The Clarkl Soup Kitchens (4 page)

October 19, 2137
 

Less than a month to go before we arrive. I am very excited.

We learned how to set the tables today, although this will not be one of my responsibilities.

The Clarklians have bought china, flatware, and glassware from all over the universe, and this is used for every meal. On Earth I know God’s poor don’t get fancy china because the kindhearted people who run soup kitchens are certain it will be stolen. This problem never exists on Clarkl.

I once saw an advertisement that asked for money for meals for the poor. A scruffy man was shown eating with a cheap plastic fork. I never was able to support that organization. I think I will feel better about serving food to the Clarklians.

November 9, 2137
 

We land in four hours. I have my sixty pounds of clothes all gathered unto myself, packed away for the unloading.

The classes are over, and I feel much better about presenting myself as a $2,100-per-month cook. I made a passable pie crust about a week ago, and I have not really burned anything in at least a month.

The roommate is still in a snit about something. I pretend to be oblivious to whatever is going on, but I worry that I may have made an enemy without knowing why.

She has said her prayers on her knees by her miniscule bed every night. I have said no prayers since the day Harry was buried, but I don’t really think I owe her any apology.

We are looking forward to three trips around the planet before we land. Each trip will take about an hour, and the captain will play a recorded message to describe what we are seeing. I am very anxious to see the Great Ice Castles that so much has been written about.

November 17, 2137
 

I have been so busy with getting settled that I have neglected my journal.

The landing was glorious! The dry, cold climate was wonderfully refreshing after the months in the spacecraft, and I stretched my arms toward the star.

The Reverend Wade assured me the atmosphere would be very similar to Earth’s, but I am frequently out of breath. Each day I am better able to pace myself.

My little house is very primitive. It is about 250 square feet, with a large all-purpose room and a small room with a sink and a toilet. The tiny bed, not much larger than the one in the spacecraft, is shoved against one wall, and the easy chair is in another corner. I also have a card table with Sunday-School-room chairs, those old wooden folding chairs that frequently break. The floor is a cheap linoleum somebody must have donated; it tends to curl at the edges.

The bathroom offers running water, which I was delighted to find. If I want a shower, though, I have to go down to the main building. I do that just before I go to bed each day.

So far, the roof has held against the winds. I have seen no precipitation. Certainly the nights are very cold, and I am happy we have the electric blankets, as advertised.

The day is just about an hour longer than at home. I am almost used to the new clock, and I have stopped awaking too early. Like a baby learning to sleep, I guess.

The complex has one large building and dozens of little houses for us workers. The large building faces the road, and our guests enter and leave by its front doors. Then, a sturdy fence surrounds the little houses, attached to the large building at its rear corners.

The large building is a huge dining room in front and a large kitchen in back. Separating these is the cafeteria line, and the guests can see the Earthlings and the Earthlings can see the guests.

I am still trying to get all the types straight. I have never seen a Monarch, but I can tell a Drone at fifty paces. These Drones are tall and thin, with faces that look as if they have been bashed in from both sides. They, like all Clarklians, have no hair. I understand they are wild about copulating, even though they are sterile.

The Drones are my favorites, so far. They are very pleasant, unlike nearly every other Clarklian. When I meet one on the serving line, he (?) always smiles and sometimes bows.

The work is long and hard. I am getting used to it.

We start very early to prepare the first meal, and the doors open just as the star comes over the horizon. Usually we prepare oatmeal and serve it with a pineapple sauce. This is a great favorite with our guests, and we never have any left over. Sometimes, though, we prepare a sloppy type of Cream of Wheat and serve that with maple syrup. This is not as popular. With the first meal we have a kind of tea native to Clarkl. Water, which is very plentiful on all parts of this planet, is also served.

We rarely see any children. The Clarklians are very careful not to allow their youngsters to starve, and they themselves feed the children in groups. Our guests are the society’s dregs, entities who are unable or unwilling to work.

We tend to make large batches of cooked food and store much of what we make for later. However, we are not allowed to turn anybody away if we have food to serve, so sometimes we have to quickly pull stored food from the enormous freezers or from the shelves of canned goods.

The number of meals served per day has steadily risen over the last two years, according to our excellent manager. She knows, also, that the dining room managed by the Fundamentalists has not seen this increase in volume.

I started with vegetable stock, and, after I had filled the freezer with many gallons, the manager moved me to breads. I have been on the bread team for about a week. On this team we use enormous mixers with kneading attachments. The dried yeast comes from Earth, getting here just a few weeks before its expiration date. How nice the kitchen smells while the many loaves of bread are baking!

Again I have developed a reputation for hard work and little skill. Each day I feel better about my contribution.

December 25, 2137
 

We have only an approximation of the Earth date here, but we celebrated Christmas today.

The natives smiled when they first saw the trimmed tree, a grapefruit bush in a barrel about five feet high. Each of us made a decoration from paper or plastic food wrap, and the variety of several hundred Santas and stars was quite a sight! The farmers came into the dining room an hour early today to help with the decorating, which took about twenty minutes, and to take their meal before moving onto the fields and the greenhouses.

We sang a few songs together and then put on a tape of carols for the natives to hear at breakfast.

We have no presents except messages from family and friends on Earth. Susan remains guarded and the twins are enjoying their third year at college.

