Blossom nodded. "The Edward Baker Jackson. My best friend's father. They lived in a house too, near ours. He was really a famous lobbyist, and brilliant, his operations were always successful. In fact my father used to say it was really him who-" She stopped and put her hand over her mouth. Edward Baker Jackson. My best friend's father. They lived in a house too, near ours. He was really a famous lobbyist, and brilliant, his operations were always successful. In fact my father used to say it was really him who-" She stopped and put her hand over her mouth.
"Who what?" said Lola.
Blossom thought for a moment. Yes, she decided, she could tell them that. She took her hand away from her mouth. "Well ... well maybe it doesn't matter. I've already told you so much really really classified stuff anyway. My father used to say it was really Mr. Jackson who ran the administration, that he had the President in the palm of his hand." Blossom looked around at them proudly, folding her arms across her chest. "And he was my best friend's father." classified stuff anyway. My father used to say it was really Mr. Jackson who ran the administration, that he had the President in the palm of his hand." Blossom looked around at them proudly, folding her arms across her chest. "And he was my best friend's father."
"Books?" Oliver said, amazed. "But why use a book? They're so slow, and most of them aren't even programmed."
Peter was embarrassed. "I ... they just had some, at this place where I was.... And, I kind of liked it. It felt like ... like it was only talking to me, and ... and I could go slow, if I wanted, without worrying about keeping up with the others."
"But really, that is kind of silly," Abigail tried to explain. "I mean a book is much less personal than a programmed screen that can respond to you according to your needs, and concentrate on what's hard for you, and go fast on what's easy. A book stays the same no matter who's who's reading it. And anyway, I don't see how anyone could read a whole long book, it must be so boring!" reading it. And anyway, I don't see how anyone could read a whole long book, it must be so boring!"
"But ... but it wasn't," Peter said faintly. "I ... almost forgot I was reading it. The ... the whole story was going on in my head." He stopped and looked down.
"I still don't understand," said Oliver. "I mean watching a real-life hologram right before your eyes is better than anything you could imagine imagine."
"Hey!" Lola said, in the middle of the dance. "Look at the light! It's not red anymore, it's green!"
All but Blossom began to slow down.
"Don't stop!" Blossom shrieked. "Keep dancing! Who cares what color it is? What difference does it make?"
And she was right, it really didn't seem to make any difference; for they soon learned that the color of the light had no relation to whether or not the machine would give them food. Sometimes it would be red, sometimes green, and eventually they stopped wondering about it altogether.
Blossom watched Lola wandering far below them, exploring again, and her eyes were cold and sharp. She turned back to the others. "What good does she think it's going to do to go stupidly running around like that?" she said. "She just does it to get away from us, because she can't stand any of us. She thinks she's better than we are, doesn't she, Peter?" Blossom waited. "Peter! You know she thinks we're all stupid, tell them, you know she does."
Peter was looking down, twisting his hands. "I ... I guess she said ... I don't remember...."
Blossom turned contemptuously away from him. "You don't remember anything. You don't even know what's going on half the time. But I remember. I remember what she said. And it wasn't pretty."
Oliver was watching her. She could see the interest in his eyes, even though he was pretending not to care. "Quite a few things," Blossom went on temptingly. "Interesting things. But not pretty. Not pretty at all...."
"It was only an eight-lane road," said Lola. "But I was going pretty fast anyway, too fast, I guess. And I had the smog lights on and everything, but I could still only see about thirty feet ahead, even in the middle of the day. And it was an old road, so suddenly there was this curve ahead and before I knew it I was going off the edge. Sheesh!" She shook her head.
"But what happened?" said Abigail.
"Nothing. I mean the car was a total wreck, including the gas mask compartment, but I just opened the door and walked out of-"
"Next to the highway? You got out of the car next to the highway?" said Oliver, incredulous. "I thought you said the masks were smashed."
"They were. But in the first place it was a miracle I wasn't already dead. And then I kept going back to the car and sticking in my head to get the good air that was still left, and running back to the road and waving at the cars. It was a lucky day for me 'cause a cop car came by just as I thought I was gonna pass out. Took me right back to the home, of course. It was a long time before I tried anything like that again!"
Peter had gone away. His body sagged limply against the stairway like a half-stuffed toy, and his head hung grotesquely to the side, his mouth open. The sight of him frightened Lola. "Hey, Peter," she said. "Peter, wake up. Can't you hear me?"
"Oh, leave him alone," Oliver said sharply. "I'll wake him up when the time comes."
"But ... but it doesn't seem right to let him get like that," Lola said. "He keeps doing it more and more. We should really try to stop him, or else sometime we might not be able to wake him up at all."
"How do you know?" said Oliver. "I've always been able to wake him up; I always will be able to. Leave him alone. He's happier the way he is."
"How do you know he is?" Lola asked.
"What difference does it make to you?" Oliver said, ending the conversation.
Lola was alternately grinding her teeth and chewing on her nails. It was always worse after they had eaten to be without a cigarette.
"Will you stop making that noise?" said Blossom. "It's driving me crazy."
"'Will you stop making that noise?'" Lola mimicked her in falsetto. "'Will you stop making that noise?' And for Christ sake will you leave me alone! You'd grind your teeth too! God damn this place, God damn that machine. Why the hell can't it give us cigarettes?" She stood up angrily.
"Oh, calm down," said Oliver. The good humor in his voice was wearing thin, and his words rang falsely. "They've got to come and get us pretty soon."
"Yes," Blossom said fervently. "They've got to come. Any time now."
"Sure," said Lola sarcastically. "Sure. They'll come and take us off to fairyland. And I'm a purple monkey. And I am goddam sick sick of listening to all this garbage. Nobody's gonna come and you all know it!" She turned and ran furiously up the stairs. of listening to all this garbage. Nobody's gonna come and you all know it!" She turned and ran furiously up the stairs.
Chapter 12.
As the weeks went by, Abigail began to grow envious of Lola. She never would have expected it of herself, because it was clear that in the real world Lola was an outsider, and being an outsider was one thing Abigail couldn't bear. Nevertheless she did envy Lola, for one specific reason: Lola's independence.
Early every morning (morning being when they woke up; no one had any idea now what time of day it was outside), while the rest of them were still groggily rousing themselves, Lola would be jogging briskly up to the toilet and back. And at what seemed to be the same time later each day, Lola would jog briskly down the stairs to some undisclosed point, and right back up again. It didn't seem to affect her when the others ridiculed or resented her for it. She would simply say, "I need my exercise," and that would be that.
What impressed Abigail was that Lola never did things just because other people wanted her to; Lola did what she she wanted to do. To Abigail, who was always considering what boys thought of her, or what the other girls in her group would think, who was always trying to avoid doing whatever might hurt someone, or make her disliked, Lola's behavior was hard to understand. It made Abigail, in some strange way, feel trapped; trapped, and then resentful of Lola's freedom. wanted to do. To Abigail, who was always considering what boys thought of her, or what the other girls in her group would think, who was always trying to avoid doing whatever might hurt someone, or make her disliked, Lola's behavior was hard to understand. It made Abigail, in some strange way, feel trapped; trapped, and then resentful of Lola's freedom.
"There she goes again, like clockwork," Oliver said one afternoon as Lola bounded off down the stairs. "If any of us had watches we could set them by her."
"But I should think you would want to get some exercise too," said Abigail. "Didn't you always like sports?"
"Yes, yes, I liked sports," he said impatiently, and looked away from her. Abigail was stung. She turned to Blossom.
In what seemed like the three or four weeks that they had been there, Blossom was already beginning to change. Though she was still obese, the meager, irregular meals and the strenuous exercise of the dance were beginning to tell: Her dress was growing loose, and her face, even with its remaining puffiness, was taking on a grayish, pinched expression. But she did not seem at all pleased to be losing weight. They were always hungry, for the machine only fed them enough to keep going, never enough to satisfy; and Blossom took this constant deprivation the hardest, often bending hopefully over the machine, rocking slightly, twisting her hands and pursing her lips.
Peter was growing stranger too. More and more now he would lapse into dazes, in which he would be utterly distant and unreachable, as though deserted by a mind that had flown miles and miles away. And it was difficult to get him to take his part in the food dance. Only Oliver could bring him out of the daze, and often it took time. More than once they had finally managed to get him moving, only to have the voices and the flashing light stop a moment later, taking away the possibility of food. This had not pleased any of them; Blossom, in a frenzy, had even slapped Peter once.
Abigail sighed. Oliver had changed too; or perhaps it wasn't as much a change as a peeling off of an outer layer. The confident energy and high spirits that had once characterized him were now only occasionally apparent. Instead he was often moody and petulant, and toward Lola even hostile. Somehow, Lola's energy seemed to drain his away, and, in lethargy, he hated her for it.
Nevertheless, Abigail was still attracted to him. He was probably the best-looking boy she had ever met, and the growing gauntness of his face only accentuated what was interesting about his features. He was often nasty to her, of course. Not infrequently now they would climb high above the others and kiss. Sometimes they would do it for as long as five minutes, and the kissing would grow more passionate. And even though she had always been taught that it was wrong, it was so comforting, and felt so nice, that she was beginning to think that the teaching might be wrong, not the act; and she was able to relax and enjoy it. But it would always end with Oliver suddenly breaking away, leaving her startled and lost, and after that he would be distant and cold.
She could not understand it, it was disturbing to think about, and so she turned her thoughts to Oliver's good points. The times when he was the most like his old self were always when he was rousing Peter. It was something that no one else could do, and though clearly just as hungry and impatient as the rest of them, Oliver seemed to relish the excitement of the situation, and also resented anyone who tried to help him. And when Peter did begin to respond, Oliver's spirits would soar. He would begin his part in the dance with a rhythm that none of the others possessed. And, unless the machine stopped at once and they got barely anything to eat, his high spirits would last, and he would be charming enough to keep them almost cheerful for several hours.
And cheerfulness, Abigail reflected, was certainly hard to come by in here. It was not only the constant, gnawing hunger, but the utter bleakness of this place that made it so unpleasant; the sensation of an endless succession of days without any comfort or diversion or interest.
But no, she said to herself, puzzled. That isn't true anymore. There is something happening, or about to happen. Something very strange That isn't true anymore. There is something happening, or about to happen. Something very strange. She sensed a chilling anticipation in the air around her, and shivered.
"When is Lola going to get back?" said Blossom. "I hate the way she goes away like this. The food machine could start any time. She's so selfish."
"But you've got to let her have some time to herself," said Abigail, trying to be good-natured in spite of the resentment she also felt.
"Why are you always defending her?" said Oliver. "She isn't perfect."
"She sure isn't isn't perfect," said Blossom, hunched over the machine. "In fact, there's something I've been meaning to tell you about her. We're all stuck here together, I just think it's important to know what everybody is really like." Her face was pale and moist, and her eyes glittered as they shifted between Oliver and Abigail. "It was some things she said ... about all of you." perfect," said Blossom, hunched over the machine. "In fact, there's something I've been meaning to tell you about her. We're all stuck here together, I just think it's important to know what everybody is really like." Her face was pale and moist, and her eyes glittered as they shifted between Oliver and Abigail. "It was some things she said ... about all of you."
Part of Abigail didn't want to hear, for she sensed that what Blossom was going to say would only make everything worse. Yet she was also curious, and Blossom's tone was too compelling to resist.
"Yes?" said Oliver, leaning forward eagerly. "What did she say?"
"Well," said Blossom. "It was really sinister and frightening. The first thing she said was about-"
"The dish ran away with the spoon," murmured hundreds of voices all around them, and Blossom's face was brilliantly colored, then suddenly white again, as the light began blinking on and off.
Abigail didn't bother to notice this time whether the light was red or green, for it really never made any difference. And also, she was preoccupied with other things, for as always, there was a time of frantic activity before the dance began.
"Wake him up!" Blossom shrieked, instantly in a frenzy, already beginning the movements of the dance. "Wake him up! Lolaaaa!" she screamed, her limbs twitching as she leaned over the edge. "Lola, get up here, the light's on!" She spun around to the others. "And don't tell her I was going to say anything!" she whispered vehemently. "Lolaaaa!" she screamed again, back at the edge. "Will you get up here! get up here!"
Oliver was shaking Peter's shoulders; Peter's head was lolling back and forth. "Come on, Peter!" Oliver cried, hopping nervously around him. "Come on, boy! We're gonna do our dance. Come on, Peter baby. We need you."
And then Lola was on the landing.
"At last!" Blossom shouted. "Where were were-"
"Is he still out?" Lola said tensely, the muscles in her cheeks standing out as she stared at Peter. "For God's sake, wake him up!"
"That's what I'm doing!" doing!" Oliver screamed. "Leave me alone! Peter, please, Pete baby, it's Oliver talking to you, Oliver, your friend. I'm your friend, Pete, and I need you. Please Pete, come on." Oliver screamed. "Leave me alone! Peter, please, Pete baby, it's Oliver talking to you, Oliver, your friend. I'm your friend, Pete, and I need you. Please Pete, come on."
Slowly Peter's eyes came into focus and he blinked at Oliver, then the others.
"Hurray! Good for you, Pete baby," Oliver cried. "Good for you!" And he pulled him affectionately to his feet.
"Oh, hurry!" Blossom wailed.
And they began.
Their dance was quite different now. Over the hungry days the patterns of their movements had been molded and shaped by the machine. They would always begin the dance just as they had done it the time before, and often they would be rewarded by a small pellet of food. But very often the second repetition had no effect. Watching each other closely, their movements would begin to change. Very slightly, one of them would move a little farther to the left or right, a hand would bend more at the wrist, a chin would lift, shoulders would sway. And if the change was the one the machine wanted, there would be another pellet of food, and the altered movement would continue and grow. Rhythm was important too: Once Oliver had moved his foot just before the next flash of the light instead of with it, and the syncopation of his movement had brought the reward.
At first it had been confusing and very difficult, for the possibilities of such subtle changes in movement were practically endless, and there was no way of knowing what the machine would prefer. It had been trial and error, and the errors had been numerous and heartbreaking. Too heartbreaking, in fact, to tolerate, for their hunger was intense. And it was just this intensity, the fact that they were operating under the direst necessity that any of them had ever known, that had created a new, specialized sense in each of them. It was a sense of what the machine would like, a feeling of its personality, so to speak. This, too, was a subtle thing, and none of them would have been able to explain it in words. Nevertheless they had all, sooner or later, unconsciously become aware of the pattern through which it was leading them; they had grown surer of their movements and how to change them, and from that point on the dance had steadily become more effective.
There were also those frustrating times when the voices would come and the light would flash, and yet nothing that they did would produce any food. But they had to dance on, no matter how long, for there was always the chance that food might come eventually, and that was a chance they could not afford to miss.
At this particular moment their dance went like this: Lola and Blossom, opposite one another, circled slowly around the hole in the landing. Their arms were extended above their heads, swaying from side to side, hands outstretched. As each one reached the point nearest the edge she would spin around quickly, timing it so that the spin occurred at every other flash of light; and at the moment of spinning, each would raise her head and emit a high-pitched wail. At the same time, Peter and Abigail, timing their movements precisely to the flashing light, performed a complex series of movements on two adjacent stairways-bowing to the landing, rising to their toes and waiting for a flash with their hands on their hips and their chins lifted, turning, lifting a leg behind and bending to touch a stair above with both hands, waiting for a flash, turning, moving quickly down to the landing to meet Oliver, waiting for a flash, then back up on the steps, where the pattern would begin again.
And Oliver. Oliver, in the center of it all, moved alone. He would begin between their two stairways, stretching, his back arched; then suddenly leap, landing on a flash of light and just missing Lola as she passed. Landing with one foot in the air and spinning around instantly to begin a swaying, hip-moving walk, his arms held before him, his hands and wrists twining and intertwining, his head bending toward one shoulder and then the other as he moved toward the stairs. There to meet, one every other time, Abigail or Peter. It was always Abigail the first time; he would reach her, grasp her about the waist, and with her body arched she would fall backwards, her hands brushing the floor, until at the right moment Oliver would pull her up to him, and he would step away to begin again. At the next repetition it would be Peter.
But now something was wrong. At the first repetition the pellet appeared, which was a relief, for it indicated that this was not one of those times when the dance was not going to work and they would have to go through it fruitlessly over and over again, hoping to be rewarded eventually. They began to relax during the second repetition, believing that the dance would be successful. But this time, no pellet appeared.
There was no need now for Lola to call out, as she had done so often at the beginning, that it was time to change something. They all knew it without thinking, and intuitively they made the appropriate changes. And no pellet appeared.
Now they were getting anxious. It was like the beginning again, when they didn't know what changes to make. Their changes grew more extreme; and dreading the moment when the light would end, their eyes moved again and again to the slot on the floor.
And then, with only one small pellet lying on the landing, the light and the voices came to a sudden stop.
Blossom grabbed for it but Lola was closer and got there first. She held it above her head, scrambling up the steps out of the reach of the others. "Hold it!" she shouted as they pushed toward her. "Wait!"
"No!" Blossom squealed, stretching out her arm, but Lola popped the pellet into her mouth. Suddenly exhausted, Blossom sank back onto her step.
"But what happened?" asked Abigail, bewildered and afraid. "It hasn't done that for so long. We always seem to know how to change it now...."
"We must have just not done it right," said Lola, swallowing guiltily. She sat down on a step. "Somebody made a mistake."
"No one made a mistake," said Oliver. "I was watching. Everybody was perfect. And the changes were right too. I could tell. It was trying to teach us something else, whenever it gives us food and then stops, it's trying to teach us something."
"Oh, why does it have to be so complicated?" said Blossom.
Oliver was still thinking. "Wait a minute ...," he said. "It was trying to teach us something ... we did the dance right, and we made the right changes ... but it still wasn't satisfied, because ... because it was trying to teach us to do something else, something that wasn't the dance at all."
"Yes," said Abigail slowly. "Actually, that kind of makes sense."
Oliver was beginning to get excited. For the first time, something he had suggested seemed to make more sense than what Lola said. "When we first got here, we never would have thought the food machine could make us do anything as complicated as that dance," he said. "It would have seemed impossible. But it wasn't impossible, we did learn the dance. And now that we've learned it, and we don't make any mistakes, it's trying to teach us to do something else, to do something else when the light isn't isn't flashing!" flashing!"
"Okay, okay," Lola said. "Maybe you're right. But remember how long it took us to learn the dance? How will we ever learn what this new thing is?"
Oliver was sitting very erectly, his face glowing from exertion. "We'll learn it, I know we will," he said. He was like his old self again He was like his old self again, thought Abigail. "I think it's really exciting," he went on. "Something new is going to start happening now. We'll just figure out what it wants us to do, and do it, and then when the light comes on and we dance, then we'll know if we did the right thing."
"But that's so complicated," Blossom whined. "And what if we don't figure it out, then we'll just have to keep waiting longer and longer and I can't stand it why did Lola get the food I'm so-"
"Oh, cut it out," Lola sighed. "I'll give you one of mine next time."
"But when is next time going to be? What if he's right, that it wants us to do something else? How will we ever know what it is?" Blossom moaned. "Why did you get the food, why are you so selfish? I'm so hungry!"
Lola put her hands over her ears and shook her head back and forth. "Oh, shut up! Shut up!" she cried, and jumped to her feet. "Everyone else is just as hungry as you! Why do you think you're you're the only one who feels it? And I can't stand your horrible squeaky voice!" She turned and dashed up the stairs. the only one who feels it? And I can't stand your horrible squeaky voice!" She turned and dashed up the stairs.