and, after opening a few that were empty, found her. She was curled up in the center of the room, on the heavy orange carpet, sleeping like a child. My heart warmed toward her. I felt like . . . like a
father
. And a lover too.
Then I came back to my office and had breakfast, and began writing this.
When I finish I will wake her up and we will go out to a restaurant for lunch.
DAY FORTY-THREE
After I woke her up I took her up Fifth Avenue on the conveyor belt and we had lunch at a vegetable restaurant. We had spinach and beans.
The two of us had not taken any pills or smoked any dope and it was surprising to notice how dazed and drugged everyone else seemed to be. Except, of course, for the robots who waited on us. An older couple at a table nearby kept repeating themselves in a kind of aimless imitation of a conversation. He would say, “Florida’s the best place,” and she would say, “I didn’t catch your name,” and he would say, “I like Florida,” and she would say, “It’s Arthur, isn’t it?” and it just went on like that throughout the meal. They must have had a sexual connection, but could not connect any other way. Such talk had never been uncommon, but there with Mary Lou, where we each had things to say to the other, and with our heads clear and wide-awake, it was especially noticeable. And saddening.
DAY FORTY-SIX
Mary Lou has been here three days now. For the first two of them she slept until noon, after telling me not to disturb her. I spent the mornings working on a film about men who were bare to the waist and who lived on the kind of sailboats that could cross an ocean. Mostly the men fought one another with knives and swords. They would say things like “Zounds!” and “
I
am master of the seas.” It was interesting; but Mary Lou was too much in my thoughts for me to pay it close attention.
I worked only in the mornings for those two days, since I was for some reason reluctant to let her see me at work. I don’t know why; but I did not want her to know about the reading.
And then on the third morning she came into my room and she was carrying a book in her hand. The sight of her was striking: she was wearing a pair of the pajamas I had given her, and the top was unbuttoned so that I could see the place between her breasts. She was wearing a cross around her neck. I could see her naveL “Hey, look!” she said. “Look what I found.” She held the book out to me.
Her pajama top adjusted itself to the gesture, and one of her nipples was briefly visible. I was confused, and must have looked like a fool standing there trying not to stare. I noticed that she was barefoot.
“Take it,” she said, and practically forced the book into my hand.
After another moment of confusion I took it. It was a small book, without the stiff cover that I thought books were supposed to have.
I looked at the cover. The picture on it—faded yellow and blue —made no sense. It was a pattern of dark and light squares, with odd-looking shapes sitting on some of them. The title was
Basic Chess Endings
and the author’s name was Reuben Fine.
I opened it up. The paper was yellow, and there were little diagrams of black and white squares and a lot of writing that did not seem to make sense.
I looked back to Mary Lou, having regained my calmness a bit. She must have noticed the way I had acted, because she had buttoned her pajama top. She was running her fingers through her hair, trying to comb it.
“Where did you get this?” I said.
She looked at me thoughtfully. Then she said, “Is it. . . Is it a
book
?”
“Yes,” I said. “Where did you find it?”
She was staring at it, in my hands. Then she said, “Jesus Christ!”
“What?”
“It’s just an expression,” she said. Then she took my hand and said, “Come on. I’ll show you where I found it.”
I followed along with her like a child, holding her hand. I was embarrassed by her touch and wanted to
father
. And a lover too.
Then I came back to my office and had breakfast, and began writing this.
When I finish I will wake her up and we will go out to a restaurant for lunch.
DAY FORTY-THREE
After I woke her up I took her up Fifth Avenue on the conveyor belt and we had lunch at a vegetable restaurant. We had spinach and beans.
The two of us had not taken any pills or smoked any dope and it was surprising to notice how dazed and drugged everyone else seemed to be. Except, of course, for the robots who waited on us. An older couple at a table nearby kept repeating themselves in a kind of aimless imitation of a conversation. He would say, “Florida’s the best place,” and she would say, “I didn’t catch your name,” and he would say, “I like Florida,” and she would say, “It’s Arthur, isn’t it?” and it just went on like that throughout the meal. They must have had a sexual connection, but could not connect any other way. Such talk had never been uncommon, but there with Mary Lou, where we each had things to say to the other, and with our heads clear and wide-awake, it was especially noticeable. And saddening.
DAY FORTY-SIX
Mary Lou has been here three days now. For the first two of them she slept until noon, after telling me not to disturb her. I spent the mornings working on a film about men who were bare to the waist and who lived on the kind of sailboats that could cross an ocean. Mostly the men fought one another with knives and swords. They would say things like “Zounds!” and “
I
am master of the seas.” It was interesting; but Mary Lou was too much in my thoughts for me to pay it close attention.
I worked only in the mornings for those two days, since I was for some reason reluctant to let her see me at work. I don’t know why; but I did not want her to know about the reading.
And then on the third morning she came into my room and she was carrying a book in her hand. The sight of her was striking: she was wearing a pair of the pajamas I had given her, and the top was unbuttoned so that I could see the place between her breasts. She was wearing a cross around her neck. I could see her naveL “Hey, look!” she said. “Look what I found.” She held the book out to me.
Her pajama top adjusted itself to the gesture, and one of her nipples was briefly visible. I was confused, and must have looked like a fool standing there trying not to stare. I noticed that she was barefoot.
“Take it,” she said, and practically forced the book into my hand.
After another moment of confusion I took it. It was a small book, without the stiff cover that I thought books were supposed to have.
I looked at the cover. The picture on it—faded yellow and blue —made no sense. It was a pattern of dark and light squares, with odd-looking shapes sitting on some of them. The title was
Basic Chess Endings
and the author’s name was Reuben Fine.
I opened it up. The paper was yellow, and there were little diagrams of black and white squares and a lot of writing that did not seem to make sense.
I looked back to Mary Lou, having regained my calmness a bit. She must have noticed the way I had acted, because she had buttoned her pajama top. She was running her fingers through her hair, trying to comb it.
“Where did you get this?” I said.
She looked at me thoughtfully. Then she said, “Is it. . . Is it a
book
?”
“Yes,” I said. “Where did you find it?”
She was staring at it, in my hands. Then she said, “Jesus Christ!”
“What?”
“It’s just an expression,” she said. Then she took my hand and said, “Come on. I’ll show you where I found it.”
I followed along with her like a child, holding her hand. I was embarrassed by her touch and wanted to
Similar Books
