David Ohle - The Pisstown Chaos

As soon as she was in his presence, and could smell him, Ophelia sensed that Manson had hypnotic powers, that he might psychically influence her to the point of automatic obedience. In retrospect, she wished she hadn't, but she invited him up to her quarters to talk over the deal. She thought she could sell them to some of the females at the hair mill and make a decent profit. But she insisted that Manson leave the suppositories with her on faith. She had accumulated very few bucks at the time. He said he would leave half the lot and when he returned from a weekend doing other business in the Tektite Desert area, they would make the final bargain. Ophelia wondered why anyone would have business in the Tektite Desert, where the soil was ninety-five percent bone dust and the sun ogled all day.

Before leaving her quarters, Manson asked Ophelia if he could shower in her stall. She told him there was scarcely any trickle at all after noon, but that he could try his best. On his way to the shower stall, he said, "Hey, sister, it's a beautiful day. You want to try one of these?" He held out a shiny, gray ball of willywhack. "It's pure. Ten times normal strength in this tiny hunk. It's the best and the purest. Expect a complete cool-down of the endocrine system, low metabolism and sky-high energy. Never a dull or worrisome thought. I'll let you have it free. You can pay me from the profits to come."

She swallowed the willy and lay on her pallet. In a few moments, a wave of tranquility washed over her, body and spirit.

"Raise that dress, girlie, and pull those underdrawers down to your knees," Manson ordered.

When Ophelia complied, he inserted one of the suppositories, pushing it into her as far as he could with his thumb. Afterward he licked his fingers, smelled them, and grinned like a billy goat. "Pull up your drawers. I'm finished."

"I feel so good. Thank you."

Manson showered quickly and vacated the premises with the rest of his suppositories.

When Ophelia awoke the next morning and tried to squat over her slop jar, she blacked out, fell backward and spilled its contents over the floor. Her first thought was that the willy had slowed her metabolism far too much. She felt bodiless. She squirmed about the tiny room, trying to stand, covered in her own waste.

In three month's time, without a sign of menses, and with sickness every morning, she requested a meeting with her supervisor at the hair mill. The two talked as the supervisor made her rounds, checking the machinery, begging her shiftees to work harder. "We've got a warehouse full of dolls waiting for hair. Please, hurry."

When Ophelia came to the point of the meeting, she said, "The workers' handbook says we are to report to you if we become pregnant."

"That's a tricky predicament. I suggest you abort it. Was it by suppository?"

"Yes, I think so. Parts of it slid down my leg. It looked like wax."

"He offered you willy, am I right?"

"Yes, he did."

"He asked you to take down your unders."

"Yes."

"He made his deposit, then he was gone."

"He's never come back."

"We know that operator. Carlton Manson. Goes around planting his seed in the innocent and gullible. They're after him, the Guards, but they haven't caught him. I urge you again to abort that thing. He's fathered hundreds, all male, all ill-tempered hulks with inbred criminal tendencies."

"I'll think about it."

"Let me know tomorrow. We'll have it done in the clinic here. You'll be back at your machine in an hour. A physician is on call Mondays and Wednesdays. He'll get in there and take care of things for you."

That night, to help make her decision, Ophelia consulted the Reverend's Field Guide, randomly opening it with her eyes closed and pointing blindly to one of the entries, which was: "Thunder rolls beneath heaven-simple action and simple movement, in accord with the creative flux of the universe."

To her, the imbedded instruction was clear-to disregard shifting regulations and to leave Bum Bay for good. She would search for the right place to give birth, somewhere remote from the Chaos and despair of the shifting programs. She would pay no attention to her supervisor's warning about ill tempers and criminal propensities. She would do the simple thing, as the Field Guide had directed. And what could be simpler than packing a bag and walking away? Any direction would serve, wherever the roads took her.

The first outpost Ophelia came to, after a day and a half on the hot, dusty road, was a small stinker settlement called Harpstring. The thirty or forty stinkers who lived there slept in tents and survived primarily on commodities like starch bars and urpmeal from the Administration. Despite their low circumstances, the stinkers took Ophelia in. They were kindly, peace-loving, and happy to let her have the baby there. A former midwife in the group would assist with the delivery.

For the next few months Ophelia's pregnancy followed a normal course, with one exception-the fetus was unusually large, and the midwife confided to others that she anticipated a difficult passage. "She'll have to have it in a water bath," she said. "Plenty of rags and hot water will be on hand."

Ophelia spent all her time, night and day, lying in a rope harness. Beneath a covering tent, the apparatus hung from a rigid framework of wooden beams and had an open area in its hammock-like webbing for her bulging abdomen, should she wish to turn over. When she lay in this position, a bystander could appreciate the mass of the fetus. The midwife estimated its weight at that time to be eight or ten pounds.

When the time came, Ophelia's hair was tied into a top knot and she was made to lie in a shallow trough of heated water. A stinker was positioned at her head and another at her feet. Children stood by with bottles of vinegar. The midwife used a rag soaked with chloroform to render Ophelia unconscious. With stinkers standing around singing happy songs, the hours-long delivery produced an eleven-pound male infant with one foot that was twice the size of the other, flat, without bone structure and as round as a pie.

Confident that the malformed child would be in more responsible hands with the stinkers, Ophelia rested a few days, then, still a bit too weak to pedal very far, left her Q-ped behind for the stinkers, mounted a good riding imp and fled the settlement in the middle of the night.

The imp carried her overnight to the outskirts of Pisstown. There she would spend the night at a hostel, let the imp rest, and ride out again in the morning. Having left her Field Guide with the Harpstring stinkers, she was indecisive in trying to establish her next destination.

What course did she want to take? Which ones were even open to her? Would she be sent to Permanganate for leaving her post at Bum Bay? She asked herself these questions over and over again, often out loud. But no answers ever came. Perhaps it would be best to act randomly, without thought, reason, or care, to follow any impulse, no matter how whimsical or dangerous. In this scenario, death would have no dominion.

After tying her imp outside, she went to the check-in window at Hostel 210 on Industrial Road. The long ride, without food or water, had left her lightheaded and her walk was wobbly.

"You okay, lady?" the night-clerk asked.

A room, please."

"With or without a view? Without's cheaper."

"Without, then."

"That will be one buck. Nice imp you got."

"She's a good ride."

"There's a stable around the corner. Ask for Mr. Hobson. Get your imp bedded down. Ring the buzzer three times when you get back. I'll let you in."

"Where can I get a Jake around here?"-

"Next to Hobson's, a little place called the Flamingo. Two good shows tonight. Moldcnke and the Doolittle girl."

"0 h, very good."