We are walking down a long white hall . Benway’s voice drifts into my cosciusness from no partcular place . . . a disembodied voice taht is sometimes barely audible like music down a windy street. “Isolated groups like natives of Bismarck Archipelago . No overt homosexuality among them . God them matriarchy . All matriarchies anti-homosexual ,conformist and prosaic . Find yourself in a matriarchy walk don’t run to the nearest frontier . If you run , some frustrate latent queer cop will likely shoot you . So somebody wants to establish a beach head of homogeneity in a shambles of potentials like West Europe and U.S.A.? Another fucking matriarchy , Margaret Mead notwithstanding. . . Spot of bother there . Scalpel fight with a colleague in the operating room. And my baboon as­sistant leaped on the patient and tore him to pieces. Baboons always attack the weakest party in an alterca­tion. Quite right too. We must never forget our glorious simian heritage. Doc Browbeck was party inna second part. A retired abortionist and junk pusher (he was a veterinarian actually) recalled to service during the manpower shortage. Well, Doc had been in the hospital kitchen all morning goosing the nurses and tanking up on coal gas and Klim—and just before the operation he sneaked a double shot of nutmeg to nerve himself up.” (In England and especially in Edinburgh the citizens bubble coal gas through Klim—a horrible form of pow­dered milk tasting like rancid chalk—and pick up on the results. They hock everything to pay the gas bill, and when the man comes around to shut it off for the non­payment, you can hear their screams for miles. When a