Айзек Азимов - Wandering Stars - An Anthology of Jewish Fantasy and Science Fiction

“It sounds fine,” Carmody said. “Except, of course, that you don’t have anyone here to carry on a dialogue with.”

“That is the only flaw in the scheme,” the city admitted. “But for the present, I have you.”

“Yes, you have me,” Carmody said, and wondered why the words rang unpleasantly on his ear.

“And, naturally, you have me,” the city said. “It is a reciprocal relationship, which is the only kind worth having. But now, my dear Carmody, suppose I show you around myself. Then we can get you settled in and regularized.”

“Get me what?”

“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” the city said. “It simply is an unfortunate scientific expression. But you understand, I’m sure, that a reciprocal relationship necessitates obligations on the part of both involved parties. It couldn’t very well be otherwise, could it?”

“Not unless it was a laissez-faire relationship.”

“We’re trying to get away from all that,” Bellwether said. “Laissez-faire becomes a doctrine of the emotions, you know, and leads non-stop to anomie. If you will just come this way….”

Carmody went where he was asked and beheld the excellencies of Bellwether. He toured the power plant, the water filtration center, the industrial park and the light industries section. He saw the children’s park and the Odd Fellow’s Hall. He walked through a museum and an art gallery, a concert hall and a theater, a bowling alley, a billiards parlor, a Go-Kart track and a movie theater. He became tired and wanted to stop. But the city wanted to show itself off, and Carmody had to look at the five-story American Express building, the Portuguese synagogue, the statue of Buckminster Fuller, the Greyhound Bus Station and several other attractions.

At last it was over. Carmody concluded that beauty was in the eye of the beholder, except for a small part of it that was in the beholder’s feet.

“A little lunch now?” the city asked.

“Fine,” Carmody said.

He was guided to the fashionable Rochambeau Cafe, where he began with potage au petit pois and ended with petits fours.

“What about a nice Brie to finish off?” the city asked.

“No, thanks,” Carmody said. “I’m full. Too full, as a matter of fact.”

“But cheese isn’t filling. A bit of first-rate Camembert?”

“I couldn’t possibly.”

“Perhaps a few assorted fruits. Very refreshing to the palate.”

“It’s not my palate that needs refreshing,” Carmody said.

“At least an apple, a pear and a couple of grapes?”

“Thanks, no.”

“A couple of cherries?”

“No, no, no!”

“A meal isn’t complete without a little fruit,” the city said.

“My meal is,” Carmody said.

“There are important vitamins only found in fresh fruit.”

“I’ll just have to struggle along without them.”

“Perhaps half an orange, which I will peel for you? Citrus fruits have no bulk at all.”

“I couldn’t possibly.”

“Not even one quarter of an orange? If I take out all the pits?”

“Most decidedly not.”

“It would make me feel better,” the city said. “I have a completion compulsion, you know, and no meal is complete without a piece of fruit.”

“No! No! No!”

“All right, don’t get so excited,” the city said. “If you don’t like the sort of food I serve, that’s up to you.”

“But I do like it!”

“Then if you like it so much, why won’t you eat some fruit?”

“Enough,” Carmody said. “Give me a couple of grapes.”

“I wouldn’t want to force anything on you.”

“You’re not forcing. Give me, please.”

“You’re quite sure?”

“Gimme!” Carmody shouted.

“So take,” the city said and produced a magnificent bunch of muscatel grapes. Carmody ate them all. They were very good.

“Excuse me,” the city said. “What are you doing?” Carmody sat upright and opened his eyes. “I was taking a little nap,” he said. “Is there anything wrong with that?”

“What should be wrong with a perfectly natural thing like that?” the city said.

“Thank you,” Carmody said, and closed his eyes again.

“But why nap in a chair?” the city asked.

“Because I’m in a chair, and I’m already half asleep.”

“You’ll get a crick in your back,” the city warned him.

“Don’t care,” Carmody mumbled, his eyes still closed.

“Why not take a proper nap? Over here, on the couch?”

“I’m already napping comfortably right here.”

“You’re not really comfortable,” the city pointed out. “The human anatomy is not constructed for sleeping sitting up.”

“At the moment, mine is,” Carmody said.

“It’s not. Why not try the couch?”

“The chair is fine.”

“But the couch is finer. Just try it, please, Carmody. Carmody?”

“Eh? What’s that?” Carmody said, waking up.

“The couch. I really think you should rest on the couch.”

“All right!” Carmody said, struggling to his feet. “Where is this couch?”

He was guided out of the restaurant, down the street, around the corner, and into a building marked “The Snoozerie.” There were a dozen couches. Carmody went to the nearest.

“Not that one,” the city said. “It’s got a bad spring.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Carmody said. “I’ll sleep around it.”

“That will result in a cramped posture.”

“Christ!” Carmody said, getting to his feet. “Which couch would you recommend?”

“This one right back here,” the city said. “It’s a king-size, the best in the place. The yield-point of the mattress has been scientifically determined. The pillows—”

“Right, fine, good,” Carmody said, lying down on the indicated couch.

“Shall I play you some soothing music?”

“Don’t bother.”

“Just as you wish. I’ll put out the lights, then.”

“Fine.”

“Would you like a blanket? I control the temperature here, of course, but sleepers often get a subjective impression of chilliness.”

“It doesn’t matter! Leave me alone!”

“All right!” the city said. “I’m not doing this for myself, you know. Personally, I never sleep.”

“Okay, sorry,” Carmody said.

“That’s perfectly all right.”

There was a long silence. Then Carmody sat up.

“What’s the matter?” the city asked.

“Now I can’t sleep,” Carmody said.

“Try closing your eyes and consciously relaxing every muscle in your body, starting with the big toe and working upward to—”

“I can’t sleep!” Carmody shouted.

“Maybe you weren’t very sleepy to begin with,” the city suggested. “But at least you could close your eyes and try to get a little rest. Won’t you do that for me?”

“No!” Carmody said. “I’m not sleepy and I don’t need a rest.”

“Stubborn!” the city said. “Do what you like. I’ve tried my best.”

“Yeah!” Carmody said, getting to his feet and walking out of the Snoozerie.

Carmody stood on a little curved bridge and looked over a blue lagoon.

“This is a copy of the Rialto bridge in Venice,” the city said. “Scaled down, of course.”

“I know,” Carmody said. “I read the sign.”

“It’s rather enchanting, isn’t it?”

“Sure, it’s fine,” Carmody said, lighting a cigarette.

“You’re doing a lot of smoking,” the city pointed out.

“I know. I feel like smoking.”

“As your medical advisor, I must point out that the link between smoking and lung cancer is conclusive.”