Dr. Bloodmoney (34 page)

To think, she said to herself as she dressed, that the old witchcraft could help him. It was incredibly funny; she trembled with cold and merriment as she buttoned her shirt. Dangerfield, on a couch up in his satellite, gabbling away about his childhood … oh God, she thought, and she hurried back to the living room to catch it all.

Andrew met her, stopping her in the hall “It faded out,” he said. “It’s gone, now.”

“Why?” Her laughter ceased; she was terrified.

“We were lucky to get it at all. He’s all right, I think.”

“Oh,” she said, “I’m so scared. Suppose he isn’t?”

Andrew said, “But he is.” He put his big hands on her shoulders. “You heard him; you heard the quality of his voice.”

“That analyst,” she said, “deserves a Hero First Class medal.”

“Yes,” he said gravely. “Analyst Hero First Class, you’re entirely right.” He was silent, then, still touching her but standing a little distance from her. “I apologize for barging in on you and dragging you out of bed. But I knew you’d want to hear.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

“Is it still essential to you that we go further on? All the way to Los Angeles?”

“Well,” she said, “you do have business here. We could stay here a while at least. And see if he remains okay.” She was still apprehensive, still troubled about Hoppy.

Andrew said, “One can never be really sure, and that’s what makes life a problem, don’t you agree? Let’s face it—he is mortal; someday he has to perish anyhow. Like the rest of us.” He gazed down at her. -

“But not
now
,” she said. “If it only can be later, a few years from now—I could stand it then.” She took hold of his hands and then leaned forward and kissed him. Time, she thought. The love we felt for each other in the past; the love we have for Dangerfield right now, and for him in the future. Too bad it is a powerless love; too bad it can’t automatically knit him up whole and sound once more, this feeling we have for one another—and for him.

“Remember E Day?” Andrew asked.

“Oh yes, I certainly do,” she said.

“Any further thoughts on it?”

Bonny said, “I’ve decided I love you.” She moved quickly away from him, flushing at having said such a thing. “The good news,” she murmured. “I’m carried away; please excuse me, I’ll recover.”

“But you mean it,” he said, perceptively.

“Yes.” She nodded.

Andrew said, “I’m getting a little old, now.”

“We all are,” she said. “I creak, when I first get up … perhaps you noticed, just now.”

“No,” he said. “Just so long as your teeth stay in your head, as they are.” He looked at her uneasily. “I don’t know exactly what to say to you, Bonny. I feel that we’re going to achieve a great deal here; I hope so, anyhow. Is it a base, onerous thing, coming here to arrange for new machinery for my factory? Is that—” He gestured. “Crass?”

“It’s lovely,” she answered.

Coming into the hall, Mrs. Hardy said, “We picked him up again for a just a minute, and he was still talking about his childhood. I would say now that we won’t hear again until the regular time at four in the afternoon. What about breakfast? We have three eggs to divide among us; my husband managed to pick them from a peddler last week.”

“Eggs,” Andrew Gill repeated. “What kind? Chicken?”

“They’re large and brown,” Mrs. Hardy said. “I’d guess so, but we can’t be positive until we open them.”

Bonny said, “It sounds marvelous.” She was very hungry, now. “I think we should pay for them, though; you’ve already given us so much—a place to stay and dinner last night.” It was virtually unheard of, these days, and certainly it was not what she had expected to find in the city.

“We’re in business together,” Mrs. Hardy pointed out. “Everything we have is going to be pooled, isn’t it?”

“But I have nothing to offer.” She felt that keenly, all at once, and she hung her head. I can only take, she thought. Not give.

However, they did not seem to agree. Taking her by the hand, Mrs. Hardy led her toward the kitchen area. “You can help fix,” she explained. “We have potatoes, too. You can peel them. We serve our employees breakfast; we always eat together—it’s cheaper, and they don’t have kitchens, they live in rooms, Stuart and the others. We have to watch out for them.”

You’re very good people, Bonny thought. So this is the city—this is what we’ve been hiding from, throughout these years. We heard the awful stories, that it was only ruins, with predators creeping about, derelicts and opportunists and flappers, the dregs of what it had once been … and we had fled from that, too, before the war. We had already become to afraid to live here.

As they entered the kitchen she heard Stuart McConchie saying to Dean Hardy, “… and besides playing the nose-flute this rat—” He broke off, seeing her. “An anecdote about life here,” he apologized. “It might shock you. It has to do with a brilliant animal, and many people find them unpleasant.”

“Tell me about it,” Bonny said. “Tell me about the rat who plays the nose-flute.”

“I may be getting two brilliant animals mixed together,” Stuart said as he began heating water for the imitation coffee. He fussed with the pot and then, satisfied, leaned back against the wood-burning stove, his hands in his pockets. “Anyhow, I think the veteran said that it also had worked out a primitive system of bookkeeping. But that doesn’t sound right.” He frowned.

“It does to me,” Bonny said.

“We could use a rat like that working here,” Mr. Hardy said. “We’ll be needing a good bookkeeper, with our business expanding, as it’s going to be.”

Outside, along San Pablo Avenue, horse-drawn cars began to move; Bonny heard the sharp sound of the hoofs striking. She heard the stirrings of activity, and she went to the window to peep out. Bicycles, too, and a mammoth old wood-burning truck. And people on foot, many of them.

From beneath a board shack an animal emerged and with caution crossed the open to disappear beneath the porch of a building on the far side of the street. After a moment it reappeared, this time followed by another animal, both of them short-legged and squat, perhaps mutations of bulldogs. The second animal tugged a crummy sleigh-like platform after it; the platform, loaded with various valuable objects, most of them food, slid and bumped on its runners over the irregular pavement after the two animals hurrying for cover.

At the window, Bonny continued to watch attentively, but the two short-legged animals did not reappear. She was just about to turn away when she caught sight of something else moving into its first activity of the day. A round metal hull, splotched over with muddy colors and bits of leaves and twigs, shot into sight, halted, raised two slender antennae quiveringly into the early morning sun.

What in the world is it? Bonny wondered. And then she realized that she was seeing a Hardy Homeostatic trap in action.

Good luck, she thought.

The trap, after pausing and scouting in all directions, hesitated and then at last doubtfully took off on the trail of the two bulldog-like animals. It disappeared around the side of a nearby house, solemn and dignified, much too slow in its pursuit, and she had to smile.

The business of the day had begun. All around her the city was awakening, back once more into its regular life.