David Ohle - Motorman

He looked at the rubber face. "Are you a pair of Bunce's jellyheads?"

In the back the woman sat up, said nothing. Most of the man's features had broken loose and tumbled down to the seat and floor. The head, without makeup, a gray balloon, something sloshing inside it.

"I asked if you were on Bunce's payroll." He turned the flint faster.

They chose silence.

"Okay," Moldenke said. "Then get out of the car and take your medicine. I've got you fair. Don't resist me."

They climbed out. Moldenke exposed his letter opener.

"You first." The man came forward. "Bend over." The man bowed. With the letter opener, Moldenke opened a small hole in the back of the neck, enough for two fingers, He put a thumb and a forefinger in and widened the hole, a clear jelly spilling out, down his trenchpants. The air smelled of laboratories. He did the woman, her jelly more clouded, her rubber skull a little thicker than the professor's had been.

In the morning, with two suns behind him like stray moons, he examined his vehicle. The odor of laboratories was there, although faint. In the back seat the same jelly substance, studded with nibs, as though the woman had eaten peanuts, had washed across the upholstery.

19

There was a knock at the door, either soft hands or gloved fingers. The meal was there from Bunce, on a tray in the hall, on the floor. The first meal from Bunce. He was hungry. He took the tray inside and ate. The tray had three hollows: catmeat filled one, boiled crickets filled the second, and a chunk of stale pinebread with ant sauce filled the third.

20

A letter came from Burnheart:

Dear Moldenke,

Cheer up. Things are approaching the jell. Nothing is final as yet, but we are working it through. Eagleman sends his regards. He's a good man to know. We should consider ourselves among the fortunate few. What would a winter night be like without Eagleman's moon? Tell me that. Crowded almost out now with government moons, but still the brightest light in the sky. We have no one to thank for Eagleman except. . Eagleman.

This letter has a purpose. Enclosed, please find a simple, one-part questionnaire. Fill it out and get it back to me as soon as you can. We can't move an inch without the information.

Cordial greetings,

Burnheart

The questionnaire:

SITUATION REACTION

You are shad fishing in a plainly marked municipal water tub, or (2) you chance by a swollen river. The fog log, you remember from the radio weather, is at.77. The ambient light is dim, or (2) very bright. As you gaze over the water's surface you see what appears to be the corpse of a dray horse, bridled even in death, with sodden fragments of the dray still attached. No moons are up, or (2) two moons are up, or (3) the sun is simply down, or (4) more than one sun is down. You rise up to your feet and take another look. Caution: It may not be a horse at all. Additional Caution: If it is a horse it is either bloated, or (2) there is a plate-sized hole in its belly to relieve the pressures of rot. The animal floats closer to the breakwater, now clearly in danger of rubbing barnacles. Your hearts leap up. Your spleen puffs, what now?(See below.)

(Use this space)

___________________________________________

___________________________________________

___________________________________________

21

He called the Power Co-op:

"Good afternoon, sir. Power Co-op. May I help you this afternoon, sir?" The voice was feminine, high pitched, a refined whistle.

Moldenke was puzzled. Something already wasn't exactly right. "Miss, how did you know I was male?"

"Sir?"

"I wanted to know how it was that you knew I was a esir,' instead of a emiss,' or a elittle boy,' or something like that."

"Sir?"

"That's right. You pinned it down as soon as you answered. I hadn't even opened my mouth. But you knew I was male. I wanted to know how you knew. That's all."

"Sir? Didn't you say your name? You said something."

"No, ma'am. Nothing. Was it my breathing? A man's breathing is a touch huskier than a woman's, or a child's, is that the trick?"

"No, sir. Please excuse my enthusiasm. It's my first day on the job, sir. If I've made an error, then we apologize. We beg your pardon."

"Fine, that's fine, miss. Now, what I called about is my electricity. It suddenly went off a while back. No radio, no weather reports, no heat, nothing. I need some service out here."

"Certainly, Mr. Moldenke. We'll do what we can to — "

"Miss?"

"Sir?"

"Now I'm more than a little bit puzzled. First there was the esir.' Now you give me a clean, crisp, Mr. Moldenke, as though I had actually told you my name. I haven't mentioned the name yet, have I, miss?"

"Yes, sir. You did. . you must have. Didn't you?"

"No, ma'am. I haven't. I'm sure of it. Let me speak to the supervisor."

"Please, sir. We apologize. This is my first day."

"Don't worry, miss. You'll keep the job. You're very good at it, but a little too fast for me. Your supervisor, please."

"Sir, he's not in the building at the moment."

"Does he have a supervisor?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then I'll speak to him. Connect me with him."

"Yes, sir. That would be Mr. Bunce. Just a moment."

"Miss?"

"Sir?"

"Never mind. Cancel the whole thing. Goodbye."

"Sir?"

The only outgoing, thrown to the winds.

22

Moldenke sat henlike in his chair, brooding in the dark, chewing a stonepick. The door opened halfway, showing an obelisk of hall light, and Burnheart came in, striking matches.

"Burnheart? Is that you, Burnheart?"

"Moldenke?" He held the match an inch from Moldenke's chin. "Why do you live like this, Moldenke? You get more like a rat every season. What do they pay you to live here? I smell urine. Where's the straw?" The match went out. He struck another one, moving it up and down, looking at the whole Moldenke.

"Burnheart. I'm happy to see you. Sit down somewhere. Let's talk. I thought you were in the country with Eagleman."

"I was. I was in the country. However, now I'm in the city. I move with my moods. My mood said city, and here I am, a toad in the frog pond, as they say. Why am I striking matches like this? Turn on the lights."

"I can't. They're off. That's one of the things I wanted to talk to you about."

"What do I know about practical electricity? It's not my field. What could I say?"

"No, no. I'm concerned about why they're off, not that they're off. I think it's Bunce."

"Bunce?"

"You know the man?"

"Bunce. Yes, I know Bunce. . You must have a candle around. Is there a candle, Moldenke? Some kind of light source?"

"I'm afraid not. Burnheart, tell me what to do. I don't know of anyone else who can advise me. What should I do about Bunce?"

"What a season this has been, Moldenke. What a season. My old heart won't stand another one like it. So many loads in the old gun and so on. I sometimes consider retiring, quitting the whole thing. Of course, someone always steps in and reminds me that I have nothing to retire from. So I never do. I continue slaving and worrying over nothing substantial. I'm plumb tired. The system is wearing out. I plan to get back to the country as fast as I can. Sometimes, there, I hear the chirp of a snipe, and that reminds me that I'm still alive. What does it all matter?"

"Sit down, Burnheart. Talk."

"Where, Moldenke? Are there chairs in a rat's den? Where shall I sit?" Moldenke occupied the only chair.

"Take this chair."

"No, Moldenke. You stay there. You need the rest. You're still young. Rest while you can. There's nothing ahead but rattles." Another match went out. "Some light is better than none. We'll smoke cigars." Burnheart lit two blue cigars with his last match and gave one to Moldenke. "Here, Moldenke. Puff hard and constant. We'll get close to one another and puff rapidly." Burnheart knelt, squaring his height with Moldenke's. Moldenke remained in the chair. They studied one another in the wavering orange swells of light, through smoke and running eyes.