Terraplane (18 page)

"Terrible ones," I lied. "I'll have them glassed, please-"

"Cook for 'em half the morning in this heat and he's gonna sit
there and suck eggs? Shit-"

"Come on, Wanda," said Doc. "Cool off."

`All of you just go ahead and sit down," she said. The kitchen's
size impressed, so used was I to the dry shower stalls New York
realtors of our day call Ingestion Areas; each of us had overmuch
room as we tabled round in the room's center, the broad window
facing us, flies' ceaseless whine tingling our ears. While our hosts
and Oktobriana ravaged their emplated horrors, I stirred my eggs
until drinkable and Jake tore away his toast's casing.

"Don't like crusts, Jake?" Doc asked, cramming down bacon.

"Surface particulate concentration highest thereon," he said,
staring down. "What's the flooring?"

"Linoleum," said Wanda. The name unfamiliared; whatever it
was, it split and peeled at flooredge, showed dirt's annual accumulation beneath surface gloss. "What do you have? Something
else?"

"Mirafloor," said Jake. "A springy industry by-product compressed flat-" Wanda appeared unimpressed. An unavoidable
aspect of this time, it seemed, was that as the outer world grew
more gray-brown while Depression lingered, the inner shone as if
polychromed, one's loss overcompensated by the other. Sitting on
an aqua chairpad, vizzing sunlight filtered through the kitchen
window's green-and-white awning and chrome yellow curtains,
my knees brushing a red-checkered tablecloth holding an odd,
slippery feel, drinking from a bloodred tumbler, eyeing others'
shiny blue plates, I felt mugged by hue, strangled by a rainbow

"Called that friend of mine I was talking about this morning,"
said Doc, forcing yellow oil from his yolks, dipping toast in its
sebum. "Doesn't have any blank flyers handy but has something
just as good. Said to come up after breakfast. They're just a little
ways up the street."

"You talk to Cedric or you talk to Lee?" asked Wanda.

"You know Lee's never up before noon," he said. "This'll even us
up till the next time one of his girls gets into trouble-"

"That'll be next week, more than likely. Why don't you men eat
like this little girl here?"

"A carboload's nonessentialled," said Jake. "I'm sufficed." Flies
circled round before diving into fresh runs across our plates.

"I am not little girl," Oktobriana corrected, clearing her initial
plate; Doc reloaded.

"Don't eat like one," said Wanda. "Want me to take the general
up there, then?"

"Why don't you," said Doc, in a quiet monotone. "Luther, pull
that picture out of your passport before you go. He's going to need
to put it in your new one."

"New American passport?"

Doc's right eyebrow lifted, owl-like. "Venezuelan. It's all he had right now. I give him your height, weight, how old you are. He's
going to give you a new name, too, just to keep it all kosher."

"I don't look Venezuelan-"

"Don't look like you're from Norway," said Doc. "They mix a lot
more down there than they do up here. You'll pass. You speak any
Spanish?"

"Some," I said; Spanish, Turkish, Russian, French. "I still think
I'm too dark-"

"Dark?" Wanda laughed, showing her old gold. "With those big
green eyes? Look like there was more'n one ice-cream man hanging round your mama's woodpile."

Feeling suitably placed, I decided a check necessaried, to distract if nothing more. "Jake," I said. "Movement seen or not seen?"

Unpocketing the tracker, he looked. "None."

"What's that thing?" Wanda asked.

"Keeps us apprised of others' movements," I said. "Or lack
thereof. We're eyeing one who holds our exit visa."

"A friend?" she asked.

We grimaced. "Another orphan of time," said Oktobriana. "Is
terrible countryman of mine. Tried to take us prisoners. `Tried to
kill Jake with bomb. On plane he attempted takeover once more so
Jake threw him out into swamp below"

"You sure you need to keep in touch?" Doc asked; we nodded.
"He's still in Jersey, then?"

"Close to descent point." A fly careened down, attacking; Jake,
bored, caught it without seeable movement. Fisting tight, unclamping, he wiped it on his napkin and kept eating.

"Big-game hunter," said Oktobriana, smirking as she cleaned
her second plate.

"I can run you over later, probably, once you get that passport,"
said Doc. "You seem to be making quite a recovery, miss."

"Such exuberant feelings I have," she said. "So unexpected after
fever's passing. Head sore but not painful. Expected stiffness fading.

"May I?" I asked Doc, spotting a paper countertopped near.

