After they’d walked for an hour, Salmonella said, “I’m hungry. Is there a Saposcat’s?”
“In a few blocks.”
But when they got there, a sign in the door said, “Relocated to Altobello.”
“Oh, no, I’m really starving. I’m growing. I need food and sleep.”
“There’s a little market at the corner of Broad and Esplanade. If it’s open they might accept pass cards.”
The market was open, but in the process of closing. Moldenke and Salmonella were allowed in and told to hurry. “We’re packing to go,” the grocer said, “off to Altobello.”
“Strange,” Moldenke said, “we were just sent back. It’s hard to know what’s going on…Do you take pass cards?”
“Yeah, we’ll take them. It doesn’t matter. We just heard money’s worthless now.”
“Thanks.”
Moldenke and Salmonella walked through aisles of mostly empty shelves looking for anything edible. There were a few tins of meat, some packets of dried mud fish, a bottle of green soda, and a cake of kerd. They gathered all of it into Salmonella’s shoulder bag and Moldenke’s pockets.
“Thank you, sir. We really do appreciate it. The best of luck in Altobello.”
“You live around here? You look familiar.”
“Not far. It’s a house my aunt left me. I heard there were some jellies living there. I’m a little concerned.”
“Don’t worry. Those are good jellies, fine jellies. Their cook used to shop in here. They’ve made that sorry old wreckage of your aunt’s into a showplace.”
“My old friend Ozzie was living there, too, but he was exploded.”
“The hell he was. I just saw him yesterday.”
“He was a labor organizer. He violated a law. Didn’t they explode him?”
“You’re out of touch, my friend. All that stopped when we were liberated. They spared him. He had minutes to go.”
It was not welcome news to Moldenke. Dealing with the jellyheads was one thing. Dealing with Ozzie, dull-witted and untrustworthy, was another.
“All right, Salmonella,” Moldenke said, “listen to me a minute. When we get there, let me handle the situation.”
“Stop worrying.”
“All right.”
They walked the remaining blocks in the hot late afternoon sun and were standing on the porch of Moldenke’s house on Esplanade when Ozzie came around the side with a dripping garden hose.
“Moldenke?”
“I’m back. This is my friend, Salmonella. She’s freeborn.”
“Hello. I’m Ozzie.”
Moldenke chuckled awkwardly. “The place looks grand. I’m surprised. Fresh paint, running water, no broken windows, all the brickwork tuck-pointed. I’m happy to see this.”
Salmonella said, “We’re hungry. We’ve got food. Can we go in?”
“Yes, but please be quiet. The jellies are napping. They work hard in the morning and late at night, they nap in the afternoon. I’ll go in through the back and meet you in the kitchen.”
Salmonella entered the foyer first and paused at the stairs leading to the second story bedrooms. Moldenke followed, past a tall clay pot holding four umbrellas, then the stairs leading to the second story bedrooms and a long low-boy that he recognized as his aunt’s. On it was a copy of the Treatise.
“What’s that…? Listen.” Salmonella cupped her ear. “From up there?”
Moldenke listened closely. “It’s the jellies snoring.”
“What about us? Where do we sleep?”
“I don’t know. We’ll ask Ozzie.”
They went into the dining room. Moldenke recognized his aunt’s round oak dining table set with four placemats and her silverware. He could see that two of his friend Myron’s typewriter portraits were still hanging in the hallway, clean and free of dust.
Ozzie took off his boots in the mud room and came through the back door. “Let’s sit in the kitchen, you two. If you’re hungry, one of the new jellies here is a cook and he made some very nice sheep’s liver scrapple. It’s just about to come out of the oven.”
“I love scrapple,” Salmonella said. “What’s a sheep? I know what a pig is. I know what a cow is.”
“A grazing animal. People used to shear them for wool,” Moldenke said, “to make warm jackets.”
Ozzie removed the scrapple loaf from the oven. “Old man Burnheart down the street keeps a few sheep in his yard. People say he used to be a surgeon. Sometimes he comes down here with a bucket of organ meat. I don’t know what he does with the rest of the animal.”
“That’s very interesting,” Moldenke said, “but what I want to know is…how many do we have here now, Ozzie?”
“Jellies?”
“Yes, jellies.”
“With the cook and the gardener, that’s seven. They’re two to a bed now.”
“This is my house. You were sleeping in an alleyway. I was desperate to find someone.”
Ozzie was insulted, a little angry. “Look at this place. It’s far better than when you left it. No rats, no rot, good roof, a place to shit, clean as a whistle. It wasn’t me alone who did all that. It was the jellies. They like me. We get along. How about some stew? Want a glass of bitters?” He slid a pack of Juleps from his shirt pocket. “Smoke?”
“Yes. All of that. I haven’t had a smoke in weeks. Big shortage in Altobello.”
Ozzie poured two glasses of bitters and lit Moldenke’s Julep. “Excellent bitters, made right here. The jellies and I brew it in the back yard.”
Ozzie sliced the scrapple and fried it in a pan.
Moldenke inhaled the minty Julep smoke and spoke as he held it. “We were told Bunkerville was liberated.”
“I don’t know. People are leaving. There’s a lot of confusion. Right now it’s smart to stay home and hope for the best. At least it saved me from getting exploded.” He plated slices of scrapple. “There, eat up. The little grocery is closing, you know. Can’t say how long we’ll be able to get certain things. This is the best we can offer right now.”
Moldenke emptied his pockets, laying the items out on the table. “This is the last they had.”
Salmonella asked, “You got any green soda?” She had a bite of the scrapple.
Ozzie popped open a soda from the cooler and gave it to her. “We got three left. The ice house closed, so this is the last of the cool ones. Enjoy it.”
Salmonella guzzled the green soda between bites of scrapple, grunting with pleasure.
Moldenke wondered aloud if pass cards would eventually be recognized, or would he need money to get by. He wondered, too, if Ozzie thought they’d be wearing uniforms, and if so, where to get them.
“I don’t know, Moldenke. I’m staying out of the fracas. I feel lucky to be alive right now. I don’t want to show my face out there. Anyway, there are no more real workers to organize. No one works now except jellies.”
Moldenke finished his bitters and Ozzie poured a second round.
“Is there a radio? Do you have any news?”
“The station is off the air.”
Salmonella wiped her lips with a linen napkin. “That was good. Now I’m tired. Where do we sleep?”
“I’ll roust a few jellies and free up a couple of beds. They don’t care. They’ll sleep in the shed.”
“We only need one,” Salmonella said.
“Two,” Moldenke said. “We’ll need two.”
Salmonella pouted jokingly.
Zanzetti made news today with the announcement of Molly, a mechanical mother he and his staff are developing. “Free mothers will no longer need to pay the psychic wage of making milk,” the scientist says, “because it comes from Molly’s breasts in great squirts.” The milk, rich in folic acid and lactose, is infused with a mollifying agent to help curb unwanted impulses and instill a modicum of conscience in free-born individuals.