Voyage 1909 Ch. 01

"No, no, no," protested Fairfax. "I can't be kicked in the balls. I'm a Shakespearean thespian, I played Romeo, I played Hamlet. A Hamlet cannot be kicked in the balls."

"Why can't he? Did Shakespeare ever mention his being castrated? No, he didn't. You want to get in the movie business and this is a sure way for you to succeed, a way to get known. I'm giving you a chance and it'd be extremely foolish not to take it."

"Thanks, and the bill, please," Fairfax said to the waiter, after he'd replaced the empty glasses with fresh drinks. Then turned to Marvin and said: "I will be the butt of everybody' jokes. That's not the sort of fame I'm looking for."

"But darling," Jane Carter turned to her boyfriend, "maybe you shouldn't refuse this offer. It sounds not bad at all."

"It sounds painful, disgracing and embarrassing! My precious balls! Do you know what it feels to be kicked in the balls? It's unbearable. You can't even imagine it."

"Well, when I imagine myself a man.." uttered Jane.

"You imagine yourself a man?" Faifax stared at his girlfriend with a stupefied look over his face. "How often do you have such queer fantasies?"

"Not too often really," Jane answered, confused a little. "Anyway, what other ways do you have to start your career?"

"What the heck is going on in your mind, Jane? Imagining yourself a man, wishing your boyfriend to be kicked in the nuts, what else?"

"Your girlfriend talks business," said Marvin. "It's not that I need you in my motion picture, Mr. Fairfax. I just wanted to help you and that's the only proposition I can put to you at the moment - just get your precious balls busted on screen."

"How dare you!" cried the actor, standing up. "I am a trumpet set for Shakespeare lips to blow, not some dummy for practicing groin kicks."

Fairfax took the check from the waiter and motioned him aside to the bar in order to pay it there.

"Well," Arthur Marvin sighed, looking at Jane, "you may help your boyfriend make up his mind. Then, if he agrees, just practice some kicks on him as a way of rehearsal. Anyway, it was a pleasure to meet you both, and now I must go."

The filmmaker stood up and proceeded on his way toward the promenade deck. Once there, he walked up to the rail and looked down at the ocean below. Just then he suddenly felt some sharp object poking the seat of his pants and painfully penetrating his anus.

"Ooooh, what the fuck?" he cried out and tried to turn his head to see what was going on behind his back but someone's strong hand pushed his face back, then his body was pressed up to the rail, the unidentified thing still deep between his buttocks.

"Be quiet, Marvin," a voice whispered in his ear, "it's me, Sherlock Holmes."

"Holmes?" shouted Marvin. "And what the fuck is that thing in my asshole?"

"Calm down, my dear filmmaker. It's my smoking pipe you have now deep in your anus. It's a calabash one with a curved stem, and if you ain't cooperate with me, I'll start turning it around in your asshole right away. I think it's going to be some real painful experience."

"Well, what should I do," whispered Marvin.

"First of all, no more shouting. Just look calmly at the sea, watch the waves below, enjoy the sun above, and quietly answer my questions. Is that clear?"

Marvin nodded his head obediently.

"Well, first question - why did you shoot that stupid film about me?"

"It was commissioned, some man commissioned that movie and sponsored the production."

"I need his name."

"James Moriarty."

"I thought so," said Holmes. "Is he on board the ship?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen him around. But we're to meet in New York, he commissioned another movie."

"What movie?"

"Helen of Troy. He wants the movie to be with some groin kicking scenes. Girls kicking guys in the balls, something like that."

"Oh, that must be painful, I guess."

"Could you please remove your pipe from my anus. It's really a pain in the ass."

"Not before you accept my offer," said Holmes and turned his pipe a bit around.

"What offer?" moaned Marvin.

"There's some stuff I need to sell, and I think you're the right person to buy it from me."

"What stuff?" asked Marvin painfully. "Please do not rotate your pipe any more."

"Opium. I want to sell you eight balls of choice opium."

"I don't need any opium," said Marvin.

Holmes gave his pipe another turn.

"Do stop, I pray!" wailed Marvin, squeezing the rail with both his hands.

"Stop attracting attention to us! I do not ask you if you need it or not. I say I want you to buy it. Got it?"

"Alright, alright, I'll buy it. How much?"

"Well, let's say... a hundred dollars would fully satisfy me."

"A hundred bucks? Isn't it too much for eight balls of opium?"

"I think I'll have to buy a new smoking pipe after our friendly chatting here, so I believe the price is not high at all."

