  For a  brief period  in the
mid-nineteenth  century,  they  had  been allowed  to con-
trol the dept.  of Baboon  Maintenance but  this privilege
had   been   withdrawn   owing   to  absenteeism   in  the
Senate.
  The  purple-assed  Tripoli  baboons  had   been  brought
to the Island by pirates  in the  17th century.  There was
a legend that when the  baboons left  the Island  it would
fall. To whom or in what way is not  specified, and  it is
a capital  offense to  kill a  baboon, though  the noxious
behaviour  of  these animals  harries the  citizens almost
beyond  endurance.  Occasionally  someone   goes  berserk,
kills several baboons and himself.
  The  post  of President  is always  forced on  some par-
ticularly  noxious  and unpopular  citizen. To  be elected
President  is  the greatest  misfortune and  disgrace that
can  befall  an  Islander.  The humiliations  and ignominy
are such that few Presidents  live out  their full  term of
office, usually dying of a  broken spirit  after a  year or
two.  The  Expeditor  had  once  been President  and served
the full five years  of his  term. Subsequently  he changed
his  name  and  underwent  plastic  surgery,  to  blot out,
as far as possible, the memory of his disgrace.
  "Yes  of  course...  we'll  pay  you," Marvie  was saying
to the Expeditor.
  "But take it easy. It may be a little while yet...."
  "Take it easy? A little while!... Listen."
  "Yes  I  know it  all. The  finance company  is repossess-
ing  your  wife's artificial  kidney.... They  are evicting
your grandmother from her iron lung."
  "That's in rather bad taste, old  boy.... Frankly  I wish
I  had  never  involved  myself  in  this  uh  matter. That
bloody  grease  has  too much  carbolic in  it. I  was down
to  customs  one  day  last  week.  Stuck  a  broom  handle
into a drum of it, and the grease ate the end  off straight
away.  Besides,  the  stink  is  enough to  knock a  man on
his  bloody  ass.  You  should  take  a  walk  down  by the
port."
  "I'll do no such thing," Marvie screeched.  It is  a mark
of  caste  in  the  Zone  never  to touch  or even  go near
what you are selling. To do so gives  rise to  suspicion of
retailing,  that  is  of  being  a  common peddler.  A good
part  of  the  merchandise  in  the  Zone  is  sold through
street peddlers.
  "Why do you tell me all  this? It's  too sordid!  Let the
retailers worry about it."
  "Oh it's all very well for  you chaps,  you can  scud out
from  under.  But  I  have  a  reputation  to  maintain....
There'll be a spot of bother about this."
  "Do  you  suggest  there  is  something  illegitimate  in
this operation?"
  "Not   illegitimate   exactly.  But   shoddy.  Definitely
shoddy."
  "Oh  go  back  to your  Island before  it falls!  We knew
you  when  you  were  peddling  your  purple  ass   in  the
Plaza pissoirs for five pesetas."
  "And  not  many  takers  either,"  Leif  put in.  He pro-
nounced it ither. This reference to  his Island  origin was
more  than  the  Expeditor  could  stand....  He  was draw-
ing  himself  up,  mobilizing  his  most  frigid impersona-
tion of an English aristocrat, preparing to deliver an icy,
clipped  "crusher,"  but  instead,  a  whining, whimpering,
kicked  dog  snarl  broke  from  his mouth.  His presurgery
face  emerged  in  an  arc-light  of  incandescent hate....
He  began  to spit  curses in  the hideous,  strangled gut-
turals of the Island dialect.
  The  Islanders all  profess ignorance  of the  dialect or
fiatly  deny its  existence. "We  are Breetish,"  they say.
"We don't got no bloody dealect."
  Froth  gathered  at  the   corners  of   the  Expeditor's
mouth. He was spitting little balls  of saliva  like pieces
of cotton.  The stench  of spiritual  vileness hung  in the
airs about him  like a  green cloud.  Marvie and  Leif fell
back twittering in alarm.
  'He's  gone  mad,"  Marvie  gasped.  "Let's  get  ont  of
here."  Hand  in  hand they  skip away  into the  mist that
covers  the Zone  in the  winter months  like a  cold Turk-
ish Bath.
  THE EXAMINATION

  Carl Peterson found a postcard  in his  box requesting
him to report for a ten o'clock appointment  with Doctor
Benway  in the  Ministry of  Mental Hygiene  and Prophy-
laxis....
