Part 5 (1/2)

Blossom nodded. ”The Edward Baker Jackson. My best friend's father. They lived in a house too, near ours. He was really a famous lobbyist, and brilliant, his operations were always successful. In fact my father used to say it was really him who-” She stopped and put her hand over her mouth. Edward Baker Jackson. My best friend's father. They lived in a house too, near ours. He was really a famous lobbyist, and brilliant, his operations were always successful. In fact my father used to say it was really him who-” She stopped and put her hand over her mouth.

”Who what?” said Lola.

Blossom thought for a moment. Yes, she decided, she could tell them that. She took her hand away from her mouth. ”Well ... well maybe it doesn't matter. I've already told you so much really really cla.s.sified stuff anyway. My father used to say it was really Mr. Jackson who ran the administration, that he had the President in the palm of his hand.” Blossom looked around at them proudly, folding her arms across her chest. ”And he was my best friend's father.” cla.s.sified stuff anyway. My father used to say it was really Mr. Jackson who ran the administration, that he had the President in the palm of his hand.” Blossom looked around at them proudly, folding her arms across her chest. ”And he was my best friend's father.”

”Books?” Oliver said, amazed. ”But why use a book? They're so slow, and most of them aren't even programmed.”

Peter was embarra.s.sed. ”I ... they just had some, at this place where I was.... And, I kind of liked it. It felt like ... like it was only talking to me, and ... and I could go slow, if I wanted, without worrying about keeping up with the others.”

”But really, that is kind of silly,” Abigail tried to explain. ”I mean a book is much less personal than a programmed screen that can respond to you according to your needs, and concentrate on what's hard for you, and go fast on what's easy. A book stays the same no matter who's who's reading it. And anyway, I don't see how anyone could read a whole long book, it must be so boring!” reading it. And anyway, I don't see how anyone could read a whole long book, it must be so boring!”

”But ... but it wasn't,” Peter said faintly. ”I ... almost forgot I was reading it. The ... the whole story was going on in my head.” He stopped and looked down.

”I still don't understand,” said Oliver. ”I mean watching a real-life hologram right before your eyes is better than anything you could imagine imagine.”

”Hey!” Lola said, in the middle of the dance. ”Look at the light! It's not red anymore, it's green!”

All but Blossom began to slow down.

”Don't stop!” Blossom shrieked. ”Keep dancing! Who cares what color it is? What difference does it make?”

And she was right, it really didn't seem to make any difference; for they soon learned that the color of the light had no relation to whether or not the machine would give them food. Sometimes it would be red, sometimes green, and eventually they stopped wondering about it altogether.

Blossom watched Lola wandering far below them, exploring again, and her eyes were cold and sharp. She turned back to the others. ”What good does she think it's going to do to go stupidly running around like that?” she said. ”She just does it to get away from us, because she can't stand any of us. She thinks she's better than we are, doesn't she, Peter?” Blossom waited. ”Peter! You know she thinks we're all stupid, tell them, you know she does.”

Peter was looking down, twisting his hands. ”I ... I guess she said ... I don't remember....”

Blossom turned contemptuously away from him. ”You don't remember anything. You don't even know what's going on half the time. But I remember. I remember what she said. And it wasn't pretty.”

Oliver was watching her. She could see the interest in his eyes, even though he was pretending not to care. ”Quite a few things,” Blossom went on temptingly. ”Interesting things. But not pretty. Not pretty at all....”

”It was only an eight-lane road,” said Lola. ”But I was going pretty fast anyway, too fast, I guess. And I had the smog lights on and everything, but I could still only see about thirty feet ahead, even in the middle of the day. And it was an old road, so suddenly there was this curve ahead and before I knew it I was going off the edge. Shees.h.!.+” She shook her head.

”But what happened?” said Abigail.

”Nothing. I mean the car was a total wreck, including the gas mask compartment, but I just opened the door and walked out of-”

”Next to the highway? You got out of the car next to the highway?” said Oliver, incredulous. ”I thought you said the masks were smashed.”

”They were. But in the first place it was a miracle I wasn't already dead. And then I kept going back to the car and sticking in my head to get the good air that was still left, and running back to the road and waving at the cars. It was a lucky day for me 'cause a cop car came by just as I thought I was gonna pa.s.s out. Took me right back to the home, of course. It was a long time before I tried anything like that again!”

Peter had gone away. His body sagged limply against the stairway like a half-stuffed toy, and his head hung grotesquely to the side, his mouth open. The sight of him frightened Lola. ”Hey, Peter,” she said. ”Peter, wake up. Can't you hear me?”

”Oh, leave him alone,” Oliver said sharply. ”I'll wake him up when the time comes.”

”But ... but it doesn't seem right to let him get like that,” Lola said. ”He keeps doing it more and more. We should really try to stop him, or else sometime we might not be able to wake him up at all.”

”How do you know?” said Oliver. ”I've always been able to wake him up; I always will be able to. Leave him alone. He's happier the way he is.”

”How do you know he is?” Lola asked.

”What difference does it make to you?” Oliver said, ending the conversation.

Lola was alternately grinding her teeth and chewing on her nails. It was always worse after they had eaten to be without a cigarette.

”Will you stop making that noise?” said Blossom. ”It's driving me crazy.”

