by Mary Carmen
My health has remained good for all the years here, but our manager is now having problems with “nerves.” The American doctor who has a clinic at the hotel in town, only fifty miles away, has given her some pills and has told her to work fewer hours. She has been taking the pills but she seems to be in the kitchen from sunup until late into the evening, as before.
My own work is somewhat lighter now. I have several good assistants, and the robots continue to clean the dining room beautifully every night.
Richard Crosslyn’s Journal
I promised my mother I would keep a journal while I am here on Clarkl, and I’ll do my best.
February 27, 2144 – we landed near the capitol of Gilsumo, on a high hill. The spacecraft was filled with people and cargo, and I was so relieved to get off and stand on terra firma. I waived my arms and jumped a few times to stretch.
You would not believe the number of people on that craft! The Fundamentalists had all of us in little cabins, two or three crammed in together. On the upper decks were larger cabins, and they were filled, too. There was no cabin available during the seven months of the trip, even though I offered the Purser $20,000 to upgrade.
The center of the craft was filled with cargo, mostly food. All this food was going from America to Clarkl for the grocery stores and the charity dining halls, such as the one we are running.
The rich people on the top deck got off first, and then each lower deck in its turn. Finally we reached our deck, and I was able to see the Clarklians starting to unload the food, most of it in large bags. I saw flour, sugar, dried milk, and nuts. I also saw about two hundred citrus trees, each in a large can, wheeled down the gangplank.
We went directly to the compound in a very strange conveyance, a vehicle that resembled a bus but without a top. Waiting there was the Reverend Walters, just as he had said he would be. He threw his arms around me and told me he had been looking forward to my arrival.
About thirty other people were greeted in this way. We formed a party and walked all over the grounds. The Reverend Walters pointed out the cabins, the showers, the commissary cabin, the large kitchen and dining building, and the sanctuary.
How primitive it all is! My own cabin is very austere, with no carpet and only a rag for a curtain. I have a very narrow bed, a card table with two folding chairs, three lamps, and an enclosed half bath. There are plenty of blankets on the bed, but the place is always cold.
That evening, after a very poor dinner of vegetables and pie, the Reverend Walters conducted a service of thanksgiving in the sanctuary. He prayed for the souls of the heathens on Clarkl, and he thanked God for the good friends who had arrived to help with his mission.
Then, he called the newcomers to come forward to the chancel for a special blessing. He spoke to God about each person and, when he came to me, he asked God to guide me to find my life’s work and a fruitful purpose for my existence.
That night, I had a great deal of trouble getting to sleep. The room was very cold, and I was not used to sleeping with my face under the electric blanket.
February 28, 2144 – I have a week of rest after the journey. I went to the dining room about an hour after the star came up, and I joined the others in the staff lounge for breakfast. No meat, of course, but the waffles were fine. I tried the local tea, but I quickly threw it out and found some English Breakfast reserved for the staff.
So far, the trip has cost me about $15,000. The spaceship’s uncomfortable room was $10,000, with all the mediocre food I could eat, and the initial donation to the Fundamentalists of Christ was $4,000. In addition, I spent about $1,000 in Omaha for warm clothes, the kind of garments we never can buy in Texas. The steward on the spaceship wanted a tip, and he left a convenient envelope for it, but I felt I had already paid too much.
I am comfortable knowing my inheritance is in the good hands of the bankers in Austin. If it grows at three percent a year for each of the two years I have agreed to spend here, I will have over three million extra dollars in the bank.
How far I have come, in both distance and comprehension, since I graduated from college in 2129! I know my mother means well with her constant clamoring about my finding a job, but I am comfortable with my life of introspection. And, of course, since I came into my inheritance from my father in 2137, I have been free from the demands of tiresome employers and unsympathetic creditors.
February 29, 2144 – I went into the main street of Overowl today to see what was available. I spent over $500 on some very shoddy goods in the hope that I could fashion a drapery for my only window. The star shines right into my eyes the first thing each day, and I hope I can block it out.
Many curious creatures were there, and I suppose these are our heathens, ready for conversion. Some were dressed in finery and others were huddled in threadbare blankets on the street corners. No one asked me for a handout, but I am sure that will soon come.
I went to both services today, just to get an idea of what will be required. The choir, seven voices strong, sang special numbers and led the hymns. The eight-octave keyboard I was promised is missing an octave, but the organ has three manuals, as advertised. I understand the choir is also self-financed, with only housing and food, such as they are, provided.
The services were sparsely attended by the locals, to start with, anyway. After the organ voluntary and the first hymn, nearly all of them filed out, without apology. Very few stayed for the homily, even though it was in their own language. The Reverend Walters spoke softly and slowly into his translation cube, and the loudspeakers broadcasted his words for all the locals to hear.
Today’s meals were much like yesterday’s, a mixture of common vegetables and pies. The kitchen manager showed me where the staff’s stash of nuts is kept, and I added almonds to the green beans. These nuts are the only non-staple that comes from America, and the manager saves all of them for the staff.
