Myra-Breckinridge-Gore-Vidal

the same size as it is when erect, a phenomenon which,though it causes consternation in a shower room, brings noadded joy to the bedroom. Nevertheless, uneasy whitemales still continue to tighten their rosy sphincters at theapproach of spooks. In defense of the Buck Lonerphilosophy, Irving Amadeus (he pretends to have beenJewish before his conversion to Bahai) spoke of love. "It isnecessary to have love for all things, particularly thoseyoung people entrusted to our care." "Love," I said, "oughtnever to exclude truth." "But love does not wound." Hecontinued for some time in this vein. Fortunately Miss Cluff,the other teacher, has no interest in love, at least of thecaritas sort. She is lean and profoundly Lesbian, foreverproposing that we go to drive-in movies together in hersecondhand Oldsmobile. Temporarily she is teaching theBell Telephone Hour Course in Song in order to makeenough money to pay for a concert debut in New York."Nonsense!" she said to Bahai, cutting him short. "We mustwound if we are to create artists. I myself am the result of anuncle whom I hated, a teacher of piano who forced me atthe age of nine to practice seven, eight, ten hours a day,striking my lingers with a stick whenever I got a note wrong.This was in Oregon." We all recognized the plot of TheSeventh Veil and so were able to ask the right questions inorder to help her complete the fantasy whose denouementwas that, in spite of everything, she had come through,become an artist, after the obligatory nervous breakdown,et cetera, and she owed it all to her uncle who had beencruel but cared. I found this conversation pleasing, for I am