Richard Powers - Plowing the Dark

They ran the meager gauntlet of storefronts, Ted narrating the tour. Good place to eat. Place I used to do my laundry. This… guy still fixes shoes. Can you imagine? A hobbler!

Air spit out of Spiegel's pressed lips. Cobbler, buddy.

Unless he's a bad one, Adie offered.

Cobbler. That's what I said! Followed by the rasping inhale, the eegh of uncontainable glee at this, the black comedy of his existence.

Adie weighed the size of the two ratios: New York to this prop town; this prop town to the nursing home. Which was the farther fall? She was not good at math. Her private calculator tape rarely gave the same subtotal twice. But the answer to this long division was obvious. The second drop-off made the first seem level. The next drop would be no problem at all.

They rounded the loop again. On the third pass, revelation flagged. The thick, supernal gift past deserving now only fatigued them, at least the two doing the pushing. Spiegel broke first. That so-called good place to eat. Want to give it a try?

I do, indeed. And I hope that… woman we saw is still… sitting out

front.

Spiegel and Adie traded glances. There was something supremely cruel to evolution. Desire survived the purpose of its burn.

In that public place, Adie again rose to save them. She ordered for Ted, spoon-fed him, and wiped his face without a trace of patronage. She helped the waitress clean up the glass that Zimmerman's lunging backhand managed to swipe from the table. And she ate her own meal as well, all the while holding up her end of the conversation.

Ted asked about her work out West. She described the magic lantern show, in detail.

I've told you about all that stuff, Steve kept interrupting. Over the phone. You remember.

Clearly he didn't. Also clear that Ted could make nothing of the sketch Adie now drew for him. But she carried on gamely, the only strategy ever available.

We're supposed to demo for the general public next spring, and I haven't a clue as to what we should be building.

Spiegel laughed. She says that like she's saying, "I don't have a thing to wear."

Ted just stared at his two lost friends, ecstatic with bafflement.

By the time they rolled back down the long hill to the home, darkness had settled in. The old folks were watching a video blooper out-take show, gales of hilarity pouring out of the set. The instant they got back to his room, Ted blurted, Put me… on the bed.

Neither healthy body knew what was happening. They worked the badly distributed sack, Steve under the shoulders and Adie at the knees. They floundered, slipped, and banged his deadened torso against the metal sides of the hospital bed, at last getting him more or less supine, face-up, and centered.

Pull down my pants.

Spiegel punched him. Jesus, Zimmerman. Will you never change?

Hurry!

Thickened with emergency, Adie spent whole milliseconds wondering how they'd avoided this moment until now. She dove under the bed, the likely hiding spot, and surfaced with the bedpan.

Just put… just put me…

Between the two of them, they figured out the logistics. While Ted mewled in agony, the cause lost, Adie and Steve lifted his naked middle and slipped the pan underneath him.

I'm sorry. Humiliation bubbled up, broken, from Ted's throat. You two. I'm so… sorry.

About what? Adie rubbed his shoulder, looking away from his worthless, bared groin. We got you.

I'm in? His eyes retreated deep into their stunned corners. I made it…?

She nodded.

Oh. His voice relaxed in a wave of wonder. Oh! What a… good… day.

How does he pay for the single room? she asked Spiegel, on the way to their own motel that night.

Steve had fallen away sharply from jovial to grim, the minute they left the home. He made a fortune on those sell-out TV ads. The beatific Shaker rip-off. His thirty seconds of tonal recidivism.

She closed her eyes, hearing the beautiful tune against her will. That cash can't possibly last much longer.

Neither can he, Steve said.

At the motel check-in, she surprised him. One room, she told the desk clerk. With two single beds. She turned to Steve. Hope that's all r ight with you? I'm not sleeping in a strange room by myself tonight. Not after that.

Nothing separated them but a bedside light. My God, Spiegel whispered into the dark. The man can't go to the bathroom by himself. And he's still… he's still…

Don't say it, she said.

Each faced the other's wall, silent for a while. You know? he said at last. No lesson in life cripples me worse than "life goes on." And he fell asleep.

She followed, mere hours later.

Adie dawdled the next morning, first in the shower and later over the complimentary continental breakfast. It crossed Spiegel's mind as well, just how many eternities they could knock off the tally simply by showing up a few minutes later.

When they arrived, Ted was waiting for them, agitated. I woke up with this weird… idea. That you said something yesterday. About building a cave?

Adie embraced him where he lay. A Cavern.

Technically speaking, Spiegel added.

Why would anyone… ?

Haven't you watched the tape I sent you?

Ted flailed in the direction of the TV room. I don't go out there much.

I spent weeks slaving over a hot workstation cooking that up for you, and this is the thanks I get?

Spiegel found the video on Ted's shelf. Grateful for the diversion, Adie collaborated in dragging Ted out and commandeering the set. And so the nodding, enchanted geriatric ring looked on at their first working demo of virtual reality, a new galaxy beyond their combined ken.

Steve appeared on the videotape, making a few off-color comments that no one, Ted included, seemed to decipher. Then he stepped into the Cavern and fired it up. He took a spin through the Crayon World, then the Weather Room, then the Jungle.

What is this? a blue-skinned, beaked woman asked. A travel show or something?

I seen one of them, explained a man attached to a tube of oxygen. It's got to do with special effects.

On the tape, Spiegel set the controls for Aries.

I did that, Adie said, holding Ted's flapping hand.

I… thought it was… Van Gogh.

Then the taped version of Steve booted up the invisible organ. His hands played upon air, and a deeper air issued from them. Ted sat forward, transfixed. Here at last was something one could learn from. They'd forgotten to attach his belt restraint. Adie had to reach over to keep him in the chair.

I need… one of those. But one.. that doesn't need hands. Ted wanted to see the instrument again. He asked for a third look, but the rest of the audience shouted him down. He rocked his head all the way back to his room. That's… the thing I'm going to be playing. Any month now.

Somehow that day passed faster than the last. Time's aperture stopped down to match the stunted bandwidth. Steve took more dictation. F… sharp. No. Make that a G… flat. Even the simplest whole-note triads required endless revision.

Adie watched. Through the window, at the contested feeder, the sparrow industry worked out its continued survival, eating and excreting, twitching and chattering, inventing each minute from scratch.

They rolled Ted out to the terrace, hoping to store up the outdoors in the cells of his body. He asked for a windbreaker, despite the warmth. He seemed happy just to sit and look, without any walls to jam his focal length.