Brave New World

was absolute silence–the silence of stretched expectancy, quivering and creepingwith a galvanic life. The President reached out his hand; and suddenly a Voice, adeep strong Voice, more musical than any merely human voice, richer, warmer,more vibrant with love and yearning and compassion, a wonderful, mysterious,supernatural Voice spoke from above their heads. Very slowly, "Oh, Ford, Ford,Ford," it said diminishingly and on a descending scale. A sensation of warmthradiated thrillingly out from the solar plexus to every extremity of the bodies ofthose who listened; tears came into their eyes; their hearts, their bowels seemed tomove within them, as though with an independent life. "Ford!" they were melting,"Ford!" dissolved, dissolved. Then, in another tone, suddenly, startlingly. "Listen!"trumpeted the voice. "Listen!" They listened. After a pause, sunk to a whisper, but awhisper, somehow, more penetrating than the loudest cry. "The feet of the GreaterBeing," it went on, and repeated the words: "The feet of the Greater Being." Thewhisper almost expired. "The feet of the Greater Being are on the stairs." And oncemore there was silence; and the expectancy, momentarily relaxed, was stretchedagain, tauter, tauter, almost to the tearing point. The feet of the Greater Being–oh,they heard thern, they heard them, coming softlydown the stairs, coming nearer andnearer down the invisible stairs. The feet of the Greater Being. And suddenly thetearing point was reached. Her eyes staring, her lips parted. Morgana Rothschildsprang to her feet."I hear him," she cried. "I hear him.""He's coming," shouted Sarojini Engels."Yes, he's coming, I hear him." Fifi Bradlaugh and Tom Kawaguchi rosesimultaneously to their feet."Oh, oh, oh!" Joanna inarticulately testified."He's coming!" yelled Jim Bokanovsky.The President leaned forward and, with a touch, released a delirium of cymbals andblown brass, a fever of tom-tomming."Oh, he's coming!" screamed Clara Deterding. "Aie!" and it was as though she werehaving her throat cut.Feeling that it was time for him to do something, Bernard also jumped up andshouted: "I hear him; He's coming." But it wasn't true. He heard nothing and, forhim, nobody was coming. Nobody–in spite of the music, in spite of the mountingexcitement. But he waved his arms, he shouted with the best of them; and whenthe others began to jig and stamp and shuffle, he also jigged and shuffled.Round they went, a circular procession of dancers, each with hands on the hips ofthe dancer preceding, round and round, shouting in unison, stamping to the rhythmof the music with their feet, beating it, beating it out with hands on the buttocks infront; twelve pairs of hands beating as one; as one, twelve buttocks slabbilyresounding. Twelve as one, twelve as one. "I hear Him, I hear Him coming." Themusic quickened; faster beat the feet, faster, faster fell the rhythmic hands. And allat once a great synthetic bass boomed out the words which announced theapproaching atonement and final consummation of solidarity, the coming of theTwelve-in-One, the incarnation of the Greater Being. "Orgy-porgy," it sang, while thetom-toms continued to beat their feverish tattoo:"Orgy-porgy, Ford and fun,Kiss the girls and make them One.Boys at 0ne with girls at peace;Orgy-porgy gives release.""Orgy-porgy," the dancers caught up the liturgical refrain, "Orgy-porgy, Ford andfun, kiss the girls …" And as they sang, the lights began slowly to fade–to fade andat the same time to grow warmer, richer, redder, until at last they were dancing inthe crimson twilight of an Embryo Store. "Orgy-porgy …" In their blood-coloured andfoetal darkness the dancers continued for a while to circulate, to beat and beat out