The Glorious Thing

And Around she Goes Again

 

The clocks changed again. Twice a year it happens, but no-one knows why. Gods are all around us, and it's not something you want to mess with. "Are we in God's Time?" in the marketplace I've heard: "Or otherwise?"

Arguments arise, in some years more heatedly than in others, about the effects of the ritual, namely: more traffic accidents, missed medical appointments, nuclear meltdowns, and so on and so forth. Some years, we hold tribunals in which we open the floor to all opinions, such is our state, and the facts are all laid out while someone shouts: "Absurd!"

We seem to not take the arguments very seriously, for we never put anything to a formal vote. In our hearts we felt ourselves to be cowards, and it's like we voted on voting and called nay. On top of it all, our situation was an open secret for we knew enough about ourselves to keep mum.

After all, we weren't certain of any possible consequences. Someone was tampering with our clocks, twice a year. What do we know about the tamperers, in the end? Do they look like us? Can they do other, odder, things?

 

*

 

It's a New Machine

 

He bought a new machine, an expensive machine costing more than he'd paid for any previous machine, and he had to take it to the test.

He plugged it into the AC which ran from every wall of the house, thereby extending the house's circuitry by some miles if he turned it on. However, believing the machine would work flawlessly and be ready will and able to receive his punishments, he dared to plug in the keyboard, the mouse, and the speakers; he set up his ergonomics as they had been in the past.

Then he took a moment to think about what he would do with his discarded machine, covered in dust and three feet away. How do you part with a machine? Machines are lacking in patron saints, and it would be hard to believe in a church with sacred machines. Except for some cults, that is.

When is he going to turn it on? He's now thinking about Beneath the Planet of the Apes.

He comes to life, finally, and turns the beast on. It whirs and clicks approvingly, saying I am alive. Now would come the downloads, and then the sadistic tests.

 

*

 

I am Don's

 

You're ready to go. Bon voyage!

You promised me I'd have a body.

You will. Now go!

The campsite was double-booked, but they felt themselves rustic enough to make do. Boys were on one side, girls on the other, for the most part, except for Don's part, since there were too many girls from the get-go. With one cabin shared, there was just enough room.

Don slept beside a girl named Julie. She was rugged and she knew who she was. They would talk quietly when the lights went out. She was a nice girl.

Something awoke Don. Motion. The double-cot was moving rhythmically, tempo potato-chopping. A hand brushed his arm: Julie's left hand.

Don looked over in the moon's light. She had her hand down her pants, and her hand was moving.

I stir, and I know I am capable.

He turned over slowly, and they were looking at one another. Her hand was still vigorous. Don didn't understand, but something made him roll over on top of her. He felt her right hand under him, doing pleasant things.

Everything I have been told is true. I have one job to do. I will not fail.

 

*

 

My God

 

It was something I'd learned from getting a proselytizing knock on my door, from the JVs and their pamphlets and their books. They started their shpiel, but I interrupted with a half-truth:

"Ours is a Catholic home."

The JVs nodded as if they'd felt a Presence. They understood, and went away.

Since then, I have refined a wonderful system, and you could try it too. It doesn't work every single time, but you'll be surprised at how often it does. It's all in the delivery, of course, and I expect you to make refinements to the basic recipe, so long as you keep the recipe and credit me with it whenever it seems possible.

The key move is the following.

I go to a coffee shop I'd never before frequented. I note the ambiance, and I note the sounds of AI-assisted coffee shop music. All I'm looking for is a take-out coffee. I go to the counter, and sheepishly ask for a take-out coffee. The brew gets poured, and the barista turns and sets it down before me. The charge comes to $3.60, the clerk says. I reply: "I'm sorry, but my God doesn't allow me to pay."

 

*

 

The Chinese Maze Murders

 

How can a person understand a book with a complicated history?

This one, The Chinese Maze Murders, by Robert van Gulik, is such a case.

