The two New-Path staff members stood surveying the thing on their floor that lay puking and shivering and fouling itself, its arms hugging itself, embracing its own body as if to stop itself, against the cold that made it tremble so violently.
What is it? one staff member said.
Donna said, A person.
Substance D?
She nodded.
It ate his head. Another loser.
She said to the two of them, Its easy to win. Anybody can win. Bending down over Robert Arctor she said, silently,
Good-by.
They were putting an old army blanket over him as she left. She did not look back.
Getting into her car, she drove at once onto the closest freeway, into the thickest traffic possible. From the box of tapes on the floor of the car she took the Carole King Tapestry tape, her favorite of all she had, and pushed it into the tape deck; at the same time, she tugged loose the Ruger pistol magnetically mounted out of sight beneath the dashboard. In top gear she tailgated a truck carrying wooden cases of quart bottles of Coca-Cola, and as Carole King sang in stereo she emptied the clip of the Ruger at the Coke bottles a few feet ahead of her can.
While Carole King sang soothingly about people sitting down and turning into toads, Donna managed to get four bottles before the guns clip was empty. Bits of glass and smears of Coke splattered the windshield of her can. She felt better.
Justice and honesty and loyalty are not properties of this world, she thought; and then, by God, she rammed her old enemy, her ancient foe, the Coca-Cola truck, which went right on going without noticing. The impact spun her small can around; her headlights dimmed out, horrible noises of fender against tire shrieked, and then she was off the freeway onto the emergency strip, facing the other direction, water pouring from her radiator, with motorists slowing down to gape.
Come back, you motherfucker, she said to herself, but the Coca-Cola truck was long gone, probably undented. Maybe a scratch. Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later, her wan, her taking on a symbol and a reality that outweighed her. Now my insurance rates will go up, she realized as she climbed from her car. In this world you pay for tilting with evil in cold, hand cash.
A late-model Mustang slowed and the driver, a man, called to her, You want a ride, miss?
She did not answer. She just kept on going. A small figure on foot facing an infinity of oncoming lights.
14
Magazine clipping thumbtacked to the wall of the lounge at Samarkand House, New-Paths residence building in Santa Ana, California:
When the senile patient awakens in the morning and asks for his mother, remind him that she is long since dead, that he is over eighty years old and living in a convalescent home, and that this is 1992 and not 1913 and that he must face reality and the fact that
A resident had torn down the rest of the item; it ended there. Evidently it had been clipped from a professional nursing magazine; it was on slick paper.
What youll be doing here first, George, the staff member, told him, leading him down the hall, is the bathrooms. The floors, the basins, especially the toilets. Therere three bathrooms in this structure, one on each floor.
Okay, he said.
Heres a mop. And a pail. You feel you know how to do this? Clean a bathroom? Start, and Ill watch you and give you pointers.
He carried the pail to the tub on the back porch and he poured soap into it and then ran the hot water. All he could see was the foam of water directly before him; foam and the roar.
But he could hear Georges voice, out of sight. Not too full, because you wont be able to lift it.
Okay.
You have a little trouble telling where you are, George said, after a time.
Im at New-Path. He set the pail down on the floor and it slopped; he stood staring down at it.
New-Path where?
In Santa Ana.
George lifted the pail up for him, showing him how to grip the wire handle and swing it along as he walked. Later on I think well transfer you to the island on one of the farms. First you have to go through the dishpan.
I can do that, he said. Dishpans.
Do you like animals?
Sure.
Or farming?
Animals.
Well see. Well wait until were acquainted with you better. Anyhow, thatll be a while; everyone is in the dishpan for a month. Everyone who comes in the door.
Id sort of like to live in the country, he said.
We maintain several types of facilities. Well determine whats best suited. You know, you can smoke here, but it isnt encouraged. This isnt Synanon; they dont let you smoke.
He said, I dont have any more cigarettes.
We give each resident one pack a day.
Money? He didnt have any.
Its without cost. Theres never any cost. You paid your cost. George took the mop, pushed it down into the pail, showed him how to mop.
How come I dont have any money?
The same reason you dont have any wallet or any last name. Itll be given back to you, all given back. Thats what we want to do: give you back whats been taken away from you.
He said, These shoes dont fit.
We depend on donations, but new ones only, from stores. Later on maybe we can measure you. Did you try all the shoes in the carton?
Yes, he said.
All right, this is the bathroom here on the basement floor; do it first. Then when thats done, really done well, really perfect, then go upstairsbring the mop and bucketand Ill show you the bathroom up there, and then after that the bathroom on the third floor. But you got to get permission to go up there to the third floor, because thats where the chicks live, so ask one of the staff first; never go up there without permission. He slapped him on the back. All right, Bruce? Understand?
Okay, Bruce said, mopping.
George said, Youll be doing this kind of work, cleaning these bathrooms, until you get so you can do a good job. It doesnt matter what a person does; its that he gets so he can do it right and be proud of it.
Will I ever be like I was again? Bruce asked.
What you were brought you here. If you become what you were again then sooner or later itd bring you here again. Next time you might not make it here, even. Isnt that right? Youre lucky you got here; you almost didnt get here.
Somebody else drove me here.
Youre fortunate. The next time they might not. They might dump you on the side of the freeway somewhere and say the hell with it.
He continued mopping.
The best way is to do the bowls first, then the tub, then the toilets, and the floor last.
Okay, he said, and put the mop away.
Theres a certain knack to it. Youll master it.
Concentrating, he saw before him cracks in the enamel of the basin; he dribbled cleaner down into the cracks and ran hot water. The steam rose, and he stood within it, unmoving, as the steam grew. He liked the smell.
After lunch he sat in the lounge drinking coffee. No one spoke to him, because they understood he was withdrawing. Sitting drinking from his cup, he could hear their conversation. They all knew one another.
If you could see out from inside a dead person you could still see, but you couldnt operate the eye muscles, so you couldnt focus. You couldnt turn your head or your eyeballs. All you could do would be wait until some object passed by. Youd be frozen. Just wait and wait. Itd be a terrible scene.
He gazed down at the steam of his coffee, only that. The steam rose; he liked the smell.