"Philip Jose Farmer - Flesh" - читать интересную книгу автора (Farmer Phillip Jose)

silenced the crowd; it paralyzed them and made the men turn pale. The women in the crowd became
wide-eyed, eager, and expectant. Several fell on the ground, writhing and moaning. There came another
scream, and now it could be seen that the terrible sound was from the throats of many young girls running
down the steps of Congress.

They were priestesses, newly graduated from the divinitycollegeofVassar. They wore tall conical
narrow-brimmed black hats, their hair was unbound and hung to their hips, their breasts were as bare as
those of any other virgins; but those would have to serve for five years more before they put on the
matronly bras. Not for them tonight the seed of the Sunhero; their participation was confined to initiating
the ceremonies. They wore flaring bell-shaped white skirts with many petticoats beneath; some of these
were belted with live and hissing rattlesnakes, the rest carried the deadly snakes around their shoulders.
In their hands they held ten-foot whips made of snake hide.

Drums began beating; a bugle blared out above the drums; cymbals clanged; syrinxes shrilled.

Screaming, wild-eyed, the young priestesses ran downPennsylvania Avenue, clearing a way before
them with their whips. Suddenly they were at the gate surrounding the yard of the White House. There
was a brief mock struggle as the Honor Guard pretended to resist the invasion. Some of it was not so
harmless, since the archers and the priestesses had well-deserved reputations as vicious little bitches.
There was a hair-pulling and scratching and breast-twisting, but the older priestesses applied their whips
to the bare backs of the overenthusiastic. Howling, the girls sprang apart and quickly came to a sense of
the business at hand.

These pulled out little golden sickles from their belts and brandished them in the air in a threatening but
at the same time obviously ritualistic air. Suddenly, as if he had dramatically staged his entranceтАФand he
hadтАФJohn Barleycorn appeared in the main doorway of the White House. In one hand he carried a
half-empty bottle of whiskey. There was no doubt where its contents had gone. He swayed back and
forth and fumbled the cord at his neck before he managed to find the whistle at its end. Then he stuck the
whistle in his mouth and blew shrilly.
 Immediately, a howl rose from the street where the Elks were assembled.

A number of them burst past the Guard and onto the porch. These men wore little deerskin caps with
toy antlers protruding from the sides, deerskin capes, and belts from which hung the tails of deer. Their
breechclouts were balloons in phallic shapes. They did not run or walk but pranced on the ends of their
toes, like ballet dancers, simulating the gait of a deer. They threatened the priestesses; the priestesses
shrieked as if frightened and scattered to one side so the Elks could pass into the White House.

Here, inside the great reception room, John Barleycorn blew his whistle once again and lined them up
according to their rank in the frat. Then he began walking unsteadily up the broad curving staircase that
led to the second floor.

He disgraced himself by losing his balance and falling backwards into the arms of the chief Elk.

The chief caught the Barleycorn and shoved him to one side. In ordinary circumstances he would not
have dared to deal so strongly with the Speaker of the House, but knowing that the fellow was in
disgrace made him bold. The Barleycorn staggered to one side of the staircase. He fell backwards over
the railing and fell on his head on the marble floor of the reception room. There he lay, his neck at an odd
angle. A young priestess rushed forward, felt his pulse, looked at the glazing eyes, then drew out her
golden sickle.