Read Online City of Truth by James Morrow - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Morrow
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, Short Stories (Single Author), Sci-Fi Short, Honesty - Fiction, Honesty, Truthfulness and Falsehood, Truthfulness and Falsehood - Fiction
Ads: Link
one renewed one's talent for mendacity, whereas Pope Manny never left. "It's made him a little nuts," she explained.
"I'm not surprised," I said as an aquatic ferret leaped out of the Jordan and snatched an unsuspecting polka-dotted frog from the shore.
"Play up your devotion to your kid," Martina advised. "How you'd move heaven and earth to cure him."
"And don't look the old man in the eye," said Franz. "He hates directness." My guardian landed us at a trim, sturdy, immaculately whitewashed dock, its pilings decorated with ceramic replicas of pelicans and sea gulls. An equally clean and appealing structure rose from the shore — a bait shack or possibly a fisherman's hut. A German shepherd lay on the welcome mat, head bobbing in languid circles as he tracked a dragonfly.
"The Holy See," said Martina, pointing.
"It's a bait shack," I corrected her.
"It's the Holy See," said Franz as he lashed his gondola to the dock.
"Maybe we don't have the budget we'd like around here," said the dog, "but it's still the Holy See."
I didn't bat an eye. I was getting used to this sort of thing. The door swished open on well-oiled hinges and a short, nervous, walleyed man in his seventies ambled onto the dock wearing a brilliant white polyester suit and a yarmulke. He told Martina and Franz to come back for me in an hour.
"Care for a cup of fresh-perked coffee?" asked Manny Ginsburg as he led me into his one-room riverfront abode. The German shepherd followed, claws clicking on the wooden floor. "It's quite tasty."
"Sure," I said, glancing around. Manny's shack was as spotless within as without.
"Pull up a chair."
There were no chairs. I sat on the rug.
"I'm Zeke, by the way," said the dog, offering me his paw.
"Jack Sperry," I said, shaking limb extremities with Zeke. "You talk," I observed.
"A bioelectronic implant, modifying my larynx."
Manny sidled into the kitchenette. Lifting a copper kettle from his kerosene stove, he filled a pair of earthenware mugs with boiling water then added heaping spoonfuls of Fran's Fairish Coffee Crystals.
"You said fresh," I noted with Veritasian candor.
"It's fresh to us ," said the Pope.
"Want to hear a talking dog joke?" Zeke inquired.
"No," I replied, truthfully.
"Oh," said the dog, evidently wounded by my frankness. Manny returned from the kitchenette with a Coca-Cola tray bearing the coffee mugs plus a cream pitcher and a canister marked Salt .
"It's a sterile world up there. Sterile, stifling, spiritually depleting." Manny set the tray beside me and rolled his eyes heavenward. "And before long it will all be ours. You doubt me? Listen — already we've placed twenty dissemblers in the legislature. A person with our talents has no trouble getting elected."
"You mean — you're going to conquer Veritas?" I asked, making a point of not looking Manny in the eye.
The Pope slammed his palms against his ears. " Please ."
"Don't say 'conquer,'" admonished the dog.
"We're going to reform Veritas," said Manny. I fixed on the rug. "Truth is beauty, your holiness." Splaying my fingers, I ticked off a familiar litany. "In the Age of Lies, politicians misled, advertisers overstated, clerics exaggerated—"
"Satirev's founders had nothing against telling the truth." Manny tapped his yarmulke. "But they hated their inability to do otherwise. Honesty without choice, they said, is slavery with a smile." He pointed toward the ceiling with his coffee mug. "Truth above..." He set his mug on the floor. "Dignity below." He chuckled softly. "In Satirev, we opt for the latter. Do you like it sweet?"
"Dignity?"
"Coffee."
"I would like some sugar, matter of fact."
The Pope handed me the salt canister. I shook some grains into my palm and licked. It was sugar.
"My heart is broken," said Manny, laying a hand on his chest. "I feel absolutely devastated about your Toby."
