Death in Florence

by George Alec Effinger

  Rugorsky took a piece of chalk and wrote "Dr. Waters" on the blackboard. "Dr. Waters is a scientist and a philosopher," said Rugorsky. "Twenty-five years ago he founded Utopia 1, a small experimental community in New Mexico, a state with which those of you from America are no doubt familiar. His ideas were so successful, and the community grew so quickly, that within ten years his followers in New Mexico numbered in the hundreds of thousands. They compelled their government to revise the state constitution so that, in effect, New Mexico became an autonomous area, Utopia 2. People from all over the world came to learn the secret of Utopia 2's great success. The ideas spread quickly, and smaller groups formed throughout the world, based on Dr. Waters's teachings. Now, fifteen years after Utopia 2 came into existence, the power of its unqualified triumph and the desire of people everywhere to live in peace and harmony have demanded the creation of Utopia 3. It is a gigantic undertaking, but one that bears every indication of even greater success."

  Moore looked around the table; every head was bent over the Utopia 3 notebooks each person had received. Everyone was eagerly copying down Rugorsky's words. Moore felt a little foolish; he closed his notebook and began shading in the concentric circles on the green cover.

  "It's very exciting, isn't it?" whispered a man sitting behind him.

  "Yes," said Moore.

  "I can't wait," said the man.

  Moore just shrugged. Rugorsky spoke on. "This vast area of Europe is yours, now," he said. "In a brief while we will set you loose in it, as if it were an immense playground without supervisors. Under other circumstances that could soon become disastrous. But thanks to Dr. Waters, when you leave here you will be well on the way to living a life of benevolence, charity, and good fellowship. You are the pioneer group, the first of Utopia 3's citizens without allegiance. The hopes and prayers of your predecessors in Utopias 1 and 2 go with you.

  "Here is a mimeographed list. I want you to take one and pass the rest around. This is a list of the Utopia 3 centers you'll find in many of the larger urban areas. These offices will act as clearinghouses of information, communications centers, and counseling services. This network is the closest thing you'll have to a government, which, as you can see, is no government at all. When you leave here, you will rarely see this symbol again." Rugorsky indicated the concentric circles on the cover of a notebook. "This figure represents several abstruse ideas from various philosophies. There will be a sign carrying the symbol outside the Utopia 3 offices listed on this sheet. If you need anything or want anything, go to the nearest office. If you want to get in touch with anyone else in Utopia 3 or outside, you can do that at any office. Are there any questions?"

  "I still can't believe this is going to work," said Brant softly.

  "I hope it does," said Moore. "It's better than having to go to work every morning."

  "Ah," she said, "you're a cynic, too."

  "No," said Moore, "not actually. I'd really like to see it work."

  * * *

  Do you enjoy primarily heterosexual relationships? Homosexual relationships? Are you finding that as you go along, the distinctions tend to blur?

  "What the hell is this?" thought Staefler. "What kind of a stupid question is that?" He left the answer blank.

  How do you feel about the uncountable billions of dollars in art treasures within Utopia 3, now left unguarded? Have you thought that you could be first to Florence or Vienna? Would you like to have an original Giotto hanging in your den?

  "I don't care about no Giotto," thought Staefler. He left that one unanswered, too.

  As all people unconnected with Utopia 3 have been resettled, there will be no one to provide certain services which you have come to believe to be essential. How do you feel, now that you will rarely ever again eat fresh meat? Fresh vegetables? Fresh fruit? Does turning to a diet of only canned food distress you? There is an excellent supply of Dinty Moore brand beef stew in Ferrara, and a gigantic warehouse of Dole pineapple wedges in Bratislava.

  "There's bound to be some beasts afoot," thought Staefler. "That Arab kid can do wonders with a keen blade and a dead Iamb."

  Will you be lonely? Will you be blue? Will you take up residence in one particular town, or will you wander? With so few utopiates at this time, the odds of your running into someone else are embarrassingly low. Perhaps you will decide not to travel alone. Will you seek a male companion? A female companion? One of each? Are you male or female? Are you happy with that arrangement? Do you see in the present circumstances an opportunity to maximize your pleasures along these lines?

