Read Online Motorman by David Ohle - Free Book Online Page B

his thumb. During Moldenke's minute outside the door, a gun fired and someone shoveled smoking bones onto a pile at the side of the building. A red light blinked above the door jamb, everyone in line saluted. Moldenke snorted. The green light went on and Moldenke stepped into the prep room. A table, a jellyhead mock doctor in a swivel chair. Moldenke crossed his hands behind his back and waited. The jellyhead pushed colored plastic wafers into configurations on the desk top. A circle, a cross inside the circle. Moldenke coughed honestly and the jellyhead looked up, turning a knob on his throat box.
    Moldenke said, “Moldenke, sir. Minor fracture.”
    The jellyhead swiveled a quarter turn and looked at a chart of seasons on the wall.
    Moldenke said, “Moldenke, sir. Minor-—”
    The jellyhead said, “You I heard! Weather is the outside how?”
    Moldenke waited for the correction. The jellyhead said, “Correction: I heard you! How is the weather outside?”
    Moldenke said, “Not bad. A little blister snow last night. Not bad.”
    The jellyhead swiveled a half turn and adjusted his word order bubble, swiveled back, his headlight shining in Moldenke's eye. “What are you giving up, General Moldenke? ”
    Moldenke mentioned the minor fracture. The jellyhead arranged the colored wafers into a square containing other wafers. “How brave you are, Moldenke. I just this last minute shot a two week vet in the spine. A day ago I had occasion to remove the longest inch he had. One day that, the next day his life. What do you think, Moldenke? Your minute is getting older. Is a minor fracture enough? Ask yourself that? ”
    Moldenke experienced guilt, agreed to give up a list of feelings in addition to the minor fracture. The jellyhead seemed satisfied, told Moldenke to follow a corridor to the No. 2 fracture room and have a seat. He waited in a cold chair in the fracture room, flipping through magazines. Music played. In a while feet shuffled in the corridor and a jellyhead nurse came into the fracture room. Moldenke smiled, said “Hello.” The nurse sat on a stool in front of him and told him to cross one leg over the other. She scissored open the trenchpants, exposing the kneecap. Moldenke looked at the ceiling light. The nurse, in one experienced stroke with a chromium ball peen, broke the kneecap.
    He lay in the shock room under a clockpiece. When he opened his eye the jellyhead doctor stood over him. “How do you feel, Moldenke? ” Moldenke sat up and said he didn't know. The doctor said, “Good. The War is over now. Go home. Stay in your cot for a few days and then go home.”
     
    Returning from the mailpost he rested on a refrigerator in the mud, his knee throbbing, and read the letter:
     
    General Moldenke
    The False Front
    The War
     
    Dear General Moldenke,
    Because of punctuation we have taken Cock Roberta. You may have custody of her after the War. We have her on a standard regimen. She often talks about her hero.
    Truly yours,
    The Staff
    The Grammar Wing
    The Great Chicago Clinic
     
    57]
     
    When he woke up the k-motor had stopped, the temperature had gone up. He went to the lookout, put on his goggles. A number of suns had risen. His forearms had blistered.
    Someone opened the hatch and said, “Climb out of this thing, Moldenke, before you fry yourself.”
    A column of white sunslight filled the shaft. He opened his backpack and took out his sun hat, clamped on darker goggle lenses. “Hurry on, Moldenke. Climb out of there.”
    He climbed the shaft. Someone took his elbow and helped him out. “My name is Roquette.”
    Moldenke squinted in the goggles, saw Roquette reversed and inverted, a figure in khaki swamp shorts, boots, carrying a walking stick and a shade lamp, upside down.
    “Reverse the goggles, Moldenke. You've got them on backwards.” Moldenke corrected the error, apologized. He was not surprised that Roquette knew his name.
    Roquette said, “Bright enough for you, son?”
    Moldenke said, “A