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Show Acting Alone pa g e 53 see that this man, deep inside, thinks he looks and sounds - and therefore does look and sound - like creepy Lurch the Butler. But, if he's Lurch, who are we in our death-black habits? You, pudgy Simone, in your death-black habit, you especially look like Uncle Fester, more than any sweet Shmoo! It was a modified catcall mewling down from that sleeping porch: the closest approximation that one of staid Chaplain Wagstaff Bopp's charges could safely make of a girlish whoop. "Polly's got a boyfriend, nah-nah-nanny," and so on: a minor third interval laced with the traditional adolescent mixture of sadistic glee, righteous indignation, jealous rage, and sheer unchecked animal energy. Polycarpana was astounded again (how many times today?) to feel her insides responding to Simone's wickedness with some highschool wickedness of their own. Polly's got a boyfriend indeed. Dear little cellmate, what are we doing here? Simone stopped whistling and snapping. With an audible grunt and a complaint of bedsprings she pushed a bit more of her face over the sill so she could look down on Polly, into Polly's eyes. Silence. As the two women stared at each other, the professor continued on un-chaperoned into the infirmary. Only through an act of will was Polycarpana able eventually to follow him. |
