The Bachman Books

He shrugged. 'You don't mind me breathing in your used carcinogens, screwing up the cilia in my lungs, but you don't want to throw a filter tip out into the turnpike. Okay.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Nothing.'

'Listen, do you want to let me out? Is that it?'

'No,' he said. 'Why don't we just talk about something neutral? The state of the dollar. The state of the Union. The state of Arkansas.'

'I think I'd rather catch a little nap if you don't mind. It looks like I'm going to be up most of the night. '

'Fine. '

She tilted the watchcap over her eyes, folded her arms, and became still. After a few moments her breathing deepened to long strokes. He looked at her in short snatches, shoplifting an image of her. She was wearing blue jeans, tight, faded, thin. They molded her legs closely enough to let him know that she wasn't wearing a second pair or long-handles. They were long legs, folded under the dashboard for comfort, and they were probably blushing lobster red now, itching like hell. He started to ask her if her legs itched, and then thought how it would sound. The thought of her hitchhiking all night on Route 7, either getting rides in short hops or not getting rides at all, made him feel uncomfortable. Night, thin pants, temperatures in the 20's. Well, it was her business. If she got cold enough, she could go in someplace and warm up. No problem.

They passed exits 14 and 13. He stopped looking at her and concentrated on his driving. The speedometer needle stayed pegged at seventy, and he stayed in the passing lane. More cars honked at him. As they passed exit 12, a man in a station wagon which bore a KEEP IT AT 50 bumper sticker honked three times and blipped his lights indignantly. He gave the station wagon the finger.

With her eyes still closed she said: 'You're going too fast. That's why they're honking. '

'I know why they're doing it.'

'But you don't care. '

'No.'

'Just another concerned citizen,' she intoned, 'doing his part to rid America of the energy squeeze.'

'I don't give a tin weasel about the energy squeeze.'

'So say we; so say we all.'

'I used to drive at fifty-five on the turnpike. No more, no less. That's where my car got the best mileage. Now I'm protesting the Trained Dog Ethic. Surely you read about it in your sociology courses? Or am I wrong? I took it for granted you were a college kid.'

She sat up. 'I was a sociology major for a while. Well, sort of. But I never heard of the Trained Dog Ethic.'

'That's because I made it up. '

'Oh. April Fool.' Disgust. She slid back down in the seat and tilted the watchcap over her eyes again.

'The Trained Dog Ethic, first advanced by Barton George Dawes in late 1973, fully explains such mysteries as the monetary crisis, inflation, the Viet Nam war, and the current energy crisis. Let us take the energy crisis as an example. The American people are the trained dogs, trained in this case to love oil-guzzling toys. Cars, snowmobiles, large boats, dune buggies, motorcycles, minicycles, campers, and many, many more. In the years 1973 to 1980 we will be trained to hate energy toys. The American people love to be trained. Training makes them wag their tails. Use energy. Don't use energy. Go pee on the newspaper. I don't object to saving energy, I object to training. '

He found himself thinking of Mr. Piazzi's dog, who had first stopped wagging his tail, had then starred rolling his eyes, and had then ripped out Luigi Bronticelli's throat.

'Like Pavlov's dogs,' he said. 'They were trained to salivate at the sound of a bell. We've been trained to salivate when somebody shows us a Bombardier Skidoo with overdrive or a Zenith color TV with a motorized antenna. I have one of those at my house. The TV has a Space Command gadget. You can sit in your chair and change the channels, hike the volume or lower it, turn it on or off. I stuck the gadget in my mouth once and pushed the on button and the TV came right on. The signal went right through my brain and still did the job. Technology is wonderful. '

'You're crazy,' she said.

'I guess so.' They passed exit 11.

'I think I'll go to sleep. Tell me when we get to the end.'

'Okay.'

She folded her arms and closed her eyes again.

They passed exit 10.

'It isn't the Trained Dog Ethic I object to anyway,' he said. 'It's the fact that the masters are mental, moral, and spiritual idiots.'

'You're trying to soothe your conscience with a lot of rhetoric,' she said with her eyes still closed. 'Why don't you just slow down to fifty? You'll feel better.'

'I will not feel better. ' And he spat it out so vehemently that she sat up and looked at him.

'Are you all right?'

'I'm fine,' he said. 'I lost my wife and my job because either the world has gone crazy or I have. Then I pick up a hitchhiker-a nineteen-year-old kid for Chrissake, the kind that's supposed to take it for granted that the world's gone crazy-and she tells me it's me, the world is doing just fine. Not much oil, but other than that, just fine.'