regularly down there, too.”
“What will they accept, then?”
Norm said, “Perky Pat herself.” He was silent, then.
“Oh good Lord,” she said, appalled.
“But if we win,” Norm pointed out, “we win Connie Companion.”
“And the layouts? What about them?”
“We keep our own. It’s just Perky Pat herself, not Leonard, not anything else.”
“But,” she protested, “what’ll we
do
if we lose Perky Pat?”
“I can make another one,” Norm said. “Given time. There’s still a big supply of thermoplastics and artificial hair, here in the pit. And I have plenty of different paints; it would take at least a month, but I could do it. I don’t look forward to the job, I admit. But—” His eyes glinted. “Don’t look on the dark side;
imagine what it would
be like to win Connie Companion doll
. I think we may well win; their delegate seemed smart and, as Hooker said, tough . . . but the one I talked to didn’t strike me as being very flukey. You know, on good terms with luck.”
And, after all, the element of luck, of chance, entered into each stage of the game through the agency of the spinner.
“It seems wrong,” Fran said, “to put up Perky Pat herself. But if you say so—” She managed to smile a little. “I’ll go along with it. And if you won Connie Companion—who knows? You might be elected Mayor when Hooker dies. Imagine, to have won somebody else’s
doll
—not just the game, the money, but the
doll itself
.”
“I can win,” Norm said soberly. “Because I’m very flukey.” He could feel it in him, the same flukeyness that had got him through the hydrogen war alive, that had kept him alive ever since. You either have it or you don’t, he realized. And I do.
His wife said, “Shouldn’t we ask Hooker to call a meeting of everyone in the pit, and send the best player out of our entire group. So as to be the surest of winning.”
“Listen,” Norm Schein said emphatically. “I’m the best player. I’m going. And so are you; we make a good team, and we don’t want to break it up. Anyhow, we’ll need at least two people to carry Perky Pat’s layout.” All in all, he judged, their layout weighed sixty pounds.
His plan seemed to him to be satisfactory. But when he mentioned it to the others living in the Pinole Fluke-pit he found himself facing sharp disagreement. The whole next day was filled with argument.
“You can’t lug your layout all that way yourselves,” Sam Regan said. “Either take more people with you or carry your layout in a vehicle of some sort. Such as a cart.” He scowled at Norm.
“Where’d I get a cart?” Norm demanded.
“Maybe something could be adapted,” Sam said. “I’ll give you every bit of help I can. Personally, I’d go along but as I told my wife this whole idea worries me.” He thumped Norm on the back. “I admire your courage, you and Fran, setting off this way. I wish I had what it takes.” He looked unhappy.
In the end, Norm settled on a wheelbarrow. He and Fran would take turns pushing it. That way neither of them would have to carry any load above and beyond their food and water, and of course knives by which to protect them from the do-cats.
As they were carefully placing the elements of their layout in the wheelbarrow, Norm Schein’s boy Timothy came sidling up to them. “Take me along, Dad,” he pleaded. “For fifty cents I’ll go as guide and scout, and also I’ll help you catch food along the way.”
“We’ll manage fine,” Norm said. “You stay here in the fluke-pit; you’ll be safer here.” It annoyed him, the idea of his son tagging along on an important venture such as this. It was almost—sacrilegious.
“Kiss us goodbye,” Fran said to Timothy, smiling at him briefly; then her attention returned to the layout within the wheelbarrow. “I hope it doesn’t tip over,” she said fearfully to Norm.
“Not a chance,” Norm said. “If we’re careful.” He felt confident.
A few moments
“What will they accept, then?”
Norm said, “Perky Pat herself.” He was silent, then.
“Oh good Lord,” she said, appalled.
“But if we win,” Norm pointed out, “we win Connie Companion.”
“And the layouts? What about them?”
“We keep our own. It’s just Perky Pat herself, not Leonard, not anything else.”
“But,” she protested, “what’ll we
do
if we lose Perky Pat?”
“I can make another one,” Norm said. “Given time. There’s still a big supply of thermoplastics and artificial hair, here in the pit. And I have plenty of different paints; it would take at least a month, but I could do it. I don’t look forward to the job, I admit. But—” His eyes glinted. “Don’t look on the dark side;
imagine what it would
be like to win Connie Companion doll
. I think we may well win; their delegate seemed smart and, as Hooker said, tough . . . but the one I talked to didn’t strike me as being very flukey. You know, on good terms with luck.”
And, after all, the element of luck, of chance, entered into each stage of the game through the agency of the spinner.
“It seems wrong,” Fran said, “to put up Perky Pat herself. But if you say so—” She managed to smile a little. “I’ll go along with it. And if you won Connie Companion—who knows? You might be elected Mayor when Hooker dies. Imagine, to have won somebody else’s
doll
—not just the game, the money, but the
doll itself
.”
“I can win,” Norm said soberly. “Because I’m very flukey.” He could feel it in him, the same flukeyness that had got him through the hydrogen war alive, that had kept him alive ever since. You either have it or you don’t, he realized. And I do.
His wife said, “Shouldn’t we ask Hooker to call a meeting of everyone in the pit, and send the best player out of our entire group. So as to be the surest of winning.”
“Listen,” Norm Schein said emphatically. “I’m the best player. I’m going. And so are you; we make a good team, and we don’t want to break it up. Anyhow, we’ll need at least two people to carry Perky Pat’s layout.” All in all, he judged, their layout weighed sixty pounds.
His plan seemed to him to be satisfactory. But when he mentioned it to the others living in the Pinole Fluke-pit he found himself facing sharp disagreement. The whole next day was filled with argument.
“You can’t lug your layout all that way yourselves,” Sam Regan said. “Either take more people with you or carry your layout in a vehicle of some sort. Such as a cart.” He scowled at Norm.
“Where’d I get a cart?” Norm demanded.
“Maybe something could be adapted,” Sam said. “I’ll give you every bit of help I can. Personally, I’d go along but as I told my wife this whole idea worries me.” He thumped Norm on the back. “I admire your courage, you and Fran, setting off this way. I wish I had what it takes.” He looked unhappy.
In the end, Norm settled on a wheelbarrow. He and Fran would take turns pushing it. That way neither of them would have to carry any load above and beyond their food and water, and of course knives by which to protect them from the do-cats.
As they were carefully placing the elements of their layout in the wheelbarrow, Norm Schein’s boy Timothy came sidling up to them. “Take me along, Dad,” he pleaded. “For fifty cents I’ll go as guide and scout, and also I’ll help you catch food along the way.”
“We’ll manage fine,” Norm said. “You stay here in the fluke-pit; you’ll be safer here.” It annoyed him, the idea of his son tagging along on an important venture such as this. It was almost—sacrilegious.
“Kiss us goodbye,” Fran said to Timothy, smiling at him briefly; then her attention returned to the layout within the wheelbarrow. “I hope it doesn’t tip over,” she said fearfully to Norm.
“Not a chance,” Norm said. “If we’re careful.” He felt confident.
A few moments
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