“Really?”
“Yes. And before we analyze them, might I say, that I heard about today, about your trouble with the tree and the tremendous fart.”
“From Gabe, I suppose.”
“Oh, from everyone. It was quite some joke, it was.”
“Grand.”
“But, if you will tell me your dreams, let me consider on it, maybe I can help you understand.”
“I don’t know.”
“Sure. Sure. Try me.”
“Well, there’s only one that concerns me, really scares me.
Zoob puffed his pipe faster, sending up a haze of smoke.
“That really stinks,” Bill said. “And isn’t that bad for you?”
“Of course, but at my age, why would I give a shit? I use a seven percent solution of oil and transmission fluid. The rags burn slower, and in their haze, I think big thinks, I do. And could it stink any worse than the whopper you cut loose with today, huh?”
“I’ll never live that down, will I?”
“Won’t be easy,” Gabe said.
“The dream?” Zoob said.
Bill told him about the dream, about the darkness and the falling and the smashing, and Zoob said, “When you are falling. What is it you smell?”
“Smell?”
“Yes. Do you smell anything? Hear anything? Taste anything?”
“Why no. It’s a dream.”
“Ah, but there are dreams where one can hear or smell or taste. Have you not had the dreams about the lady steam shovels, and how that feels and smells and tastes, with the after bite of steam on the tail pipe, huh, have you not?”
“I… I suppose.”
“Yes, of course, you can. You can smell things in a dream if there is something to smell.”
“Hope ya can’t smell thad fard in one,” Gabe said. “Thad would peel duh paint right off.”
“That’s enough,” Bill said.
“Well, then, my little friend, think this, do you remember anything in the darkness of your dream? Anything at all? Anything in the shadows?”
“No.”
“Ah, then we must resort to the hypnotism.”
“What?”
“Hypnotism. Now,” Zoob said rolling back a pace. “I’m going to swing my shovel back and forth, and I want you to watch, listen only to the sound of my voice, and watch the shovel please. There is a small, silver spot scraped near the center of it, and that’s what I want you to concentrate on… Ready?”
Bill watched the shovel swing back and forth and Zoob said soothing things and no one mentioned the fart and pretty soon Bill was feeling sleepy, a little dizzy, as if he might fall over, then he felt like he was in a tunnel, and the only light in the tunnel was the shiny spot on Zoob’s shovel, and the tunnel was swaying, and then it went still, and there was just the spot before him, like a beacon, and, Zoob’s voice, easy and soft and suggestive.
“Now, Little Bill, you are in the dream. All dark. Tell me now, what is happening in this falling dream? Tell me.”
“Well, let me see. It’s dark… That’s it. It’s dark.”
“Listen carefully, Little Bill. You are in this bad dream. And it’s dark—”
“And you’re in there wid thad fard,” Gabe said, and chuckled.
“Silence, Gabe,” Zoob said. “No more with the fart… Now, you are in the bad dream, in the dark, and you are falling. Are you there, Little Bill?”
“Yes,” Bill said. And he was in the dream all right. And it was dark. No little scrape of light visible. And he was falling. And he felt the old fear rise up out of the darkness and come over him in a rush.
“Shit,” Bill said.
“Now,” said Zoob, “you are falling, and you are feeling the shit feeling, and I want you to slow this fall, and I want you to look about you…It’s all right. You’ll be all right. You should not be scared this time. We have control over this dream, you and I, and you are falling slow and you can take the time to look about. You look about you now, and you listen, and you tell Zoob what it is you see and hear, or smell. You tell me everything, Little Bill, yes.”
“Yes… I… I am falling, and it’s dark, and I’m scared and I can see to my right that there’s a shape.”
“What is this shape?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“Yes. Yes, you do. We stop the fall. You hang in mid-air. You study the shape and it is…?”
“It’s a… It’s a Dave.”
“A Dave, huh? Ah hah. Go on, Little Bill.”