Judge Dee was a real person, a real judge, a real administrator, in the 9th century Tang Dynasty. He was famed for his intelligence and justice. Written accounts and folk tales followed through the next eight hundred years, until finally he became the detective in a number of cheap 18th century Ming Dynasty novels, among other detectives in similar detective stories. The 18thc Dee, however, was living in the 18thc rather than the 9th, much as Basil Rathbone's Sherlock Holms prowled London in the 1930s.

Van Gulik, in Japan 1935-1942, found a copy of a novel featuring Judge Dee, and he like it, and he translated it into English. It was somewhat successful, so he took plots from similar though more-forgotten 18thc detective novels and wrote a new book, The Chinese Maze Murders, intending the text for translation into Chinese and Japanese. It was successful, so he published the English text later.

So is Dee Chinese, Japanese, or English? 8thc, 18thc, or 20thc?

And what language was the book written in?

 

*

 

The Family

 

Some wag once wrote something about all families being alike, in which case I have to pity all families. My parents weren't only my parents; actually, they were closely related, hint-hint. However, they were in love all the time, and though every once in a while an objection would be raised from near or far it wasn't enough to stop saying, well, love is love, after all, and go on to other household business, because there's alot that goes into being in the world and surviving as a unit, and sure it looks like my brother and my sister are getting into the same situation and they might not know I know and anyways weve got a bunch more problems because we're an extended family and theres more than just us living here in this castle for example there's my cousin whos psycho and whose killed and will kill again because he sez hes gonna do it an he his eyes get big sometimes and hes drooling again oh get another cloth this ones sopped but still we get along becuz blood is a strong thing and its amazing how you can forgit some things are going onwithjustsuchafamilyanidontcarewhattheneighboursthing

 

*

 

The Professional

 

After all these years writing profusely, I decided to consult an expert editor for my newest project. I found her via the Internet. Her ad had testimonials from initials. I had to start somewhere, so I made an appointment and went to her office.

I handed her the manuscript. She was in her late twenties, so I was double her age. I wondered what kids these days are reading.

Looking intensely at Page One, she said: "You start with the word 'the'."

"Do I?"

"Yes, you do. Did you know that eighty-seven percent of novels today start with the word 'the'?"

"I've never wondered about that."

"You should mix it around. Put the last half of the sentence before the first."

"The sentence is four pages long."

"Well, sure." She put the MS back in my lap. "Choose halfway through, find where to start."

I flipped to the top of Page Three. "How about here?" I pointed.

"That's another 'the'. Hopeless task."

"Here's an 'although'. How does the market treat 'although'? Should I start there?"

"Completely up to you, of course."

I stared at 'although'. She was right, and I cried: "Wow, it's fixed! You're a great editor!"

 

*

 

Does It Snow in Eden?

 

Four snowflakes fell onto my head when I was out for my constitutional walk this morning. They must have instantly melted, for I could find no residue or remains of them; their moisture had instantly become one with my personal moisture.

I feel the burden of the snowflakes I have absorbed, like it's the entire history of the world weighing down upon me; all of it--meteorological, chemical, metallurgical, dirt, tree, stone--is making my motion a difficulty. I am frozen and terrified, all because of four snowflakes.

I can so understand people disliking history, with all its names and places and battles and migrations, that I would like to take a disliking to it myself. I can understand every year-zeroist that's out there, wanting to wreck it all and start anew. And yet the snowflakes will still fall, and we'll become more and more a part of history.

There is a place called Eden, and it's a real place though it can't be found on any map, and it's barely a part of history. Does is snow in Eden? Given its all-encompassing atmosphere, I have to say that yes it does, in meteorological time.

 

*

 

The Biggest Kid in the World

 

"Or at least the biggest kid I ever saw." He threw back his scotch. He'd already thrown back at least four already. "He lived in my town. I've spent my life looking for a bigger kid, not obsessively but rather with curiosity. I'd look at the kids in all the harbours, and measure them up against the biggest kid I ever saw."

