David Ohle - Motorman

Give my best to Cock Roberta,

Your friend,

Burnheart

69

Lift seats brought them up to the lower deck, past a vertical row of gaping exhaust holes, smelling of unburned k-fuel.

They unstrapped and walked the deck. Roquette said, "It's an old boat, son. But she goes good."

Moldenke said, "Where are the folks?" The deck seemed empty, badly lit. "I get the impression no one is here."

"Not so quick to trust your senses, Moldenke. Let me show you around, meet a few of the folks. I'll take you to your room and you can lay down your baggage."

Moldenke said, "That would be good."

Roquette said, "Maybe not."

The river ran thickly by. Three moons were up like pies in a bakery. On the far bank a dog barked. Rubbery water lapped at the side of the boat. Moldenke asked if the boat had a name. Roquette said the folks hadn't been able to agree on one. Somewhere on the boat a toilet flushed. Moldenke said, "Plumbing?" Roquette agreed.

"Slow down, Moldenke. Why don't we sit here a minute in these deck chairs and have a look at the sky. How well do you know the mock astronomy? Sit down and I'll give you a lesson." They sat.

Moldenke said, "Three moons, two more threatening at the cast horizon. Looks like a dreary night."

Roquette said, "Dreary, he says."

Moldenke closed his eye and imagined the old moon, large and orange in the sky. Roquette said, "Don't be cruising in the past, son. Stay with me." Moldenke opened his eye. "How many moons are up, Moldenke?"

"Three, two rising."

"For a total of five," Roquette said.

Moldenke agreed. Roquette said, "Now, look west." Moldenke looked west. "Describe."

Moldenke described: "Double domes of moonlight, sure. Two more threatening in the west. I didn't see it before."

Roquette said, "For a total of seven."

Moldenke said, "Seven."

Roquette said, "Yes, seven moons congruent. We might get a little high water tonight, son."

Moldenke said, "Nasty weather, anyway. I agree." Roquette said, "You are very fortunate to be on this boat." Moldenke said he knew it, thanked Roquette for finding him. Roquette said, "The only floating boat, the last flowing river. Here we are, son. This is it. Are you with me?" Moldenke said he was, icicles forming at the brim of his sun hat. "I didn't know that things had gotten that bad." Roquette said he was afraid they had. "No use carrying on about it, though. Why don't we go on up to the table game mezzanine and shoot a fewcues of snooker?"

Moldenke said, "Roquette, how large is this boat?"

Roquette said, "In what sense?"

Moldenke said, "Lengthwise, from bow to stern."

Roquette said, "It's hard to say. I'd have to guess. It wouldn't be accurate. I won't even try. Don't clutter up the boat with questionmarks. Let's play snooker."

They walked for the game mezzanine. On the elevator Moldenke lost himself in guessing at the size of the boat.

70

Capital D, Dear, capital L, Love, comma,

Indent, capital T, The, capital T, Trop, capital G, Garden flowers were so almost colored, comma, and the poem so close to feeling, period. Capital Y, You get better, comma, capital I, I get worse, period.

Capital W, With punctuated love, comma,

Capital R, Roberta

71

Dear Moldenke,

The Trop Garden couldn't last forever, just as Roosevelt Teaset can't. Can you see this? Can you reason it? It's a terrible loss, but nothing to get excited about. Don't rush to give it all up. Think about it. Believe me, it might be worse. Keep the eye on the sky. You only thought bananas were gone. No, wrong. Eagleman has one on the drawing table. Remember the rubber tomato? To doubt Eagleman is to build a cistern on the desert. In both cases you'll soon find yourself wanting.

Yours,

Burnheart

P.S. I forgot: We'll find you another job. Be loose.

72

Dr. Burnheart

Dept. of Overscience

T-City U.

T-City

Dear Doc,

About the job? I've been living on the street vehicles. If I fall asleep the vehicle becomes a giant, clattering insect on a track. If I stay awake it bores me. I've looked at the same fake crepe myrtles along the esplanade too many times. Yes, find me an honest job. I need the chits.

Your dependent,

Moldenke

73

Moldenke,

At your next convenience, bring yourself to a Mr. Featherfighter on the Health Truck. Check a public schedule for the stops. He'll put you to work. Bon appetit.

Your employment agents,

B & E Ltd.

74

Roquette chalked up, dipped his fingers in the talcum box. Moldenke leaned on his cue, a junk band playing on the ballroom floor, folks dancing, balloons floating up to the ceiling beams.

"This is an impressive place, Roquette." Roquette agreed and took his turn at the red balls. The port lookouts framed five full moons. Waiters would pass the table and Moldenke would take stonepicked olives from their trays and suck out the pimento jelly, chewing the stonepicks. He sipped a cherry bubble. He saw one waiter go into a corner and cough jelly into a handkerchief, then tighten his ear valve.

One of his minor hearts fluttered.

"Your shot, champ."

"No wonder we didn't see anyone on deck," Moldenke said. "They're all at the dance."

"Take the shot, son."

"I'm having a heart flutter. Excuse me."

"Play the lay. Moldenke, the time hog. Play it, son. Play it."

"The balls are moving. How can I shoot?" Moldenke shot the cue at a moving ball, missed. "The balls, Roquette."

Roquette approached the table. "We're moving. The boat is moving. End of game."

Moldenke asked if there was a radio around, "To get a weather report." Roquette said he wasn't certain, but that the boat was underway and the weather made no difference.

Moldenke's sore hand began a steady tremble. He put it in his pocket. Roquette said, "Hard to keep things still with all those hearts beating in there, isn't it?" Moldenke confessed his health, that one heart was fluttering badly and that others were running roughly, the timing off. He remembered single-hearted days, a predictable beat, quiet sleeps. "Things are getting worse," he said to Roquette. "No matter how many views I take of it." Roquette said he would introduce him to one of the folk Doctors. "Maybe he can jam a muffler in there and quiet you down some."

"No mufflers, Roquette. I'm restricted to the limit as it is."

"Nonsense, son. They pay for themselves in silence alone. You'll sleep again."

"They took a lung out to make room for the hearts. Luckily it was already collapsed. They would have taken a good one."

"It's an old maxim, champ. A tooth for an eye. You must have heard it. We could all afford to spare a lobe or two of the liver, couldn't we? Take a muffler, Dink. No sense in rattling around like a sack of automatic frogs, is there?"

75

Featherfighter swiveled and faced Moldenke. "Toss if I mind you a few works before we question you to put. .?"

Moldenke waited for the correction. A drop of jelly bled from Featherfighter's wrist valve. "Mind if I toss you a few questions before we put you to work? Ten apologies, Mr. Bufona."

"Moldenke is the name. Burnheart and Eagleman arranged this. I got on at the last stop."

"This was arranged by whom? And whom?"

"Doctor Burnheart and Doctor Eagleman."

"It doesn't make much sense to me, Mr. Bufona. That combo escapes me. Wait, didn't Eagleheart promote a moon once?"

"Once, yes," Moldenke said. "The name is Moldenke."

"Shake hands." Moldenke shook the hand, a rubber glove filled with jelly.

The Health Truck hit a chuckhole; Featherfighter sloshed.

"Someone else arranged this, Mr. Bufona. Burnman and Eagleheart had nothing to do with it."