“But I do like it!”
“Then if you like it so much, why won’t you eat some fruit?”
“Enough,” Carmody said. “Give me a couple of grapes.”
“I wouldn’t want to force anything on you.”
“You’re not forcing. Give me, please.”
“You’re quite sure?”
“Gimme!” Carmody shouted.
“So take,” the city said and produced a magnificent bunch of muscatel grapes. Carmody ate them all. They were very good.
“Excuse me,” the city said. “What are you doing?” Carmody sat upright and opened his eyes. “I was taking a little nap,” he said. “Is there anything wrong with that?”
“What should be wrong with a perfectly natural thing like that?” the city said.
“Thank you,” Carmody said, and closed his eyes again.
“But why nap in a chair?” the city asked.
“Because I’m in a chair, and I’m already half asleep.”
“You’ll get a crick in your back,” the city warned him.
“Don’t care,” Carmody mumbled, his eyes still closed.
“Why not take a proper nap? Over here, on the couch?”
“I’m already napping comfortably right here.”
“You’re not really comfortable,” the city pointed out. “The human anatomy is not constructed for sleeping sitting up.”
“At the moment, mine is,” Carmody said.
“It’s not. Why not try the couch?”
“The chair is fine.”
“But the couch is finer. Just try it, please, Carmody. Carmody?”
“Eh? What’s that?” Carmody said, waking up.
“The couch. I really think you should rest on the couch.”
“All right!” Carmody said, struggling to his feet. “Where is this couch?”
He was guided out of the restaurant, down the street, around the corner, and into a building marked “The Snoozerie.” There were a dozen couches. Carmody went to the nearest.
“Not that one,” the city said. “It’s got a bad spring.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Carmody said. “I’ll sleep around it.”
“That will result in a cramped posture.”
“Christ!” Carmody said, getting to his feet. “Which couch would you recommend?”
“This one right back here,” the city said. “It’s a king-size, the best in the place. The yield-point of the mattress has been scientifically determined. The pillows—”
“Right, fine, good,” Carmody said, lying down on the indicated couch.
“Shall I play you some soothing music?”
“Don’t bother.”
“Just as you wish. I’ll put out the lights, then.”
“Fine.”
“Would you like a blanket? I control the temperature here, of course, but sleepers often get a subjective impression of chilliness.”
“It doesn’t matter! Leave me alone!”
“All right!” the city said. “I’m not doing this for myself, you know. Personally, I never sleep.”
“Okay, sorry,” Carmody said.
“That’s perfectly all right.”
There was a long silence. Then Carmody sat up.
“What’s the matter?” the city asked.
“Now I can’t sleep,” Carmody said.
“Try closing your eyes and consciously relaxing every muscle in your body, starting with the big toe and working upward to—”
“I can’t sleep!” Carmody shouted.
“Maybe you weren’t very sleepy to begin with,” the city suggested. “But at least you could close your eyes and try to get a little rest. Won’t you do that for me?”
“No!” Carmody said. “I’m not sleepy and I don’t need a rest.”
“Stubborn!” the city said. “Do what you like. I’ve tried my best.”
“Yeah!” Carmody said, getting to his feet and walking out of the Snoozerie.
Carmody stood on a little curved bridge and looked over a blue lagoon.
“This is a copy of the Rialto bridge in Venice,” the city said. “Scaled down, of course.”
“I know,” Carmody said. “I read the sign.”
“It’s rather enchanting, isn’t it?”
“Sure, it’s fine,” Carmody said, lighting a cigarette.
“You’re doing a lot of smoking,” the city pointed out.
“I know. I feel like smoking.”
“As your medical advisor, I must point out that the link between smoking and lung cancer is conclusive.”
“I know.”
“If you switched to a pipe your chances would be improved.”
“I don’t like pipes.”
“What about a cigar, then?”
“I don’t like cigars.” He lit another cigarette.
“That’s your third cigarette in five minutes,” the city said.
“Goddamn it, I’ll smoke as much and as often as I please!” Carmody shouted.
“Well, of course you will!” the city said. “I was merely trying to advise you for your own good. Would you want me to simply stand by and not say a word while you destroyed yourself?”
“Yes,” Carmody said.
“I can’t believe that you mean that. There is an ethical imperative involved here. Man can act against his best interests; but a machine is not allowed that degree of perversity.”
“Get off my back,” Carmody said sullenly. “Quit pushing me around.”
“Pushing you around? My dear Carmody, have I coerced you in any way? Have I done any more than advise you?”
“Maybe not. But you talk too much.”
“Perhaps I don’t talk enough,” the city said. “To judge from the response I get.”
“You talk too much,” Carmody repeated and lit a cigarette.
“That is your fourth cigarette in five minutes.”
Carmody opened his mouth to bellow an insult. Then he changed his mind and walked away.
“What’s this?” Carmody asked.
“It’s a candy machine,” the city told him.
“It doesn’t look like one.”
“Still, it is one. This design is a modification of a design by Saarionmen for a silo. I have miniaturized it, of course, and—”
“It still doesn’t look like a candy machine. How do you work it?”
“It’s very simple. Push the red button. Now wait. Press down one of those levers on Row A; now press the green button. There!”
A Baby Ruth bar slid into Carmody’s hand.
“Huh,” Carmody said. He stripped off the paper and bit into the bar. “Is this a real Baby Ruth bar or a copy of one?” he asked.
“It’s a real one. I had to subcontract the candy concession because of the pressure of work.”
“Huh,” Carmody said, letting the candy wrapper slip from his fingers.
“That,” the city said, “is an example of the kind of thoughtlessness I always encounter.”
“It’s just a piece of paper,” Carmody said, turning and looking at the candy wrapper lying on the spotless street.
“Of course it’s just a piece of paper,” the city said. “But multiply it by a hundred thousand inhabitants and what do you have?”
“A hundred thousand Baby Ruth wrappers,” Carmody answered at once.
“I don’t consider that funny,” the city said. “You wouldn’t want to live in the midst of all that paper, I can assure you. You’d be the first to complain if this street were strewn with garbage. But do you do your share? Do you even clean up after yourself? Of course not! You leave it to me, even though I have to run all of the other functions of the city, night and day, without even Sundays off.”
Carmody bent down to pick up the candy wrapper. But just before his fingers could close on it, a pincer arm shot out of the nearest sewer, snatched the paper away and vanished from sight.
“It’s all right,” the city said. “I’m used to cleaning up after people. I do it all the time.”