Job: A Comedy Read online

  "The Hot Fudge Sundae. Alec, do you really think we can do this?"

  I leaned toward her and took her hand. "I'm sure we can, darling. And without working ourselves to death, too." I moved my head. "That traffic light is staring me right in the eye."

  "I know. I can see it reflected in your eye every time it changes. Want to swap seats? It won't bother me."

  "It doesn't bother me. It just has a somewhat hypnotic effect." I looked down at the table, looked back at the light. "Hey, it's gone out."

  Margrethe twisted her neck to look. "I don't see it. Where?"

  "Uh . . . pesky thing has disappeared. Looks like."

  I heard a male voice at my elbow. "What'll it be for you two? Beer or wine; we're not licensed for the hard stuff."

  I looked around, saw a waiter. "Where's Tammy?"

  "Who's Tammy?"

  I took a deep breath, tried to slow my heart, then said, "Sorry, brother; I shouldn't have come in here. I find I've left my wallet at home." I stood up. "Come, dear."

  Wide-eyed and silent, Margrethe came with me. As we walked out, I looked around, noting changes. I suppose it was a decent enough place, as beer joints go. But it was not our cheerful ice cream parlor.

  And not our world.

  XV

  Boast not thyself of tomorrow; for thou knowest not what a day may bring forth.

  Proverbs 27:1

  ****

  OUTSIDE, WITHOUT PLANNING it, I headed us toward the Salvation Army mission. Margrethe kept quiet and held tight to my arm. I should have been frightened; instead I was boiling angry. Presently I muttered, "Damn them! Damn them!"

  "Damn who, Alec?"

  "I don't know. That's the worst of it. Whoever is doing this to us. Your friend Loki, maybe."

  "He is not my friend, any more than Satan is your friend. I dread and fear what Loki is doing to our world."

  "I'm not afraid, I'm angry. Loki or Satan or whoever, this last is too much. No sense to it. Why couldn't they wait thirty minutes? That hot fudge sundae was practically under our nose—and they snatched it away! Marga, that's not right, that's not fair! That's sheer, unadulterated cruelty. Senseless. On a par with pulling wings off flies. I despise them. Whoever."

  Instead of continuing with useless talk about matters we could not settle, Margrethe said, "Dear, where are we going?"

  "Eh?" I stopped short. "Why, to the mission, I suppose."

  "Is this the right way?"

  "Why, yes, cert—" I paused to look around. "I don't know." I had been walking automatically, my attention fully on my anger. Now I found that I was unsure of any landmarks. "I guess I'm lost."

  "I know I am."

  ****

  It took us another half hour to get straightened out. The neighborhood was vaguely familiar but nothing was quite right. I found the block where Ron's Grill should be, could not find Ron's Grill. Eventually a policeman directed us to the mission . . . which was now in a different building. To my surprise, Brother McCaw was there. But he did not recognize us, and his name was now McNabb. We left, as gracefully as possible. Not very, that is.

  I walked us back the way we had come—slowly, as I wasn't going anywhere. "Marga, we're right back where we were three weeks ago. Better shoes, that's all. A pocket full of money—but money we can't spend, as it is certain to be funny money here ... good for a quiet rest behind bars if I tried to pass any of it."

  "You're probably right, dear one."

  "There is a bank on that corner just ahead. Instead of trying to spend any of it, I could walk in and simply ask whether or not it was worth anything."

  "There couldn't be any harm in that. Could there?"

  "There shouldn't be. But our friend Loki could have another practical joke up his sleeve. Uh, we've got to know. Here—you take everything but one bill. If they arrest me, you pretend not to know me."

  "No!"

  "What do you mean, 'No'? There is no point in both of us being in jail."

  She looked stubborn and said nothing. How can you argue with a woman who won't talk? I sighed. "Look, dear, the only other thing I can think of is to look for another job washing dishes. Maybe Brother McNabb will let us sleep in the mission tonight."

  "I'll look for a job, too. I can wash dishes. Or cook. Or something."

  "We'll see. Come inside with me, Marga; we'll go to jail together. But I think I've figured out how to handle this without going to jail." I took out one treasury note, crumpled it, and tore one corner. Then we went into the bank together, me holding it in my hand as if I had just picked it up. I did not go to a teller's window; instead I went to that railing behind which bank officials sit at their desks.

  I leaned on the railing and spoke to the man nearest to it; his desk sign marked him as assistant manager. "Excuse me, sir! Can you answer a question for me?"

  He looked annoyed but his reply did not show it. "I'll try. What's on your mind?"

  "Is this really money? Or is it stage money, or something?"

  He looked at it, then looked more closely. "Interesting. Where did you get this?"

  "My wife found it on a sidewalk. Is it money?"

  "Of course it's not money. Whoever heard of a twenty-dollar note? Stage money, probably. Or an advertising promotion."

  "Then it's not worth anything?"

  "It's worth the paper it's printed on, that's all. I doubt that it could even be called counterfeit, since there has been no effort to make it look like the real thing. Still, the Treasury inspectors will want to see it."

  "All right. Can you take care of it?" '

  "Yes. But they'll want to talk to you, I'm sure. Let's get your name and address. And your wife's, of course, since she found it."

  "Okay. I want a receipt for it." I gave our names as "Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Hergensheimer" and gave the address—but not the name—of Ron's Grill. Then I solemnly accepted a receipt.

  Once out on the sidewalk I said, "Well, we're no worse off than we thought we were. Time for me to look for some dirty dishes."

  "Alec—"

  "Yes, beloved?"

  "We were going to Kansas."

  "So we were. But our bus-fare money is not worth the paper it is printed on. I'll have to earn some more. I can. I did it once, I can do it again."

  "Alec. Let us now go to Kansas."

  A half hour later we were walking north on the highway to Tucson. Whenever anyone passed us, I signalled our hope of being picked up.

  ****

  It took us three hitches simply to reach Tucson. At Tucson it would have made equal sense to head east toward El Paso, Texas, as to continue on Route 89, as 89 swings west before it goes north to Phoenix. It was settled for us by the chance that the first lift we were able to beg out of Tucson was with a teamster who was taking a load north.

  This ride we were able to pick up at a truckers' stop at the intersection of 89 and 80, and I am forced to admit that the teamster listened to our plea because Margrethe is the beauty she is—had I been alone I might still be standing there. I might as well say right now that this whole trip depended throughout on Margrethe's beauty and womanly charm quite as much as it depended on my willingness to do any honest work whatever, no matter how menial, dirty, or difficult.

  I found this fact unpleasant to face. I held dark thoughts of Potiphar's wife and of the story of Susanna and the Elders. I found myself being vexed with Margrethe when her only offense lay in being her usual gracious, warm, and friendly self. I came close to telling her not to smile at strangers and to keep her eyes to herself.

  That temptation hit me sharpest that first day at sundown when this same trucker stopped at a roadside oasis centered around a restaurant and a fueling facility. "I'm going to have a couple of beers and a sirloin steak," he announced. "How about you, Maggie baby? Could you use a rare steak? This is the place where they just chase the cow through the kitchen."

  She smiled at him. "Thank you, Steve. But I'm not hungry."

  My darling was telling an untruth. She kne
w it, I knew it—and I felt sure that Steve knew it. Our last meal had been breakfast at the mission, eleven hours and a universe ago. I had tried to wash dishes for a meal at the truckers' stop outside Tucson, but had been dismissed rather abruptly. So we had had nothing all day but water from a public drinking faucet.

  "Don't try to kid your grandmother, Maggie. We've been on the road four hours. You're hungry."

  I spoke up quickly to keep Margrethe from persisting in an untruth—told, I felt certain, on my behalf. "What she means, Steve, is that she doesn't accept dinner invitations from other men. She expects me to provide her dinner." I added, "But I thank you on her behalf and we both thank you for the ride. It's been most pleasant."

  We were still seated in the cab of his truck, Margrethe in the middle. He leaned forward and looked around her. "Alec, you think I'm trying to get into Maggie's pants, don't you?"

