TVA BABY and Other Stories

by Terry Bisson

  “Why were you sent to the office?” asked Mrs. Sutton, the Principal. “Mr. Smart wouldn’t tell me.”

  “I showed him this,” said Billy. “I don’t understand why it gets bigger when I rub it.”

  “Home from school already?” asked Billy’s mother.

  “They let me out early,” said Billy. “They said I took the prize.”

  “That’s nice,” said Billy’s mother. “What prize?”

  “I guess it’s for my trick dick,” said Billy. “It gets bigger when I rub it.”

  “Billy!” said Billy’s mother.

  “It’s like magic,” said Billy. “Watch this.”

  “Go to your room,” said Billy’s mother. She started to cry.

  Billy hated his room. It was full of dumb shit. There was nothing to do so he rubbed his dick.

  It got bigger and bigger.

  It was like magic. Billy liked magic.

  So he rubbed it some more. It got as big as a wiener.

  “Where’s Billy? asked Billy’s father. He was home from jail.

  “He’s in his room,” said Billy’s mother. “Rubbing his dick.”

  “That Billy!” said Billy’s father.

  “Who’s there?” asked Billy.

  “Your father,” said Billy’s father.

  “Come in,” said Billy.

  “Wow,” said Billy’s father. Billy’s dick was as big as a hot dog.

  “How did it get so big?” asked Billy’s father. Billy could tell he was proud.

  “Rubbing it like this,” said Billy. “It’s like magic.”

  “We’d better shut the door,” said Billy’s father.

  Soon Billy’s dick was as big as a bottle. Billy was tired of rubbing it. It was getting sore. Plus, he wanted to watch TV.

  “You can’t watch TV like that,” said Billy’s father.

  “How can I make it little again?” Billy asked. “It won’t fit in my pants any more.”

  “That’s easy,” said Billy’s father. “Just keep rubbing it.”

  That didn’t make any sense to Billy. But he did it anyway. He knew better than to contradict his father.

  But his dick just got bigger. Soon it was as big as a rolled-up towel.

  “That didn’t work,” said Billy.

  “We need help,” said Billy’s father. He went to get help.

  He shut the door behind him.

  After a while there was a knock at the door.

  “Who’s there?” asked Billy.

  It was Father McBride.

  Father McBride came in and sat on the bed beside Billy. He had a funny haircut.

  “I can help you, my son,” he said. Billy’s dick was almost as long as the bed.

  “How?” asked Billy.

  “You must pray for forgiveness, while I rub your dick with Holy Water.”

  “OK,” said Billy.

  Billy prayed while Father McBride rubbed his dick. The Holy Water was warm and his dick got bigger and bigger. Soon it was as big as a baseball bat.

  It bounced up and down like a spring and broke out the window by the bed. The glass was everywhere.

  “Now you’re in trouble,” said Father McBride.

  “In trouble for what?” asked Billy.

  “For breaking out the window with your dick,” said Father McBride. “That’s what.”

  It was true.

  Billy heard sirens. The police were coming.

  Billy climbed out the window and ran away. He left Father McBride sitting on the bed.

  Billy’s dick was way too big to fit in his pants. It waved around from side to side as he ran down the street. It broke out the windows on the cars.

  “Stop him!” people shouted. “His dick is too big!”

  They ran after Billy but he outran them all. His big dick made him fast.

  After a while he came to the circus. “Maybe they can help me,” thought Billy. He had heard that circus people were smart. Everyone has heard that.

  He told the Ringmaster his problem. “How can I make my dick little again?” he asked.

  “That’s easy,” said the Ringmaster. “First you have to stop rubbing it.”

  Billy stopped rubbing it. But it stayed big.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  “Now you have to stick it into a circus girl,” said the Ringmaster. He introduced Billy to a circus girl. She wore gold pants.

  “Where do I stick it?” asked Billy. He didn’t see any holes.

  “Look here,” said the circus girl. She pulled her gold pants down and spread her legs apart.

  Billy saw the hole and it was amazing. He stuck in his dick. It slid right in.

