Philip Dick - Mary And The Giant

The next ballad came almost at once. Now he was bleating about old-age pensions. That was followed by a spirited ditty about the FBI, then one about genetics, and finally an involved, rollicking jingle concerning the H-bomb.

"... And if Mao Tse-tung makes trouble we will blow the world to rubble ... "

Irritably, she wondered who cared about Mao Tse-tung. Who was he; wasn't he head of Communist China?

"... I'll be lying in the ruin while disarmament is brewin'..."

Closing her ears against the racket, she wandered entirely out of the living room, into one of the gloomy bedrooms. Sitting on the edge of the bed-Beth's bed, from the looks of it-she prepared to endure the remainder of Lemming's routine. The title of the song, announced with much elaboration and fanfare, still dinned in her ears.

"What This Country Needs Is a Good Five-Cent H-bomb."

It failed to make sense. It had no meaning. Her mind reverted, instead, to prior thoughts. To the strong, dark presence of Carleton Tweany; and, drifting behind it, memories of the incident at the music shop, the large old man in his tweed suit. First striding about with his silver cane ... then the pressure of his fingers as he took hold of her arm.

Gradually she became aware that the singing had died. Guiltily, she climbed to her feet and found her way back into the living room. Beth had disappeared into the kitchen for more drinks; Danny Coombs was off sulking in the corner, leaving Nitz and Lemming together.

"Who writes your stuff?" Nitz was asking.

"I do," Lemming said shyly. Now that he wasn't immersed in his act, he seemed to be a tame college freshman in a sports coat and slacks. Setting down his guitar, he removed his glasses and polished them on his sleeve. "I tried to do gag writing down in L.A., but I didn't click. They said I wasn't commercial. Apparently my material was too pointed."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-seven."

"That old? You don't look that old."

Lemming laughed. "I graduated from Cal back in '48, in chemistry. For a while I worked up at the Project-" He explained: "The radiation lab. I could still work there, I guess. They never took away my clearance. But I prefer to keep moving around ... I guess I never grew up."

"Is there any loot in this stuff?" Nitz asked.

"None that I'm aware of."

"Can you make a living?"

"Maybe so," Lemming said. "I hope so."

Nitz was puzzled. "A guy like you-you have an education, you could work at a big research project. But you want to bum around with this. You enjoy it? It's worth that much to you in terms of personal satisfaction?"

"These are troubled times," Lemming murmured, and Mary Anne lost the balance of it in words as well as thought. His talk, like his singing, made no sense. But Nitz was muttering away, asking the man questions, digging out answers. His interest was a mystery ... she gave up and dismissed the subject.

"You never told us your name," Beth said, approaching her with a fresh drink.

Mary Anne declined the drink. She did not like the woman, and for good reason. But she felt an unhappy respect: Beth had gone directly after Tweany, and her obvious mastery left the girl participating out of her depth. "What's the matter with him?" she said, meaning Lemming. "Nothing at all, probably. But he's so-silly. Maybe it's me. I'm out of place here."

"Don't go," Beth said with condescension.

"I might as well. How long have you known Schilling?"

"Five or six years."

"What's he like?" She did want to find out, and Beth evidently knew.

"That depends," Beth said. "We had a lot of fun together. Years ago, when you were-" She measured the girl, until Mary Anne became offended. "Oh, about fourteen."

"He must have money, to open that store."

"Oh, yes. Joe has money. Not a lot, but enough for what he wants."

"What does he want?"

"Joe is a very thoughtful man. He's also a lonely man. In spite of everything-" She smiled her fixed smile- "I have the highest regard for his taste and intellect. He's highly educated; he's charming in an old-fashioned way. He's a gentleman. . most of the time, at least. He knows a great deal about the music business."

"Then why isn't he running a big record company, like RCA?"

"Haven't you ever met a record collector?"

"No," Mary Anne admitted.

"Joe is where he always wanted to be: he's finally got a little store of his own where he has plenty of time to talk records, touch records, live records."

"He'll stay here, then?"

"Certainly. He's looked for this for years--a peaceful town, off the mainstream, where he can settle down. He's getting old; he wants to retire somewhere. He used to keep himself in the middle of things, running around to parties, concerts, social gatherings, traveling here and there. I suppose that's over ... I don't know. He's always had a strong need for people; he's never liked being alone. He's not a naturally solitary person. He likes to talk and share his experiences. That keeps him reaching out ... he can't be content."

"He sounds wonderful," Mary Anne said caustically.

"You don't sound convinced."

"I almost went to work for him."

"In many ways," Beth said, "it's hard for us to judge Joe Schilling. I once believed he was-well, ruthless."

"And he's not?"

"His needs are so strong. He hits you with such an impact."

"You didn't answer my question."

"I don't see why I should. Maybe some other time."

"Would it make a difference if I told you that something did happen in the store?"

"I know something happened. And I have a good idea what it was. Remember, you and I are the same age ... we have similar problems. Similar experiences."

"You're twenty-nine," Mary Anne said reflectively. "I'm twenty. You're nine years older than I am."

Pained, Beth said: "But for all intents and purposes we're in the same group."

Subjecting the woman to her calm, pitiless scrutiny, Mary Anne said: "Would you help me pick out a bra sometime? I don't want to look so thin. I wish I had a good bustline, like yours."

"You poor kid," Beth said. She shook her head. "You just don't know what it's all about."

"I would, very much," Lemming was saying enthusiastically, "Here, you mean?"

"No," Nitz answered, "we'll have to go over there. It's been arranged by higher powers." He inspected his wristwatch. "He's probably home by now."

"I've heard a lot about him," Lemming said.

Rousing himself from his lethargy, Coombs protested, "The point escapes me. What are we going over there for?"

"Don't be a pill," Beth said.

"I don't want to see him. None of us want to see him. Just you."

"I'd sort of like to," Lemming said. "It might be a good thing professionally."

"It's almost two in the morning," Coombs said. "I'm ready for bed."

"Just for a while," Beth said, unrelenting. "Go get your camera-be a good boy. We told him we'd show up; he asked us to."

Coombs snickered. "He asked us?" He located his camera and tugged the strap on. "You mean, you asked him. The same old business-only this is the first one with a touch of the, tarbrush. What's the matter, are you tired of-"

"Shut up," Beth said, walking away. "We're going; we said we'd go. Stop acting like a neurotic."

"I'm warning you," Coombs said. "If we go over there, no monkey business. You behave."

"Christ," Beth said.

"I mean it."

"Sure, you mean it," Beth said. "You always mean it. Come on," she said to Nitz and Mary Anne. "There's no point in sticking around here. She waved Lemming toward the door. "That's right, Chad. Just turn the knob."

Resignedly, Mary Anne had begun searching for her coat. "I'll show you how to get there," she murmured.

"Why, how sweet," Beth said with a lingering smile. "How very sweet of you, dear."