Stinkpit

When Béla told me he couldn't come to concert, I was disappointed.

"It's my mother's birthday, and I simply forgot. She's turning eighty."

"Sure, but we're talking about Stinkpit and the Hacks here."

"I know that, but she's my mother, my one-and-only, and I really can't go running off to the Stalopetia Stadium instead."

"Well, fine, be that way. I'll get over it."

"There's plenty of other concerts."

"They're not Stinkpit."

"I get that, but still, I can't make it. You'll have to find someone else."

I couldn't think of a replacement. "You got anyone in mind?"

"I can't think of anyone except Jayne. What about Jayne?"

"I barely know Jayne."

"I think she's artistic enough to appreciate Stinkpit."

Well, sir, I hung up the phone. I'd purchased five tickets six months before, thinking it'd be easy to find people who'd want to go drink in the richness of Stinkpit and the Hacks, but in fact it had turned out to be not so easy. I didn't want just anyone to go with me, after all, so it took me some time to come up with a list of invitees. In any case, it had been prettyweird that the people at the Stalopetia wouldn't sell me four tickets, or six tickets. I guess they wanted to be difficult, art for art's sake and all that.

Well, so, Jayne. Meanwhile, I'd lined up Sean and Marilyn and Tony. I didn't know if any of them had ever met Jayne. Jayne I'd myself only met three times, twice at house parties and once at a bar party. I suppose we got along, but still, this was a precious ticket. Stinkpit was rumoured to be thinking about retiring and get back to his first passion, painting still lifes, for a couple years, so who knew when his last concert would be? And his back-up band wasn't getting any younger either. I figured the youngest of the Hacks was pushing at least sixty-five, just a dozen years above me.

I didn't want a ticket to go to waste, understand, so I called Béla back.

"I've thought it over, and I guess Jayne is my best choice."

"You won't regret it."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, she's very musically literate, and she probably sees something interesting in Stinkpit and the Hacks."

"Really?"

"Yes, she plays the digglephone."

"Oh yeah?"

"She's got a degree in music theory and everything."

"I don't think I've ever met a digglephone player before."

"It's not an easy instrument to master."

"So I've heard. Okay, I'll do it. What's her number?"

"82-72-0041."

I wrote it down on a handy scrap nearby. "Okay, great. Give your mother my best."

"I will."

I hung up and quickly dialed 82-72-0041. Ring ring.

"Hello?"

"Jayne?"

"Yes, who is this?"

"It's Marty. We met a couple-three times, mostly through Béla."

"Béla Bartok?"

"Yeah, that's the guy. So, we met a few times, and Béla turned me down to go see a concert, his mother's birthday, and he thought you'd be interested, so I want to know if you'd replace him, in a way."

"In a way."

"Yes, I got an extra fifth ticket."

"Why do you have five tickets?"

"I don't know, the concert organizer is selling them in fives."

"So, what's the act?"

"I'm not acting."

"I mean, who's performing?"

"It's Stinkpit and the Hacks."

"Oh, wow, they're so sublime."

"You know a bunch about music, right?"

"Yeah, I suppose I do. Amateur mostly."

"The digglephone, Béla told me."

"Yes, that's right."

"So, you'd like to go?"

"I suppose I should. I wouldn't want to miss it. One of the Hacks manages to sometimes get a few bars out of a digglephone, but that's kind of the weakest part of the act."

I laughed along with her. "Just a gimmick."

She laughed along with me. "So, when and where?"

I told her the date of the show, which was only a couple weeks away.

"Sure, I can make it. This is very special. You know, it could be one of their last performances."

"That seems to be the case, yeah."

"And what's the venue, where should we meet up?"

"They're playing at the Stalopetia."

"That's kind of far! How can we get there?"

It was then that I realized I'd been relying on Béla to drive us all there. None of the four of us--Sean and Marilyn and Tony and me--had any handy means of transportation. I told Jayne: "Uh, I don't know. Béla was going to drive, but now he's out of the picture."

