‘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 corner, and into a building marked ‘The Snoozerie.’ There were a dozen couches. Carmody went to the nearest.
‘Not that one,’ Bellwether 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 would you recommend?’
‘This one back here,’ Bellwether said. ‘It’s 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!’ Bellwether said. ‘I’m not doing this for myself, you know. Personally, I never sleep.’
‘OK, sorry,’.Carmody said.
‘That’s perfectly all right,’ Bellwether said.
There was a long silence. Then Carmody sat up.
‘What’s the matter?’ Bellwether 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,’ Bellwether 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!’ Bellwether said. ‘Do what you like. I’ve tried my best.’
‘Yeah,’ Carmody said, getting to his feet and walking out of The Snoozerie.
Carmody stood on a little curved bridge and looked over a blue lagoon.
‘This is a copy of the Rialto bridge in Venice,’ Bellwether 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,’ Bellwether pointed out.
‘I know. I feel like smoking.’
‘As your medical adviser, 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,’ Bellwether said.
‘Goddamn it, I’ll smoke as much and as often as I please!’ Carmody shouted.
‘Well, of course you will!’ Bellwether 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 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,’ Bellwether 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,’ Bellwether told him.
‘It doesn’t look like one.’
‘Still, it is one. This design is a modification of a design by Saarinomen 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 Babe-Ruth bar slid into Carmody’s hand.
‘Huh,’ Carmody said. He stripped off the paper and bit into the bar. ‘Is this a real Babe 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 out of his fingers.
‘That,’ Bellwether 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,’. Bellwether said. ‘But multiply it by a hundred thousand inhabitants and what do you have?’
‘A hundred thousand pieces of paper,’ Carmody answered at once.
‘I don’t consider that funny,’ Bellwether 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 rubbish. 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 the other functions of the city, night and day, without even Sundays off.’
‘Must you go on so?’ Carmody asked. ‘I’ll pick it up.’
He 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,’ Bellwether 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 OK, maybe I’m not. What do you want me to say?’
‘I don’t want you to say anything,’ Bellwether said. ‘Let us consider the incident closed.’
‘Had enough?’ Bellwether 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,’ Bellwether 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,’ Bellwether 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 special college courses, then get into medical school, and so forth.’
; ‘I can arrange all that,’ Bellwether 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, then?’
‘A jet pilot,’ Carmody said impulsively.
‘Oh, come now!’
‘I’m quite serious.’
‘I don’t even have an airfield 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 Bellwether said, ‘The choice is entirely up to you.’ This was said in a voice like death.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Out for a walk,’ Carmody said.
‘At 9:30 in the evening?’
‘Sure. Why not?’
‘I thought you were tired.’
‘That was quite some time ago.’
‘I see. And I also thought that perhaps you could sit here and we could maybe have a nice chat.’
‘How about if we talk when I get back?’ Carmody asked.
‘No, it doesn’t matter,’ Bellwether said.
‘The walk doesn’t matter,’ Carmody said, sitting down. ‘Come on, we’ll talk.’
‘I no longer care to talk,’ Bellwether said. ‘Please go for your walk.’
‘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, just like that?’
‘Well, why not?’
‘No reason at all,’ Bellwether 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,’ Bellwether 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,’ Bellwether 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,’ Bellwether said.
‘I realize that.’
‘you must know that it can’t benefit me if you wash or not.’
‘I’m aware of that.’
‘When one cares,’ Bellwether went on, ‘when one feels one’s responsibilities, it is not nice to hear oneself sworn at.’
‘I didn’t swear at you.’
‘Not this time. But earlier today you did.’
‘Well … I was nervous.’
‘That’s because of the smoking.’
‘Don’t start that again!’
‘I won’t,’ Bellwether said. ‘Smoke like a furnace. What does it matter to me? They’re your lungs, aren’t they?’
‘Damned right,’ Carmody said, lighting a cigarette.
‘But my failure,’ Bellwether said.
‘No, no,’ Carmody said. ‘Don’t say it, please don’t!’
‘Forget I said it,’ Bellwether said.
‘All right.’
‘Sometimes I get overzealous.’
‘Sure.’
‘And it’s especially difficult because I’m right. I am right, you know.’
‘I know,’ Carmody said. ‘you’re right, you’re right, you’re always right. Right right right right right –’
‘Don’t overexcite yourself before bedtime,’ Bellwether said. ‘Would you care for a glass of milk?’
‘No.’
‘you’re sure?’
Carmody put his hands over his eyes. He felt very strange. He also felt extremely guilty, fragile, dirty, unhealthy, and sloppy. He felt generally and irrevocably bad, and he knew that it would always be this way.
From somewhere within him he found strength. He shouted, ‘Seethwright!’
‘Who are you shouting to?’Bellwether asked.
‘Seethwright! Where are you?’
‘How have I failed you?’ Bellwether asked. ‘Just tell me how!’
‘Seethwright!’ Carmody wailed. ‘Come and get me! This is the wrong Earth!’
