David Ohle - Motorman

"You call that breathing, son?" Roquelle inhaled it deeply. "One man's air is another man's poison, as they say. Frankly, I can't stand the gas in the arboretum. It's a funny planet. On the cycle, champ."

Moldenke sat down.

"Up, champ. On the cycle. We'll miss the beginning of the movie."

Moldenke lowered his head between his knees, activity beginning in his chest. "No."

"You said no?"

"Yes. The hearts are acting up again. Could we head back to the arboretum? The wheat field?"

"Get up, Bufona! Up!"

Moldenke remained. "Leave me here, Roquette. I'll find the way out. I'll meet you later, somewhere." Roquelle took out his whistle and blew it, the sound billowing in Moldenke's ear, his hearts badly out of phase, a wash of urine spreading in the trenchpants. Roquelle looked up and down the tunnel, blowing the whistle. Moldenke fell back against the tunnel wall, eggfaced. Roquelle knelt and felt the heart beats, read the pulse, listened for breathing, stood, blew the whistle down the tunnel.

105

Dear Roberta,

Now I know what was missing from the Teaset display. I suspected it the way the pants were hanging. I paid a dustboy 10 chits and he let me inspect the old man, after hours. He opened the case and let me in with my lighter. I set the cuffs of the pants on fire. The dustboy panicked and ran off, looking for a jellyhead. The pants burned off, caught the coat, burned that off. The eyebrows flared, the hair. The case filled with peanut gas. Everything burned off and Teaset was dead naked, black, and false. I touched the skin, Roberta. I took the nose in my fingers and tore it off, and a wad of cotton came with it. I opened the mouth and found they hadn't painted in the teeth. I don't suppose they expected anyone to get that close. Now I know it, Cock. What's missing from the Teaset display. Teaset is missing.

Yours until the end,

I remain,

Moldenke

106

In the old days Moldenke listened to the weatherman, his radio on through the short nights, the face of it green and glowing. The rosy forecasts, the cocksure predictions. If the weatherman said warm, Moldenke opened the lookouts, found icicles in the morning on the faucets. When the weatherman said chilly he would turn up his collar and close the lookouts.

In the old days there was one sun, one moon, starlight enough, and one good heart.

107

A red and white k-wheel broke from the traffic flow and rolled into the stopping bay, the driver climbing down in white, a sidepouch on his hip. He exchanged threefingered salutes with Roquelle. "Sir," the driver said. "I heard the whistle."

Roquelle said, "Give this man a hainty-check." They turned Moldenke over.

The driver opened his sidepouch, taking out a string and acorn affair, letting it dangle above Moldenke's chest. Roquelle knelt and watched the acorn. The driver said, "He's just about empty, sir."

Roquelle said, "Do whatever you can, Doc. I want him on his feet quickly."

The acorn described a small, weak, circle, then quartered it. "He's perking up a little," the Doctor said. Roquelle agreed. The Doctor took out an envelope of seeds, sprinkling them over the whole Moldenke. Roquelle said, "That should bring him up." The Doctor agreed, opening a milkweed pod and letting the silky insides spill out over Moldenke's forehead and drift away in the wind of traffic. Roquelle said, "That should do the job. Thanks, Doc." They saluted. "Sir," the Doctor said, Roquelle protchering him below the lip. He climbed the k-wheel and drove out into the flow. Roquelle sat down beside Moldenke and blew an old melody on the harp.

Moldenke opened both eyes.

Roquelle said, "Welcome back, champ."

"I have to get out of this tunnel, Roquette. One of my hearts is stopped completely." He pressed his chest, snorted, coughed up a cricket. "Roquette, let me out. Let me out of here. I can't breathe."

"Slow down, son. Stop rushing. We'll see a movie. Get on the cycle."

"Let me off the boat, Roquette!"

"No. We're moving too fast now. Seven moons are up. We're in for some weather. The river is thick and tricky. You're safer here."

"I'll jump."

"He says he'll jump. Tell me, son, do you think you could swim in a tub of syrup? You'll get stuck there and drown."

"What's the distinction? I'm drowning now."

"We'll see a movie."

"Throw me in the road, Roquelle. Help me up, push me in front of a k-bus."

"Nonsense, Bufo. Stick around for the flood. Meanwhile, we'll see a movie, have some popcorn and wheat candy. When was the last time you saw a movie, son?"

"Wait. My other eye is open."

"Can you see from it?"

"No. It hurts."

"In time, Buf, in time. Things will improve. Don't be so afraid of your selves. This is a good boat. We'll ride the flood and sail on."

"Where to, Roquette?"

"I wouldn't want to guess at that. No, I wouldn't want to chance it."

"Push me in the road."

"Don't be silly. No walking in the roadway. No shrimping in the water tubs. You know the game, son. Don't be trying to cheat the folks."

"When do we get to Burnheart's?"

"Soon, son. Soon."

"I don't want to see a movie. I want to go back to my room and sleep."

"No sleeping. No. On the cycle."

Moldenke held to Roquelle's coat with one hand, one foot dragging on the asphalt, a second heart gone, the scarf flapping in his face.

They cycled out of the tunnel, curved up a ramp into a parking yard filled with k-vehicles. Roquelle said, "Looks crowded. Must be a good movie."

At the ticket booth a woman said, "Tickets, please."

Roquelle said, "Lean against the wall, Bufona. I can't be holding you up all the time. I have to get my ticket out."

The woman said, "Tickets, please."

Moldenke leaned against the wall.

Roquelle said, "Hold on, son." He searched his khaki pockets and found a ticket, gave it to the woman.

The woman said, "Tickets, please." She adjusted an ear valve, pinching out a drop of jelly into a handkerchief.

Moldenke slid down the wall, a third heart fluttering.

Roquelle said, "Where's your ticket, son? You need a ticket."

The woman said, "Tickies?"

Roquelle said, "Tickets, jock. You need a ticket to see the movie!"

Moldenke slumped to the sidewalk, both eyes wide open, his face flushed.

"Tickets, please."

Roquelle went through Moldenke's pockets, found a tin of crickets, went to the window. "He doesn't have a ticket," he explained to the woman. "He has crickets. Will you take crickets?"

The woman said, "No crickets." She gave Roquelle a pair of scissors. "We do take hair, sir." She gave him a paper bag.

The third heart stopped.

Roquelle snipped off a bag of Moldenke's hair.

They sat toward the back of the theater.

"Moldenke?"

He fell over on Roquette's shoulder. Roquette said, "How can I watch a movie with that going on? Moldenke?"

The curtain opened, music came over speakers.

"Moldenke?"

The second heart stirred, the third began a steady beat. He sat up.

Roquette said, "They usually show a weather report first."

The music stopped, a voice came over the speakers.

Moldenke said he was feeling better. The eye had closed again.

The weatherman said, "Government sun falls on T-City." The film showed a burned area from a high angle, smoke columns rising up. "Great Chicago sinks, has to be abandoned ." The film showed an empty hole. Moldenke smiled.

Roquette said, "I don't like that weather. I'll have to give that weatherman a phone call. I don't like what he's getting into."

Moldenke said, "That's Shelp. He's a friend of mine. I know Shelp." He sat up straight in the seat, eating popcorn and crickets.

Shelp said, "Government relaxes moon control. Moons behave erratically. You are urged to stay indoors."