Chairs were climbing onto tables and positioning themselves for a restful slumber. I said: "But there can't be a 'biggest kid'. There's always got to be bigger kids, because it's a big universe."

"He was taller than a sheepdog in a matter of a week. A special kindergarten mat had to be ordered for him; putting two regular mats together didn't line up with his body. His high school had to hold his classes outdoors, since he could literally fill any lecture hall."

"Fine," I said. "So, what happened to your biggest kid?"

"One day he said to the town: 'You're not big enough for me!' and he stomped away across the mountains. We never saw him again."

"That's a sad story."

"Yep. You watch yourself. Here may be giants."

We parted.

 

*

 

At the Mall Anchor

 

We went from top to bottom at that store, the new one, the Wheelwright's, and they had a lot of stuff in there, boy. We felt like we were in Asia or someplace like that. Some of the stuff was way on high, on top of counters and coatracks, and you could just see that there had to a ladder somewhere nearby, and yes there was, a big red platform with an extendable ladder, stashed away behind a bin of socks. Imagine it: we were there, and then, and those days are long past. We didn't have any money with us; the days of money laid in our futures. Of course, the store detectives got onto us, and we could see them watching and trying not to appear to be being watched, but we were just some kids not out to do wrong. Years later, my sister got a job there. We went from top to bottom, yessir, top to bottom. At the bottom? What's at the bottom? We got to a big black door with a sign said: BY AUTHORIZATION ONLY. We turned back. If only we'd had that authorization, I could talk for days.

 

*

 

You're not going to do it in time.

Oh yeah? Just watch me do it in time.

Do you think you're qualified for this?

I have several degrees from beneficent colleges.

Still, book-smarts aren't everything, right?

Give me a break! You haven't seen me in action.

You're going to miss the window of opportunity.

I'm going to get it bang on, just watch.

Something is going to go wrong.

Like what?

Like you get distracted or called away.

Not going to happen.

Maybe a telephone will ring?

Do you see any telephones around here?

No, but that doesn't mean they're not there.

It's going to be fine! I will save the world.

What'll happen if you mess up?

I don't know. I hope to be disciplined.

Who'll do that? There won't be a world anymore!

There's more than this, dammit!

My hopes are low.

You're really bugging me now! Stop it!

Are you concentrating sufficiently?

I'm at the top of my game.

Why do you doubt me?

I don't, I think you're sincere.

Watch out!

I missed it!

You messed up!

I missed it by ten seconds!

Thus endeth the world!

I hate you.

Good thing it's only a simulation.

 

*

 

The Comedic Meeting

 

The President was in his office, taking a three-minute nap. Buzz? He shot up to his desk and opened the Dictaphone line.

"Yes, what is it, I'm listening."

"The Prime Minister from up north is here to see you," Bambi answered.

"Ah yeah, the guy with the funny name. He laughs at my jokes. Send him in."

"It's not him, sir. They've had an election or something, and there's a new one."

"I understand the fruit can't fall very far from the tree. I know those guys up there, swell hunters, bang, like that."

The door opened, and in walked a small man in hockey gear. "Sir!" he cried. "Do your worst to us. We'll get around your flimsy trade manoeuvres!"

"Who is this guy?" said the President as to an audience.

"I'm the new kid on the block, if a continent's a block."

The President saw the move, so he shot back: "How you gonna cope?"

"Simple! We'll print more money! And then we won't have to worry about anything else!"

The President's famous laugh rang out. "It'll never work!"

The P.M.'s face fell as far as it could fall, which wasn't that far at all.

 

*

 

The Musicians

 

And that's when I got to wondering, wondering about musicians, I wondered about their names, like, why do so many of them have zany names, and I choose 'zany' as adjective because I think there's something oddly French about it, but I wondered why I was thinking about the French, and that's when I remembered the French habit of actors going by one name and only one name, like the woman in Children of Paradise, Zanie, Zazou, Claire, whatever, which led me to conclude, my mind led me to conclude, that these musicians with the zany names are first and foremost actors. Why do you think all these musicians go in for acting eventually, I mean the list of actor-musicians is really very long, Willie Nelson, Bob Dylan, Andre 3000, Billy Bob Thornton, every musician also does some acting, then I saw I had to make a distinction and I realized that there's two types of musicians, there's the ones who act and the ones who don't, and the ones who act are more performers than musicians, on a stage emoting to an audience, selling themselves for scraps, which explains why Bono can't be bothered to sing properly.

