Pan Satyrus

CHAPTER FIVE

It was obvious that the bellboy who answered Happy's phone call was not the first bellboy with whom the radioman had dealt. It was also obvious that Happy was not the first sailor with whom the bellboy had had dealings. He got the word at once.

They had moved into the sample room, no longer cluttered with law officers.

The bellboy went away, and Pan Satyrus sat moodily for a moment, and then went into the bedroom. Dr. Bedoian found him there, inspecting the wires that gaped from the chandelier socket. "What's the matter, Pan?"

Pan shook his head, and went over to the window and its uninspiring view of Floridaville, "Not a thing, doctor. I feel fine."

"I didn't think you were ill. I've been your doctor a long time; I can tell when you're going to come down with something long before you know it yourself. But you're depressed. Why?"

Pan put his knuckles on the floor and pivoted around on them. "Happy ordered a girl for me, too."

Dr. Bedoian smiled. "Yes. I think our two friends have completely forgotten you aren't another sailor."

"I ought to be pleased. They are very nice, for humans."

Dr. Bedoian moved quietly around the patient until he had the window at his back and the light shining in Pan's eyes. He said, "What, then?"

Pan Satyrus looked at the floor. He shuffled his huge feet and drummed on the splintery boards with his knuckles, lightly. "I don't like girls," he said.

"How do you know? You never had one, did you?"

The primate's eyes glowered. "Of course not." Then Pan Satyrus smiled. "That isn't very flattering to your species, is it?"

"That's all right, Pan. I don't like girl chimpanzees, and before you ask, I have never known any except patients. And if you don't know about the Hippocratic oath, this is not the time to go into it."

Pan sat down on the floor and absent-mindedly began stroking the back of his neck with his toes. "But Ape and Happy are my friends. I don't want to ruin their party, nor hurt their feelings."

Dr. Bedoian kept his face grave. "You won't. The length of time those lads have been at sea, they'll gladly take your lady off your hands. And mine. I'm engaged to a girl over in Tarpon Springs."

As the doctor had before, Pan Satyrus asked, "Well, then?"

"It's fun to talk with tarts, get drunk with them, kid them along. You'll see."

"I don't want to hurt anybody's feelings. I'm not human, you know."

"Ouch," Dr. Bedoian said. "Stop thinking about General Maguire and relax. I think our guests are here."

They were, indeed. From the sample room came twitterings and giggles, and thumps as a crew of men delivered a case of gin, two of beer and a big chunk of ice in a bucket.

"Come on," Dr. Bedoian said.

Pan Satyrus sighed and followed his physician to the rendezvous with destiny.

There were four of the girls, in various states of girlishness — from a long twenty-five to a short forty. Their hair was universally blonde, and three of them — Dotty, Flo and Millie — wore shorts. Belle had on tailored black slacks, which did little to hide a state of bowleggedness seldom seen in these days of cod-liver oil for the masses.

Dotty and Flo were sitting on Ape's lap; Millie was on Happy Bronstein's and Belle, not to be left out, was leaning on the back of Happy's chair, exploring the area between his shoulderblades with friendly fingers.

She abandoned her anatomic research when Pan and Dr. Bedoian entered, and cried, "Oooh, the skinny one's cute." The skinny one, obviously, was Dr. Bedoian; she skittered forward, patted his cheek and told him he looked like Frank Sinatra.

Ape stood up, a girl under each arm, and announced names. Then he set Flo on her feet, and said, Fan, have an armful of real woman."

Flo said, "I go for you, Shorty," and proceeded to cross to him. "Golly you got muscles," she said. She poked at them. "Hey, you haven't got any shirt on."

She retreated. "I don't like that, for the fellows not to be all dressed when a party is just starting. It isn't gentlemanly."

Happy Bronstein said, "Excuse me," to Millie and placed her on the floor beside his chair. He came over and put an arm around Flo's shoulders. "Pan took his shirt off because he's tired. He went around the world today, out in space."

Flo looked at him suspiciously. "You mean like John Glenn?"

"No," Pan said, "I went the other way. From east to west."

"You got a real nice voice," she said. "I bet you're a college man. I go for college men." Then her eyes got hard again. "I don't believe it. I know you sailors."

"Ask the doc over there," Happy said.

Flo turned slowly to Dr. Bedoian, who was chipping ice vigorously. "You a doctor?"

"Yes, madam. I hope you don't have need of my professional services."

"Did this guy really go out into space today?"

"He certainly did," Dr. Bedoian said.

"Then what's he doing in a dump like Floridaville?"

"Rest and recuperation," Dr. Bedoian said. "Who knows? By tomorrow the President may want to see him. Congress may want him to address a joint session. He needs time off, first."

"You don't talk like a sailor," Flo said, "but you're out with a couple of them."

Dr. Bedoian said, "I'll prove it to you." He looked around the room. The Floridaville House management had provided the sample room with built-in steel racks for the display of dresses, cloaks and suits. He said, "He's had astronaut training. If he wanted to, he could hang from that rack by one finger."

"Aw," Flo countered.

"For God, for country and for the honor of the enlisted men of the U.S. Navy, Pan," Dr. Bedoian said.

Pan Satyrus sighed and shuffled over to the dress rack. It was a little high for him, so he jumped, hooked the index finger of his left hand over the bar, and hung.

Flo said, "Gawsh."

"I ask you," Dr. Bedoian asked her, "could anyone who hadn't had astronaut training do that?"

Ape picked up Dotty and carried her into the bedroom.

Pan dropped to the floor and went over to the case of gin. It was a case of pints, twenty-four of them. He ripped the top off one and tilted it. Then he remembered his manners, and handed the remaining third of a pint to Flo.

"You like to drink, don't you?" she said.

"Only during my periods of rest and recuperation." Pan smiled. 'I'll get you some ice for that, and a glass. I can see you're not the kind to drink out of bottles."

Dr. Bedoian said, "Oh, well played, scion of a noble race."

Pan went and got his girl a glass full of ice.

It was a good party. They got a radio from the desk, and turned it on full blast. When the local police chief arrived, they fed him a pint of gin and carried him to a vacant room down the hall.

Happy danced, in his skivvies, a dance he said he had learned in Buenos Aires. Ape chanted a ballad which he said was a great favorite in Dakar, about twenty years ago.

Ape went into the bedroom with Dotty again and then turned her over to Happy and made a trip with Belle. Thereafter he pronounced himself ready for sea duty again, but Happy, younger, honored Flo and Millie as well. If any of the girls noticed the abstinence of Pan and Dr. Bedoian, she was too ladylike to mention it.

Pan walked around the room on his hands, no great feat for him; but the girls cheered so vigorously that he went around a second time, on one hand, hopping like a pogo stick.

This made him such a great social success that he offered to go around a third time — on both hands-carrying any number of girls on his feet.

The girls wanted to spare him any extra weight, so they removed the two outer of the four garments that each of them wore.

Dr. Bedoian broke into tears because he had forgotten his camera. Happy consoled him by pointing out that the picture would have been suppressed as top secret.

"I suppose it would be," Dr. Bedoian said, cheering up slightly. He pointed to Pan, who was causing the girls to giggle by pinching them with his toes. "After all, neither of the Wright boys, or Curtiss or Lindbergh, or any of the human astronauts ever carried four girls on his feet. I could swear to it."

"Pan's a great guy to have on a party," Happy said.

The great guy had ended his first burdened tour near the gin case. Standing on one hand again, he passed pints up to the girls with the other. Then he gulped a pint for himself.

"Doc," Ape asked, "how much gin can a chimpanzee drink?"

"Shhh," Dr. Bedoian said. "None of the girls has noticed he's a chimp. I imagine when they were younger they must have worked the convention parties up the coast. Why, Ape, nobody knows. At the going rate for good laboratory animals, it is not an experiment that has ever been performed, and I am fully aware that I should have my stethoscope and sphygometer out, testing our patient at regular intervals and taking notes. But I long ago reached a conclusion — I am lecturing."

