Stranger in a Strange Land

spread its hood.
                Besides, the lighting wasn't very good.
                However, the drunk could not have won the twenty dollars in any case. Mrs. P's claim was much sounder than the dollar. She and her late husband had had for many years a tattooing studio in San Pedro; when trade was slack they had decorated each other-and, eventually, at some minor inconvenience to herself, the art work on her was so definitively complete from her neck down that there was no possible room for an encore. She took great pride both in the fact that she was the most completely decorated woman in the world (and by the world's greatest artist, for such was her humbly grateful opinion of her late husband) and also in the certainty that every dollar she earned was honest.
                She associated with grifters and sinners and did not hold herself aloof from them. But her own integrity was untouched. She and her husband had been converted by Foster himself, she kept her membershiP in San Pedro and attended services at the nearest branch of the Church of the New Revelation no matter where she was.
                Patricia Paiwoush would gladly have dispensed with the protection of Honey Bun in the blow-off not merely to prove that she was honest (that needed no proof, since she knew it was true) but because she was serene in her conviCtiOn that she was the canvas for religiouS art greater than any on the walls or ceilings of the Vatican. When she and George had seen the light. there was still about three square feet of Patricia untouched before he died she carried a complete pictorial life of Foster, from his crib with the angelS hovering around to the day of glory when he had taken his appointed place among the archangels.
                Regrettably (since it might have turned many sinners into seekers of the light) much of this sacred history bad to be covered up. the amount depending on the local lawmen. But she could show it in closed Happiness ~eetiflgS of the local churches she attended, if the shepherd wanted her to, which he almost always did. But, while it was always good to add to Happiness~ the saved did not need it; Patricia would rather have saved sinners. She couldn't preach. she couldn't sing, and she had never been called to speak in tongues__but she was a living witness to the light.
                In the ten-in-One, her act came next to last, just before the magician; this gave her time to put away unsold photograPhs of herself (a quarter for black & white, half a dollar in color, a set of special photograPhs for five dollars in a sealed envelope sold only to marks who signed a printed form alleging that they were doctors of medicine, psychology, sociology, or other such entitled to professional material not available to the general public-and such was Patricia's integrity that she would not sell these even for ten dollars if the mark did not look the part; she would then ask to see his business card - no dirty dollars were going to put her kids through school-and also gave her time to slip behind the rear canvas and get herself and her snakes ready for the blOW-Off.
                The magician, Dr. Apollo, performed on the last platform nearest to the canvas fly leading to the blow-Off. He started by passing out to his audience a dozen shiny steel rings, each as wide as a plate; he invited them to convince themselves that each ring was solid and smooth. Then he bad them hold the rings so that they overlapped. Dr. Apollo walked along the platform~ reached out with his wand and tapped each overlap-the solid steel links formed a chain.
                Casually he laid his wand in the air, rolled up his sleeves, accepted a bowl of eggs from his 5ssistant, and started to juggle half a dozen of them. His juggling did not attract too many eyes; his assistant was more worthy of stares. She was a fine example of modern functional design and, while she wore a great deal more than did the young ladies in the posing show, nevertheless there seemed to be a strong probability that she was not tattooed anywhere. The marks hardly noticed it when the six eggs became eve, then four three, two -- until at last Dr. Apollo was tossing one egg in the air, with his sleeves still rolled up and a puzzled look on his faceAt last he said, "Eggs are getting scarcer every year," and tossed the remaining egg over the heads of those nearest the platform to a man