”'Will you stop making that noise?'” Lola mimicked her in falsetto. ”'Will you stop making that noise?' And for Christ sake will you leave me alone! You'd grind your teeth too! G.o.d d.a.m.n this place, G.o.d d.a.m.n that machine. Why the h.e.l.l can't it give us cigarettes?” She stood up angrily.

”Oh, calm down,” said Oliver. The good humor in his voice was wearing thin, and his words rang falsely. ”They've got to come and get us pretty soon.”

”Yes,” Blossom said fervently. ”They've got to come. Any time now.”

”Sure,” said Lola sarcastically. ”Sure. They'll come and take us off to fairyland. And I'm a purple monkey. And I am G.o.ddam sick sick of listening to all this garbage. n.o.body's gonna come and you all know it!” She turned and ran furiously up the stairs. of listening to all this garbage. n.o.body's gonna come and you all know it!” She turned and ran furiously up the stairs.

Chapter 12.

As the weeks went by, Abigail began to grow envious of Lola. She never would have expected it of herself, because it was clear that in the real world Lola was an outsider, and being an outsider was one thing Abigail couldn't bear. Nevertheless she did envy Lola, for one specific reason: Lola's independence.

Early every morning (morning being when they woke up; no one had any idea now what time of day it was outside), while the rest of them were still groggily rousing themselves, Lola would be jogging briskly up to the toilet and back. And at what seemed to be the same time later each day, Lola would jog briskly down the stairs to some undisclosed point, and right back up again. It didn't seem to affect her when the others ridiculed or resented her for it. She would simply say, ”I need my exercise,” and that would be that.

What impressed Abigail was that Lola never did things just because other people wanted her to; Lola did what she she wanted to do. To Abigail, who was always considering what boys thought of her, or what the other girls in her group would think, who was always trying to avoid doing whatever might hurt someone, or make her disliked, Lola's behavior was hard to understand. It made Abigail, in some strange way, feel trapped; trapped, and then resentful of Lola's freedom. wanted to do. To Abigail, who was always considering what boys thought of her, or what the other girls in her group would think, who was always trying to avoid doing whatever might hurt someone, or make her disliked, Lola's behavior was hard to understand. It made Abigail, in some strange way, feel trapped; trapped, and then resentful of Lola's freedom.

”There she goes again, like clockwork,” Oliver said one afternoon as Lola bounded off down the stairs. ”If any of us had watches we could set them by her.”

”But I should think you would want to get some exercise too,” said Abigail. ”Didn't you always like sports?”

”Yes, yes, I liked sports,” he said impatiently, and looked away from her. Abigail was stung. She turned to Blossom.

In what seemed like the three or four weeks that they had been there, Blossom was already beginning to change. Though she was still obese, the meager, irregular meals and the strenuous exercise of the dance were beginning to tell: Her dress was growing loose, and her face, even with its remaining puffiness, was taking on a grayish, pinched expression. But she did not seem at all pleased to be losing weight. They were always hungry, for the machine only fed them enough to keep going, never enough to satisfy; and Blossom took this constant deprivation the hardest, often bending hopefully over the machine, rocking slightly, twisting her hands and pursing her lips.

Peter was growing stranger too. More and more now he would lapse into dazes, in which he would be utterly distant and unreachable, as though deserted by a mind that had flown miles and miles away. And it was difficult to get him to take his part in the food dance. Only Oliver could bring him out of the daze, and often it took time. More than once they had finally managed to get him moving, only to have the voices and the flas.h.i.+ng light stop a moment later, taking away the possibility of food. This had not pleased any of them; Blossom, in a frenzy, had even slapped Peter once.

Abigail sighed. Oliver had changed too; or perhaps it wasn't as much a change as a peeling off of an outer layer. The confident energy and high spirits that had once characterized him were now only occasionally apparent. Instead he was often moody and petulant, and toward Lola even hostile. Somehow, Lola's energy seemed to drain his away, and, in lethargy, he hated her for it.

Nevertheless, Abigail was still attracted to him. He was probably the best-looking boy she had ever met, and the growing gauntness of his face only accentuated what was interesting about his features. He was often nasty to her, of course. Not infrequently now they would climb high above the others and kiss. Sometimes they would do it for as long as five minutes, and the kissing would grow more pa.s.sionate. And even though she had always been taught that it was wrong, it was so comforting, and felt so nice, that she was beginning to think that the teaching might be wrong, not the act; and she was able to relax and enjoy it. But it would always end with Oliver suddenly breaking away, leaving her startled and lost, and after that he would be distant and cold.

She could not understand it, it was disturbing to think about, and so she turned her thoughts to Oliver's good points. The times when he was the most like his old self were always when he was rousing Peter. It was something that no one else could do, and though clearly just as hungry and impatient as the rest of them, Oliver seemed to relish the excitement of the situation, and also resented anyone who tried to help him. And when Peter did begin to respond, Oliver's spirits would soar. He would begin his part in the dance with a rhythm that none of the others possessed. And, unless the machine stopped at once and they got barely anything to eat, his high spirits would last, and he would be charming enough to keep them almost cheerful for several hours.

And cheerfulness, Abigail reflected, was certainly hard to come by in here. It was not only the constant, gnawing hunger, but the utter bleakness of this place that made it so unpleasant; the sensation of an endless succession of days without any comfort or diversion or interest.