| OCR Text |
Show Proudfoot hits Ofeti, ballgame rained out" his face remained motionless and he allowed himself only the thought that she very definitely was not a chid. "Why, Miss," he said in an even voice, "you have no clothes on beneath that raincoat." The girl tilted her head strangely then looked between the folds of the raincoat before buttoning it again. "I'm sorry," she said in an even lower voice. "I seem to have made a mistake." But in the back of her mind, a small voice whispered, "With a response like that, this character just could be Proudfoot! He sure isn't Jerry Garcia!" "Come on," she said. "You could use a place to stay." "Wait a minute!" Proudfoot was hesitant. "I'm not sure "Look, Proudfoot," she declared, "do you want me to throw the raincoat off and scream rape?" "When you put it that way," he conceded, "I can see your point. Where are we going?" "To my place, " she replied, "then to try and get you into a course in Basic Biology. You need help, man, really bad!" Next Week A CLUE IN BIOLOGY "Only a quarter, my friend, only a quarter." "And is there anything in particular par-ticular I should be looking for?" Proudfoot significantly raised an eyebrow. Trie little one narrowed his eyes and started growling again. "Arrr arrr, I really couldn't say for sure.' Arrr, arrr... maybe the photo essay I did on cavorting through the pepper plants on an Indian Summer's back." "Indian Summer," said Proudfoot. "That's the time of year." "No, no," explained the little one. "Indian Summer is the name of my newest superstar. . I'm a filmmaker as well as a publisher." "Films," said Proudfoot, almost drowning in the significance. "You have films to show me?" "Naturally, of course, if you want to see them, I'm always glad to show them. Thank you so much, sir." And the little one picked up the newspapers, shoved them back into the case, twisted the wires closed on it, and walked off growling. Proudfoot stood his copy of The Pepper Pot Monthly under one arm, musing about the encounter. Outrageous as the Chief's tastes were, this couldn't have been his contact. But now, at least, he had something to read, and he wouldn't feel so strange about sitting under a tree and waiting for his contact whoever he or she might be to find him. It wasn't so strange that he was expecting a woman to help, especially on this assignment. There'd been times in the past when assistance from the feminine gender had been a most welcome asset such as the six-and-a-half foot tall Irishwoman, Mary O'Hanrahan, who'd helped him defeat Captain Scum in "the hills of the Olde Countrie," as she liked to call them. And what nights had followed that adventure ad-venture as he'd found new thrills and delights "in the hills of Younge Marrie," as he liked to recall. Yes, Mary could have taught these young kids a thing or five had she not perished while single-handedly trying to neutralize a hurrican. "Ahhhh, sweet Mary, your star shines brighter tonight because you are still in my heart. . ." Proudfoot had pretty well decided that if there were any clues as to the. nature of his assignment in The Pepper Pot Monthly he'd require Fat Lester the Cryptic Chinese Cryptographer Cryp-tographer to decipher them. Then he saw The Girl in the Raincoat. "Odd," he muttered to himself, "here it is at least 75, not a cloud in the sky, and that young lady is sitting over on the top of that picnic table wearing a raincoat. What could it mean?" The Girl in the Raincoat had a serious face, neither too terribly traffic-stopping nor mirror-shattering, mirror-shattering, framed in shoulder-length shoulder-length straight dark blond hair that had become peculiarly unruly. Her brown eyes seemed huge and staring, even from where Proudfoot was sitting, and her full lips strangely inviting. The white trench-coat style raincoat covered her small body (probably small from lack of eating the right foods, Proudfoot deducted, since the trouble with kids today was that they never got enough of jolly old Mr. Orange Juice) clear down to her dimpled knees. Then came her legs, well-formed . ,un warmed Proudfoot's ' urt as he walked across the : with flower children i' P Irtine about the swings and I fferv. Often he'd been I Ised by the very way they nked and they, even though J of them had had his ad- res told them from their .ther'5 knee, wished nothing to , owith him. But their faces were ' ferent now, smiling hellos and Si as he passed by. Even such an obviously morally !:: orrupt bunch, Proudfoot sensed I an aura of hope. ' Rutwhich of them could possibly be his contact? Certainly not one f the motley assemblage ! ovoting in the park on such a fine day. And then he saw the 1 minister, walking among them, i hisgentle hands seeming to shape their very destinies right there. Proudfoot squared his shoulders f and smiled. "Ah," he said as the ': man approached, "a man of the " cloth. Ahhhhh, where's it at, baby?" The