Universe 03 - [Anthology]

by Edited By Terry Carr

  “So will you join us?” And he began to cough, the noise rising so high it clouded his mind and prevented Rodelphia from peering within. She waited until he was through.

  “Cancer of the lungs,” he explained. “As my poor mother died.”

  “Isn’t there something you can do about it?” she asked, genuinely concerned.

  “I could swallow pills.” He popped a pill into his mouth. “But I refuse.”

  “You do?”

  “I prefer a natural death to an unnatural life.” A gentle cough —a prompt answering pill. “But will you not join us?”

  She said, “All right.”

  “And you will steal?”

  “I will.”

  “Then remove your clothes. That foul sack. Ugh.”

  “My clothes?”

  “Yes. Ugh. I’m afraid that it’s necessary. Absolutely. Please don’t mind me. I see that your upbringing has emphasized the proper virtues. As did mine. Because of my mother, I have remained a virgin to this day. Tell her, Hungry.”

  “Abraham is a virgin,” said Hungry, from the doorway.

  “So tell her why.”

  “Abraham is waiting for a woman he can love.”

  “And he has not yet found her,” Abraham said, sniffling. “See? I prefer unnatural abstinence to natural lust.”

  “And you don’t take pills either?” she asked.

  “Either strip or die,” he said coldly.

  She guessed he meant it. His mind was a horrible mess. Working the dress over her head was the work of a moment. Beneath, she was naked. Hungry disappeared during the act of undressing, but promptly returned carting a full-length mirror, cracked in a dozen places, lines radiating from the various epicenters of destruction like the slender strands of a spider’s web. Hungry held the mirror so that Abraham could see the girl in its reflection. Abraham, staring at the glass, muttered. Rodelphia, glancing down, saw nothing exceptional. She did regret not having washed more recently.

  Spinning on her tiptoes, flapping her arms, she gave her hips an abruptly furious rattle. She felt silly doing this, but it was what he wanted.

  “Splendid,” said Abraham, finally. Looking away, he drew his beard over his lips, rubbed, then let it flop back to his chest. He wasn’t looking at Rodelphia any more.

  She got dressed.

  “Retain the sack,” he said. “It hides your charms and will force them to wonder.”

  “Who will wonder?”

  He explained her work: she was to be a prostitute, performing the proper functions for a proper fee. “But make certain you capture their money banks before letting them get away, I mean, don’t let them keep a penny. If they have nothing, call Hungry, who will administer a beating. This rarely happens. Hungry will provide further information. I believe you’re worth it—whether you know it or not.”

  A cry erupted from the outer corridor, and then the door crashed open and a small slender girl came bounding inside, her white hair flying behind. “Father—I cut myself,” she cried, rushing to plop herself in Abraham’s wide lap.

  “Poor girl,” he said, looking down, parting the trickle of blood upon the child’s knee, exposing a small jagged gash.

  “On a nail,” she said.

  He stroked her hair, drawing the girl lovingly close to his chest. He rocked back and forth, shifting on his hips. “Won’t you be all right?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes,” she said, smiling now.

  “I will care for you. I will.”

  “I know,” she said.

  Rodelphia turned and tiptoed from the room. Hungry followed her. He shut the door. Through the wood, they heard the child give an awful shriek.

  “I think he hit her,” Rodelphia said.

  Hungry, looking embarrassed, shrugged. He led her away.

  “That’s his daughter?” she asked.

  He said, “Sure.”

  “And the mother?”

  He shrugged again.

  Later, as they stood on the street, he explained. “Abraham loves us, all of us, and that means you. But don’t cross him. He’ll kill you if you try. What he wants from us is money, not love. He gives all the love that’s needed around here.”

  Then he left her standing in the middle of the gutter. She was careful to avoid the pockets of excrement but followed the rest of his instructions explicitly. She held her hands clasped in front of her waist, let her shoulders slump like those of a hunchback and allowed her tongue to dangle freely from the left corner of her mouth. Past this obstruction, she murmured ambiguous noises in a light, lilting voice. She guessed he knew what he was up to.

  Then it got dark all of a sudden. The sun fell straight down out of the sky and was replaced a moment later by a full yellow moon and a blanket of brilliant stars. Around her, street lamps blossomed into full illumination and puzzling sounds began to echo along the block—she could have sworn she heard crickets. Then a man approached from the shadows across the way. He came stomping straight toward her, wearing a pair of thigh-length leather boots and a green suede belt wrapped so tightly around his waist that his belly flopped above and over it, though the man was hardly fat,

  “I...er...you know,” he said, removing his money bank from under his arm. Unzipping the purse, he jiggled the coins. He said, “You poor thing,” and took her hand in his.

