"You say I should ignore the jelly in the hall? Is that right?"
"Right. It must be total, though. Out of mind, out of sight. If you think of him even a bit, he'll be on you. You may have to force yourself to think about something else. Get together now."
"What about the weather? I'd like to get a report."
"Once you're in it you'll know. Goodbye. See you in three days or not at all."
29
During the year previous to the mock War Moldenke was employed at the Tropical Garden as a banana man.
30
He pulled on his trenchpants and rooted in his closet for Burnheart's old trenchcoat. He stuffed all pockets with.00 gauze pads and cigars, strapped on his sidepack and dropped in flints, a can of k-fuel, a tin of crickets, a handful of prune wafers, and a packet of stonepicks. He buttoned up the trenchcoat. Burnheart had worn the coat in an earlier war and had been wounded in it below the frontal buckle.
In his backpack he loaded old Burnheart letters, blank paper, pens, pencils, and two copies of Burnheart's book, Ways & Means.
He gathered his hair and tied it in the back.
Still, several moons were up.
He waited in the chair.
The phone rang:
"Hello? Burnheart?"
"No, jock. I think that nothing measures equal to the Moldenke innocence except the Moldenke presumption. No, this is not Burnheart."
"Bunce?"
"Yes, this is Bunce."
"I have nothing to say, Bunce. I'm under different instructions now."
"Moldenke, are you aware of the hazards in the bottoms? You won't make it. Believe me. Consider the odds. Burnheart is far from perfect."
"I'm ignoring you, Bunce. You're wasting time."
"I've been ignored before. I can live with it."
"I'm going to hang up. I have nothing to say."
"Fine, we're even again. I have nothing to hear. But let me say a few things before you set the speaker down. Will you grant me thirty seconds? Moldenke, I can build a wall around you with the details of your life. I know all your secrets. One of your nose hairs is deviant, isn't it? It grows away from the others, doesn't it, toward the brain? There, that explains your snorts. Can you see what I'm getting at, jock? I not only know that you snort, but why. That's the important fact, why. I know you totally. I don't want much from you, Dink. All is what I want, the whole Moldenke. Take off that trenchcoat and get back in the chair. Quit fiddling."
"No, Bunce. I'm ignoring you."
"How can you? Test me. Ask me anything about your selves. Try me. . pick a hard one."
"All right, Bunce. Several years ago I was in the crowd along a boulevard watching a parade. Someone tapped my shoulder and I turned to see. It was Cock Roberta. The crowd pushed us close. I felt my crank harden against her leg. She put something into my hand. A wave went through the crowd and we were separated. What did she leave in my hand?"
"A little polished acorn opening on copper hinges, warm with her perspiration. Warm with her perspiration, Moldenke! What do you think of that detail? Little Cock is a hot handed woman, isn't she?"
"All right, Bunce. When I opened the acorn, what was inside?"
"The crowd was all around you, pushing at your elbows. You waited until you got home, back to your room. You turned on the lamp and opened the acorn over a saucer and a tightly folded paper fell out. You carefully unfolded it and read it."
"I assume you know what it said."
"Ah, the Moldenke assumptions. Yes, I know what it said. It said, 'Capital M, My dear, capital M, Moldenke, comma, paragraph, indent, capital T, They say that I'm beginning to punctuate and that I'll have to seclude myself and rest, period. Capital T, They say I shouldn't be looking at the sky when the moons are up, period.' And she signed it, 'capital C, Cock.' "
"I don't care what you know, Bunce. I still intend to ignore you."
"Suit yourself. I tried to help you. You once had a wart on the quick of your thumb. You habitually chewed on it and over the years it shrank and went away, leaving a small oval scar. As a boy you stashed coins and licorice in your cuffs. Nothing escapes me, Moldenke. Nothing."
Moldenke hung up.
31
He sat on the seawall, chewing stonepicks, and watched the first artificial sun break apart and burn out. A slow, dry rain of white ash persisted through summerfall. By winter a second sun was up, blinding to look at and almost warm enough.
32
The moons were nearly down. He would read a final Burnheart letter and then make for the bottoms.
Dear Moldenke,
How many wonders has mother science put to sleep?
As ever,
Your country friend,
Burnheart
He remembered writing back:
Dear Doctor,
I don't know. I wonder. And it keeps me awake.
Apologetically yours,
Moldenke
He saw the last flash of moon through the lookout. He went to the door, listened, put his hand on the doorknob. Inflations, deflations. He would have to forget the jelly. He waited, went back to the chair, tried to get his mind to wander off to the acre of weed and pollen. He chewed a stonepick, tied on a gauze pad. He went back to the door, listened. A labored inflation, an extended deflation, and a lull. The feet shuffled back and forth at the door. His major heart thundered, the others ticked rapidly. He imagined himself a bloated fish, dead on a beach. The jelly, still there. He imagined himself a tripodero, racing along the hedgerows. No, still the jelly. He would have to hurt himself. He went to the refrigerator, placed his hand on the door seal and closed the door. The pain was immediate, completely distracting. He wrapped gauze around his swelling hand, left the room. The hallway was empty. He found himself on the street.
33
She followed the lines in his face with a geographical eye and an imaginary pen, giving each line a name, as though they were discovered rivers.
He arranged a bed of peat bags and they chewed stonepicks. Sounds feathered and nested in silence. She took off the Indian dress and draped it over an elephant plant.
He parted labia with his thumbs.
She said, "What are you doing?" She laughed, peat chips caught in her hair.
He said, "The little man in the big boat."
She said, "What are you talking about?" She counted panes of glass in the greenhouse roof.
He said, "Never mind. Boat isn't right. Canoe. The little man in the big canoe. Cock?"
"What? What are you talking about? I'm not something to be opened like a grape, a warm vegetable. What are you doing?"
"Cock, the little fellow says he wants a cigar. He's all excited. Shall I give him a blue cigar?"
"Give him anything, Moldenke. Please stop talking. I don't follow."
"Yes, I'm sorry. I forgot the T.S.R."
"The T.S. what?"
"The Twenty Second Rule. I've talked about the same thing for more than twenty seconds. I shouldn't do that. My apologies."
"Moldenke, where are you?"
"Here, by the River Odorous. Can't you see me? Have you gone light-blind? Wear my goggles."
"Where am I, then? Where is your temporary Cock?"
"Quiet, Cock. Let him smoke in peace. Don't surround him with question marks."
"Moldenke, please."
"I don't know what to say, Roberta. I have no feeling."
He smoked a cigar. They watched the suns go down. She said, "You've left me leaking, Moldenke. It's running down my leg."