"Here," he said. "It's this mornings. I read it already. Toss it up
on the icebox when you're through." The rag resembled nothing published in my New York, as had the Mirror; June 17, 1939's
Herald-Tribune and Mail carried few photos, superabundant print,
and semirational heads. Glancing across, I read: KING BIDS FAREWELL TO NEW YORK, MEETS PRESIDENT LATER TODAY; HEAT WAVE
SEARS EUROPE; LA GUARDIA SWEARS TO FIGII'I' LEGISLATURE'S
BUDGET CUTS-

"So many flies," said Oktobriana, swatting.

"No more'n any summer," Wanda said. "Beelzebub's hosts.
Bringers of dark. You get used to 'em. Don't they have flies anymore?"

"They've probably killed off all pests and such in the future,
Wanda," said Doc. "No roaches. No rats. No spiders or mice."

AMERICAN JEWISH CONGRESS REQUESTS LIFTING OF REFUGEE
QUOTAS; LONG PLANS RUN ON THIRD-PAR'I'Y'I'ICKET IF DEMO NOMINATION DENIED; THREE DEAD IN BRONX FIRE; T'ESLA TO THROW
SWITCH SUNDAY NIGHT, WORLD SCIENTISTS TO ATTEND CEREMONY--

"Tesla?" Oktobriana said, espying the last name. "What is ceremony where?"

"The World's Fair," said Doc. "Out in Flushing Meadows. In
Queens. "

"Let me see," she said, ripping the paper from my grasp. "He is
to be honored in great festival at this fair. Will throw switch to
begin operation of new device. Peacetime use, I would guess-"

"What's Tesla?" Jake asked.

"Tesla was inventor and scientist," she said. "True genius.
Slavic, it goes without saying, though Yugoslavic. Alternating
current system of electric power enabled with use of Tesla coil.
Allows electricity to be used in all places safely. Many splendid
ideas he had never employed. Brave notions and concepts ignored
even in our day. Too visionary."

"He's been working on death rays lately, I read," said Doc.

"That would infer use of large coils with attached tower," she
said, thoughtful. "Could perhaps prove useful. I have certain
familiarity with his work. " A tiny bombardier closed in on her; had
her glass of juice not been sent floorways by the movement it couldn't have evidenced that her arm ever left the table. One
second her hand was open; the next, it had closed.

"Damnation," said Wanda, pressing her cloth napkin linoleumways to suck the spillage before it merged with the floor. "Catching
flies only thing you all are good at?"

"Watch me do better than Jake," she laughed, standing to attain
wider armroom. Her captive's fellows circled round as if in tribute
to the fallen; their mistake. This time I caught the flash as her arm
shot; drawing down her hand to eyelevel she unclasped. Four flies
lay stunned upon her open palm, perhaps so surprised as we. She
shook them awake, sending them skyways again.

"How'd you do that?" Wanda asked.

"I'm not sure-" she mumbled, reseating herself. "Lucky accident, maybe."

Doc lay down his fork and knife, though food remained before
him. "Listen," he said, "last night I was so busy taking care of the
obvious complaints that I never got the chance to do a couple tests I
wanted to do. Nothing to get all riled up about, just want to check a
couple things. Would you and Jake come across to the office with
me after we finish eating? Won't take ten minutes."

Amateur's cloakings never concealed; no matter how still the
face, the eyes of the nonprofessional never carry the lie. Whatever
troubled him, troubled deep, no matter his feigned nonchalance.
His gropes and plaints hung swordlike in the air.

"All right," she said.

"Luther, you too, once you get back."

"Get back," said Wanda. "Haven't even gone yet. Let's get
moving if we're going to. I got things to do besides babysitting and
serving as a tour guide for this bunch. Come on." She stood,
pushing herself away from the table. "I'll let you all do the dishes."

"Jake," I said, distracting his roomwide search for the washer.
"Tracker me while I'm out. I want to tab any stir that shows if he
moves. "

"If he moves," said Jake, "follow."

"Don't let nobody see that thing while I'm with you," said
Wanda.

`Anybody asks, tell 'em it's a Hershey bar," laughed Doc, something-still eating him from within.

"Those your only clothes?" Wanda asked me; my two-piece wool
with faint pinstripe, medium lapel, no longer held even press's
resemblance; most mud trousercuffed had returned to dust. I
couldn't imagine it showing overstrange, still.

"Sole and alone," I said.

"Well, just don't get out of eyesight," she said to me. "Stick to
me like glue. All right?"

"A follow's essential," said Jake. "I'll prep."