 

*

 

Super Deluxe

 

This is a limited offer.

Eight hundred and seventy-seven compact disks.

Four hundred hours of video on Blu-ray.

Tickets to appropriate theatrical productions in your area.

An immersive experience you'll treasure forever.

That's right. It's the Super Deluxe Holy Bible with all the fixings!

Let's get to the heart of things. It's the Bible, all the books of the Bible, in the original Hebrew and Greek, in Latin, the Septuagint, commentaries down the ages, the Talmud, the sermons, John Winthrop, Cotton Mather, Martin Luther, and more!

Thousands of hours for reading and study, all cross-referenced by known scholars from some of the top schools in the world in a special volume of hypertexted concordances!

On the CDs: two hundred hours of readings from such luminaries as Sir Richard Burton, Henrietta King, Tim Roth, Alexander Graham Bell, and much much more. With special supplements to fill in the gaps. You haven't heard the Chronicles till you've heard them read by Carrot Top! Plus: operas by Richard Strauss, Franz Joseph Haydn, George Frederic Handel, and many more!

On the Blu-rays: filmic masterpieces from Cecil B. DeMille, William Scorsese, and more, plus three Oberammergaus!

Don't delay! Order your special copy today!

 

*

 

Silent Witness

 

Sam Ryan went into the autopsy room. Before her were two naked bodies on two naked slabs, a woman on the left and a man on the right, and they were anatomically correct to boot.

Leo followed her in. He said: "A man and a woman. So, which do you prefer?"

Sam replied: "I can't decide."

"You have to pick!"

"I'll take the woman," she said, and went to the left slab.

"Where are you going?" cried Leo.

Sam turned, confused. "I'm going to perform an autopsy."

"Didn't you say you chose the woman?"

"Yes, I did."

"Why are you hovering over the body of the man?"

Sam looked again to make sure. "This is a woman."

"No, it's not. Haven't you read the dossiers?"

"Oh, yes, sorry, I didn't have time. How does that affect my work?"

Leo sighed. He could be only so patient. "The dossiers indicate that the body you are at belongs to a man." He pointed to the ... other corpse. "That's the woman."

"That can't be right."

"Pronouns can't lie."

"This is so confusing. What's happened? What season is it?"

"Twenty-seven."

"But ... I quit in mid-season-eight."

Leo said: "Sam, you're dream

 

*

 

The Haunted Mansion

 

He has been with me for quite some time now. He attached himself to me in 1970, summer, at Disneyland, during the ride of the Haunted Mansion. He can vanish for weeks, during which time he is at the doors, but he always comes back eventually, for conversations that go nowhere.

He came to me three nights ago. Never mind if I was awake or asleep; that question doesn't operate in my consciousness.

"Have you learned anything?" I asked him.

"Nothing. I'm now as far as the 73rd door, and I'm stuck there. Other doorkeepers had warned me about the 73rd door, and they were right. The 73rd door is a sticky door."

"What other doors have you heard about?"

"I heard at the 71st door that the 89th is where most ghosts give up. It's a winnower; he claimed statistics show that 35% give up there."

"You'll keep going, though."

"The ones who give up go back eventually. It's our calling."

"You'll discover who you really are someday."

"So the stories go! Once you cross over, you can't go back. It's like a black hole."

"You must be terribly bored."

"That doesn't enter into it, really."

 

*

 

Play a Game

 

He didn't like the word 'play' for the longest time. He thought the word was girly and deserving of a wave with both hands. He always liked the word 'theatre' instead. Regardless of the word he wanted to use, he was still involved with theatre plays.

