Philip Dick - Martian Time-Slip

I wish I was dead, she said to herself.

“Goodbye, Silvia,” Otto said hurriedly as he started toward the front door, “I will call you.”

She did not answer; she concentrated on putting on her shoes.

“Aren’t you going to say goodbye?” he asked, pausing at the bedroom door.

Shooting a glance at him she said, “No. And get out of here. Don’t ever come back--I hate you, I really do.”

He shrugged. “Why?”

“Because,” she said, with perfect logic, “you’re a horrible person. I never had anything to do with a person like you before. I must be out of my mind, it must be the loneliness.”

He seemed genuinely hurt. Flushed red, he hung around at the doorway of the bedroom. “It was as much your idea as mine,” he mumbled finally, glaring at her.

“Go away,” she said, turning her back to him.

At last the front door opened and shut. He had gone.

Never, never again, Silvia said to herself. She went to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and got down her bottle of phenobarbital; hastily pouring herself a glass of water, she took 150 milligrams, gulping them down and gasping.

I shouldn’t have been so mean to him, she realized in a flash of conscience. It wasn’t fair; it wasn’t really his fault, it was mine. If I’m no good, why blame him? If it hadn’t been him it would have been someone else, sooner or later.

She thought, Will he ever come back? Or have I driven him off forever? Already she felt lonely, unhappy and completely at a loss once more, as if she were doomed to drift in a hopeless vacuum for ever and ever.

He was actually very nice, she decided. Gentle and considerate. I could have done a lot worse.

Going into the kitchen, she seated herself at the table, picked up the telephone, and dialed June Henessy’s number.

Presently June’s voice sounded in her ear. “Hello?”

Silvia said, “Guess what.”

“Tell me.”

“Wait’ll I light a cigarette.” Silvia Bohlen lit a cigarette, got an ashtray, moved her chair so that she was comfortable, and then, with an infinitude of detail, plus a little essential invention at critical points, she told her.

To her surprise she found the telling to be as enjoyable as the experience itself.

Perhaps even a bit more so.

Flying back across the desert to his base in the F.D.R. Mountains, Otto Zitte ruminated on his assignation with Mrs. Bohlen and congratulated himself; he was in a good mood, despite Silvia’s not unnatural fit of remorse and accusation just as he was leaving.

You have to expect that, he advised himself.

It had happened before; true, it always upset him, but that was one of the odd little tricks typical of a woman’s mind: there always came a point when they had to sidestep reality and start casting blame in all directions, toward anyone and anything handy.

He did not much care; nothing could rob him of the memory of the happy time which the two of them had engaged in.

So now what? Back to the field to have lunch, rest up, shave, shower and change his clothes. . . . There would still be time enough to start out once more on an authentic selling trip with nothing else in mind this time but pure business itself.

Already, he could see the ragged peaks of the mountains ahead; he would soon be there.

It seemed to him that he saw a plume of ugly gray smoke drifting up from the mountains directly ahead.

Frightened, he stepped up the velocity of the ‘copter. No doubt of it; the smoke rose at or near his field. They found me! he said to himself with a sob. The UN--they wiped me out and they’re waiting for me. But he went on anyhow; he had to know for sure.

Below lay the remains of his field. A smoking, rubblestrewn ruin. He circled aimlessly, crying openly, tears spilling down his cheeks. There was no sign of the UN, however, no military vehicles or soldiers.

Could an incoming rocket have exploded?

Quickly, Otto landed the ‘copter; on foot he ran across the hot ground, toward the debris that had been his storage shed.

As he reached the signal tower of the field he saw, pinned to it, a square of cardboard.

ARNIE KOTT DOESN’T LIKE WHAT YOU STAND FOR

Again and again he read it, trying to understand it. Arnie Kott--he was just getting ready to call on him--Arnie had been Norb’s best customer. What did this mean? Had he already provided poor service to Arnie, or how else had he made Arnie mad? It didn’t make sense--what had he done to Arnie Kott to deserve this?

Why? Otto asked. What did I do to you? Why have you destroyed me?

Presently he made his way over to the shed, hoping beyond hope that some of the stocks could be salvaged, hoping to find something among the remains. .

There were no remains. The stock had been taken; he saw no single can, glass jar, package, or bag. The litter of the building itself, yes, but only that. Then they--those who had dropped the bomb--had come in first and pilfered the stock.

You bombed me, Arnie Kott, and you stole my goods, Otto said, as he wandered in a circle, clenching and unclenching his fists and darting glances of rage and frenzy up at the sky.

And still he did not understand why.

There has to be a reason, he said to himself. And I will find it out; I will not rest, goddamn you, Arnie Kott, until I know. And when I find out I will get you. I will pay you back for what you did.

He blew his nose, snuffled, dragged himself back to his ‘copter with slow steps, seated himself inside, and stared ahead for a long, long time.

At last he opened one of the suitcases. From it he took the .22-caliber pistol; he sat holding it on his lap, thinking about Arnie Kott.

To Arnie Kott, Heliogabalus said, “Mister, excuse me for disturbing you. But if you are ready I will explain to you what you must do.”

Delighted, Arnie stopped at his desk. “Fire away.”

With a sad and haughty expression on his face, Helio said, “You must take Manfred out into the desert and cross, on foot, to the Franklin Delano Roosevelt Mountains. There your pilgrimage must end when you bring the boy to Dirty Knobby, the Rock which is sacred to the Bleekmen. Your answer lies there, when you have introduced the boy to Dirty Knobby.”

Wagging his finger at the tame Bleekman, Arnie said slyly, “And you told me it was a fraud.” He had felt all the time that there was something to the Bleekman religion. Helio had tried to deceive him.

“At the sanctuary of the rock you must commune. The spirit which animates Dirty Knobby will receive your collective psyches and perhaps if it is merciful, it will grant what you request.” Helio added, “It is in actuality the capacity within the boy which you must depend on. The rock alone is powerless. However, it is as follows: time is weakest at that spot where Dirty Knobby lies. Upon that fact the Bleekmafl has prevailed for centuries.”

“I see,” Arnie said. “A sort of puncture in time. And you guys get at the future through it. Well, it’s the past I’m interested in, now, and frankly this all sounds fishy to me. But I’ll try it. You’ve told me so many different yarns about that rock--“

Helio said, “What I said before is true. Alone, Dirty Knobby could have done nothing for you.” He did not cringe; he met Arnie’s gaze.

“You think Manfred will cooperate?”

“I have told him of the rock and he is excited at the idea of seeing it. I said that, in that place, one might escape backward into the past. That idea enthralls him. However--“ Helio paused. “You must repay the boy for his effort.”

“You can offer him something of priceless value. . . . Mister, you can banish the specter of AM-WEB from his life forever. Promise him that you will send him back to Earth. Then no matter what becomes of him, he will never see the interior of that abominable building. If you do that for him, he will turn all his mental powers in your behalf.”