Once again, good-by.
S.C.
"I never said that I was going to forsake the rest of the world," thought Staefler. "I would have given them a rough time if I had been that old lady. But I'm not an old lady. I'd like to see them try something like that with me, soon, before motives of love and kindness take over." Suddenly Staefler paused. He gasped. He felt strange; the alienness of the feeling was very unpleasant. "Oh, my God, help me!" he thought. Deep inside, Staefler could feel it happening: love and kindness. He was horrified. Like an amiable cancer, it was gradually, inexorably making Staefler nice.
* * *
Staefler trailed his hand in the green water of the lagoon. The gondola swept over the water like a gull skimming the surface in graceful flight. There were no waves or ripples to jar the boat. Staefler closed his eyes and imagined that he was dead, that he was being ferried across the Styx, that in a few moments he would have to confront something and give an account of his life on earth. He began preparing a few preliminary notes. "I was the best of souls. I was the worst of souls," he thought. He smiled. He opened his eyes. He was in a black coffin, a box shrouded for mourning, and he was heading for the cemetery on the island of San Michele. The gondola's black prow surged forward. There was only the splash of the oar. Staefler could not even hear the Arab kid's breathing.
"Who's that?" said Staefler. He saw a motorboat heading for the same island but approaching from another angle. He had not been aware that there were other utopiates in Venice. "Why not, though?" he thought. "I stay in the palace and in the neighborhood of St. Mark's. This other joker is probably spending the time in some other part of the city. I wonder if he or she plays miniature golf."
It was apparent that the motorboat would reach the small island before Staefler and the Arab kid. "Blast," thought Staefler. The only reason the other person would be going to San Michele was to check with the Utopia 3 center there. Staefler would have to wait until the other's business was finished. Staefler didn't like that. Staefler didn't like to stand in line.
The boy steered the gondola up to the quay. Staefler climbed out of the boat, his back hurting and his legs stiff. He headed for the cemetery, where the office had been set up. The other person was a young man dressed in blue work shirt, denim jeans, and bare feet. Staefler was not pleased with the young man's appearance. He followed the other to the Utopia 3 center, not far from the grave of Frederick Rolfe, Baron Corvo. This site had been chosen by the two staff members. The "office" consisted of a folding card table and two canvas-backed chairs. Each of the two employees worked eight hours every day; there was no one at the center from midnight until eight in the morning. Staefler didn't know what would happen if he had an emergency during the early morning hours.
The young man ahead of Staefler stood by the card table and waited for the female Utopia 3 representative to finish mixing a pitcher of red Kool-Aid. "You drink that stuff warm?" asked Staefler.
The staff member looked up, startled. "You got ice?" she asked. "I drink everything warm these days. Ice melts, you know."
"I, uh, wanted to talk to you about something," said the young man in the work shirt.
"Sure," said the woman. "Sit down. How long have you been in Venice?"
"I just got here day before yesterday. It's a terrific place."
"Marvelous," said the woman. "Have you been to Murano? That's the bigger island over that way. Wonderful glass there. Would you like some warm Kool-Aid?"
"No," said the young man, "not now. But thanks. What I wanted to talk to you about was the possibility of getting some cocaine, some hash, and some blue bombers. I haven't been able to find anything like that and I've been looking for months. Even in drugstores. I can't understand the labels. I took these things I thought was speed, but all they did was make me pee green for a couple of days."
The woman stared at the young man in silence. "You know that Dr. Waters is very much against that sort of thing in Utopia 3," she said at last.
"No," said the young man, "I didn't know. I thought we could have anything we wanted."
"The idea of this project is to develop you to a point where your own conscience prevents such a thing."
"Yes, yes, I know," said the man. "But maybe I haven't gotten to that stage yet. Until I do, can I get some hash?"
"I'm afraid all that I can do is suggest that you put the request in writing, and I'll forward it to the proper department of the governing board."
"Well, thanks," said the man. "That was the only thing that I wanted to see you about. Other than that, though, I'm having a great time. I really mean it."