“He’s standing in the shadows… He’s getting around fine in the dark—”
“He familiar with the place,” Zoob said.
“Yes, it’s his home. There are all kinds of machines and gadgets there.”
“Like what?”
“A refrigerator, and there’s a little light. I guess I didn’t notice it before. The Dave is opening the refrigerator and taking something out and the light is coming from there.”
“The refrigerator light,” Zoob said. “He’s getting food. They are always with the food, which is why, over the years, you got the same driver, his ass gets heavy. It makes them blow up like a hot valve. But, go on, Little Bill.”
“He’s turning, his elbow is hitting something… Something on the stove, and it’s falling off.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Take yourself some closer.”
“I don’t want to.”
“It is quite all right, Little Bill. Go closer.”
“It’s a waffle iron.”
“No shit?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It is a waffle iron. Now that is some confusing business… Ah, ah… Okay, what else do you see, Little Bill?”
“Nothing. It’s all gone black.”
“Wake up.”
Bill opened his head lamps.
“Wow,” he said.
“Ain’t that some shit?” Zoob said. “One time, in the mirror, I hypnotize myself into thinking I am one big chicken. Tried to roost on top of the garage, but ended up pushing down the wall. Oh, the Daves were mad that day.”
“But… What about me?”
“You are the waffle iron.”
“Beg pardon.”
“The waffle iron and many things. Old metals. Busted parts. They were melted down to make you, and the memories of before, they are in the metal. Are at least certain memories. Like the fall. That was traumatic, and the memory, a little metal ghost, it stayed with the metal. The waffle iron, it must have become part of the mainframe that holds your memories. That is it, Little Bill. You remember the fall, and therefore, you dream of it and you fear it.”
“But I’m not the waffle iron. And now that I know, it’ll go away. Right?”
“Nah. You have to work through it.”
“How do I do that?”
“Don’t know.”
“But you’re the professor.”
“Well, I call myself that. But this, this is up to you, Little Bill. You have to sort of cinch up the old transmission and deal with it. And yes, knowing the source. That will help. You must overcome your fears, and when you do, the dreams will stop.”
Professor Zoob turned and rumpled away on his treads. Gabe said, “See, told ya he could help you… How about thad? Yer a sissy cause ya got a mashed waffle iron inside ya. Ain’t thad some shit? I’m glad I was made from good metal. Well, going to gid a lube job, if you know what I mean, so, hang tight, kid, and good luck.”
“Thanks, Gabe, I think,” Bill said, and Gabe went away.
Sitting alone in the corner, his shovel dipped, his head beams to the wall, Bill was surprised to feel a soft metallic touch. He turned, and there was Maudie.
“I know you were embarrassed today, Bill, but I want you to know, it’s only natural. A lot of fluid in the system, exertion. I wouldn’t feel too bad.”
“Well, I do… And you were laughing.”
“Yeah. Well, it was funny. On the outside, anyway. From yo
ur point of view, not so funny. It was just so loud and long, and that look on your face… I wasn’t laughing because I think you’re a loser. I mean, a fart like that, it kind of embarrasses everyone, and you’re always glad it’s the other guy, but, don’t feel too bad. I puked once. Oil all over the place, and there was a big chunk of rust in it. I was so humiliated.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Was it before I came here?”
“I was here a few days before you, and yes, it was.”
“Did everyone see it?”
“No. Only me, but I was still embarrassed.”
“That’s not exactly the same.”
“No. Yours was more humiliating, I admit, but, still, I was embarrassed, if just to myself. I mean yours was right out in front of God and everybody…”
“Yes. I know. Maudie, I’m going to go right to it. Is there anyway, you and me could get together?”
“You mean, together together?”
“I just want to get to know you. I like you. I’m not a bad guy…”
“I like you too.”
“Really?”
“Sure. Everyone in the barn, except Butch says you're nice.”
“No, shit?”
“No, shit.”
