Dimension of Miracles (17 page)

‘No,’ Bellwether said. ‘Most cities up to now, model or otherwise, have never said a word. But their occupants didn’t like it. They didn’t like a city that did things without saying a word. The city seemed too huge, too masterful, too soulless. That is why I was created with an artificial consciousness.’

‘I see,’ Carmody said.

‘I wonder if you do. The artificial consciousness personalizes me, which is very important in an age of depersonalization. It enables me to be truly responsive. It permits me to be creative in my reactions to the demands of my occupants. We can reason with each other, my occupants and I. By carrying on an incessant and meaningful dialogue, we can help each other in the creation of a truly viable urban environment. We can modify each other without any significant loss of individuality.’

‘It sounds fine,’ Carmody said. ‘Except, of course, that you don’t have anyone here to carry on a dialogue with.’

‘That is the only flaw in the scheme,’ Bellwether admitted. ‘But for the present, I have you.’

‘Yes, you have me,’ Carmody said, and wondered why the words rang unpleasantly on his ear.

‘And, naturally, you have me,’ Bellwether said. ‘It’s a reciprocal relationship, which is the only kind worth having. But now, my dear Carmody, suppose I show you around myself. Then we can get you settled in and regularized.’

‘And what?’

‘I didn’t mean it the way it sounded,’ Bellwether said. ‘It simply is an unfortunate scientific expression. But you understand, I’m sure, that a reciprocal relationship necessitates obligations on the part of both involved parties. It couldn’t very well be otherwise, could it?’

‘Not unless it was a
laissez-faire
relationship.’

‘We’re trying to get away from all that,’ Bellwether said. ‘
Laissez-faire
becomes a doctrine of the emotions, you know, and leads nonstop to anomie. If you will just come this way …’

Carmody went where he was told and beheld the excellencies of Bellwether. He toured the power plant, the water-filtration system, the industrial park, and the light-industries section. He saw the children’s park and the Odd Fellows Hall. He walked through a museum and an art gallery, a concert hall and a theatre, and a bowling alley, a billiards parlour, a Go-Kart track, and a movie theatre. He became tired and footsore and wanted to stop. But Bellwether insisted upon showing itself off, and Carmody had to look at the five-storey American Express building, the Portuguese synagogue, the statue of Buck-minster Fuller, the Greyhound Bus Station, and several other attractions.

At last it was over. Carmody concluded that the wonders of the model city were no better and no worse than the wonders of the galaxy. Beauty was really in the eye of the beholder, except for a small part that was in his feet.

‘A little lunch now?’ Bellwether asked.

‘Fine,’ Carmody said.

He was guided to the fashionable Rochambeau Café, where he began with
potage aux petits pois
and ended with petits fours.

‘What about a nice Gruyère to finish it off?’ Bellwether asked.

‘No, thanks,’ Carmody said. ‘I’m full. I’m too full, as a matter of fact.’

‘But cheese isn’t filling. A nice Camembert?’

‘I couldn’t possibly.’

‘Perhaps a few assorted fruits.
Very
refreshing to the palate.’

‘It’s not my palate that needs refreshing,’ Carmody said.

‘At least an apple, a pear, and a couple of grapes?’

‘Thanks, no.’

‘A couple of cherries?’

‘No, no, no!’

‘A meal isn’t complete without a little fruit,’ Bellwether said.

‘My meal is,’ Carmody said.

‘There are important vitamins which only fresh fruit can give you.’

‘I’ll just have to struggle along without them.’

‘Perhaps half an orange, which I will peel for you? Citrus fruits have no bulk at all.’

‘I couldn’t possibly.’

‘Not even one quarter of an orange? If I take out all the pits?’

‘Most decidedly not.’

‘It would make me feel better,’ Bellwether said. ‘I have a completion compulsion, you know, and no meal is complete without a piece of fruit.’

‘No! No! No!’

‘All right, don’t get so excited,’ Bellwether said. ‘If you don’t like the sort of food I serve, that’s up to you.’

