The Best of Science Fiction 12

She screamed once, sharply. But her face was unfrenzied. It seemed impossible that such a sound had uttered from her.

"Who has it now, then?" she asked. Her voice was controlled, but only just. "Who has it?"

"My dear Mrs. Stogumber ... " Hejar found another smile and slipped it on. "Will you not be satisfied if I say that your husband is beyond any inconvenience or pain and that his last thoughts, to my certain knowledge, were of you?"

"No. It is not enough."

"What would you want, Mrs. Stogumber?"

"Ideally, my husband. Or at least, some part of him."

"But he's dead, Mrs. Stogumber. He's gone. He is nothing without the spark of life. Why prolong the parting? Why mess up your pretty dress, Mrs. Stogumber?"

The woman crumpled visibly in the chair. Her shoulders shook and she took in great gulps of air.

"Don't you have any movies of him? No threedees, maybe?"

"He went out after breakfast and I'll never see him again. You — you buzzards chop him up before I can even ... identify him."

The fight for breath became less laboured as tears began to flow. Hejar let her cry, thankful for an escape valve. He wondered what he could say when she came out of it. Evening edged a little closer to night. Her sobs softened to an occasional sniff. She blew her nose and then looked up.

"It usually helps if I explain," began Hejar. "You see, when in 1973, the Central Committee rescinded the Anatomy Act of 1823 and the Burial Act of 1926 ... "

"I've seen you," she said. "All of you. Waiting at busy road junctions, chasing ambulances, trailing feeble old men ... "

Her voice was close to hysteria. He rose, walked round the desk and slapped her hard. She fell silent.

"You might feel different if you understood our mission," he said. "We are not buzzards. We play a vital role. To benefit the living, we make certain adjustments to the dead. Nobody suffers by it. The Salvage of Organs Act of January, 1974, gave us the full power of the legislature. This was tantamount to a declaration that the racket in kidneys and heart valves and limbs that had thrived up to that time was accepted as inevitable and made conventional. We have new thinkers now. Wasting precious sentiment on a pile of gone-off meat was not progressive. Surely you can see that."

The woman took a deep breath. For a moment she teetered on the verge of more weeping. Then she struggled on.

"I accept it in theory," she said. "It seemed to make good sense at the time. Things like that always do when you are not involved ... But I've seen the way you work. You salvage men don't just wait for death — you prompt it. Surely, if you are the public servants you say you are, you shouldn't have to compete with each other."

Hejar swung his feet up on to the desk. Now the situation had resumed a calmer plane, he could pick and choose his words. He clasped his fingers behind his head.

"Now there, admirable Mrs. Stogumber, you have hit upon our problem. This is a living as much as a vocation. I must play as others shape the game. If there is a certain — over-enthusiasm, it is not of my choosing. But I have to absorb it if I am to continue in the practice. As long as there are people who deplore this trend, there is a chance that it will be thrown out. You see, there are so many new people trying to make out. As yet, we have no control over membership. The dignity that once went with this calling ... the pathological training ... Well, you know how it is. You open a door and all manner of undesirables flock through it."

"I'm sorry," she said. "For acting like that, I mean. It was childish of me." She pried a wintry smile.

"I am sorry, too, Mrs. Stogumber, for having to resort to such extreme measures. Your present composure impresses me considerably. Perhaps you find the situation a little easier to accept now."

She smiled again, a little more like autumn now.

"When somebody takes the trouble to explain, it helps," she said.

"The 1974 amendments to the Human Tissues Act of 1961 ... " said Hejar. She stopped him with a raised hand. "Now Mr. Hejar. I fear you are trying to blind me with science."

High summer shaped her lips. Hejar swung his feet off the desk, stood up and came round towards her. "Not at all, my dear lady ... "

But Elsie Stogumber was clear of her chair and through the office door before he could reach her. Her summer was not for Anton Hejar.

Hejar stood on the permanent walkway opposite the gymnasium and made no attempt at concealment. Such intrigue became ludicrous with repetition, particularly when all parties were aware of the charade that was being played out. Now, he did not veil his intentions even out of courtesy.

He was too little of the hypocrite, he told himself, but even in that, he lied. He stood so because he liked to watch Trevnik's dark face as the man noticed him, to see the nostrils flare and the eyes go suddenly wild as if in fear of an old superstition, and then just as suddenly narrow and normal and carefully-averted.

He heard a descending thunder on the stairs. Trevnik must have seen him, given the advantage of darkness looking out on light, because he simply showed his back as he locked the door and started down the street.

In no apparent hurry, Hejar crossed the road and fell into step about twenty yards behind the giant. Today, he saw nothing suspect in the man's gait. Trevnik, presumably, had given up any pretense and walked now only in a way that exhibited the disciplined thrust of hip and leg.

Elsie Stogumber, cramped from her unaccustomed sojourn in the narrow doorway once occupied by Hejar, emerged into the mid-day brilliance and watched the two men down the street.

Berke took a final wheat-germ sandwich and pushed the remaining pile along the bench to Hejar.

Though he had long since ceased to be troubled by his occupation, his appetite had never returned. Each day he prepared more sandwiches than he would eat.

And each day, still feigning surprise at the meeting and hungry from his hunt, plump Hejar joined him on his bench at the leisure zone and waited politely until Berke had shown himself fed to sufficiency and offered him the surplus.

Berke washed his mouth out at the nearby drinking fountain, spat and sat down again.

Hejar chewed, his attention riveted to the children's fun-run, watching for a collision with the spinning chairs or a fall from the helter-skelter.

"We could, perhaps, fill in the loop-holes," said Berke. Hejar grunted.

"The way into this game is too easy," said Berke. "If we study, it is to be eventually better at our job. There is no ruling. It is a labour of love. Amateurs, opportunists can always make inroads. Perhaps we should form a union, or get some recognition from the Central Committee."

Hejar shrugged. He was uninterested in Berke's theorising, his verbal attempts — in his incompetence — to make the living more secure for himself.

"The amount of money the amateurs make, the volume of business we professionals lose is negligible," he said. "What do they get? A relation dies at home. Natural causes. Who pays for natural causes? The bodies are worn out, anyhow. A murder victim is discovered on a rubbish dump in an advanced state of decay. Where's the money in that? No, myself I don't mind who gets the stamp. I can always keep myself well."

In his sudden silence, he indicated his doubt of the other's ability.

"Me, too," said Berke hurriedly. "I was thinking of the less fortunate members of our calling."

Atop the fifty foot slide, a jostled child screamed and clutched with vain fingers at the air. Berke and Hejar moved at speed towards the gathering crowd.

The Minerva no longer pretended that the health foods it served were any more than politely-fashioned simulants or, at best, salvaged from some overgrown delicatessen. But at least the café still retained certain of the musty odours that had once given herb stores an impression of geography contained within three walls and a display window.