CHAPTER I
ILIUM, NEW YORK, IS DIVIDED INTO THREE PARTS.
In the northwest are the managers and engineers and civil
servants and a few professional people; in the northeast are
the machines; and in the south, across the Iroquois River, is
the area known locally as Homestead, where almost all of the
people live.
If the bridge across the Iroquois were dynamited, few daily
routines would be disturbed. Not many people on either side
have reasons other than curiosity for crossing.
During the war, in hundreds of Iliums over America, man-
agers and engineers learned to get along without their men and
women, who went to ght. It was the miracle that won the war
pr0duction with almost no manpower. In the patois of the
north side of the river, it was the know~how that won the war.
Democracy owed its life to know-how.
Ten years after the war-«after the men and women had come
home, after the riots had been put down, after thousands had
been jailed under the antisabotage laws Doctor Paul Proteus
was petting a cat in his of ce. He was the most important,
brilliant person in Ilium, the manager of the Ilium Works,
though only thirty- ve. He was tall, thin, nervous, and dark,
with the gentle good looks of his long face distorted by dark-
rimmed glasses.
He didn t feel important or brilliant at the moment, nor had
he for some time. His principle concern just then was that
the black cat be contented in its new surroundings.
Those old enough to remember and too old to compete said
affectionately that Doctor Proteus Iooked just as his father
I
BOOKS BY KURT VONNEGUT, JR.
PLA YER PIANO
THE SIRENS OF TITAN
CANARY IN A CA THOUSE
MOTHER NIGHT
CAT S CRADLE
GOD BLESS YOU, MR. ROSEWA TER
WELCOME TO THE MONKEY HOUSE
SLAUGHTERHOUSE-FIVE
,2; DEML URTE PHESS/IVEW yo/m
A SEYMOUR lAWRE/VCE 800K
Copyright © 1952 by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. For Jane-God Bless Her
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be
reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior
written permission of the Publisher, excepting brief
quotes used in connection with reviews written speci cally
for inclusion in a magazine or newspaper.
CONSIDER THE LILIES OF THE FIELD, HOW THEY GROW:
THEY TOIL NOT, NEITHER no THEY SPIN;
AND YET I SAY UNTO YOU,
THAT EVEN SOLOMON IN ALL HIS GLORY
WAS NOT ARRAYED LIKE ONE OF THESE. . . .
Reprinted by arrangement with the Author.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 73-154037
Manufactured in the United States of America
Third Printing 1977
MATTHEW 6 :28
CHAPTER I
ILIUM, NEW YORK, IS DIVIDED INTO THREE PARTS.
In the northwest are the managers and engineers and civil
servants and a few professional people; in the northeast are
the machines; and in the south, across the Iroquois River, is
the area known locally as Homestead, where almost all of the
people live.
If the bridge across the Iroquois were dynamited, few daily
routines would be disturbed Nat many people on either side
have reasons other than curiosity for crossing.
During the war, in hundreds of Iliums over America, man-
agers and engineers learned to get along without their men and
women, who went to ght. It was the miracle that won the war
production with almost no manpower. In the patois of the
north side of the river, it was the know-how that won the war.
Democracy owed its life to know-how.
Ten years after the waruafter the men and women had come
home, after the riots had been put down, after thousands had
been jailed under the antisabotage laws Doctor Paul Proteus
was petting a cat in his of ce. He was the most important,
brilliant person ih Ilium, the manager of the Ilium Works,
though only thirty- ve. He was tall, thin, nervous, and dark,
with the gentle good looks of his long face distorted by dark-
rimmed glasses.
He didn t feel important or brilliant at the moment, nor had
he for some time. His principle concern just then was that
the black cat be contented in its new surroundings.
Those old enough to remember and too old to compete said
affectionately that Doctor Proteus looked just as his father
I
2 PLAYER PIANO
had as a young man and it was generally understood, resents
fully in some quarters, that Paul would someday rise almost as
high in the organization as his father had. His father, Doctor
George Proteus, was at the time of his death the nation s rst
National Industrial, Commercial, Communications, Foodstuffs,
and Resources Director, a position approached in importance
only by the presidency of the United States.
As for the Proteus genes chances of being passed down to
yet another generation, there were practically none. Paul s wife,
Anita, his secretary during the war, was barren. Ironically as
anyone would please, he had married her after she had declared
that she was certainly pregnant, following an abandoned of ce
celebration of victory.
Like that, kitty ? With solicitousness and vicarious pleas
ure, young Proteus ran a roll of blueprints along the cat s
arched back. Mmmmm-aaaaah good, eh? He had spotted
her that morning, near the golf course, and had picked her up
as a mouser for the plant. Only the night before, a mouse had
gnawed through the insulation on a control wire and put build-
ings I 7, 19, and 21 temporarily out of commission.
Paul turned on his intercom set. Katharine?
Yes, Doctor Proteus 3
Katharine, when's my speech going to be typed P
I m doing it now, sir. Ten, fteen minutes, I promise.