March 1, 2144 – Before I left Texas, I paid for a deluxe cabin. I understand I am on a waiting list, and there are only five people ahead of me, all members of the choir.
Nearly everybody else here seems to be on a plan whereby they work ten or twelve hours a day and are paid a small monthly amount. This was certainly not offered to me. I was recruited as a missionary, to accompany the services and to live in a deluxe cabin.
I have three more days before my predecessor leaves for the spaceport, to return to Indiana or some other small state. She is a lovely woman, of a certain age, and she plays evenly and without much emotion. She has little skill on the organ’s pedals, ignoring the ones too far to the left. The locals seem to listen very attentively while she plays.
A little exploration today around the town of Overowl. This place is very small, with a population of about 25,000 locals and 2,000 Americans. It is very near the planet’s equator, as are most of the population centers here. To the north, even closer to the equator, is the farm run by the New Christian Congregation. Almost all the vegetables served in our dining room come from that farm, and about 1,500 of the Americans work there.
About two miles away from our camp, just down the road, is one of the New Christian Congregation’s dining rooms. It is certainly much larger than ours, and about 50 people work there. I saw long lines of locals in front of the place at two separate times today. The New Christian Congregation has several other dining rooms around the town, all supplied by the farm.
The cabins in back of that dining room are even smaller than our cabins, if it is possible. There are no deluxe cabins there. I saw no meeting room for services there, either.
We are about fifty miles from the capitol, and the only public transport between the two cities is the bus-like vehicle I rode when I arrived. This runs several times a day, but there is no schedule. I am allowed to ride on the bus, but the locals tend to try to move away from me.
On each street corner is a public restroom, complete with showers and toilets. There is no segregation of the many sexes, and there are no private toilets. The two restrooms
I have patronized so far have been very clean, and I understand they are automatically hosed down and sterilized every thirty minutes. One half of the restroom closes and folds down into itself, and the other half opens for business while the folded half is cleaned.
Some of the locals are very tall, and some are very short. I understand there are seven types of entities, but I am certain I have seen only three. Nobody was friendly, but tall types with bashed-in heads will occasionally nod as a greeting.
Buzzing by on the road are small one-seat vehicles, driven by the locals. There seems to be no rule about which side they will drive on, so walking on the road requires a certain amount of care. These vehicles are usually entirely enclosed, with a glass-like bubble on top. I estimate they are traveling about twenty miles an hour at their top speed, but that is enough to get them around this town quickly. We saw none of these vehicles on the main road to Gilsumo, so they may be just town cars.
About noon I stopped at the market, a jumble of stands near the center of the town. People were selling household articles, most of which were very well used. I saw no food for sale. I want a rug for my cabin, but nothing there resembled a rug in any way.
March 3, 2144 – I performed at a service today, and my soon-to-depart predecessor helped me with the order. My fugue was well received by the locals, and a few of them nodded in time with the music. The anthem was much too solemn, and the locals started to leave after the second stanza. I threw in a couple of cadenzas between the third and fourth stanza to keep the crowd seated. By the start of the offertory, we were down to two locals, and they did not care much for the quiet Brahms I had selected.
At least I am getting some ideas about which parts of my repertoire are appropriate for keeping the locals at the services. I brought my computer with over 10,000 pieces of music, both sacred and profane, and I certainly will start to rehearse some more lively numbers. My excellent predecessor never left the Romantic tradition.
I walked to the New Christian Congregation’s dining room after the midday service to see what they were offering. At that hour, the waiting line was down to only two dozen locals, and I told the woman at the reception desk I wanted to look over the buffet line.
The locals were eating on china with what looked like sterling silver!
“Don’t you lose things?” I asked the manager, a bedraggled person named Mrs. Newcastle.
She shook her head and said, “The helpers who wash dishes count each piece of silver and each place piece of china every day. We have never lost anything, and the staff members have never dropped even a teacup. We are continually requesting new tableware because we are serving more meals each month.”
I looked over the dishes being offered and saw many of the same vegetables we use. The Congregation uses more spices and different combinations of vegetables, though.
“Where is your sanctuary?” I asked.
Mrs. Newcastle told me there was no building for services. On Christmas the staff crowds into the dining room for a few carols.
How clean everything looked there!
March 6, 2144 – My predecessor is now gone, off to Madison, Indiana, where she has a call to be the organist for a small baseball field.
I am on my own, now, and even the Reverend Walters is looking forward to the change.
“We need more pep,” he said. “The Drones want something snappy, and the Batwigs want a complete Bach oratorio every day.”
“With this choir?” I asked, incredulously.
“The Batwigs are the clients,” he explained. “They are essentially in charge of our relationship with the Clarklian government. However, we see them at the services only once or twice a year. They come without any warning to evaluate what we are doing. I never know just what evaluation criteria they are using.”
“And the Drones?” I asked.
“Ah, we have a great deal of faith that the Drones will be converted. Of course, their continual adultery is something I discuss from the pulpit every day,” the Reverend told me.
“Of course,” I said.
