David Ohle - The Old Reactor

“I’ll have that.”

“Okay. Something to drink? What about our special tea? We make it with part heavy water. It’s lighter than full heavy.”

“That’s good. Yes. The tea.”

Moldenke enjoyed eating his scrapple, despite the foul taste. It was immediately filling and gaseous and gave him confidence that he would have a movement for the concierge in the morning. The light-heavy tea, clear and salty, slid down his throat like thin syrup.

When he got back to the Tunney, after stopping to piss at the public privy, the concierge was not to be seen. He crept up the stairs to the third floor and down a hall to his room. On the way he passed ten or twelve other rooms. From some he heard sounds: a radio, sobbing, laughing, breaking glass, even the gleeful chirps of a young child. Sometimes at night, he’d heard a man coughing, another vomiting out of a window below. Yet, in the time he’d been here, he’d never seen anyone in the hallways, on the stairs, or in the foyer. There were twenty-four rooms on each of the three floors. If they were mostly occupied, as the concierge had said, where were the other tenants?

Lying in his cot, Moldenke rubbed his ear with the barrel honey the concierge had given him, then fell asleep anticipating his date with Sorrel and a long soak in heavy water.

When he put on his uniform the next morning, he saw that it was rumpled and rank. There was a fullness in his stomach and he was passing gas. A toileting stop downstairs to satisfy the concierge would be first, then a stop at the public bath to get the uniform washed and dried.

“Good morning,” he said when he saw the concierge standing at her door looking at him sternly. “Nice day ahead.”

“Hurry up. I’ve been waiting here.”

“All right, all right.”

Moldenke went to the toileting room with the concierge not three feet behind him, her head inclined toward the ceiling. “Mmmm. I smell it already.”

He sat down and picked up the Treatise . “It may take a minute, ma’am.” He flipped through the pages looking for something of interest. When he came to a chapter called “Of Beauty,” he read a few lines to himself, but loud enough for the concierge to hear. “There are some parts of the human body that have been observed to hold certain proportions to each other; but before it can be proved that the efficient cause of beauty lies in these, it must be shown, that wherever these are found exact; the person to whom they belong is beautiful…”

“I don’t have all day, Moldenke. There are other guests you know.”

“It’s odd that I never see them.”

“They’re probably all out when you’re in and they probably come in when you’re out. I guess that’s it.”

“I hear them at night.”

“They probably come home later than you do.”

Moldenke stopped reading, set the book back on the stool, and had a productive bowel movement.

The concierge said, “Let me see it.”

He lifted a buttock so that light could get to it. “There.”

“Now wipe and get out of here. I’ll flush it and clean the bowl.”

Moldenke wiped and pulled up his pants. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Don’t forget, you replace the paper you use.”

“I’ll get some at the public.”

“I should make you put that in writing.” She fetched an envelope from her apron and gave it to him. “Here, a letter came for you.”

“Oh, good. News about my house.”

Dear Moldenke ,

I made a big effort to find that attorney of your aunt’s, but he’s dead and his office is closed. There’s a big black wreath on the door. They tell me he was exploded for embezzling from his elderly clients. Maybe your aunt’s money was stolen. I’m at a loss as to what to do. For now, I’m going to take in more jellyhead boarders with mechanical skills. One who knows about electricity, another that maybe can replace all the rotted floor boards. Even then, materials will have to be scrounged, manufactured, stolen, or borrowed .

By my count, there are six bedrooms and three bathrooms. So we could house a couple more artisans if we had to, although only one of the commodes is working. We’d have quite a lineup in the morning with more boarders and after that a holy stink. You know how it is with jellies. I’m going to find that plumber and make him an offer. The cesspool in the yard looks like a little brown lake. It must be dealt with. We need a proper septic system .

That’s the way it is for now .

More news as it unfolds .

Ozzie

On his way to the car stop, worried about his house on Esplanade, Moldenke stopped at the public bath. It was early enough that he had time to bathe while his uniform was boiled and dried and he would still be at Big Ernie’s by eight-thirty. The bath aide on duty met him at the door. “I’m sorry, but we’re closed today. A bunch of jellies snuck in and drowned themselves in the pools last night. We didn’t find them until this morning.”

“Are you still washing uniforms?”

“Sure, if you want it stinking like cadaverine. All the pipes are full of bad water.”

“I’ll just go like this, then. I’m bathing anyway, out at the Old Reactor with my girlfriend.” Moldenke raised his head to show the damage to his ear. “We both got deformed.”

“Some people tell me the water did them a world of good. Other people say it almost killed them.”

Moldenke said, “They were probably too far gone, too sick, too old, too deformed, something like that. At least the cars are running today.”

“Some are, some aren’t. The ones that are are late.”

Moldenke waited at the stop. His guess, going by the sun’s height, was that it was about eight o’clock. He looked up and down Arden Boulevard. There was no sign of cars in either direction and the skies were clouding up. The weather could change at any minute and spoil his outing with Sorrel. Or the car could be so late that she would tire of waiting and go without him.

About fifteen minutes later he saw a car going in the other direction, which meant that it would soon be getting to the end of the line and turning around for the ride to the Quarter and out to Old Reactor Road. He would be tardy, but only by an hour or so. Surely Sorrel would know the cars were running late and take that into consideration.

When he climbed into the car, he asked the conductor the time and was answered with a shrug and a dirty look. “You know free men shouldn’t carry watches or look at clocks.”

“Sorry. I forgot. It’s not surprising the cars are so late all the time. I understand now.”

A rudimentary gel sack has been taken from a free woman of the city. Previous thinking was that such an occurrence would be impossible. The small, dry, shriveled sack was found in the woman’s breast, where it had finally cocooned itself. There had been swelling and pain, which she thought was probably rheumatism, but her entire constitution became so affected that her hands fisted in a way that made them useless, and her face had tanned like a piece of hide. She said that she had been living among jellyheads in proximity of the Old Reactor and that the sack may have entered her system then.

Until the sack was removed, the woman was able to feel it passing from one part of her body to another. She attributed the chills and fever she felt to this action of the sack, which has now been put into a brine solution for observation. In a few days the woman was well enough to travel and did so, saying she was off to the Old Reactor area to rejoin her adopted jellyhead family.

Moldenke’s ride to the Quarter was an uneventful one. Being a Sunday, there was no pretend-guard on duty at the Quarter’s entrance and the car passed through without slowing down, saving some time. It wasn’t enough, though. When Moldenke got off at the stop near Big Ernie’s, he found a note Sorrel had tacked to the bakery’s door: Tired of waiting. Meet you there .