David Ohle - Motorman

On one wall weather gauges gave readings. They watched the needles move.

"They aren't accurate," Shelp said. "Bunce prefers it that way."

A strong wind blew against the tower. The wind gauge read calm.

Shelp said, "You'll have to pardon me now. I have to do the weather." He sat at a table under the weather gauges, spoke into a microphone:

Roving chuff clouds, floxiness hovering above L.A., unpredictable, nothing verified, minimum forecast, probable extensive sunsout, birdfall index high per hundredcount, earlier reports not reliable, premature, lofty hopes for a sunsy weekout, otherwise rain and sleet.

Moldenke slept intermittently. Shelp stood over the teaboil. The wind whirled The fire in the floor pit died.

"Do you recognize time, Moldenke?"

Moldenke sat up, eye wide. "Where is it?" He blinked away a forming daydream, although outside the night was early.

"Consider the future, Moldenke. Do you imagine we'll ever get there? Some folks see it as a k-bus trip. You get there, you get off, set down the packages, and talk about the chuckholes. I wonder about the quality of that. Moldenke?"

38

When the government moons went up, Eagleman's moon came down.

39

Moldenke had postponed the matter of booster hearts until one of his lungs had collapsed.

Burnheart had written a letter:

My Dear Declining Dink,

It's not an altogether cheering prospect, you moon-child. I sat back and let you be overtaken by a flotilla of polyps. The physician's ethical silence, in deference to your feelings. I couldn't sleep. Never again, son. Where it pertains to you, nature drives in rearward gear. I've watched the teeth rot out, the eye close, and now the heart is down to a slug's crawl. In this case I will not sit back and let the long Moldenke line run out of ink.

May I suggest a set of booster hearts?

The surgery is child's work. You swallow the pill and dream about a necklace of planets, or whatever. I'll install the hearts myself. I admit, I wouldn't mind putting on the rubbers again. It's been a number of seasons. And when it's all over, when you've got four little pumpers helping the big one along, we'll each take home two sheep for the barbecue. Look at it that way.

Your Doctor,

Burnheart

40

"Another cup of tea, Moldenke?"

Moldenke slept.

Shelp spooned banana flowers into the teaboil. The wind died. The wind gauge needle lurched to ninety klicks per.

Moldenke sat up empty.

"More tea, Moldenke?"

"Thank you. I'm down now."

"Not below the normal level I hope?"

"No, not much below. Yes, I'd like tea. What time is it, Shelp?"

"You do recognize it, then?"

"Yes, I remember the question. You asked it earlier."

"And now you've come full circle and answered it for me. You're indirect, Moldenke. You sniff about too cautiously, like the cat and the recent turd. You parry at the body of something like a timid boxer. Let me see your nose instead of your ass. I don't know what time it is. If I had a clockpiece here it wouldn't keep the standard time, so what's the good of one? Are you in a hurry?"

"They expect me in three days."

"You mean they expect you to arrive on the third day?"

"I can't say. I'm not the one to judge."

"You talk like a cottonhead, Dink. Drink your tea. I'll skewer a few cat cranks. We'll eat. No sense in hurrying off. If they're expecting you on the third day, you don't want to get there before that and find the doors locked, do you?"

Moldenke agreed that he didn't.

41

Dear Moldenke,

If you place a cup over the ear you can hear the boosters working. As your physican, in the narrow sense, I advise you to do it frequently. Monitor yourself. And, as your friend in the fullest sense, I would say avoid any avoidable excitement.

Your friend,

Doctor Burnheart

42

Dear Doctor,

I woke up to the sirens this morning with a chestful of nellies. I couldn't avoid it. I behaved accordingly.

It was good to get your letter.

Your patient,

Moldenke

43

Dear Moldenke,

Medically speaking, you shouldn't do more than a sheep would do. The sirens can't be helped. Imagine yourself in a mock meadow, grazing. In a stable being shorn. Work on it.

Quickly,

Doctor Burnheart

44

Dear Doctor Burnheart,

No more than a sheep would do? Should I assume that the operation failed? I was able to do more than a sheep before, with one heart. Am I to assume that the operation did nothing?

Anxiously yours,

Moldenke

45

Dearest Dinky,

What we're after in this particular surgical procedure is longevity. You will probably live longer, though not as well. We're looking for quantity here. And it also has its dangers, most notably the fact that if one goes they all go. Or, be satisfied with the brighter side — since the main one can't possibly fail until the other four in succession do, you'll have a warning, an unmeasured period of grace. We should all be so lucky.

Yours,

The one of hearts,

Doc Burny

46

They drank tea, smoked brown cigars, talked about the weather.

Abruptly, as Shelp was mentioning the possibility of a flood, Moldenke tightened his backpack strap and went to the door, his trenchpants bunched at the knees, adjusting his goggles and gauze pad. "I'm leaving now, Shelp. Would you point me to the south? It's dark. I'm lost without the suns. I have enjoyed the visit. It's nice to meet someone these days who isn't leaking jelly all over. Will you show me the south?"

"What are you hurrying to, Moldenke? Where is it that someone could want to get to? Sit down and act easy. I'll do another weather report. Sit. Don't go off."

Moldenke came back, sat down on a dog bench. "It would be helpful to know the weather. I'll stay for the weather report. Then you'll point me south?"

"Sure I will. I can tell you right now there won't be any suns up for a few days. Government economics, Dink. What can we do? Bees in the hive. You know the story. You'll be walking in the dark for a while. I wish I could help you. I'll do the report."

The wind fence is near completion along the coastal swamps, wind speed down, temperature de-emphasized until same time tomorrow and Sunsday, birdfall seasonal to normal. .

Shelp swiveled in his chair and looked at Moldenke.

"Something's wrong, Dink. I'm not doing it right. Words I haven't said are coming out of me."

"The banana flower tea? You might be reacting?"

"No, I don't react. I'll try again."

Snowslides at Modessa, blowing flox in Great Chicago metro area, enclose the animals… no fishing in the water tubs. . possible flooding on the River Odorous. .

"Moldenke, it isn't right. ."

"Well, what now?"

"Watch the instruments."

Moldenke watched the instruments. All needles returned to zero. "They all went off."

"Bunce was listening. He turned them off."

"I know the story, Shelp. I've been the hero of it. The next thing to go will be the electricity, then the gas, then the water. You should get away from this place, Shelp. Come along with me. Burnheart would like you." Shelp went to the telephone and waited. The telephone rang.

"Bunce?"

"I don't like the weather forecast, Shelp. I'd like a spell of moonlight. I'm entertaining a few of the folks on my k-yacht. See what you can do. Don't be clowning. And tell my pal Moldenke to stay where he is. I'm sending a man out."

"My apologies, Bunce."

"Enough chatter. Do the report again, with moonlight this time. Get it on, Shelp."

Shelp hung up and went back to the microphone: