Must it?
I'll demonstrate in a minute. It merely needs to be added that Boyd and Will were the only men on Planet Aa'A, so of course these women were virgins. But they could read minds, and each could tell in advance what Will and Boyd might desire. So very soon the most outrageous fantasies of the two friends had been realised.
After that there was a delicious meal of nectar, which, the men were told, would stave off age and death; then there was a stroll in the lovely gardens, which were filled with unimaginable flowers; then the two were taken to a large room full of pipes, from which they could select any pipe they wanted.
Pipes? The kind you smoke?
To go with the slippers, which were issued to them next.
I guess I walked into that one.
You sure did, he said, grinning.
It got better. One of the girls was a sexpot, the other was more serious-minded and could discuss art, literature, and philosophy, not to mention theology. The girls seemed to know which was required of them at any given moment, and would switch around according to the moods and inclinations of Boyd and Will.
And so the time passed in harmony. As the perfect days went by, the men learned more about the Planet of Aa'A. First, no meat was eaten on it, and there were no carnivorous animals, though there were lots of butterflies and singing birds. Need I add that the god worshipped on Aa'A took the form of a huge pumpkin?
Second, there was no birth as such. These women grew on trees, on a stem running into the tops of their heads, and were picked when ripe by their predecessors. Third, there was no death as such. When the time came, each of the Peach Women-to call them by the names by which Boyd and Will soon referred to them-would simply disorganize her molecules, which would then be reassembled via the trees into a new, fresh woman. So the very latest woman was, in substance as well as in form, identical with the very first.
How did they know when the time had come? To disorganize their molecules?
First, by the soft wrinkles their velvety skin would develop when overripe. Second, by the flies.
The flies?
The fruit flies that would hover in clouds around their headdresses of red netting.
This is your idea of a happy story?
Wait. There's more.
After some time this existence, wonderful though it was, began to pall on Boyd and Will. For one thing, the women kept checking up on them to make sure they were happy. This can get tedious for a fellow. Also, there was nothing these babes wouldn't do. They were completely shameless, or without shame, whichever. On cue they would display the most whorish behaviour. Slut was hardly the word for them. Or they could become shy and prudish, cringing, modest; they would even weep and scream-that too was on order.
At first Will and Boyd found this exciting, but after a while it began to irritate.
When you hit the women, no blood came out, only juice. When you hit them harder, they dissolved into sweet mushy pulp, which pretty soon became another Peach Woman. They didn't appear to experience pain, as such, and Will and Boyd began to wonder whether they experienced pleasure either. Had all the ecstasy been a put-on show?
When questioned about this, the gals were smiling and evasive. You could never get to the bottom of them.
You know what I'd like right about now? said Will one fine day.
The same thing I'd like, I bet, said Boyd.
A great big grilled steak, rare, dripping with blood. A big stack of French fries. And a nice cold beer.
Ditto. And then a rip-roaring dogfight with those scaly sons of guns from Xenor.
You got the idea.
They decided to go exploring. Despite having been told that Aa'A was the same in every direction, and that they would only find more trees and more bowers and more birds and butterflies and more luscious women, they set out towards the west. After a long time and no adventures whatsoever, they came up against an invisible wall. It was slippery, like glass, but soft and yielding when you pushed on it. Then it would spring back into shape. It was higher than they could possibly reach or climb. It was like a huge crystal bubble.
I think we're trapped inside a big transparent tit, said Boyd.
They sat down at the foot of the wall, overcome by a profound despair.
This joint is peace and plenty, said Will. It's a soft bed at night and sweet dreams, it's tulips on the sunny breakfast table, it's the little woman making coffee. It's all the loving you ever dreamed of, in every shape and form. It's everything men think they want when they're out there, fighting in another dimension of space. It's what other men have given their lives for. Am I right?
You said a mouthful, said Boyd.
But it's too good to be true, said Will. It must be a trap. It may even be some devilish mind-device of the Xenorians, to keep us from being in the war. It's Paradise, but we can't get out of it. And anything you can't get out of is Hell.
But this isn't Hell. It's happiness, said one of the Peach Women who was materialising from the branch of a nearby tree. There's nowhere to go from here. Relax. Enjoy yourselves. You'll get used to it.
And that's the end of the story.
That's it? she says. You're going to keep those two men cooped up in there forever?
I did what you wanted. You wanted happiness. But I can keep them in or let them out, depending how you want it.
Let them out, then.
Outside is death. Remember?
Oh. I see. She turns on her side, pulls the for coat over her, slides her arm around him. You're wrong about the Peach Women though. They aren't the way you think.
Wrong how?
You're just wrong.
Griffen Warns of Reds in Spain
SPECIAL TO THE MAIL AND EMPIRE
In a spirited address to the Empire Club last Thursday, prominent industrialist Richard E. Griffen, of Griffen-Chase Royal Consolidated, warned of potential dangers threatening world order and the peaceful conduct of international commerce due to the ongoing civil conflict in Spain. The Republicans, he said, were taking their orders from the Reds, as had already been shown by their seizure of property, the slaughter of peaceful civilians, and the atrocities committed against religion. Many churches had been desecrated and burnt, and the murder of nuns and priests had become an everyday occurrence.
The intervention of the Nationalists headed by General Franco was a reaction only to be expected. Indignant and courageous Spaniards of every class had rallied to defend tradition and civil order, and the world would look on with anxiety as to the outcome. A triumph for the Republicans would mean a more aggressive Russia, and many smaller countries might well find themselves under threat. Of the continental countries, only Germany and France, and to some extent Italy, were strong enough to resist the tide.
Mr. Griffen strongly urged that Canada follow the lead of Britain, France and the United States, and distance itself from this conflict. The policy of non-intervention was a sound one and should be adopted immediately, as Canadian citizens should not be asked to risk their lives in this foreign fray. However there was already an underground stream of diehard Communists heading for Spain from our continent, and although they should be prohibited by law from doing so, the country should be thankful that an opportunity had arisen whereby it might purge itself of disruptive elements at no cost to the tax-payer. Mr. Griffen's remarks were roundly applauded.
The Top Hat Grill
The Top Hat Grill has a neon sign with a red top hat and a blue glove lifting it. Up comes the hat, up it comes again; it never comes down. No head under it though, only one eye, winking. A man's eye, opening, closing; a conjurer's eye; a sly, headless joke.
The top hat is the classiest thing about the Top Hat Grill. Still, here they are, sitting at one of its booths, out in public like real people, each with a hot beef sandwich, the meat grey on bread white and soft and flavourless as an angel's buttock, the brown gravy thick with flour. Canned peas on the side, a delicate greyish green; French fries limp with grease. At the other booths sit lone disconsolate men with the pink, apologetic eyes and the faintly grimy shirts and shiny ties of bookkeepers, and a few battered couples making the most Friday-night whoopee they can afford, and some trios of off-duty whores.