Motorman Read Free Page A

cool, cooler, etcetera, chance of light-to-heavy blister snow, probable drizzle washing out the artificial month, gas breaks at Amarillo, Great Chicago, and Texaco City, no moons tonight, shelter animals if necessary, please stay tuned...
     
    13]
     
    He dialed 555-333-555333-555-333, an obvious woman answered the first ring:
    “Chelsea Fish Pavilion.”
    “Excuse me,” Moldenke said. “I may have misdialed. My apologies.”
    “Sir, what number did you call?”
    “I don't remember. What number did I reach?”
    “The Chelsea Fish, 555-333-—”
    “Thank you, miss. The number sounds familiar, although I don't think-—”
    “May I help you, sir?”
    “I don't know, miss. Is there by any odd chance someone in the establishment by the name of Bunce? ”
    “Yes, sir. The Manager, Mr. Bunce. Would you like me to connect you with him?”
    “No, miss. I already am. Thank you. And, miss?”
    “Yes, sir?”
    “Is he what you call the boss?”
    “Yes, sir. He is.”
    “I see. Well, thanks, miss. I was only verifying the number. I didn't have anything to talk about. I may come in and buy a few nice fish sometime.”
    “We don't have any, sir. I'm sorry.”
    “Oh?”
    “Goodbye, sir.”
    “Goodbye, miss.”
     
    14]
     
    He went to his kitty-file and took out a Burnheart letter:
     
    Dear Moldenke,
    Yesterday I had a productive visit with my friend Eagleman of Atmospheric Sciences. He was full of his ensiform work with oecanthus and it took him several cigars to get it all on the table, as it were.
    One question, Dinky: how are the polyps?
    Cordially yours,
    Doc Burnheart
     
    P.S. Have you seen Eagleman's moon?
     
    15]
     
    After the mock War was apparently over, the army let Moldenke go. He found work as a bloodboy in a gauze mill outside Texaco City, a klick or two from the L.A. limits. He started low and remained there, sure that safety embraced felicity on a mattress of obscurity. He knew that vertical activity invited dazzling exposure, and that to seek is to be sucked. He recognized loneliness as the mother of virtues and sat in her lap whenever he could. He practiced linear existence and sidewise movement, preferring the turtle to the crane, the saucer to the lamp. He enjoyed the downstairs and chafed at going up. All of this, despite what his mother had told him: “Sonny,” she had said, a circle of rouge on each of her cheeks, her eyes like basement windows. “Son,” she said, “I want you to always have a job to go to, no matter what it is or where it is or what it involves. What matters is whether or not it lets you go up.”
     
    16]
     
    The lights went out. The radio died. Moldenke went to the lookout. Both suns were up, and clouded over. It was dark enough to be close to noons, although he didn't have a clockpiece anywhere. The second double Sunday in an artificial month.
    He opened his refrigerator and found a cockroach at the lettuce. Something scratched in the eggs.
    The juice was off. He would call the Power Co-op.
     
    17]
     
    The phone rang.
    Moldenke answered.
    “Hello?”
    “Am I speaking with Moldenke? ”
    “Yes. Bunce? Bunce, my lights are off.”
    “His lights are off, he says.”
    “And the radio, and the refrigerator. What about my weather reports? I'm worried. The wind is dying. What about those things, Bunce?”
    “Moldenke fiddles on. The lights are off, the wind is dying. Moldenke, if we were back-to-back we'd tangle asses.”
    “The heat grille went off also. I should add that. I'm getting colder.”
    “Hey, pal, listen to this: I'm taking you out of the M's and putting you at the top of the A's, smack at the head of my list. Here it is, jock: From now on, only one outgoing call per day, two incoming, all monitored. Consider benefits and privileges terminated, and don't leave your room until I say so. I don't necessarily want blood, but don't rule it out. Read a few magazines. No moving around. Pick a chair you like and stay with it. No changing. I'll have your food