The Clarkl Soup Kitchens (19 page)

July 30, 2134
– The company is essentially in bankruptcy. The directors had assumed about half the life insurance liability, and the claims have now exceeded the last fifteen years of income.

The other half of the liability has been assigned to several large insurance carriers, but they have thrown in the towel, too.

“Each individual is being sent a proposal,” the president said. “Your proposal will be available in early September, but I want to tell you now that the claims far exceed anybody’s assets. Even the federal government cannot cover these claims.”

Meaning, I guess, that the feds are not planning to pay Californians for their high-priced real estate, now under the water.

My own situation is complicated by the fact that my parents and my in-laws were insured, too, and I am the only living beneficiary. Adding all this up was difficult, but my current estimate of the value of my inheritance is $4,750,000. Lucille was insured for $3,000,000, making up the greatest part of my tally. The kids were covered for $500,000 each. My two parents and my two in-laws added on much smaller numbers to my total.

I’ll never see any of it.

August 3, 2134
– On to
Cincinnati
. The people of
Springfield
and their neighbors were certainly generous, and I wrote more orders per day than I have ever written before. I’m not sure how much of this is a feeling of sympathy over the loss of the
California
plant and how much is my own energetic sales techniques.

The president doesn’t want me to hurry back. His secretary continues to pay my travel expenses expeditiously, so I am very comfortable. The orders flow to the warehouse every evening, and they appear on the president’s sales reports the next morning.

I have returned to my pre-earthquake habits. Did you hear the one about the traveling salesman and the farmer’s daughter? I can stay celibate just so long.

Actually, the kitchens of the hotels and restaurants are excellent places to meet dates. Some women want a good man for a stable relationship, and others want somebody who will flatter them for a few hours. Luckily for me, the latter kind seem to be attracted to the hospitality professions. A nice dinner and a bouquet of roses from the florist the next day.

One rule for the married philanderer is to never date the same woman twice. I have never broken that rule, not even now that I am a widower.

August 16, 2134
– I dipped down yesterday into
Kentucky
to call on customers in
Lexington
. The woman who has the territory wanted me to try to open the doors at three select hotels. I wrote some orders but not enough to pay me to leave my own customers. Back to
Ohio
tomorrow.

A call today from
Warren
,
Pennsylvania
, for more stock. If I hadn’t holed up there, I never would have been able to sell to that customer. At last, a small silver lining to my terrible cloud.

August 27, 2134
– Just over the
Indiana
border now, headed toward
Indianapolis
.

September 3, 2134
– I received my statement from the president. The company and its insurers will pay me $103,550.

It is time to look elsewhere for employment.

September 7, 2134
– Still in
Indiana
, writing orders. The sympathy of these people exceeds that of the Buckeyes.

These customers have caused diners to become addicted to the wild rice flour, in pancakes, muffins, and rolls. They are ordering enormous quantities now, to store until the wild rice fields are producing again. The price cannot hold for much longer.

September 10, 2134
– A call today to the priest in
Warren
to find out more about the Clarkl business. I sent him my résumé, and he will send it along to the people who run the project.

I would be a government employee. This is the same government that cannot bail out
California
. Can I expect that government to pay my salary?

September 14, 2134
– The New Christian Congregation has sent me an offer. A yearly salary of $60,000, tax free, with room and board provided. I need to stay for at least ten years.

This offer is good for ninety days. That will give me enough time to get the gravestone in place in
Fresno
and negotiate with my current employer. My spacecraft leaves on
February 15, 2135
.

I feel like a motherless child. I have no ties to anybody now. My heart is in heaven, but I have to serve my time here or in Clarkl.

February 20, 2135
– A tiny, tiny single cabin on this enormous craft, one deck from the bottom. The shower is very small, too, and I have to step out to turn around.

Plenty of water, though. The craft makes water all the time.

I was amazed the president made a counter offer, but one that did not include any increase in my insurance settlement. “Can’t change the payout,” he said. “Too many others would be knocking on my door.”

It would not surprise me if half his sales staff left over the next year. A company that does not live up to its commitments to its employees soon finds the good people looking for other opportunities. The poor performers, of course, just dig in and spend their time complaining at the water cooler.

There was nobody to say goodbye at the spaceport, though. All the family has gone home to Jesus, and I need to find a new life for myself.

I am assigned to the first-class galley. I have responsibility for breakfast, although anything on the menu can be ordered on my shift. I have been using our wild rice flour in muffins, and people are asking for the recipe.

The pantry contains a complete selection of our products. I feel very comfortable.

March 3, 2135
– I am becoming more excited about my adventure. The people on this craft are either seasoned universal travelers with lots of money or middle-class Christians who are expecting a life-changing experience. Everyone I talk to is just crazy to get to Clarkl.

The captain takes all meals in our dining room. He has a very fixed daily schedule, and I am getting used to it. During my shift, he has a light tea and, a few hours later, a glass of wine with some mixed hors d’oeuvres. He usually has some elderly couple at his table, regaling them with his travel stories. One of the desks in the lounge has a monitor with his complete slide show, and everybody in first class has seen it.

These people are very nice, I think. The dress code here is not what you would see on a premier sailing vessel, so there is no fashion show at dinner. Instead, people are dressing comfortably throughout the day.

