Pastoralia (2 page)

I knock on the door of her Separate Area.

“Who is it?” she asks, playing dumb.

She knows very well who it is. I stick in my arm and wave around a trash bag.

“Go for it,” she says.

She’s in there washing her armpits with a washcloth. The room smells like her, only more so. I add the trash from her wicker basket to my big white bag. I add her bag of used feminine items to my big white bag. I take three bags labeled Caution Human Refuse from the corner and add them to my big pink bag labeled Caution Human Refuse.

I mime to her that I dreamed of a herd that covered the plain like the grass of the earth, they were as numerous as grasshoppers and yet the meat of their humps resembled each a tiny mountain etc. etc., and sharpen my spear and try to look like I’m going into a sort of prehunt trance.

“Are you going?” she shouts. “Are you going now? Is that what you’re saying?”

I nod.

“Christ, so go already,” she says. “Have fun. Bring back some mints.”

She has worked very hard these many months to hollow out a rock in which to hide her mints and her smokes. Mints mints mints. Smokes smokes smokes. No matter how long we’re in here together I will never get the hots for her. She’s fifty and has large feet and sloping shoulders and a pinched little face and chews with her mouth open. Sometimes she puts on big ugly glasses in the cave and does a crossword: very verboten.

Out I go, with the white regular trash bag in one hand and our mutual big pink Human Refuse bag in the other.

7.

Down in the blue-green valley is a herd of robotic something-or-others, bent over the blue-green grass, feeding I guess? Midway between our mountain and the opposing mountains is a wide green river with periodic interrupting boulders. I walk along a white cliff, then down a path marked by a yellow dot on a pine. Few know this way. It is a non-Guest path. No Attractions are down it, only Disposal Area 8 and a little Employees Only shop in a doublewide, a real blessing for us, we’re so close and all.

Inside the doublewide are Marty and a lady we think is maybe Marty’s wife but then again maybe not.

Marty’s shrieking at the lady, who’s writing down whatever he shrieks.

“Just do as they ask!” he shrieks, and she writes it down. “And not only that, do more than that, son, more than they ask! Excel! Why not excel? Be excellent! Is it bad to be good? Now son, I know you don’t think that, because that is not what you were taught, you were taught that it is good to be good, I very clearly remember teaching you that. When we went fishing, and you caught a fish, I always said good, good fishing, son, and when you caught no fish, I frowned, I said bad, bad catching of fish, although I don’t believe I was ever cruel about it. Are you getting this?”

“Every word,” the lady says. “To me they’re like nuggets of gold.”

“Ha ha,” says Marty, and gives her a long loving scratch on the back, and takes a drink of Squirt and starts shrieking again.

“So anyways, do what they ask!” he shrieks. “Don’t you know how much we love you here at home, and want you to succeed? As for them, the big-wigs you wrote me about, freak them big-wigs! Just do what they ask though. In your own private mind, think what you like, only do what they ask, so they like you. And in this way, you will succeed. As for the little-wigs you mentioned, just how little are they? You didn’t mention that. Are they a lot littler wig than you? In that case, freak them, ignore them if they talk to you, and if they don’t talk to you, go up and start talking to them, sort of bossing them around, you know, so they don’t start thinking they’re the boss of you. But if they’re the same wig as you, be careful, son! Don’t piss them off, don’t act like you’re the boss of them, but also don’t bend over for some little shit who’s merely the same wig as you, or else he’ll assume you’re a smaller wig than you really actually are. As for friends, sure, friends are great, go ahead and make friends, they’re a real blessing, only try to avoid making friends with boys who are the same or lesser wig than you. Only make friends with boys who are bigger wigs than you, assuming they’ll have you, which probably they won’t. Because why should they? Who are you? You’re a smaller wig than them. Although then again, they might be slumming, which would be good for you, you could sneak right in there.”

Marty gives me a little wave, then resumes shrieking.