"Stay here, Jake," said Doc. "People they're seem', uh, don't
cotton much to, uh-"

"Ofays," said Wanda, shouldering her purse; its skin looked to be
drawn from lizards, though I couldn't imagine that it truly was.
"Let's get it done with."

Following as specified, I trailed her steps, emerging behind her
into clear light and streetrush as we left the house. Abyssinia's bill
evidenced beneath the tunnel-like awning. I vizzed the attractions
listed: Friday Lester Young and Charles Parker/Saturday Robert
Johnson the Blues Man/Cover fifty cent.

"They're just a few blocks up," she said. "What're you gawking at?"

"All," I said. "These associates are fellow medicals?"

"Fellow lowlifes," she said. "Lee the Blood's nothing but a pimp.
Carries cards says he's an entertainment director. Keeps a three-girl
stable working the street but they hold out half the money on him
and he's always too drunk to know. He's nothing but a hog in shoes.
Crashes rent parties, that's how low he is. Cedric's got the knowhow Runs numbers, keeps hooch pouring through the bars, fences
anything a hophead'll drag in. Hooked in with the precinct house
somehow Swear to this day he must be the one funding the man
who buys the souls. And, he gets papers to those too sorry to have
any of their own." Glancing me updown, she winked. "Queer as a
three-dollar bill. He'll be glad to help you."

"Does Doc have overmuch contact with underground trade?"

"When necessary," she said. "I'd be glad of it if I was you,
considering."

Above us trains rattled, shaking along their run; sunlight leaked onto the street as through a jungle's canopy, its tones showing pure
against constant shadow On streetlevel, traffic streamed: battered
cars plain with years of unmuseumed use, looking less insectival as
they familiared themselves onto my mind; streetcars, gray topped,
red and yellow sided, their windows removed for summer comfort,
buzzed down centerlane. We edged past a sidewalk-wide mass of
stacked boxes and jumbled furniture, rolled rugs upon which
children sans shoes perched.

"Somebody else evicted," Wanda muttered. "Damn landlords
never give nobody a chance to make good."

As in our day, a radioed teen added sound onto noise; here his
implement was lasereo size, held but two buttons, plugged into a
lampbase with a long cord and broadcast a pregame baseball show
from the Polo Grounds, wherever those were, to an attentive
crowd. All along the sidewalks locals hung, chattering in groups,
arguing between pairs, wandering along. Men kneeled above subway grates, dropping down lures of string as if to fish.

"Built the grates," she said. "Never built the subway. Ran out of
money. Still going to tear the el down next year, they say. Tore
down the one on Sixth Avenue last year."

At one shaded streetcorner an elderly woman sold big pretzels,
her cart two wooden crates, her display case a worn wicker basket.
"Pretzels," she mouthed, toothless. "Pretzels a penny. Please buy a
nice pretzel." Plaid-skirted little girls hopped across chalked pavement; shirtless boys flung pocketknives into a patch of dirt where
once a tree had stood. Dozens waved and smiled at Wanda as we
passed; she acknowledged all with word or nod. We passed two men
in ragged wear curled atop themselves, bunched behind trashcans,
dead to all worlds save their own.

"Bet you don't see that in your day," she said. "Damn Depression's never going to end, I don't think."

She was right; in our day, in similar terrain, there'd be twenty
piled deep, sleeping as they might until they were awakened by
assault or siren or the smell of their own flesh burning away.

"Least it finally caught up with the ones that had all the money,"
she went on. "They're still better off than us but they're hurting
bad. Serves 'em damn right."

We walked before a newer building, a three-story stone with
curved chrome trim and silver letters. UNITED STATES BANK, it was;
FOUNDED 1933. Wanda spat on its steps.

"Your bank?" I asked.

"Only bank there is," she said, "if you use banks." At the next
corner we pushed through an audience; they surrounded a man
standing atop a rickety stepladder, flapping his arms as if to attempt
ascension, his voice echoing like summer thunder.

"Negro man wants a fair deal!" he shouted. I eyed two black
policemen standing near. "Wants the same pay as a white man if he
does the same work. Wants to go where he wants when he wants
like a white man do. Wants respect for being a man!" His crowd
assented. Having passed, Wanda paused, turned to listen. "Not a
half man, a whole man. With whole rights. Have schools worth
sending your kids to. Have subways you can sit on and not stand!"
An enormous yes rose from the crowd. "Have police working for
you and not against you!" His small mob's roar tripled twiceover.
The two policemen quickly moved.