The Fata Morgana

by Leo A. Frankowski

Of course, I wouldn't be likely to get home much during that time, but I thought that my wife was used to that sort of thing by now. Even so, I spent a whole evening with her explaining exactly why I was doing what I was doing, and how it would be so much better for us in the future.

  So for six months, it was "interesting times," as they say the Chinese say, but the work got done. Sometimes I hardly got home from one week to the next, and when I did, I found that Helen usually didn't want to talk to me. She preferred screaming. We got into a fight damn near every time I got home, which sure took the incentive out of getting there in the first place.

  Building the machines in parallel instead of in series was more work than we had thought it would be. Normally, the engineers and designers would have designed the first machine, and then started in on the second while the controls designers and the mechanical checkers were doing their thing on the first. By the time the mechanical designers were working on machine number six, the controls people would be on number five, the machinists would be building the parts on number four, the purchasing people would be getting in the purchased parts on number three, the assemblers would be putting number two together in Assembly Bay A, and the electricians and the pipe fitters would be working on machine number one in Assembly Bay B. That is to say, a production line, of sorts, would be in operation.

  As it was, everything had to be designed at first and at once, at a time when the electricians and Bridgeport operators had nothing to do. Despite the different names that various skilled workers had, the truth is that specialization is for insects, and good people can do anything they put their mind to. Working outside his usual trade is good for a worker, it's broadening, and a lot of our people volunteered for strange jobs. We had electricians designing controls and machinists designing what they usually build. In a few months, the engineers would be working with milling machines and arc welders.

  And they were all having fun, doing unusual things, but of course they weren't as efficient as someone who had been doing it for years. Costs were going way up, and worse, serious mistakes were occasionally made. Some things had to be done twice and even three times, and still weren't being done as well as we usually did things.

  On top of it all, we were working in four buildings scattered around the city, and an ungodly number of man-hours were being wasted just running between them.

  Coordinating all of this was a major headache, and I spent long hours at my desk. Somewhere through all of this, late one night, I must have confused a process server with one of the runners who were circulating between our various shops. As best as I was able to figure out much later, I must have just said that yes, I was me, and thrown what he handed me into the "IN" basket.

  A few hours later, I was hungry when Helen walked into my office, carrying a big bag of McDonald's stuff. It was after nine at night, and I hadn't had time for lunch, yet. It was an unusual event, since Helen didn't like the factory. She came to my office maybe once a year, if that. I was used to it, and it no longer bothered me. Since the night before had ended in another yelling match, her actions struck me as being a peace offering. I took it as such. She was as beautiful as ever, and I never could stay mad at her for long.

  She sat on my desk and smiled while I ate a Big Mac and admired her. It must have been then that she swiped the divorce papers from my "IN" basket before I even knew that they were there. Or that Helen was divorcing me.

  * * *

  Before I found out what was happening, Adam reported that his new Chrysler convertible was gone. "It was in my driveway last night and it wasn't dere in da morning."

  I had Shirley file the paperwork with the leasing company, and got him a replacement. Only this time he got a cheap compact, and I told him to take better care of it.

  In the end we were victorious. The Brazilians happily "bought off" all six lines in one single day, and promised to send me a whopping big check shortly. All the machinery was loaded onto the same container ship bound for Rio de Janeiro. I thought that when all the checks cleared the bank and all the bills were paid, I would be a multimillionaire.

  It was time to make up with Helen. I bought some flowers for her on the way home, but the clerk at the shop said that my check wouldn't clear. She said that the computer said that my account was empty.

  I said that there was some mistake somewhere, but I'd worry about it later. I paid her with a company credit card and went home.

  To find that I didn't have one.

  The furniture was gone, along with everything else that wasn't nailed down. Even my dog Boner was missing, along with his doghouse and his water dish. A thief couldn't have taken Boner, not without leaving somebody's blood around, and who'd want to steal an old water dish?