April 7, 2135
– Still enjoying the voyage. I am working every day, with no day off, but I had expected that. The headwaiter is very helpful with suggesting things I already have prepared, and getting through the shift is now easy. The scullery help is thorough, and it is good to have everything in place at all times.

We have plenty of lettuce growing in the kitchen garden, something I was surprised to see. One robot chops vegetables and another cleans lettuce. These creatures work nearly full time. When I need carrots or celery of a certain size, it takes the robot about ten seconds before my request is fulfilled. I just say, “Half cup carrot julienne,” and it is quickly on my worktable. 

Not much action in the bedroom, though. The good Christians need to be courted for weeks, and the first-class passengers are off limits. One woman, married to an old duffer, indicated she was interested, but I had to refuse. No use getting into trouble when there are so many weeks left to go.

May 5, 2135
– Only a month until we land in Clarkl. Still hoping for some romance, but nothing looks promising.

I wish I had been a better husband. That’s my only regret about my life prior to the great quake. I was unfaithful and really not very generous. If I had known the time was so short, maybe I would stayed closer to home. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of bouquets of roses I took home. I can’t count on the fingers of one hundred hands the number of bouquets of roses I sent to various one-night stands.

All those faces have disappeared, now. Each woman has become much like the others, with the flashy smiles and the short skirts and the heavy perfume.

I never allowed myself to take an interest in the shy, elegant ones. There was too much to lose.

I told myself I had never been unfaithful to Lucille. What I really meant was that I never found any woman who had caused me to regret my marriage vows. That was my definition of fidelity.

June 7, 2135
– We landed two days ago in the capital, Gilsumo, a collection of small houses with the monarch’s compound on the hill. I am amazed this place is so primitive. I had expected a certain level of sophistication from a species that builds spacecrafts.

Instead, each house is essentially a few square feet surrounded by thirty-inch walls. Each entity is assigned to one of these houses according to its status.

Our frequent guests are the Drones, and they appear to be at the bottom of the totem pole. I understand they are sterile, so they don’t reproduce generation after generation of hangers on. They do no work. They just gather together for their own amusement and come to our dining rooms.

There was no time to acclimate myself to this atmosphere. The place was without a chef since one died and the other left on the same spacecraft that brought me.

Already I am in charge in the kitchen. The manager sticks to the stockroom and the dining room, and everybody in the kitchen looks eagerly toward me for instructions.

These kitchen workers are all good churchwomen, of a certain age. I see them, in my mind’s eye, bringing covered dishes of macaroni and cheese to church suppers and pressing the inevitable leftovers onto their friends. I do not see them as suitable kitchen staff for a high-volume, five-star restaurant. They have one speed, and asking them to move their tails a little faster is not an option.

The lettuce-cleaning robot is here, too. How I admire it! The farmers bring produce each morning, always including about four dozen heads of iceberg lettuce, and the churchwomen place the lettuce in the robot’s input refrigerated unit. Then, the robot starts its work, moving a head into a contraption in its center that removes the outer leaves, pares out the core, and breaks the head into individual leaves. Next, the robot washes and completely dries each individual leaf, much better than any salad chef I have ever worked with. Finally, the robot waits for an order for lettuce before it carefully tears each leaf into bite-sized pieces.

One churchwoman is clearly in charge of the robot. She empties its waste and makes sure its water hoses are free of dirt. She speaks to it in a soft, loving voice.

June 22, 2135
– My cabin is the best of the lot here. It was vacated by the chef who went home, and he had a certain flair for interior decoration.

I wish it were warmer, but I need to get used to wearing several layers of clothes at home. The small bathroom has only a sink and a toilet, but it can be heated to about sixty degrees. When the temperature is really cold, I sit on the throne and read.

When I am in bed, I have my nose out above the covers, and that’s all. The electric blanket is on the highest setting all the time, around the clock.

The kitchen and the staff lounge are always warm. Next to the lounge is a room for showers, and the water there is always hot. Many people stay in the lounge until they need to go to the cabins for sleep. There is always a card game in the lounge, but no money ever changes hands.

Two churchwomen are in charge of the kitchen laundry, and I have a clean uniform as often as I want one. I brought ten toques from the
California
Culinary
Academy
, and these are always neatly cleaned and ironed.

The good thing about working fourteen hours a day is that you forget you aren’t getting any.

September 14, 2135
– I am getting used to this terrible cold, and I think my colleagues in the dining hall are getting used to me.

I have had seven sexual encounters with various churchwomen, all from other dining establishments within forty miles of this place. All these women are older than I, but I have so little to select from otherwise. There are no florists here to visit, but I don’t think that is necessary after these assignations.

Clearly these women are interested and they go out of their way to make themselves known to me. Mostly I meet them when I go into the capital on my day off. I think there is some information network that alerts women to my travels because these meet-by-chance incidents are too frequent.

Nevertheless, it is what is here for me now. Gone are the days of the floozies and their incessant giggles. Now I am the escort of hungry older women with money in the bank.

No fancy stuff here. Slam, bam. Missionary position only. Undress in the dark. Sometimes a lighted candle. Sometimes a fancy bustier. Sometimes some Chanel perfume from a very old bottle. Always a request for a repeat performance.