"Go on," Happy said, "a little education isn't going to ruin the U.S.N."

"The tolerance for liquor goes up as the happiness-index of a party does," Dr. Bedoian said. "That is what I have observed. In other words, if you're having a lousy time, three drinks and you're blotto. If you're enjoying yourself, you can't get too many."

"For a guy who's gone to college, you're pretty smart," Happy said.

Ape's voice went into the growl of a Master CPO. "The doc's a good guy. Lay off."

"Aye, aye, Chief."

""You, Pan," Ape said, "loan me a dame."

He was dressed in his skivvy shirt and gray pants, his black shoes. He took the beautifully shined shoes off, and placed them neatly to one side, out of the line of march. Then he flexed his back, spat on his hands and stood on them.

"You, Flo, go sit on Ape's feet," Pan said.

"Aw," Flo said, "I like the way yours tickle."

Pan was stern. "Go on, now. We're going to race."

Dr. Bedoian muttered something about Ape being somewhat more than young, but the chief was on his hands, swinging his knees back and forth, determining the correct posture for endurance and speed.

Flo had dismounted from Pan's feet, and was crossing to Ape, but she was not happy. "Us girls all come together, and we like to stay together," she said. Tears trailed down her already-smudged makeup. "I don't like leaving my friends."

"Chemically speaking," Dr. Bedoian said to Happy Bronstein, "I should be making an analysis of those pearly drops. Science is losing out all around tonight. It may be the first time a lady has cried pure gin."

"Knew a dame in Rio who never drank anything but rum," Happy said. "No water, tea or coffee. Just rum. Dark rum. Pharmacist's Mate said she couldn't live, but every time we made that port there she was, still drinking rum."

"Fascinating," Dr. Bedoian said. "Sometimes I wish I could live forever, so I could explore all the things science hasn't time for., Look at friend Ape."

IS the chief had had a hammer and sickle tattoed on his cheek, his face could have flown at the masthead of any ship in the Soviet's Navy. But, knees up, and bent to make a comfortable palanquin for the no-longer tearful Flo, he was puffing around the floor, losing ground to Pan at every shuffle, but losing it gracefully.

As Pan went into the stretch, Ape was only a wall behind.

Nobody heard the door of the sample room open, just as nobody had thought to lock it. The first they knew of anything was when an authoritative voice barked, "Ten-hut!"

The race died, unresolved. But then, nobody had been betting anything more valuable than a drink of the communal gin.

Since the Navy does not ordinarily bark at CPOs, Ape did not lose his head, his balance, or the girl on his feet. He lowered her gently to the ground, stood up, and rendered a long-time sailor's sloppy version of Attention.

"You a sailor?" General Billy Maguire asked. "If so, salute."

"I ain't covered, sir," Ape said.

"All right, all right," the general barked. "Watch your tongue, man. And you, doctor — consorting with enlisted men, are you?"

"I'm a civilian doctor," Dr. Bedoian said.

Pan gave each of the three girls a farewell pinch and lowered them to their feet. Then he did a couple of somersaults which brought him face to face with the general.

General Maguire was in approved tropical gear; short sleeved worsted shirt, neat suntan trousers, and a snowy sun helmet with officer's insignia riveted or bolted to the front. His stars shone, one on each side of his open collar, and his ribbons were freshly ironed, all four rows of them.

Pan reached up and fingered the right-side star, meditatively.

"This animal is drunk!" General Maguire said.

Pan plucked the star, tasted it with his ample lips, bit it in half and spat it out.

General Wilfred (Billy) Maguire was a brave man. There was not an office in the Pentagon he was not willing to enter, requisition form in hand, and he had, at an earlier date, faced combat happily, knowing it was necessary for his record.

He proved the value of West Point to the taxpayers now; he never took a backward step, though surely he was first of his class to have his insignia of rank severed by simian teeth.

