David Ohle - Motorman

Moldenke agreed, snatched a mole cricket flying by, bit off the head and discarded it, broke off the digging appendages, and ate the body. "Roquette, do you know Burnheart and Eagleman?"

Roquette drew an x in the circle. "Yes, I know them, in a sense. I went to school with Burnheart, played a little snooker with Eagleman. Why do you ask?"

"Only wondering," Moldenke said. "No reason." Yellow cricket fluids ringed his lips, scales and legs hung in his scanty beard.

"You're a man of the earth," Roquette said. "I can easily see that. We could get along, you and me. Take your nose out of Burnheart's book. I'll take you south in my boat."

"You know where they are, Roquette? Will you drop me off there?"

"No promises, Moldenke. I'll do what I can. I'm not exactly the lord ruler of the boat. The other folks will have to be consulted on every possibility. We'll see. Don't get excited. It's bad for — "

"I know, the hearts. How did you know about the heart job, Roquette?"

"I heard you ticking, son. I heard the bleating. There isn't anyone in these parts as perceptive as myself, Moldenke. Did I introduce myself? The name is Roquelle, with two l's."

Moldenke shook the corn cob hand again. "Before you said Roquette, with t's."

"My apologies, Dink. Did I? Old brains turn to rocks, son. We'll leave it at Roquette. No sense in carrying on any more than we have to. Shall we head for the boat?"

The suns went down, an egg-shaped moon came up above the treetops. They walked toward the river as the evening froze, Roquette's stick sucking in and out of the mud.

eeHow many other people on the boat, Roquette?"

"Hard to say, Dink. They seem to come and go. You know the housing premium, even here in the bottoms. You might say it was a houseboat."

"A houseboat?"

"Maybe. You might say that."

"On the river?"

"Yes, I'd say it was a river. Things appear to float on it. As a fact of matter it has a name, The Jelly. Do you remember The Jelly from your earth courses, son? You passed the survival exam, am I right?"

"I passed the survival exam, but that was on paper. You never know. I don't think I know my rivers very well, I'm sorry."

"C-minus, son. C-minus. You should know your rivers. How do you expect to navigate? It used to be known as The Odorous. Does that strike a chord?"

"Sure, The Odorous. I remember The Odorous."

"Things change, Moldenke. You stay in your room and never look out. Things change. You should pace yourself. When I was a boy I ate potato peels from garbage bins. A man starts out with ropes to be climbed. Some of them stretch, but he shouldn't give up. Try another rope. Sooner or later you'll grab a tight one. I played some football, too. Nowadays I sit downstairs by the fireplace and look at the clockpiece on the mantel-board. Sometimes I'll turn on the lamp and read the book. Only the tripodero had all the wisdoms of living, and there he is, extinct. What can we do, Moldenke? Things change."

They stood on the banks of The Jelly, Roquette pissing into the thick, oily flow. Moldenke imagined starlight. Another moon was up. At the far bank he saw the boat lights, heard the fog whistle.

A turd washed over his shoe and receded. The corpse of a horse, some of the dray lumber still attached to the harness, floated by.

Roquette pierced the water with his stick. "Good," he said. "It's thick enough to walk on."

They walked the bank looking for foot boards. Moldenke found two for himself and tied them on with cloth rope from a torn shirt.

They walked across The Jelly.

63

Mr. Moldenke

The Tropical Garden

Dear Sir,

An attendant, yesterday evening, noticed Miss Roberta approaching death in the sun room. He went to her and did what he was able to under the circumstances, although she never was a cooperative patient. Enclosed is a note we found in her pocket. (The note: My diet has included specifically ice cubes, period. A Doctor told me my skin would thicken and grow brown, comma, and it did, period. However, comma, I always refused to drink their soy soup, period. Love, Roberta.)

As you can see, Mr. Moldenke, she isn't herself as the end draws closer. We think you should have come to get her after the War.

Truly yours,

The Staff, etc.

64

The Staff

The Grammar Wing, etc.

Dear Sirs,

The buses weren't running at the time. Please deal with her the way you will. At the present time I am unable to handle it. However, I did enjoy the note.

Yours,

Mr. Moldenke

Bloodboy

Texaco National Gauzeworks

T-City

P.S. You should understand — I was injured in the mock War. I gave up some feelings for my country. She would be a burden to me now, as I am to myself.

65

My Dear Cock,

I've taken the liberty of writing you a poem. Burnheart tells me I should practice my sense therapy more often. He suggested poems. I've tried my best to arouse some feeling:

Asking space Roberta gave me time.

Having Time I gave Roberta Space.

While the moonlights sail above the hoeblade,

The noonlight's mine until the end comes.

I touched her face Taking grace.

While the sea belongs to me until the end comes.

Wanting a month Roberta gave November.

When the end comes, Roberta won't remember.

Sorry about the lack of feeling, Roberta. I hope you can see improvement, though.

Love?

Moldenke

66

Dear Dink,

A short test: You are standing under a high gum tree, or a higher jujube. Of course, tree taxonomy isn't the question here. You stand under the tree, as before. From the upper limbs a bone falls dry and hollow at your shoe side. You stoop and examine, stoop and examine. You ask yourself, "A human bone?" Not a boneman, you cannot answer. Should it have been a banana, the story would have been different, if you follow what I say. You vaguely wish that Eagleman were at your side, knowing that Eagleman would know the bone as well as anyone. What do you do?

I await your answer,

Doc

67

Dear Doctor,

My answer: You step a few paces back and review the upper limbs, a thought which should, ideally, have arisen well before this, boneman or not. Having done that, the rest unfolds:

(1) Owing to an unfavorable congruence of seven broken tide moons on a memorable summerfall night a number of seasons ago, as I recall, the River Odorous rose over its banks and filled its flood plain.

(2) In predicting droughts, the weatherman was off.

(3) Living things were buoyed up, clinging in the treetops, including toxic varieties of local snake.

(4) On man and beast alike, snakebites took a toll.

(5) The Odorous waters in time returned to the winding main channel, bright sunslight and carrion eventually cleaned the carcases, and now and then a bone will work loose and fall to the ground.

Your pupil,

Moldenke

68

Dear Moldenke,

Cocky attitudes do not become you. It isn't enough to know the Way. You must also know the Means. You haven't been reading the book.

The facts of the matter are these:

(1) No such congruence ever took place.

(2) The weatherman was on that night.

(3) No local snakes are toxic, or, All A's are non-B's, whichever you prefer, where A is your local snake, and B is your toxic qualities.

In short, you were wrong, Moldenke. I know how we all make our mistakes. You don't have to say it. Frankly, I myself wouldn't have expected Eagleman to go to such lengths to prove a simple point. Imagine him, climbing to the top of that ether tree the way he did, carrying a heavy sack of bones to boot. Apparently Eagleman has a playful streak.