Doctor Katharine Finch was his secretary, and the only
woman in the Ilium Works. Actually, she was more a symbol
of rank than a real help, although she was useful as a stand-in
when Paul was ill or took a notion to leave work early. Only
the brass plant managers and bigger had secretaries. During
the war, the managers and engineers had found that the bulk
of secretarial work could be done as could most lower-echelon
jobswmore quickly and ef ciently and cheaply by machines.
Anita was about to be dismissed when Paul had married her.
Now, for instance, Katharine was being annoyingly unmachine-
like, dawdling over Paul s speech, and talking to her presumed
lover, Doctor Bud Calhoun, at the same time.
Bud, who was manager of the petroleum terminal in Ilium,
worked only when shipments came or went by barge or pipe-
line, and he spent most of his time between these crises as now
issswmssm
,
/
3
3
{st
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$¥s
§?&
PLAYER PIANO 3
1 i' » _ lling Katharine s ears with the euphoria of his Georgia sweet
talk. .
Paul took the cat in his arms and carried her to the enormous
oor to ceiling window that comprised one wall. Lots and lots
of mice out there, Kitty, he said.
He was showing the cat an old battle eld at peace. Here, in
the basin of the river bend, the Mohawks had overpowered the
Algonquins, the Dutch the Mohawks, the British the Dutch,
the Americans the British. N0w, over bones and rotten palings
and cannon balls and arrowheads, there lay a triangle of steel
and masonry buildings, a half-mile on each side the Illium
Works. Where men had once howled and hacked at one another,
and fought nip and tuck with nature as well, the machines
hummed and whirred and clicked, and made parts for baby car-
riages and bottle caps, motorcycles and refrigerators, television
sets and tricycles the fruits of peace.
Paul raised his eyes above the rooftops 0f the great triangle
to the glare of the sun on the Iroquois River, and beyond to
Homestead, where many of the pioneer names still lived: van
Zandt, Cooper, Cortland, Stokes . .
Doctor Proteus P It was Katharine again.
Yes, Katharine.
It s on again.
Three in building 58 ?"
Yessir the light s on again.
All right call Doctor Shepherd and nd out what he s
doing about it.
He s sick today. Remember 3
Then it s up to me, I guess. He put on his coat, sighed with
ennui, picked up the cat, and walked into Katharine s of ce.
Don t get up, don t get up, he said to Bud, who was stretched
out on a couch.
Who was gonna get up ? said Bud.
Three walls of the room were solid with meters from base-
board to molding, unbroken save for the doors leading into the
outer hall and into Paul s of ce. The fourth wall, as in Paul s
of ce, was a single pane of glass. The meters were identical,
the size of cigarette packages, and stacked like masonry, each
labeled with a bright brass plate. Each was connected to a group
4 PLAYER PIANO
of machines somewhere in the Works. A glowing red jewel
called attention to the seventh meter from the bottom, fth row
to the left, on the east wall.
Paul tapped the meter with his nger. Uh-huh here we go
again: number three in 58 getting rejects, all right. He glanced
over the rest of the instruments. Guess that s all, eh ?
Just that one.
Whatch goin do with thet cat 1 said Bud.
Paul snapped his ngers. Say, I m gIad you asked that. I
have a project for you, Bud. I want some sort of signaling
device that will tell this cat where she can nd a mouse.
Electronic ?
I should hope so.
You d need some kind of sensin element thet could smell
a mouse.
Or a rat. I want you to work on it while I m gone.
As Paul walked out to his car in the pale March sunlight, he
realized that Bul Calhoun would have a mouse alarm designed
one a cat could understand by the time he got back to the
o ice. Paul sometimes wondered if he wouldn t have been more
content in another period of history, but the tightness of Bud s
being alive now was beyond question. Bud s mentality was one
that had been remarked upon as being peculiarly American since
the nation had been born the restless, erratic insight and imag-
ination of a gadgeteer. This was the climax, or close to it, of
generations of Bud Calhouns, with almost all of American in
dustry integrated into one stupendous Rube Goldberg machine.
Paul stopped by Bud s car, which was parked next to his.
Bud had shown 0E its special features to him several times,
and, playfully, Paul put it through its paces. Let s go, he said.
to the car.
A whir and a click, and the door ew open. Hop in, said
a tape recording under the dashboard. The starter spun, the
engine caught and idled down, and the radio went on.
Gingerly, Paul pressed 3 button on the steering column. A
motor purred, gears grumbled softly, and the two front seats
lay down side by side like sleepy lovers. It struck Paul as shock
ingly like an operating table for horses he had once seen in a
veterinary hospital where the horse was walked alongside the
*3
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?§?&%§§3
PLAYER PIANO 5
tipped table, lashed to it, anesthetized, and then toppled into
operating position by the gear-driven table top. He could see
Katharine Finch sinking, sinking, sinking, as Bud, his hand
on the button, crooned. Paul raised the seats with another but-
ton. Goodbye, he said to the car.
The motor stopped, the radio winked OE, and the door
slammed. Don t take any wooden nickels, called thercar as
Paul climbed into his own. Don t take any wooden nickels,
don t take any wooden nickels, don t take any---
I won t!
