Invisible man

            "What a beautiful room you have here," I said, looking across the rich cherry glow of furniture to see a life-sized painting of a nude, a pink Renoir. Other canvases were hung here and there, and the spacious walls seemed to flash alive with warm, pure color. What does one say to all this? I thought, looking at an abstract fish of polished brass mounted on a piece of ebony.

            "I'm glad you find it pleasant, Brother," she said. "We like it ourselves, though I must say that Hubert finds so little time to enjoy it. He's much too busy."

            "Hubert?" I said.

            "My husband. Unfortunately he had to leave. He would have loved to've met you, but then he's always dashing off. Business, you know."

            "I suppose it's unavoidable," I said with sudden discomfort.

            "Yes, it is," she said. "But we're going to discuss Brotherhood and ideology, aren't we?"

            And there was something about her voice and her smile that gave me a sense of both comfort and excitement. It was not merely the background of wealth and gracious living, to which I was alien, but simply the being there with her and the sensed possibility of a heightened communication; as though the discordantly invisible and the conspicuously enigmatic were reaching a delicately balanced harmony. She's rich but human, I thought, watching the smooth play of her relaxed hands.

            "There are so many aspects to the movement," I said. "Just where shall we start? Perhaps it's something that I'm unable to handle."

            "Oh, it's nothing that profound," she said. "I'm sure you'll straighten out my little ideological twists and turns. But sit here on the sofa, Brother; it's more comfortable."

            I sat, seeing her go toward a door, the train of her gown trailing sensuously over the oriental carpet. Then she turned and smiled.

            "Perhaps you'd prefer wine or milk instead of coffee?"

            "Wine, thank you," I said, finding the idea of milk strangely repulsive. This isn't at all what I expected, I thought. She returned with a tray holding two glasses and a decanter, placing them before us on a low cocktail table, and I could hear the wine trickle musically into the glasses, one of which she placed in front of me.

            "Here's to the movement," she said, raising her glass with smiling eyes.

            "To the movement," I said.

            "And to Brotherhood."

            "And to Brotherhood."

            "This is very nice," I said, seeing her nearly closed eyes, her chin tilting upward, toward me, "but just what phase of our ideology should we discuss?"

            "All of it," she said. "I wish to embrace the whole of it. Life is so terribly empty and disorganized without it. I sincerely believe that only Brotherhood offers any hope of making life worth living again -- Oh, I know that it's too vast a philosophy to grasp immediately, as it were; still, it's so vital and alive that one gets the feeling that one should at least make the try. Don't you agree?"

            "Well, yes," I said. "It's the most meaningful thing that I know."

            "Oh, I'm so pleased to have you agree with me. I suppose that's why I always thrill to hear you speak, somehow you convey the great throbbing vitality of the movement. It's really amazing. You give me such a feeling of security -- although," she interrupted herself with a mysterious smile, "I must confess that you also make me afraid."

            "Afraid? You can't mean that," I said.

            "Really," she repeated, as I laughed. "It's so powerful, so -- so primitive!"

            I felt some of the air escape from the room, leaving it unnaturally quiet. "You don't mean primitive?" I said.

            "Yes, primitive; no one has told you, Brother, that at times you have tom-toms beating in your voice?"

            "My God," I laughed, "I thought that was the beat of profound ideas."

            "Of course, you're correct," she said. "I don't mean really primitive. I suppose I mean forceful, powerful. It takes hold of one's emotions as well as one's intellect. Call it what you will, it has so much naked power that it goes straight through one. I tremble just to think of such vitality."

            I looked at her, so close now that I could see a single jet-black strand of out-of-place hair. "Yes," I said, "the emotion is there; but it's actually our scientific approach that releases it. As Brother Jack says, we're nothing if not organizers. And the emotion isn't merely released, it's guided, channelized -- that is the real source of our effectiveness. After all, this very good wine can please emotion, but I doubt seriously that it can organize anything."

            She leaned gracefully forward, her arm along the back of the sofa, saying, "Yes, and you do both in your speeches. One just has to respond, even when one isn't too clear as to your meaning. Only I do know what you're saying and that's even more inspiring."

            "Actually, you know, I'm as much affected by the audience as it is by me. Its response helps me do my best."