Gather Yourselves Together

by Philip K. Dick

  Barbara rubbed the bar of Ivory soap into foam, patting the foam against her arms and shoulders. She reached over and turned the taps off. The tub was full. She sank down, washing the soap foam from her. She pulled the plug out and stepped from the tub, onto the bath mat on the floor.

  She dried herself, carefully and rapidly. When she was completely dry she put on her clean clothes, the dark slacks and crisp white shirt. Standing before the small mirror she brushed her hair over and over again, until she could feel it against her neck lying light and fluffy. Then she gathered up her old damp clothes and hurried up the hall to her room.

  Carl was sitting on the bed reading a book.

  “What is it?” Barbara said. “The book.”

  “Russell’s Outline of Western Philosophy.”

  “How is it?” She hung up the towel in the closet.

  “Interesting. I’d like to borrow it sometime.”

  “You can, if you want.” Barbara sat down on the chair. “Cigarette?” She held out the package to Carl.

  “No thanks. I don’t smoke.”

  Barbara lit a cigarette and put the package on the table. She sat smoking, watching Carl as he turned the pages of the Russell book, Carl glanced up at her uneasily. After a while he put the book down on the bed, closing it.

  “I guess I don’t want to borrow it. I used to read a lot of philosophy, but not so much any more. I think when I’m through with my treatise I’ll forget the whole business.”

  “What will you read, then?”

  “Fiction. I haven’t read much fiction. I’ve spent all my time with Kant and Spinoza.”

  “Was it wasted?”

  “Not completely. Not more than the geometry you learn in high school.”

  “I’d call that wasted.”

  “Perhaps.” He nodded. “I suppose so. There’s more outside to see than in books.”

  “Do you feel that way?”

  “Yes. That’s why I walked around today. I got up very early, at seven-thirty.”

  “You passed by here. I heard you whistling.”

  “Did I wake you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It was a nice morning. I like to be out, too. That’s why I was in the water.”

  “I was surprised to see you splashing around. I was walking back from the hill and I cut across the park. I didn’t mean to spy on you.”

  There was silence.

  “Are you angry about it?”

  “I was. But it doesn’t matter. After all, the park is a public place.”

  “I’m glad you’re not mad any more.” Carl smiled at her, his big honest face beaming in relief. “You were mad for a while. I don’t blame you. I shouldn’t have been standing there watching. I knew I was doing something wrong. I knew I should have gone away. I realized it at the time. But I’m afraid I didn’t. I just stood and watched you.”

  “I want to know why,” Barbara said quietly.

  Carl flushed, startled. “I didn’t mean to watch. I—”

  “You had no right to. You must never do that to another person.”

  Carl hung his head, crimson with humiliation. He muttered a few words and then subsided into choked silence.

  “Don’t ever do anything like that again. Not to anyone” Barbara stirred. “Everybody has his own world, his private world. Don’t spy and ruin it.”

  “Did—did I do that?”

  She looked quickly up. “That’s what you wanted to do.”

  “No!”

  “You invaded my world.”

  “No! I didn’t mean to! You’re wrong. It wasn’t that at all.”

  “Okay.” She nodded briefly. “Let’s forget it.”

  She lit another cigarette and sat smoking rapidly, her hands pressed tightly into fists, not looking at Carl. Carl shifted unhappily. He swallowed a few times. At last he got to his feet.

  Barbara glanced up. “What is it?”

  “I think I’d better go.”

  “No. Sit down.”

  Carl sat down awkwardly, feeling for the bed behind him. Barbara continued to sit in silence, her eyes bright, staring into the distance, unseeing.

  “I have to do some things,” Carl muttered. “I have some letters to write. I—”

  “You’re going?”

  “I really have to.”

  “Do you think you can come and go as you please?”

  Carl did not understand. He shook his head, bewildered. “What do you mean?”

  Barbara crushed her cigarette out. “You came and watched when you wanted. Now you’re going. Do you think you can do that? Do you think people will always let you do that?”

  “I—”

  “You’re growing up. You’re getting to be a man. Someday you will be a man. Do you think you can do that when you’re a man?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You can’t. You can’t.” She put her hand up, rubbing her eyes quickly, Carl slunk down in his chair. She was crying. Tears were running between her fingers, down her cheeks, falling silently onto her shirt, staining her starched white shirt.

  “Can—can I do anything for you?” Carl murmured.

  She shook her head. After a long time she jumped up and crossed the room to the dresser. She pulled a handkerchief from the drawer and turned her back to Carl, blowing her nose. She moved over to the window and stood, her arms folded, the handkerchief pressed in a tight ball between her fingers.

  “Carl,” she said.

  “Yes?”

  She turned around, smiling at him, her eyes dark and bright. “I’m sorry. Don’t worry about it.”

  He nodded.

  Barbara sat down on the bed, leaning back. She sighed, letting her breath out slowly. “It’s too nice a day. It is nice, isn’t it? The sun and everything.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why were you up so early today?”

  “I wanted to get outside. I wanted to take a long walk and see how things were.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “Oh, I wandered around. I went up on the hill and sat thinking. I thought for a long time. About my childhood. Then I came down. That was—that was when I saw you. I crossed the park and I saw you in the water.”

