Now and on Earth (20 page)

"I can't stop her, Moon."

"Did you tell her I'd tried every place and couldn't get the money?"

"Yes, I told her."

"Well what does she keep calling for then?"

"She's old, Moon. And she's mad and worried. You know how you'd feel."

"But it doesn't do any good to keep calling, Dilly. It'll just get me run out of here. And if I'm fired with that on my record, I can't go to work any place else. Not in any kind of a job."

"I don't suppose she cares much, Moon." The moment the words were out of my mouth I knew I'd said the wrong thing. But it was true. Mom's viewpoint was that she had everything to gain and nothing to lose by cracking down. She might force him to come through. If he didn't, if he did lose his job, she'd partly evened scores. She'd tried to get Frankie to call, too, and even to come down to the plant. Of course, Frankie wouldn't.

"That's just what I thought," said Moon. "I thought you said you didn't want my job."

"You should think it. I've only told you about fifty times."

"What makes your mother keep calling for, then?"

"I'm through talking," I said.

"Well, if-"

"I said I was through talking."

He turned away. "You won't get it even if I am canned. I'll see to that."

I didn't answer him. Travelers were piled on my desk a foot deep. I still had some of the old inventory to transfer from the release books to the cards. Under the old system, you might show the same part in more than one place; for instance, in "Left-wing" and "Right- wing." That is why, partly, things were balled up so badly. You couldn't keep the thing evened up. The rack men would throw out parts for, say, the right wing, when you were carrying your inventory on the left, and, according to the records, you didn't have the parts to throw… Well, I have had to pick this stuff up-some parts are used in dozens of different places-and it hasn't been easy.

Moon went upstairs, I suppose. In fact I know he did because he didn't use the telephone. When he came around again, he said that Production wanted a shortage report on every position by three-thirty.

"That's fine," I said, without looking up. "It won't hurt them to want."

"You're not going to get them out?"

"You know I can't."

"You used to be able to. You could do it when we were using the old release books."

"And I can do it now," I said. "In a few days, at least. Right at the moment I don't have any way of sorting my cards into positions."

"Fine system you dreamed up," he said.

And I began to boil a little. That system is-it's almost like a piece of writing. It's a damned sight better than the one they had. I told him so.

"As soon as I'm able to sort the cards I can turn out reports three times as fast as I used to."

"The office wants 'em now."

"Did you tell them they wanted them?" I said. "You went up there and got them to tell you to have me get out the reports when you knew I couldn't?"

"Are you going to do it or not?"

"No, I'm not."

"We'll see about that," he said, and headed for the stairs.

I was watching the clock. It was just five minutes before the phone rang.

"Dilly?" It was Baldwin.

"Yes."

"Can you come up here a minute?"

"I can," I said. "But if it's about those shortage reports, you'd better come down here."

He hesitated. "Okay. Be right down."

I dropped the receiver and snatched up the scissors and a handful of blank cards. I'd had the idea in my head for days, but I'd never got around to working it out.

Moon unlocked the gate and Baldwin came skimming in ahead of him, pockets bulging with papers, bursting with impatience as usual.

"Now what's the matter here? Moon tells me you refused to obey orders. Why can't you get out the shortage reports? What's wrong with-"

"In the first place you don't need shortage reports," I said. "I watch this stuff coming and going, and I know what I'm talking about. You don't need them."

"That's what you say," said Moon.

"That's what I say," I said.

"Now hold up," said Baldwin. "Let's get to the bottom of this thing. Supposing we did need shortage reports, now. Why couldn't we get them?"

"I've got no way of sorting my cards. The parts were listed by position. Now we carry them chronologically and alphabetically."

Baldwin frowned and shook his head. "Not so good. I didn't-didn't you think of that when you were setting these cards up? God, if we can't get them by position, they're no good to us!"

"All we need," I said, "is a simple sorting device-"

"Oh no you don't!" said Baldwin, and his frown deepened and Moon tried to suppress a smile. "That stuff costs to beat hell! We'd never get an okay for one of those machines. Besides, they've got to be installed to fit the system, and it would take forever to get one-"

"I don't mean to buy one. I mean to make one."

"Make one? How the-"

"Look," I said, picking up the handful of cards. "It's as simple as this. Here's a card for each of the positions. The cards are slotted at the bottom in twelve places, a slot to each position. Starting at the left, all the slots are uniform except one which is lower than the others. On the next row it's the same way, and the next, and all the way across. In each row eleven of the slots are alike; one is lower than the others."

I picked up a pencil and slid it under the first row of slots. "This is Position 1," I said, and I raised the pencil. And Position 1 card rose up and the others remained stationary. I did the same thing on the other rows. "All we need is a file with a sliding lever running beneath it. It would probably cost all of a couple of dollars."

"Say," said Baldwin. He took the pencil and ran it back and forth in the slots. "Well I'll be damned," he said.

Moon cleared his throat. "You're just using a few cards now. It won't work with two or three thousand."

"Why not?" said Baldwin.

"It just won't."

"I guess you and I went to different schools," said Baldwin.

He looked from Moon to me. "What's the trouble between you birds, anyway?"

"No trouble," said Moon.

"Everything's okay with me," I said.

"Well-I'm glad to have you both here, but you'll have to tie the fights outside, understand? Good. Moon, we'll let those shortage reports slide."

And he was on his way again.

Moon and I didn't speak for the rest of the day.

