David Ohle - The Old Reactor

I’ve had no luck in getting access to your aunt’s maintenance funds. But I won’t dwell on that right now. Instead, I’ll tell you, I’ve rented out a room to a jellyhead mason in exchange for repairing the crumbling wall on the north side. He is a nice sort, very quiet and reserved, but works hard. And the best part is he has a friend who knows a bit about plumbing. I’m thinking of renting another room to him on the same terms .

That cesspool forming in the yard is getting a lot of complaints from the few neighbors who haven’t left for the countryside. There is a kind of mild, measured panic here as we anticipate the coming liberation .

Anyway, I hope is all well with you and that you can soon return to take up the cause again.

Ozzie

At Saposcat’s, the breakfast special was meal with fried kerd. “Perfect,” Moldenke told the waitress. “What could be better for my stomach? I’ll have the special.”

Salmonella’s lips pruned. “Kerd I like. I’ll vomit if I eat meal.”

“There are other things,” Moldenke said. “Get what you want. You’re going to the Home today. Enjoy these few hours outside.”

“I’ll have the fried kerd, a plate of mud fish, and a bottle of green soda.”

“Be back with that in a minute.”

Salmonella pouted and kicked Moldenke’s leg lightly. “You promise?”

“Promise what?”

“That you’ll take me back to Bunkerville when you go. Maybe my mother’s there. Maybe I’ll find her.”

“I’m not going to promise anything. I could be sent back to Bunkerville any day anyway. I’m indeterminate. If you were my ward we’d have to say goodbye then and you’d be all on your own.”

“Is Bunkerville free? Is it liberated?”

“Not yet. You don’t want to go there.”

“Are there apple trees in Bunkerville with apples to pick?”

“I’ve never seen one.”

“Have you ever eaten an apple?”

“I know all about them from pictures.”

“Take me to Bunkerville. I’ll grow the trees myself. Promise me right now you’ll take me to Bunkerville.”

“There are still laws there and police. For a free person like you, it would be a jail sentence.”

“What’s a jail?”

“You’re locked up in a small room with metal doors.”

“Why?”

“For killing someone, for example. Stealing, cheating, fraud, the list goes on and on.”

“Oh. That’s pretty stupid.”

“They’re not free yet,” Moldenke said. “They’re still trying to control things, to keep order or something. They don’t want a chaotic situation.”

Moldenke was served a bowl of meal and a side dish of kerd. He tucked right into the pasty mash with a spoon. Salmonella ate her mud fish from the head down — gills, bones, innards and fins. By the time she had finished, her gums were bleeding. She said, “Take me to the Home. I’m ready.”

It was late in the evening when Moldenke and Salmonella arrived by streetcar at the Home. A lamp burned in a mud brick kiosk near the gate post. A Sister sat inside reading the City Moon and smoking a Julep.

Moldenke said, “All right, Salmonella. I wish you the best. Go on to the Sister.”

Salmonella took one step down and turned. “Don’t leave Altobello without me. We’ll go to Bunkerville, and when I’m ready we’ll mate, we’ll have some children, and we’ll grow apples.”

The prospect of that happening seemed extremely remote to Moldenke, so he simply smiled and gave Salmonella an ambiguous nod. As the car pulled away, he watched her until she had explained things to the Sister and was headed toward the gate to the commons.

Dear Ozzie ,

To get the maintenance money, you must go to the First Bunkerville Bank and tell them you are the appointed custodian of the house. If they ask for documentation or proof of any kind, see my aunt’s attorney. His name is McPhail and he has an office on Broad Street. It’s only a few blocks up Esplanade. I will write him and tell him you are to be the tenant and the responsible party when it comes to maintenance. You say all is well, but the things you list are alarming. Please take care of them as soon as possible. I am deeply concerned .

As far as taking up the cause, I’m not sure liberation is the best thing for Bunkerville. I’ll postpone judgment on that .

Your friend,

Moldenke

Moldenke, relieved that Salmonella was no longer around, had a yen for bear claw the next morning and caught the Arden car going to the Quarter. The car’s windows were open to cool, pleasant breezes and the sun shone brightly. There were even a few blooming crepe myrtles along the route. Things seemed quite mild and relaxing until the car stopped at the entrance to the Quarter for the usual boarding and inspection. A guard got on the car and walked up and down the aisle looking suspiciously at the passengers. Sometimes he would stop and bend over until his face was inches from theirs. When he came to Moldenke’s seat, he did just that. “Got yourself squirted, eh?”

“Yeah, it’s not too bad, but it still stings and burns and itches sometimes.”

“They tell me people are starting to swim in that pond out by the Old Reactor. They say the heavy water heals those deformations better than anything.”

“All right. I might try that.”

“I’ll tell you, if I ever get deformed, look for me in that pond.”

Sensing that the guard was not as gruff as he appeared, Moldenke said, “Say, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, fire away.”

“When you board the car and you stare at everyone, what exactly are you looking for?”

“Nothing, it’s just for show. I enjoy doing it. I like people to remember what it was like before the liberation.”

“I’m new here. I didn’t know.”

“People forget what it was like. So I developed this act and they let me do it. Everybody gets a kick out of it.”

“Thanks for the information.”

“You bet. Welcome to the Quarter.”

Moldenke got off at the stop nearest Big Ernie’s and saw a tobacconist’s kiosk with a rusty Julep sign. “You’re in luck,” the tobacconist said. “We’ve got the cork-tipped in stock.”

“Good. You can’t get them over on the west side. I’ll have two packs.”

The tobacconist looked at Moldenke’s pass card. “Sorry, only one at a time with this kind of card. You’ll get a better card after a year.”

“Give me one pack then.”

Walking on, Moldenke sat on the steps of the Church of the Lark to have a smoke. His matches were soggy and wouldn’t light easily. He had to strike them over and over just to get a hiss and a sputter. He began eyeing passersby for ones likely to have a match and chose a thin, anxious man he saw smoking the stub of a hand-made cigar.

Moldenke took a few steps toward the man. “Pardon me. Do you have a light?”

The man shivered a little, puffed on his cigar, and came toward Moldenke with a lit match. “Here you go.” Moldenke could now see the other side of the man’s face. One cheek and the right eye were deformed. Without lids, the eyeball protruded grotesquely. Some of the healed-over flesh of the face looked yellowed and waxen.

“Thank you.” Moldenke inhaled deeply. It was the first Julep he’d had for a while.

They sat on the church steps. “I’m here on indefinite,” the man said, “for stealing a duck from the park. What about you?”

“Defacing a grave. Also indefinite. I see you’ve been squirted.”

“A little jellyhead son of a bitch in the Park.”

Moldenke turned his head. “They squirted me too. I took some on the ear, as you can see, and a little on the hand. Was he naked and wearing a fancy cap?”