"Oh, golly. Well, I think I can scrounge up an auto."

"Really?"

"Yeah, from my parents. They let me use theirs on special occasions, and this is one of them. I'll check and get back to you."

"Don't apply too much pressure! There's sure to be some other way, like a bus charter to the concert and back."

"That sounds like a drag. I hope I can get the auto. I'll call them now."

"Okay, great. So, call me back when it's convenient."

We both hung up then.

I tried to picture Jayne, but it was difficult. Did she had brown hair, and was it a bit long in the back? How tall? A little shorter than me, but not by too much. Eye colour was what it was, but I had no idea what it was. It was funny at the time that I never quite notice things that other people would have noticed. I'd be a terrible witness to a crime--but when could that happen? I was so rarely hanging around in criminal circles, or in police circles, for that matter, so my powers of observation were extremely weak. However, I could recall that I thought she was sweet and nice, and someone I could spend more time with. To be around her. I could look at her more--which gave me an agreeable feeling.

In any case, the day of the concert neared, and I checked out maps of the area. The Stalopetia was a recent construction built on cheap land outside the small pseudo-suburb of Stensnal, some forty miles north of the downtown core of Teelika, which was where we all lived. We were all still hustling in those days, even though we were all pushing middle age, or somewhat past middle age (did we expect to live to a hundred?) trying to get jobs anywhere we could, and it has to be said here that the purchase of the tickets put a big dent in my lousy bank account. I won't quantify the amount--but suffice it to say that all in all it was three weeks' rent. Of course, I expected to get eighty percent of that back by the time the 'curtain' went up. I'd already in principle collected sixty percent of it, and only Jayne remained to pay--but would she pay? Did she know I expected her to pay, or did she think it was my treat? I hadn't said at any point that she would have to pay, so I only had to hope she would make some kind of an offer. Even forty percent of my outlay, personally, would have been a bit much for me, but there was no way to turn back. My only hope: she'd ask something about money. But, then again, she was doing the driving of the auto, so all four of us would owe her something. I didn't know what to do except count sheep to get me to sleep during the next couple weeks.

The next couple weeks passed, and suddenly we were upon the day during which Stinkpit and the Hacks were set to play a concert at the Stalopetia outside the small northern pseudo-suburb of Stensnal. That Jayne would pick us up one-by-one in the morning had been roughly arranged, and I was fortunate enough to be the first one on her list. It was right around one pm.

The auto she had borrowed from her parents was a roomy sedan, four door, front seats and back, and it was the perfect auto for five people, two in the front and three in the back. I say I was fortunate in that, since I was first on the list, I commandeered the front passenger seat, and thus I was sitting an elbow away from the driver, Jayne, and there was nothing that would take me out of it. Sean, Marilyn, and Tony didn't know her as much as I did, so I felt it was like a date, almost.

I got into her sedan auto, in the front seat. I pulled myself in, saying: "This is a treat, driving to a concert."

She looked at me. Her hands were on the steering wheel. I looked at her. Yes, it was she, and all my visual memory came flooding back upon me and I instantly had the same subtle emotions again. Her eyes, as it turned out, were, and had been since the day she'd been born, brown. She had skin that could only be described as creamy. She said: "Okay, now I have to get to this Sean Connery's house, right?"

I said: "Yeah, he's a good friend of mine."

"You know him well?"

"I met him in grade seven, he's a serious guy, more serious than me."

"Are you ... serious?"

"No, it's that he studied books and did well and wound up in an 'advanced placement' at another school."

"You didn't make the cut? I think you're smart. Did you feel left behind?"

"Not as smart as Sean."

I went up to his apartment building and pressed the button for his number. A voice came out: "I'll be right down, everything is set."

In a couple minutes, he was outside. Sean is definitely better-looking than me; he's taller, has better hair (brown) and always looks like he's just come from the beach. His hair accompanied his voice when he spoke by waving invitingly.