“Well, that’s swell, Maudie. Maybe, you know, sometime, after work, we could get together in the far corner of the garage. Maybe get our oil changed or something. Watch a little TV in the rec room afterwards. There’s a car chase movie on, the big new one about car wrecks and the fire department, LOTS OF CARS AND A DOZEN HOSES.”
“Oh, those cars. I’ve seen previews. They’re so sexy. So are the fire trucks. That’s some metal the cars are built from, isn’t it?”
“Actually, I don’t know cars and steam shovels go together—”
“Ah, jealous already and we haven’t even had our first date.”
“I guess… A little. I mean, how do you compete with movie cars?”
“That’s cute… Long as it doesn’t get out of hand. And listen, those movie cars, they’re always being remade and rebuffed and they don’t really run as fast as they show in the movie. I’m looking for the real deal, and you’re the real deal, I think. I’d sure like to find out for sure.”
“Gee, Maudie. That’s swell.”
“Remember, about the tree. That was a big one. It would take someone like Butch to push it over. For heaven’s sake, Bill, he’s three times your size. It’s not your fault.”
“Yeah… Yeah, you’re right.”
“You might want to drink a little less transmission fluid, though, you’re gonna be straining that hard. I mean… You know?”
“Sure. Of course. Good advice.”
“See you later.”
“Tomorrow? After work?”
“It’s a date.”
That night Bill slept and he dreamed, but it was not the dream about falling. Zoob had really helped him, and probably had no idea how much. In his dream he thought of Maudie. And it was a good dream, and they were warm and close and friendly, and spent quality time together, watching TV, having their oil changed, and, in the end, he mounted her like he was climbing an incline to a Rocky Mountain trailer park entrance.
But just as he was about to finish, he cut another one.
He awoke in a sweat.
He had swapped one bad dream for another.
He wasn’t falling anymore, but now he was afraid he was going to cut a big one at an inopportune moment.
But, hell, he had about as much chance of mounting Maudie, having any kind of relationship with her, as a bird had of finding a tree in a Taco Bell parking lot.
Morning came, and Bill tried to put a good face on it, smiled his rubber bumpers wide when he saw the beautiful Maudie being driven out of the barn. She waved her radio antennae at him, and he waved his back, and she was gone, out into the sunlight.
For a long moment, Bill feared he was not going to get another chance. Steam shovel after steam shovel was rolled outside, and still he set. No Dave to drive him.
But then, finally, his Dave showed up.
Dave came and climbed up on him. Bill cranked the engine without giving Dave time to do it.
“Wow, you’re raring to go,” Dave said. “Sorry, I was late. Wife felt frisky. Since that happens about once every six months, had to take advantage of it.”
They rolled outside and the sun was bright against the concrete. The team of shovels went past where they had worked before, started motoring along the road, puffing steam, cracking gravel under their treads.
They rolled along until the road rose up and the mountains gathered around them, and still they went up. Bill felt a strain in his motor, and he took a deep breath of steam, squirted it out, hunkered down and dug in with his treads. Up he went, carrying his Dave high and deep into the mountains along the concrete road. Bill tried not to look to his right, toward the edge of the road and the great fall that was there. The feelings he had in the dreams came back when he did. His insides trembled like a piston was blown. His nuclear pellets, his gas and oil engine, his back up steam engine, all seemed to miss a beat as he went up. And up. And up.
The road narrowed, and finally they came to where the road turned to clay, then ended up against the mountain.
Bill realized this was a spot where other shovels had been working. It was wide here. You could put four steam shovels across, digging. Digging open the mountain so the road could keep going up and Daves and their Sallys could ride in their cars carrying all their little Daves and Sallys.
Bill was not first in line, but well behind the first four that went to work, Butch and Maudie among them. Dave pulled him in line with three other shovels, and killed his motor. Bill watched Maudie as she worked, the way the sun hit the metal of her shiny ass, the way her tail pipe wiggled, and he was amazed and grateful for her fine construction.
