Naked Lunch Page #4

two weeks ago.

- Deported.

- Mm-hmm.

They let him take his clothes

and his passport.

That was it.

Everything else - nationalized, as they say.

Why?

He neglected to pay

the right officials, I think.

You knew he ran

a drug factory in the medina?

What, um -

What drug did he manufacture?

Nothing too exotic.

Majoun, I think.

It's a local hash resin-almond paste.

You'd spread it on a muffin likejam.

Try it.

While you're at it,

why don't you try my Martinelli?

Take her now.

Try her out.

Holy sh*t. That machine doesn't

belong to me. It's Tom Frost's.

My God, Lee...

Surely you know better than to bring

an enemy agent into your own home.

You gave me no choice. You were giving her

access to your innermost vulnerabilities...

forcing them on her,

for God's sake!

But what am I gonna tell him?

What's your assessment of the situation?

Did Frost know that his machine

was an Interzonal agent?

He, uh - He and his wife

appear to have a close connection...

with the indigenous population here.

His wife.

Yeah, yeah!

Of course!

The key is Joan Frost.

You will seduce her, and you will discover

the substance of her report...

and deliver it directly to me.

Seduce her?

But what about -

What about Kiki and

the Interzone boys? My cover.

It'll work beautifully, Bill.

The opposition will be thrown into total confusion.

- Tom's gone out with the boys.

- I came to see you.

Oh.

There's a great restaurant

in New York looks just like this.

Oh, really?

- You write in longhand.

- Yes.

I'm not good with machines.

They intimidate me.

I think I broke Tom's typewriter.

The Martinelli?

He'll be furious.

- Does he have another one?

- He has that one, the Mujahideen.

- It's Arabic.

- Does he use it much?

Not much.

What happened to the Martinelli?

I probably just

threw it on the floor and smashed it.

Probably? You don't know?

I suffer from, um...

sporadic hallucinations.

Join the club.

Do you intend to kill Tom's Mujahideen?

Only in self-defense.

I understood writing

could be dangerous.

I didn't realize the danger

came from the machinery.

- What are you talking about?

- I'll show you.

Oh.

- Are you gonna write something in Arabic?

- No.

You are.

I don't like using Tom's things.

We don't trespass on each other.

Do you have any objection

to trying some of this?

I can't read it.

Is it erotic?

It's, um, fairly erotic.

- Kind of uncivilized.

- More erotic.

Filthier.

- Filthier? Okay.

- All you think about.

- Followers of obsolete, unthinkable trades...

- Getting really...

- pretty good here.

- doodling in Etruscan...

- addicts of drugs not yet synthesized...

- I'm surpassing myself here.

black marketeers of World War III...

excisors of telepathic sensitivity...

followers of obsolete,

unthinkable trades.

Ooh, this is very good.

- Addicts of drugs not yet synthesized-

- Very, very dirty.

World War III...

excisors of telepathic sensitivity...

osteopaths of the spirit...

investigators of infractions...

denounced by bland,

paranoid chess players.

Joan.

Oh,Joan.

Mrs. Frost!

This is an evil

and insane thing that you are doing.

You must stop it at once!

Pull up your hair.

Who's that?

Oh, my housekeeper.

It's my Mujahideen.

For God's sake!

It jumped of its own accord.

You did see that, didn't you?

Joan, are you all right?

What happened?

Fadela stormed in here, and she

threw your typewriter out the window.

Well, that's it.

The woman has to go.

She certainly seemed deadly to me.

Oh, I knew it.

Look, Tom.

Look.

This is how Fadela's

been controlling you,Joan.

Your blood, your pubic hair,

your fingernails.

Fadela controls nobody,

and you know it.

We have forced control upon her.

Poor woman's probably desperate

to get out of our household.

No, missus.

She's making you say everything...

even that.

You must find all of these in your house.

You must destroy them.

Bill...

I'm going to need my Martinelli.

I feel desperately insecure

without a typewriter in the house.

Yes, well, I haven't had a chance to try it out

yet, Tom. I was kind of hoping -

I'll leave Hafid here with you,Joanie,

in case Fadela comes back.

Bill and I will go to his place

and pick up the Martinelli now.

I'll go with Bill.

You two stay here.

I need to get out.

Fadela's within 30 feet of us.

See if you can find her.

There.

She's right there.

That thing she's cutting up...

have you ever seen that before?

No.

Looks like some kind of

sea creature, I think.

All those women...

they work for her?

In a sense.

They're all Fadela's lovers.

I'm going to have to -

I'm gonna have to

stay here with Fadela -

do penance.

I've been instructed to reveal to you...

that you were programmed

to shoot your wife,Joan Lee.

It was not an act

of free will on your part.

Hey!

Who the f*** asked ya?

You worry me, Bill.

You cause me many anxious moments.

Oh, gee, I hope you're not

losing any sleep.

No need to be nasty, Bill.

There was some thought that you might

actually want to hear this information -

that it might assuage your guilt.

Save the psychoanalysis

for your grasshopper friends.

You have to admit,

it was a pretty tasty setup, Bill.

Joan marries you as part

ofher agent's cover...

not realizing that you were

the very enemy agent assigned to kill her.

As elegant as it is brilliant.

Wait a minute.

You're saying thatJoan was sent

by Interzone, Incorporated to marry me?

Yeah. In fact, she was sent

to you by Fadela, who was her controller.

We did a lot of groundwork

to set you up in their files...

as the prime candidate for marriage.

And it didn't matter that

I didn't know anything about it?

An unconscious agent

is an effective agent, Bill.

The situation does generate

some ethical paradoxes at times.

I'm the first to admit that.

When you bugs first approached me...

one of your associates suggested...

that Joan was possibly not human.

What did he mean by that?

Women aren't human, Bill.

Or perhaps more precisely...

they're a different species from men...

with different wills

and different purposes on Earth.

You know this instinctively, Bill...

and it's your instincts

that make you such a good operative.

I'm talking aboutJoan.

IfJoan Lee wasn't human...

what was she?

Well,Joan was a special case.

Joan was an elite-corps centipede.

Joan was a centipede.

Where's my Martinelli?

Jesus, Tom, are you nuts?

Don't f*** with me, Lee.

I want my typewriter.

A lot of people have tried to silence me.

All have failed.

Tom...

she's here...

in pieces.

I fear it's hopeless.

All right.

We're taking your Clark Nova.

Hafid, the bag.

No.

No.

Wh-Wh-What's going on here?

Wait, wait, wait! This is

a heinous mistake you're making.

Lee, do something.

Stop them.

Well, he's got a gun, Clark Nova.

You don't want to lose your best agent, do ya?

You're gonna have to write

a full report, Lee. And I mean full.

How am I gonna write it,

in longhand?

Will you take this sack off!

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