Bud s ear fell silent, apparently at peace.
Paul drove down the broad, clean boulevard that split the
plant, and watched the building numbers ash by. A station
wagon, honking its horn, and its occupants waving to him, shot
past in the opposite direction, playfully zigzagging on the de-
serted street, heading for the main gate. Paul glanced at his
watch. That was the second shift just coming 01f work. It an-
7 noyed him that sophomoric high spirits should be correlated
with the kind of young men it took to keep the plant going.
Cautiously, he assured himself that when he, Finnerty, and
Shepherd had come to work in the Ilium Works thirteen years
before, they had been a good bit more adult, less cock-sure, and
certainly without the air of belonging to an elite.
Some people, including Paul s famous father, had talked in
the old days as though engineers, managers, and scientists were
an elite. And when things were building up to the war, it was
recognized that American know-how was the only answer to
the prospective enemy s vast numbers, and there was talk of
deeper, thicker shelters for the possessors of know how, and
of keeping this cream of the population out of the front-line
ghting. But not many had taken the idea of an elite to heart.
When Paul, Finnerty, and Shepherd had graduated from col-
lege, early in the war, they had felt sheepish about not going
to ght, and humbled by those who did go. But now this elite
business, this assurance of superiority, this sense of rightness
about the hierarchy topped by managers and engineers this
was instilled in all college graduates, and there were no bones
about it.
Paul felt better when he got into Building 58, a long, narrow
6 PLAYER PIANO
structure four blocks long. It was a pet of his. He d been told
to have the north end of the building torn down and replaced,
and he d talked Headquarters out of it. The north end was the
oldest building in the plant, and Paul had saved itmbecause of
its historical interest to visitors, he d told Headquarters. But
he discouraged and disliked Visitors, and he d really saved Build-
ing 58 s north end for himself. It was the original machine shop
set up by Edison in I886, the same year in which he opened
another in Schenectady, and visiting it took the edge off
Paul s periods of depression. It was a vote of con dence from
the past, he thought where the past admitted how humble and
shoddy it had been, where one could look from the old to the
new and see that mankind really had come a long way. Paul
needed that reassurance from time to time.
Objectively, Paul tried to tell himself, things really were
better than ever. For once, after the great bloodbath of the war,
the world really was cleared of unnatural terrors mass starva
tion, mass imprisonment, mass torture, mass murder. Objec-
tively, know-how and world law were getting their long-awaited
chance to turn earth into an altogether pleasant and convenient
place in Which to sweat out Judgment Day.
Paul wished he had gone to the front, and heard the senseless
tumult and thunder, and seen the wounded and dead, and maybe
got a piece of shrapnel through his leg. Maybe he d be able to
understand then how good everything now was by comparison,
to see what seemed so clear to others that what he was doing,
had done, and would do as a manager and engineer was vital,
above reproach, and had, in fact, brought on a golden age. Of
late, his job, the system, and organizational politics had left him
variously annoyed, bored, or queasy.
He stood in the old part of Building 58, which was now lled
with welding machines and a bank of insulation braiders. It
soothed him to look up at the wooden rafters, uneven with
ancient adze marks beneath aking calcimine, and at the dull
walls of brick soft enough for mennGod knows how long ago"-
to carve their initials in : KTM, DG, GP, BDH, HB,
NNS. Paul imagined for a moment as he often imagined on
visits to Building 58 mthat he was Edison, standing on the
threshold of a solitary brick building on the banks of the Iro-
PLAYER PIANO 7
quois, with the upstate winter slashing through the broomcorn
outside. The rafters still bore the marks of what Edison had
done with the lonely brick barn: bolt holes showed where over-
head shafts had once carried power to a forest of belts, and the
wood block oor was black with the oil and scarred by the feet
of the crude machines the belts had spun.
On his of ce wall, Paul had a picture of the shop as it had
been in the beginning. All of the employees, most of them re-
cruited from surrounding farms, had stood shouider to shoulder
amid the crude apparatus for the photograph, almost erce with
dignity and pride, ridiculous in stiff collars and derbies. The
photographer had apparently been accustomed to taking pictures
of athletic teams and fraternal organizations, for the picture had
the atmosphere, after the fashion of the day, of both. In each
face was a de ant promise of physical strength, and at the same
time, there was the attitude of a secret order, above and apart
from society by virtue of participating in important and mov.
ing rites the laity could only guess about and guess wrong. The
pride in strength and important mystery showed no less in the
eyes of the sweepers than in those of the machinists and in-
spectors, and in those of the foreman, who alone was without
a lunchbox.
A buzzer sounded, and Paul stepped to one side of the aisle
as the sweeping machine rattled by on its rails, whooshing up
a cloud of dust with spinning brooms, and sucking up the cloud
with a voracious snout. The cat in Paul s arms clawed up threads
from his suit and hissed at the machine.
Paul s eyes began to nag him with a prickling sensation, and
he realized that he d been gazing into the glare and sputter of
the welding machines without protecting his eyes. He clipped
dark glasses over his spectacles, and strode through the anti-
septic smell of ozone toward lathe group three, which was in
the center of the building, in the new part.
