David Ohle - The Old Reactor

Salmonella said, “We’re hungry. We’ve got food. Can we go in?”

“Yes, but please be quiet. The jellies are napping. They work hard in the morning and late at night, they nap in the afternoon. I’ll go in through the back and meet you in the kitchen.”

Salmonella entered the foyer first and paused at the stairs leading to the second story bedrooms. Moldenke followed, past a tall clay pot holding four umbrellas, then the stairs leading to the second story bedrooms and a long low-boy that he recognized as his aunt’s. On it was a copy of the Treatise .

“What’s that…? Listen.” Salmonella cupped her ear. “From up there?”

Moldenke listened closely. “It’s the jellies snoring.”

“What about us? Where do we sleep?”

“I don’t know. We’ll ask Ozzie.”

They went into the dining room. Moldenke recognized his aunt’s round oak dining table set with four placemats and her silverware. He could see that two of his friend Myron’s typewriter portraits were still hanging in the hallway, clean and free of dust.

Ozzie took off his boots in the mud room and came through the back door. “Let’s sit in the kitchen, you two. If you’re hungry, one of the new jellies here is a cook and he made some very nice sheep’s liver scrapple. It’s just about to come out of the oven.”

“I love scrapple,” Salmonella said. “What’s a sheep? I know what a pig is. I know what a cow is.”

“A grazing animal. People used to shear them for wool,” Moldenke said, “to make warm jackets.”

Ozzie removed the scrapple loaf from the oven. “Old man Burnheart down the street keeps a few sheep in his yard. People say he used to be a surgeon. Sometimes he comes down here with a bucket of organ meat. I don’t know what he does with the rest of the animal.”

“That’s very interesting,” Moldenke said, “but what I want to know is…how many do we have here now, Ozzie?”

“Jellies?”

“Yes, jellies.”

“With the cook and the gardener, that’s seven. They’re two to a bed now.”

“This is my house. You were sleeping in an alleyway. I was desperate to find someone.”

Ozzie was insulted, a little angry. “Look at this place. It’s far better than when you left it. No rats, no rot, good roof, a place to shit, clean as a whistle. It wasn’t me alone who did all that. It was the jellies. They like me. We get along. How about some stew? Want a glass of bitters?” He slid a pack of Juleps from his shirt pocket. “Smoke?”

“Yes. All of that. I haven’t had a smoke in weeks. Big shortage in Altobello.”

Ozzie poured two glasses of bitters and lit Moldenke’s Julep. “Excellent bitters, made right here. The jellies and I brew it in the back yard.”

Ozzie sliced the scrapple and fried it in a pan.

Moldenke inhaled the minty Julep smoke and spoke as he held it. “We were told Bunkerville was liberated.”

“I don’t know. People are leaving. There’s a lot of confusion. Right now it’s smart to stay home and hope for the best. At least it saved me from getting exploded.” He plated slices of scrapple. “There, eat up. The little grocery is closing, you know. Can’t say how long we’ll be able to get certain things. This is the best we can offer right now.”

Moldenke emptied his pockets, laying the items out on the table. “This is the last they had.”

Salmonella asked, “You got any green soda?” She had a bite of the scrapple.

Ozzie popped open a soda from the cooler and gave it to her. “We got three left. The ice house closed, so this is the last of the cool ones. Enjoy it.”

Salmonella guzzled the green soda between bites of scrapple, grunting with pleasure.

Moldenke wondered aloud if pass cards would eventually be recognized, or would he need money to get by. He wondered, too, if Ozzie thought they’d be wearing uniforms, and if so, where to get them.

“I don’t know, Moldenke. I’m staying out of the fracas. I feel lucky to be alive right now. I don’t want to show my face out there. Anyway, there are no more real workers to organize. No one works now except jellies.”

Moldenke finished his bitters and Ozzie poured a second round.

“Is there a radio? Do you have any news?”

“The station is off the air.”

Salmonella wiped her lips with a linen napkin. “That was good. Now I’m tired. Where do we sleep?”

“I’ll roust a few jellies and free up a couple of beds. They don’t care. They’ll sleep in the shed.”

“We only need one,” Salmonella said.

“Two,” Moldenke said. “We’ll need two.”

Salmonella pouted jokingly.

Zanzetti made news today with the announcement of Molly, a mechanical mother he and his staff are developing. “Free mothers will no longer need to pay the psychic wage of making milk,” the scientist says, “because it comes from Molly’s breasts in great squirts.” The milk, rich in folic acid and lactose, is infused with a mollifying agent to help curb unwanted impulses and instill a modicum of conscience in free-born individuals.

“Those raised in pure freedom, where everything is permitted, never develop a sense of right and wrong. Remorse is unknown to them. Any action is the same as any other action. Can you imagine walking your body around in a world where nothing matters? There would be pandemonium.”

If Zanzetti is successful in this pursuit, mother machines in their milk will alleviate those raw necessities of child rearing and allow free women to go about a more productive business, to dabble in cottage industries such as bee culture and candle making without fear of raising un-socialized children.

Ozzie poured another round of bitters. “The sun’s still up. It’s too early for bed.”

Moldenke crushed out his Julep and swallowed down the glass of bitters. “Is it safe to assume you’ve been in the attic?”

“One of the jellies was up there mixing paint and he found the shoebox. We spent the money fixing the place. You should be happy. Money is either worthless now or will be soon. It was well spent, my friend. We can all live comfortably here as free people.”

“It will be too crowded,” Moldenke said.

“Not with these jellies. They seem to have a very mature philosophy of service. They work hard, they nap, they don’t eat much, they stay out of the way, they’re easy to live with, and they’re always improving the place. Your aunt couldn’t ask for anything better.”

Salmonella reached into her bag and brought out the sack of apple seeds. “Can I plant these in the yard?”

Ozzie beamed, “Sure you can, girl. I’ll have the gardener give you a hand.”

Salmonella stood up and clapped. “Oh, goody!”

Moldenke shrugged. “All right. We’ll see how it goes.”

“You’ll meet the jellies later.”

Moldenke said, “I’ve soiled my uniform. Can I take a bath?”

“Of course you can. In your aunt’s bathroom, upstairs. We’ve kept it as it always was. Your uncle’s clothes are still in the chiffonier. Wear those.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Ozzie.”

Moldenke excused himself and went upstairs to bathe. His aunt’s bathroom was adjacent to her bedroom, where he selected one of his late uncle’s jumpsuits to wear after the bath. The bedroom was as he remembered it, other than the wall paper, which had been stripped away and the walls painted a mint green. The lamp on her vanity shed light on bottles of fragrance, atomizers, and a pin cushion. Her collection of spoons from all the great cities of the world hung nearby.

At about sundown Ozzie went upstairs and rousted four jellyheads to make two rooms available to Moldenke and Salmonella, who remained in the kitchen eating scrapple.