by Sladek, John
Fall. Aitkin, on his left, sold tickets on a football pool, the Army-Navy game. Andor bought one ticket, number 0 – 0.
Each day, when he opened his desk drawer, the ticket lay looking up at him with its blank spectacles. Long after the game was over, weary of its inspection, Andor threw the ticket into the wastebasket to the right of his desk.
Winter. Jurgens, in front of him, seemed to suffer from a severe sinus infection. Another man in another department was said to have suffered a heart attack from shovelling snow, but Andor was never able to check the truth of this story. Jurgens brought a new portable radio to work after the holiday. Playing it was not possible, however, for it interfered with the office’s normal recorded music, which played continuously.
Spring. Cleaning men came to clean all the office’s typewriters and calculators. There occurred conversations about baseball statistics in which Andor seldom participated, but which he never avoided.
Summer. Andor came eligible for two weeks’ vacation. After examining brochures and weighing various possibilities, he chose a distant resort near the sea, packed two suitcases, and departed from the great bus terminal.
The great bus terminal was as brightly lit as any office, though its ceiling was much higher. People moved in small flocks across the quiet, polished floor from ticket counters to platforms, from platforms to luggage counters, or from luggage counters to exits. Excitement pervaded their noisy murmur and quick, orderly movements. Andor purchased a ticket in the shape of along, folded strip made up of numerous coupons.
He looked at a television screen connected to a camera that elsewhere scanned a list of departures; thus he found the right platform for his bus. With minutes to spare, Andor gave his large suitcase to a platform attendant, who stored it in the bowels of a silvery bus with a number of other suitcases and a bicycle tyre. He closed the bowels and locked them with a silvery crank.
Andor allowed the driver to tear one coupon off his ticket, mounted the steps, and located an empty seat, three back from the driver. Andor sat next to the window of blue glass, after jamming his smaller suitcase in the overhead rack. Removing a folded magazine from his pocket, he began relaxing, as a white-haired man sat next to him. As he relaxed, Andor recalled all these actions with a kind of ‘pleasure’.
Now the bus emerged from the tunnel into blue light and crossed a bridge. The air conditioning hummed, concealed speakers played a medley of show tunes, blue girders and factories flitted by. This was not a familiar part of the city to Andor, but seeing it caused him no panic. It was obvious from the bus’s speed and from the driver’s sure motions that all was going according to plan.
Near the outskirts of the city the bus stopped for ten minutes at a glass-walled restaurant with a spire or steeple. Where the cross or rooster should be was a weathervane showing a nursery rhyme, Simple Simon. Inside were long rows of booths upholstered in pink and green leatherette. The waitress who brought Andor’s coffee was a thin redhead with bad nails and teeth. She wore a uniform of pink-and-green gingham. The coffee was too hot for him to drink before the bus departed.
There was a small rest room in the rear of the bus, marked ‘Toilet’. Andor walked back to it and washed his hands in the tiny sink. On the way to his seat, he noticed that a few servicemen were aboard the bus. Now he recalled seeing a great many servicemen in the great bus terminals, as well as several persons in religious habits.
Now he perceived that there were forty other people on the bus besides himself: two family groups consisting of man, pregnant woman, and small child, all speaking a foreign language; two elderly women and two young women in black religious habits; two young servicemen in tan uniforms and three others in white uniforms; six men of middle age carrying worn briefcases; three men of about twenty-eight carrying new attaché cases; a florid-faced drunken man of indeterminate age who addressed an occasional remark to the air in front of him; a cowboy and a thin woman who looked very like him, either his sister or his wife; one young man and two young women equipped with knapsacks and expensive casual clothes; two large women of middle age, who smelled bad; one young man in a college sweater; four very old men and three very old women, the latter wearing identical hats.
The bus moved past blue fields of plants Andor could not identify. He intended to read an article in the travel magazine in his lap about the resort to which he was going. He would read the article slowly, anticipating and savouring.