He paused for a moment by the last weldingomachine group,
and wished Edison could be with him to see it. The old man
would have been enchanted. Two steel plates were stripped from
a pile, sent rattling down a chute; were seized by mechanical
hands and thrust under the welding machine. The welding heads
dropped, sputtered, and rose. A battery of electric eyes bale-
8 PLAYER PIANO
fully studied the union of the two plates, signaled a meter in
Katharine s of ce that all was well with welding-machine group
ve in Building 58, and the welded plates skittered down an»
other chute into the jaws of the punch-press group in the base-
ment. Every seventeen seconds, each of the twelve machines in
the group completed the cycle.
Looking the length of Building 58, Paul had the impression
of a great gymnasium, where countless squads practiced pre
cision calisthenicswbobbing, spinning, leaping, thrusting, wav
ing. . . . This much of the new era Paul loved: the machines
themselves were entertaining and delightful.
Cursorily, he opened the control b0x for the welding-machine
group, and saw that the machines were set to run for three more
days. After that, they would shut down automatically until Paul
received new orders from headquarters and relayed them to
Doctor Lawson Shepherd, who was second-in-command and
responsible for Buildings 53 through 71. Shepherd, who was
sick today, would then set the controls for a new batch of re-
frigerator backs however many backs EPICAC, a computing
machine in Carlsbad Caverns, felt the economy could absorb.
Paul, calming the anxious cat with his long, slender ngers,
wondered indi erently if Shepherd really was sick. Probably
not. More likely, he was seeing important people, trying to get
transferred out from under Paul.
Shepherd, Paul, and Edward Finnerty had all come to Ilium
together as youngsters. Now Finnerty had moved on to bigger
things in Washington; Paul had been given the highest job in
Ilium; and Shepherd, sulky and carping, but ef cient, had, in
his own eyes, been humiliated by being named second-in-com-
mand to Paul. Transfers were an upper echelon decision, and
Paul hoped to God that Shepherd got one.
Paul arrived at lathe group three, the troublemaker he had
come to see. He had been agitating a long time for permission
to junk the group, without much luck. The lathes were of the
old type, built originally to be controlled by men, and adapted
during the war, clumsily, to the new techniques. Theraccuracy
was going out of them, and, as the meter in Katharine s of ce
had pointed out, rejects were showing up in quantity. Paul was
willing to bet that the lathe group was ten per cent as wasteful
PLAYER PIANO 9
as it had been in the days of human control and mountainous
scrap heaps.
The group, ve ranks of ten machines each, swept their tools
in unison across steel bars, kicked out nished shafts onto con-
tinuous belts, stopped while raw bars dropped between their
chucks and tailstocks, clamped down, and swept their tools across
the bars, kicked out the nished shafts onto . . .
Paul unlocked the box c0ntaining the tape recording that
controlled them all. The tape was a small loop that fed contin-
uously between magnetic pickups. On it were recorded the
movements of a master machinist turning out a shaft for a
{ractionai horsepower motor. Paul counted back eieven, twelve,
thirteen years ago, he d been in on the making of the tape, the
master from which this one had been made. . . .
He and Finnerty and Shepherd, with the ink hardly dry on
their doctorates, had been sent to one of the machine shops
to make the recording. The foreman had pointed out his best
man -what was his name ? and, joking with the puzzled ma-
chinist, the three bright young men had hooked up the record
ing apparatus to the lathe controls. Hertz! That had been the
machinist s name Rudy Hertz, an old timer, who had been
about ready to retire. Paul remembered the name now, and re-
membered the deference the old man had shown the bright
young men.
Afterward, they d got Rudy s foreman to let him off, and,
in a boisterous, whimsical spirit of industrial democracy, they d
taken him across the street for a beer. Rudy hadn t understood
quite what the recording instruments were all about, but what
he had understood, he d liked: that he, out of thousands of
machinists, had been chosen to have his motions immortalized
on tape.
And here, now, this little loop in the box before Paul, here
was Rudy as Rudy had been to his machine that afternoon'-
Rudy, the turner-on of power, the setter of speeds, the controller
of the cutting tool. This was the essence of Rudy as far as his
machine was concerned, as far as the economy was concerned,
as far as the war effort had been concerned. The tape was the
essence distilled from the small, polite man with the big hands
and black ngernails; from the man who thought the world
IO PLAYER PIANO
could be saved if everyone read a verse from the Bible every
night; from the man who adored a collie for want of children;
from the man who . . . What else had Rudy said that after-
noon? Paul supposed the old man was dead now or in his
second childhood in Homestead.
Now, by switching in iathes on a master panel and feeding
them signals from the tape, Paul could make the essence of Rudy
Hertz produce one, ten, a hundred, or a thousand of the shafts.