“I don’t want to put the pressure on, son,” he says. “I know you got enough pressure, with school being so hard and all, and you even having to make your own book covers because of our money crunch, so I don’t want to put on extra pressure by saying that the family honor is at stake, but guess what pal, it is! You’re it, kid! You’re as good as we got. Think of it, me and your mother, and Paw-Paw and Mee-Maw, and Great Paw-Paw, who came over here from wherever he was before, in some kind of boat, and fixed shoes all his life in a shack or whatever? Remember that? Why’d he do that? So you could eventually be born! Think of that! All those years of laundry and stuffing their faces and plodding to the market and making love and pushing out the babies and so on, and what’s the upshot? You, pal, you’re the freaking upshot. And now there you are, in boarding school, what a privilege, the first one of us to do it, so all’s I’m saying is, do your best and don’t take no shit from nobody, unless taking shit from them is part of your master plan to get the best of them by tricking them into being your friend. Just always remember who you are, son, you’re a Kusacki, my only son, and I love you. Ack, I’m getting mushy here.”

“You’re doing great,” says the lady.

“So much to say,” he says.

“And Jeannine sends her love too,” says the lady.

“And Jeannine sends her love too,” he says. “For crissake’s sake, Jeannine, write it down if you want to say it. I don’t have to say it for you to write it. Just write it. You’re my wife.”

“I’m not your wife,” says Jeannine.

“You are to me,” says Marty, and she sort of leans into him and he takes another slug of the Squirt.

I buy Janet some smokes and mints and me a Kayo.

I really like Kayo.

“Hey, you hear about Dave Wolley?” Marty says to me. “Dave Wolley from Wise Mountain Hermit? You know him? You know Dave?”

I know Dave very well. Dave was part of the group that used to meet for the barbecues at Russian Peasant Farm.

“Well, wave bye-bye to Dave,” Marty says. “Wise Mountain Hermit is kaput. Dave is kaput.”

“I’ve never seen Dave so upset,” says Jeannine.

“He was very freaking upset,” says Marty. “Who wouldn’t be? He was superdedicated.”

Dave was superdedicated. He grew his own beard long instead of wearing a fake and even when on vacation went around barefoot to make his feet look more like the feet of an actual mountain ascetic.

“The problem is, Wise Mountain Hermit was too far off the beaten path,” Marty says. “Like all you Remotes. All you Remotes, you’re too far off the beaten path. Think about it. These days we got very few Guests to begin with, which means we got even fewer Guests willing to walk way the hell up here to see you Remotes. Right? Am I right?”

“You are absolutely right,” says Jeannine.

“I am absolutely right,” says Marty. “Although I am not happy about being absolutely right, because if you think of it, if you Remotes go kaput, where am I? It’s you Remotes
I’m servicing. See? Right? Give him his mints. Make change for the poor guy. He’s got to get back to work.”

“Have a good one,” says Jeannine, and makes my change.

It’s sad about Dave. Also it’s worrisome. Because Wise Mountain Hermit was no more Remote than we are, plus it was much more popular, because Dave was so good at dispensing ad-libbed sage advice.

I walk down the path to the Refuse Center and weigh our Human Refuse. I put the paperwork and the fee in the box labeled Paperwork and Fees. I toss the trash in the dumpster labeled Trash, and the Human Refuse in the dumpster labeled Caution Human Refuse, then sit against a tree and drink my Kayo.

8.

Next morning in the Big Slot is a goat and in the Little Slot a rabbit and a note addressed to Distribution:

Please accept this extra food as a token of what our esteem is like
, the note says.
Please know that each one of you is very special to us, and are never forgotten about. Please know that if each one of you could be kept, you would be, if that would benefit everyone. But it wouldn’t, or we would do it, wouldn’t we, we would keep every one of you. But as we meld into our sleeker new organization, what an excellent opportunity to adjust our Staff Mix. And so, although in this time of scarcity and challenge, some must perhaps go, the upside of this is, some must stay, and perhaps it will be you. Let us hope it
will
be you, each and every one of you, but no, as stated previously, it won’t, that is impossible. So just enjoy the treats provided, and don’t worry, and wait for your supervisor to contact you, and if he or she doesn’t, know with relief that the Staff Remixing has passed by your door. Although it is only honest to inform you that some who make the first pass may indeed be removed in the second, or maybe even a third, depending on how the Remixing goes, although if anyone is removed in both the first and second pass, that will be a redundant screw-up, please ignore. We will only remove each of you once. If that many times! Some of you will be removed never, the better ones of you. But we find ourselves in a too-many-Indians situation and so must first cut some Indians and then, later, possibly, some chiefs. But not yet, because that is harder, because that is us. Soon, but not yet, we have to decide which of us to remove, and that is so very hard, because we are so very useful. Not that we are saying we chiefs are more useful than you Indians, but certainly we do make some very difficult decisions that perhaps you Indians would find hard to make, keeping you up nights, such as which of you to remove. But don’t worry about us, we’ve been doing this for years, only first and foremost remember that what we are doing, all of us, chiefs and Indians both, is a fun privilege, how many would like to do what we do, in the entertainment field
.