We went out to the auto and I made the proper introductions. Fortunately, I didn't see anything but courtesy pass between them.

Sean said: "Oh, I'm in the backseat, am I?"

"Yes," I said. "I get the honour of the front seat, since I arranged everything."

Sean shrugged, seeing my point. "I guess that follows."

Getting in, he continued: "Yes, I see your point. This was a good idea of yours, after all. I saw Stinkpit a long time ago, in the '30s."

Jayne said: "Those were the early years."

"I'm amazed he lasted this long. I guess that's what continual re-invention can do for a musical career. There was his druggy phase, his sleek phase, and so on."

I said: "He's now into a louche phase."

"Yes, the battered suits. Louche lizard."

"In any case, he'll be playing old stuff, new stuff, everything including blues stuff."

I directed Jayne on, across town, to where Marilyn lived with her on-again off-again. I didn't tell Jayne anything about that part; if it came up in conversation, I would play dumb. I certainly don't like telling tales out of school. I'd met Marilyn some decades before, when we were both working part-time at a lousy restaurant. She already had her on-again off-again, so there was nothing between us but friendship, and I subtly tried to get that across to Jayne that, although Marilyn was a fine-looking specimen, with a good shape and a clean and symmetrical face, the spark of delightful pleasures, though considered off and on again, had never become flamed. These are all subtle matters, to be sure and as no doubt you understand, but I may have gotten it across clearly.

Marilyn popped into the back seat, beside Sean, and although she knew she would wind end up sitting in the middle, on the hump as it were, she didn't move over immediately. Marilyn and Sean knew each other, from afar, as the saying goes, but, again, I didn't see any connection between them. They were friendly enough, to be sure, but something held them apart.

Marilyn said: "Here we go! And the person in front of me must be Jayne," and Jayne replied: "That's me, and you are obviously Marilyn."

"That I am. This is so exciting! I've never travelled so far for a concert before."

I said: "All we have to do is pick up Tony."

Marilyn said: "Not far from here."

Jayne said: "So, what way?"

"Go two blocks up, and two to the left. The Stalopetia is near Stensal, right?"

I said: "It's about two miles from downtown Stensal."

"I've been to Stensal. I had a childhood friend who moved up there. I went to visit her once. That was an awful long time ago. I think I was eleven. I never went again. I wonder if she still lives there. I don't know if I'd recognize her."

Sean muttered: "People don't change much. If she's there, and alive, and we see her, you'll recognize her immediately."

Marilyn sighed. Jayne and Sean and I listened. She was about to say something.

Marilyn said: "You know, I had the strangest dream last night. Something terrible was happening, but I didn't know what, or I can't remember what. In the dream, something was going on somewhere, and I was really afraid. Finally, I yelled out: 'Fuck off! Fuck off! Fuck off!' over and over, and I woke up. My mother came into my room--you get, this is still in the dream--and cradled me. She thought I needed a glass of water, so she went out of my room and down the stairs. Meanwhile, I could hear my father grousing, like: 'Let the girl be, for Christ's sake! She's got to learn! Afraid of the dark, my foot. She just wants you all to herself. She's got to become independent sooner or later!' And then I woke up a second time, in the bed I was in last night, and I realized I'd had a dream-within-a-dream. My parents are today nowhere to be found, they're both dead, but because of that tiny moment in the dream, when they were with me again, I felt so lonely. It was the strangest thing I've ever been through. The strangest dream, anyway. Will we get some food and drink in Stensal before the show?"

"I think we'll have to. A couple hours free, then get our bearings and head off to the Stalopetia."

Jayne glanced over at me. She appeared to be in a very good mood. I took a little credit in that. It had been my idea in the first place, and she was driving. It felt like we were going on a picnic to the country, with the kids in the back seat. Then I thought, naturally, of Stinkpit, and his song, how did it go? Yes: The fire on the asphalt's no match for the one in me / Sun's going down behind the willow trees / And we're not due til the morn. That's why Stinkpit was so essential in those days. He had songs for every occasion.