  “Yes. It was beautiful. The sun and the water. I know. Well, Carl?”

  “Yes?”

  She leaned toward him, looking intently into his face. They were very close together. Carl waited apprehensively, his hands on his knees. Barbara rocked back and forth, touching her hand to her cheek, her ear. He could see the rapid tension of her body, taut and nervous. Her eyes were dark and large.

  “You go ahead and do whatever it is you have to get done,” she said suddenly. “Run along and get it all finished.”

  Carl stood up quickly. “All right.”

  Barbara crossed to the door, opening it for him. “When will it be done?”

  Carl faltered. “Done?”

  “When will you be finished?”

  He considered. He felt strange. His scalp and ears prickled. He licked his lips nervously. “I guess in a couple of hours.”

  Barbara examined her wristwatch, calculating to herself, her lips moving.

  “Why?” Carl murmured.

  “Why? Don’t you remember?”

  “No.”

  Barbara smiled. She swayed back and forth, her arms folded, her lips twisting. “You really don’t? You don’t remember? You left something unfinished. You have to finish. You started. And when you start something you have to go through with it. Didn’t your mother tell you that?”

  “What—what is it?”

  “Your treatise. You haven’t finished reading to me. Don’t you remember? I’m surprised at you. I thought it meant so much to you.”

  Carl grinned doubtfully. “That’s right. I was going to read the rest.”

  “Of course you were. I expect you to read the rest. I’ve been waiting.”

  “Have you?”

  She nodde
d. “Yes.”

  Carl put his hands in his pockets. “There were several parts I wanted you to hear. That’s right. I began to read, but I didn’t get a chance to finish.”

  “When are you going to finish?”

  Carl considered. “Well, I—”

  “How about after dinner?”

  “It’ll be dark.”

  Barbara’s eyes flickered. “That’s so. It will be dark, won’t it? I hadn’t thought of that. It’s a problem. Well, I think perhaps we can read inside where there’s light.”

  “That’s an idea.”

  “Then I’ll expect you after dinner. About eight. All right? Don’t forget to bring the manuscript with you. You’ll be finished with your letters by then. That should give you plenty of time.”

  “About eight?” Carl moved out into the hall. He felt a little confused. “I guess that’s all right.”

  Barbara closed the door slowly behind him. “I’ll see you then. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Carl said. “About eight.”

  18

  IT WAS EVENING. Carl stood at the top of the stairs, watching Verne climb slowly, his hand on the rail.

  “Where have you been all day?”

  Verne grunted. “Talking.”

  “Talking? To whom?”

  Verne pushed past Carl, down the hall and into the room. He sat down on his bed with a sigh.

  “We thought maybe something had happened to you when you didn’t show up for dinner.”

  “I was thinking. I didn’t feel like eating.”

  “Who were you talking to?”

  “A man named Harry.”

  “You mean they left somebody here besides us?”

  “No.” Verne pushed up his glasses, rubbing his eyes. “Harry represents the Chinese People’s PCC. Or as we call them, the new owners.”

  Carl’s mouth fell open. “Then they’ve come.”

  “Yes. They’ve come. They’ll be here any time now. We had a very interesting talk. It gave me something to think about. I’ve been thinking about it ever since.”

  “Is he still here?”

  “No. He’s gone again.”

  There was silence. Carl was at a loss for words. He opened and closed his mouth a few times. “Well, then we’ll have to get ready to leave.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What’s wrong? You sound depressed.”

  Verne fitted his glasses in place. “I’m tired. Worn out. I guess I’ll turn in and get some sleep.”

  “Gosh, we should do things. Take advantage of the time we have left.”

  “What do you want to do? Get drunk and fall downstairs?”

  “Oh, no. Nothing like that.” Carl picked up his brown package, gripping it tightly. “I’ve got everything all planned out. I’m going to finish reading my treatise.”

  “By yourself?”

  “No. To Barbara.” He peered at the clock. “At eight we’re going to start. Maybe I can get all the rest of it finished.”

  Verne turned his head toward the window. The sun had set. The sky was dark violet. A few stars had already begun to come out. “Isn’t it a little too dark to go up in the hills? Of course, it depends on what you’re going to do.”

  “We’re just going to read.”

  “For that it’s too dark.”

  “But we’re not going up in the hills.” Carl beamed happily. “We’re going to read in her room.”

  “Oh?”

  “She has her room all fixed up with prints and flowers. It looks wonderful. You should take a look at it. It’s quite attractive.”

  “I’ve seen it.”

  “Don’t you think it looks fine?”

  “Yes. It looks fine.”

  “What’s the matter? You look strange.”

  “I told you I’m tired.”

  “Sorry.” Carl laid down his package. He began to unbutton his shirt, humming under his breath. He put his shirt over the doorknob and took a clean blue sports-shirt from a hanger.

  Verne watched him getting into the new shirt. He raised his eyebrows. “What the hell’s that for?”

  “This? I’m just changing my shirt.” Carl finished buttoning it and went over to look in the mirror. “Maybe I should put on a tie. What do you think?”