"That's nice," said the woman. She turned away from him and looked at Staefler. "Good morning," she said. "Can I help you?"
"You understand," said the young man, "I really, really love it. I don't want Dr. Waters to think I'm just playing around. I know what Utopia 3 means and how I'm supposed to act. I'm a much better person than I used to be."
"You still have room to grow," said the woman icily.
"I know that. And I'm really looking forward to it. I hope you'll tell Dr. Waters that."
"Can I help you?" she asked Staefler.
"Yes," he said. "I was wondering about the possibility of getting some technical advice. See, I have this pinball machine. I trucked it all the way from Austria. But there's no electricity. I was thinking that I could hook it up to a generator, and I could ran the generator with a wood-burning steam engine. But I know that all those electrical things have to be just right, and I've never had any training like that. Maybe someone at the lodge or somewhere could help me."
"A steam-powered pinball machine?" asked the woman.
"Yes," said Staefler. "I just want help with the volts, and the amps, and the ohms, and like that."
"Have you attended church regularly?"
Staefler was surprised by the question. "Sure," he said. "I live right by St. Mark's. I go in there every day."
"Wonderful," said the woman.
"I go to church, too," said the young man, who had moved around the table. He leaned against a marble pedestal that supported a stained marble cherub. "I go to church wherever I am. Not every day like this guy, but at least once a week. And I always leave a few jewels in the poor box. And I always tell God how sorry I am. You could tell Dr. Waters that for me."
The woman ignored him. "Do you have a balanced and varied diet?"
"I guess so," said Staefler.
"Take good care of your teeth? Keep your feet dry? Get plenty of rest? Wait at least one hour after a heavy meal before going swimming?"
"All of those, for sure."
"Fine," said the woman, "very good. I'll send in your request. You should have an answer soon."
"Thank you," said Staefler. He took the Arab kid by the hand and turned to walk back to the gondola.
"Wait," called the woman. "You can't leave. You have business to finish. You have to report back to the orientation lodge."
Staefler turned around. "Back to the lodge?" he cried. "Why?"
"Because if you don't go you'll be thrown out of Utopia 3. You've demonstrated that what you have found in the program has not been sufficient. You must report for more remedial courses."
"What about this creep?" Staefler said, pointing to the young man in the work shirt.
"He's all right. He's admitted that his weakness was wrong. He voluntarily offered to correct his behavior."
Staefler was furious. "And I have to go back to that stupid Girl Scout camp?"
"Those are the rules," said the woman.
"When?"
"Now. Today. They'll be expecting you."
Staefler struggled to keep his anger under control. "Do you suppose I can have a map? I don't want to get lost and keep them waiting."
"Surely," said the woman, smiling brightly. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"
Staefler had a perfect reply, but he didn't use it.
* * *
Five days later, after a leisurely drive th
rough the western part of Utopia 3, Staefler and the Arab kid arrived at the orientation lodge. He was met at the obelisk by a chocolate minibus driven by Staefler's big sister, Edith Wangelman. She seemed pleased to see him. "Get in the bus, Bo," she said, "and we'll get going. You won't have to start your re-orientation until tomorrow morning, so if we hurry we can make the nature hike. Mr. McCaren is taking us out to look at budding foliage."
"Swell," said Staefler.
"Aw, come on, Bo. Get in the spirit of things."
"It's all right, Edith," he said. "I just kind of miss Venice. I miss the rotten smell. I miss the pigeons. I miss my Tintoretto."
"I know how you feel. Sometimes I kind of miss Trenton, too."
They drove to the lodge and Staefler and the Arab kid were assigned to a room. Staefler declined the invitation to go along on the nature hike, giving as his excuse that he had to study up for his tests the next morning.