"Here?"

"Yes, that's the place. Just honk and he'll come running."

Sure enough, Tony locked the door to his rented house, yelled something through it, turned, and trotted to the auto. He got in beside Marilyn, and Marilyn slid over, sure enough, to the middle, and our symmetry was broken.

"Hello, hello," said Tony. "Is everything in order?"

Sean said: "Certainly seems that way."

I pulled the five tickets from out my jacket pocket. "Here they are."

They all looked as I fanned them out.

Tony asked: "Why didn't you buy an even number of tickets?"

Marilyn said: "I know, I know. Stinkpit wanted everything to be uneven for the show. I read it in the Journal the day before yesterday."

Jayne said: "Now that's a real artist."

I pondered this. "But, couldn't you simply buy three tickets and then three more? To have six altogether?"

"Yes, I suppose you could cheat."

"Maybe we were supposed to cheat. Somebody will know the answer."

"I don't think I want to know then answer. That reminds me of a dream I had last night.

"I was operating some kind of a switchboard for nurses. It was an odd thing, since it had buttons on it all over the place, but pressing any of them didn't make any difference. I'd get warnings appear in a little screen, about problems here and there, like in room X3 or room 17E, and it seemed I was responsible with making it all work. But I couldn't get it to work right, no matter what I did. Every once in a while--about three times as far as I remember--a loud voice would yell something at me and I'd receive an electric shock and I'd halfways wake up but I would go to sleep again and the dream went on. It eventually seemed like I was literally crying out in my sleep, such were these electrical shocks. I couldn't get anything to work, and when I eventually woke up, for real at last, I still had the feeling I had to get back there, to the switchboard, to make everything right."

"Interesting," I said. "Maybe your dream will continue tonight."

"Yes, maybe I'll be going back to the switchboard tonight. Who knows?"

As we headed west toward the 7B Highway, along Sizzle Street if you're mapping out that long-ago journey and want to know, I looked at the lower dashboard and saw a radio sitting there, turned off. I had a notion to turn it on to get any late news or maybe hear some old-timey music. I checked out Jayne's face-in-profile, and it looked good. I could have said: "Let's play the radio," but I didn't. She was the captain of the ship, and if she wanted music or news then it was entirely up to her. However, could I have made the suggestion? Maybe she was concentrating very hard, as we crossed the Diggins River and found ourselves in the county of Draymer and approached the onramp of the 7B Highway. I figured: Maybe she'll want the radio on when we're on the highway, when things would get monotonous. People drive in all sorts of ways.

"Ah," I said. "If you bought three tickets, then another three tickets, odds are that the first three wouldn't be close to the second three, since it's all pre-blocked. The first trio could be in an entirely different section. And that would defeat the purpose, wouldn't it? And you'd have arguments about who was sitting where. Clearly, a sub-optimal result."

I waited for someone to say something, anything, in response, but no-one responded. It was like I was in my own little world, talking to myself.

We were on the highway by then, and heading north. And now Jayne decided she wanted some radio. She reached down, without even looking, and fiddled. A voice suddenly surrounded us all. It happened to be a travel report, and the travel report mentioned that Highway 7B was getting somewhat clogged on account of all the "Noomers" heading to the big Stinkpit concert at the Stalopetia.

Sean, sitting behind me, said: "God, I hate these demographic designations. Noomers indeed! Like my cohort is what it is because of a silly and infantile association with a dumb word which I had nothing to do with."

Jayne said: "Speak for yourself. I'm not a Noomer, and I have even less to do with the word."

"Okay, sure, you're a bit younger than the rest of us, but still."

"I look mature for my age, but I'm not a Noomer."

"Well, what are you, then? Are you one of those Orbers?"

"Actually, yeah, that's what the popular demographers call us, yeah."

The conversation was getting a little heated, as such arguments about temporality and the mysteries of generations often do. Sean moved the conversation a little--you shouldn't piss off the driver, you see--by saying: "I guess you had Stinkpit around you your entire life."

