“All right, I think I will,” Carmody said.
He was intrigued by the city of Bellwether. But he was also apprehensive. He wished he knew exactly why the city’s previous occupants had left.
At Bellwether’s insistence, Carmody slept that night in tire sumptuous bridal suite of the King George V Hotel. Bellwether served him breakfast on the terrace and played a brisk Hayden quartet while Carmody ate. The morning air was delicious. If Bellwether hadn’t told him, Carmody would never have guessed it was reconstituted.
When he was finished, Carmody leaned back and enjoyed the view of Bellwether’s western quarter—a pleasing jumble of Chinese pagodas, Venetian footbridges, Japanese canals, a green Burmese hill, a Corinthian temple, a Californian parking lot, a Norman tower and much else besides.
“You have a spendid view,” he told the city.
“I’m so glad you appreciate it,” Bellwether replied. “The problem of style was argued from the day of my inception. One group held for consistency: a harmonious group of shapes blending into a harmonious whole. But quite a few model cities are like that. They are uniformly dull, artificial entities created by one man or one committee, unlike real cities.”
“You’re sort of artificial yourself, aren’t you?” Carmody asked.
“Of course! But I do not pretend to be anything else. I am not a fake ‘city of the future’ or a mock-florentine bastard. I am a true agglutinated congeries. I am supposed to be interesting and stimulating in addition to being functional and practical.”
“Bellwether, you look okay to me,” Carmody said, in a sudden rush of expansiveness. “Do all model cities talk like you?”
“Certainly not. Most cities up to now, model or otherwise, never said a word. But their inhabitants didn’t like that. It made the city seem too huge, too masterful, too soulless, too impersonal. That is why I was created with a voice and an artificial consciousness to guide it.”
“I see,” Carmody said.
“The point is, my artificial consciousness personalizes me, Which is very important in an age of depersonalization. It enables me to be truly responsive. It permits me to be creative in meeting the demands of my occupants. We can reason with each other, my people and I. By carrying on a continual and meaningful dialogue, we can help each other to establish a dynamic, flexible and truly viable urban environment. We can modify each other without any significant loss of individuality.”
“It sounds fine,” Carmody said. “Except, of course, that you don’t have anyone here to carry on a dialogue with.”
“That is the only flaw in the scheme,” the city admitted. “But for the present, I have you.”
“Yes, you have me,” Carmody said and wondered why the words rang unpleasantly on his ear.
“And, naturally, you have me,” the city said. “It is a reciprocal relationship, which is the only kind worth having. But now, my dear Carmody, suppose I show you around myself. Then we can get you settled in and regularized.”
“Get me what?”
“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” the city said. “It simply is an. unfortunate scientific expression. But you understand, I’m sure, that a reciprocal relationship necessitates obligations on the part of both involved parties, It couldn’t very well be otherwise, could it?”
“Not unless it was a laissez-faire relationship.”
“We’re trying to get away from all that,” Bellwether said. “Laissez-faire becomes a doctrine of the emotions, you know, and leads non-stop to anomie. If you will just come this way . . .
III
Carmody went where he was asked and beheld the excellencies of Bellwether. He toured the power plant, the water filtration center, the industrial park and the light industries section. He saw the children’s park and the Odd Fellow’s Hall. He walked through a museum and an art gallery, a concert hall and a theater, a bowling alley, a billiards parlor, a Go-Kart track and a movie theater. He became tired and wanted to stop. But the city wanted to show itself off, and Carmody had to look at the five-story American Express building, the Portuguese synagogue, the statue of Buckminster Fuller, the Greyhound Bus Station and several other attractions.
At last it was over. Carmody concluded that beauty was in the eye of the beholder, except for a small part of it that was in the beholder’s feet.
“A little lunch now?” the city asked.
“Fine,” Carmody said.
He was guided to the fashionable Rochambeau Cafe, where he began with potage au petit pois and ended with petits fours.
“What about a nice Brie to finish off?” the city asked.
“No, thanks,” Carmody said. “I’m full. Too full, as a matter of fact.”
“But cheese isn’t filling. A bit of first-rate Camembert?”
“I couldn’t possibly.”
“Perhaps a few assorted fruits. Very refreshing to the palate.”
“It’s not my palate that needs refreshing,” Carmody said.
“At least an apple, a pear and a couple of grapes?”
“Thanks, no.”
“A couple of cherries?”
“No, no, no!”
“A meal isn’t complete without a little fruit,” the city said. “My meal is,” Carmody said. “There are important vitamins, only found in fresh fruit.”
“I’ll just have to struggle along without them.”
“Perhaps half an orange, which I will peel for you? Citrus fruits have no, bulk at all.”
“I couldn’t possibly.”
“Not even one quarter of an orange? If I take out all the pits?”
“Most decidedly not.”
“It would make me feel better,” the city said. “I have a completion compulsion, you know, and no meal is complete without a piece of fruit.”
“No! No! No!”