  “Do it like a pump,” said the circus girl.

  Billy did it like a pump. Pretty soon he felt stuff squirting out, and his dick got smaller.

  When he pulled it out, it was almost as little as usual.

  Billy heard clapping. “Good going,” someone shouted.

  Billy looked around. There was his mother, she was smiling. His father, too. Also Father McBride and Mr. Smart, the science teacher. Even the principal, Mrs. Sutton, was there. She was smiling too.

  Billy felt good.

  He pulled up his pants. His little dick fit into them easily. He looked around for the circus girl but she was gone.

  “That’s better, son,” said Billy’s father. “Now you can come home and watch TV.” Billy could tell he was proud.

  “And you can come back to school,” said Mr. Smart and the Principal, Mrs. Sutton.

  Father McBride didn’t say anything. He had a funny haircut.

  “You mustn’t rub your dick anymore,” said Billy’s mother, as they headed off for home.

  “I have learned my lesson,” said Billy. “What’s for supper?”

  It was turkey. They had turkey every night.

  Brother Can You Spare a Dime?

  “Up and at ‘em!”

  “Hey, you, get up and get moving.”

  Caleb opened his eyes. Two cops were bending over him. One skinny and one fat, like Laurel and Hardy. Only not funny.

  The fat one was slapping a nightstick against his open hand. It made an ugly sound.

  “Have a heart, officer,” whined Caleb. “I’m freezing. And it’s almost warm here in this doorway.”

  “It’s warmer in Florida,” said the skinny cop.

  “Or jail,” said the fat cop. “We got orders to clear you bums out of the Loop. So move.” He rapped his nightstick on the sidewalk, like a gavel.

  “Okay, okay,” said Caleb. He rolled up his blanket and gathered his worldly goods—a single tattered copy of Thrilling Future Tales. He had read the magazine three times already, but tucked inside his shirt, it helped to cut the wind.

  He watched the cops walk away, then hid the blanket behind a trash can. All he had to do was wait them out; the doorway would still be there, and the night ahead loomed long and dark and cold.

  Meanwhile, he was hungry. He hadn’t eaten in two days.

  He stumbled out into the crowded street. The Loop was filled with grim figures, all bundled up against the bitter wind. Caleb eyed the passing faces, looking for a touch. Half of them were bums like himself. The others all looked mean and cold.

  Caleb had no choice, though. He had to get something in his belly.

  He fixed a pitiful expression on his face—not a difficult acting job, given his situation—and stuck out his hand.

  “Brother, can you spare a dime?”

  Nobody even bothered to say no. They walked by without even glancing at him. The Great Depression—the newspapers were already calling it that—was like the Chicago winter itself: endless and relentless.

  It made people mean.

  It was spitting snow. Caleb sat down on a stoop and spread the magazine across his chest like a pulp paper vest. It didn’t help much. He closed his eyes and shivered and tried to imagine Florida.

  Or even jail.

  He opened his eyes.

  A man was bending o
ver him. A strange-looking man wearing a long black coat made out of some kind of sleek canvas. And bright silver shoes.

  He was staring at the cover of the magazine.

  Caleb managed a pitiful smile. The pitiful part was easy. “Brother, can you spare a dime?” he whined.

  The man reached out, holding a dime between two fingers, and dropped it into Caleb’s palm. That was when Caleb saw the big black watch, hanging loose on the man’s wrist.

  Carpe Diem was all Caleb remembered of his schoolboy Latin. But it was enough. He grabbed the watch and ran, dropping the magazine into the gutter.

  “Hey!” yelled the man in the long black coat. * * *

  “Damn.”

  It wasn’t a watch. It wasn’t even metal. It was made out of some kind of funny rubber, and it had no hands, just some square numbers and a blinking light.

  Radium dial? Maybe it was worth something. Caleb dropped it into the pocket of his ragged coat. He would find out later. For now, he needed something to eat.

  The dime would take care of that.

