Xingu

Mrs. Ballinger’s Lunch Club prided itself on discussing only the most serious books, and today its six members were nervously awaiting a visit from the celebrated novelist Osric Dane.Every member except Mrs. Roby had carefully studied Osric Dane’s famous novel, “The Wings of Death,” so that she might impress their guest with an intelligent opinion.Mrs. Roby, who had just returned from Brazil, had not even opened the book, and the other ladies quietly agreed that she was a disappointing addition to their club.

When the great author finally arrived, she turned out to be cold and difficult to please, and every eager question the ladies asked only left them more embarrassed.Trying to seem impressively well-read, Mrs. Ballinger began describing all the serious subjects the club had studied that winter — then suddenly forgot what they were.Into the awkward silence, Mrs. Roby gently offered a single word: “Xingu.”

Relief swept through the room, and Mrs. Ballinger seized on the word as though she had been about to say it herself: “Xingu, of course!”None of the ladies had ever heard of Xingu, but rather than admit it, each one nodded and murmured that it had “changed her whole life.”Mrs. Roby kept asking Osric Dane pointed questions about Xingu — how long it was, how difficult it was to follow, how hard it was to reach its source — and, strangely, Osric Dane seemed to grow more and more uncomfortable.

At last Osric Dane admitted, with visible relief, that she did not actually know very much about Xingu after all.Mrs. Roby then stood up, announced that she had a bridge game to attend, and said her goodbyes — and to everyone’s astonishment, Osric Dane hurried out after her, eager to hear more about Xingu on the walk.Once their famous guest was gone, the remaining ladies turned on each other, each one suddenly unsure what Xingu actually was.

“Surely it’s a book,” said one; “No, I distinctly remember it being a philosophy,” said another; a third was certain it was some kind of religion.Unable to agree, the ladies sent for an encyclopedia and searched, page by page, for the truth.Miss Van Vluyck finally found the entry and read it aloud in a strange, flat voice: Xingu was simply a river in Brazil, one thousand miles long, its source barely explored.

Every detail Mrs. Roby had mentioned — its great length, its many branches, how hard it was to reach its source — suddenly made perfect sense.Mortified to realize they had all been thoroughly fooled, the ladies could only conclude that Mrs. Roby, fresh from her years in Brazil, had known the truth about Xingu from the very beginning.