"You do?"
"I'm crushed."
"You don't even know him."
"What you're doing is so noble ."
"I think so too," said Zeke. "And I'm
"I'm not surprised," I said as an aquatic ferret leaped out of the Jordan and snatched an unsuspecting polka-dotted frog from the shore.
"Play up your devotion to your kid," Martina advised. "How you'd move heaven and earth to cure him."
"And don't look the old man in the eye," said Franz. "He hates directness." My guardian landed us at a trim, sturdy, immaculately whitewashed dock, its pilings decorated with ceramic replicas of pelicans and sea gulls. An equally clean and appealing structure rose from the shore — a bait shack or possibly a fisherman's hut. A German shepherd lay on the welcome mat, head bobbing in languid circles as he tracked a dragonfly.
"The Holy See," said Martina, pointing.
"It's a bait shack," I corrected her.
"It's the Holy See," said Franz as he lashed his gondola to the dock.
"Maybe we don't have the budget we'd like around here," said the dog, "but it's still the Holy See."
I didn't bat an eye. I was getting used to this sort of thing. The door swished open on well-oiled hinges and a short, nervous, walleyed man in his seventies ambled onto the dock wearing a brilliant white polyester suit and a yarmulke. He told Martina and Franz to come back for me in an hour.
"Care for a cup of fresh-perked coffee?" asked Manny Ginsburg as he led me into his one-room riverfront abode. The German shepherd followed, claws clicking on the wooden floor. "It's quite tasty."
"Sure," I said, glancing around. Manny's shack was as spotless within as without.
"Pull up a chair."
There were no chairs. I sat on the rug.
"I'm Zeke, by the way," said the dog, offering me his paw.
"Jack Sperry," I said, shaking limb extremities with Zeke. "You talk," I observed.
"A bioelectronic implant, modifying my larynx."
Manny sidled into the kitchenette. Lifting a copper kettle from his kerosene stove, he filled a pair of earthenware mugs with boiling water then added heaping spoonfuls of Fran's Fairish Coffee Crystals.
"You said fresh," I noted with Veritasian candor.
"It's fresh to us ," said the Pope.
"Want to hear a talking dog joke?" Zeke inquired.
"No," I replied, truthfully.
"Oh," said the dog, evidently wounded by my frankness. Manny returned from the kitchenette with a Coca-Cola tray bearing the coffee mugs plus a cream pitcher and a canister marked Salt .
"It's a sterile world up there. Sterile, stifling, spiritually depleting." Manny set the tray beside me and rolled his eyes heavenward. "And before long it will all be ours. You doubt me? Listen — already we've placed twenty dissemblers in the legislature. A person with our talents has no trouble getting elected."
"You mean — you're going to conquer Veritas?" I asked, making a point of not looking Manny in the eye.
The Pope slammed his palms against his ears. " Please ."
"Don't say 'conquer,'" admonished the dog.
"We're going to reform Veritas," said Manny. I fixed on the rug. "Truth is beauty, your holiness." Splaying my fingers, I ticked off a familiar litany. "In the Age of Lies, politicians misled, advertisers overstated, clerics exaggerated—"
"Satirev's founders had nothing against telling the truth." Manny tapped his yarmulke. "But they hated their inability to do otherwise. Honesty without choice, they said, is slavery with a smile." He pointed toward the ceiling with his coffee mug. "Truth above..." He set his mug on the floor. "Dignity below." He chuckled softly. "In Satirev, we opt for the latter. Do you like it sweet?"
"Dignity?"
"Coffee."
"I would like some sugar, matter of fact."
The Pope handed me the salt canister. I shook some grains into my palm and licked. It was sugar.
"My heart is broken," said Manny, laying a hand on his chest. "I feel absolutely devastated about your Toby."
"You do?"
"I'm crushed."
"You don't even know him."
"What you're doing is so noble ."
"I think so too," said Zeke. "And I'm
Similar Books