I hate it about Moon. He was kind to me here when I needed kindness badly. I feel somehow that it is I who have put him behind the eight-ball instead of the other way around.

Marge was sitting on the steps that lead down to the walk (almost all San Diego houses are on terraced lots). I had wondered how long it was going to take her to get there. At first she had stood in the doorway, then on the porch; then she sat on the porch steps. And now she was down to the street.

I told Gross good night abruptly and slammed the door as Marge arose. For a moment we were like two people who meet on the street and can't determine which way the other is going. In actions, that is. I knew which way Marge was going, and I kept in front of her. She rose on her toes arid peered over my shoulder as Gross's car roared away angrily.

"Now, Jimmie!" she said, stamping her foot and showing the whites of her eyes. "Why do you always do things like that?"

I could understand her being cross. She was dressed in green-a leaf-green tweed sports coat, sea-green street slacks, green socks, and snakeskin oxfords that had cost twenty-two dollars and a half. I knew what they had cost because Walter had written his last note to her on the back of the bill, and she had showed it to us. Her hair was freshly tinted. Her face was a flawless cream and pink mask. It must have taken her at least six hours to fix herself.

I slid around the question. "Did you want to go some place?"

She brightened at once. "Let's do. We'll all go. Frankie's sick and Mom will have to take care of the kids. But you and I and Roberta could go, and maybe you'd see someone you knew. Or maybe Roberta wouldn't want to go. Not an expensive place, Jimmie. Abe Lyman's at Pacific Square and it only costs two dollars and a half, and we wouldn't need more than a cocktail or-"

"I'm afraid we can't even do that, Marge," I said. "We'll try to figure out something for Saturday."

"But it wouldn't cost hardly anything, Jimmie. And you said-"

"I've got to finish that story, too. You know that has to be done."

"Well," she said. "All right. We'll really go some place Saturday? You promise?"

"I promise," I said, rather desperately.

"Can I go over to the drugstore now and get a coke? I'm about out of cigarettes, too, and-"

I gave her what change I had in my pockets, and she counted it out meticulously-although not very accurately-and wrapped it in her handkerchief. "Now you remember that, Jimmie. I'll pay you back as soon as I get some."

She started up the walk.

"Just a minute, kid," I said. "Why don't you go over after while? After dinner?"

"Why can't I go now?"

"Well, you can," I said, "but-" I hardly knew how to put it. "Well, Shannon's over there and she doesn't- you wouldn't enjoy yourself. Having to take care of her, I mean."

"Oh… Well. I'll wait."

We went up the steps together. "And do something else for me, kid. Please don't go next door to use the telephone any more."

"Why not, Jimmie?"

"Because they know we have a telephone. And that boy works down at the plant. It makes things kind of embarrassing for me. Please don't do it again."

"I guess there's not much I can do," she said in a small voice.

She went into the kitchen. I went on back to the bedroom. Roberta was examining a pair of hose.

"You'll have to buy me some new stockings," she said. "I had these hanging in the bathroom and someone wiped a mascara brush all over them."

"All right," I said.

"I don't know why anyone has to do things like that."

"I'll tell her to be more careful."

"No, don't say anything to her, Jimmie. She can't help it, and she
is
your sister."

"Now what the hell
is
this," I said. "You get me worked up to do something, and then-"

"Well, she is your sister, Jimmie."

Mom came in. "What did you say to Marge?"

"I didn't say anything to her. I just asked her not to go over to the drugstore right now and not to use the telephone next door."

"Well, I'm getting out of here," said Mom. "I'm packing up my clothes and getting out tonight. I put up with the work and the noise and people biting my head off every time I open my mouth, but I'm not going to stand by and watch you mistreat Marge. I-"

I went into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

Frankie pushed the door open.

"Oh. You in here?"

"No," I said. "This is my spirit getting ready to take flight. My spirit's got some sense."

Frankie chuckled. "What's the trouble with Marge?"

"The same thing that's always been the trouble with her."

"Don't be too hard on her, Jimmie. She can't take it."

"All right. I forget."

"I called the loan company today. You can get the money."

"You didn't tell Mom? She'll raise hell with Moon, and it won't help any."

"No, I didn't tell her. Think you'll finish the story tonight?"

"I suppose."

"Look, Jimmie. Is Roberta sore about all this? You know I'll pay you back just as soon as-"

"No, she's not sore," I said, truthfully. "On the contrary, she's damned well pleased."

Frankie looked blank. "What do you mean?"

"You figure it out. It'll give you something to think about besides your sins. And get out so I can take a bath."

I don't believe I took one. I had the shower turned on and my clothes off. But, looking back, I don't believe I bathed. My piles were unusually bad, and I stood up on a chair and got to examining myself in the mirror. And then-I believe-I put my clothes back on again and went out.

I don't remember eating supper either, although I suppose I did. I know that when I was back in the bedroom writing afterwards, I had the sensation of having eaten a great deal more than I should have. I had never thought I would see the time when anyone could isolate himself mentally in our house, but I guess I am beginning to.

At eight-thirty the page in my typewriter was numbered 18, and half-way down was the symbol -30-. I pulled the sheet out, slipped it under the bottom of the others, and reached for a bundle of manuscript envelopes. I didn't want to look at it again. I couldn't rewrite it. I suppose it was that fastidiousness which makes certain criminals averse to handling the implements of larceny any more than they have to.