"Pretty much." She laughed. "My folks don't understand this 'modern music' as they call it. They were a little too late to be in the know about him and his Hacks. As my mother said: 'We were a bit busy raising you all,' meaning me and my two brothers. 'We barely turned on a radio for eight years."

It was an interesting observation, but no-one except Sean and Jayne were talking, and they got a bit embarrassed and shut it down then and there. We passed the exit to Slumbar; we were making good time; we'd have plenty of the stuff--time, that's to say--in which to have all kinds of agreements and disagreements.

Traffic was thickening. "Look at all the autos," I said. "I wonder what the little town of Stensal thinks of it all."

Marilyn replied: "They wanted the arena, the Stalopetia. The place is growing like crazy. There are motels popping up on the edge of the town. Look, right there, that one looks new."

We all turned our heads to look out the window at a new Jorgensen. Off-white all over, like stucco, six stories tall, entrance in Jorgensen trademark blue, and a parking lot full of autos. We had only four seconds to look at it in wonder.

Marilyn continued: "And we're still miles away from Stensal. A coin to whoever spots the next one."

"What kind of coin?" I asked slyly.

"Oh, a nice bright shiny coin. But I haven't decided yet."

We paused, collecting our thoughts.

Sean re-started the conversation. "Communities shouldn't rely on only one thing, though. The Stalopetia could close in a matter of months, be abandoned by everyone. There's so much chance involved. I saw my hometown fall apart when the Tanstanedia factory closed down."

Jayne said: "That's right, and the company moved all the way to Sylsia. Complete upset."

"And the funny thing was, everyone saw it coming. Factory after factory was heading over to Sylsia, and we all knew ours was going to go, too. Like we were too busy staring at the ticking time bomb without really expecting it to explode."

I said: "Well, migration. It's been going on, like, forever. People are willing to pack up everything and go to another environment. And then they invent stories about their old environment, like in the tale of Laurel and Costello."

"I read that once." (That was Tony speaking.) "I didn't attach that much to it. I mean, it was an okay story and all. Maybe I wasn't in the right headspace."

"It's an ancient tale, told for thousands and thousands of years. It must be something special, you know?"

We pondered the matter for some time.

Sean slowly said: "I had the strangest dream last night. Maybe not the strangest, since waking up from a dream when you're in a dream is the strangest, right Marilyn? but nonetheless, it was odd because I didn't seem to be myself.

"I was on a trip like this, with other people, whoever they were, and it was time to head back to wherever we had come from. Now, I had a bicycle, for some reason, so I was pedalling down the roadway and I came to a little city or a big town, whatever, and I felt like getting some cigarettes. Oh, and I was going to take my bike on some bus, I was waiting for it to arrive, so I left the bicycle at the bus stop and I went down a hill to a corner store and bought some cigarettes. When I got back to the bus stop, the bicycle wasn't there anymore. I looked around and saw a police station, so I went in and told them I'd had by cycle stolen. They took my name down first, which was Jean-Jacque Rousseau in the dream; I even had to spell it for them. We went out to scope the scene of the crime, then I got into one of their police autos and we went to a couple places where one of the cops beat up some people, but no cycle, so we went back to the police station. It seemed apparent to me that they weren't going to do a thing, they were so hesitant. Then I told them some story I don't know, about having a cycle stolen outside a pool hall when I had been twelve and how the cops hadn't found it and they lectured me a bit about hanging around in pool halls."

He fell silent. I asked him: "And then what happened?"

"And then nothing happened. I woke up, and I wanted to be that Rousseau guy again. Even now, I feel like this is the fantasy world, and that was the real one. But, no, this is real and we're going to see Stinkpit. Another motel!"

He shoved his hand between the front seats and was pointing. We glanced, and indeed there was a motel, a flat motel with autos out front of each room or cabin or whatever you call them at a motel.

"That doesn't count," I said. "It's obviously been there for, what, since we were kids."

