Gather Yourselves Together

by Philip K. Dick

  Barbara made herself as small as she could in the chair and tried to concentrate on the magazine.

  Time passed. She glanced up at the clock on the control room wall. It was almost ten. Did the program end at ten? Verne had not looked at either of them since he had first seen this girl. He knew her; that was certain. But how well did he know her? She was waiting for him. That was obvious. She was not going to go away.

  At five minutes of ten the other announcer came back through the waiting room.

  “Hello, Teddy,” he said to the girl. Teddy—Was that her name? Has she heard Verne mention her? She could not remember; there was so much of the trip she did not remember. The girl seemed at home here in the station. She knew the announcer and he knew her. Did that mean she worked here? The announcer appeared in the control room, behind the glass. He put a hand on Verne’s arm, leaning over him to see the script. The last record from Verne’s stack was coming to an end.

  “Well, that ties up another Potluck Party for tonight,” Verne’s voice came. “We’ll be back again next week with more of the same. And remember; there’s a fine combo playing right now at the Tied-Down Club. If you want to hear some first-rate creative experiments in the—”

  He finished, and the theme came on, some progressive piece she did not know. The other announcer sat down at the board.

  Verne gathered up his records and papers into a stack again. He put on his coat slowly, pausing at the control room door.

  Then very carefully he put down the records and got his pipe out of his coat pocket. He filled it with tobacco from a leather pouch. His hands were shaking. She could see them shaking through the glass. He snapped on a lighter and lit his pipe. Then he returned the lighter to his pocket and picked up his load. He disappeared from the control room.

  The girl Teddy got to her feet. Barbara’s heart began to thump again. She was frightened. She put down the magazine and stood up, too. Her heart was beating so loudly that she could not get her breath. Teddy glanced at her and smiled, a thin little smile.

  The door opened. Verne came slowly into the waiting room. He stopped and stood looking at the two of them.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “That was a gorgeous program, ducky,” Teddy said. “I loved it.”

  Verne looked at her and then at Barbara. She smiled uncertainly. Verne sucked slowly on his pipe, his face expressionless. After a while he removed his pipe.

  “You people know each other?”

  “No, darling,” Teddy said. “What’s her name? Don’t you want to introduce her?”

  “This is Barbara Mahler,” Verne said. “Barbara, this is Teddy.” He had finished. He clamped his teeth onto his pipe again.

  “Hello, Barbara,” Teddy said. Her voice was bright and merry. She rocked back and forth on her heels, her eyes sparkling. Barbara noticed.

  “How long have you been here?” Verne said to Barbara. “In New York.”

  “Just—just today.”

  “Well,” Teddy said, “where shall we go? Have you had dinner, Barbara? Maybe we ought to go someplace where we can eat. What do you say, Verne?”

  Verne rallied a trifle. “That’s a good idea,” he said dolefully. Presently he added: “This happened once before in Springfield, Ohio.”

  Teddy laughed and took his arm. “Come on,” she said to Barbara. “Get on the other side. Do you think all three of us can fit in his little Ford?”

  “I think we can,” Barbara said.

  They left the building and walked down the gravel path through the darkness. Verne’s car was parked close to the building. It had not been there when she arrived. They got into the car and slammed the doors.

  “Where to?” Verne murmured. He looked at Barbara.

  “I don’t know any places in New York. Wherever you want to go is all right.”

  “How about Kahn’s?” Teddy said. “It’s still open, isn’t it? Let’s go there.”

  “All right,” Verne said. “We’ll go there.”

  Kahn’s was a restaurant, down under the street level. They went down a flight of steps. It was not a fancy place. It seemed to be some sort of foreign restaurant. Each table had a red and white tablecloth over it, and a candle in the center. They sat down and Barbara picked up the menu. There were dishes like Shish-Kabob, and Borscht, and Pilaf with shrimps, and Yialandji Dolma. For dessert there was Baklava and Melomacarona. What kind of dishes were these?

  The waiter came over, an old man with a big black mustache. Verne ordered and he went away.

  Barbara watched Verne. She had not seen him for over a month. He looked the same. He did not seem to have changed much since he let her off a block from her house, that morning. He was staring down at the table in front of him. Teddy was watching Verne, too, watching everything he did. Her eyes were avid.

  What kind of a relationship did they have? Had they—She turned the thought away. If only she had known before she came to New York! But perhaps it meant nothing. Perhaps it was just bad luck that the girl had come to the station the same night as herself. How could she tell?

  If only she could talk to Verne alone!

  Teddy was humming to herself again, moving her head back and forth. Why didn’t she leave! If only she would get up and go! But there was no chance of it. Obviously, she was here to stay.

  The waiter came with the food. He set the big metal tray down on the edge of the table and began to unload dishes of steaming food. His thick arm pushed past her, and she drew back.

  The food was spicy and strange. She did not like it very well. She ate only a little. None of the three of them said very much. Verne was glum. He ate quickly with big bites that filled up his mouth, pushing the food down with hunks of breadsticks from the glass in the center of the table. Teddy ate with rapid, nervous vitality, her fork flashing back and forth.