  I answered stiffly that I did not think anything of the sort while thinking privately that that was exactly what I thought he had been trying to accomplish all along . . . and I resented not only his unchivalrous overtures but also the gross language he had just used. But I had learned the hard way that rules of polite speech in the world in which I had grown up were not necessarily rules in another universe.

  "Oh, yes, you do think so. I wasn't born yesterday and a lot of my life has been spent on the road, getting my illusions knocked out. You think I'm trying to lay your woman because every stud who comes along tries to put the make on her. But let me clue you in, son. I don't knock when there's nobody at home. And I can always tell. Maggie ain't having any. I checked that out hours ago. And congratulations; a faithful woman is good to find. Isn't that true?"

  "Yes, certainly," I agreed grudgingly.

  "So get your feathers down. You're about to take your wife to dinner. You've already said thank you to me for the ride but why don't you really thank me by inviting me to dinner?—so I won't have to eat alone."

  I hope that I did not look dismayed and that my instant of hesitation was not noticeable. "Certainly, Steve. We owe you that for your kindness. Uh, will you excuse me while I make some arrangements?" I started to get out of the cab.

  "Alec, you don't lie any better than Maggie does."

  "Excuse me?"

  "You think I'm blind? You're broke. Or, if you aren't absolutely stony, you are so near flat you can't afford to buy me a sirloin steak. Or even the blueplate special."

  "That is true," I answered with—I hope—dignity. "The arrangements I must make are with the restaurant manager. I hope to exchange dishwashing for the price of three dinners."

  "I thought so. If you were just ordinary broke, you'd be riding Greyhound and you'd have some baggage. If you were broke but not yet hungry broke, you'd hitchhike to save your money for eating but you would have some sort of baggage. A kiester each, or at least a bindle. But you've got no baggage . . . and you're both wearing suits—in the desert, for God's sake! The signs all spell disaster."

  I remained mute.

  "Now look," he went on. "Possibly the owner of this joint would let you wash dishes. More likely he's got three wetbacks pearl-diving this very minute and has turned down at least three more already today; this is on the main north-south route of turistas coming through holes in the Fence. In any case I can't wait while you wash dishes; I've got to herd this rig a lot of miles yet tonight. So I'll make you a deal. You take me to dinner but I lend you the money."

  "I'm a poor risk."

  "Nope, you're a good risk. What the bankers call a character loan, the very best risk there is. Sometime, this coming year, or maybe twenty years from now, you'll run across another young couple, broke and hungry. You'll buy them dinner on the same terms. That pays me back. Then when they do the same, down the line, that pays you back. Get it?"

  "I'll pay you back sevenfold!"

  "Once is enough. After that you do it for your own pleasure. Come on, let's eat."

  ****

  Rimrock Restop restaurant was robust rather than fancy—about on a par with Ron's Grill in another world. It had both counter and tables. Steve led us to a table and shortly a fairly young and rather pretty waitress came over.

  "Howdy, Steve! Long time."

  "Hi, Babe! How'd the rabbit test come out?"

  "The rabbit died. How about your blood test?" She smiled at me and at Margrethe. "Hi, folks! What'll you have?"

  I had had time to glance at the menu, first down the right-hand side, of course—and was shocked at the prices. Shocked to find them back on the scale of the world I knew best, I mean. Hamburgers for a dime, coffee at five cents, table d'hôte dinners at seventy-five to ninety cents—these prices I understood.

  I looked at it and said, "May I have a cheese super-burger, medium well?"

  "Sure thing, Ace. How about you, dear?"

  Margrethe took the same, but medium rare.

  "Steve?" the waitress inquired.

  "That'll be three beers—Coors—and three sirloin steaks, one rare, one medium rare, one medium. With the usual garbage. Baked potato, fried promises, whatever. The usual limp salad. Hot rolls. All the usual. Dessert later. Coffee."

  "Gotcha."

  "Wantcha to meet my friends. Maggie, this is Hazel. That's Alec, her husband."

  "You lucky man! Hi, Maggie; glad to know you. Sorry to see you in such company, though. Has Steve tried to sell you anything?"

