Pardoning around the site’s sparescaffold lumber, steel, meshnets, and paintcans to waddle into their pew, the yenta comes close and feels Him, at His hardening, tugs and twists, she slaps tush, prods gut, handles the excesses of flesh that we call love, squats then rests at her knees padded by the hang of her breasts like two hotwaterbottles with protrusive nipple nozzles, and on the floor makes to examine the generous spread of His pelvis, takes with the calipers of her many thicklywrapped necklaces the circumferences of His lowerlegs and thighs, knocks with a fist at His kneestrength, their spring, that of His youth as she slightly rises without having had the pleasure of the toes, their nails, to scrutinize His hands, His fingers and their nails, sniffing at Him, even unfurling a length of desiccated, keeping her regular prunelike tongue, though instead of licking a wrinkle she says to Der: I want the face, too, the teeth, examine the gums maybe, healthy or not — then to Him…bear with me, Ben, I have to know you’re you.
Impossible, and Der’s unshakable on this, respect it, please, the limits set, the access — it’s nothing personal, know that: it’s for your own protection, ours…I’m sure you understand, what with your confidentials claused: can’t gaze upon the countenance and still expect to live is what we’re going with, our line.
That’s what you’re selling, but that I won’t buy…no way I can, it’s part of the deal — you know, I’m not that foolish…and I’m not that old, still attractive (she’s arranging her poor, demidyed wig in the reflection of the face of her watch, her husband’s dead, the watch, too), at least gentle, and very seasoned, savvy: I have testimonials, I’ve only ever gotten good reviews…maybe even leaving Him alone with me, for the night, no extra fee, just one night, that’s all I ask. Charity. Tell you what, you can deduct it from what I’m owed. Name His price. Soak me on the rates — I’m wet already. Then to Him, in a gassy guttered whisper, with unwashed maxillary denture, you’re interested, aren’t you, Ben…how can you not, tzedakah?
Enough, says Der with a sneer that gives much wingspan to his errant stache, breaking down, initially, this crumble, though its sharding only the sign of a sour impulse to escape…I want you to listen: we’ve got a pending deal to clone one of Them, to make ourselves a female, 100 % straight bloodline, how we want her, what we want her, when, and this you can tell the President since you two, you’re such close friends. Now that’s an expensive proposition, you’d say, and risky, and you’d be right, not to mention unsound — (an echo, Shade would agree: forbidden according to law both secular, and the newest sacred) — though it’s an option, keep that in mind in its long and tall, don’t sell us short, genug. He should remember that we’re the only ones with the resources to do it, the money and the skill. Don’t underestimate how determined we are to protect our investment, His and ours, I mean — Him, He’s in agreement. Aren’t you, Ben. Say yes. There, you have it from the mouth. We’re invested too heavily is what, He is, what with the hanging sacs, the shed — don’t think we haven’t thought. Explored. Experimented. We’ve parsed and planned and dreamed. Der thrusts out a gloved numbed hand like put it there, so long…so drop this, won’t you, no hysterics, don’t even try; as if to say, I know all the ruse and female. Do we have a deal or am I milking samples?
You’d never. No one would. They’d be unkosher, inbred.
As if they always weren’t.
Don’t give me that mishegas…giving a sigh perfumed with the odious must of routine, coughed by a wink that rouses her, pumps blood back to feet; her stepping out of the aisle as if to make room, to usher in the close — even though I’ll take it, that’s what you pay me for…and you will pay me today, now, and their money in a week, cash, I get ten percent commission. But just so you know, her family won’t take it; and neither will she, who would: if He’s to be a husband, He has