“All right, don’t get so excited,” the city said. “If you don’t like the sort of food I serve, that’s up to you.”
“But I do like it!”
“Then if you like it so much, why won’t you eat some fruit?”
“Enough,” Carmody said. “Give me a couple grapes.”
“I wouldn’t want to force anything on you.”
“You’re not forcing. Give me, please.”
“You’re quite sure?”
“Gimme!” Carmody shouted. “So take,” the city said and produced a magnificent bunch of muscatel grapes. Carmody ate them all. They were very good.
“Excuse me,” the city said.
“What are you doing?” Carmody sat upright and opened his eyes. “I was taking a little nap,” he said. “Is there anything wrong with that?”
“What should be wrong with a perfectly natural thing like that?” the city said.
“Thank you,” Carmody said, and closed his eyes again.
“But why nap in a chair?” the city asked.
“Because I’m in a chair, and I’m already half asleep.”
“You’ll get a crick in your back,” the city warned him.
“Don’t care,” Carmody mumbled, his eyes still closed.
“Why not take a proper nap? Over here, on the couch?”
“I’m already napping comfortably right here.”
“You’re not really comfortable,” the city pointed out. “The human anatomy is not constructed for sleeping sitting up.”
“At the moment, mine is,” Carmody said.
“It’s not. Why not try the couch?”
“The chair is fine.”
“But the couch is finer. Just try it, please, Carmody. Carmody?”
“Eh? What’s that?” Carmody said, waking up.
“The couch. I really think you should rest on the couch.”
“All right!” Carmody said, struggling to his feet. “Where is this couch?”
He was guided out of the restaurant, down the street, around the comer, and into a building marked “The Snoozerie.” There were a dozen couches. Carmody went to the nearest.
“Not that one,” the city said. �
��It’s got a bad spring.”
“It doesn’t matter,”Carmody said. “I’ll sleep around it.”
“That will result in a cramped posture.”
“Christ!” Carmody said, getting to his feet. “Which couch would you recommend?”
“This one right back here,” the city said. “It’s a king-size, the best in the place. The yield-point of the mattress has been scientifically determined. The pillows—”
“Right, fine, good,” Carmody said, lying down on the indicated couch.
“Shall I play you some soothing music?”
“Don’t bother.”
“Just as you wish. I’ll put out the lights, then.”
“Fine.”
“Would you like a blanket? I control the temperature here, of course, but sleepers often get a subjective impression of chilliness.”
“It doesn’t matter! Leave me alone!”
“All right!” the city said. “I’m not doing this for myself, you know. Personally, I never sleep.”
“Okay, sorry,” Carmody said. “That’s perfectly all right.” There was a long silence. Then Carmody sat up.
“What’s the matter?” the city asked.
“Now I can’t sleep,” Carmody said.
“Try closing your eyes and consciously relaxing every muscle in your body, starting with the big toe and working upward to—”
“I can’t sleep!” Carmody shouted.
“Maybe you weren’t very sleepy to begin with,” the city suggested. “But at least you could close your eyes and try to get a little rest. Won’t you do that for me?”
“No!” Carmody said. “I’m not sleepy and I don’t need a rest.”
“Stubborn!” the city said. “Do what you like. I’ve tried my best.”
“Yeah,” Carmody said, getting to his feet and walking out of the Snoozerie.
IV
Carmody stood on a little curved bridge and looked over a blue lagoon.
“This is a copy of the Rialto bridge in Venice,” the city said. “Scaled down, of course.”
“I know,” Carmody said. “I read the sign.”
“It’s rather enchanting, isn’t it?”
“Sure, it’s fine,” Carmody said, lighting a cigarette.
“You’re doing a lot of smoking,” the city pointed out.
“I know. I feel like smoking.”
“As your medical advisor, I must point out that the link between smoking and lung cancer is conclusive.”
“I know.”
“If you switched to a pipe, your chances would be improved.”
“I don’t like pipes.”
“What about a cigar, then?”
“I don’t like cigars.” He lit another cigarette.
“That’s your third cigarette in five minutes,” the City said.
“Goddamn it, I’ll smoke as much and as often as I please!” Carmody shouted.
“Well, of course you will!” the city said. “I was merely trying to advise you for your own good. Would you want me to simply stand by and not say a word while you destroyed yourself?”
“Yes,” Carmody said.
“I can’t believe that you mean that. There is an ethical imperative involved here. Man can act against his best interests; but a machine is not allowed that degree of perversity.”
“Get off my back,” Carmody said sullenly. “Quit pushing me around.”
“Pushing you around? My dear Carmody, have I coerced, you in any way? Have I done any more than advise you?”
“Maybe not. But you talk too much.”
“Perhaps I don’t talk enough,” the city said. “To judge from the response I get.”
“You talk too much,” Carmody repeated and lit a cigarette.
“That is your fourth cigarette in five minutes.”
Carmody opened his mouth to bellow an insult. Then he changed his mind and walked away.