‘But I do like it!’

‘Then if you like it so much, why won’t you eat some fruit?’

‘Enough,’ Carmody said. ‘Give me a couple grapes.’

‘I wouldn’t want to force anything on you.’

‘You’re not forcing. Give me, please.’

‘You’re quite sure?’

‘Gimme!’ Carmody shouted.

‘So take,’ Bellwether said, and produced a magnificent bunch of muscatel grapes. Carmody ate them all. They were very good.

‘Excuse me,’ Bellwether said. ‘What are you doing?’

Carmody sat upright and opened his eyes. ‘I was taking a little nap,’ he said. ‘Is there anything wrong with that?’

‘What should be wrong with a perfectly natural thing like that?’ Bellwether said.

‘Thank you,’ Carmody said, and closed his eyes again.

‘But why nap in a chair?’ Bellwether asked.

‘Because I’m
in
a chair, and I’m already half asleep.’

‘You’ll get a crick in your back,’ Bellwether warned him.

‘Don’t care,’ Carmody mumbled, his eyes still closed.

‘Why not take a proper nap? Over here, on the couch?’

‘I’m already napping comfortably where I am.’

‘You’re not really comfortable,’ Bellwether pointed out. ‘The human anatomy is not constructed for sleeping sitting up.’

‘At the moment, mine is,’ Carmody said.

‘It’s not. Why not try the couch?’

‘The chair is fine.’

‘But the couch is finer. Just try it, please, Carmody. Carmody?’

‘Eh? What’s that?’ Carmody said, waking up.

‘The couch. I really think you should rest on the couch.’

‘All right!’ Carmody said, struggling to his feet. ‘Where is this couch?’

He was guided out of the restaurant, down the street, around the corner, and into a building marked ‘The Snoozerie.’ There were a dozen couches. Carmody went to the nearest.

‘Not that one,’ Bellwether said. ‘It’s got a bad spring.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Carmody said. ‘I’ll sleep around it.’

‘That will result in a cramped posture.’

‘Christ!’ Carmody said, getting to his feet. ‘Which would you recommend?’

‘This one back here,’ Bellwether said. ‘It’s king-size, the best in the place. The yield-point of the mattress has been scientifically determined. The pillows –’

‘Right, fine, good,’ Carmody said, lying down on the indicated couch.

‘Shall I play you some soothing music?’

‘Don’t bother.’

‘Just as you wish. I’ll put out the lights, then.’

‘Fine.’

‘Would you like a blanket? I control the temperature here, of course, but sleepers often get a subjective impression of chilliness.’

‘It doesn’t matter! Leave me alone!’

‘All right!’ Bellwether said. ‘I’m not doing this for myself, you know. Personally, I never sleep.’

‘OK, sorry,’.Carmody said.

‘That’s perfectly all right,’ Bellwether said.

There was a long silence. Then Carmody sat up.

‘What’s the matter?’ Bellwether asked.

‘Now I can’t sleep,’ Carmody said.

‘Try closing your eyes and consciously relaxing every muscle in your body, starting with the big toe and working upward to –’

‘I can’t sleep!’ Carmody shouted.

‘Maybe you weren’t very sleepy to begin. With,’ Bellwether suggested. ‘But at least you could close your eyes and try to get a little rest. Won’t you do that for me?’

‘No!’ Carmody said. ‘I’m not sleepy and I don’t need a rest.’

‘Stubborn!’ Bellwether said. ‘Do what you like. I’ve tried my best.’

‘Yeah,’ Carmody said, getting to his feet and walking out of The Snoozerie.

Carmody stood on a little curved bridge and looked over a blue lagoon.

‘This is a copy of the Rialto bridge in Venice,’ Bellwether said.‘Scaled down, of course.’

‘I know,’ Carmody said. ‘I read the sign.’

‘It’s rather enchanting, isn’t it?’

‘Sure, it’s fine,’ Carmody said, lighting a cigarette.