  "No."

  "Good. Don't buy anything, don't sign anything, don't bet with him. And be glad you're safely married; he's got wives in three states."

  "Four," Steve corrected.

  "Four now? Congratulations. Ladies' restroom is through the kitchen, Maggie; men go around behind." She left moving fast, with a swish of her skirt.

  "That's a fine broad," Steve said. "You know what they say about waitresses, especially in truckers' joints. Well, Hazel is probably the only hash-slinger on this highway who ain't sellin' it. Come on, Alec." He got up and led me outdoors and around to the men's room. I followed him. By the time I understood what he had said, it was too late to resent his talking that way in a lady's presence. Then I was forced to admit that Margrethe had not resented it—had simply treated it as information. As praise of Hazel, in fact. I think my greatest trouble with all these worrisome world changes had to do, not with economics, not with social behavior, not with technology, but simply with language, and the mores and taboos thereto.

  Beer was waiting for us when we returned, and so was Margrethe, looking cool and refreshed.

  Steve toasted us. "Skoal!"

  We echoed "Skoal!" and I took a sip and then a lot more—just what I needed after a long-day on a desert highway. My moral downfall in S.S. Konge Knut had included getting reacquainted with beer, something I had not touched since my days as an engineering student, and very little then—no money for vices. This was excellent beer, it seemed to me, but not as good as the Danish Tuborg served in the ship. Did you know that there is not one word against beer in the Bible? In fact the word "beer" in the Bible means "fountain" or "well."

  The steaks were delicious.

  Under the mellowing influence of beer and good food I found myself trying to explain to Steve how we happened to be down on our luck and accepting the charity of strangers . . . without actually saying anything. Presently Margrethe said to me, "Alec. Tell him."

  "You think I should?"

  "I think Steve is entitled to know. And I trust him."

  "Very well. Steve, we are strangers from another world."

  He neither laughed nor smiled; he just looked interested. Presently he said, "flying saucer?"

  "No. I mean another universe, not just another planet. Although it seems like the same planet. I mean, Margrethe and I were in a state called Arizona and a city called Nogales just earlier today. Then it changed. Nogales shrank down and nothing was quite the same. Arizona looks about the same, although I don't know this state very well."

  "Territory."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Arizona is
a territory, not a state. Statehood was voted down."

  "Oh. That's the way it was in my world, too. Something about taxes. But we didn't come from my world. Nor from Marga's world. We came from—" I stopped. "I'm not telling this very well." I looked across at Margrethe. "Can you explain it?"

  "I can't explain it," she answered, "because I don't understand it. But, Steve, it's true. I'm from one world, Alec is from another world, we've lived in still another world, and we were in yet again another world this morning. And now we are here. That is why we don't have any money. No, we do have money but it's not money of this world."

  Steve said, "Could we take this one world at a time? I'm getting dizzy."

  I said, "She left out two worlds."

  "No, dear—three. You may have forgotten the iceberg world."

  "No, I counted that. I— Excuse me, Steve. I'll try to take it one world at a time. But it isn't easy. This morning— We went into an ice cream parlor in Nogales because I wanted to buy Margrethe a hot fudge sundae. We sat down at a table, across from each other like right now, and that put me facing a set of traffic lights—"

  "A set of what?"

  "A set of traffic signal lights, red, green, and amber. That's how I spotted that we had changed worlds again. This world doesn't have signal lights, or at least I haven't seen any. Just traffic cops. But in the world we got up in this morning, instead of traffic cops, they do it with signal lights."

  "Sounds like they do it with mirrors. What's this got to do with buying Maggie a hot fudge sundae?"

  "That was because, when we were shipwrecked and floating around in the ocean, Margrethe wanted a hot fudge sundae. This morning was my first chance to buy one for her. When the traffic lights disappeared, I knew we had changed worlds again—and that meant that my money wasn't any good. So I could not buy her a hot fudge sundae. And could not buy her dinner tonight. No money. No spendable money, I mean. You see?"

  "I think I fell off three turns back. What happened to your money?"