“She must be sex crazy to put on such an exhibition in such a place,” said Peixota. “It’s a rotten dive, raw and slimy like the afterbirth of a cow.”
Peixota’s first reaction to the place was not unfavorable. It had appeared to him like a big carousing depot for disoriented young people, of which it was regrettable there were so many in Harlem. And he was inclined to conjecture that the Sufi perhaps had a special grudge against the owners and was overstepping his license as a popular agitator to hurt their business. He was opposed to bigotry and would combat it in a Sufi Abdul Hamid as much as in a Maxim Tasan. He could not apprehend what disgusted the Sufi about the establishment, for his eyes were not keen nor his ears sensitive to detect the secret signs and suggestive erotomania of the underworld.
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