On the desk in the dormitory room was a colorful sign, a triangular standing thing like the ones that advertise the fried clams in a Howard Johnson's. The sign asked Staefler in cheerful colors if he had donated his estate to Utopia 3, and if not, why not. It was intended to make him feel like a cheap, self-centered criminal, but it failed. Staefler remembered what Sandor Courane's handbills had told him. He covered the sign with his underwear and socks, put on his swimming trunks, and went down to the pool. One of the next day's tests was to see if he could swim the length of the pool and swim another length on his back.
* * *
"You people have been asked to return to the lodge for several different reasons," said a woman in a green Utopia 3 sweatshirt. "You have shown behavior which has been judged below the standards we expect. So you're each going to be given a test to see whether or not you will be allowed to remain in the Utopia 3 pilot program." The woman took some papers from a briefcase.
Staefler looked around. There were three other people in the room taking the test, two men and one woman. Each of them looked as nervous and guilty as Staefler felt. He wondered what their crimes had been. The Utopia 3 proctor was passing out thin booklets with blue covers. "Take one and write your name and social security number on the front," she said. "These are your answer booklets. Now here are the test papers. Each one of them has a number. I want you to put the number of your test paper on the top line of the first page in your answer book. Understand? All right. The test consists of one question. The question is in two parts. So you will have two answers in your answer booklet. Got that? Great. You can take as long as you like to finish. Remember that your future depends on your test score. Any cheating will be dealt with severely. When you finish I want you to come up to my desk and leave the answer book and the test paper in separate piles. Then you may go to your dorm room or to the cafeteria or anywhere else on the lodge grounds. You will learn the results of your test tomorrow morning. Any questions? No? Then you may begin."
Staefler was anxious. He felt his abdominal muscles contract, and his throat was so dry his tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth. He looked across the aisle to where the Arab kid sat. He had been given an answer book but no test paper.
"Mr. Staefler," said the proctor in a stern voice, "keep your eyes on your own desk. If you are too bored here, we can arrange to send you back to the other side of the lodge's property. Do you understand?"
"Yes, ma'am," he said, embarrassed.
"Fine. Now get to work."
Staefler gazed at his test paper, but he couldn't make the letters form into words. He was too upset and too angry. "Stupid broad," he thought. After a moment he settled down enough to read through the text of the exam. It said:
Three workmen named Smith, Jones, and Brown were engaged by a farmer to construct a barn. They set to work immediately, and after a time the farmer observed that Smith worked three and one-half times as fast as Brown, and Jones worked one and one-sixth times as fast as Smith. The farmer, curious why this should be so, questioned his employees. "It's easy," said Jones, the fastest worker. "I come from Johnstown, where everyone works as fast as he can, hoping to impress his employer and make better wages."
"Heck," said Brown, the slowest. "I come from Blairsville. We believe that quality counts more than speed. I may work slowly, but my finished work is better than either of these other men."
"And I," said Smith, "come from Springfield, where speed and craftsmanship are equally valued." The farmer, intrigued by their honesty, noted the facts of their statements and walked away, shaking his head.
After three days of work a halt was called, as the farmer decided that he wanted a watering trough built within the barn. The three men stopped work after a half day's labor on this third day. The farmer gave them precise instructions. "I want this trough to be built just this way," he said. "It should be ten feet long, two feet wide, and two feet deep. There should be a water inlet at one end, which allows water to run in at a rate of sixty-five and one-quarter gallons per hour. There should be a drain at the opposite end, which removes water at a rate of seventy-six and three-eighths gallons per hour."
"But if that is the case," said one of the workmen, who had red hair, "then surely the water will drain away after a certain amount of time."
"Yes," said the farmer, "but I want another faucet exactly in the center, which will be adjustable so that I can regulate the level of water at a constant depth of one and three-quarters feet."
"It would be impossible to guess how fast the water must enter from that faucet, wouldn't it?" asked one of the workmen, whose wife's name was Sandra.
"I don't think so," said one of the others, whose favorite food was macaroni and cheese.
"How long do you think it would take to build the trough?" asked the farmer. "That is, assuming that you could let your other jobs rest until you've completed it?"