  "What  on  earth   could  they   want  with   me?"  he
thought irritably....  "A mistake  most likely."  But he
knew they  didn't make  mistakes.... Certainly  not mis-
takes of identity....
  It would not have  occurred to  Carl to  disregard the
appointment even  though failure  to appear  entailed no
penalty.... Freeland was a welfare  state. If  a citizen
wanted anything from  a load  of bone  meal to  a sexual
partner  some  department was  ready to  offer effective
aid. The threat implicit in this  enveloping benevolence
stifled the concept of rebellion....
  Carl   walked   through   the  Town   Hall  Square....
Nickel nudes sixty feet high with brass  genitals soaped
themselves  under  gleaming  showers....  The  Town Hall
cupola, of glass brick and copper crashed into the sky.
  Carl  stared  back  at  a homosexual  American tourist
who dropped his eyes and fumbled with the  light filters
of his Leica....
  Carl entered the steel enamel labyrinth of  the Minis-
try,  strode  to the  information desk...  and presented
his card.
  "Fifth floor... ъoom twenty-six..."
  In room  twenty-six a  nurse looked  at him  with cold
undersea eyes.
  "Doctor Benway  is expecting  you," she  said smiling.
"Go right in."
  "As if he had nothing to do but wait for  me," thought
Carl...
  The office was completely silent, and filled with milky
light. The doctor  shook Carl's  hand, keeping  his eyes
on the young man's chest....
  "I've  seen  this man  before," Carl  thought.... "But
where?"
  He sat down  and crossed  his legs.  He glanced  at an
ashtray on the desk  and lit  a cigarette....  He turned
to the  doctor a  steady inquiring  gaze in  which there
was more than a touch of insolence.
  The  doctor  seemed  embarrassed....  He  fidgeted  and
coughed... and fumbled with papers....
  "Hurumph,"  he  said  finally....  "Your  name  is  Carl
Peterson I believe...." His glasses  slid down  into his
nose  in   parody  of   the  academic   manner....  Carl
nodded silently.... We doctor  did not  look at  him but
seemed none  the less  to register  the acknowledgment.
... He  pushed  his  glasses  back  into place  with one
finger and opened a file on the white enameled desk.
  "Mmmmmmmm.   Carl    Peterson,"   he    repeated   the
name  caressingly,  pursed his  lips and  nodded several
times.  He  spoke  again abruptly:  "You know  of course
that  we  are trying.  We are  all trying.  Sometimes of
course we don't succeed." His voice trailed off  thin and
tenuous. He put a hand to his  forehead. "To  adjust the
state -- simply a tool -- to the needs of  each individual
citizen."  His  voice  boomed  out so  unexpectedly deep
and loud that Carl started. "That  is the  only function
of the state as we see it. Our  knowledge... incomplete,
of course," he made a slight gesture of depreciation....
"For  example... for  example... take  the matter  of uh
sexual  deviation." The  doctor rocked  back and  forth in
his chair. His glasses slid down onto his nose.  Carl felt
suddenly uncomfortable.
  "We  regard   it  as   a  misfortune...   a  sickness...
certainly  nothing  to  be censored  or uh  sanctioned any
more  than  say...  tuberculosis....  Yes,"   he  repeated
firmly as if  Carl had  raised an  objection.... "Tubercu-
losis.  On the  other hand  you can  readily see  that any
illness imposes certain, should  we say  obligations, cer-
tain necessities of a prophylactic nature on  the authori-
ties  concerned  with public  health, such  necessities to
be  imposed,  needless to  say, with  a minimum  of incon-
venience  and  hardship  to  the   unfortunate  individual
who  has,  through  no  fault  of his  own, become  uh in-
fected....  That  is  to  say,  of  course,   the  minimum
hardship  compatible  with  adequate  protection  of other
individuals who  are not  so infected....  We do  not find
obligatory  vaccination   for  smallpox   an  unreasonable
measure....  Nor  isolation  for  certain  contagious dis-
eases....  I  am  sure  you  will  agree  that individuals
infected   with   hurumph  what   the  French   call  'Les
Maladies  galantes'  heh  heh  heh  should   be  compelled
to undergo treatment if they  do not  report voluntarily."
The  doctor  went on  chuckling and  rocking in  his chair
like  a  mechanical  toy....  Carl  realized  that  he was
expected to say something.
  "That seems reasonable," he said.