  She continued to sing, but he appeared ready to go. She gave him a brief wave, then turned and twitched herself as if stung by a hornet and skipped off into the basement behind. She heard him following.

  In the first room, a light had been fired for her benefit. It clearly showed the rumpled legless bed in the farthest corner. “We won’t need that,” said the man. Purely for fun, Rodelphia said, “Imwannapleememan,” which was third-degree talk. She had been warned not to try it. “Nobody can talk the way they can. They’ve been bred for it since two hundred years ago. Don’t try.” But she had never been one for following instructions.

  The man did not object. In fact, the sound of her voice, grunting through the thicket of the words, had clearly thrilled him. Now he sat on the bed and begged her to sit beside him. Before doing so, she crept gently into his mind and saw what he wanted her to do. It almost made her laugh. She sat beside him while he flounced her hair and tickled her leg.

  “Some are born more fortunate than others,” the man said. “That is the way of the world. But don’t you agree with me that it is the duty of the fortunate to aid those less fortunate?”

  She nodded, wide-eyed.

  “See?” He clapped his hands. “That is very good.” He was pleased at her quickness. “And that is why I have come here tonight. At home, I possess a full complement of children. The boy is so painfully bright that I weep when I hear him. I am convinced he will amount to something royal. My daughter is too young for brains yet, though I have detected a creative bent in the manner of her walk. My wife does social work. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had met her. Myself, you ask: my position is an essential one. You have been to Broadway? No, of course you haven’t. Poor child, you cannot. But I am the one who composes the jokes, the riddles and witty sayings, that are inscribed each night upon the dome out there for the benefit of the celebrants. Every evening, I prowl Broadway and listen to the eruptions of spontaneous laughter that greet my work. For instance, How is an android like an American? I did that. My work. And others. I’m very good at it. Shall we get ready?”

  Standing, Rodelphia removed her dress. The man looked her up and down, smiled, and then darted a glance toward the corner where the mud buckets waited. He then removed his boots and belt. Rodelphia gave a sigh. Enough was quite enough. She started the pictures going for him, then hopped away. She would do almost anything for the experience, but she wasn’t going to roll around in mud. Besides, she was starved, sapped of all energy. Why didn’t they feed her around here? On the bed, the man groaned and panted, his breath coming like the wind off the sea.

  Before he finished, she stepped forward and lifted his money bank. She s
et the coins in the corner beside the mud buckets. Then she let her conjured image merge with her physical presence.

  The man was frowning at her, puzzled by his cleanliness and hers. She gave a shrug, letting him wonder, and began to dress. In a quick voice, he told her, “It’s only fair this way. I know you can’t understand why. You probably don’t care. But we’ve rubbed mud over you people for two hundred years. We’ve kept you the way you are, never given you a chance. But I’m not guilty. How can I be? I know what has to be done to keep society on an even footing. I’m no anarchist. I believe in rule and reason.” He checked his money bank, but finding it empty, merely shrugged. “All fine,” he muttered. She followed him to the door. Without looking, he patted her back. “I do hope I’ll see you again. I’ll try to have a few of my jokes translated. Then we can laugh together. More fun that way. I suppose the riddles would prove too esoteric for you. A pity. My best work is my riddles. I’ve got a fine one tonight: What did the deer say when the archer’s arrow missed him by a fraction of an inch? But you wouldn’t know. Be seeing you.” The night swallowed him.

  Rodelphia dressed, then returned to the gutter. Hungry, who had been hiding across the street, raced over. “How did it go?” Before answering, she demanded food. He said no, that was impossible. “Think of someone else for a change. Abraham would kill me if I let you go now.”

  He wanted to know how it had gone.

  “Just great,” she said.

  “He was first-degree. Was it the mud?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s best. Sometimes we get a second-degree. The firsts feel sorry for the thirds, but the seconds just hate them. It can get nasty.”

  “How?” she asked.

  She found out several moments later, when a band of second-degree toughs dashed from a dark doorway, shoved Hungry flat on his face, and carried her away into the basement. She was in there with them for more than an hour.

  When the boys came out, emerging one by one, the last wiping his slickman’s knife upon his shirttail, Hungry raced across to see if she was still alive.

  She was. At her side sat a huge stack of glinting coins.

  “Now can I eat?” she asked.

  He had to tell her no.