“What’s this?” Carmody asked.
“It’s a candy machine,” the city told him.
“It doesn’t look, like one.”
“Still, it is one. This design is a modification of a design by Saarionmen for a silo. I have miniaturized it, of course, and—”
“It still doesn’t look like a candy machine. How do you work it?”
“It’s very simple. Push the red button. Now wait. Press down one of those levers on Row A; now press the green button. There!”
A Baby Ruth bar slid into Carmody’s hand.
“Huh,” Carmody said. He stripped off the paper and bit into the bar. “Is this a real Baby Ruth bar or a copy of one?” he asked.
“It’s a real one. I had to subcontract the candy concession because of the pressure of work.”
“Huh,” Carmody said, letting the candy wrapper slip from his fingers.
“That,” the city said, “is an example of the kind of thoughtlessness I always encounter.”
“It’s just a piece of paper,” Carmody said, turning and looking at the candy wrapper lying on the spotless street.
“Of course it’s just a piece of paper,” the city said. “But multiply it by a hundred thousand inhabitants and what do you have?”
“A hundred thousand Baby Ruth wrappers,” Carmody answered at once.
“I don’t consider that funny,” the city said. “You wouldn’t want to live in the midst of all that paper, I can assure you. You’d be the first to complain if this street were strewn with garbage. But do you do your share? Do you even clean up after yourself? Of course not! You leave it to me, even though I have to run all of the other functions, of the city, night and day, without even Sundays off.”
Carmody bent down to pick up the candy wrapper. But just before his fingers could close on it, a pincer arm shot out of the nearest sewer, snatched the paper away and vanished from sight:.
“It’s all right,” the city said.
“I’m used to cleaning up after people. I do it all the time.”
“Yuh,” said Carmody.
“Nor do I expect any gratitude.”
“I’m grateful, I’m grateful!” Carmody said.
“No, you’re not,” Bellwether said.
“So okay, maybe I’m not. What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t want you to say anything,” the city said. “Let us consider the incident closed.”
“Had enough?” the city said, after dinner.
“Plenty,” Carmody said.
“You didn’t eat much.”
“I ate all I wanted. It was very good.”
“If it was so good, why didn’t you eat more?”
“Because I couldn’t hold any more.”
“If you hadn’t spoiled your appetite with that candy bar . . .”
“Goddamn it, the candy bar didn’t spoil my appetite! I just . . .”
“You’re lighting a cigarette,” the city said.
“Yeah,” Carmody said. “Couldn’t you wait a little longer?”
“Now look,” Carmody said, “Just what in hell do you—”
“But we have something more important to talk about,” the city; said quickly. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do for a living?”
“I haven’t really had much time to think about it.”
“Well, I have been thinking about it. It would be nice if you became a doctor.”
“Me? I’d have to take a special college courses, then get into medical school, and so forth.”
“I can arrange all that,” the city said.
“Not interested.”
“Well . . . What about law?”
“Never.”
“Engineering is an excellent line.”
“Not for me.”
“What about accounting?”
“Not on your life.”
“What do you want to be?”
“A jet pilot,” Carmody, said impulsively.
“Oh, come now!”
“I’m quite serious.”
“I don’t even have an air field here.”
/>
“Then I’ll pilot somewhere else.”
“You’re only saying, that to spite me!”
“Not at all,” Carmody said. “I want to be a pilot, I really do. I’ve always wanted to be a pilot! Honest I have!”
There was a long silence. Then the city said, “The choice is entirely up to you.” This was said in a voice like death.
“Where are you going now?”
“Out for a walk,” Carmody said.
“At nine-thirty in the evening?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“I thought you were tired.”
“That was quite some time ago.”
“I see. And I also thought that you could sit here and we could have a nice chat.”
“How about if we talk after I get back?” Carmody asked.
“No, it doesn’t matter,” the city said.
“The walk doesn’t matter,” Carmody said, sitting down. “Come on, we’ll talk.”
“I no longer care to talk,” the city said. “Please go for your walk.”
V
“Well, good night,” Carmody said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said, ‘good night.’ ”
“You’re going to sleep?”
“Sure. It’s late, I’m tired.”
“You’re going to sleep now?”
“Well, why not?”
“No reason at all,” the city said, “except that you have forgotten to wash.”
“Oh . . . I guess I did forget. I’ll wash in the morning.”
“How long is it since you’ve had a bath?”
“Too long. I’ll take one in the morning.”
“Wouldn’t you feel better if you took one right now?”
“No.”
“Even if I drew the bath for you?”
“No! Goddamn it, no! I’m going to sleep!”
“Do exactly as you please,” the city said. “Don’t wash, don’t study, don’t eat a balanced diet. But also, don’t blame me.”
“Blame you? For what?”
“For anything,” the city said. “Yes. But what did you have in mind, specifically?”
“It isn’t important.”
“Then why did you bring it up in the first place?”
“I was only thinking of you,” the city said.
“I realize that.”
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