‘You’re doing a lot of smoking,’ Bellwether pointed out.

‘I know. I feel like smoking.’

‘As your medical adviser, I must point out that the link between smoking and lung cancer is conclusive.’

‘I know.’

‘If you switched to a pipe, your chances would be improved.’

‘I don’t like pipes.’

‘What about a cigar, then?’

‘I don’t like cigars.’ He lit another cigarette.

‘That’s your third cigarette in five minutes,’ Bellwether said.

‘Goddamn it, I’ll smoke as much and as often as I please!’ Carmody shouted.

‘Well, of course you will!’ Bellwether said. ‘I was merely trying to advise you for your own good. Would you want me to simply stand by and not say a word while you destroyed yourself?’

‘Yes,’ Carmody said.

‘I can’t believe you mean that. There is an ethical imperative involved here. Man can act against his best interests, but a machine is not allowed that degree of perversity.’

‘Get off my back,’ Carmody said sullenly. ‘Quit pushing me around.’

‘Pushing you around? My dear Carmody, have I coerced you in any way? Have I done any more than advise you?’

‘Maybe not. But you talk too much.’

‘Perhaps I don’t talk enough,’ Bellwether said. ‘To judge from the response I get.’

‘You talk too much,’ Carmody repeated, and lit a cigarette.

‘That is your fourth cigarette in five minutes.’

Carmody opened his mouth to bellow an insult. Then he changed his mind and walked away.

‘What’s this?’ Carmody asked.

‘It’s a candy machine,’ Bellwether told him.

‘It doesn’t look like one.’

‘Still, it is one. This design is a modification of a design by Saarinomen for a silo. I have miniaturized it, of course, and –’

‘It still doesn’t look like a candy machine. How do you work it?’

‘It’s very simple. Push the red button. Now wait. Press down one of those levers on Row A; now press the green button. There!’

A Babe-Ruth bar slid into Carmody’s hand.

‘Huh,’ Carmody said. He stripped off the paper and bit into the bar. ‘Is this a real Babe Ruth bar or a copy of one?’ he asked.

‘It’s a real one. I had to subcontract the candy concession because of the pressure of work.’

‘Huh,’ Carmody said, letting the candy wrapper slip out of his fingers.

‘That,’ Bellwether said, ‘is an example of the kind of thoughtlessness I always encounter.’

‘It’s just a piece of paper,’ Carmody said, turning and looking at the candy wrapper lying on the spotless street.

‘Of course it’s just a piece of paper,’. Bellwether said. ‘But multiply it by a hundred thousand inhabitants and what do you have?’

‘A hundred thousand pieces of paper,’ Carmody answered at once.

‘I don’t consider that funny,’ Bellwether said. ‘You wouldn’t want to live in the midst of all that paper, I can assure you. You’d be the first to complain if this street were strewn with rubbish. But do you do your share? Do you even clean up after yourself? Of course not! You leave it to me, even though I have to run all the other functions of the city, night and day, without even Sundays off.’

‘Must you go on so?’ Carmody asked. ‘I’ll pick it up.’

He bent down to pick up the candy wrapper. But just before his fingers could close on it, a pincer arm shot out of the nearest sewer, snatched the paper away and vanished from sight.

‘It’s all right,’ Bellwether said. ‘I’m used to cleaning up after people. I do it all the time.’

‘Yuh,’ said Carmody.

‘Nor do I expect any gratitude.’

‘I’m grateful, I’m grateful!’ Carmody said.

‘No, you’re not,’ Bellwether said.

‘So OK, maybe I’m not. What do you want me to say?’

‘I don’t want you to say anything,’ Bellwether said. ‘Let us consider the incident closed.’

‘Had enough?’ Bellwether said, after dinner.

‘Plenty,’ Carmody said.

‘You didn’t eat much.’

‘I ate all I wanted. It was very good.’

‘If it was so good, why didn’t you eat more?’

‘Because I couldn’t hold any more.’

‘If you hadn’t spoiled your appetite with that candy bar …’