David Ohle: The Pisstown Chaos

"Utilitarian, I suppose. What's good for the most is best for all."

The clerk shook her head and stamped one of Mildred's forms. "I'm going to put you down as Hookerite anyway. Things will go better for you."

"I appreciate that."

"Now, just in case it comes to it, do you want to be buried or burned?"

"Burned, thank you."

"And the ashes sent to?"

"To my granddaughter, Ophelia. The address is there."

"Yes, I see it. Oh, that's a posh area. Wish I lived there."

"Beware of envy, young woman. It's a green-eyed monster, certain to turn on you."

"All right, I've heard enough of your blather. Take your papers and go to the oath-swearing booth."

Mildred removed her spectacles and wiped the lenses with the sleeve of her rags. "An oath to what?"

"It's on the wall in there. Just recite it, sign the form, and get on with your treatment."

In the oath-swearing line, Mildred conferred with several others about the nature of the oath. One of them had known someone who was treated at the facility. "They said it's foolish not to sign it. You don't want curtailed treatment, do you?"

"That's why they make you recite it aloud. People weren't reading it. They were just signing it. So now there's somebody behind a curtain in there listening. If you don't recite it, you're on a list."

Another piped up. "Have you memorized the Hundred and One Sayings, from the Field Guide?"

"I haven't."

"Take our word for it," they said. "It would be the smart thing to do. I'm up to fifty-five myself."

"The Reverend says when you can recite them all from memory, you're guaranteed an upshift next go-round."

"If I don't, if I fail to, what happens to me?"

"Some have been pushed out the back door of the Templex with a hand or a foot missing. Maybe it's a rumor. I don't really know."

"You could be tested any time, stopped by a Guard or an Administrator or a certified wig and told to recite the Sayings."

"Thank you for the warning."

"Remember the first one at least-'We die that we may die no more.'"

"I'll remember that. It's easy enough."

"Yes, but what does it mean? What if a Guard asks you that?"

"I suppose it means that death, being what it is, puts an end to the dying process, which may be worse than death. Or, it could suggest the existence of an eternal afterlife, when one never dies again."

"Those are good enough answers to fool a Guard, who are dumb as dirt. Only the Reverend knows the real, true meaning anyway."

When all the preliminaries were over, someone in a mudcolored Administration uniform stepped up to an outdoor dais and made introductory remarks: "For better or worse, welcome to the Island parasite facility. It should be understandable that we see the need to isolate those with early infestations from the populace at large. We'd have a Chaos that could get out of control, spread like a prairie fire, move slowly for a while, then flare up whenever it finds flammable material. And where do we find the equivalent of such flammable material in our cities, towns and bailiwicks? Does anyone know? It's one of the Reverend's Sayings, number seventy-seven to be exact."

A zealous Hookerite raised her hand. "`We grow to hate things we fear'?"

"Yes. Very good. Now, each of you will be assigned living quarters at some distance from your neighbor. Isolation is the best safeguard until we understand what these parasites really are, and how to bring them under control. All of you are listed as first-stage, so let's hope we have a breakthrough before you advance any further."

After a three-hour pedal bus ride, Mildred was dropped off at her living quarters, an old clapboard shack resting atop four pitted, rust-caked steel pilings, one of which had buckled at a weak point, tipping the shack slightly downward, and many of the steps leading up to the flimsy wooden deck surrounding it had rotted away long ago. The structure looked as if it had been a pre-Chaos watchtower, useful when the land was heavily wooded and subject to fires.

Already fatigued by hours of relentless pedaling, having to heave her heavy baggage and bulk over the empty stairway spaces-and skinning her ankles many times-was almost more than Mildred could endure. She removed her spectacles and lay on the deck all that night, too weak to stand on her feet. When she awoke, a string of saliva stretched from the corner of her lip to the plank beneath her head. With her eyes at floor level, she detected a sudden movement, something small and dark streaking across the deck. Without her spectacles, the bug was too blurred to identify.

In a kitchen cabinet she found a two-month supply of starch bars, a kilo of urpmeal, some ground nuts, a tin of Jake powder and a packet of dried imp meat. On the counter was a five-gallon drum labeled "Safe Drinking Water. Boil First," a case of gel cans and a box of Sur-strike matches. In a drawer were a few cooking utensils, a skillet and a mismatched collection of dinnerware. A wooden box nailed to the wall was full of stationery, pencils, and official Permanganate Parasite Facility stamps.

In the sleeping area, defined by a blanket hanging from a rope, was an acceptably comfortable cot. A few feet away, a commode, dotted with old excrement, signaled that the place had not been occupied for at least a few months. Beside it was a pump handle for drawing water up for the commode and the sink from a shallow well below the tower. A pellet stove sat in a corner next to a crock filled with pellets. On a plastic-laminate table were stacked three boxes of specimen jars and supplies of methyl alcohol and tongue depressors.

In addition to a copy of the Reverend's Field Guide, there were items of clothing in an old chiffonier, mostly rags left behind by previous occupants. When Mildred opened the door, she found pinned to it a drawing of a brown spider with the clear marking of a fiddle on its back. She put on her spectacles and read the caption: `Danger! Loxosceles reclusa — The brown recluse, or fiddleback spider is capable of inflicting a serious bite which may ulcerate and require removal of infected tissue. The species is common in outbuildings, under boards, in attics and other little-used, dry areas, such as this dwelling. "

"Oh, dear," she said aloud, looking at the dusty floor and feeling on her face a steady, warm, dry, late-July breeze. She wondered if the Administration might be able to provide a dust or a spray that would kill them. Meanwhile, she halffilled four specimen jars with water and placed the cot's legs in them, hoping that would keep the spiders away when she was asleep.

A pedal van from the Administration, she had been told, would deliver food and mail on a monthly schedule, and the driver would collect stool samples for analysis. She was to use a tongue depressor to remove a sample from her stool and deposit it in one of the jars, which were to be labeled as to date and time and filled with alcohol.

She had not been allowed to bring any books or other reading material into the facility and her knitting was taken away at the staging area. So, to pass the time on her first full day in the tower, Mildred studied the Field Guide's Hundred and One Sayings for a while, then wrote letters to her grandchildren, knowing it would be months before they got them.

Dear Roe,

I'm so lonely I could cry. I have nothing to do and barely enough supplies even for that. So I'm writing to my darlings to pass the time. Is your sister taking decent care of you? Are you playing your saw every day? Please write me in copious detail. Ask your sister for help holding the pencil if necessary. I know how your hands tremble since your grandfather's terrible fall. I'm so sorry you children had to see that.

But I must tell you, I don't know how long I'll be away. And if the parasites get the best of me, I may return in a small box. The fully dead are cremated here and the ashes sent to next of kin by mail. But you know me, I've got plenty of parasite-fighting mental resources to work with. I'm sure I'll come up with something before the little beasts get into my heart.