Which I guess explains about Dave Wolley.

“Jeez,” says Janet. “Let the freaking canning begin.”

I give her a look.

“Oh all right all right,” she says. “Ooga mooga. Ooga ooga mooga. Is that better?”

She can be as snotty as she likes but a Remixing is nothing to sneeze at.

I skin and roast the goat and rabbit. After breakfast she puts on her Walkman and starts a letter to her sister: very verboten. I work on the pictographs. I mean I kneel while pretending to paint them by dipping my crude dry brush into the splotches of hard colorful plastic meant to look like paint made from squashed berries.

Around noon the fax in my Separate Area makes the sound it makes when a fax is coming in.

Getting it would require leaving the cave and entering my Separate Area during working hours.

“Christ, go get it,” Janet says. “Are you nuts? It might be from Louise.”

I go get it.

It’s from Louise.

Nelson doing better today
, it says.
Not much new swelling. Played trucks and ate 3 pcs bologna. Asked about you. No temperature, good range of motion in both legs and arms. Visa is up to $6800, should I transfer to new card w/ lower interest rate?

Sounds good
, I fax back.
How are other kids?

Kids are kids are kids
, she faxes back.
Driving me nuts. Always talking
.

Miss you
, I fax, and she faxes back the necessary Signature Card.

I sign the card. I fax the card.

Nelson’s six. Three months ago his muscles stiffened up. The medicine they put him on to loosen his muscles did somewhat loosen them, but also it caused his muscles to swell. Otherwise he’s fine, only he’s stiff and swollen and it hurts when he moves. They have a name for what they
originally thought he had, but when the medication made him swell up, Dr. Evans had to admit that whatever he had, it wasn’t what they’d originally thought it was.

So we’re watching him closely.

I return to the cave.

“How are things?” Janet says.

I grimace.

“Well, shit,” she says. “You know I’m freaking rooting for you guys.”

Sometimes she can be pretty nice.

9.

First thing next morning Greg Nordstrom pokes his head in and asks me to brunch.

Which is a first.

“How about me?” says Janet.

“Ha ha!” says Nordstrom. “Not you. Not today. Maybe soon, however!”

I follow him out.

Very bright sun.

About fifty feet from the cave there’s a red paper screen that says Patience! Under Construction, and we go behind it.

“You’ll be getting your proxy forms in your Slot soon,” he says, spreading out some bagels on a blanket. “Fill out the proxy as you see fit, everything’s fine, just vote, do it boldly, exert your choice, it has to do with your stock
option. Are you vested? Great to be vested. Just wait until you are. It really feels like a Benefit. You’ll see why they call Benefits Benefits, when every month, ka-ching, that option money kicks up a notch. Man, we’re lucky.”

“Yes,” I say.

“I am and you are,” he says. “Not everyone is. Some aren’t. Those being removed in the Staff Remixing, no. But you’re not being removed. At least I don’t think so. Now Janet, I have some concerns about Janet, I don’t know what they’re going to do about Janet. It’s not me, it’s them, but what can I do? How is she? Is she okay? How have you found her? I want you to speak frankly. Are there problems? Problems we can maybe help correct? How is she? Nice? Reliable? It’s not negative to point out a defect. Actually, it’s positive, because then the defect can be fixed. What’s negative is to withhold valuable info. Are you? Withholding valuable info? I hope not. Are you being negative? Is she a bit of a pain? Please tell me. I want you to. If you admit she’s a bit of a pain, I’ll write down how positive you were. Look, you know and I know she’s got some performance issues, so what an exciting opportunity, for you to admit it and me to hear it loud and clear. Super!”