was as quiet as ice on a December pond.
As he pushed his shopping cart toward the produce section, he heard the two men from the hearse enter the store. “Hi, Marie.”
“Frank.” A sneeze. “Junior.”
“How’re the allergies doin’?”
“They’re gettin’ healthier.” The woman behind the counter blew her nose. “They’re gettin’ healthier, and I’m gettin’ sicker.”
“Came out to pick up Doctor Wilson. Got gassed to death.”
“I heard.” Marie sniffled. “Didn’t know there was such a thing as lethal gas on this place.”
“In the laboratory,” one of the undertakers said. “In the lab.”
“What was it?” Marie asked. “The gas, I mean.”
“Damned if I know. Enough to set fire to the place. Blow it up.”
“Was that the big noise I heard?”
“The lab. building blew up.”
“I guess some thought ol’ Radliegh was in the building when it blew,” the other man from the hearse said. “He wasn’t.”
“Too bad,” Marie said.
The store’s fresh produce, Jack realized, clearly was untouched by any beautifying chemicals. Tangerines and oranges were spotted yellow and black; the tomatoes, even in that season, were more yellow and green than red; the bananas more green or black than yellow; the apples yellow and green, none shiny red. The carrots looked like carrots.
“You got Wilson in the hearse?” Marie asked.
“Yeah.”
The shelves indeed stocked no canned foods, not even soups or boxes of cereal. There were bags of potato chips, tins of dry mustard, but no ketchup; olives, but no pickles; peanut butter but no marshmallow.
There was no candy counter.
“So what did you stop for?” Marie asked. “If we had chawin’ tobacco or beer, which we surely don’t, you know I couldn’t sell it to you any which way.”
The only toothpaste available had a baking soda base. There were soaps available, but no sprays.
“I was wonderin’ if I could buy some of your roast beef,” one of the undertakers said.
“You know I can’t sell it to you, Frank.”
“I married your sister, Marie.”
“Thank you, but I can only sell to employees and guests of the estate, Frank. You know that.”
The jars of instant coffee were all decaffeinated except the acid free Kava. The teas were all herbal.
“I’m a relative of an employee, Marie,” Frank said: “You.”
“Doesn’t count.” Marie sneezed.
“Marie doesn’t count,” Junior said.
“Frank doesn’t count,” Marie said.
The only patent medicine available was Bayer’s aspirin. There were shelves and shelves of generic vitamins and herbal goods, fresh, whole, dried cranberry juice concentrated extract tablets, lycopodium, echinacea, et cetera, round containers of protein powders. Printed lists along these shelves described the uses and benefits of each selection offered.
“Pretend you’re buyin’ it for yourself,” Frank said.
Marie coughed. “Can’t do that. These walls have ears.”
White bread was not available in that store.
“Sure,” Frank said. “We’re allowed on the estate when a body needs pickin’ up, a gassed body, but rules say I can’t go home to a supper of the best beef for a hundred miles around here?”
“Rules say.” Marie blew her nose. “Employees only.”
The meat counter offered 91-percent-lean hamburger only, ground beefalo meat, especially lean-looking steaks, other cuts of beef, chops. All the chicken offered was in packets, and was skinless. The prices for these meats were lower than usual. The only fish was pond-bred catfish. There were no sausage, bacon, hot dogs or pressed meats available.
A telephone rang.
Marie said, “Hello? … Yes, he’s here. I’ll tell him.” She said, “That was Nancy Dunbar.”
“The bitch,” Frank said.
“‘I’ll take care of it,’” Junior mimicked in a falsetto. “‘I’ll take care of every-thing.’”
He sounded more like a parrot than he did Nancy Dunbar.
So Jack collected his groceries: lettuce, carrots, celery, 100 percent Real Mayonnaise, a gallon of mixed vegetable juices, oranges, apples, bananas, pumpernickel, mustard, sliced ham, ground beefalo meat, a steak, a small packet of boneless, skinless chicken, 2 percent skim milk, butter, eggs, some cheese. He did not take a bag of potato chips.
“Marie,” Frank said, “when you croak, who do you suppose is going to come along and carry off your moral demains?”
“Not you, I hope. You stop on your way back to the shop leavin’ a corpse sweatin’ in the back of your wagon.”
“None other but me,” Frank said.
“I’ll outlive you by a hundred years.”
“Not the way you cough and sneeze. You don’t ever sound like you’ll make it to next payday, Marie, I do declare. How do you go on?”
“I’m developin’ life-savin’ muscles,” Marie said.
“For sure, you’re the sickest thing I ever saw in a health store.”
“Life-savin’ respiratory muscles,” Marie coughed.
The hardware section of the General Store had the simplest tools neatly arranged, none electrical.
Jack dropped a blue knapsack into his shopping cart.
Frank said, “Don’t come to my house Sunday for spaghetti.”
Marie said, “It’s my sister who invites me. Not you.”
The men returned to the hearse.
The magazines arrayed were as genuine as news magazines get, some science fiction but no tabloids, purely gossip, romance, horoscopes or other kinds of comic books. The paperbound books offered were all classics. Even the mysteries were classics.
Marie said to Jack, “You’re funny, or somethin’, aren’t you?”
“Sure,” Jack answered.
She was adding up his bill. “John Funny, or somethin’?”
“Jack Faoni.”
“Yeah.” Marie sneezed. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, which held his beefalo burger. “Ms. Dunbar called for you. You’re to report to the tennis courts up by the main house. Ms. Alixis wants to play with you.”
“Oh, wow,” Jack said. “Who’s Ms. Alixis?”
“Our movie star. You want to play with a movie star?” She grinned.
“I have a choice?”
“Second daughter,” Marie said. “Alixis Radliegh. She was in a movie.
“I must have missed that one.”
“It stank. It was shown here on the estate. Terrible movie. But we told her how proud we are of her.”
“This is one of Doctor Radliegh’s daughters? A movie star?” Jack was fitting his groceries into his knapsack.
