The Clarkl Soup Kitchens (17 page)

“Well, that’s very nice,” she said. “I feel you will be in a good position to find a job when I pass. I’m getting along in years, you know.”

I sighed. “You are only eighty-six. White American women who live until fifty are living, on average, until ninety-three. You have no complaints, and you have a very comfortable life here.”

She nodded.

Actually, she lived until one hundred and one. She was determined to live longer than Queen Elizabeth II had lived, but she died five years too early for that.

She talked frequently of her courtship. The first husband, the one who had conveniently died and had made her a rich widow, was very seldom mentioned. It was the Judge who was the person meant when she said, “My husband.”

I never met the Judge, of course. The house was filled with pictures of a tall man in a white suit, and she relived their courtship about once a month, always in the same tone of voice and with nearly the same words.

To hear her talk, it was the romance of the century. Two childless widowed people, finding each other. Between the words were the facts that she had a huge life insurance settlement and he had a big house. His retirement income from his job as a justice of the peace surely did not allow him to live well, but when they pooled their resources they were very, very comfortable. The Judge’s weekly maid was replaced by a live-in housekeeper, and they entertained old friends with her money in his house. Cut glass crystal, accumulated by the first Mrs. Aperson, came out from old china cupboards to be polished and used. The wedding photograph’s rumpled white suit was discarded, and later photographs showed silk fabrics for both of them. Even Ferdy looked well dressed.

How funny that I remember it now. She said, again and again, “Finding love is the best thing. Everything else is unimportant if you find love.” I often wondered if the Judge would agree.

March 18, 2146
– I updated my will today, and the office manager and his assistant witnessed it. Then, I faxed it to Mr. Whipple over the slow line.

It seemed more appropriate to leave the house, or what equity I have in it, to Louis. The will I signed just before I came to Clarkl had it going to
Penn
State
, for whatever use they wished. This new will leaves the house to Louis for his lifetime and then it goes to
Penn
State
.

How strange blood ties are! After all these years, I still believe my genes might be entered into the next generation through Louis.

Mrs. Aperson had no blood relatives at the end. She spoke from time to time about a sister who had died, but there was no relative to visit or to care for her as she grew older. Certainly Ferdy was out of the running.

I believe the Judge left Ferdy something in his will, and maybe Mrs. Aperson had to mortgage the house to make good on the bequest. Of course, the first mortgage I know about was taken out in 2116, about seven years after the Judge passed. Perhaps that mortgage was taken out to pay off an earlier one, though.

Work still is easy, and I meet all my deliverables on time. Each day I go over to the office and spend four or five hours. The other people have plenty of time to visit at work, but I get my work done and go back to my cabin.

My spare time is still spent in reverie. I go over, again and again, the thirty-one years I spent with Mrs. Aperson and my affair with Ferdy.

Did he ever know about the babies? I never told him, and, of course, he never asked. Each one was born while he was out of town, and each one died before he could come home. Mrs. Aperson surely scolded him for conducting our affair, but I cannot believe she mentioned the children.

How relieved she must have been when he married! While I was full of a terrible anguish, she must have rejoiced that a rich woman was taking on this burden. With the purchase of a three-carat diamond, she got rid of the nuisance and the expense of this playboy.

June 17, 2146
– A receipt from Mr. Whipple today for the will. I put it in my desk at the office so anyone can find it.

The nine missing people from the church have not yet been located. The American government would like to send a fact-finding mission to Clarkl, but they have no way to get here. Replacements for the people still here are not allowed to come. No other planet wants to get into the middle of whatever is going on, either.

The spacecrafts full of food are still arriving, though. The Clarklians are still sending uranium and whatnot to
America
, and the American government is still buying food to send to Clarkl.

September 9, 2146
– A terrible storm of snow and ice yesterday, worse than anything anybody can remember. The snow was piled high up against my door.

We were unable to open the dining room today. No cook could get from his or her cabin to the kitchen, and the dining room manager, who has a cabin with a back door opening onto the kitchen, posted a notice at the front door that offered candy bars to any Clarklian who came. She stood in the foyer and handed them out all day.

How can these Clarklians get around? Are their roads clear?

The electricity and the water stayed on throughout. I was warm. I was also hungry, with only some crackers from my closet.

The dining room manager finally called the Slinkers for help. They brought machines that quickly melted the snow and other machines that sucked up the water. By the end of the day, we had paths cleared to the dining room from most of the cabins. Tomorrow or the next day we will have a path cleared to the office, and I will spend a long day catching up with our reports. This storm will not help our statistics, unless the dining room manager counted the number of Clarklians who came for candy bars.

February 27, 2147
– The kidnapped church people have still not been found, and the American government has decided to sponsor college scholarships for those of us who are, for the moment, stranded here on Clarkl. I can think of twenty things I want more than a college scholarship, but I am now a doctoral candidate at
Columbia
University
’s
School
of
Education
.

The communication lines work fairly well. We use the faster line, of course, and all texts and lectures are delivered here.

I work my usual five hours each day, and then I return to my cabin for my classes. I have been at it for about seven weeks, and I am enjoying the challenge of learning new things.