March 9, 2144 – I have spent all my spare time this week working on special numbers. I have been able to program the keyboard to play several voices at the same time, and so far the Drones have appeared to appreciate the Beatles and two Bach toccatas.
Yesterday I played one number just after the sermon. Several Drones, who had left the sanctuary before the sermon, came back and sat at the back of the room while I played.
I wish this choir were better. They try so hard. Five women, two men. One of the men says he is a tenor, but he has terrible trouble reaching E over middle C. All seven of them have difficulty with breathing in this atmosphere.
March 10, 2144 – Two services, again, today. The Reverend Walters tends to repeat his sermons every five days, and I am starting to understand why the locals are leaving.
We rehearse just after breakfast. Each day the choir sings two anthems, one at each service. I believe they know only twenty in total, and the locals who attend must surely have heard them all many times.
Then, after the midday service, I practice my solo numbers for the next day.
After rooting around in the choir room back of the altar, I found eight modulation systems and a controller! I’ll put them together and the choir can try them out tomorrow.
March 11, 2144 – We tried a new number with the modulation systems, and it was just amazing. Each choir member sang into a microphone, and the system modified each voice so that the exact tones required by the composer came out of the speakers.
Now, the choir can sing numbers that have been only briefly rehearsed. I believe we can perform a nearly unlimited repertoire and eliminate the locals’ primary complaint about the music.
How exciting this is for me! I did not believe I would find anything interesting here, and now this system has turned up to amuse me.
The kitchen manager held a meeting today for the staff, and the Reverend Walters reported the news to me before the evening service. The dining room has been serving fewer and fewer meals each month, and the government wants a report on what we intend to do about it. I told the Reverend Walters that the New Christian Congregation’s dining room appeared to have waiting lines when I visited, and he agreed it was quite a puzzle to him. Waiting lines are unknown here.
March 12, 2144 – A welcome message from home came today. My mother reports my on-again-off-again lady friend has announced her engagement to another man, a relative newcomer in our town.
I could never tell my mother this, but the news was a wonderful relief to me. I could never have married this woman without a lifelong sense of regret, and I am glad she has found someone else. Perhaps this will allow my mother to stop her continual hounding about my settling down.
If the truth be told, I would never have come to Clarkl if my mother had allowed me to live in peace with my choices. Her continuing correspondence with the Reverend Walters is annoying, of course, but not as difficult for me to live with as her videophone calls at all hours of the day. At least I am free from her interruptions here.
What is the secret of the New Christian Congregation’s popularity with the locals? That is the question of the moment, and the dining room manager is devising a survey so we can find out.
The choir is working on seven additional numbers with the modulation system. Today, one local recorded the first anthem and my Monteverdi intermezzo before the Credo. Then, he tramped out.
There is no need to include the offertory in the order of service. The locals do not give, and the staff is already giving a mandatory ten percent of their monthly payment. We volunteers contributed at the start. The Reverend Walters doesn’t see it, but he is used to giving people every opportunity to contribute. Meanwhile, I have to find something quiet for the music, and the locals lose interest.
March 13, 2144 – Unlike nearly everybody else here, I do not have a day off. The Reverend Walters, the choir, and I are on every day. This is starting to grate upon me.
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Between the two services, there are four hours, and I am allowed to go out on explorations during that time.
Today I engaged one of the farmhands to take me to the market in a town between Overowl and Gilsumo. I paid him twenty dollars in American money, which he can wire to his American bank.
The farm trucks are large, of course, but they allow two people to sit in comfort. We rode the 75 miles in less than an hour.
Rugs are essentially unknown, I guess. I wish I could see what the Monarchs are using on the floors of their homes, but visiting homes is off limits. I signed an agreement that says so.
At the market I found a place that sells flooring. These items are essentially tiles that fit together, tongue in groove. Only eight patterns were offered, and all of them were way above what I wanted to spend. To place these tiles all over my floor, I would need to convert $27,000 to Clarkl money! Furthermore, all my purchases on Clarkl technically are the property of the Clarkl government, so a huge outlay like that is inappropriate. I returned to the compound with no rug and no flooring.
Other people are not complaining. They spend their spare time in the staff lounge and not in their cabins. The lounge is warm, and the linoleum covers the entire floor. If there were less idle chatter, I would spend more time there myself.
I think it inappropriate for a multimillionaire to be freezing his fanny off in his own home.
March 14, 2144 – The survey has started. Each local is asked seven questions as he comes into the dining room. The dining room manager expects to continue the survey for seven days and then compile the results.
The Reverend Walters has informed me the New Christian Congregation’s compound is now off limits. We are no longer welcome there.
More recordings by the locals at the services today. The choir did a wonderful job with I’ll Walk with God, with the help of the modulation system. My own Mozart sonata on the keyboard was nearly perfect, too.
The Reverend Walters continues to ask the locals to come to the chancel to accept Jesus Christ as their savior, but his score, in over ten years on Clarkl, is zero. The natives are willing to come into the sanctuary to listen to the music, but the message has not been received.