My routine is very much established now, and the weeks are flying by. I have learned to breathe the atmosphere without my earlier problems, and I know the strength in my arms has increased significantly.

Tuesday is my day off. For each other day of the week, I continue to rise very early and work until about two hours before it is time to go to bed. We are encouraged to take two one-hour breaks during the day for meals, and I take mine just after we have served the large crowd at breakfast and lunch.

We have food available on the buffet line during all the daylight hours, starting with the breakfast service and ending with the dinner offerings. Sometimes we see the same entities four or five times during the day.

Cabbage is very abundant now. We are making soup (not very good) and spring rolls (better). In the last week I have helped to put over 20,000 spring rolls into the freezer.

The natives have their favorites, of course. Cabbage is not among them, but they will eat the spring rolls if they are served with our pineapple sauce.

In three weeks, the early corn will be ready, and all days off may be canceled for several weeks until we get it canned.

A Christmas note from the real estate people. I have made progress toward getting my house paid off, and all county taxes are paid for the year.

Saving money is easy here. My meals are free and my little hut is free. Our coverall uniforms are laundered free. The only expenses I have are toiletries at the commissary, a set of shelves in the storeroom. I have spent under $50 each month at the commissary. There is nothing to buy for gifts, but the nearby village has a market day about once a month where handmade items are sold. I have a promise from our manager that I may have a few hours to go to the market in April.

Still very little news from the Fundamentalists. Their productivity number continues to drop, according to the manager. They did not receive a bonus last month for extra meals from the American government, even though we exceeded our plan easily.

There is no love affair here at the compound, as far as I can tell. The men keep to their little houses, and so do we. Everybody is working about fourteen hours a day, so romance may not be as desirable as sleep.

I borrowed a tape measure from the office several weeks ago so I could determine the actual size of my hut. It is 160 square feet, about 10 feet wide and 16 feet long. Tucked into a corner is the half bath at 4 feet wide and 6 feet long. The ceiling is about 6 feet high at the sides and about 10 feet high in the center. The roof appears to be made of something like tar paper, and the sides of the house are made from the native woods. There is a window at each end.

Inside my hut are several serviceable lamps, clearly taken from somebody’s garage sale.

I have everything I need to sustain life but nothing to make life enjoyable. If I keep working day after day, the rest of the time will pass quickly.

December 25, 2138
 

I’ll take up my journal today, after a year of silence.

Another Christmas here in this unfriendly land. How I wish I could see the patchy lawn at our house. The land here is barren and almost gray, so foreign to an Ohioan. Even the most prized vegetation here would be thrown on the weed pile at home.

Except for our farms, of course. What a wonderful year this has been for our farmers, with great success with pumpkins and peas.

The manager asked me to help with the development of a pumpkin stew, thinking, perhaps, if I can cook it, it will be nearly foolproof. We added this to the serving line almost right away, to great appreciation from the Clarklians.

I’m almost ready to like the Batwigs. We see so few of them, though. They always have a Monarch parent, and many of them live in the royal compound. The ones we have seen appear to be better dressed and better cared for than our good friends the Drones.

The Batwigs are short and very, very thin. They have enormous heads, even larger than the large head of every other Clarklian. They command respect when they walk into the dining room; the Drones and nearly everybody else motion them to the front of the line. They certainly never smile at me or anybody else in our kitchen, although I have seen them smile at their fellow Clarklians from time to time.

We put up the grapefruit tree again in a token nod to our great religious celebration. We had all the decorations from last year, and somebody from
America
sent us some lights to string around the dining room.

This year, we put our best dishes on the serving line. These are the ones the Clarklians like best: corn pudding, mashed potatoes, green beans, candied yams, and pumpkin pie. We served English Breakfast tea from Earth along with the usual Clarklian brew, and we found a few of our guests were taking seconds on that.

Three Drones, our regulars, brought gifts, strange decorations for the tree made from platinum and rolled in diamond chips. The manager came out in front of the serving line to receive these, with much applause from our side and many smiles from the Drones. She put them in the most visible places on the tree. If I had one of these to sell at an
Albany
auction house, I could pay all Harry’s debts and go home.

I am about to become a grandmother. Susan says her first baby is due in March, after several years of Susan’s not being able to conceive. It breaks my heart that I cannot be there to help and to hold the little girl in my arms. Rigel has agreed to go to
Canada
for two months in my stead.

Work goes on as before, exhausting and exhilarating at the same time. I have no complaints about my strength or my health, so I work for nearly fourteen hours six days a week.

I like the other people in the Congregation’s work group. Everyone is warm and helpful. The farmers sometimes have clashes, but the kitchen staff is a very good team. We have never opened the serving line late, and we have never run out of food.

In April I went to the market, several miles away. I took about $100 in the local money, but I found nothing I wanted to buy at any price. All the artistic items were poorly made or not very interesting, and all the household goods were very well worn. I think the best I can do is to continue to take photographs of our kitchen and dining room to send to my family. Other souvenirs may be available near the spaceport in Gilsumo when I leave.

My little hut has a new roof, required after the rainy season eroded the tarish stuff. Actually, nearly every building in the compound was reroofed this year, thanks to a gift from the American government. Again, we served more meals than we had agreed to serve, and our bonus came in the form of roofing materials. Those who had hoped for more money, such as I, were at least given some useful reward.