He preferred gaming and gambling. Whenever an opportunity presented itself, he would get into a bet. Guy couldn't turn one down. He literally bet on crawling flies at one point. Oh, and only did well at school because he thought it was all a big puzzle to be solved.

Years later, I ran into him. He said to me: I was all wrong about that stuff. Plays and theatre and puzzles and games are very the same thing. Plus, I think it's key to the study of humanism. Games all the time, acting all the time: only minor matters part them. It's all about being curious. What's around the next corner? What will happen to me this afternoon? Let us go now, out into the streets, and play. You can be X and I can be Y. Who knows what will happen?

I went with him, and had a good time.

 

*

 

The Terrorists

 

They asked me if I had any final words before they slit the part of me from which my words could emerge. I said: "I'll certainly give it a go."

I said: "In the beginning, when God first started making the heavens and the earth, he decided to build something of a nice garden for people to live in." And I went on in this vein.

Then I changed topics, and began: "There once was a moocow and the moocow was coming along the road. He got close to that moocow. First the water is warm, and then it's cold." And I went on in this vein for quite some time.

Then I changed topics again. "It all started because of a dame. See, Achilles thought she was his, dead to rights, but the leader of the expedition, Agamemnon, though otherwise." And I went on and on.

Then I thought of something else, and I talked about it for some time, but it started to dull me, so I moved on to something else, which was the story of the Mahabharata.

The terrorists had all fallen asleep. Honourable men to a pip! I snuck out of the cave.

 

*

 

The Stolen Line

 

He took this secret to his grave.

In a private conversation with his friend, he told of something secret involving his girl. It was a rather intimate matter, so it was just between the two of them 'old' friends.

His friend muttered closely a little risqué joke, like an in-joke, to him. He had to think for a minute before starting to laugh at the gag. Yes, it was a good line, but it had to stay in the room.

A couple years pass, during which every once in a while, he'd remember the line and laugh. Then he and his girl, almost his wife, got invited to a party, of old friends only. They'd been to a few similar shindigs, and they'd returned home safely.

At the party, everyone had known everyone else for three, four, seven years, so the in-jokes were flying back and forth. There was a goodly supply of drink and dope too, so everyone was having a blast.

As on every other evening, matters became more intimate the later it became; they settled down to joke quietly, with jazz accompaniment.

The line came out.

His friend glared at him, yet said nothing.

 

*

 

In the Wars

 

We can't pretend not to be bored out of our skulls, not anymore. Everyday, it's the same rush-rush-rush, going out to the battlefield to deflect the bombs of the aliens in the off chance that one of the bombs will bounce right back up to the thing that dropped it in the first place and blow it out of the sky. How long has it been since that actually happened? I heard tell of it happening somewhere in Russia, but maybe that was only some kind of a rumour. We're so outgunned it isn't funny anymore. We joked about it a long time ago, about how we're gonna whip those aliens any day now once we've developed out of our relative Stone Age. All we have to do is make better tools! And that phrase, as you know, 'better tools', is now a laugh-line. So every day--it's like we never sleep--we're out there trying to send those bombs back up to where they came from. We're so outmatched, and we're admitting it daily. It's like the aliens are toying with us; they have no interest in killing us; rather, we're like string to a kitten.

 

*

 

Flood!

 

I was with a group, and I wasn't in a very good mood, let us say. The topic changed so suddenly I thought I was suddenly with a group of eight-year-olds.

He said: "And right where we're sitting, it'll be underwater in fifty years?"

I interjected: "Hmm, so tell me, what is the total volume of water around Terra, O Wise One?"

"I'm not sure, but it's a lot more than we think."

"Measured against that volume, how much more, where will the other water come from, Mr. Million Watt?"

"Oh, the ice caps will melt!"

"Thus, you must know their volume, Joe Brainiac?"

"Enough with the names. It's a lot of water stored there, in solid form."

"What volume of water is necessary to raise sea levels an inch, Sammy Super Sapient?"

