Read Online Now Wait for Last Year by Philip Dick - Free Book Online
Authors: Philip Dick
Tags: SF
Ads: Link
deeply uneasy.
Meanwhile, through Kathy's intercession, he had been hired by Virgil Ackerman. His wife had made it possible for him to take a notable leap in the hierarchy of econ and sose – economic and social – life. And of course he felt gratitude toward her; how could he not? His basic ambition had been fulfilled.
The means by which it had been accomplished had not struck him as overpoweringly important: many wives helped their husbands up the long steps in their careers. And vice versa. And yet—
It bothered Kathy. Even though it had been her idea.
'She got you your job here?' the Mole demanded, scowling. 'And then after that she held it against you? I seem to get the picture, very clear.' He plucked at a front tooth, still scowling, his face dark.
'One night in bed—' He stopped, feeling the difficulty of going on. It had been too private. And too awfully unpleasant.
'I want to know,' the Mole said, 'the rest of it.'
He shrugged. 'Anyhow – she said something about being "tired of the sham we're living." The "sham," of course, being my job.'
Lying in bed, naked, her soft hair curling about her shoulders – in those days she had worn it longer – Kathy had said, 'You married me to get your job. And you're not striving on your own; a man should make his own way.' Tears filled her eyes, and she flopped over on her face to cry – or appear, anyhow – to cry.
'"Strive"?' he had said, baffled.
The Mole interrupted, 'Rise higher. Get a better job. That's what they mean when they say that.'
'But I like my job,' he answered.
'So you're content,' Kathy said, in a muffled, bitter voice, 'to appear to be successful. When you really aren't.' And then, sniffling and snuffling, she added, 'And you're terrible in bed.'
He got up and went into the living room of their conapt and sat alone for a time and then, instinctively, he made his way into his study and placed one of his treasured Johnny Winters tapes into the projector. For a while he sat in misery watching Johnny put on one hat after another and become a different person under each. And then—
At the doorway Kathy appeared, smooth and naked and slim, her face contorted. 'Have you found it?'
'Found what?' He shut the tape projector off.
'The tape,' she stated, 'that I destroyed.'
He stared at her, unable to take in what he had heard.
'A few days ago.' Her tone, defiant, shrilled at him. 'I was all alone here in the conapt; I felt blue – you were busy doing some drafk nothing thing for Virgil – and I put on a reel; I put it on exactly right; I followed all the instructions. But it did something wrong. So it got erased.'
The Mole grunted somberly. 'You were supposed to say "It doesn't matter."'
He had known that; known it then, knew it now. But in a strangled, thick voice he had said, 'Which tape?'
'I don't remember.'
His voice rose; it escaped him. 'Goddam it, which tape?' He ran to the shelf of tapes; grabbed the first box; tore it open; carried it at once to the projector.
'I knew,' Kathy said, in a harsh, bleak voice as she watched him with withering contempt, 'that your —— tapes meant more to you than I do or ever did.'
'Tell me which tape!' he pleaded. 'Please?'
'No, she wouldn't say,' the Mole murmured thoughtfully. That would be the entire point. You'd have to play every one of them before you could find out. A couple days of playing tapes. Clever dame; damn clever.'
'No,' Kathy said in a low, embittered, almost frail voice. Now her face was peaked with hatred for him. 'I'm glad I did it. You know what I'm going to do? I'm going to ruin all of them.'
He stared at her. Numbly.
'You deserve it,' Kathy said, 'for holding back and not giving me all your love. This is where you belong, scrabbling like an animal, a panic-ridden animal. Look at you! Contemptible – trembling and about to burst into tears. Because someone ruined one of your INCREDIBLY important tapes.'
'But,' he said, 'it's my hobby. My lifetime hobby.'
'Like a kid
Meanwhile, through Kathy's intercession, he had been hired by Virgil Ackerman. His wife had made it possible for him to take a notable leap in the hierarchy of econ and sose – economic and social – life. And of course he felt gratitude toward her; how could he not? His basic ambition had been fulfilled.
The means by which it had been accomplished had not struck him as overpoweringly important: many wives helped their husbands up the long steps in their careers. And vice versa. And yet—
It bothered Kathy. Even though it had been her idea.
'She got you your job here?' the Mole demanded, scowling. 'And then after that she held it against you? I seem to get the picture, very clear.' He plucked at a front tooth, still scowling, his face dark.
'One night in bed—' He stopped, feeling the difficulty of going on. It had been too private. And too awfully unpleasant.
'I want to know,' the Mole said, 'the rest of it.'
He shrugged. 'Anyhow – she said something about being "tired of the sham we're living." The "sham," of course, being my job.'
Lying in bed, naked, her soft hair curling about her shoulders – in those days she had worn it longer – Kathy had said, 'You married me to get your job. And you're not striving on your own; a man should make his own way.' Tears filled her eyes, and she flopped over on her face to cry – or appear, anyhow – to cry.
'"Strive"?' he had said, baffled.
The Mole interrupted, 'Rise higher. Get a better job. That's what they mean when they say that.'
'But I like my job,' he answered.
'So you're content,' Kathy said, in a muffled, bitter voice, 'to appear to be successful. When you really aren't.' And then, sniffling and snuffling, she added, 'And you're terrible in bed.'
He got up and went into the living room of their conapt and sat alone for a time and then, instinctively, he made his way into his study and placed one of his treasured Johnny Winters tapes into the projector. For a while he sat in misery watching Johnny put on one hat after another and become a different person under each. And then—
At the doorway Kathy appeared, smooth and naked and slim, her face contorted. 'Have you found it?'
'Found what?' He shut the tape projector off.
'The tape,' she stated, 'that I destroyed.'
He stared at her, unable to take in what he had heard.
'A few days ago.' Her tone, defiant, shrilled at him. 'I was all alone here in the conapt; I felt blue – you were busy doing some drafk nothing thing for Virgil – and I put on a reel; I put it on exactly right; I followed all the instructions. But it did something wrong. So it got erased.'
The Mole grunted somberly. 'You were supposed to say "It doesn't matter."'
He had known that; known it then, knew it now. But in a strangled, thick voice he had said, 'Which tape?'
'I don't remember.'
His voice rose; it escaped him. 'Goddam it, which tape?' He ran to the shelf of tapes; grabbed the first box; tore it open; carried it at once to the projector.
'I knew,' Kathy said, in a harsh, bleak voice as she watched him with withering contempt, 'that your —— tapes meant more to you than I do or ever did.'
'Tell me which tape!' he pleaded. 'Please?'
'No, she wouldn't say,' the Mole murmured thoughtfully. That would be the entire point. You'd have to play every one of them before you could find out. A couple days of playing tapes. Clever dame; damn clever.'
'No,' Kathy said in a low, embittered, almost frail voice. Now her face was peaked with hatred for him. 'I'm glad I did it. You know what I'm going to do? I'm going to ruin all of them.'
He stared at her. Numbly.
'You deserve it,' Kathy said, 'for holding back and not giving me all your love. This is where you belong, scrabbling like an animal, a panic-ridden animal. Look at you! Contemptible – trembling and about to burst into tears. Because someone ruined one of your INCREDIBLY important tapes.'
'But,' he said, 'it's my hobby. My lifetime hobby.'
'Like a kid
Similar Books