"That just means they knew about it decades and decades ago. It's not like things like the Stalopetia just pop up overnight. The arena had been planned, like, a half-century ago."

"That's a fair point. But look at that one, that one is definitely new." I pointed out a tall hotel, eight stories tall, part of the Stenzen chain. "That's very new. The perfectly-formed shrubs give it away."

Jayne said: "Yeah, I don't remember that one. I'm starting to see familiar landscapes, though."

I replied: "You said you'd only been here once."

"I was at an impressionable age. Or, at least, I feel like I remember things. Maybe it's some kind of an illusion."

Sean said: "I go to places I used to know, and I can never find my way around. It's like the place had gone through an evolution, and, though everything changed slowly, over the years it can come as quite a shock."

We were suddenly in Stensal, mid-afternoon. We argued through restaurant after restaurant until we found ourselves on the far side of the town.

Jayne said: "This isn't going to work. Let's park somewhere, and wander around. That way we can see posted menus and stuff."

"Sure," we all said.

Jayne parked the auto off the main strip and we got out of the auto and locked it up tight. (We weren't taking any chances with our 'ride'.) Lots of people were on the street, and you could tell who lived there and who was visiting. The people who lived there kept their eyes straight ahead, like they had seen everything already, while the visitors were gawping like they were in a Zipperworld amusement park. We walked down one side of the main strip, then up the other side. We debated about where to go. Marilyn remarked on a place we'd passed, and none of us had any serious objections, so we crossed the street. No-one got hit by an auto, out-of-town or local, and we went into a restaurant called Steelhorse.

We all sat down around a table. (The seating arrangement doesn't matter, though I managed to sit beside Jayne.) I was facing the bar, so I scanned the list of breeps they had on tap. I said: "They've got all the usual breeps."

Sean remarked: "We're still in the same supply chain as we have in our city, so that's not surprising."

Tony muttered: "I wonder if they have Stingo." He scanned the breep and tance section of the menu. "No, doesn't look like it."

We waited for service. About half the tables were full or about half the tables were empty. A servant came by and said: "It looks like you've come up for the big show."

Marilyn said: "Are we that obvious?"

"Yes," said the servant pleasantly. "I hear it's a big thing for some people."

"You aren't fond of Stinkpit?"

"I'm a bit young for him, I mean, he was pretty much before my time."

Yes, she was in her twenties. Poor thing, she'd missed out on all the really exciting stuff in music and literature and art. These days, if you shot yourself in the arm as a performance piece, people would just yawn. Either artistic expression had stopped, or the five of us were simply out-of-touch. It's not impossible that subtlety went in and out of fashion too.

"You missed out!" said Sean a little-too-loudly.

The servant smiled. "I hope you have a delightful evening."

We all ordered breep, except for Jayne, who said it made her sleepy, and she was driving, after all. The servant went away with her little notebook, and, since the lull was opportune, Tony said: "Since it has been mentioned already, I myself had a strange dream last night.

"I had a business of sorts, coming up with solutions for people, it seemed. I only remember one customer, though, and the dream was about him. He came to me to find out why he'd failed his first driving test, and he wanted to know if his friend and neighbour, one Vegeesen Geneshemoorthy by name, yes, I remember names in dreams, had anything to do with it, like did Geneshemoorthy put a curse on him or something. 'It was all a long time ago, but it's been bothering me ever since,' he told me. So I went into a trance, a dream, a different dream, and I saw my client and Geneshemoorthy together on the day of the driving test. Things were especially fuzzy, being a dream-within-a-dream and all, but I could tell that Geneshemoorthy wished his friend and neighbour all the best, and in fact want my client to pass. Then I saw later that same day, after my client had failed the driving test, and I saw Geneshemoorthy meeting my client and smiling and trying to cheer him up over a card game. I came out of the dream or trance or whatever and I told my client that he had it wrong; his friend and neighbour Geneshemoorthy had wanted him to pass, and what my client had interpreted as glee was actually a condolence of sorts. 'You were only seventeen,' I told him: 'and things look bigger in rearview mirrors than they actually are. Then my alarm went off, and I remembered what I would be doing. What I am doing now. Being here in, um, the Steelhorse."