  “You don’t need a tie to read.”

  “I want to look nice.”

  “Why?”

  “I just want to. After all, a person should try to look his best.” He sat down on a chair and rubbed at his shoes with the edge of his handkerchief.

  Verne stirred, sitting up a little on the bed. He studied Carl for a time, his face expressionless. At last he got to his feet. “You look fine. Especially for reading a treatise. You have my blessings.”

  “Your blessings?”

  Verne made his way over to the dresser. He pulled the bottom drawer open. “My blessings. I don’t think I’ll need them any more. I’ve been saving them. But what the hell. It isn’t worth it.”

  He held up a bottle of John Jamison.

  Carl stared at it.

  “My blessings.”

  “No thanks,” Carl said.

  “What?”

  “No thanks. Thanks anyway. I appreciate the gift. And I understand the spirit in which it’s given. But you know I never drink.”

  Verne set the bottle down on the dresser. His face twisted. “You don’t?”

  “No.”

  “You belong to the Prohibition Party?”

  “I’m just not interested.”

  “Don’t you know anyone you might pour a little glassful for?”

  Carl reddened slightly.

  Verne put his hand on Carl’s shoulder. “Your reaction comes as somewhat of a surprise. Is there some doubt in your mind as to just what’s in this bottle? I’m trying to do you a favor, you know. If I had a box of candy I’d give you that. But I don’t have a box of candy. Anyhow, I don’t think much of candy. There’s a poem to that effect. Liquor saves you a lot of intermediate steps. Candy is a waste of time.”

  “I’m not going over for that.”

  “For what?”

  “For whatever you’re talking about. To drink.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  “All right.” Carl pulled away. “Maybe I like the intermediate steps. Did you think of that?”

  Verne scowled. “Have it your way. I thought you might want some of the obstacles removed.”

  “I appreciate your help, but I don’t want anything like that.”

  “You should appreciate it in the same sense as pouring antifreeze into a motor. It does the same thing, only quicker. It’s a lot easier to pour the anti-freeze in than to have to push the car twenty blocks to a garage.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Carl grabbed up his manuscript. “It’s getting late. I think I’ll go.”

  “Wait a minute.”

  “What for?”

  “I want to talk to you.”

  Carl halted by the door. “I don’t want to be late.”

  “You don’t want to talk, do you? Why not? Are you afraid of what I’m going to say?”

  “No.”

  “Then stick around and listen.” Verne sat down on the bed again, leaning back against the wall. “Christ, I’m tired. This thing today almost finished me off.”

  “What thing?”

  “The little yuk. Harry Liu. It’s a hard thing to have to face. It’s a blow.”

  Carl waited silently.

  “I wish you had been there. You would have learned something. It would have shocked you. It gave me a lot to think about. I wish I could sleep. Maybe I’ll feel better tomorrow.”

  “I’ll go and you can go to bed.”

  “No. I want to talk to you. Before you leave. I think it might be a good idea.”

  “I’m waiting.”

  Verne nodded. “Fine.” He lapsed into silence, plucking aimlessly at his collar.

  “Go on.” Carl was impatient. He could not see the clock w
here he was standing. Not being able to see the clock made him uneasy. “What do you want to say?”

  “I don’t know. I wish I had more time to work it out. You’re going over there? To her?”

  “To her room.”

  “Same thing. The trouble is, I’ve already made my big offer. The John Jamison. If you don’t want that I don’t know what to give you.”

  “Don’t give me anything.”

  “I have to give you something. Even if it’s just advice.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you need something. You’ve got to be careful. Don’t walk over there right away. Walk around outside for a while. Get things clear in your mind.”

  “My mind is clear.”

  “Do you know what you’re getting into?”

  “We’re going to read.”

  “You don’t believe that anymore than I do. I can tell when the time has come. It’s come for you. You know it, too. That’s why you changed your god damn shirt.”

  “I want to look nice.”

  “For what? I’m trying to talk to you, but it’s hard. Maybe there’s nothing I can say. I keep searching back in my mind for something. You know, women are very strange. It’s difficult to tell about them. You have to proceed cautiously. But your problem is different from mine. Maybe it’s not the same.”

  “My problem?”

  “You’re too young. And I’m too small. It’s a funny thing. Seen through the bottom of a glass all people are the same height.”

  “So?”

  “And the same age. It’ll make it a lot easier for you. It’s good whisky. The best there is. Take it along. Ask her if she wants some. She’ll tell you.”

  “No thanks.”

  “You’ll be going uphill all the way. It’s a long climb. Especially the first time. You have to push over too many road blocks. They set them up.” Verne’s voice trailed off, sinking into a vague mumble. He sank down on the bed. “They set them up as you go along. As fast as you knock them down they set up another. It gets tiring when you get near the top. Too damn tiring. You want to have a little energy left. Otherwise, what the hell’s it all for?”

  He was silent, staring blankly ahead.

  “But that’s not all.”

  Carl waited, his hand on the door, gripping his manuscript Verne was silent a long time, deep in his thoughts. At last he roused himself.