minister returned the smile. "If you must know, we will be i meeting at the center around 10 tomorrow morning to arrange for a sit-in at the campus food service. ser-vice. They've been using nonunion non-union lettuce again." "A sit-in," Proudfoot repeated, the smile on his face now forced. "Pardon me," said the minister, "but I must know. Have you ingested some sort of alien chemical into your system? That smile on your face is so. . . sirange! Proudfoot threw back his head and laughed at the irony of it all. He, the example of millions, taking drugs! "No', indeed," he replied, "It's just such a beautiful day!" "It is that," the minister agreed. "Do drop down and see me if you get the opportunity, though. I know there are times when each of us feels alone and needs someone some-one to tell his problems to. Those moments when we feel we don't belong can be frightening sometimes." some-times." "Mone?" said Proudfoot. "Here at Ofoeti?" "You may be surprised," said the minister. "Have a nice day any way." And he walked off into the other side of the park where some freaks were tossing a football hack and forth, leaving Proudfoot to muse on what he'd said. But not for long. For the bushes next to Proudfoot suddenly began to shake and a short figure with short curly black hair and snapping black eyes came out of "em, buttoning his beat-up ther jacket and dragging an attache case with him so old it was held together with wires. A'"." the little one said, "have V" seen the latest issue of my Paper?" "No" said Proudfoot, suddenly seemg the proper context for the Password and by now ready to welcome help from anyone. Where's it at, baby?" "Right here, right here." And the " e one began untwisting the Jaround his case until round 25 copies of the "Th 0n the ground. J'lof'em .No man should eSpecia,lV this day and age." illf iSSU6'" Proudfoot nuanf Vi8ilant to every y of the little one's speech jsl see. And how is the latest Modern Dance major's legs that addressed themselves in a' very real message to him. For they were speaking to him. Her whole body, every fiber of her being, was spanning the space between them attempting to get some message through to him. She was looking at him now (no way around it) with those big brown eyes of hers and the message coming across was unmistakable. She got up and came toward his tree as he rose and watch her come closer and closer. Then she spoke in a voice so low and musical that it reminded him of the Electronic Sirens contrived by Dr. Sou Mi to drive him out of his mind with profane lust and bodily abuse. Her voice floated gently to his ears and he heard: "I've been watching you ever since you came into this park and you're screwier 'n all hell! What is it with you, anyway?" "I dunno," Proundfoot mumbled. "Where's it at, boaby?" "Where's it... what? What are you saying?" "Nothing," he replied. "I'm just looking for someone. What woud you say if I told you I was Chester Proudfoot . on an assignment?" Her face flicked for a moment and he thought he saw, even beneath one so hopelessly lost, a glimmer of hope. "If you were really Chester Proudfoot," she replied in a small voice, "I'd have some reason for giving up this life of sin and dissipation. I would go home to my mother and father who love me, take a bath, launder my soul and forsake my vices. Then I would be in the vanguard of the New American Youth Revolution of Cleanliness, Godliness and Goodness because life would be worth living once more! "But none of that can happen because everyone knows Chester Proudfoot is dead and, even if he weren't, he'd never let himself get in as disgusting shape as you are!" Proudfoot's mind raced. He wanted to take the poor unfortunate un-fortunate in his arms and say, "Child, child, I am Chester Proudfoot! Go home to your mother and father who love you and do all those things to redeem your soul! You will be happier for it and, while I would gladly welcome your companionship on this dangerous assignment, you are better off away from this teeming jungle!" But then the Chief's words came back to him and he remembered that, even if this unlikely Girl in a Raincoat was his contact, there were people in the organization who were more comfortable with him dead and out of the way. So he managed a smile and said, "Call me Proudfoot anyway, simply because that is my name." "Awright," said the Girl in the Raincoat. "I'm Dorinda Filz." "Child," said Proudfoot, "why are you wearing that raincoat in such warm weather?" Dorinda Filz smiled a knowing smile and didn't say a word. Instead her small hands went to the raincoat's bottom button, fingers and thumbs working slowly to unbutton it. Then on up the front of the coat until she had the top button open. By now she was so close to Proudfoot that only he could see as she provocatively spread the coat open wide and let him see what she was wearing beneath. It was a test of Proudfoot's character as |