April 10, 2147
– I have completed six units! I feel as if my life has been given back to me. If only I were thirty years younger.

The dining room statistics continue to grow, in spite of our troubles here. The Clarklians come, by themselves and in pairs, at all hours, from sunrise to several hours after sunset.

Our farms are continuing to produce plenty of fresh vegetables, too. Each spacecraft brings a new variety of plant from
America
, and each year’s crop seems to be bigger than the last.

The Clarklians have developed four types of robots to assist the farmers, and now our people are essentially managing the robots. The complaints about sore muscles are gone.

The dining room manager also has a new robot for paring potatoes. It is very good with the eyes, unlike the automated potato peelers at home.

May 31, 2147
– Another three credits! I need a total of ninety credits for classes and thirty-two for my thesis.

There was no bill from Kaufmann’s this year. Ferdy’s family had to get through Christmas without my usual largess. I sent Mrs. Crocker a Universal Gold transfer to buy something for herself.

Money remains good. I spend much less than I earn, and the 2129 mortgage is nearly paid off. Some money was set aside this year to paint the house, inside and outside, except for the attic.

No news from Louis. I really believe he expected to find me as a wealthy heiress and disappeared when the truth was told. I suppose there is a gene for disappearing that he has inherited.

June 9, 2147
– My interests in my graduate school classes have interrupted my ennui. I have not thought much about Ferdy in several months.

I can’t imagine I will ever love again. Ferdy was just perfect, the right combination of passion and disregard. When he was with me, he was always engaged in our relationship. When he was gone, neither of us thought much about the other.

I always assumed Mrs. Aperson would pass on while I was still young, and I would have plenty of time to find a reliable man to marry. One day I was shocked to find I was going through menopause and she was still alive.

July 21, 2147
– The gossip making the rounds today is that the nine church people are at the royal compound. I don’t know what proof there is behind this rumor.

Meanwhile, no replacements are coming and, consequently, nobody is going home. I have at least another five years before I will need to go to
Albany
,
New York
, to finish my thesis. Surely something will break before 2152.

August 31, 2147
– Another six credits! I now have twelve, about one tenth of what I need. But it has been enjoyable!

The dining room manager is ill this week, and I have been helping to count noses as the Clarklians come to take their meals. How strange they look! I have seen various types of Clarklians from afar, of course, but they are infinitely more interesting up close. I usually offer my hand to each Clarklian who enters the vestibule, and sometimes one will take it.

The Drones are the friendliest, I think. They are certainly our most frequent guests. I know they are trying to like us.

September 30, 2147
– A note from Louis today. He is working in
Greensburg
, very close to my house in
Edgewood
. He retired last year from the military as a Chief Warrant Officer with a small monthly stipend.

Louis had no news about Jack. He is paying a private investigator to find him and has, so far, expended more than $5,000. Surely Jack cannot be that difficult to locate now that all orphanage records have been unsealed and all adults are registered in the national database. Even if Louis just submitted a sample of his DNA, the database could find all his siblings and all his nieces and nephews within a few minutes. 

How precious those early days seem now, as I grow older. If only Jack or Louis had children to carry on our place in the progress of humanity! If I had not smothered all my own children, I would not be so anxious for these nieces and nephews.

Mrs. Aperson died childless, and she did not seem to mind. She had her great romance with the Judge and her comfortable old age, with an attentive servant at her command at all hours for a very cheap price.

Ferdy will not die alone, either. Of his seven children I know of, three will certainly help to make sure he is warm and well fed as he grows older. If only he and I could be together!

Perhaps my status as a hostage, universal traveler, and doctoral candidate will elevate me in his eyes. Perhaps I will be a better dinner companion with tales of the frigid Clarkl to entertain his banal society associates. Perhaps all the years on Clarkl will allow my skin to stay pale and young, and he will ignore his aging wife to live with me.

Can he ever think of me as anything but his aunt’s servant, a very handy and accommodating bedfellow? 

So many thoughts today, as I continue bravely with my graduate studies with no assurance I will ever be rescued from this wild and primitive place.

Oscar Wright’s Daily Record

February 27, 2134
– I sent my last volume of entries to
Battle Mountain
,
Nevada
, as instructed to by the company. It is being held in some secret place, far under the earth’s surface.

The terrible rash of lawsuits has somewhat abated, but the company continues to save every scrap of correspondence. Fannies need to be completely covered at all times. Even this minor fanny.

A message on the videorecorder from Lucille. All is well in Folsom. She took the kids up the hill to
Placerville
today to visit an old gold mine.

I wish I could be there with them. We never had much money for little tours when I was a child in
Oakland
, and now that I have the money I can’t find the time.

April 18, 2134
– Still inserting company notes into the voice recording part of this journal and my private thoughts into the sheets, in my own hand.

I admire neat handwriting, and I try to write as tidily as I can. I think a readable signature shows the disposition of an ordered mind and the courtesy of a person who wants to communicate effectively. The great John Hancock taught us all that a readable signature will last for the ages.

The seismic activity in
Sacramento
has been much in the news today. Many scientists are packing up and heading to
California
to set up their instruments.

April 20, 2134
– Most of the
Sacramento
Valley
disappeared today, and my beloveds with it.