‘Are you going far?’ asked the man beside him. He had white hair and held an attaché case in his lap, upon which he now spread a copy of the same travel magazine Andor was holding. The copy was open to the article on Andor’s resort, as the stranger pointed out when Andor named the place he was going. Andor opened his own copy and began reading.
All the hotels at this resort maintained their own ballrooms for nightly dancing, but in addition there were public dances at the popular boardwalk pavilion and clambakes on the beach. Each hotel featured a heated pool, so that even in coldest weather – although the article assured him the weather was never really cold – one could immerse one’s body in warm blue liquid and glide silently about in the depths, safe from the gelid moon. What a joke, Andor thought (repressing the thought at once), if someone were to put jello in that blue pool!
The thought was shocking and foreign to him, like an object surgically inserted into his brain. He glanced down to make sure his tie was securely clipped to the front of his shirt.
There were beach facilities and equipment for many water sports, including sailing, skiing, surfing, water polo, rowing, and deep-sea fishing. There was an impressive list of restaurants, bars, and clubs. The vicinity boasted a number of places of scenic or historic merit. It occurred to him that the man beside him article at the same time, and a disturbing thought burst like caviar in Andor’s mind:
‘Every person who reads the same magazine is the same person.’
He was confused: had he actually thought this aloud, or had the man next to him spoken it? He stole a glance to see, but the stranger was just getting up to go to the rest room. Before he returned, the bus stopped at a large, elegant restaurant by the side of the interstate.
Andor found his appetite increased when he hurried through the hot, sunny, pink air of the outside to enter the blue-green coolness through a big glass door. As in the bus, concealed speakers played muted popular music constantly. Seating himself on a pink-and-green leatherette seat before a table of pale wood-grained plastic, Andor opened the giant menu.
Without much delay, he chose the house speciality, meat loaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, creamed corn, bread and butter. The bread consisted of one slice of white, one of whole wheat, wrapped together in clear plastic; the butter was a foil-wrapped cube.
Andor ordered coffee with cream. The cream was in a tiny tetrahedron of thick paper coated with impermeable plastic; there were two paper envelopes of sugar which Andor ignored.
When he had finished his meal (and it went down remarkably fast, except for the coffee), Andor found himself still hungry, so he ordered a dish of strawberry ice cream.
After the waitress had taken away the waxy dinner plate, and before she had brought his dessert, he had time to examine the paper place mat before him. It depicted the United States, a network of pink lines (‘Interstates’) and green lines (‘Tollways’). They seemed veins and arteries, and he was even able to imagine tiny corpuscular cars nudging along them from coast to coast. The restaurant chain’s name arched across the top of the map, in giant green letters, followed by the words, ‘The Wonderful World of Food’. At various points on the map were tiny replicas of the chain’s familiar spire, each one marking the location of a single ‘Eating Palace’.
There was nothing else of interest on the mat but a large spot of gravy near one edge. For an instant he had the crazy notion of swiping up this spot with his finger and licking it down, but he at once realized how foolish this would look. Nevertheless the impulse remained strong until he received the dish of pi
nk ice cream, and with it the pale green check.
As he paid the check, Andor bought a bag of the restaurant’s own brand of caramels and a consumer magazine. Back in the bus he dozed for perhaps an hour.
A light rain had begun streaking the blue windows diagonally when he awoke. Otherwise the landscape seemed unchanged. Large green-and-white signs marked exits and interchanges; shadows of overpasses flashed overhead; an occasional billboard announced some distant casino or hotel; a row of red signs advertised shaving cream:
Beards grow faster
In the grave
Take it with you –
The light rain stopped without his noticing. The man next to him was asleep, and now Andor could see, in the fading afternoon light, his creased forehead and sagging, slightly bristled jowls. Andor did not like to look at this face. He began to read interesting performance reports comparing three new cars; he ate caramels. The bus came through a tollgate and entered the driveway of another restaurant of the same chain.
