“Interesting sort of history,” Carmody said, with hateful nonchalance. “That’s a Gothic cathedral across the street, isn’t it?”
“Modified Romanesque,” the city said. “Also interdenominational and open to all faiths, with a designed seating capacity for three hundred people.”
“That doesn’t seem like many for a building of that size.”
“It’s not, of course. Designedly. My idea was to combine awesomeness with coziness.”
“Where are the inhabitants of this town, by the way?” Carmody asked.
“They have left,” Bellwether said mournfully. “They have all departed.”
“Why?”
The city was silent for a while, then said, “There was a breakdown in city-community relations. A misunderstanding, really. Or perhaps I should say, an unfortunate series of misunderstandings. I suspect that rabble-rousers played their part.”
“But what happened, precisely?”
“I don’t know,” the city said. “I really don’t know. One day they simply all left. Just like that! But I’m sure they’ll be back.”
“I wonder,” Carmody said.
“I am convinced of it,” the city said. “But putting that aside: why don’t you stay here, Mr. Carmody?”
“I haven’t really had time to consider it,” Carmody said.
“How could you help but like it?” Bellwether said. “Just think—you would have the most modern up-to-date city in the world at your beck and call.”
“That does sound interesting,” Carmody said.
“So give it a try, how could it hurt you?” the city asked.
“All right, I think I will,” Carmody said.
He was intrigued by the city of Bellwether. But he was also apprehensive. He wished he knew exactly why the city’s previous occupants had left.
At Bellwether’s insistence, Carmody slept that night in the sumptuous bridal suite of the King George V Hotel. Bellwether served him breakfast on the terrace and played a brisk Haydn quartet while Carmody ate. The morning air was delicious. If Bellwether hadn’t told him, Carmody would never have guessed it was reconstituted.
When he was finished, Carmody leaned back and enjoyed the view of Bellwether’s western quarter—a pleasing jumble of Chinese pagodas, Venetian footbridges, Japanese canals, a green Burmese hill, a Corinthian temple, a California parking lot, a Norman tower and much else besides.
“You have a splendid view,” he told the city.
“I’m so glad you appreciate it,” Bellwether replied. “The problem of style was argued from the day of my inception. One group held for consistency: a harmonious group of shapes blending into a harmonious whole. But quite a few model cities are like that. They are uniformly dull, artificial entities created by one man or one committee, unlike real cities.”
“You’re sort of artificial yourself, aren’t you?” Carmody asked.
“Of course! But I do not pretend to be anything else. I am not a fake ‘city of the future’ or a mock-Florentine bastard. I am a true agglutinated congeries. I am supposed to be interesting and stimulating in addition to being functional and practical.”
“Bellwether, you look okay to me,” Carmody said, in a sudden rush of expansiveness. “Do all model cities talk like you?”
“Certainly not. Most cities up to now, model or otherwise, never said a word. But their inhabitants didn’t like that. It made the city seem too huge, too masterful, too soulless, too impersonal. That is why I was created with a voice and an artificial consciousness to guide it.”
“I see,” Carmody said.
“The point is, my artificial consciousness personalizes me, which is very important in an age of depersonalization. It enables me to be truly responsive. It permits me to be creative in meeting the demands of my occupants. We can reason with each other, my people and I. By carrying on a continual and meaningful dialogue, we can help each other to establish a dynamic, flexible and truly viable urban environment. We can modify each other without any significant loss of individuality.”
“It sounds fine,” Carmody said. “Except, of course, that you don’t have anyone here to carry on a dialogue with.”
“That is the only flaw in the scheme,” the city admitted. “But for the present, I have you.”
“Yes, you have me,” Carmody said, and wondered why the words rang unpleasantly on his ear.
“And, naturally, you have me,” the city said. “It is a reciprocal relationship, which is the only kind worth having. But now, my dear Carmody, suppose I show you around myself. Then we can get you settled in and regularized.”
“Get me what?”
“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” the city said. “It simply is an unfortunate scientific expression. But you understand, I’m sure, that a reciprocal relationship necessitates obligations on the part of both involved parties. It couldn’t very well be otherwise, could it?”
“Not unless it was a laissez-faire relationship.”
“We’re trying to get away from all that,” Bellwether said. “Laissez-faire becomes a doctrine of the emotions, you know, and leads non-stop to anomie. If you will just come this way….”
Carmody went where he was asked and beheld the excellencies of Bellwether. He toured the power plant, the water filtration center, the industrial park and the light industries section. He saw the children’s park and the Odd Fellow’s Hall. He walked through a museum and an art gallery, a concert hall and a theater, a bowling alley, a billiards parlor, a Go-Kart track and a movie theater. He became tired and wanted to stop. But the city wanted to show itself off, and Carmody had to look at the five-story American Express building, the Portuguese synagogue, the statue of Buckminster Fuller, the Greyhound Bus Station and several other attractions.
At last it was over. Carmody concluded that beauty was in the eye of the beholder, except for a small part of it that was in the beholder’s feet.
“A little lunch now?” the city asked.
“Fine,” Carmody said.
He was guided to the fashionable Rochambeau Cafe, where he began with potage au petit pois and ended with petits fours.
“What about a nice Brie to finish off?” the city asked.
“No, thanks,” Carmody said. “I’m full. Too full, as a matter of fact.”
“But cheese isn’t filling. A bit of first-rate Camembert?”
“I couldn’t possibly.”
“Perhaps a few assorted fruits. Very refreshing to the palate.”
“It’s not my palate that needs refreshing,” Carmody said.
“At least an apple, a pear and a couple of grapes?”
“Thanks, no.”
“A couple of cherries?”
“No, no, no!”
“A meal isn’t complete without a little fruit,” the city said.
“My meal is,” Carmody said.
“There are important vitamins only found in fresh fruit.”
“I’ll just have to struggle along without them.”
“Perhaps half an orange, which I will peel for you? Citrus fruits have no bulk at all.”
“I couldn’t possibly.”
“Not even one quarter of an orange? If I take out all the pits?”
“Most decidedly not.”
“It would make me feel better,” the city said. “I have a completion compulsion, you know, and no meal is complete without a piece of fruit.”
“No! No! No!”
“All right, don’t get so excited,” the city said. “If you don’t like the sort of food I serve, that’s up to you.”