  Back to the gutter again. From there to the basement. As the early evening wandered into middle night, Rodelphia served an additional six clients. By the time the last departed, her patience had reached its end. She streaked across the street with the rapidity of a greyhound racer and pulled Hungry loose from the shadows.

  “I quit,” she said.

  “How much money have you made?”

  She told him plenty and took him in and made him look at the neatly stacked coins. He gave a whistle. “Come on—let’s tell Abraham.”

  Abraham was alone in the center room. He was fast asleep. His snores ripped through the still air like the growling of a great angry beast. From the doorway Hungry pelted his boss with small flat stones. He had picked them up on the street.

  When Abraham awoke, Hungry and Rodelphia entered the room.

  Rubbing his eyes, Abraham said, “How goes it?”

  Rodelphia deposited the coins in front of him. They fell to the floor in a clattering mess.

  Abraham uttered a gleeful cry. “This is wonderful. Darling, I said you could do it. Now I know that I love you.”

  “But she didn’t do it,” Hungry said.

  Rodelphia groaned. She looked into his mind and saw what his game was. But it was too late to try to stop him.

  “How about something to eat?” she said, hoping to forestall the coming crisis.

  But it didn’t work. Abraham sprang to his feet and raced across the room. Catching Hungry by the collar, he said, “What do you mean by that?”

  “She’s a mutie,” said Hungry.

  “So what?” He let Hungry go. “Do I care?”

  She might not have been there for all the attention they were paying her. She prowled the room in search of food, finding a stale prune on the floor near the back wall. But it left a mean nasty lump in her stomach.

  “She must have been playing pictures for them,” Hungry said. “I watched the way you told me, and she had seven or eight first-degree customers and there wasn’t a drop of mud used out of the buckets. Explain that. And a gang of seconds jumped her. Must have been twelve in the pack. They had her for an hour. And she’s still alive. Have her strip. I bet you won’t find even a bruise.”

  Abraham turned upon her, clearly considering Hungry’s suggestion. “I have nothing against muties,” he said.

  “Good,” said Rodelphia. “But I’m not taking off my clothes again no way.”

  A knife appeared in Abraham’s huge hand. She could have sworn he’d got it from his beard. He dashed at her, swinging the knife. She made her molecules jump and landed on the opposite side of the room.

  “Careful doing that,” Hungry said. He edged toward the door. “I don’t want you landing on me.” Then he ran.

  Abraham came at her again. She took another jump. Grandfather had warned her never to try this trick in public. It was probably just as well that he was dead now and couldn’t see her.

  When she was whole again, she asked Abraham to stop. “You’ll never catch me,” she said.

  He didn’t need to be told. Already he was panting furiously from exertion. He sat down on the floor and began to weep. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t allow my customers to be cheated. I have a reputation to maintain. And self-pride. As a matter of fact, I happen to love and admire muties. Like myself, they are rebels. But I’m afraid you’ll just have to go, my little darling.” He threw his knife suddenly but his aim was poor and his thrust was weak and the blade caught in the hem of her dress. By the time she managed to extract the knife, he was coming at her again.

  This time, closing her eyes, she pictured a brilliant image of the outside gutter. She jumped.

  And landed whole.

  But Hungry stood at her side only inches away.

  “That was close,” he said.

  “Why did you tell him?” She sat on the curb. “You know, you don’t make much sense.”

  He admitted as much, sitting up close to her. “I love you,” he said.

  “I know. That’s what puzzles me. You’re not supposed to act that way when you love somebody.”

  “Why not? I knew he’d never hurt you. I just couldn’t see you wasting your life working for him. At least not tonight. I wanted to take you sightseeing with me. I couldn’t think of any other way of getting you away from him. And he hates muties. I like them myself. At least”—he laid his hand lovingly upon hers—”I don’t have anything against you.”

  “Can we eat now?” she asked.

  He opened his fist proudly, displaying a glittering roll of gleaming coins. “We eat like a Mayor Dempsey.”

  She laughed in spite of herself. “Is that good?”

  “The best. But first you’ve got to come with me.”

  “Where?” she asked, standing.

  “This way.” He led her down the avenue to the corner, where a narrow steel-and-glass rectangular booth sat bathing in its own brilliant light. Above the booth a neon sign flickered, proclaiming: transport station—public.

  ‘To Broadway,” Hungry said. “North Beach. It’s the best place in the Free City for both eating and seeing. Tomorrow morning I guess we’ll come back here. I won’t tell on you tomorrow, if we get everything done tonight, so you can go ahead and work for him if you still want.”