  Having no idea at all what I should do next, I sat down on the front steps. After a bit, a process server came up, handed me a folder of divorce papers, and went silently on his way. I was so shocked that I didn't know what to do, so I didn't do anything for about an hour.

  Eventually, I got up, drove downtown, and checked into a hotel. Then I spent most of the night in the hotel bar. I had long known that Helen was less than totally pleased with me, but I had been sure that she would eventually see that what I was doing was a good thing for both of us. I mean, she knew that when I wasn't at home, I was working. I wasn't out with another woman.

  I knew that she really wanted to be filthy rich, and I had finally gotten us up to that Great Mud Puddle in the Sky! At no time did I ever imagine that she would leave me at the very moment of our victory.

  Now that she was gone, I didn't know where she was, and I could think of no way to contact her. Her mother wouldn't even talk to me, and I didn't see anything that I could do about that, either.

  Sometimes, booze is the only answer.

  Booze stayed the only answer for about a week and a half, until Adam showed up about noon one day and half carried me over to his place. After a few days of drying out, he and Shirley let me back into my office.

  Things were up and running, in a quiet sort of way. All of the temporary people had been let go, along with the rented factory space. The permanent crew was working on a traveling hoist or crane, the sort that they use to lift big boats out of the water and drive them over to their cradles. It was half built in the big assembly bay.

  "You don't really want to ask," Adam said, and I nodded yes. "Boss, why don't you go back to your office and administrate something. Or better still, go out and find us some more work. Me and Shirley'll take care of everything else."

  And they did. Shirley even refurnished my house. It was mostly done in K-Mart modern, but at least I had a place to sleep. She was looking for a housekeeper for me when the other trouble hit.

  I hadn't had any luck with new work, some of my old customers being a little miffed at the way I'd been sending "No Bid" notes to them for the last six months in reply to their requests for quotes.

  I was getting ready to go to divorce court when a certified letter arrived from Brazil. It said that my good friends south of the border were declaring bankruptcy. They wouldn't be paying me for the machines I'd sent them.

  * * *

  The thing about special machines is that they are special. They're built for one specific customer to do one specific job. It is most unlikely that anybody else would want a special machine secondhand, except at scrap metal prices. Even if I could get my machines back, it wouldn't do me any good. I was in absolute trouble.

  A Brazilian lawyer wrote that if I appointed him to be my attorney, with a suitable retainer fee, he might be able get me ten, or even twenty cents back on the dollar. Of course, between the bank and my other creditors, I owed about sixty-five cents on the dollar for those machines, and my company bank account was running on fumes.

  At the divorce court, my lawyer, Alan Greenberg, wanted to fight, but I told him to just agree with anything Helen and her lawyer wanted. It didn't make any difference. I was wiped out in any event. I figured I might as well let Helen feel good f
or a little while, anyhow. And so her lawyer and the limp- wristed little judge gave my wife more of my nonexistent money each month than I had ever made even in good times, not that she had any chance of collecting any of it. They simply had no real comprehension as to what the universe was about to dump on all of us.

  Finally, Alan insisted on doing something for me, and got the judge to agree that if Helen remarried, or cohabited with a male, all of my obligations toward her would cease. I didn't much care, or see how it would make any difference, but it seemed to make my lawyer happy.

  A week after that my creditors pounced on me and I found myself sitting in bankruptcy court, with the same damn judge. My lawyer said that it was illegal, but the judge didn't agree. I also thought that more time would be given me to sort things out, but within three weeks, my factory was empty, padlocked and sold. So was my house, but the money there went to Helen and her lawyer.

  My car was leased, so they had to let me keep that, and I had always kept a set of credit cards separate from my wife's, so they were paid up, but when I went across the alleyway to look at The Brick Royal, she was gone.

