“Those raised in pure freedom, where everything is permitted, never develop a sense of right and wrong. Remorse is unknown to them. Any action is the same as any other action. Can you imagine walking your body around in a world where nothing matters? There would be pandemonium.”
If Zanzetti is successful in this pursuit, mother machines in their milk will alleviate those raw necessities of child rearing and allow free women to go about a more productive business, to dabble in cottage industries such as bee culture and candle making without fear of raising un-socialized children.
Ozzie poured another round of bitters. “The sun’s still up. It’s too early for bed.”
Moldenke crushed out his Julep and swallowed down the glass of bitters. “Is it safe to assume you’ve been in the attic?”
“One of the jellies was up there mixing paint and he found the shoebox. We spent the money fixing the place. You should be happy. Money is either worthless now or will be soon. It was well spent, my friend. We can all live comfortably here as free people.”
“It will be too crowded,” Moldenke said.
“Not with these jellies. They seem to have a very mature philosophy of service. They work hard, they nap, they don’t eat much, they stay out of the way, they’re easy to live with, and they’re always improving the place. Your aunt couldn’t ask for anything better.”
Salmonella reached into her bag and brought out the sack of apple seeds. “Can I plant these in the yard?”
Ozzie beamed, “Sure you can, girl. I’ll have the gardener give you a hand.”
Salmonella stood up and clapped. “Oh, goody!”
Moldenke shrugged. “All right. We’ll see how it goes.”
“You’ll meet the jellies later.”
Moldenke said, “I’ve soiled my uniform. Can I take a bath?”
“Of course you can. In your aunt’s bathroom, upstairs. We’ve kept it as it always was. Your uncle’s clothes are still in the chiffonier. Wear those.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Ozzie.”
Moldenke excused himself and went upstairs to bathe. His aunt’s bathroom was adjacent to her bedroom, where he selected one of his late uncle’s jumpsuits to wear after the bath. The bedroom was as he remembered it, other than the wall paper, which had been stripped away and the walls painted a mint green. The lamp on her vanity shed light on bottles of fragrance, atomizers, and a pin cushion. Her collection of spoons from all the great cities of the world hung nearby.
At about sundown Ozzie went upstairs and rousted four jellyheads to make two rooms available to Moldenke and Salmonella, who remained in the kitchen eating scrapple.
The jellies came down the stairs yawning, unsteady, holding to the rail. When they shuffled into the brightly lit kitchen, they were almost blinded. Their eyes closed and they leaned against the wall. Ozzie said, “This is Brewster, who gardens; Lester, the mason; Charles, the plumber; and Frank, the painter.” The jellies smiled politely and rubbed their eyes. “And our guests are my old labor-organizing friend, Moldenke, and Salmonella, an orphan in his charge, or his companion, or girlfriend. I don’t know.”
“I’m a girl and I’m his friend,” Salmonella said, reaching for a handshake.
The jellies seemed to take pleasure in the act, holding her hand over long, and discharging drops of gel from their ear valves.
The mason said, “Hello. I’m very pleased to meet you. Sorry for the smell. We can’t help it. The valves leak.”
The gardener said, “Mr. Ozzie tells me you have apple seeds. That makes me very happy. We will start them in the greenhouse then plant the little saplings in the yard. We have a pile of compost out there and quite a bit of sawdust, but it will be years before we have apples.”
Salmonella beamed, fingering her sack of seeds. “I’m young enough to wait.”
Ozzie said to the jellies, “You’ll be sleeping in the shed tonight. Our guests need your rooms.”
“Guests?” Moldenke questioned. “This is my house.”
Ozzie poured Moldenke another shot of bitters. “Once we’re officially liberated, it’s just as much mine as it is yours. And these jellies will own it too. So we better learn to cooperate right now and be ready.”
“When will it happen?” Moldenke asked. “Is the liberation already underway? How do we know what to do or how to act?”
“It hardly matters,” Ozzie said. “We’ll do well here either way.”
“I’m going to bed,” Salmonella said.
Ozzie pointed to the stairs. “It’s the first one to the right at the top. I’ve changed the sheets. They get sticky with gel.”
Salmonella said her goodnights and went upstairs.
The four jellies held hands. Ozzie led them out the back door, saying “Good night, my friends.” When they had managed the steps down into the yard without falling, he shut and bolted the door. “There’s a radio in the shed and some cots. They’re perfectly happy to lie down and listen all night to rebroadcasts of Franklin’s best-played games. I’m telling you, Moldenke, under the circumstances, we have a good thing here. We’re practically self-sufficient.”
“I’m going for a walk,” Moldenke said. “I need to think about all this. Is the old Come On Inn still open?”
“I don’t know. Some taverns are staying open, some have closed.”
Moldenke walked a few blocks then caught a streetcar going to Broad Street. “I’m surprised the cars are still running,” he said to the conductor when he got on.
“No one’s told us to stop.”
“Do you take pass cards from Altobello?”
The conductor examined the Enfield Peters card. “I’ve heard of you, Mr. Peters. Take any seat you want. There’s hardly anybody riding the cars tonight. They’re all staying home. Nobody knows what’s happening.”
“I’ll get off at the nearest stop to the Come On Inn. Are they open?”
“I’ve seen the lights on.”
The stop was within sight of the Inn. Moldenke saluted the conductor. “Thanks.”
“Good night, Mr. Peters.”
The Come On Inn was quite the same as it had always been, the air stale, the floor covered with a layer of sawdust, the bite of Julep smoke stinging the nose.
Moldenke sat at the long bar. “What have you got?”
“We got jelly-made bitters. None of the real stuff. Can’t get that anymore.”
“I’ll have a double shot. Do you take pass cards?”
“Till further notice.”
Moldenke showed the Peters card. “I’m just back from Altobello.”
“You’re Enfield Peters?”
“Yes, the actor.”
“I saw you in, what’s that one? Somebody puked in the sink? They tried to figure out who did it.”
“Yeah, I was in that. It was the dishwasher who did it.”
“You don’t look like you did in the movie.”
“I’ve been deformed. It changed my face.”
There were other patrons moving closer to Moldenke, thinking he was the famous actor. They wanted to hear what he had to say. He began to enjoy playing Peters. Letting go of himself, he felt as Peters must have felt — healthy, handsome, tall, imposing. He welcomed the attention and the respect, no matter how shallow.
Then one of the patrons said, “He looks like a guy used to live around here, used to come in here. His name was Molinski or something.”
At that moment, a jellyhead carried a five-pound rat by the tail into the Inn. “Anybody want to buy a rat?” the jellyhead asked. When the barkeeper ordered him out, he dangled the rodent near Moldenke and allowed it to sink its teeth into his shoulder. Later, others at the bar said the animal that attacked Moldenke was eighteen inches long from its snout to the tip of its tail.