David Ohle - Motorman

Your Instructor,

Doctor Burnheart

The lighter grew hot in Moldenke's hands, The room cooled.

He read another letter, a short letter attached to the one he had just read:

Dear Dink,

If you sense danger, rise up. I'll be over the hedge.

Be cautious,

Burnheart

He chewed a stonepick and watched the moons come up, fell asleep in his chair.

27

She came to him as a stranger in the Tropical Garden. He first saw her figure in the banana leaves. He spaded earth ceremoniously and watched her from the corner of his eye. She tossed a banana flower at his foot and warmed him with a flow of spirit and a smile. He raised his trowel and indicated the greenhouse.

They walked among the rows of succulents, pressing thick leaves between their fingers. She broke open the stalk of an ice plant, drew a circle on his forehead with its juices, made an x inside the circle. The space around them fell into silent patterns.

She lifted her Indian dress and dipped a foot in the frog pool.

Two suns were up.

She said her name was Cock Roberta.

28

The phone rang. It was Burnheart:

"Still constipated?"

"Yes. I tried last night. Nothing would move."

"Then we'll have to go full, that's all. Nothing ever works exactly right. Luckily, you don't often get to eat. You'll be needing some liquids, though. I have a test ready. Let's get this thing going. When you get here I'll personally give you an enema. Are you ready for the test?"

"Sure. What should I do?"

"Simple. Go to the door, open it, step into the hall, walk to the stairway, make it down the stairs, through the main gate, and into the street. If you get that far, head south for the country. Eagleman and I will be waiting for you with a soft bed and solid food. Come."

"I can't. Bunce has a man in the hall."

"Ignore the man. He isn't there, even if it seems like he is. I know Bunce's games."

"I hear the feet shuffling out there, inflations, deflations. Bunce has a jellyhead out there. I won't make it, Burny. I won't."

"You're acting fruity. I said to ignore the jelly in the hallway. Put yourself in gear. Move! We'll wait three days for you. After that, no guarantees. Leave when the moons are down and the suns are not quite up. Pick a time when the shadows are confusing. Are you with me?"

"Yes and no."

"Good. Fill your pockets with gauze pads. You'll need them. The weather is a mess. Whenever you come to a juncture, angle to the right. Follow me?"

"Yes and no."

"That'll do. Remember, boy. Crossing the bottoms is not so easy. You'll be tried. You'll have to be at your most alert. Stay off the stonepicks."

"I'm a little weak for a trip like that."

"Bring cigars. You'll want cigars."

"What about food? Liquids?"

"Food? Did you say food, Moldenke? Liquids? Tell me, didn't you pass the survival exams? Haven't you read the book? Consider the first line: Starving at home is a simple matter, and so on. The swamp is a banquet table, son, always set. Kick open a rotted stump. Find it crawling with protein. The right fungus is good bread. It would take a jellyhead to starve in the bottoms. Liquids? Liquids are everywhere in the bottoms. Don't talk to me about liquids. Find a water flower, suck the stem. I fail to see the problem. Take the book along. Besides, I don't think you have the luxury of a choice at this point, do you?"

"Maybe not. I'm beginning to have fears, Burny, buzzing up and down the spine. What should I do?"

"Nothing. At least you're feeling something. That's enough."

"They'll follow me, Burny. I won't get away so easy."

"So will your shadow. I'm not impressed."

"I don't have any weapons."

"Wrong, Dink. You have yourself. You and Bunce are equally armed."

"I might be safer staying here."

"I doubt that. But go ahead, stay. Wait for the blood-bird to sweep down and pick the bones, show the coyote how soft your belly is. I'll just staple your folder shut and file it away. So long, Dink. Requiescat and so on."

"No, Burnheart. Don't hang up."

"Would you be kind enough to leave me your brain, assuming Bunce doesn't get ahold of it? I have an empty jar on the shelf. A memento mori, a first degree relic of the late — "

"Stop! Burnheart, don't say those things. The hearts are beating funny. I feel cramps."

"Maybe you'll have a successful dump after all. Why not stop this exchange of jumbo? Are you ready to leave that room? Or shall I tell Eagleman we're dealing with a weak sister?"

"It hurts when you say that."

"Oh, Moldenke. I pity you. Cry me an orangeade tear."

"Don't bother to pity me. I'll get by."

"Thank you for saying that. You think we take no risks in helping you? You think this call isn't being monitored? What do you think Eagleman is putting on the line for you? What are we, a pair of cluck hens? Open your eye. See us as we are. Don't give yourself to Bunce. Give yourself to us, to science, as it were. We have a fireplace, a continuing fire, and a pile of mock wood. Come and sit with us by the fire, eat some of our popcorn. There's an extra laboratory. It's yours when you come. Drink some tea with us. We'll talk about this and that, things. If you get to feeling tight, you can bounce around in the latex room. Everything we have is yours. But our patience is not interminable. Eagleman is not as placid as I am. He's a very busy man, tempered in fire. One day it's the rubber tomato, the next day it's the mystery of autotomy. The man lives always on the rim of a volcano. Be cautious with him. Moldenke? Are you with me?"

"You say I should ignore the jelly in the hall? Is that right?"

"Right. It must be total, though. Out of mind, out of sight. If you think of him even a bit, he'll be on you. You may have to force yourself to think about something else. Get together now."

"What about the weather? I'd like to get a report."

"Once you're in it you'll know. Goodbye. See you in three days or not at all."

29

During the year previous to the mock War Moldenke was employed at the Tropical Garden as a banana man.

30

He pulled on his trenchpants and rooted in his closet for Burnheart's old trenchcoat. He stuffed all pockets with.00 gauze pads and cigars, strapped on his sidepack and dropped in flints, a can of k-fuel, a tin of crickets, a handful of prune wafers, and a packet of stonepicks. He buttoned up the trenchcoat. Burnheart had worn the coat in an earlier war and had been wounded in it below the frontal buckle.

In his backpack he loaded old Burnheart letters, blank paper, pens, pencils, and two copies of Burnheart's book, Ways & Means.

He gathered his hair and tied it in the back.

Still, several moons were up.

He waited in the chair.

The phone rang:

"Hello? Burnheart?"

"No, jock. I think that nothing measures equal to the Moldenke innocence except the Moldenke presumption. No, this is not Burnheart."

"Bunce?"

"Yes, this is Bunce."

"I have nothing to say, Bunce. I'm under different instructions now."

"Moldenke, are you aware of the hazards in the bottoms? You won't make it. Believe me. Consider the odds. Burnheart is far from perfect."

"I'm ignoring you, Bunce. You're wasting time."

"I've been ignored before. I can live with it."

"I'm going to hang up. I have nothing to say."

"Fine, we're even again. I have nothing to hear. But let me say a few things before you set the speaker down. Will you grant me thirty seconds? Moldenke, I can build a wall around you with the details of your life. I know all your secrets. One of your nose hairs is deviant, isn't it? It grows away from the others, doesn't it, toward the brain? There, that explains your snorts. Can you see what I'm getting at, jock? I not only know that you snort, but why. That's the important fact, why. I know you totally. I don't want much from you, Dink. All is what I want, the whole Moldenke. Take off that trenchcoat and get back in the chair. Quit fiddling."