Motorman (5 page)

He sat on the water dump and wrote:

Dear Burny,

I'm not sure you can help me out of this unless you know me better than you do. How well do you actually know me? You sometimes refer to me as Dink, or Dinky, my school name, which is a nice, familiar thing to do. But what does it amount to when you consider all the other things about me you don't know? I realize it seems insignificant.

But it only seems that way. It really isn't. It is. It
is
significant. You can be assured that Bunce knows more than my school name. Burnheart, you should be more aware of me. You should know every lonely detail, everything, the whole Moldenke. For example: What did I do when I wandered away from the gauze mill? Did I take a job shrimping? If not, why so? Do you know that? You should. Bunce does. He could account for every moment. He has tapes, and I wouldn't be surprised if he also had films. Burnheart, please don't take this letter as an attempt at criticism, which is the most distant thing from my mind these days. No, it isn't that at all. It must be something else. Unfortunately, I don't know what. I enjoyed seeing you on your trip to the city and I look forward to being with you and Eagleman in the country. I've kept a picture of you on the wall. I've always looked up to you. If you ever came to me and said, “Rub something,” I'd rub it without a second thought. I've copied your signature too many times. I've read the letters thin. You send me your throwaway coats and I manage to need them.

I consider it an honor to wear them. How many of your test tubes have I washed? Ten thousand? How many solutions have I cooked on your k-flame?

I've used you as a laxative and a lubricant both. Still, I see you as a stranger. Burnheart, help me.

I'm getting along badly. Send me a woman. I need a woman. This morning the last scab peeled off the crank. I'm ready; although I'm afraid I have no feeling.

Yours,

I surrender,

Moldenke

He balled the letter and threw it in the water dump.

The suns had gone above the building. The room dimmed. Had there been water he would have bathed. He opened the spigot, testing, got sour air and pipe vibes. He wouldn't bathe and go to bed. He hadn't dumped.

He closed the dead refrigerator door. It opened again, back on its hinges. He had startled something. It flew past his shoulder, tipping his ear, fluttering into the bed springs.

He would pass time reading Burnheart letters. He found the lighter, loaded in a new flint, filled the tank with k-fuel, sparked it, and read by its light.

Dear Moldenke,

You remind me of the tripodero. You know the tripodero? A small creature of the Newer England woods? I'm not certain whether it has met extinction or not as yet. But that doesn't matter. We have records of him, specimens. He'd race along the 
hedgerows, churning up the turf, always sensitive to danger on the other side. If he ever suspected it, why, he'd rise up on those three telescoping legs of his and have a look. A marvelous mammal, the tripodero. I wonder whether he's still alive?

Your Instructor,

Doctor Burnheart

The lighter grew hot in Moldenke's hands. The room cooled.

He read another letter, a short letter attached to the one he had just read:

Dear Dink,

If you sense danger, rise up. I'll be over the hedge.

Be cautious,

Burnheart

He chewed a stonepick and watched the moons come up, fell asleep in his chair.

27]

She came to him as a stranger in the Tropical Garden. He first saw her figure in the banana leaves. He spaded earth ceremoniously and watched her from the corner of his eye. She tossed a banana flower at his foot and warmed him with a flow of spirit and a smile. He raised his trowel and indicated the greenhouse.

They walked among the rows of succulents, pressing thick leaves between their fingers. She broke open the stalk of an ice plant, drew a circle on his forehead with its juices, made an
x
inside the circle. The space around them fell into silent patterns.

She lifted her Indian dress and dipped a foot in the frog pool.

Two suns were up.

She said her name was Cock Roberta.

28]

The phone rang. It was Burnheart:

“Still constipated?”

“Yes. I tried last night. Nothing would move.”

“Then we'll have to go full, that's all. Nothing ever works exactly right. Luckily, you don't often get to eat. You'll be needing some liquids, though. I have a test ready. Let's get this thing going. When you get here I'll personally give you an enema. Are you ready for the test?”

“Sure. What should I do?”

“Simple. Go to the door, open it, step into the hall, walk to the stairway, make it down the stairs, through the main gate, and into the street. If you get that far, head south for the country. Eagleman and I will be waiting for you with a soft bed and solid food. Come.”

“I can't. Bunce has a man in the hall.”

“Ignore the man. He isn't there, even if it seems like he is. I know Bunce's games.”

“I hear the feet shuffling out there, inflations, deflations. Bunce has a jellyhead out there. I won't make it, Burny. I won't.”

“You're acting fruity. I said to ignore the jelly in the hallway. Put yourself in gear. Move! We'll wait three days for you. After that, no guarantees. Leave when the moons are down and the suns are not quite up. Pick a time when the shadows are confusing. Are you with me?”

“Yes and no.”

“Good. Fill your pockets with gauze pads. You'll need them. The weather is a mess. Whenever you come to a juncture, angle to the right. Follow me?”

“Yes and no.”

“That'll do. Remember, boy. Crossing the bottoms is not so easy. You'll be tried. You'll have to be at your most alert. Stay off the stonepicks.”

“I'm a little weak for a trip like that.”

“Bring cigars. You'll want cigars.”

“What about food? Liquids? ”

“Food? Did you say food, Moldenke? Liquids? Tell me, didn't you pass the survival exams? Haven't you read the book? Consider the first line:
Starving at home is a simple matter,
and so on. The swamp is a banquet table, son, always set. Kick open a rotted stump. Find it crawling with protein. The right fungus is good bread. It would take a jellyhead to starve in the bottoms. Liquids? Liquids are everywhere in the bottoms. Don't talk to me about liquids. Find a water flower, suck the stem. I fail to see the problem. Take the book along. Besides, I don't think you have the luxury of a choice at this point, do you? ”

“Maybe not. I'm beginning to have fears, Burny, buzzing up and down the spine. What should I do?”

