restaurants guised in animal
shape; bloodshaded tumblers, lamps with smooth chrome
curves, skyscraper-sleek bottles, stepsided clocks faced with
angular, unreadable numbers; tins logoed with non-Dryco
insignia, the silver moons of hubcaps affixed to peach-pale
walls. Atop an oversized wooden radio was an insecticide
sprayer, its shape reminiscent of streamlined male genitalia,
recast in dented tin; the painted letters FLIT underlay the
shaft's rust.
"Your museumpieces astonish," I said, eyeing it all. "Such
a collection."
"It's a bloodsport like any other. The past pleases overmuch to be entirely healthy," Luther said. "My wife needs
dinner. Excuse me."
Luther trod catfooted, glancing through the doors he passed, moving as John moved: those tarred with the Army
or Security brush forever revealed their conditioning, however they tried to hide it, stepping as if each movement
might bring blast, hooding their eyes against what didn't
have to be seen.
"You crossed unaware of what lay before you," John said.
"What resulted?"
"Expect your own shocks," said Luther, switching on kit-
chenlight; pausing before he entered the room. "They've
prepped you so well as possible for this, I gather?"
"We're doubleprepped," I said. "Classed in linguistics,
sociobservation, popular artifacts, cultural anticipation, historical processes-"
He masked his face as he spoke, revealing nothing.
"They're bleaching you? That's wise. They've absolute apartheid there, and nothing inkled that it was about to
change-"
"Forewarned, forearmed," I said. "I'm prepped to slough
away hurt."
"It'll slough like burnt skin," he said. "Excuse present
company, but whites are worse than devils over there. You'll
be in New York, I reason. Unimaginable what the rest is
like." Luther extracted a wrapped tray from the freezer and
slid it into the unit. "Can you tell what essentials this trip?"
"You weren't briefed?" He shook his head, and sat down
at his table, gesturing that we should sit as well. "Forgive and
understand, we can't relate-"
"Understood," he said. "I was outcompanied till retirement, to all intent. Jake was held irreplaceable by the company, but he chose not to return. I'd have been happy to
bring him back, regardless. Blame must sleep somewhere,
and Dryco found my bed best. When would it be over there,
now?"
"1954," 1 said. "May's first week."
He nodded. "Keep minded. The longer you're there," he
said, "the worse it'll become."
John's expression shadowed, as if his curtains drew
tighter, hearing of that other world's limited blessings; he
appeared unsurprised by Luther's warning. "It took you
long to readjust, postreturn?" he asked. Luther's expression
inferred that the thought had never occurred; that, mayhap,
he'd never readjusted. The unit's bell rang; he walked over
and reset the warmer for an additional minute. "Wanda likes
hers burnt black," he explained.
"Your wife is here?" I asked, recalling her theoretical
presence; unexpectedly, I discerned her spirit near, and
shivered with the sense of feeling a cool draft, or ice brushed
along my spine.
"She keeps to herself," Luther said. "Consider this question personal rather than corporate. What concerns you
most about your trip?"
"Returning," I said.
Luther nodded. "Don't expect to."
The chime rerang; Luther extracted the tray from the unit
and flayed away its glittering skin, easing back from the
steamjet so as not to scald himself.
"Understood," John said. Luther slipped on kitchen mitts
before lifting the tray. "You knew Jake well?" My husband's
voice came unexpectedly soft, as if we were alone.
"Did you?" Luther asked. "My wife needs feeding. You'd
care to meet?"
"She's from the other world?" I said, hoping that he'd
deny. He nodded, raising the tray before him with shaking
hands, as if in offerance to one who might slap him down.
I perceived in him the penultimate result of our unavoidable
syzygy with time; how its touch changed
shape; bloodshaded tumblers, lamps with smooth chrome
curves, skyscraper-sleek bottles, stepsided clocks faced with
angular, unreadable numbers; tins logoed with non-Dryco
insignia, the silver moons of hubcaps affixed to peach-pale
walls. Atop an oversized wooden radio was an insecticide
sprayer, its shape reminiscent of streamlined male genitalia,
recast in dented tin; the painted letters FLIT underlay the
shaft's rust.
"Your museumpieces astonish," I said, eyeing it all. "Such
a collection."
"It's a bloodsport like any other. The past pleases overmuch to be entirely healthy," Luther said. "My wife needs
dinner. Excuse me."
Luther trod catfooted, glancing through the doors he passed, moving as John moved: those tarred with the Army
or Security brush forever revealed their conditioning, however they tried to hide it, stepping as if each movement
might bring blast, hooding their eyes against what didn't
have to be seen.
"You crossed unaware of what lay before you," John said.
"What resulted?"
"Expect your own shocks," said Luther, switching on kit-
chenlight; pausing before he entered the room. "They've
prepped you so well as possible for this, I gather?"
"We're doubleprepped," I said. "Classed in linguistics,
sociobservation, popular artifacts, cultural anticipation, historical processes-"
He masked his face as he spoke, revealing nothing.
"They're bleaching you? That's wise. They've absolute apartheid there, and nothing inkled that it was about to
change-"
"Forewarned, forearmed," I said. "I'm prepped to slough
away hurt."
"It'll slough like burnt skin," he said. "Excuse present
company, but whites are worse than devils over there. You'll
be in New York, I reason. Unimaginable what the rest is
like." Luther extracted a wrapped tray from the freezer and
slid it into the unit. "Can you tell what essentials this trip?"
"You weren't briefed?" He shook his head, and sat down
at his table, gesturing that we should sit as well. "Forgive and
understand, we can't relate-"
"Understood," he said. "I was outcompanied till retirement, to all intent. Jake was held irreplaceable by the company, but he chose not to return. I'd have been happy to
bring him back, regardless. Blame must sleep somewhere,
and Dryco found my bed best. When would it be over there,
now?"
"1954," 1 said. "May's first week."
He nodded. "Keep minded. The longer you're there," he
said, "the worse it'll become."
John's expression shadowed, as if his curtains drew
tighter, hearing of that other world's limited blessings; he
appeared unsurprised by Luther's warning. "It took you
long to readjust, postreturn?" he asked. Luther's expression
inferred that the thought had never occurred; that, mayhap,
he'd never readjusted. The unit's bell rang; he walked over
and reset the warmer for an additional minute. "Wanda likes
hers burnt black," he explained.
"Your wife is here?" I asked, recalling her theoretical
presence; unexpectedly, I discerned her spirit near, and
shivered with the sense of feeling a cool draft, or ice brushed
along my spine.
"She keeps to herself," Luther said. "Consider this question personal rather than corporate. What concerns you
most about your trip?"
"Returning," I said.
Luther nodded. "Don't expect to."
The chime rerang; Luther extracted the tray from the unit
and flayed away its glittering skin, easing back from the
steamjet so as not to scald himself.
"Understood," John said. Luther slipped on kitchen mitts
before lifting the tray. "You knew Jake well?" My husband's
voice came unexpectedly soft, as if we were alone.
"Did you?" Luther asked. "My wife needs feeding. You'd
care to meet?"
"She's from the other world?" I said, hoping that he'd
deny. He nodded, raising the tray before him with shaking
hands, as if in offerance to one who might slap him down.
I perceived in him the penultimate result of our unavoidable
syzygy with time; how its touch changed
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