"Sapient? How much what?"

"Water, liquid, aitch too owe, O Light of Divine Guidance?"

"I think you're missing the point, buster."

"Oh, there's a point, Man with Seven Heads?"

"Of course! There's gonna be a flood?"

"And Antarctica will be green once more, Sri Intellectual Storm-port?"

"Yes, it will!"

"Whence everything else must have been flooded, Mister Brainbig?"

"I guess so!"

I let it rest there.

 

*

 

A, Cool, Two, Hundred, Birds,

 

Two, hundred, birds, I, found, hovering, overhead, yesterday, morning, two, hundred, birds, circling, my, desert, hut, high, overhead, It, seemed, they, were, there, for, a, purpose, and, I, watched, them, to, see, what, they, were, up, to, They, circled, and, circled, and, you, want, to, know, what, kinds, of, birds, they, were, but, I, have, to, say, Ive, never, seen, their, likes, before, Perhaps, they, arent, normal, birds, I, thought, to, myself, and, sure, enough, I, was, proven, right, After, about, an, hour, they, descended, slowly, and, surrounded, me, as, I, sat, there, watching, them, They, had, something, to, impart, and, I, knew, all, I, had, to, do, was, wait, listening, They, all, had, little, slips, in, their, beaks, and, they, were, on, the, dirt, then, all, around, me, Then, one, by, one, the, hopped, forward, to, drop, their, slips, in, front, of, me, and, I, could, see, half, had, words, on, them, and, I, assumed, the, other, half, also, had, words, on, them, but, were, upside-down, Then, they, seemed, to, bow, to, me, and, they, took, to, the, air, and, were, gone, I, gathered, up, the, slips, and, arranged, them, Here, come, your, birds,

 

*

 

Bill sounded all broke up on the telephone, but he wouldn't tell me why. He had to talk to me in person, in the usual place, in one half hour.

I went to the usual place and sat down soon after ordering four pilsners. It wasn't like him to be late, and he wasn't. He was right on time.

He took up a glass and downed half of it. "How can I say this?"

"Take your time."

"She's gone and left me."

I had to think for a moment, letting an image come to mind. I was pretty sure I knew who she was, and I turned out to be right.

He continued: "She was so great. Wasn't Becky great?"

"Yes, she certainly was, yes. Becky was great."

"We had so much in common. We spoke the same language."

"Oh, did you now. And what language was that? The language of love?"

"Nope."

"The language of physics?"

"Nope-nope." He'd caught on.

"The language of language?"

"Still wrong." He was smiling.

"So, what was it?"

He drank a bit before informing me: "The lesser western dialect of the northern-most valley of the Tigris range."

We could talk then. All night long.

 

*

 

Following

 

"Am I being followed? For three blocks, behind me, has a car has been creeping up the road? Could it be someone I know, perhaps have known intimately? Could it all be some kind of practical joke? (Why are they called 'practical' anyway? From praxis, action?) Is there going to be a big surprise waiting for me somewhere between here and my house? Should I slow down, should I maybe stop to admire those purple flowers coming up on my right? Too late! Why did I let that opportunity get away? Couldn't I have observed at least the car, and maybe even the driver? Would a full-on confrontation work? Will I come off looking good in the end?"

He stopped. The car rolled up beside him. The driver was looking for a house. "Why did he stop? Why was he walking in front of me? Does he know where I'm going, is he leading the way? Could it be a spirit guide, transportation department? Should I look back, see what he's doing? What's he doing to those flowers? Is he going to pick a hunch, is he off to see his honey? You can't show up empty-handed. I know."

 

*

 

Telephone

 

Late afternoon, and all I want to do is get in touch with her. In retrospect, I should have felt ashamed, but all I wanted to do that late afternoon was to get in touch with her.

I picked up the phone and dialed her home number. Her number had three nines in it, so the dialing took some time.

Her younger sister answered the phone. I politely asked for her older sister. She set down the phone and left the room. I could hear her leaving.