  The  doctor  stopped  chuckling.  He  was  suddenly  mo-
tionless. "Now to  get back  to this  uh matter  of sexual
deviation.  Frankly we  don't pretend  to understand  -- at
least  not  completely  --  why some  men and  women prefer
the  uh  sexual  company  of  their  own  sex. We  do know
that  the  uh  phenomena  is  common  enough,  and,  under
certain  circumstances  a  matter  of  uh concern  to this
department."
  For the first  time the  doctor's eyes  flickered across
Carl's face. Eyes  without a  trace of  warmth or  hate or
any  emotion  that  Carl  had  ever experienced  in himsef
or seen in another,  at once  cold and  intense, predatory
and impersonal. Carl suddenly felt trapped in  this silent
underwater cave of  a room,  cut off  from all  sources of
warmth  and  certainty.  His  picture  of  himself sitting
there  calm,  alert  with  a trace  of well  mannered con-
tempt went dim, as if  vitality were  draining out  of him
to mix with the milky grey medium of the room.
  "Treatment of these disorders is,  at the  present time,
hurmph  symptomatic."  The  doctor  suddenly   threw  him-
self back in his chair  and burst  into peals  of metallic
laughter.  Carl  watched  him  appalled....  "The  man  is
insane," he  thought. The  doctor's face  went blank  as a
gambler's.  Carl  felt  an  odd  sensation in  his stomach
like the sudden stopping of an elevator.
  The doctor was  studying the  file in  front of  him. He
spoke in a tone of slightly condescending amusement:
  "Don't  look so  frightened, young  man. Just  a profes-
sional  joke.  To  say  treatment  is   symptomatic  means
there is none,  except to  make the  patient feel  as com-
fortable  as  possible.  And  that  is  precisely  what we
attempt to do in these  cases." Once  again Carl  felt the
impact of that cold interest on his face. "That is  to say
reassurance  when  reassurance  is  necessary...  and,  of
course, suitable outlets with other individuals of similar
tendencies.  No  isolation  is indicated...  the condition
is  no more  directly contagious  than cancer.  Cancer, my
Brst  love,"  the  doctor's voice  receded. He  seemed actu-
ally  to  have  gone  away through  an invisible  door leav-
ing his empty body sitting there at the desk.
    Suddenly  he  spoke  again  in  a  crisp voice.  "And so
you  may  well   wonder  why   we  concern   ourselves  with
the  matter  at  all?" He  flashed a  smile bright  and cold
as snow in sunlight.
    Carl  shrugged:  "That  is  not  my  business...  what I
am  wondering  is  why  you  have  asked  me  to  come  here
and why you tell me all this... this..."
    "Nonsense?"
    Carl was annoyed to find himself blushing.
    The  doctor  leaned  back  and  placed  the ends  of his
fingers together:
    "The  young,"  he  said  indulgently.  "Always  they are
in  a  hurry.  One day  perhaps you  will learn  the meaning
of patience.  No, Carl...  I may  call you  Carl'? I  am not
evading  your  question.  In  cases  of  suspected  tubercu-
losis we --  that is  the appropriate  department --  may ask,
even   request,   someone  to   appear  for   a  fluoroscopic
examination.  This  is  routine,  you  understand.  Most  of
such  examinations  turn  up  negative.  So  you  have  been
asked  to report  here for,  should I  say a  psychic fluoro-
scope?  I  may  add that  after talking  with you  I feel
relatively sure that the result will be, for  practical pur-
poses, negative....
    "But  the  whole  thing  is  ridiculous.  I  have always
interested myself only in girls.  I have  a steady  girl now
and we plan to marry."
    "Yes  Carl,  I know.  And that  is why  you are  here. A
blood test prior to marriage, this is reasonable, no?"
    "Please doctor, speak directly."
  The  doctor  did  not  seem  to hear.  He drifted  out of
his  chair  and  began  walking  around  behind  Carl,  his
voice  languid  and  intermittent like  music down  a windy
street.
  "I may  tell you  in strictest  confidence that  there is
definite evidence of a hereditary factor.  Social pressure.
Many  homosexuals  latent  and  overt   do,  unfortunately,
marry.  Such  marriages  often   result  in...   Factor  of
infantile  environment."  The  doctor's  voice went  on and
on.  He  was  talking  about  schizophrenia,  cancer, here-
ditary disfunction of the hypothalamus.