  "I wonder if they're going to charge me extra for that Arab kid," thought Staefler. "I wonder how much they're going to charge me, anyhow."

  Have you abandoned anyone in the outside world? Are you guilty of any crime for which you feel you haven't been adequately punished? Will you feel like a king or a queen, all alone in one of the former capitals of Europe? How do you think this will affect your personality? Do you believe in God more strongly, less strongly, or precisely the same as before?

  Staefler put his pencil on the table. He hadn't answered a single question on the page; they all seemed a little odd to him. Fortunately, though, they hadn't asked for credit references or previous employers. He sat back and closed his eyes. He saw himself all alone in Venice, riding in a gondola, singing, with the boy sculling the boat along. It was a shame that Rome hadn't been included in Utopia 3. He'd sure be the first to the Vatican. Pope Bo! It was also a shame that Paris wasn't included, but Staefler could be content with what he had.

  * * *

  The man was wearing a green Utopia 3 sweatshirt. He held out his hand to Brant and smiled. "Hello," he said. "My name is Carlo Mazzatti. I've been assigned to help you out while you're staying at the lodge. Kind of like a big brother."

  "I'm pleased to meet you," said Brant. "Don't they have any women in administrative positions? Or are they all in the kitchen?"

  Mazzatti looked hurt. "I'm sorry that you feel you have to ask that question, Eileen."

  She chewed her lip for a few seconds. "I'm sorry," she said at last. "I'm just not used to this kind of thing."

  "Of course not. That's because there's never been this kind of thing on this scale before. That's why I'm here. How are you relating so far?"

  Brant shrugged. "All right, I suppose."

  "Have you made any new friends?"

  "No, not really. I've met a few people, but I wouldn't say that any of them were friends."

  Mazzatti shuffled through some papers he was holding. "Would you like to take a walk down by the pond? It's much more pleasant down there than it would be in my room."

  "Sure."

  "I was going through your orientation questionnaire. I find some of your remarks interesting."

  Brant nodded. "That's why they're there. I figured I'd give somebody a good laugh."

  They walked down a long stairway built into the side of a hill, each step made of a trimmed and split log. The trees were dense around them, and the rustling of the heavy branches created the tranquil mood Mazzatti was seeking. "You seem hostile to Utopia 3 in some ways," he said. "I wonder if you've made the right choice."

  They went slowly down the hill. Brant amused herself with fantasies. She saw herself in the role of priestess of Apollo, leading Aeneas down darkly to the very mouth of Hell. "Don't worry about me," she said. "I'm capable of taking care of myself. You put me in a city like Munich, all alone, and I'll be happy as a clam."

  "That's somewhat against the basic philosophy of Utopia 3."

  "Sue me," said Brant.

  "We're offering you an environment that will encourage your self-awareness and appreciation of your brotherhood with everyone, within Utopia 3 or outside."

  "Sisterhood."

  "What?" asked Mazzatti, bewildered.

  "Never mind. You have trouble with the language."

  Mazzatti stopped on the bottom step of the rustic staircase. "Listen," he said. "Do you hear the birds?"

  "O
f course."

  "Do you hear the song of the insects? Do you feel the cool wind? Do you see the bright spillings of sunlight? I think you have to learn to relax into this situation. I think you have yet to understand how to grow with it."

  "Please," said Brant, waving away his good intentions. "What I really don't want now is the romance."

  "Give our ideas a trial. They've worked for thousands and thousands of others. You have to think about yourself as a part of the world, instead of as a mere actor in isolated scenes. You have to see yourself as a continuing mind and being. You can prepare yourself for bearing children in our context, for raising your children in an environment of charity."

  "Oh, no," said Brant. "Don't give me that motherhood routine. If you want a baby factory, you can find somebody else. I've got other ideas for this woman. You're not giving me the heart of Europe and expect me to sit up nights washing diapers."

  Mazzatti sighed. "You will understand eventually, Eileen. But you're being unnecessarily hostile."

  "All I want from you is a road atlas," said Brant.

