‘I never heard of him.’
‘I figured anybody who can actually shoe a horse without touching it, well he just has to have some answers. Only—’
Two Santa Clauses had sat down on the next bench; their conversation could be heard when the angelic choir stopped.
‘…the little red ones is Anxifran, or maybe Phenodrax, and the big green ones is Epiphan, they’re beautiful, just like Hypodone…’
‘…Calamital and Equapace, but you got any Fenrisol, I’m out…’
‘Try Evenquil. Or here, try an Enactil. I couldn’t get through the day without 50 milligrams…’
The tree lights flashed in programmed patterns, now forming clusters, now starbursts and spinning coils, now visual advertisements and simple slogans.
‘You’re not going to Ohio, then?’
Luke sat back. ‘Negative. I’m going to a place in the Himalayas.’
Roderick said, ‘I didn’t know you could afford it. I mean, what with Hackme Demolition keeping us all laid off like this—’
Luke grinned. ‘My way is paid. See, my name lends just that much prestige to the organization. Maybe you’ve heard of them: the Divine Brotherhood of Transcending Awarenesses of Inner Global Light. Most people just call us the Saffron Peril.’
‘Them? You’re joining them?’
‘Affirmative. I’m going straight to the HQ, a place where Eternal Consciousness flows like champagne. I’ll be there, wearing all orangey-yellow, meditating, really connecting with — whatever there is. Up there in the mountains at the top of the world — something has to happen. I can see it already, the blossoming of cosmic consciousness.’ Luke was silent for a moment. ‘Trouble is, I always see everybody’s point of view. So I’ll also be wondering if it isn’t all a bunch of crap. Oh well, Merry Christmas.’
Mr Multifid had a warm handshake. He was a plump, genial-looking man who would have looked out-of-place in crisp business clothes or a hard-edge office. Instead he wore hounds-tooth and corduroy in shades of brown, a sloppy hand-knit tie, a khaki shirt; and his office had no desk, only a pair of captains’ chairs, a fake fireplace, and panelled walls hung with ship prints and barometers.
‘Take a pew, Mr Wood — mind if I start calling you Rod right away? And you can call me Gene, okay? Now let me see…’
He studied the pink card Roderick had filled out in the outer office. ‘Where did you hear about our service, Rod?’
‘I was working at a demolition site down the street, and I just happened to see your sign:
‘Right.’ Mr Multifid made a note on the card. ‘Normally my secretary takes care of this, this background stuff. But she’s off today. Seeing her analyst. Now where are we? You’re not married? No? Engaged? And not divorced? Well then, are you gay? No? Any, any peculiarities you feel like talking about?’
‘I’m a robot,’ said Roderick. ‘I’m not really sure I want to marry anyone, just maybe have a — have some kind of relationship, does that sound peculiar?’
‘Not necessarily. Go on. Do, do “robots” have sex?’
‘I’ve only had one what you might call sexual encounter, I mean that was complete — what I could call a mechasm — and that was with a woman who got nothing out of it at all, unless maybe the satisfaction of solving a puzzle. And see I’m not physically exactly—’
The phone rang. ‘Multifid Marriage — oh it’s you, look, I can’t talk now, Julia, I’m with a client… No of course it’s not Sandy, she’s seeing her analyst today… What do you mean, protest too much? You’re not starting that again. Look… look, I’ve got to go, I — you what?
He hung up, scowling at the phone as though it had betrayed him. ‘Well Rod, I’ve got to go home, little family emergency. Why don’t you just use the tape recorder there and give me a rundown of your problem, we’ll discuss it when I get back, okay?’
‘Sure. I hope — everything’s all right.’
With a kind of choked laugh, Mr Multifid left. After a few minutes there was a timid tap at the door and a middle-aged woman tiptoed in, offering her pink card.
‘Mr Multifid?’
‘No, I’m Roderick Wood. Mr Multifid had to go home. Family emergency.’
‘I know what that is,’ she said, sitting down. ‘I know what that is, all right. And I’ve just gotta talk to somebody.’
‘But—’
‘I remember a few things about my early childhood. I know Mama was very good to me, even though I wasn’t the boy she wanted. I know when I was still crawling, she bought me a little bucket and scrub-brush and taught me how to do the floors. I learned to walk by clearing the table. And toilet training, I remember that too: scrubbing and shining that toilet.
‘I never had a doll, but then my little brother Glen came along and I got to feed him and change him, bathe him and wash all his diapers. Of course I had to do all this between my regular chores.
‘I didn’t do so well at school, because I had to take time off for like spring cleaning. In the evenings after cooking supper and doing dishes and the ironing, there wasn’t much time left for studying before I set out the breakfast things. Also I wanted to save my eyes for the mending. Mama was good about it, when she saw my grades weren’t so great she let me off doing the shopping after school. I made up the extra work on weekends.
‘Just the same, I started getting envious of my older brother Ken. He got to play football while I was shining everybody’s shoes. He got to dress up like a cowboy while I was washing clothes. He had pillow fights, I made beds. I know it must sound silly now, but I really resented that. Maybe that’s where I went wrong!’
Roderick felt he ought to say something. ‘How do you know you went wrong at all?’
‘Oh you mean I always was wrong? I never thought of that — I was wrong from the start, eh?’
‘I meant maybe you were
‘You have to listen. Somebody has to listen.’
‘Sure, go on. Oh, uh, you didn’t mention your father so far. Was he around?’
‘He was at sea for years and years. When I was twelve he came home drunk and sort of raped me. See it was a Saturday and so I had worked all day doing laundry, cooking, cleaning, dusting, scrubbing and waxing. Every-body else went out for the evening and I finished the supper dishes and then just fell into bed. When I woke up he was climbing on top of me. He told me if I screamed he’d tell Mama that he’d seen me sweep dirt under the carpet. I didn’t know who he was, and I was scared, so I said nothing.
‘Mama was pretty good about it when I told her I was pregnant, even if she did say she wished she’d drowned me when I was born. But she managed to fix it for me to marry a boy named Fred. I sewed my wedding dress quickly, baked the cake and so on, and pretty soon Fred and I were set up in our own little trailer, very easy to clean. True Fred did beat me up a lot, and he drank a lot and ran around with other women which is how he brought home the case of VD. It would have been okay but he also didn’t work so I had to have these eight cleaning jobs to feed me and the kids and buy Fred his booze and the cigarettes he liked to put out on me. One day I was so tired I forgot to flinch and Fred got so mad he went and told all my employers I had had VD and they fired me…’
The woman’s story went on and on, cataloguing years of thankless work, suffering and humiliation: raped, she found herself accused by the police of prostitution; going to the doctor with a headache leads to a double mastectomy followed by a hysterectomy — the headache remains; a moment of absent-mindedness at the supermarket leads to a shoplifting conviction. ‘My twin sons grew up hating my guts for only giving them a second- hand football and no colour TV; they were so full of hate they became lawyers. Fred ran off with a cocktail waitress