  He rubbed it in his pocket, like a lucky charm. It would buy him a bowl of thin soup and a cup of even thinner coffee at Meg’s Loop Diner. Little enough, but it was a start.

  He turned another corner and looked back to make sure he wasn’t being followed. The dark street behind him was almost empty. A few bums, a few piles of dirty snow. No man in a long black coat.

  The diner was steamy and noisy with the clattering of dishes. Caleb ignored Meg’s suspicious look and ordered a

  “soup ‘n’ joe.”

  “First things first.” Meg held out her hand.

  Caleb dropped the dime into it. She stared down at it, then glared up at him. “Very funny,” she said. “Now out.” “Huh?”

  “Out!” Meg said, pushing him toward the door and out into the cold. She flipped the dime after him. “And take your stupid trick dime with you.”

  “Huh?” Caleb lunged and barely caught the dime. He opened his hand and looked at it.

  It was perfectly normal, with a Roman-looking torch on one side and a face on the other, some Greek goddess or—

  Caleb stared. The face on the dime stared back. It was …

  “Hey, you!”

  Caleb turned and saw the man in the long black coat, crossing the street toward him. “Wait!” the man yelled.

  “Not likely,” muttered Caleb. He ran down the block, rounded a corner, and ducked into the first alley he saw.

  Dead end! And the man was right behind him. Caleb reached into his pocket for the watch. He would give it back. It was worthless anyway.

  Or was it? Now it was blinking, faster and faster. Caleb felt an electric shock and dropped to his knees. With the watch in his outstretched hand, he looked up and saw silver shoes, and then—

  And then nothing at all.

  Caleb opened his eyes.

  He saw silver shoes, lots of them.

  The man was gone. The alley was gone.

  It was daylight. It was warm! Caleb was on his knees beside a smooth sidewalk. The silver shoes were on people in long robes and bright dresses, gliding past him while standing still. The sidewalk they were on was moving, like a conveyer belt.

  Overhead, a car without wheels sailed past, slowly, through the air. A kid in the back seat waved.

  Caleb closed his eyes and opened them again. The car was still there, gliding around a corner.

  Caleb got to his feet, rubbing his eyes.

  He looked around. He was standing on a narrow bridge connecting two huge towers, all glass and steel. He walked to the edge and …

  He was standing on the edge of nothing, looking down a thousand feet. He felt a sudden wave of dizziness, and almost fell, but an invisible railing stopped his hand.

  Caleb caught his breath. He looked up and saw more flying cars. He looked over the edge again, steadying himself on the invisible railing, and saw more towers, more cars, more bridges, all filled with people. And in the distance, a bright blue lake.

  Where am I? he wondered. But he knew: this was the Future. Caleb had read about it; he had even seen it, on the covers of the magazines he liked to read when he could find them in the trash.

  And now he was here. In the Future.

  But how?

  Then he remembered the watch. He pulled it out of his pocket. “Must be some kind of Time Machine,” he muttered.

  Behind him, on the center of the sidewalk, people were gliding past without walking. They were of all races and colors; they all wore silver shoes, and they were all smiling.

  A man in a bright metallic robe nodded and smiled, and Caleb’s instincts took over. He held out his hand. “Brother, can you spare a dime?”

  The man dropped a dime into his hand as he glided by.

  Caleb looked at it. There was the torch on one side and on the other—

  His own face. Cleaned up, with a shave and a haircut, looking very heroic.

  He pulled the other dime out of his pocket and looked at them, side by side.

  There was no doubt about it: There he was, full face on both dimes, like Lincoln or Caesar.

  “What did I do to deserve this honor?” Caleb asked aloud.

  “Excuse me?” asked a woman in a diaphanous gown as she glided past on the moving sidewalk.

  “Can you tell me …” Caleb began.

  “In a hurry!” the woman said, apologetically. “You can ask an InfoBot. There’s one.”

  She pointed to a life-sized statue, set into an alcove beside the walkway. A light in the statue’s head was blinking; it blinked faster and faster as Caleb approached.

  “Ask a statue?” he muttered.

  “Not a statue, citizen,” said the statue. “I am an InfoBot. At your service.”