  Time passed. The waiter refilled their coffee cups. Barbara wondered what time the last bus left back to Boston. She should have noticed while she was at the depot. But she had been too excited to notice anything. What if she missed it? What if she had to stay in New York? She glanced at Verne. He had pushed his chair back from the table, crossing his legs. Could—could she stay with him? Or would she have to go to a hotel? Now she did not want to do either, actually. But she could not go back to Boston without talking to him, without having been able to see him alone for even a moment. If only Teddy would leave!

  “Well?” Teddy said. “Where’ll we go now?”

  They went across the street to a little dark bar. There were few people in the bar. A group of Negro musicians were playing.

  “Let’s sit here,” Teddy said. They took a table off in the corner, near the back.

  Verne went up to the bar and brought back drinks for them.

  “Did you come on the bus?” Teddy asked Barbara.

  Barbara nodded.

  “How was it?”

  “All right.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  Barbara hesitated. She managed not to look at Verne. “I—I guess I’ll go back tonight. I thought I would stay with some friends, but they’re not here. They went out of town.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “They didn’t know I was coming.”

  Verne looked up at her. “How have you been?”

  “Fine.”

  “Were your parents surprised to see you back so soon?”

  “They were a little surprised.”

  “How are Penny and Felix?”

  “They’re fine. They’re married now. They said to say hello to you.”

  He looked at her keenly. “They know you came up here?”

  “Penny drove me down to the bus station.”

  “Where are you from?” Teddy asked.

  “Boston.”

  “Boston? That’s a nice town.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you live there?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you do? Go to school?”

  “I graduated this spri
ng.”

  “What did you major in?”

  “Political science. I thought of going into some kind of social work.”

  Teddy smiled. “That should be interesting. There are plenty of people to salvage all the time. You see them everywhere. Don’t you, Verne?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m finished with my drink,” Teddy said. “How about another?”

  Verne stirred. “All right.” He started to get to his feet.

  “I’ll call her over.” Teddy waved to the waitress standing by the bar. “Sit down.”

  The waitress came over, collecting their glasses on a small tray. “What’ll it be?”

  “Martini for me,” Teddy said.

  “Scotch and water.”

  They looked at Barbara. “I don’t want any more. Nothing for me.” She shook her head.

  The drinks came. Verne finished his quickly. Barbara listened to the music in the background. It was getting late. How late? She could see no clock.

  “What’s the matter?” Teddy said.

  “I was wondering about the last bus. I don’t know when it leaves.”

  “You’re really going back tonight?”

  Barbara nodded.

  Verne grunted. “It’s a hell of a long way to come.” He pushed his glasses up, rubbing his eyes.

  “What do you mean by that?” Teddy said.

  “I mean it’s too bad she—she has to go right back. Can’t you stay at a hotel?” He adjusted his glasses into place, regarding Barbara solemnly.

  “I don’t want to stay at a hotel.”

  “Why not?”

  “I hate hotels.”

  Verne considered this. He finished his drink. After a time he looked up at Teddy. “Teddy, what do—”

  “No chance,” Teddy said firmly. She smiled at Barbara. “If I wasn’t full up you could stay at my place. It’s too bad we didn’t know you were coming.”

  Verne got to his feet. He went over to the bar with his glass and sat down on a vacant stool. Presently he came back with the glass full.

  “Refill.” He sat down at his place. Barbara and Teddy watched him drain the glass. He set it back down with a sigh.

  “Verne—” Barbara said.

  He looked sleepily at her. “What is it?”

  She hesitated. Both of them were watching her. Verne seemed to be staring right through her. His gaze was oblique, unfocused. As if he were seeing into another world, a world that lay someplace behind her.

  She chose her words carefully, watching his face. “Verne, I wish I could talk to you before I go back.”

  He frowned. “What about?”

  “I—I just want to talk to you. I came up here to see you.” Her voice sounded forlorn.

  “I’ll go off,” Teddy said merrily. She pushed her chair back, one hand on the table. “I’ll go into the powder room and sit for a while.”

  There was silence.

  “Don’t go,” Verne said.

  Barbara’s heart almost stopped beating. She bit her lips, tears spilling into her eyes. She turned her head away.

  “I’ll be glad to go,” Teddy said happily. She eased herself back down in her seat again.

  Verne said nothing. His body sagged. He was resting his arms on the table. His chin sank down slowly, until it disappeared into the sleeves of his coat.

  “It never rains but it pours,” he murmured.

  “What?”

  He shook his head. After a time he reached out his hand and took Teddy’s unfinished drink. Teddy said nothing. Verne drank it slowly.

  “Good,” he said.

  He removed his glasses and put them into his coat pocket. He seemed to be slowly coming apart. He put his head on his arms, closing his eyes. His body was limp, like straw. A limp bag of straw. Barbara watched him. She said nothing.

  Finally Teddy stirred. “It’s late.”

  “What time is it?” Barbara said.

  “One-thirty.”

  Verne lifted his head. “That’s not late.”

  “It’s pretty late.”

  “No.” Verne waved his arm. The waitress came over to the table. “Do you think it’s late?” Verne said.