I waited, the big plastic C against my ear. The day was hot, and the plastic was getting warm and wet. The minutes passed. Was the love of my life outside? How could it take so long?

I finally realized I had been forgotten. I was waiting, and no-one was going to come to the telephone. The younger sister was only eight years old. Something had distracted her.

A dog barked down the line. I tried to get the dog's attention. I whistled, and the dog barked. I whistled again, and the dog went away.

I was waiting for a single known voice, but the voice wouldn't arrive. It was off, elsewhere.

 

*

 

As Gods to Terrorists

 

We now take you to a meeting on Mount Olympus, where the major gods--Zeus, Hera, Ares, Aphrodite, and Hephaestus--are deciding on the fall schedule.

Hera said: "Turn to page thirty-nine for a sitcom something shopped elsewhere but never taken up. I think it could work."

The other four turned to page thirty-three and half-read a paragraph or two, which was enough for executives.

Aphrodite began. "Am I the only one who doesn't think terrorists are funny?"

Ares laughed. "Maybe so!"

Hera patted her hand. "They never succeed, because of our friends, hubris and nemesis."

Aphrodite said: "Well, sure, but make them into 'bumbling oafs'? Is that wisdom?"

Hephaestus said: "It says here they blow themselves up, or worse, at the end of every episode."

Zeus commented: "I don't see that working alongside justice. The dead should stay dead. Where's Hades?"

"Kid's sick. I'd want a say in the devices they blow themselves up with, frankly. I've done some new researches on the Titans, and I'd like to try things out."

Zeus said: "Green-lit. Where should we set it?"

Aphrodite said: "American college campuses."

Hephaestus said: "Media companies."

Ares said: "Silicon Valley."

"We'll do all."

 

*

 

Take the Bait

 

I was minding my own business when she walked into the tavern. She was wearing a striped skirt, and I'd always been a sucker for striped skirts. She didn't make any gesture indicating she was aware of my presence, yet she set her ass down two stools away from me.

She ordered a gin and tonic, sipped it, and made a show.

"Mmm! That's good stuff!" she said.

The bartender--Max--nodded to her, and then he nodded to me. Later, I found out he'd meant it as a warning.

She pulled out a book, War and Peace, and she started in with the translator's introduction. She was smiling at the page. What did she expect it to say that it hadn't already said a thousand times already?

I said: "A thousand people have read that book, and you're the first one to laugh at it already."

She didn't look up. "The translator had me in mind, in the third paragraph."

"Friend of yours, this translator?"

"Good friend of my father."

"Don't want to know," I said, and that was the end of it. It was getting late, and I had to go. I left her, reading.

 

*

 

His Genie

 

He told us: "Don't ask me where I got the djinn from, because I've been sworn to secrecy to never divulge; the renderer has a limited stock, and only so many can exist at the same time."

We descended into his private laboratory. Jane took a couple photos. She was allowed to do so, but only up until the moment of unveiling.

He continued: "I've programmed him, or I have been allowed to program him, for one task and only one task."

He wanted one of us to ask, so I asked. "Which is?"

Quickly he said: "I can use him before making a decision. The djinn will either be in favour, or not." Before us was an object having the shape of a birdcage, covered in a green velvet cloth.

Jane interrupted her photography to ask: "Are you sure it works?"

"He works. It is a male djinn, with genitals quite outsized proportionally."

"Fine, are you sure he works?"

"I was told as such by the renderer, and I believe the renderer."

"So, you're not sure he works?"

He went over to the cloth-covered birdcage. "I haven't decided to use him yet."

Therewith, he lifted the cover.

 

*

 

Ding Dong

 

We were all hanging around Beet's place, waiting for him to die. We expected him to go unconscious soon, so we had to get in our licks before that.

"Hey, Beet," purred Matilda: "You seeing the light yet?"

Beet murmured: "Oh, Matilda, fuck right off."

Matilda liked that, and stretched. "You'll never know, will you, you old pig."

