Read Online Now Wait for Last Year by Philip Dick - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Philip Dick
Tags: SF
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unbearably on the private level, hidden from the public, small and unimportant. The other suffering in the grand Roman public manner, like a speared and dying god. Strange. Completely opposite. The microcosm and the macro.'
Eric nodded.
'Anyhow,' the Mole said, releasing Eric's hand and slapping him on the shoulder, I'm making you feel bad. Sorry, Dr Sweetscent; let's drop the topic.' To his bodyguard he said, 'Open the door now. We're done.'
'Wait,' Eric said. But then he did not know how to go on, to say it.
The Mole did it for him. 'How would you like to be attached to my staff?' Molinari said abruptly, breaking the silence. 'It can be arranged; technically you'd be drafted into military service.' He added, 'You may take it for granted you'd be my personal physician.'
Trying to sound casual, Eric said, 'I'm interested.'
'You wouldn't be running into her all the time. This might be a beginning. A start toward prying the two of you apart.'
'True.' He nodded. Very true. And very attractive, when thought of that way. But the irony – this consisted of precisely that which Kathy had goaded him toward all these years. 'I'd have to talk it over with my wife,' he began, and then flushed. 'Virgil, anyhow,' he muttered. 'In any case. He'd have to approve.'
Regarding him with brooding severity, the Mole said in a slow, dark voice. There is one drawback. You would not see so much of Kathy; true. But by being with me you'd see a great deal of our—' He grimaced. The ally. How do you suppose you'd enjoy yourself surrounded by 'Starmen? You might find yourself having a few spasms of the gut late at night yourself ... and perhaps worse – other – psychosomatic disorders, some you may not anticipate, despite your profession.'
Eric said, 'It's bad enough for me late at night as it is. This way I might have some company.'
'Me?' Molinari said. 'I wouldn't be company, Sweetscent, for you or anybody else. I'm a creature that's flayed alive at night. I retire at ten o'clock and then I'm back up, usually by eleven; I—' He broke off, meditatively. 'No, night is not a good time for me; not at all.'
It could clearly be seen in the man's face.
FIVE
On the night of his return from Wash-35 Eric Sweetscent encountered his wife at their conapt across the border in San Diego. Kathy had arrived before him. The meeting, of course, was inevitable.
'Back from little red Mars,' she observed as she shut the living room door after him. 'Two days doing what? Shooting your agate into the ring and beating all the other boys and girls? Or exposing sun pictures of Tom Mix?' Kathy sat in the center of the couch, a drink in one hand, her hair swept back and tied, giving her the look of a teen-ager; she wore a plain black dress and her legs were long and smooth, strikingly tapered at the ankles. Her feet were bare and each toenail bore a shiny decal depicting – he bent to see – a scene in color of the Norman Conquest. The smallest nail on each foot glittered with a picture too obscene for him to contemplate; he went to hang his coat in the closet.
'We pulled out of the war,' he said.
'Did we? You and Phyllis Ackerman? Or you and somebody else?'
'Everybody was there. Not just Phyllis.' He wondered what he could fix for dinner; his stomach was empty and in a state of complaint. As yet, however, there were no pains. Perhaps that came later.
'Any special reason why I wasn't asked along?' Her voice snapped like a lethal whip, making his flesh cringe; the natural biochemical animal in him dreaded the exchange which was in store for him – and also for her. Obviously she, like himself, was compelled to press head on; she was as much caught up and helpless as he.
'No special reason.' He wandered into the kitchen, feeling a little dulled, as if Kathy's opening had flattened his senses. Many such encounters had taught him to shield himself on the somatic level, if at all possible. Only old husbands, tired, experienced husbands, knew to do this. The
Eric nodded.
'Anyhow,' the Mole said, releasing Eric's hand and slapping him on the shoulder, I'm making you feel bad. Sorry, Dr Sweetscent; let's drop the topic.' To his bodyguard he said, 'Open the door now. We're done.'
'Wait,' Eric said. But then he did not know how to go on, to say it.
The Mole did it for him. 'How would you like to be attached to my staff?' Molinari said abruptly, breaking the silence. 'It can be arranged; technically you'd be drafted into military service.' He added, 'You may take it for granted you'd be my personal physician.'
Trying to sound casual, Eric said, 'I'm interested.'
'You wouldn't be running into her all the time. This might be a beginning. A start toward prying the two of you apart.'
'True.' He nodded. Very true. And very attractive, when thought of that way. But the irony – this consisted of precisely that which Kathy had goaded him toward all these years. 'I'd have to talk it over with my wife,' he began, and then flushed. 'Virgil, anyhow,' he muttered. 'In any case. He'd have to approve.'
Regarding him with brooding severity, the Mole said in a slow, dark voice. There is one drawback. You would not see so much of Kathy; true. But by being with me you'd see a great deal of our—' He grimaced. The ally. How do you suppose you'd enjoy yourself surrounded by 'Starmen? You might find yourself having a few spasms of the gut late at night yourself ... and perhaps worse – other – psychosomatic disorders, some you may not anticipate, despite your profession.'
Eric said, 'It's bad enough for me late at night as it is. This way I might have some company.'
'Me?' Molinari said. 'I wouldn't be company, Sweetscent, for you or anybody else. I'm a creature that's flayed alive at night. I retire at ten o'clock and then I'm back up, usually by eleven; I—' He broke off, meditatively. 'No, night is not a good time for me; not at all.'
It could clearly be seen in the man's face.
FIVE
On the night of his return from Wash-35 Eric Sweetscent encountered his wife at their conapt across the border in San Diego. Kathy had arrived before him. The meeting, of course, was inevitable.
'Back from little red Mars,' she observed as she shut the living room door after him. 'Two days doing what? Shooting your agate into the ring and beating all the other boys and girls? Or exposing sun pictures of Tom Mix?' Kathy sat in the center of the couch, a drink in one hand, her hair swept back and tied, giving her the look of a teen-ager; she wore a plain black dress and her legs were long and smooth, strikingly tapered at the ankles. Her feet were bare and each toenail bore a shiny decal depicting – he bent to see – a scene in color of the Norman Conquest. The smallest nail on each foot glittered with a picture too obscene for him to contemplate; he went to hang his coat in the closet.
'We pulled out of the war,' he said.
'Did we? You and Phyllis Ackerman? Or you and somebody else?'
'Everybody was there. Not just Phyllis.' He wondered what he could fix for dinner; his stomach was empty and in a state of complaint. As yet, however, there were no pains. Perhaps that came later.
'Any special reason why I wasn't asked along?' Her voice snapped like a lethal whip, making his flesh cringe; the natural biochemical animal in him dreaded the exchange which was in store for him – and also for her. Obviously she, like himself, was compelled to press head on; she was as much caught up and helpless as he.
'No special reason.' He wandered into the kitchen, feeling a little dulled, as if Kathy's opening had flattened his senses. Many such encounters had taught him to shield himself on the somatic level, if at all possible. Only old husbands, tired, experienced husbands, knew to do this. The
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