I guess we all thought it, as described to us, had been a pretty good dream, inexplicable in its own way, and equally as inexplicable as the other two dreams had been. Thus, we all looked around the Steelhorse and admired its décor.

Darling Jayse asked me: "What did you dream about last night?"

I had to tell her: "Nothing."

The servant came with a tray of glasses with breep in them. She said: "Anything for lunch for you folks?"

We ordered some lunch-type meals. There's no reason to name what we all ordered.

Before she departed for the kitchen, Marilyn asked her: "We were wondering: What's the latest thing? How do your musical tastes run?"

The servant said: "Oh, well, I guess Mandy Stixen is my favourite, especially her 'Locusts' record. Layers and layers of sounds and ideas to it. My friends are more into the harder stuff, like the Lilies-of-the-Valleys and Seymore Stanley. It's hard to put into words, though, the distinctions."

"Is that because it all sounds the same?"

"Oh, not at all! There's plenty of differences between Stixen and the Lilies and Seymore Stanley, if you actually get around to listening to them. You really should check them out. They're very good."

"Thanks," said Marilyn.

We got back to our conversation, using the servant as a springboard.

I said: "I think I heard something by Mandy Stixen in the supermarket a couple days ago."

"How did you know it was Stixen?" (Jayne speaking through a wry smile.)

"I don't quite know. I must have heard the song somewhere before, and somehow I was able to identify its, ah, authorship."

Tony said: "It all sounds the same to me."

"Yeah, not like the good old days."

Sean said: "Movies these days are pretty crappy too."

"Not like the '30s, not at all."

"All the actors these days are indistinguishable."

I said: "Whatever happened to those old stars? Has King Lear done anything recently?"

Marilyn replied: "I saw her on tv a couple weeks ago, in a cameo role. It was some comedy thing, and she was playing someone's mother."

"Semi-retired, I guess is the term."

Sean said: "You remember all those Spartacus movies? He was in one after another."

Tony remarked: "Action-packed, and handsome he was."

"Yeah, 'The Stemroids and the War', 'Fightin' Bad', and the one with the time-bomb ticking through the whole thing."

Jayne filled in: "That was 'Climb to the Roof.' I had a poster of Spartacus in my bedroom."

The servant returned with our meals.

Jayne asked her: "What do you think about Spartacus?"

The servant said: "My folks go on and on about him. I saw something, something about a roof, but it was too fast for me."

"Oh. Well, thanks! This all looks great."

The servant smiled, and took her leave.

Tony said: "Maybe we're just over-estimating things. Nostalgia or something. Maybe the old movies weren't as good as we think they were. How can you measure taste?"

We all tried to come up with an objective measure, but we couldn't.

"In any case," said Marilyn: "I think we were lucky to go through the '30s. How old were all you in, say, '33, when that 'Gotcha-Gotcha' musical came out?"

I said: "I was eighteen."

Tony said: "Er, I guess I was sixteen. Yes, because I was born in 717." He laughed. "I could show you my birth certificate."

Marilyn said: "I didn't know we were the same age. Yes, I was sixteen."

Sean chipped in. "I was only fifteen. I had to sneak in to see it." He continued, after a pause: "Do you think we should head over to the Stalopetia about now?"

Marilyn replied: "We've still got hours to go."

Jayne chipped in: "I don't know how far away I'll have to park. I'd like to be in their parking lot, at least."

"Why?" I asked. "Last in, first out."

"I don't want to walk though fields to get back to the auto. That's all."

Sean said: "We have to go with the captain on this. Walking home is not an option."

We all started pulling out money. (The bill had arrived. I've elided over that.) Then, all paid up, we bid out servant a good afternoon and left the Steelhorse.