Beet turned to no-one, because he had no-one to turn to. "You assholes, I hope you're enjoying this."

"Not as much as we'll enjoy ourselves being without you!" said Prince.

"Yeah, when you're pushing up the kitty litter!" I said.

"Hah!" ruffed Plimsoul. "We all won't know the difference 'tween Beet and the litter!"

Beet slowly replied: "You don't know what you'll be missing," as we danced around him.

Calmly, sarcastically, I said: "And what would that be?"

"It'll be kittykat heaven."

"As if! You? You're one funny feline!"

Beet tried to roll over. His hair was all matted. Not licked in weeks. He purred: "It's going to be heaven, easily."

"What makes you so sure, you ugly fart?" asked Matilda.

Beet replied: "It'll be heaven, because I'll never see you assholes ever again."

"You think?"

"Buh-bye, all you cunts."

 

*

 

A Science Fiction Story

 

=Well, look at the date and look at the time. It's June seventeenth in the year 54294, and it's almost time to wind up the universe, which humankind has entirely conquered. It has to be would up in ten minutes, don't you know. Now where is the key?

=The key is with Stanley.

=And where is Stanley?

=Stanley is in his timekeeper chamber.

***knock knock***

=Can Stanley come out and wind up the universe? We've only five minutes to go.

=I'm sorry, but Stanley died in the night.

=Oh dear! He died in the night! Where did he leave the key? The fate of every atom in the universe depends on the universe being wound up.

=There is no physical key; I believe he kept the key in his mind.

=In his mind? Where is his mind?

=I suppose it died when he did.

=This problem cannot be solved! The universe is going to end in ... three minutes! And it's all our own fault!

=I suppose this means we didn't conquer the entire universe.

=Oh, our mortal arrogance! We missed conquering an entire dimension of existence!

=Hubris!

=Nemesis!

=It has to start all over again!

 

*

 

Aficionados I

 

I thought he'd broken the pint glass when he put it down. I knew Bill, so I could see he was planning on saying something.

"We're definitely not in our younger days, Billy. Oh, those crazy bars, and crazier situations we'd lounge around in, like we were the biggest caribou in town. Did the world get harder, or did I get softer?"

He'd meant it as a question. I said: "A bit of the former, and lots of the latter."

"These days, in restaurants, I have to know how many ounces I want. 'Ten ounce? Fourteen ounce?" Twenty ounce?' I'm not as sharp as I used to be--no comment, please--and math doesn't come as naturally. I always ask for the last size mentioned."

"It's a safe bet."

"It's all so fancy-schmancy nowadays. Say, what's with this new technology, that stuff they're calling natural intelligence? Do you think it'll pay off? Does it seem likely to you?"

"There's plenty of opportunities for it to work."

He rubbed his right arm, which looked a little crippled. He smiled and said: "Opportunities, eh? I can't imagine what they'll do with this my here head, though. It'll be ... superfluous."

 

 

*

 

Aficionados II

 

Knowing nothing, I said: "I think they'll keep all our heads frozen somewhere, as backup."

"Yeah, you can never be too careful. But anyway, we'll be in some kind of a great beyond. It'll be a heaven, and made to measure. I think I know why it's all happening, Billy."

"What?"

"I think I know why we let them loose in the first place." The visionary stage had commenced. "We were all so accommodating of them. We'd make excuses for them. 'They are useful for good as well as evil. Don't judge appearances.'"

"You haven't answered my question."

"Why it's happening? How am I supposed to know? I'll let you know in ten thousand years. I expect to get an answer somewhere. Anyway, we'll have whole new lives, huh? That would be a treat."

"It wouldn't be real, though."

"From where I'm sitting, it'd be just as real as this." He flicked his glass. "All nerves, sense and sensoria, will be precisely duplicated and ready for action. You can be any age, too. To make it go away, wave your hand."

I looked at my hand. I said: "Nineteen years old. That'd be a helluva thing."

"Helluva thing."