There was a snap, crackle and pop, and Carmody was somewhere else.
CHAPTER 24
Whoosh! Krrrunch! Kerpow! Here we are somewhere, but who knows where and when and which? Surely not Carmody, who found himself in a persuasive city much like New York. Much like; but was it?
‘Is this New York?’ Carmody asked himself.
‘How the hell should I know?’ a voice answered promptly.
‘It was a rhetorical question,’ Carmody said.
‘I am quite aware of that; but, since I have my rhetorician’s papers, I answered it.’
Carmody looked around and saw that the voice had come from a large black umbrella in his left hand. He asked, ‘Are you my Prize?’
‘Well, of course I am,’ the Prize said. ‘I don’t suppose I look like a Shetland pony, do I?’
‘Where were you earlier, when I was in that model city?’
‘I was taking a short, well-earned vacation,’ the Prize said. ‘And there’s no use your complaining about it. Vacation time is stipulated in the contract between the Amalgamated Prizes of the Galaxy and the Recipient’s League.’
‘I wasn’t complaining,’ Carmody said. ‘I just … Forget it. This place certainly looks like my Earth. It looks like New York, in fact.’
He was in a city. There was heavy traffic, both human and vehicular. There were many theatres, many frankfurter stands, many people. There were many stores which proclaimed that they were going out of business and selling their entire stock regardless of cost. Neon signs flashed everywhere. There were many restaurants, most prominent of which were The Westerner, The Southerner, The Easterner, and The Northerner; all of these had specials on steak and shoe-string potatoes. But there was also The Nor’easterner, The Sou’wester, The East-by-Northeast, and the West-by-Northwest. A movie theatre across the street was featuring The Apocrypha (Bigger and Stranger than The Bible), with a cast of thousands. Near it was the Omphalos Discothèque wherein a folk-rock group calling itself. The Shits played raucous music, which was danced to by immature virgins in middleless dresses.
‘Lots of action,’ Carmody said, wetting his lips.
‘I hear only the jangle of cash registers,’ the Prize said, in a heavily moralistic voice.
‘Don’t be stuffy,’ Carmody said. ‘I think I’m home.’
‘I hope not,’ the Prize said. ‘This place gets on my nerves. Please look around you and make sure. Remember, similitude need not imply exactitude.’
There was an IRT subway entrance in front of him. He saw that he was at Fiftieth, Street and Broadway. Yes, he was home. He walked briskly to the subway and went down the stairs. It was familiar, exciting and saddening all at the same time. The marble walls were damp with ichor, and the gleaming monorail came out of one tunnel and disappeared into another …
‘Oh,’ Carmody muttered.
‘How’s that?’ the Prize asked.
‘Never mind,’ Carmody said. ‘On second thoughts, I think I’ll take a little stroll in the streets.’ He began to retrace his footsteps, moving quietly towards the rectangle of sky framed in the entrance. A crowd had formed, blocking
his way. Carmody pushed through them, and the crowd pushed him back. The wet walls of the subway began to tremble, then to convulse rhythmically. The gleaming monorail pulled free of its stanchions, curled back on itself like a brazen tongue, and flicked out towards him. Carmody ran, bowling over the people who stood in his way. He was dimly aware that they rolled immediately to their feet, as though they had weighted bases. The marble pavement beneath him grew soft, syrupy. His feet were sticking, the figures were close around him, and the monorail was poised over his head.
Carmody shouted, ‘Seethwright! Get me out of this!’
‘Me, too!’ the Prize shouted.
‘Me, too!’ screamed the cunning predator; for it was he and none other, cleverly disguised as a subway, into whose mouth Carmody had strayed.
Nothing happened. Carmody had the terrible feeling that Seethwright was perhaps out to lunch, or on the toilet, or answering a telephone. The blue rectangle of sky became smaller as the exit sealed itself. The figures around him lost their resemblance to humans. The walls turned a purplish-red, began to heave and tremble, then to contract. The slender monorail curled hungrily around Carmody’s feet. Within the predator’s body, vast ululations were followed by protracted slaverings. (Carmody-eaters are notoriously piggish and lacking in any table manners.)
‘Help!’ Carmody screamed, as digestive juices ate away the soles of his shoes. ‘Seethwright, help me!’
‘Help him, help him!’ the Prize sobbed. ‘Or, if that seems too difficult, help me! Get me out of here and I will take advertisements in the leading newspapers, convene committees, form action groups, carry posters on the streets, all to the purpose of insuring that Carmody does not go unavenged. And I further pledge myself to –’
‘Stop babbling,’ a voice said, which Carmody recognized as belonging to Seethwright. ‘It’s disgraceful. As for you, Mr Carmody, you must, in future, make up your mind before stepping into the mouth of your predator. My office is not set up for hair’s-breadth rescues.’
‘But you will save me this time, won’t you?’ Carmody begged. ‘Won’t you? Won’t you?’
‘It is already done,’ Seethwright said. And when Carmody looked around, he saw that it was indeed already done.
CHAPTER 25
Dimension of Miracles Page 13