  * * *

  About a mile from the lodge, in a small clearing among ancient black oak trees, was a cabin built from dressed logs. The windows were open holes in the walls, as was the door. There was no electricity in the cabin and no running water. The inside of the building had a pleasant smell of earth and dampness. The corners were filled with spider webs, and small animals had left trails in the dust on the floor. "We don't mind the insects and the rodents here," said Gerhardt Vollring, Moore's big brother. "They're supposed to be here. This is where they belong. You can't think of the world as a private apartment for human beings."

  "I don't," said Moore, sitting in a rough chair constructed of arm-sized tree limbs stripped of their bark.

  "That's good," said Vollring. He went to a cabinet standing against one wall. "Do you have any doubts?"

  "I don't have doubts, as such," said Moore. "I have real fears, though."

  "I don't understand."

  "I don't doubt that Utopia 3 will work, and I don't doubt that it is the right place for me. I am afraid, though, that there will come times when I won't be capable of taking care of myself."

  Vollring laughed. "Certainly," he said. "That's perfectly natural." He came back toward Moore, carrying a double handful of materials. He put these on a large round table near Moore and sat down.

  "It's not that I think T won't be able to fit into the Utopia 3 mentality," said Moore. "Really, it's embarrassing even to mention. I just worry about practical things. What happens when something breaks or wears out? I used to have a secretary who worried about things like that. Being a consultant never prepared me for this."

  "Here," said Vollring. "That's just why we've come out to this cabin, to build your confidence. In the first place, you have the resources of all these great cities to draw on. Tine fabulous shops and department stores are just waiting for you, like a free cafeteria of merchandise. Or you could explore the treasured belongings left behind by private citizens. Many people, when they abandoned their homes to take up new lives outside the area that has become Utopia 3, were forced or chose to give up some of their possessions. There are no locked doors in Utopia 3, you know. I would think there would be a kind of excitement, to rummage about in the musty rooms of some unknown person, to take what seems decorative or useful. It is all yours to do with as you choose, because when you leave this lodge—"

  "I know," said Moore wearily.

  "Nevertheless, pay attention. These two pieces of leather have been decorated with hand-tooled designs."

  "They're very nice."

  "We like to think so. Now, what I want you to do is take this awl and make holes along three sides of each piece, just like I'm doing. Don't put any holes along the top side here. When you're done, I'll show you how to lace it up, and you'll have a very attractive wallet."

  Moore sighed. "I suppose that will be a very useful skill in the coming years."

  "No," said Vollring, "we realize that you can get much more elegant wallets anywhere. But this just shows you that you have talents undreamed of as yet."

  Punching the holes in the leather was not difficult, and stringing the two pieces together was even simpler. Moore finished the wallet in less than half an hour. "Now I have something to be proud of," he said.

  "Come on," said Vollring. "It's time for horseback riding."

  "I don't know," said Moore. "I've never even been near a horse."

  "Well, there are bound to be horses in Utopia 3, overlooked by their former owners or left behind by the economics of the situation. Suppose you wanted to go somewhere, and all there was for transportation was a horse? Or suppose you wanted to experience the joy and freedom of speed, as man and animal become one in the celebration of utter liberty?"

  They walked back from the craft cabin, toward the lodge, near which was a large red barn. Moore followed Vollring into the barn; there were two rows of stalls, with the head of a healthy, well-groomed horse lolling over the door to each. A young woman dressed in a soiled Utopia 3 sweatshirt, blue jeans, and high brown boots came to meet them. "Hi," she said.

  "Hello, Marie," said Vollring. "This is Norman Moore. He wants to get to know one of your beasts. Norman, this is Marie Zlato, the horse lady."

  Zlato snorted. "Do I look like a 'horse lady' to you?" she asked Moore. "It makes me sound like some kind of deformed person." Moore didn't answer. "Are you going to ride, too?" she asked Vollring.

  "Not today," he said. "I'll just watch."

  "Coward," said Moore. Vollring smiled.

  "I'll give you Lucky," said Zlato, leading Moore toward one of the stalls. "Lucky's very good with beginners."