His right hand still holding firmly the pipe in his captive's anus, Holmes deftly slipped his left hand into the inner pocket of the filmmaker' coat to extract a wallet from it.

"Please be so kind as to pay me the agreed amount of money in order to receive your ordered goods," said Holmes, shoving the wallet into Marvin's hand. After the filmmaker unwillingly produced a hundred dollar bill, Holmes confidently took it from his hand, put it in his pants pocket, then opened his messenger bag and took out a smaller linen one.

"Here's the stuff," Holmes dropped the linen bag down by the filmmaker's feet, pulled the smoking pipe out of his anus and sauntered off down the promenade deck. When the detective was out of view, Marvin picked up the bag, opened it and looked inside. After a few seconds of staring at the opium balls, he closed the bag and hurled it overboard. No sooner had he taken a step aside as he cried out:

"My fucking ass!"

All the people nearby turned their heads toward him to see him standing by the rail, both his hands pressed up to his bottom.

8.

Anna Pavlova stood undressed in the bathroom of her stateroom, vainly trying to get the hot water faucet running. She kept turning it on and off, slapping the spout and the wall, where the hot water pipe was supposed to be, but all to no avail. No hot water would come to fill her bath.

The ballerina went out of the bathroom, put on her dressing gown and slippers, and walked out to the corridor. She stopped by the next door cabin and knocked at it.

"Come in, please," Victor Dandre's voice invited her in.

"There's no hot water in my bathroom," she said to her producer, who stood up from his chair to greet her in his stateroom.

"Not in ours either," said Dandre. "There's some plumbing problem along this side of the corridor, that's what the steward told me."

"What should I do? I need a bath, Victor."

"They promised to fix it by the evening."

"By the evening? I need a bath now," Anna said indignantly.

"Well, I seem to know what we can do," the producer said in a calm voice. "I've just met Madame de Blayac in the corridor this morning, she's a good friend of mine and a great admirer of your talent. She will be only too delighted to let you use her bathroom, I'm certain of it. Her stateroom is on the other side of the corridor, where they have no plumbing problems, as far as I know. So, I'll go over to her cabin at once and ask her to help us."

"That'd be very nice of her," said the ballerina. "Where's Mordkin, by the way?"

"Sunbathing on the open deck. Your partner wants to get a good tan before we reach America."

"Anybody seen you come here?" Arthur Marvin asked his guest, while seated by the porthole of his stateroom.

"Don't worry, nobody saw me," John Slade replied, then flopped down on the filmmaker's bed. "Nice room you got here, not like mine in the steerage, somewhere deep in the hulk, with a bunch of immigrants for my roommates."

"Yours is a nice place to lay low after our enterprise succeeds."

"Where are the tools?" asked Slade, chewing a gum.

"In the bag under the bed. Don't forget to drop it in the ocean after the deed is done."

"When will I start?"

"As soon as Madame de Blayac and her maid are well out of their stateroom, strolling along the promenade deck, or occupied in something like that far away from their cabin. Now you just sit here and wait, while I go and spy on them. When I return, just be ready to go at once to this rich widow's stateroom and in no time pick the door lock and crack the safe."

"No sweat, buddy," John Slade grinned widely.

"I know you are an experienced safecracker, anyway, please do not linger there, just take all the jewelry and leave the cabin at once. I'll be nearby in the corridor, you hand me over the loot, then vanish immediately from the spot to get lost in the steerage among all those immigrants."

"Won't there be a search all over the boat?"

"Let me take care of this. There are two idiots on board the liner, Professor Moriarty and his archenemy Sherlock Holmes. The dumbhead detective will certainly think that Moriarty is behind this burglary and I'll see to it that some of the jewels are found in the professor's cabin."

John Slade sat up on the bed, took the gum out of his mouth, stuck it to his shoe, then said:

"I wonder why you, a well-known filmmaker, have stooped to committing all this shit. Getting not enough money from your movies?"

"You see, I'm a co-founder of the studio, and not a major one. I want to be the founder. I want to start my own motion picture company in California."

"Why California?"

"More sunny days to shoot outdoor scenes. Much more than we got in New York. I'll call my company The Century Vixen."

"Century what?"

"Vixen. Century Vixen."

"What a stupid name."

"Well, then maybe I'll name it The Twentieth Vixen."

"Even more stupid."

"You think so? Well, I'll have enough time to think it over."