Paul closed the box s door. The tape seemed in good con
dition, and so were the pickups. Everything, in fact, was as
ship shape as could be expected, considering the antiquity of
the machines. There were just going to have to be rejects, and
that was that. The whole group belonged in a museum, not a
production setup. Even the box was archaic a vaultlike affair
bolted to the oor, with a steel door and lock. At the time of
the riots, right after the war, the master tapes had all been locked
up in this way. Now, with the antisabotage laws as rigidly en-
forced as they were, the only protection the controls needed was
from dust, cockroaches, and mice.
At the door, in the old part of the building once more, Paul
paused for a moment to listen to the music of Building 58. He
had had it in the back of his mind for years to get a composer
to do something with it~the Building 58 Suite. It was wild and
Latin music, hectic rhythms, fading in and out of phase, kalei-
doscopic sound. He tried to separate and identify the themes.
There! The lathe groups, the tenors: Furmzz-aw o-w ow ow-
ow-ale! ting! Furr-azzmwow . . . The welders, the baritones:
Vaaaaaaa~zuzip! Vaaaaaaa-zuzip! And, with the basement
as a resonating chamber, the punch presses, the basses: Aw-
gmmph! tonka-tonka, Aw gmmp! tonka tonka . . . It was
exciting music, and Paul, ushed, his vague anxieties gone, gave '
himself over to it.
Out of the corner of his eye, a crazy, spinning movement
caught his fancy, and he turned in his delight to watch a cluster
of miniature maypoles braid bright cloth insulation about a
black snake of cable. A thousand little dancers whirled about
one another at incredible speeds, pirouetting, dodging one an-
other, unerringly building their snug snare about the cable. Paul
laughed at the wonderful machines, and had to look away to
PLAYER PIANO II
keep from getting dizzy. In the old days, when women had
watched over the machines, some of the more simplehearted
had been found sitting rigidly at their posts, staring, long after
quitting time. ,
His gaze fell upon an asymmetrical heart scratched 1nto the
old brick, and in its center, KL. ~M.W. , and the date,
1931. KL. and M.W. had taken a liking to one another, then,
in the same year that Edison had died. Paul thought again of the
fun of showing the old man around Building 58, and suddenly
realized that most of the machinery would be old stuff, even to
Edison. The braiders, the welders, the punch presses, the lathes,
the conveyers everything in sight, almost, had been around in
Edison s time. The basic parts of the automatic controls, too,
and the electric eyes and other elements that did and did better
what human senses had once done for industry all were familiar
enough in scienti c circles even in the nineteen twenties. All that
was new was the combination of these elements. Paul reminded
himself to bring that out in his talk at the Country Club that
ni ht.
gThe cat arched her back and clawed at Paul s suit again. The
sweeper was snuf ing down the aisle toward them once more.
It sounded its warning buzzer, and Paul stepped out of its path.
The cat hissed and spat, suddenly raked Paul s hand with her
claws, and jumped. With a bouncing, stiff legged gait, she ed
before the sweeper. Snatching, ashing, crashing, shrieking
machines kept her in the middle of the aisle, yards ahead of
the sweeper s whooshing brooms. Paul looked franticaily for
the switch that would stop the sweeper, but before he found it,
the cat made a stand. She faced the oncoming sweeper, her
needle like teeth bated, the tip of her tail snapping back and
forth. The ash of a welder went off inches from her eyes, and
the sweeper gobbled her up and hurled her squalling and scratch-
ing into its gaivanized tin belly.
Winded after a quarter mile run through the length of the
building, Paul caught the sweeper just as it reached a chute. It
gagged, and spat the cat down the chute and into a freight car
outside. When Paul got outside, the cat had scrambled up the
side of the freight car, tumbled to the ground, and was des-
perately clawing her way up a fence.
12 PLAYER PIANO
No, kitty, n0! cried Paul.
The cat hit the alarm wire on the fence, and sirens screamed
from the gate house. In the next second the cat hit the charged
wires atop the fence. A pop, a green ash, and the cat sailed
high over the top strand as though thrown. She dropped to the
asphalt dead and smoking, but outside.
An armored car, its turret nervously jerking its brace of
machine guns this way and that, grumbled to a stop by the
small corpse. The turret hatch clanged open, and a plant guard
cautiously raised his head. Everything all right, sir ?
Turn off the sirens. Nothing but a cat on the fence. Paul
knelt, and looked at the cat through the mesh of the fence,
frightfully upset. Pick up the cat and take her to my o ice.
Beg your pardon, sir 3
The cat I want her taken to my of ce.
She s dead, sir.
You heard me.
Yessir.
Paul was in the depths again as he climbed into his car in
front of Building 58. There was nothing in sight to divert him,
nothing but asphalt, a perspective of blank, numbered fagades,
and wisps of cold cirrus clouds in a strip of blue sky. Paul
glimpsed the only life visible through a narrow canyon between
Buildings 57 and 59, a canyon that opened onto the river and
revealed a bank of gray porches in Homestead, On the topmost
porch an old man rocked in a patch of sunlight. A child leaned
over the railing and launched a square of paper in a lazy, oscil-
lating course to the river s edge. The youngster looked up from
the paper to meet Paul s gaze. The old man stopped rocking
and looked, too, at the curiosity, a living thing in the Ilium
Works.