  Zlato brought the horse from the stall. Moore took a few steps backward, awed by the size of the animal. The woman showed him slowly how to put on the saddle and harness, how to adjust the reins, and the correct way to mount. "What if the hypothetical horse I'm going to meet doesn't have a saddle or bridle or anything?" he asked.

  "Just like anything else," said Vollring. "You can pick those things up in any metropolitan center."

  "Yes," said Moore, "but what if I'm not in a metropolitan center, and all there was for transportation was the horse?"

  "Then you'd merely jump up and ride him bareback," said Zlato.

  With her help, Moore climbed into the saddle and sat there very uncomfortably. "Relax," she said. He couldn't. He held the reins tightly, his hand fixed rigidly a few inches above the saddle's pommel, in the position Zlato had shown him. "Kick him up," she said. Moore tapped the horse's flanks lightly; Lucky didn't react. "Harder," said Zlato. He kicked harder; Lucky began to walk out of the barn, onto an oval track. Moore enjoyed the new experience.

  "You look terrific," shouted Vollring. Moore was too timid to speak.

  "Give him another kick," shouted Zlato. "Get him into a trot." Moore did as he was told, and Lucky went into a jolting, back-breaking trot. Moore knew immediately that had been a mistake. He was sure that he was going to be bounced off the animal's back at any second. Every time one of the horse's hoofs hit the ground, Moore flew out of the saddle and landed again with real pain. As he passed Vollring and Zlato, he could see that they were both laughing. Moore was angry, but he didn't dare try to stop Lucky.

  "If you kick him again, he'll go into a gallop, and it'll be much smoother," called Zlato.

  The idea seemed doubtful. But rather than look like a bigger fool, Moore did as he was instructed. He was surprised when Lucky moved easily into a comfortable gallop. The feeling was exhilarating, nothing at all like the intermediate gait. He rode the horse around the track several times, until Zlato walked out and stopped Lucky and helped Moore dismount. "How was that?" asked Vollring.

  "Fine," said Moore. "Real great."

  "You did well for a first time," said Zlato.

  "Terrific," said Moore.

  Vollring looked at his watch. "Thanks, Marie," he said. "We have just enough time to make swimming b
efore noon. After lunch we'll have archery, rowboating on the pond, and a softball game with some of the other utopiates. And we won't be having supper in the dining hall tonight. Director Waldecott has planned a cook-out with hamburgers and hot dogs, with a campfire and sing-along before bed."

  "Let's go," said Moore. "I could use a swim."

  "You'll have to take a shower down by the pool," said Vollring. "And the water safety instructors will check to be sure you use the antiseptic footbath."

  * * *

  The sun, rising now on the very crest of a low hill, was a red-orange ball of nothing, rising in Staefler's eyes. As Staefler's motorcycle broke the Yugoslavian morning, the man was startled to discover just how meager and unimpressive the sun was. The Arab kid sat behind him, the cardboard suitcase squeezed between the two of them, digging into Staefler's back. He had felt that same annoying pain all the way from the lodge, hundreds of miles, several weeks; he knew that soon the skin of his back would be rubbed away entirely. He wondered what kind of expression the boy would show then. The Arab kid didn't cling to Staefler on the teetering vehicle, even through the harrowing Swiss passes. There Staefler had taken each slender trail as a personal invitation to compete with gravity. He had not felt overly challenged. "Now," thought Staefler, unable to mutter satisfactorily because of the cycle's roar, "if my back was a mass of bloody ribbons, would he then eagerly hold me, holding tighter at each casual turn in the road, pressing me even harder at every opportunity, forcing my blood down over us, along our legs, down our boots, to splash on the pavement, an unmistakable trail for my enemies?" They made a sharp bend in the road, motorcycle and riders at nearly forty-five degrees from the flashing ground. Beyond the curve, the way was straight toward the isolated, abandoned smokestacks of the Slovenian city of Ljubljana. The chimneys poked up into the hazy sky like the handles of pitchforks stuck into the ground by since-deceased workmen. Behind them were the Slovenian Alps, Mount Triglav in particular. Before them was Ljubljana, nearer now, and the Ljubljanica River. It would have made little difference to Staefler if some odd quirk of fate caused his motorcycle to spin around and head back the other way.