"I have a dream, too," said the safecracker. "I want to quit the underworld someday. I'll move to the West, buy a large ranch and settle down there by marrying some nice country girl."

"No time for dreaming now," said Arthur Marvin. "Let's get down to business."

He got up to his feet and walked over to the door, slightly limping.

"What's wrong with you?" asked Slade. "I mean the limp."

"Just got my ass scratched a bit in some minor accident," replied Marvin and went out to the corridor.

Anna Pavlova, her eyes closed, had been lying in the bath filled with hot water for a while, when suddenly she heard a male voice singing beyond the door. She quietly got out of the bath and tiptoed to the door to cling her ear close to it. On the other side of the door, in Madame de Blayac' stateroom a man was humming the following lines:

"He read the menu through and through,

To see what fifteen cents could do.

One meatball, one meatball,

He could afford but one meatball."

Anna opened the door and saw a man standing before the open safe in the wall, with his back to her.

"What are you doing in here?" she shouted.

John Slade turned around, a crowbar in one hand and a diamond necklace in the other.

"How dare you?" the naked ballerina exclaimed.

Slade raised the crowbar over his head with the intention of hitting the girl, but Anna, with a quick and deft movement of her shapely leg, landed her foot right into the burglar's groin. The man shrieked painfully, dropped the crowbar and the necklace, clutched his groin with both his hands, knelt down and then collapsed on his side.

"Maaa baaaalls, maaa baaaalls," he started writhing in agony on the floor.

Suddenly the door to the stateroom opened wide and in came Madame de Blayac.

"What's going on here?" she inquired.

"This man was trying to steal your jewelry," Anna pronounced calmly, looking a bit confused while standing motionless over the helpless burglar.

"What a scoundrel!" the widow cried out. "You kicked him in the balls, I suppose."

"Yes, I did," said Anna, still staring at the man she injured so badly.

"Serves him right!"

"I heard someone shouting," Arthur Marvin appeared on the spot, looking down at his criminal partner, lying at Anna's feet. "What happened here?"

"He tried to rob my place," replied Madame de Bayac, "but luckily Anna happened to be in the bathroom and managed to disable him. You needn't have much imagination to guess where she kicked him in."

John Slade raised his hand toward Marvin, trying to say something, but the filmmaker quickly kicked him right in the face and shouted:

"How dare you, bastard! Trying to steal things from such a respectable lady as Madame de Blayac! You scum!"

He kicked Slade again, this time in the stomache, then turned to Anna, who still stood motionless and naked, patches of soapy foam gliding down her slender body.

"You're gorgeous, Anna!" exclaimed the filmmaker. "Helen of Troy indeed! That's how I see her kicking Menelaus in his balls, then proudly towering over his helpless body, her dazzling femininity exposed. What a scene! Only you and nobody else must star as Helen in my movie!"

" My fucking balls, this bitch destroyed them," mumbled Slade and gave out a loud, painful groan.

"Shut up scum!" Marvin cried out, his gaze still fastened on the ballerina's body.

9.

9 a.m., August 23

Christopher Polack, the captian of SS George Washington, stood on the upper deck, occupied in a friendly chat with Madame de Blayac, when he noticed Anna Pavlova, dressed in a leotard, doing ballet exercises by the ship's rail, using it as a barre.

"Oh, there's your guardian angel, ma'am," he pointed out at the ballerina. "I think I should say a few words of respect to her for her brave feat she performed yesterday while protecting your property ."

"Good morning, Miss Pavlova," said Captain Polack after they walked up to the balerina.

"Morning, Captain," said Anna, getting up from the frontal splits. "Greetings, Madame de Blayac."

She shook hands with both Captain and Madame.

"Just having a little workout in the open air," Anna smiled. "Ought to keep myself in shape."

"Oh, you're in great shape, Miss Pavlova," said Captain. "The way you dealt with that burglar, you acted so bravely indeed."

"Oh, no," Anna waved her hand. "It was nothing brave, believe me. To tell the truth I was so scared at that moment."

"No need to be so shy, my dear," said Madame de Blayac. "You are a real heroine! To overcome that brute so easily!"

"By the way, what happened to him?" asked Anna, and put her foot on the rail to start doing torso bends, each time nimbly reaching her ankle with her head.

"We have him detained in one of the vacant cabins," replied Captain, watching Anna's agile movements with admiration. "We'll hand him over to the police as soon as we dock in New York."

"Captain, I've just had a wonderful idea," declared Madame de Blayac. "I know we're having a show in the Social Hall tonight. I think it'd be great if we honor Anna during the event, and if she wishes, let her perform some of her dances before the audience."