He watched Butch dig and toss the dirt, and was impressed in spite of himself. What a powerful machine. He liked the way the cables rolled under his metal skin and the way he could lay back on the rear of his treads and lift himself up. And he liked the way Butch cussed as he worked, digging, insulting the mountain.
He looked around him and saw Gabe working alongside the road, on little jobs, like making the road wider for more concrete to be laid. He thought of Zoob, back in the barn. Did he wish he was out here, digging?
Most likely.
It was the dream of every good construction shovel.
The digging went on and the day got hotter. His metal grew warm and he could feel the oils, the liquids inside of him, starting to grow warm and loose. He lifted his head beams and looked at the sky. A single bird soared against it, and the blue of the sky faded as a cloud of pollution, the sign of progress, rolled across it, gray as cobwebbed garage corner. He thought: If I could shoot a rifle, like a Dave, I bet I could pop that goddamn bird.
Then Dave started his motor again.
Now Bill and three others took the place of the four who had been in line. As Maudie rolled past him, she winked a headlight. Then Butch rolled past him, said, “You just a Tinker Toy.”
Bill gritted his gears and went up against the mountain with the other three, and he began to dig. He thought: Dig, boy, dig. And don’t cut one. Die before you do that. Dig. Dig this mountain down. Dig like you want to flatten the entire earth. Which, actually, seemed like a fairly noble ambition. Making all the world flat and covered in concrete.
But then what would he do?
Why, tear up the concrete, of course. Like Gabe had said. It had to wear out, crack and buckle. Tear it up and scrape it into piles and let them put down more concrete. Oh, yes, Gabe was right. This was the life. Fuck the earth. Fuck the wildlife. Fuck it all. To dig was to live.
And so he dug and he dug, then, suddenly, Dave was wheeling him about. He thought at first he had done something wrong, but realized he was growing low on power. That he had to pull back, like the first four. Maybe get a new pellet to refire the steam. That
was it. He had done fine.
He smiled as he clattered tiredly back through the line and another four moved up.
So the day went, three rows of four, taking turns, twelve steam shovels working against the mountain, and Gabe working the side of the road. And finally, mid-day, the Daves pulled back all the shovels and stopped, had them set alongside the road.
The Daves went about checking oil and fluids and such, and old Gabe, he was sent up to the front to shovel the bits of dirt that remained, scraping it down to the clay, which was a job that made him happy.
Then, the mountain came down.
It came down with a slight rumble, then a big rumble, and Bill looked up and saw Gabe look up, and the mountain went over Gabe and Bill could hear the sound of metal bending, then there was nothing but a great dust cloud.
Butch, who was behind him now, rolled forward suddenly, without benefit of his Dave, said, “Man, did you see that shit there. Old Gabe, he done fucked now. One less old geezer in the garage. And that ain’t bad.”
Bill wheeled. He swung his shovel and hit Butch with everything he had. And Butch, well, it didn’t bother him much.
Butch swung his shovel too, and just as it hit Bill, making Bill slide back on his treads, Bill heard Maudie’s voice.
“You got to get Gabe out from under there, boys. You got to.”
“Ain’t gonna dig him out unless I got to,” said Butch. “He nothing to me, he ain’t.”
“You’re right, Maudie,” said Bill, and he hummed up his engine and rolled forward. His Dave tried to work the controls, to make Bill do what he wanted, but Bill ignored him. I got free will, he thought. I can do what I want, and he went at the dirt and began to dig. He dug and he dug, and eventually he saw a bit of scarred metal, and he dug faster, and finally, finally, there was Gabe.
Or what was left of him. He was squashed and his old shovel had been knocked completely off. Oil dribbled all over the earth.
“Gabe!” Bill said.
Weak as a busted oil line, Gabe said, “Thanks, boy. But ain’t no use. I’m a goner. Fugged from bucket to ass end.”
The Killer's Game Page 13