As Paul passed Katharine Finch s desk on his way into his
of ce, she held out his typewritten speech. "That s very good,
what you said about the Second Industrial Revolution, she
said.
Old, old stuff.
It seemed very fresh to me I mean that part where you
say how the First Industrial Revolution devalued muscle work,
PLAYER PIANO 13
then the second one devalued routine mental work. I was fas
cinated.
Norbert Wiener, a mathematician, said all that way back in
the nineteen-forties. It s fresh to you because you're too young
to know anything but the way things are now. '
Actually, it is kind of incredible that things were ever any
other way, isn t it? It was so ridiculous to have people stuck
in one place all day, just using their senses, then a re ex, using
their senses, then a re ex, and not really thinking at all.
Expensive, said Paul, and about as reliable as a putty
ruler. You can imagine what the scrap heap looked like, and
what hell it was to be a service manager in those days. Hang-
overs, family squabbles, resentments against the boss, debts, the
war every kind of human trouble was likely to show up in a
product one way or another. He smiled. And happiness, too.
I can remember when we had to allow for holidays, especially
around Christmas. There wasn t anything to do but take it. The
reject rate would start climbing around the fth of December,
and up and up it d go until Christmas. Then the holiday, then
a horrible reject rate; then New Year s, then a ghastly reject
level. Then things would taper down to normal which was
plenty bad enough by January fteenth or so. We used to have
to gure in things like that in pricing a product.
Do you suppose there ll be a Third Industrial Revolution ?
Paul paused in his of ce doorway. A third one? What would
that be like 3
I don t know exactly. The rst and second ones must have
been sort of inconceivable at one time.
To the people who were going to be replaced by machines,
maybe. A third One, eh? In a way, I guess the third one's been
going on for some time, if you mean thinking machines. That
would be the third revolution, I guesswmachines that devaluate
human thinking. Some of the big computers like EPICAC do
that all right, in specialized elds.
Uh-huh, said Katharine thoughtfully. She rattled a pencil
between her teeth. First the muscle work, then the routine
work, then, maybe, the real brainw0rk.
I hope I m not around long enough to see that nal step.
Speaking of industrial revolutions, where s Bud?
I4 PLAYER PIANO
A barge was coming in, so he had to get back to work. He
left this for you. She handed him a crumpled laundry slip with
Bud s name on it.
Paul turned the slip over and found, as he had expected, a
circuit diagram for a mouse detector and alarm system that
might very well work. Astonishing mind, Katharine.
She nodded uncertainly.
Paul closed his door, locked it silently, and got a bottle from
under papers in a bottom drawer. He blacked out for an instant
under the gloriously hot impact of a gulp of whisky. He hid
the bottie again, his eyes watering.
Doctor Proteus, your wife is on the phone, said Katharine
on the intercom.
Proteus speaking. He started to sit, and was distressed to
nd a small wicker basket in his chair, containing a dead black
cat.
This is me, darling, Anita.
Hello, hello, hello. He set the basket on the oor gently,
and sank into his chair. How are you, sweetheart? he said
absently. His mind was still on the cat.
All set to have a good time tonight P It was a theatrical
contralto, knowing and passionate: Ilium s Lady of the Manor
speaking.
Been jumpy all day about the talk.
Then you ll do it brilliantly, darling. You ll get to Pitts-
burgh yet. I haven t the slightest doubt about that, Paul, not
the slightest. Just wait until Kroner and Baer hear you tonight.
Kroner and Baer accepted, did they ? These two were man-
ager and chief engineer, respectively, of the entire Eastern Divi-
sion, of which the Ilium Works was one small part. It was
Kroner and Baer who would decide who was to get the most
important job in their division, 3 job left vacant two weeks ago
by death the managership of the Pittsburgh Works. How gay
can a party get ?
Well, if you don t like that, I have some news you will like.
There s going to be another very special guest.
Hi ho.
And you have to go to Homestead for some Irish whisky
for him. The club hasn t got any.
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Finnerty! Ed Finnerty l
Yes, Finnerty. He called this afternoon and was very spe-
ci c about your getting some Irish for him. He s on his way
from Washington to Chicago, and he s going to stop off here.
How long has it been, Anita? Five, six years 3
Not since before you got to be manager. That long. She
was hale, enthusiastic about Finnerty s coming. It annoyed Paul,
because he knew very well that she didn t care for Finnerty.
She was crowing, not because she was fond of Finnerty but
because she enjoyed the ritual attitudes of friendships, of which
she had none. Also, since he d left Ilium, Ed Finnerty had be-
come a man of consequence, a member of the National Indus-
trial Planning Board; and this fact no doubt diilled her recol-
iections of contretemps with Finnerty in the past.
You relright about that being good news, Anita. It s won-
derful. Takes the edge off Kroner and Baer.
Now, you re going to be nice to them, too.
Oh yes. Pittsburgh, here we come.
If I tell you something for your own good, promise not to
get mad P
KIND.
All right, I ll tell you anyway. Amy Halporn said this mom-
ing she d heard something about you and Pittsburgh. Her hus-
band was with Kroner today, and Kroner had the impression
that you didn t want to go to Pittsburgh.
How does he want me to tell him in Esperanto? I ve told
him I wanted the job a dozen different ways in English.
Apparently Kroner doesn t feel you really mean it. You ve
been too subtle and modest, darling.
Kroner s a bright one, all right.
How do you mean ?
I mean he s got more insight into me than I do.
You mean you don t want the Pittsburgh job 3
I m not sure. He apparently knew that before I did.
You re tired, darling.
I guess.
You need a drink. Come home early.
All right.
I love you, Paul.
16 PLAYER PIANO
I love you, Anita. Goodbye.
Anita had the mechanics of marriage down pat, even to the
subtlest conventions. If her approach was disturbingly rationai,
systematic, she was thorough enough to turn out a creditable
counterfeit of warmth. Paul could only suspect that her feel-
ings were shallow- and perhaps that suspicion was part of what
he was beginning to think of as his sickness.
His head was down, his eyes closed, when he hung up. When
he opened his eyes, he was looking at the dead cat in the basket.
Katharine I
Yessir.
Will you have somebody bury this cat.
We wondered what you wanted to do with it.
God knows what I had in mind. He looked at the corpse
and shook his head. God knows. Maybe a Christian burial;
maybe I hoped she d come around. Get rid of it right away,
would you ?
He stopped by Katharine s desk on his way home and told
her not to worry about the glowing jewel on the seventh meter
from the bottom, fth row from the left, on the east wall.
Beyond help, he said. Lathe group three, Building 58, had
been good in its day, but was showing wear and becoming a
mis t in the slick, streamlined setup, where there was no place
for erratic behavior. Basically, it wasn t built for the job it s
doing anyway. I look for the buzzer to go off any day now, and
that ll be the end.
In each meter box, in addition to the instrument, the jewel,
and the warning lamp, was a buzzer. The buzzer was the signai
for a unit s complete breakdown.
CHAPTER II
THE SHAH OF BRATPUHR, spiritual leader of 6,000,000
members of the Kolhouri sect, wizened and wise and dark as
cocoa, encrusted with gold brocade and constellations of twin-
kling gems, sank deep into the royal blue cushions of' the lim-
ousine like a priceless brooch in its gift box.
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PLAYER PIANO 17
On the other side of the limousine s rear seat sat Doctor
Ewing J. Haiyard, 0f the United States Department of State,
a heavy, orid, urbane gentleman of forty. He wore a owing
sandy mustache, a colored shirt, a boutonniere, and a waistcoat
contrasting with his dark suit, and wore them with such poise
that one was sure he d just come from a distinguished company
where everyone dressed in this manner. The fact was that only
Doctor Halyard did. And he got away with it beautifully.
Between them, nervous, grinning, young, and forever apolo
getic for his own lack of éclat or power, was Khashdrahr
Miasma, the interpreter, and nephew of the Shah, who had
learned English from a tutor, but had never before been outside
of the Shah s palace.
Khabu? said the Shah in his high, frail voice.
Halyard had been with the Shah for three days now and was
able to understand, without Khashdrahr s help, ve of the Shah s
expressions. Khabu meant where? Sik/i meant what ?
"Aklaa salm meant why? Brahaus brahouna, homw saki
was a combination of blessing and thanks, and Sumklz'sh was the
sacred Kolhouri drink which Khashdrahr carried in a hip ask
for the Shah.
The Shah had left his military and spiritual fastness in the
mountains to see what he could learn in the most powerful
nation on earth for the good of his people. Doctor Halyard was
his guide and host.
Khabu? said the Shah again, peering out at the city.
The Shah wishes to know, please, where we are now, said
Khashdrahr.
I know, said Halyard, smiling wanly. It had been khabu
and siki and akka sahn until he was half out of his mind. He
leaned forward. Ilium, New York, your highness. We are about
to cross the Iroquois River, which divides the town in two. Over
there on the opposite bank is the Ilium Works.
The limousine came to a halt by the end of the bridge, where
a large work crew was liing a small chuckhole. The crew had
opened a lane for an old Plymouth with a broken headlight,
which was coming through from the north side of the river.
The limousine waited for the Plymouth to get through, and then
proceeded.
18 PLAYER PIANO
The Shah turned to stare at the group through the back win-
dow, and then spoke at length.
Doctor Halyard smiled and nodded appreciatively, and
awaited a translation.
The Shah, said Khashdrahr, he would Iike, please, to
know who owns these slaves we see all the way up from New
York City.
Nat slaves, said Halyard, chuckling patronizingly. Citi-
zens, employed by government. They have same rights as other
citizens free speech, freedom of worship, the right to vote. Be-
fore the war, they worked in the Ilium Works, controlling
machines, but now machines control themselves much better.
Aha! said the Shah, after Khashdrahr had translated.
Less waste, much better products, cheaper products with
automatic control.
Alla 1
And any man who cannot support himself by doing a job
better than a machine is employed by the government, either
in the Army or the Reconstruction and Reclamation Corps.
Aha! Khabu bomnza-pak?"