"I think I can give a good estimate," said Brown. "If Jones and I worked on it alone we could finish it in three hours more than if Smith and I worked on it."
"And if I worked on it all by myself," said one of the others, whose hair was black and who drove a Ford, "it would take eleven and one-half hours longer than if the other two worked on it together."
"And if all three of you worked on it together?" asked the farmer.
"Well, we should be able to finish it up in five hours less than if Jones and Smith worked on it alone," said Brown, who played the drums. At that point, being lunchtime, one of the workmen went to his auto, a Chevrolet, and took out his trumpet, which he always played at lunchtime to the delight of the others.
"Perhaps the reason you're so slow, Brown," said one of the workmen, whose favorite lunch was chicken salad sandwiches, "is that you're so old."
"I'm not that old," said Brown, lighting up a cigar. "If the ages of my children were added together and subtracted from mine, they'd equal exactly the rate of flow of that center faucet the farmer wants to install."
"Well," said Smith, eating his favorite lunch, a salami sandwich, "how many children do you have?"
"Two," said Brown, "a boy and a girl."
"And how old are they?" asked a workman, who played the guitar.
"One is three-fifths the age of the other; the second child is twice the age of my dog. The three combined are three times as old as I am, less twenty-two years."
"And how old are you?" asked Jones, who had blond hair.
"I am one year more than four times as old as just the ages of the boy and girl combined," said Brown.
The workman who was lighting up a cigarette said, "Not to change the subject, but I lied when I said what town I came from."
"So did I," said Brown, "but I know that one of us actually does come from Blairsville, and another from Springfield."
"Yes," said the driver of a Volkswagen, "I know that the third of us comes from Johnstown."
"Perhaps we should add an auxiliary drain, in case the first one gets clogged," said the workman who played the guitar and liked macaroni and cheese.
"A great idea!" said Jones
, who really came from Springfield.
"Then what size should the auxiliary drain be?" asked the workman whose age was thirty-seven.
"A large drain would be disadvantageous," said the man who lived in Johnstown and smoked a pipe.
"Exactly," said Brown, who had two children whose ages combined were fourteen times the rate needed for the auxiliary drain and one and three-sevenths times the combined ages of Jones's children. "But I don't know how to figure the proper size of the auxiliary drain."
"We could look it up in a book," said Jones, whose children had been kidnapped in infancy by gypsies at exactly the same time as Brown's younger child was being born.
"Which book?" asked the resident of Blairsville, who had no children.
At this point the farmer interrupted the workmen's lunch with the happy news that Jones's children had been traced to a brothel in the Dominican Republic. After a small celebration the men returned to work. It took them three-twenty seconds as much time to complete the trough as it did to finish the rest of the barn. If the man who drove a Volkswagen hated chicken salad and lived in Johnstown, if the man who smoked cigarettes was forty-two years old, a figure representing six times the amount of time worked by the blond man (if the total work time on the barn was divided proportionately by rates) then:
1.) How old was Jones's surviving child?
2.) If the Church's beliefs that God is omnipotent and benevolent are true, how can there be evil in the world? For if God created evil, He is not benevolent, and if He could not prevent it, then He is not omnipotent. Discuss.
IF YOU DO NOT KNOW THE ANSWER TO EITHER QUESTION, DO NOT GUESS. A PERCENTAGE OF YOUR WRONG ANSWERS WILL OF SUBTRACTED FROM YOUR RIGHT ANSWERS AS A PENALTY FOR GUESSING.
Staefler was paralyzed by the test questions. He sat for nearly half an hour after he read them, unable to make a response. One of the men and the woman handed in their booklets and test papers and left. The proctor was obviously wishing she were somewhere else. She watched the other man, Staefler, and the Arab kid. After another few minutes the Arab kid handed in his answer booklet and left. Staefler felt humiliated. The other man left the test room. There was just the proctor and Staefler, looking into each other's eyes. "Listen, Staefler," she said, "is it all worth it?"
Death in Florence Page 8