‘There will be a thirty-minute stop here for dinner,’ the driver announced. ‘Please remember the number of your bus, 3350.’ He spoke through an electronic amplifier that broadcast his voice throughout the length of the bus.
‘This is where I get out,’ said the man next to Andor. ‘I’m here to check the books. So long.’ He climbed out of the bus and went into an unmarked door just to one side of the big glass entrance. Another bus drew up as Andor disembarked. Several middle-aged women in dark glasses stepped down from it and helped one another inside.
While Andor did not feel particularly hungry after having finished half his bag of caramels, he nevertheless ordered the house speciality, to avoid being hungry later. The speciality was pot roast and escalloped potatoes, with creamed corn. As soon as he had eaten it and drunk a soft drink, Andor felt slightly hungry, as if the process of eating had stimulated his appetite by some obscure chemical means. He quickly ordered a piece of pie from the glass case on the lunch-counter, pie of some unknown dark berry, and a glass of milk. There was barely time to bolt it down and get back to bus number 3350.
A younger, thinner driver was now in charge of the bus. He tore a coupon off each passenger’s ticket. Out the blue windows, the land and sky were dim purple. The man who checked books did not come back aboard.
When Andor put on the reading light to begin his newly bought detective novel, he saw something on the floor at his feet. It was the travel magazine, either his copy or the one belonging to the book-keeper. Andor picked it up and quickly reread the article on his destination.
In the amusement park there were thrilling rides – including the Octopus, the Ferris wheel and the roller coaster – colourful games of skill and chance, curios and souvenirs and a beer garden with an authentic German band. It was near the amusement park that the Aquatic Festival was held each summer – including the famous Aqua Follies – and Andor was glad he had planned to arrive at the resort in time for these colourful pageants previewed for him in the travel article. Here were golden girls riding water skis in formation, coloured lights turning their wakes to purple, crimson, old rose, and azure. Here were yacht races in the glaring sun, tilted sails turning to translucent, delicately fluted shells. Here were giant flowers formed, on the floodlit water, of naked girls swimming toe to toe in unison. Here were hydrofoil races and moonlight cruises, fancy diving and fireworks.
Finished with the magazine, Andor shoved it into the dark niche beneath the seat ahead. He would never look into this niche again, and in time, it would be cleaned by someone he would not see.
Nothing at all could now be seen out the windows, but for an occasional blue light that moved slowly past. Andor opened the detective novel and read it up to the point at which the detective was struck in the head by an unknown assailant. The bus driver switched off all interior lights, and Andor composed himself for sleep, sprawling diagonally across two seats. He continued to worry about the detective novel, which seemed to involve a case of mistaken identity.
Andor awoke once in the night, when the bus stopped for fifteen minutes at a restaurant with a glass front entrance and green-and-pink interior. Andor had a cup of coffee.
At eight o’clock, the bus pulled into another great bus terminal. There was a forty-five minute stop for breakfast. Passengers were requested to take all their belongings with them, for the journey would continue in a different vehicle. Andor took his two suitcases into the terminal and checked them in a steel locker with a secure lock.
There were over a dozen servicemen and two or three clergymen waiting for buses in the terminal. The clergymen strolled about or read breviaries. Most of the servicemen lounged on benches, trying to sleep, though some slouched up, reading hot-rod magazines. Andor entered the terminal restaurant, sat in a pink-and-pale-green leatherette seat before a table of wood-grained plastic, and opened the giant menu.
After a breakfast of pancakes and syrup, he retrieved his suitcases and shaved in the terminal men’s room. On the way out of the city, the new bus, number E-4799, passed a number of used-car lots, their plastic propellers spinning in the fresh morning breeze, or what Andor imagined to be a fresh morning breeze. Looking at them gave his heart a lift.
Before Andor opened his book to read, the bus was rolling along the turnpike, and through the concealed speakers came a sprightly morning song.