We walked on back to the auto and we all got in, in the same spots we'd been before.

Jayne said: "Okay, anyone know which way we go?"

I said: "I saw on the map that it's east of the town."

Marilyn said: "Start east, then. I'm sure we come across some signs."

This all sounded reasonable to us. Jayne checked the position of the sun and we went east and we were out of Stensal in three-to-five minutes.

"That was a nice restaurant." (Sean speaking.) "We should keep it in mind."

"It looked old, but it also looked new."

"Rustic décor."

"Old signs taken from who knows where."

"Yet: with a gambling machine in the corridor."

(I don't remember who said what there.)

Sure enough, there was a new sign put up by the state. STALOPETIA with an arrow under it, and "5 ni."

Tony remarked: "They're using the Netric system out here."

I said: "We'll have to get used to it."

Marilyn remarked: "I'll never get used to it."

Other autos were on that little two-lane road.

Jayne said: "I don't think we're coming at it the right way. This road is too narrow."

Sean said: "Back on the highway going into Stensal I noticed a sign. A whole exit made just for the arena."

"I guess we're taking the backroads way."

It was about that time that we noticed there was a goodly amount of traffic going in the other direction, away from the Stalopetia.

"Where do you think they're all going?" I asked. "Is there another concert in the area?"

Jayne said: "Not as far as I know."

"Can I switch on the radio?"

"Sure, go ahead."

I turned on the radio, which was in mid-sentence, as is typical. "--can be refunded through your purchasers. It's a terrible tragedy, and there's not much to say about that. As you have heard, in our state, one of the most profound musical voices has been silenced--"

Marilyn said: "Does this mean what I think it means?"

"--still arriving at the Stalopetia, heartbroken, despondent, and in tears--"

Sean said: "I think it does, I think it does indeed."

Jayne said: "I need to pull over."

She stopped the auto on the shoulder of the road. Autos continued to pass us, and it was rash for Jayne to get out, but she did it anyway. She went in front of the auto, hugging herself, looking down.

"--heart-attack happened right around one pm, during his lunch. Stinkpit never did anything--"

"Past tense," muttered Tony.

"--by half-measures, and he liked a big meal at about the same time, one pm, every time he played a major concert--"

"Jesu, this is rough!" I said, then regretted saying something so bloody simple.

We'd heard enough, so I switched off the radio. We looked at the autos going past us, wanting to be in those oblivious autos, speeding to a great void stadium, innocent and lacking in experience.

Tony said: "Well, I guess: there goes the day, huh?"

Marilyn said: "And half the autos we see, they don't know anything. The ones coming back do, but not the ones heading our way. I feel rather alone right now."

I said: nothing.

Jayne got back into the auto. She asked: "So, any place to go, other than back to the big city?"

Tony said: "Could you drop me off at the Steelhorse? I can make my way home from there."

Jayne started the auto, then, when the road was clear, made a u-turn, and drove.

I finally spoke: "I guess I'll be getting these tickets returned."

"They're no use anymore." That was Jayne speaking.

Marilyn said: "Um...." Then she continued: "Yeah, they should be returned. Oh well."

Sean said to Jayne: "But I guess we owe you for the gas you used getting us up here."

Jayne said: "It wasn't all that much. I ain't gonna nickel-and-dime you here!" (I think that sentence could be classified as 'sardonic'.)

I said: "It was a fine drive anyway. It's always good to get out into the countryside."

"If only, if only."

"What?"

She laughed bitterly. "There was certainly room for improvement!"

I realized the death of Stinkpit meant Jayne and I would never be able to get as close as I kind-of wanted us to be. We'd always be thinking about this day to nearly the exclusion of everything else. But I had something. I had a ticket. I decided then and there to return only four of them.

Marilyn said: "I wonder where the funeral is going to be."

Sean said: "I heard he was originally from Mestania."

"Then I suppose ... that's where he'll be buried."

"If he's buried at all. You never know, with Stinkfoot."

On we went.