"Oh, I don't need much publicity of this sort," Anna said, putting her foot back on the deck. "They've already nicknamed me Nutcracker in Paris."

"Alright, we'll never mention the way you disabled the criminal," said Captian Polack. "Anyway, I invite you Anna to be the guest of honor at the show. Edgar Hart, a stage hypnotist and psychic, is going to perform tonight. I think it's going to be an amazing evening."

"Look who's coming our way," exclaimed Madame de Blayac. "It's Doctor Freud himself! The famous psychiatrist from Vienna."

"Morning, Herr Freud," Captain Polack greeted the psychoanalyst. "Could you join us for a minute?"

Sigmund Freud walked up to them and shook hands with each of the company.

"You see, Doctor, I'd like to ask you of some sort of assistance," said Captain Polack. "There was an attempt to burglarize one of the staterooms. The criminal was apprehended and put under custody in one of the cabins. We're going to keep him detained till the end of our voyage, then undoubtedly he'll be brought to justice."

"And how can I be useful in all this?" inquired Freud.

"This guy claims to have some mental problem of a sexual nature. I think you might be interested in interviewing him."

"Is he dangerous?"

"Not at all. He's a mere thief, not a murderer."

"And what kind of sexual problem has he got?"

"He constantly talks of something like pussy envy, saying some odd things about what happened to him yesterday."

"Pussy envy?" Freud looked curiously at the captain. "I think it's not a bad idea to try psychoanalyzing him."

John Slade looked across the table at Sigmund Freud, who was about to start interviewing the detained thief. The therapist opened his notebook, took his pencil out the pocket and said:

"I usually offer my patients to lie down on the couch while interviewing them. We may use your berth for this purpose, if you wish."

"No, doctor," Slade shook his head, "I won't lie down. Wanna see your eyes while talking to you."

"As you wish. Well, Captain Polack says you've been strongly shocked by the incident that happened to you in Madame de Blayac's stateroom."

"Shocked by the incident?" Slade spat on the floor. "I was kicked in the balls, doctor. That's worse than being shocked by any incident. Have you ever been kicked in the balls?"

"Your question is irrelevant to our conversation."

"Have you been kicked in the balls by a naked ballerina?"

"No, I've never been kicked in the balls by a naked ballerina, nor by any other naked girl."

"That's it!," exclaimed Slade. "But I was. She nearly got my balls ruptured. The pain was terrible, unbearable, I was in helpless agony. But that was not the worst thing I went through then."

"And what was the worst thing?" asked Freud, taking some notes down in his notebook.

"Her body. Just get me right - her body was perfect. The bad thing was that I saw her naked, perfect body while my balls were killing me. I saw her body towering over me, while I couldn't get up because of my fucking balls. Do you know what I felt then, doctor?"

"Tell me. That's why I'm here - to learn your thoughts and feelings."

John Slade paused for a few seconds, then said:

"I wanted to have a body like hers."

"You mean a female body?"

"Yes, I wanted a body like hers, without a dick and balls but with a pussy between my legs. I wanted to be a girl, I wanted to have a pussy."

"Pussy envy," whispered Freud, with a puzzled expression on his face.

"Yes, I call it pussy envy, that's what I'm suffering now from. I hate my male body, I hate my balls, I wish I were a girl, I wish I had a pussy. And what's more - I want to be kicked in the balls again. I want to be kicked by that ballerina again."

"But why?"

"I just wanna feel that exciting mixture of agonizing pain and tremendous envy again. Believe me, it's unforgettable. I badly need to go through it again and again. I dreamed all night of being kicked in the balls by that girl. Doctor, can you arrange it for me? Can we persuade that girl to hurt my balls again?"

"I'm afraid that it's not in my competence," said Freud, and closed his notebook.

"You can ask Captain to help me," said Slade.

"I don't think Captain has any wish to help you."

"Yes, I know," Slade slapped the table, "I know I'm a thief, I'm a criminal, but I'm nothing but a pawn in somebody else's game. There's a really powerful figure behind all this, and I will tell his name. I'll tell all about the man who ordered me to rob that woman's place. I'll do it if you promise to help my balls get busted by that ballerina."

"I can't promise such a thing. But if you tell me the name of that criminal mastermind, I will try to have a talk with Anna Pavlova about you."

"I believe you, doctor. That's why I wanted to look you in the eye. Now I see you're an honest man."