“Nothing. At least you're feeling something. That's enough.”

“They'll follow me, Burny. I won't get away so easy.”

“So will your shadow. I'm not impressed.”

“I don't have any weapons.”

“Wrong, Dink. You have yourself. You and Bunce are equally armed.”

“I might be safer staying here.”

“I doubt that. But go ahead, stay. Wait for the bloodbird to sweep down and pick the bones, show the coyote how soft your belly is. I'll just staple your folder shut and file it away. So long, Dink.
Requiescat
and so on.”

“No, Burnheart. Don't hang up.”

“Would you be kind enough to leave me your brain, assuming Bunce doesn't get ahold of it? I have an empty jar on the shelf.
A memento mori,
a first degree relic of the late-—”

“Stop! Burnheart, don't say those things. The hearts are beating funny. I feel cramps.”

“Maybe you'll have a successful dump after all. Why not stop this exchange of jumbo? Are you ready to leave that room? Or shall I tell Eagleman we'
re dealing with a weak sister?”

“It hurts when you say that.”

“Oh, Moldenke. I pity you. Cry me an orangeade tear.”

“Don't bother to pity me. I'll get by.”

“Thank you for saying that. You think we take no risks in helping you? You think this call isn't being monitored? What do you think Eagleman is putting on the line for you? What are we, a pair of cluck hens? Open your eye. See us as we are. Don't give yourself to Bunce. Give yourself to us, to science, as it were. We have a fireplace, a continuing fire, and a pile of mock wood. Come and sit with us by the fire, eat some of our popcorn. There's an extra laboratory. It's yours when you come. Drink some tea with us. We'll talk about this and that, things. If you get to feeling tight, you can bounce around in the latex room. Everything we have is yours. But our patience is not interminable. Eagleman is not as placid as I am. He's a very busy man, tempered in fire. One day it's the rubber tomato, the next day it's the mystery of autotomy. The man lives always on the rim of a volcano. Be cautious with him. Moldenke? Are you with me?”

“You say I should ignore the jelly in the hall? Is that right?”

“Right. It must be total, though. Out of mind, out of sight. If you think of him even a bit, he'll be on you. You may have to force yourself to think about something else. Get together now.”

“What about the weather? I'd like to get a report.”

“Once you're in it you'll know. Goodbye. See you in three days or not at all.”

29]

During the year previous to the mock War Moldenke was employed at the Tropical Garden as a banana man.

30]

He pulled on his trenchpants and rooted in his closet for Burnheart's old trenchcoat. He stuffed all pockets with .00 gauze pads and cigars, strapped on his sidepack and dropped in flints, a can of k-fuel, a tin of crickets, a handful of prune wafers, and a packet of stonepicks. He buttoned up the trenchcoat. Burnheart had worn the coat in an earlier war and had been wounded in it below the frontal buckle.

In his backpack he loaded old Burnheart letters, blank paper, pens, pencils, and two copies of Burnheart's book,
Ways & Means.

He gathered his hair and tied it in the back. Still, several moons were up.

He waited in the chair.

The phone rang:

“Hello? Burnheart?”

“No, jock. I think that nothing measures equal to the Moldenke innocence except the Moldenke presumption. No, this is not Burnheart.”

“Bunce?”

“Yes, this is Bunce.”

“I have nothing to say, Bunce. I'm under different instructions now.”

“Moldenke, are you aware of the hazards in the bottoms? You won't make it. Believe me. Consider the odds. Burnheart is far from perfect.”

“I'm ignoring you, Bunce. You're wasting time.”

“I've been ignored before. I can live with it.”

“I'm going to hang up. I have nothing to say.”

“Fine, we're even again. I have nothing to hear. But let me say a few things before you set the speaker down. Will you grant me thirty seconds? Moldenke, I can build a wall around you with the details of your life. I know all your secrets. One of your nose hairs is deviant, isn't it? It grows away from the others, doesn't it, toward the brain? There, that explains your snorts. Can you see what I'm getting at, jock? I not only know
that
you snort, but
why.
That’s the important fact,
why.
I know you totally. I don't want much from you, Dink.
All
is what I want, the whole Moldenke. Take off that trenchcoat and get back in the chair. Quit fiddling.”

“No, Bunce. I'm ignoring you.”

“How can you? Test me. Ask me anything about yourself. Try me...pick a hard one.”

“All right, Bunce. Several years ago I was in the crowd along a boulevard watching a parade. Someone tapped my shoulder and I turned to see. It was Cock Roberta. The crowd pushed us close. I felt my crank harden against her leg. She put something into my hand. A wave went through the crowd and we were separated. What did she leave in my hand?”

“A little polished acorn opening on copper hinges, warm with her perspiration.
Warm with her perspiration,
  
Moldenke! What do you think of
that
detail? Little Cock is a hot handed woman, isn't she?”

“All right, Bunce. When I opened the acorn, what was inside?”

“The crowd was all around you, pushing at your elbows. You waited until you got home, back to your room. You turned on the lamp and opened the acorn over a saucer and a tightly folded paper fell out. You carefully unfolded it and read it.”

“I assume you know what it said.”

“Ah, the Moldenke assumptions. Yes, I know what it said. It said, 'Capital M, My dear, capital M, Moldenke, comma, paragraph, indent, capital T, They say that I'm beginning to punctuate and that I'll have to seclude myself and rest, period Capital T, They say I shouldn't be looking at the sky when the moons are up, period.' And she signed it, 'capital C, Cock.'