"Doctor, you're in charge here?" he asked.

Dr. Bedoian said, "I am."

"You were sent here to get a simple fact, a piece of information, out of this — this chimpanzee. Is this your way of getting it?"

"It is, sir. Play on his confidence. Relax him."

General Maguire blew his breath out. "You may be a civilian, doctor, but you are employed by the United States government. With which I am not entirely without influence."

"That's terrible syntax," Pan Satyrus said. It was the first time he had spoken since the general had interrupted their happy evening.

"What?" A thin man, General Maguire was not really in danger of an apoplectic stroke; he just looked like he was.

"I had a keeper once who was studying English. Trying to improve his station in life, he called it. According to Fowler, that is terrible sentence construction you were using. I thought you were an Academy man, General."

Pan reached out, gently, for the general's class ring. The general clenched his hands. "I am, sir."

"You don't have to call me sir," Pan Satyrus said. "After all, I am just a simple civilian, non-taxpaying chimpanzee, aged seven and a half."

The general sighed, and turned back to the doctor. "These. ladies. Are they cleared, and if so, what is their clearance?"

Dr. Bedoian said, "Don't be silly, general. You can see what they are."

What they were was huddled together, speechless, their innocent gaiety vanished. Belle was bent over, her hands on her knees, perhaps trying to conceal her bowleggedness. Flo was crying.

"Sir, I relieve you," the general said.

Dr. Bedoian held out his hand. "You know who gave me this assignment, General. I'd like to see some written orders before I surrender my patient to you."

Where joy and hand races, drinking and mild lechery had filled the room, there now loomed nothing but an impasse. Born of the age-old impact of civilian on military, it grew like a thunderhead on the edge of the desert in August.

And then it collapsed, as so many crises have, at the sound of a woman's voice.

The woman was more than a woman; she was a lady. She was more than an ordinary lady; she was a general's lady. She was Mrs. Maguire.

She entered in the full paraphenalia of her rank, simple silk dress, two strands of cultured pearls, heels high as a cadet's hopes. Her hair, done in the most current of fashions, was not obscured by a hat.

And as she entered she cried, "Oh, where is that dear monkey! I could just kiss him for that marvellous flight today."

At once all the previous occupants of the room-men, chimpanzee, general and the girls — became as one. For the girls, really, had been transmuted or, as nineteenth century English novels would say, de-sexed. They lived and had their joy in the world of men.

They were much more at home with the general than with his wife. At her entrance, they attempted to cover their more salient points with their hands. A chimpanzee could have done it. They couldn't.

Happy Bronstein had been very quiet since the entrance of the bestarred Maguire. But he broke radio silence now. "Take it easy, Pan," he said.

Pan turned towards him and winked one eye. It had a monstrous effect, but it soothed Happy's apprehensions.

And then Pan stepped forward, rolling on his bowed legs, his knuckles rapping the floor with every stride. He said, "My dear, I did it all for you. I knew I could never win you while I remained speechless; and so — I arranged for a miracle."

With which he puckered up his long, long lips and headed them, direct as a well-aimed bullet — for the lips of the general's lady.

She fled.

Her husband went for his hip, but generals in tropical Class A uniforms do not wear sidearms. So he said that they had not heard the last of this, and followed his mate.

Happy Bronstein went and closed the door after the single star was out of sight. Ape Bates let his breath out, whistling. Flo stopped crying, and slowly the girls let their hands drop to their sides.

But Dr. Bedoian said, "That magic is out of the night,'' and went to get his jacket and his wallet. He paid the girls off generously — government money— and they dressed silently and were gone.

There were several pints of gin left. Pan Satyrus opened one, took a brief swallow, and put it down again.

"You can't get high twice in a night," Ape Bates said. "Nobody can."

"We were having a good time," Pan said. "An innocent good rime. Well, almost innocent. Why should anyone want to spoil it?"

"Welcome to the human race," Dr. Bedoian said.

Then they went to bed.