  Of course! This was the Future! It was a robot. Inside the transparent crystal head, Caleb could see a forest of glowing vacuum tubes.

  “And you can answer any question?”

  “Certainly, bio-citizen. I am at your service.”

  Caleb reached into his pocket and pulled out his dime. He held it out toward the robot.

  “My services are free,” said the InfoBot.

  “Who is that?” Caleb asked.

  “It’s you, of course.”

  “So it’s true!” said Caleb, slipping the dime back into his pocket. This was almost too good to believe! “Can you tell me where I am?”

  “Chicago, bio-citizen. This is the Loop.”

  “I mean the date.”

  “December 21, bio-citizen.” The light in the InfoBot’s forehead blinked as it answered.

  “I mean the year.”

  “2255, bio-citizen. You can ask me anything. I am at your service.”

  “So this is the Future?”

  “Negative, bio-citizen. This is the present. Travel to the future is forbidden. Only travel to the past is permitted.”

  Caleb pulled the watch out of his pocket. “So this is a Time Machine?”

  “It is a temporary chronoslip interface device. It will take you to the past, and then return you here to the present.”

  “I see.” Caleb slipped the watch back into his pocket; it was his ticket home. If he ever wanted to go! “So people can travel to the present—I mean, the past?” he asked.

  “Certainly,” said the InfoBot. “ChronoTourists. But they are rather rare. The past is said to be rather unpleasant.”

  “You got that right,” said Caleb. He shivered, remembering the cold. “If it’s December, and this is Chicago, how come it’s so nice and warm?”

  “The atomic dome covering the Loop protects it from the weather,” said the InfoBot.

  “I see,” said Caleb, though he didn’t. The dome was invisible. “And what about food? Is there a diner around?”

  The InfoBot blinked, looking confused. “Only in the museum. Would you like to go? We can show menus, too, and other artifacts from the pre-techno past.”

  “Never mind,” said Caleb. “I’m starving. Can I get something to eat
?”

  “Certainly, bio-citizen,” said the InfoBot. “Would you like me to summon a DinnerBot?”

  Would he?! No sooner said than done. The DinnerBot rolled up seemingly out of nowhere, with a metallic chef’s hat on its head and a slot for a mouth. It had a little window in its chest, like the automat. Through it Caleb could see a hamburger and fries.

  “Please insert coin,” the DinnerBot said.

  “I only have a dime,” Caleb said. Actually he had two, side by side in his pocket. But there was no need to mention that.

  He put one of his dimes into the slot and the window opened. Caleb grabbed the hamburger in one hand and the fries in the other. The DinnerBot bowed and left.

  “How did it know what I wanted?” Caleb asked, his mouth full.

  “Instantaneous telepathy,” said the InfoBot. “All biocitizen needs are anticipated.”

  “All this for only a dime,” Caleb said, tearing into the french fries. Each one had a little seam of catsup running through it, like a vein.

  “Everything costs a dime,” said the InfoBot. “It is our only currency, and everyone is entitled to all they need.”

  “That’s good to know,” said Caleb as he wolfed down the hamburger. It was the first real food he’d had in days—in several centuries, now that he thought about it. And it tasted great.

  But now his dime was gone. He looked the infoBot in the eye. “Brother, can you spare a dime?”

  “Certainly, bio-citizen,” said the InfoBot. A dime appeared in its mouth. “To each according to his needs.”

  “Hurrah for the Future,” said Caleb, snatching the dime. This one, too, had his picture on it. “Say—do you know who I am?”

  “You are a bio-citizen,” said the InfoBot. “I am at your service.”

  “I mean, do you know what I did? Does the name Caleb Freeman mean anything to you?”

  “It’s not a proper name. It has no numerals. Would you like for me to give you a proper name?”

  “No, no!” said Caleb. “I could sure use a bath, though.”

  “Perhaps I could summon a SaniBot?”

  No sooner said than done. The SaniBot was a woman robot, with a smiling slot for a mouth. “Please insert coin,” she said.