By mid-morning, things had changed. Andor left off reading the detective novel, finding he had read it before. He was sure it had once had a different title, or at least a different cover picture. Disgusted, he shoved the book into the pocket on the back of the seat ahead of him. In doing so he discovered a worn copy of a popular news picture magazine. It contained an interesting article on the very resort he was going to, as well as a feature on ancient Egypt, ‘Land of the Pharaohs’. By the time he had digested both of these, it was time for the lunch stop at a familiar spired restaurant.
‘Going far?’ asked the salesman who eased into the seat beside him later that afternoon. Andor named the resort he was bound for, and the stranger whistled. ‘Vacation?’
‘That’s right. Two fabulous weeks in the sun,’ said Andor.
‘Yes, I’ve been there five times myself. Great place. Lot of women on vacation, bored, you know. One thing leads to another: a dip in the pool, a drink in the hotel bar …’
They exchanged several pleasant words about the resort, and the salesman confirmed many things Andor had read in the travel and news magazines, and in a travel brochure: the place was expensive, but worth it.
The salesman took down his ample case and got off at the next city, where the bus once more changed drivers and another coupon was taken from Andor’s ticket. It seemed as if the number of coupons remaining had not diminished; the ticket looked as long as ever.
Andor napped as he finished digesting his lunch of hamburger steak, french fries, and cole slaw. He got off the bus at dinnertime hungry enough to order creamed dried beef on toast, steamed potatoes, garden peas, and coffee. This time he debated whether or not to order dessert: he was hungry, but he was not getting enough exercise. At first he ordered apple pie à la mode, then changed it to plain apple pie. After paying the pale, green check, he returned to leave a coin on the wood-grained plastic table.
The next stop was after midnight at another restaurant of the same chain. Andor thought he glimpsed the book-keeper eating and reading a newspaper in another part of the large restaurant. It was only when the white-haired man looked up that Andor saw he was a cleric, and a complete stranger.
After dinner Andor walked around outside. The evening was chilly and damp. After ten minutes he began to feel uneasy. Five minutes later his uneasiness had grown to a mild panic. He was relieved when the other passengers came out of the restaurant and began boarding the bus, and he could join them. What would he have said to the book-keeper if it had been he indeed?
The drizzle lifted as Andor woke, moving his shoulders to ease their stiffness. Despite a night of indigestion and strange un
derwater dreams, he was content this morning. This was his favourite time of day, the purple hours just before dawn. The bus stopped for fuel at a kind of depot-restaurant out on the turnpike, far from civilization, where a dozen other buses nudged up to the concrete building like piglets at a sow. After dozing over a cup of coffee, Andor tried to board the wrong bus. Though it sat in the exact position he recalled it sitting in before, the driver was now tall and grey-haired rather than fat and red-haired. He asked Andor to see his ticket, then told him he was on the wrong bus.
‘This is number E-2842, and you came in on number E4799, over on the other side of the building. Better hurry up and see if you can still catch it.’
Andor saw his mistake at once. He had entered the restaurant by one door and left by another on the opposite side. He now ran back in through the glass doors, past the rows of empty pink-and-green leatherette booths, and out the proper door. The driver was just starting the engine as Andor bolted up the steps and back to his warm seat. Even though the danger was past, it took him several minutes to recover himself from panic.
That morning Andor divided between watching the billboards advertising tyres and distant casinos and reading the travel brochure describing his resort. At lunch he ate roast turkey and creamed potatoes, cranberry sauce and wax beans. Dessert was chocolate pudding.
His hotel, the brochure informed him, had a ballroom with dancing nightly, a cabaret, a restaurant, and a heated floodlit swimming pool. Even in coldest weather – although the weather was never really cold, the brochure assured him – he could slide into the warm blue liquid and glide silently about, safe from the gelid moon. It seemed to him almost as if he had been there already.
