Viktor:
No. What I had in mind was the kind of box that holds several packages of toilet paper, or possibly paper towels — a big one, with high sides.
Jeffery:
No, I haven’t.
Viktor:
Well, let me tell you about it. The first thing a rat will do in that situation is to jump around in every direction and try to find a way out.
Jeffery:
Are you sure? I remember back when I was a kid I went to a pet store once and the owner let one crawl all over me. It was white and had brown spots. It was nice but my mother wouldn’t let me have it. I must have been around ten. .
Viktor:
I’m not talking about tame rats. I’m talking about wild rats, the kind you see in sewers and in garbage dumps. Big, fierce ones. They’re usually brown or gray.
Jeffery:
Okay, I thought you meant tame ones. So what are you saying?
Viktor:
I’m saying that when, after a while, after a rat has finished jumping around and he finally understands he can’t get out, do you know what he will do?
Jeffery:
No.
Viktor:
He goes to a corner — it doesn’t make a difference which one, because they’re all the same in a box — and he puts his back against the wall, and then he turns and bares his fangs.
Jeffery:
His fangs? Do rats have fangs?
Viktor:
Well, his teeth. He bares his teeth.
Jeffery:
So why are you telling me this?
Enter HEATHER, who is wearing a short nightgown and fluffy slippers.
Heather:
Oh, sorry guys. I didn’t mean to disturb your man-talk.
Jeffery:
No problem. I was just leaving.
Viktor:
Me too. I was just leaving, too.
The men rise and leave their dirty plates on the table. VIKTOR takes a long look at HEATHER, before exiting, as if he is deciding something. JEFFERY just walks out. HEATHER picks up the plates and puts them in the sink. She washes them and places them in the drying rack to dry. She shakes her head.
Heather:
Did I do something wrong? I was going to have the enchiladas I was saving, but now I’m not so hungry.
Going from one mediocre celebrity dinner after another makes the Captain almost long for those sickening buffets back at sea — those endless fancy platters displaying dead animals, dead fish, dead grasses ripped from the earth — not so different, come to think of it, than having to repeat the same stories again and again, waiting for the audience to laugh at the same lines, in the same places. What kind of life is that for a real man, a man who is basically a man of action? The Captain tries to remember the last truly good time he had. Was it running down that boat full of so-called sightseers in Rangoon harbor? Standing, lashed to the wheel, during that typhoon in the China Sea? And on land? Possibly working as a technical advisor to that silly show about hippies. It was ridiculous, but at least there were lots of pretty girls, and the pay was good, despite the smart-asses in the production crew, that idiot of a director, and that infuriating kid, Junior something. That is, until what happened at the very end.
He can feel his Death Quotient starting to climb.
Get yourself a plan, thinks Madeline. Do this logically. Find a mirror and stand in front of it. Pretend you are being interviewed. Start with a question and go from there. Ready, set—
Question:
What is it you like to do?
Answer:
I like to cook.
Question:
Then why not open a restaurant?
Answer:
Well, it takes money, for one thing.
Question:
So you could start small. Maybe you could prepare food for others until you get famous enough that someone will give you money to start your own restaurant, and that person will be your first investor.
Answer:
Well, I already prepare food for others down here. Just the other day, for example, I made a really excellent artichoke and bacon quiche, and did anyone thank me?
Question:
No, but I’m sure it was appreciated. How about Viktor?
Answer:
What about him?
Question:
He claims to be making a ton of money. He should be able to spring for a restaurant.
Answer:
Viktor? That cheapskate? Are you kidding?
“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” Madeline says to Heather. They are both in the kitchen, late at night. Heather is having her usual tea and arrowroot crackers, while Madeline is reheating a can of mushroom soup to which she has added a few spices to pick up the flavor.
“What’s wrong?” Heather questions.
“I don’t know,” Madeline says. “Has this ever happened to you: you try to think of an ingredient — not even a complicated one, like cardamom or clove or coriander — in a recipe you’ve made a thousand times, but then you can’t remember which one you need, or if it’s something else entirely, like cumin? I mean — I know they’re different, but sometimes I have a hard time remembering exactly how they are different anymore. Honestly, I’m afraid my mind is slowly disappearing. I think maybe it’s a sign it’s time for me to get out of here.”
“No,” Heather says. “It never has.”
ANOTHER CONVERSATION FROM THE TECHNICAL STAFF
Tech #2:
You know, I have a question, but I don’t know if it’s the kind of question I should ask or not.
Tech #1:
How can you know until you ask it?
Tech #2:
Well, it’s this: We’ve been working together down here for a long time and, speaking for me at least, I wonder if you’ve noticed that practically the only talks we ever have are related to this work.
Tech #1:
I have, but what else is there to talk about?
Tech #2:
Well, nothing, of course, but I was wondering — and you don’t have to answer. .
Tech #1:
Answer what?
Tech #2:
I was wondering if you have a name for them?
Tech #1:
A name for whom?
Tech #2:
You know who.
Tech #1:
Oh. I call them the Sleepers.
Tech #2: