‘Toxidol,’ said Pa.
‘Make a note of that, too. Can’t be too careful in case of any malpractice hassles later, eh?’ The woman rushed out.
‘Malp — no, doc, listen I—’
More beaming over the platinum. ‘Pa, do yourself a big favour, eh? Just stop. Throw away this medication wherever you got it, throw it out. Otherwise I’ll just have to call it quits. Will you promise to throw it out?’
‘Sure, but—’
‘No buts. Just promise me. Hell man, you don’t know what you might be taking there, this Taxiderm could be lethal. I kid you not.’
‘I — I promise.’
‘Gooood. Good. Knew I could depend on you. Together, Pa, we’ll lick this condition of yours — the haemorrhaging, the dandruff, the works — eh? Just throw away all the junk you’re taking, the Taxicob and all the rest of it — and stick to the stuff I gave you. And Pa? Trust me.’
They went out on Main Street, where the recorded carollers were just finishing ‘Noël Noël Noël Noël, Get an extra six-pack ’cause you never can tell…’ and into Joradsen’s Drug where old Mr Joradsen said:
‘Merry Christmas, Pa. But get that thing out of here, no pets.’
‘Well he—’
‘No pets! Not my rule, it’s the law!’
So Roderick waited outside, listening to a local version of Handel’s Messiah and to the comments of passing shoppers.
‘Never oughta allow a thing like that out in public!’
‘…and not even tied up…’
‘Makes you sick just to look…’
The sky seemed to be pressing down on the low roofs of Main Street. Handel without words without meaning. Okay, it worked, it might work if the knife lost its blade and you put on a new one, and then it lost its handle — but suppose you had two knives and you switched handles, were they still the same? Or did whatever it was that made them themselves go with the handles? Do you switch handles or switch blades?
‘Hey Rick boy, you nuts or something? Standing here talking to yourself about switchblades…’
‘Oh hi, Chaunce. No I just, I was just thinking out loud.’
‘My old man would buy me a switchblade any time I asked him, you know? Like two feet long! Hey you know you really blasted that old school computer boy, they can’t even take roll any more. No tests, no nothin’, it’s great. I owe you one, pal.’
But when his gang showed up a minute later, Chauncey seemed to change his mind.
Pa found Roderick lying in front of Virgil’s Hometown Hardware, one of his new legs broken.
‘Scrapping again? My boy—’
‘I’m sorry, Pa. We were playing Ratstar, you know like the movie, and I was the alien see, Mung Fungal—’
‘Okay, okay.’ Pa lifted him up so that he could see the display in Virgil’s window: axes, hunting knives, hammers and handguns arranged in the shape of a Christmas tree, with a tinsel message hanging above: TO MEN OF GOOD WILL.
‘Reminds me,’ Pa chuckled. ‘Gotta see Swann about makin’ my will.’
XV
SOME LAWS OF ROBOTICS (II)
Robots can think and smell and hear and talk.
They’ve got metal minds.
My robot is a lady companion robot and it’s a maid and it goes out and does the shopping for a man.
My robot is an electric robot and it exterminates people. A robot is a man’s companion. They keep their master company and take orders from him.
It must be an awful life being a robot because all you do is take orders.
Robots are always men… If I had a robot I wouldn’t even have to think because he would do everything for me.
‘EEEEEEP!’
‘Hold it a minute, son.’ Pa made an adjustment with a screwdriver. ‘Now try.’
Roderick moved his hand once more into the candle-flame. ‘Eeep. Blip.’ He jerked it back. ‘Pa, I don’t think I like this pain stuff. I know you said it was for my own protection and all but — ouch! — I still don’t — ow! — don’t like it.’
‘You’ll learn how to handle it, Roddy. Everybody does. Or maybe they don’t, who knows? All I know is, we gotta find some way of keeping you out of fights. You don’t understand now, but you will.’
Ma came in wearing one purple glove. ‘Ready, son? We’re going to see your new school.’
‘Aw gee.’ Roderick slid down off the work-bench, feeling the thump when his feet hit the floor. ‘Ow, I mean how come I gotta go to Holy Trinity? That’s where all the catlicker kids go. Chauncey says they all got webbed feet!’
‘They don’t,’ said Ma. ‘Chauncey Bangfield told you a lot of things that weren’t true, didn’t he?’
‘S’pose so.’
‘He told you his father was a famous astronaut, instead of a fat bald real estate agent.’
He decided to repeat no more of Chaunce’s dark warnings. Holy Trinity School was an old brick building next to the cemetery, where every Saturday they put up a sign, Nearly New Sale, Bargains Galore, Bring the Family. Chaunce said the sisters went out every night and robbed the graves to get bones for their weird rituals, ‘mass’ and all that. Everybody knew there were mass graves, like the ones on the news in Ruritania.
Roderick said nothing more until they were standing before the dark building. ‘Wow!’ he said.
‘What is it?’
‘Chauncey said they had a guy nailed to the wall — wow!’
‘It’s just an emblem,’ she said. ‘Kind of a well, a good-luck charm. Come on.’
The school was dark inside and smelled of floor-wax. A frail old woman in black got up from her knees with difficulty to greet them. ‘I’m. Sister. Mary. Martha,’ she said, wheezing. ‘You. must. be. Mrs. Wood. You’ll be. wanting Fath. er O’Bride.’ She directed them upstairs to a door with another strange emblem: a white-and-red circular picture of a satanic tiger, with the name ‘Holy Trinity Hellcats.’
Roderick had seen Fathers in movies before: they wore long black gowns and white collars, and when they weren’t singing ‘Going My Way’ they were taking cigarettes away from kids and saying God’s an all-right guy who’s on the level.
Father O’Bride wore a sweatshirt with the sleeves torn off, a fishing hat covered with hooks, bright plaid trousers. His feet, in sneakers, were on the desk, waggling as he talked on the phone. His free hand twitched a fishing-rod.
‘Oh uh sit down, sit down. With you in a minute. Yeah, Charlie, I’m still here. And I still don’t like the sound of that price. Listen, I know wholesale on basketball jerseys, and I know a fat markup when I… Overheads for, cripes, what overheads? The things are seconds, you and I know the factory practically pays you to haul… yeah well don’t talk to me about middlemen, I still work it out at two-twenty-four less discount, yeah okay, plus state tax… yah?’
He looked down the long office to a filing cabinet on top of which rested a biretta. With a flick of the rod, he sent a hook flying down to snag the hat’s pompon. ‘Have a heart, Charlie, we don’t have a big fat State budget behind us… okay but does two-thirty-one include the name or… okay and get it right this time? H-E-L-L-C-A-T-S, one word? Not like those baseball uniforms you picked up from, Korea was it? I mean it didn’t exactly do the old team spirit a heck of a lot of good being Holy Trinity Hub Caps all season, know what I mean? Point oh seven one, how’dya like that for a percentage, bottom of the league, even Saint Peter shut us out, we spanked Saint Theresa but then Saint Bart massacred us, Cosmos & Damien took a double-header, we got singed by St Joan and slaughtered by Holy Inno’s, Pete decked us again and then a no-hitter surprise from St Sebastian — well, it’s the old story. Let me get back to you Charlie…’