Read Online Now Wait for Last Year by Philip Dick - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Philip Dick
Tags: SF
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pulling its pud,' Kathy said.
They – can't be replaced. I have the only copies of some of them. The one from the Jack Paar show—'
'So what? You know something, Eric? Do you know, really know, why you like watching men on tape?'
The Mole grunted; his heavy, fleshy, middle-aged face flinched as he listened.
'Because,' Kathy said, 'you're a fairy.'
'Ouch,' the Mole murmured, and blinked.
'You're a repressed homosexual. I sincerely doubt if you're aware of it on a conscious level, but it's there. Look at me; look. Here I am; a perfectly attractive woman, available to you any time you want me.'
The Mole said, aside, wryly, 'And at no cost.'
'And yet you're in here with these tapes and not in the bedroom screwbling with me. I hope – Eric, I hope to God I ruined one that—' She turned away from the door then. 'Good night. And have fun playing with yourself.' Her voice – actually and unbelievably – had become controlled, even placid.
From a crouched position he bolted toward her. Reached for her as she retreated smooth and white and naked down the hall, her back to him. He grabbed her, grabbed firm hold, sank his fingers into her soft arm. Spun her around. Blinking, startled, she faced him.
'I'm going to—' He broke off. I'm going to kill you, he had started to say. But already in the unstirred depths of his mind, slumbering beneath the frenzy of his hysterical antics, a cold and rational fraction of him whispered its ice-God voice: Don't say it. Because if you do, then she's got you. She'll never forget. As long as you live she'll make you suffer. This is a woman that one must not hurt because she knows techniques; she knows how to hurt back. A thousandfold. Yes, this is her wisdom, this knowing how to do this. Above all other things.
'Let – go – of – me.' Her eyes blazed smokily.
He released her.
After a pause, while she rubbed her arm, Kathy said, 'I want that collection of tapes out of this apartment by tomorrow night. Otherwise we're finished, Eric.'
'Okay,' he said, nodding.
'And then,' Kathy said, 'I'll tell you what else I want. I want you to start looking for a higher paying job. At another company. So I won't run into you every time I turn around. And then... we'll see. Possibly we can stay together. On a new basis, one fairer to me. One in which you make some attempt to pay attention to my needs in addition to your own.' Astonishingly, she sounded perfectly rational and in control of herself. Remarkable.
'You got rid of the tapes?' the Mole asked him.
He nodded.
'And you spent the next few years directing your efforts toward controlling your hatred for your wife.'
Again he nodded.
'And the hatred for her,' Mole said, 'became hatred for yourself. Because you couldn't stand being afraid of one small woman. But a very powerful person – notice I said "person" not "woman."'
'Those low blows,' Eric said. 'Like her erasing my tape—'
'The low blow,' the Mole interrupted, 'was not her erasing the tape. It was her refusing to tell you which one she had erased. And her making it so clear that she enjoyed the situation. If she had been sorry – but a woman, a person, like that; they never become sorry. Never.' He was silent for a time. 'And you can't leave her.'
'We're fused,' Eric said. The damage is done.' The mutually inflicted pain delivered at night without the possibility of anyone intervening, overhearing and coming to help. Help, Eric thought. We both need help. Because this will go on, get worse, corrode us further and further until at last, mercifully—
But that might take decades.
So Eric could understand Gino Molinari's yearning for death. He, like the Mole, could envision it as a release – the only dependable release that existed ... or appeared to exist, given the ignorance, habit patterns, and foolishness of the participants. Given the timeless human equation.
In fact he felt a considerable bond with Molinari.
'One of us,' the Mole said, with perception, 'suffering
They – can't be replaced. I have the only copies of some of them. The one from the Jack Paar show—'
'So what? You know something, Eric? Do you know, really know, why you like watching men on tape?'
The Mole grunted; his heavy, fleshy, middle-aged face flinched as he listened.
'Because,' Kathy said, 'you're a fairy.'
'Ouch,' the Mole murmured, and blinked.
'You're a repressed homosexual. I sincerely doubt if you're aware of it on a conscious level, but it's there. Look at me; look. Here I am; a perfectly attractive woman, available to you any time you want me.'
The Mole said, aside, wryly, 'And at no cost.'
'And yet you're in here with these tapes and not in the bedroom screwbling with me. I hope – Eric, I hope to God I ruined one that—' She turned away from the door then. 'Good night. And have fun playing with yourself.' Her voice – actually and unbelievably – had become controlled, even placid.
From a crouched position he bolted toward her. Reached for her as she retreated smooth and white and naked down the hall, her back to him. He grabbed her, grabbed firm hold, sank his fingers into her soft arm. Spun her around. Blinking, startled, she faced him.
'I'm going to—' He broke off. I'm going to kill you, he had started to say. But already in the unstirred depths of his mind, slumbering beneath the frenzy of his hysterical antics, a cold and rational fraction of him whispered its ice-God voice: Don't say it. Because if you do, then she's got you. She'll never forget. As long as you live she'll make you suffer. This is a woman that one must not hurt because she knows techniques; she knows how to hurt back. A thousandfold. Yes, this is her wisdom, this knowing how to do this. Above all other things.
'Let – go – of – me.' Her eyes blazed smokily.
He released her.
After a pause, while she rubbed her arm, Kathy said, 'I want that collection of tapes out of this apartment by tomorrow night. Otherwise we're finished, Eric.'
'Okay,' he said, nodding.
'And then,' Kathy said, 'I'll tell you what else I want. I want you to start looking for a higher paying job. At another company. So I won't run into you every time I turn around. And then... we'll see. Possibly we can stay together. On a new basis, one fairer to me. One in which you make some attempt to pay attention to my needs in addition to your own.' Astonishingly, she sounded perfectly rational and in control of herself. Remarkable.
'You got rid of the tapes?' the Mole asked him.
He nodded.
'And you spent the next few years directing your efforts toward controlling your hatred for your wife.'
Again he nodded.
'And the hatred for her,' Mole said, 'became hatred for yourself. Because you couldn't stand being afraid of one small woman. But a very powerful person – notice I said "person" not "woman."'
'Those low blows,' Eric said. 'Like her erasing my tape—'
'The low blow,' the Mole interrupted, 'was not her erasing the tape. It was her refusing to tell you which one she had erased. And her making it so clear that she enjoyed the situation. If she had been sorry – but a woman, a person, like that; they never become sorry. Never.' He was silent for a time. 'And you can't leave her.'
'We're fused,' Eric said. The damage is done.' The mutually inflicted pain delivered at night without the possibility of anyone intervening, overhearing and coming to help. Help, Eric thought. We both need help. Because this will go on, get worse, corrode us further and further until at last, mercifully—
But that might take decades.
So Eric could understand Gino Molinari's yearning for death. He, like the Mole, could envision it as a release – the only dependable release that existed ... or appeared to exist, given the ignorance, habit patterns, and foolishness of the participants. Given the timeless human equation.
In fact he felt a considerable bond with Molinari.
'One of us,' the Mole said, with perception, 'suffering
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