  I had abandoned the Catholic Church along with the whole idea of God when I was in my early teens, and my family had abandoned me a few years later after we had one final knockdown dispute concerning religion, or rather my lack of it. For many years, my whole life had wound around—had actually consisted entirely of—my fine little company and my magnificent wife.

  With both of these two foundations brutally ripped away by the power of law, government, and a woman that I still couldn't help loving, I found that I had nothing left out in the world, and nothing left inside of me either. I was a hollow man, empty, and without hope. I was devoid of everything, even hate.

  I was back in the bar when Adam found me again. He sat down beside me and ordered a beer. "You know, boss, it wasn't really da Brazilian's fault. At da courthouse, I heard dat dey got knocked flat because deir biggest customer went belly-up."

  "Just like a line of dominoes," I said.

  "An dey are still fallin. It's lookin like Delta Distribution might crash and burn because of what we didn't pay them. A coupla udders might go, too."

  "Shit. They say misery loves company, but I sure never meant that to happen. Not that I feel all that charitable after what they did to me at the bankruptcy court. I don't know what I'll do now. Probably spend a week getting properly drunk, and then go out and really tie one on. What about you? You got any plans?"

  "Me? Why, I'm stickin wit you, boss. So are most o' da udder guys an' girls."

  "Adam, you are out of your frigging gourd. For one thing, I'm not your boss. I'm nobody's boss, because I don't have a company anymore. I made my last payroll, but that cleaned me out, so show some sense and go find a soft place to land. And tell any of the other people you see to do the same thing."

  "Nah, don't talk like dat, boss. We still got fait in you. You always pulled it all togedder before. Anyway, it's time we all took dat boat ride you promised us."

  "Boat ride? Adam, they took the boat along with everything else. Anyway, we never got it finished, and equipping it would have taken even more money than you've got squirreled away."

  "Boss, dey never took da boat. I took da boat. Well, me an some of da guys, an half of da Bay City Police Department. You know dat big travelin hoist we was buildin? Well, dat was for da guys at da marina. See, dey needed a new boat hoist, and dey didn't have one big enough to handle Da Brick Royal anyway. We needed some sails, life preservers, safety equipment, some kitchen stuff, an, oh, a list about as long as your arm. So, as usual, we cut a deal."

  "I'd already ordered the sails, though I never had a chance to pick them up and pay for them."

  "I know. Which was anudder reason why dey was so eager to deal. Dose sails was all custom made, an dey woulda been stuck wit a very expensive white elephant witout you to take it off their hands."

  "So you're saying you stole the boat? How, for God's sake?"

  "We had a brand new traveling hoist, didn't we? An you was always good about donating to da Policeman's Benevolent Fund, wasn't you? So at two o'clock on a Tuesday morning, we just picked da ting up and drove down da streets to da marina, wit a nice police escort, even."

  "There has to be something illegal about this. The law says that a bankrupt's property gets divided up between his creditors."

  "Nah. Dere is nutin nowheres written down dat says dat you own da boat, except for dis, of course."

  He handed me an envelope that contained a bill of sale and the registration for The Brick Royal.

  "You see, dere was da Coast Guard certification, da registration, an all dat stuff, an you was udderwise occupied, so I just sort of put it all in my name. But once everyting settles down, you file dat registration, an she's yours again."

  I fought to keep tears from rushing to my eyes.

  "Adam, I don't know what to say."

  "Den yous don't have to say it. Come on. Drink up. Da guys an girls are down at da marina, puttin da finishin' touches on da boat. It'ud be nice if you let dem all know dat you was still alive an all."

  Adam insisted on stopping at the doctor's office on the way to the marina, and I got nine shots in my arms and butt to update the medical records on my passport.

  Then he drove me to see Alan G. Greenberg, our lawyer, where there were two Power of Attorney forms ready for us to sign, one for me and one for Adam. They would let Greenberg do whatever he felt was best with any legal problems that might come up while we were gone. I signed mostly because it seemed to make both of them happy. Personally, I didn't see where anything that might happen could possibly affect me anymore, except maybe for a bullet in the head, and I'd probably welcome that.