  “We don’t close for some time yet.”

  “Bring me another scotch and water.” Verne looked around. “I guess that’s all.”

  The waitress went off.

  “Why don’t you all join in? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” Teddy said.

  Verne pulled himself up on his chair. He took out his glasses and fitted them into place. “Well, Barbara?” he said. “How do you like it in the Big City?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Is this the first time you have had the pleasure of coming to our great city?”

  “I’ve been here before.”

  “Good. Good. I’m glad to hear that. It’s a fine thing to get out and see the world, isn’t it?”

  She nodded.

  “One should travel. To the mountains. Up in the hills. A mountain stream. Trout. A campfire. Or to the ocean. I sometimes go up the coast.” His voice was dull, indistinct. It faded off. “Up the coast. Where the great surf beats endlessly. The sea. I like the sea.”

  “I know,” Barbara said.

  Verne’s eyebrow shot up. “Do you?” He nodded. “So. Well.”

  “Did you meet Verne at Castle?” Teddy said suddenly.

  “Yes.”

  “Then you must be the girl that came back with him. I remember now. He did say she lived in Boston.” Teddy studied her with interest “So you’re the girl.”

  “Verne told you about me?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Verne thinks a lot of you. He was very—shall I say, enthusiastic? He was very enthusiastic about you.”

  “Oh?” Barbara murmured.

  “I think a lot of everyone,” Verne said thickly.

  “Sure you do, Verne,” Teddy said. “That’s what’s so nice about him, Barbara. You’ll find that out, if you should ever get to know him better. He’s so thoughtful. He thinks so much of everyone. Everyone is his friend—he loves everybody.”

  Verne grunted.

  “The whole world is one great, warm family to him. He feels everyone’s his friend. He loves us all. He wants to spread his love around everywhere. Right, Verne?”

  Verne did not answer. His eyes were shut. His head rested against his arms. He was breathing heavily. Teddy prodded him, watching him. He did not stir.

  “Verne?” she said sharply.

  There was no answer. Teddy leaned back in her chair. She lit a cigarette, taking Verne’s lighter from his pocket. She sat for a time, blowing smoke across the table, around the empty glasses, around Verne.

  Barbara sat tensely, twisting her hands together, knotting the arm of her sleeve.

  “We owe for the last drink,” Teddy said. She stubbed her cigarette out abruptly in the ashtray. Then she waved to the waitress.

  The waitress came over.

  “How much?”

  “Sixty-five cents.”

  “Here’s the money.” Teddy took a bill from her purse and gave it to her. “Keep the change.”

  The waitress started to gather up the, empty glasses on the table. Teddy waved her away.

  Presently Teddy leaned over close to Verne. She peered intently at him. “Come on, ducky. Time to go home. Come on. Let’s wake up.”

  Verne did not stir.

  “Help me, dear,” Teddy said to Barbara.

  “What—what’ll I do?”

  Teddy stood up. “Take one arm. We’ll get him up on his feet.

  Sometimes he comes around when he’s on his feet. Take his left arm.”

  Barbara went uncertainly around to the other side of the table. She tugged at Verne’s arm. Verne pulled away.

  “Come on,” Teddy said patiently. “Time to go.”

  They got him up on his feet. Two men at the next table wanted to help but Teddy waved them off. Verne
began to stir a little.

  “Hold on,” Teddy said. “Don’t let go of him.”

  Barbara held onto his arm.

  “Let’s go, ducky,” Teddy repeated. “Let’s go the whole way, all the way to the door. Out to the car.”

  “Jesus,” Verne said thickly. “Let go.”

  “Can you make it?”

  “Yes.”

  They let go of him. He walked unsteadily across the room to the door without looking back. His feet shuffled; he bumped against a table. Teddy put on her coat quickly, gathering up her things.

  “Let’s go.”

  She and Barbara followed after him. When they got to the door Verne had already crossed the sidewalk to the car. He was trying to unlock the door, pulling the handle down dully. Teddy found the key in his coat pocket and unlocked it. She helped him inside. He tumbled onto the seat and lay, his arms outstretched, his head forward.

  “Get in,” Teddy said to Barbara. Barbara slunk silently into the car, beside Verne. Teddy walked around to the other side and got in behind the wheel. “Close your door. Pull it shut.”

  Barbara closed the door. Teddy turned the motor on. She let it run for a few minutes. Presently she let the car inch forward.

  “Anyone coming?”

  “No.” The streets were deserted. The stores were closed up tight, their neon signs turned off. No one was in sight.

  “What street is the bus depot on?”

  Barbara faltered. “Why, I—”

  “Don’t you know?”

  “I think it’s at—”

  “Never mind. I can find it.”

  Teddy started the car up. They drove slowly down the empty street. At a red light Teddy stopped. She got out her cigarettes. She offered the pack to Barbara but then pulled it away.

  “That’s right—you don’t smoke.”

  After a while Barbara said: “Did—did Verne tell you very much about me?”

  “Not much. How old are you?”

  “Why?”

  “I just wondered. It doesn’t matter.”