Part 19 (1/2)
I used to bite my nails. My nails were a bit long but perfect. I had lost the nail from my right little toe years ago through a slip with a hatchet. It was back.
I looked hastily for my appendectomy scar-found it and felt relieved. If it had been missing, I would have wondered if I was me.
There was a mirror over the chest of drawers. It showed me with enough hair to warrant a guitar (I wear a crew cut) but somebody had shaved me.
On the chest was a dollar and sixty-seven cents, a mechanical pencil, a sheet of paper, my watch, and a handkerchief. The watch was running. The dollar bill, the paper, and the handkerchief had been laundered.
My clothes, spandy clean and invisibly repaired, were on the desk. The socks weren't mine; the material was more like felt, if you will imagine felted material no thicker than Kleenex which stretches instead of tearing. On the floor were tennis shoes, like Peewee's even to a ”U.S. Rubber” trademark, but in my size. The uppers were heavier felted material. I got dressed.
I was wearing the result when Peewee kicked the door. ”Anybody home?” She came in, bearing a tray. ”Want breakfast?”
”Peewee! Look at me!”
She did. ”Not bad,” she admitted, ”for an ape. You need a haircut.”
”Yes, but isn't it wonderful! I'm all together again!”
”You never were apart,” she answered, ”except in spots-I've had daily reports. Where do you want this?” She put the tray on the desk.
”Peewee,” I asked, rather hurt, ”don't you care that I'm well?”
”Of course I do. Why do you think I made 'em let me carry in your breakfast? But I knew last night that they were going to uncork you. Who do you think cut your nails and shaved you? That'll be a dollar, please. Shaves have gone up.” I got that tired dollar and handed it to her. She didn't take it. ”Aw, can't you take a joke?” ”'Neither a borrower nor a lender be.'”
”Polonius. He was a stupid old bore. Honest, Kip, I wouldn't take your last dollar.”
”Now who can't take a joke?”
”Oh, eat your breakfast. That purple juice,” she said, ”tastes like orange juice-it's very nice. The stuff that looks like scrambled eggs is a fair subst.i.tute and I had 'em color it yellow-the eggs here are dreadful, which wouldn't surprise you if you knew where they get them. The b.u.t.tery stuff is vegetable fat and I had them color it, too. The bread is bread, I toasted it myself. The salt is salt and it surprises them that we eat it-they think it's poison. Go ahead; I've guinea-pigged everything. No coffee.”
”I won't miss it.”
”I never touch the stuff-I'm trying to grow. Eat. Your sugar count has been allowed to drop so that you will enjoy it.”
The aroma was wonderful. ”Where's your breakfast, Peewee?”
”I ate hours ago. I'll watch and swallow when you do.”
The tastes were odd but it was just what the doctor ordered-literally, I suppose. I've never enjoyed a meal so much.
Presently I slowed down to say, ”Knife and fork? Spoons?”
”The only ones on-” She vocalized the planet's name. ”I got tired of fingers and I play hob using what they use. So I drew pictures. This set is mine but we'll order more.”
There was even a napkin, more felted stuff. The water tasted distilled and not aerated. I didn't mind. ”Peewee, how did you shave me? Not even a nick.”
”Little gismo that beats a razor all hollow. I don't know what they use it for, but if you could patent it, you'd make a fortune. Aren't you going to finish that toast?”
”Uh-” I had thought that I could eat the tray. ”No, I'm full.”
”Then I will.” She used it to mop up the ”b.u.t.ter,” then announced, ”I'm off!”
”Where?”
”To suit up. I'm going to take you for a walk!” She was gone.
The hall outside did not imitate ours where it could not be seen from the bed, but a door to the left was a bathroom, just where it should have been. No attempt had been made to make it look like the one at home, and valving and lighting and such were typically Vegan. But everything worked.
Peewee returned while I was checking Oscar. If they had cut him off me, they had done a marvelous job of repairing; even the places I had patched no longer showed. He had been cleaned so thoroughly that there was no odor inside. He had three hours of air and seemed okay in every way. ”You're in good shape, partner.”
(”In the pink! The service is excellent here.”) ”So I've noticed.” I looked up and saw Peewee; she was already in her ”spring outfit.”
”Peewee, do we need s.p.a.ce suits just for a walk?”
”No. You could get by with a respirator, sun gla.s.ses, and a sun shade.”
”You've convinced me. Say, where's Madame Pompadour? How do you get her inside that suit?”
”No trouble at all, she just bulges a little. But I left her in my room and told her to behave herself.”
”Will she?”
”Probably not. She takes after me.”
”Where is your room?”
”Next door. This is the only part of the house which is Earth-conditioned.”
I started to suit up. ”Say, has that fancy suit got a radio?”
”All that yours has and then some. Did you notice the change in Oscar?”
”Huh? What? I saw that he was repaired and cleaned up. What else have they done?”
”Just a little thing. One more click on the switch that changes antennas and you can talk to people around you who aren't wearing radios without shouting.”
”I didn't see a speaker.”
”They don't believe in making everything big and bulky.”
As we pa.s.sed Peewee's room I glanced in. It was not decorated Vegan style; I had seen Vegan interiors through stereo. Nor was it a copy of her own room-not if her parents were sensible. I don't know what to call it -”Moorish harem” style, perhaps, as conceived by Mad King Ludwig, with a dash of Disneyland.
I did not comment. I had a hunch that Peewee had been given a room ”just like her own” because I had one; that fitted the Mother Thing's behavior-but Peewee had seen a golden chance to let her overfertile imagination run wild. I doubt if she fooled the Mother Thing one split second. She had probably let that indulgent overtone come into her song and had given Peewee what she wanted.
The Mother Thing's home was smaller than our state capitol but not much; her family seemed to run to dozens, or hundreds-”family” has a wide meaning under their complex interlinkage. We didn't see any young ones on our floor and I knew that they were being kept away from the ”monsters.” The adults all greeted me, inquired as to my health, and congratulated me on my recovery; I was kept busy saying ”Fine, thank you! Couldn't be better.”
They all knew Peewee and she could sing their names.
I thought I recognized one of my therapists, but the Mother Thing, Prof Joe and the boss veterinarian were the only Vegans I was sure of and we did not meet them.
We hurried on. The Mother Thing's home was typical-many soft round cus.h.i.+ons about a foot thick and four in diameter, used as beds or chairs, floor bare, slick and springy, most furniture on the walls where it could be reached by climbing, convenient rods and poles and brackets a person could drape himself on while using the furniture, plants growing unexpectedly here and there as if the jungle were moving in-delightful, and as useful to me as a corset.