  When we got to the marina, the "finishing touches" being handled was the unloading of a semi full of canned and dried food. Everything was being sorted out, logged, put into several layers of waterproof plastic garbage bags, and then carried into the spacious volumes below The Brick Royal's lower deck.

  "Dis one you really don't want to know about," Adam said, so I didn't ask.

  I was a little shell-shocked by then, anyway. I went into the boat and sat down in the big center cockpit, which was little more than an outdoor living room, what they've been calling a conversation pit, although you could control the boat manually from there. Normally, the boat was controlled from the much smaller aft cockpit.

  I looked back at it and was surprised to see that it had an automotive style convertible top! And the windshield looked suspiciously like it had come from a big, new Chrysler. On inspection, so did the padded steering wheel, the leather bucket seat and the electric windows. Oh, the single seat was now in the center, as was the steering wheel. The dash- board was like something out of a Hollywood spaceship, with five display screens along the front. On both sides of the driver were banks of switches and lights, and in back, once you swiveled the seat around, there was a chart table in case you wanted to do things the old-fashioned way. Yet it was obvious that most of this had to have been ripped out of the company car Adam had reported stolen! Damn his ass!

  "I didn't steal nuttin. How could I? You can't steal what you already got. Da car was mine. I asked for it and you gave it to me!"

  "I leased it for you, and you reported it stolen!"

  "Well, how you got it was up to you, none of my business, really. And I didn't report it stolen. I just said dat it was in my driveway and da next morning it was gone. Nobody ever asked me if I was da one who drove it away."

  "Adam, you're hopeless."

  "Yeah. Don't you feel glad?"

  "Shit. Are you sure that this top will stay in place during a gale?"

  "Dat top didn't give me no trouble when I drove da car at a hundred and fifty. You ever heard of a hundred-and-fifty-mile-an-hour hurricane?"

  "I don't think that it's quite the same thing."

  "Have fait. You'll be glad about da top when we're cruisin under a tropical sun. Da air conditionin will be n
ice, too."

  "What tropical sun? We're in Bay City, Michigan!"

  "Right now, yeah, boss. But once we get our people shook down, we're going to take tree years and sail her all da way around da world!"

  "Ridiculous! I can't take off for three years."

  "Oh, yeah? Why not? You got sometin else better to do?"

  And you know? I really didn't have an answer for that one.

  SEVEN

  Adam and the gang had the whole trip planned out, and I didn't see any point in changing anything.

  About a half dozen of them, including Adam, had studied seamanship very seriously, taking all the courses in it they could find, and sailing rented boats whenever they could find the time. A group of the girls had really gotten involved with the itinerary, and made sure that we could get to the right place at the right time to see everything that was worth seeing.

  When everything and everybody was finally aboard, Adam came up, gave me a palm-forward British-style salute, and asked if I wanted to take her out now.

  "Me? I don't know anything about driving a boat!"

  "Dere's nuttin much to it. Come on. Everybody's waitin."

  I was still in no mood to do anything in public, but sometimes you've got to keep the peasants happy. I went up on deck and shouted, "All right! You all know what to do!"

  I gesticulated wildly, with my fist held high, but everybody just stood there. "It always worked when Errol Flynn yelled that," I said to Adam. "They climbed up on deck, killed the Spaniards, and pulled all the right ropes to make the boat go. They even got the words to the song right."

  "You don't got no tights on," Adam said. "And you don't got no mustache, either. Try sometin different."

  "Okay. All right, you swabs! Let's shiver the scuppers and keelhaul the fo'c's'le, and do all the rest of that nautical stuff that gets this boat moving!"

  Those of the crew who had been working and studying for years in preparation for this event just stared at the sky and pretended not to know me.

  "Or better still, do what Adam tells you to do, and wake me up when we get there." I went below again.