Eh P
He says, Where does the money come from to pay them 3
said Khashdrahr. .
Oh. From taxes on the machines, and taxes on personal
incomes. Then the Army and the Reconstruction and Reclama
tion Corps people put their money back into the system for more
products for better living.
(Aha 1
Doctor Halyard, a dutiful man with a bad conscience about
the size of his expense accounts, went on explaining America,
though he knew very little was getting through. He told the
Shah that advances had been most profound in purely indus-
trial communities, where the bulk of the population as in Ilium
had made its living tending machines in one way or another.
In New York City, for instance, there were many skills dif cult
or uneconomical to mechanize, and the advances hadn t liberated
as high a percentage of people from production.
Kuppo! said the Shah, shaking his head.
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Khashdrahr blushed, and translated uneasily, apologetically.
Shah says, Communism.
N0 Kappa! said Halyard vehemently. The government
does not own the machines. They simply tax that part of in-
dustry s income that once went into labor, and redistribute it.
Industry is privateiy owned and managed, and co ordinatedw
to prevent the waste of competition by a committee of leaders
from private industry, not politicians. By eliminating human
error through machinery, and needless competition through or-
ganization, we ve raised the standard of living of the average
man immensely.
Khashdrahr stopped translating and frowned perplexedly.
Please, this average man, there is no equivalent in our lan-
guage, I m afraid.
You know, said Halyard, the ordinary man, like, well,
anybody those men working back on the bridge, the man in
that old car we passed. The little man, not brilliant but good-
hearted, plain, ordinary, everyday kind of person.
Khashdrahr translated.
Aha, said the Shah, nodding, Takam.
What did he say?
Takam, said Khashdrahr. Slave.
No Takaru, said Halyard, speaking directly to the Shah.
Ci ti-zen.
Ahhhhh, said the Shah. Ci ti zen. He grinned happily.
Takam citizen. Citizen Takam.
No Takam! said Halyard.
Khashdrahr shrugged. In the Shah s land are only the Elite
and the Takam.
Halyard s ulcer gave him a twinge, the ulcer that had grown
in size and authority over the years of his career as an inter-
preter of America to provincial and ignorant notables from the
backwaters of civilization.
The limousine came to a stop again, and the driver honked
his horn at a crew of Reconstruction and Reclamation Corps-
men. They had left their wheelbarrows blocking the road, and
were throwing rocks at a squirrel on a branch a hundred feet
overhead.
20 PLAYER PIANO
Halyard rolled down his window. Get these damn wheel
barrows out of the way! he shouted.
Ci-ti-zen! piped the Shah, smiling modestly at his newly
acquired bilinguality.
Drop dead, called one of the rock throwers. Reluctantly,
surlily, he came down to the road and moved two wheelbarrows
very slowly, studying the car and its occupants as he did it. He
stepped to one side.
Thanks! It s about time! said Halyard as the limousine
eased past the man.
You re welcome, Doc, said the man, and he spat in Hal-
yard s face.
Halyard sputtered, manfully regained his poise, and wiped
his face. Isolated incident, he said bitterly.
Takam yamu brouha, [m dinka bu, said the Shah syma
pathetically.
The Shah, said Khashdrahr gravely, he says it is the same
with Takam everywhere since the war.
No Takam, said Halyard apathetically, and let it go.
Sumklish, sighed the Shah.
Khashdrahr handed him the ask of sacred liquor.
CHAPTER III
DOCTOR PAUL PROTEUS, the man with the highest in-
come in Ilium, drove his cheap and 01d Plymouth across the
bridge to Homestead. He had had the car at the time of the
riots, and among the bits of junk in the glove compartment
match cards, registration, ashlight, and face tissues was the
rusty pistol he had been issued then. Having a pistol where
some unauthorized person might get at it was very much against
the law. Even members of the huge standing army did without
rearms until they d disembarked for occupation duty overseas.
Only the police and plant guards were armed. Paul didn t want
the pistol but was forever forgetting to turn it in. Over the
years, as it had accumulated a patina of rust, he'd come to
regard it as a harmless antique. The glove'compartment wouldn t
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lock, so Paul covered the pistol with tissues.
The engine wasn t working properly, now and then hesitat-
ing, catching again, slowing suddenly, catching again. His other
carS, a new station wagon and a very expensive sedan, were at
home, as he put it, for Anita. Neither of the good cars had ever
been in Homestead, and neither had Anita for many years.
Anita never needled him about his devotion to the old car,
though she did seem to think some sort of explanation to others
was in order. He had overheard her telling visitors that he had
had it rebuilt in such a way that it was far better mechanically
than what was coming off the automatic aSSembly lines at De-
troit which simply wasn t true. Nor was it logical that a man
with so special a car would put off and put off having the broken
left headlamp xed. And he wondered how she might have
explained, had she known, that he kept a leather jacket in the
trunk, and that he exchanged his coat for this and took 055 his
necktie before crossing the Iroquois. It was a trip he made oniy
when he had to for, say, a bottle of Irish whisky for one of
the few persons he had ever felt close to.
He came to a stop at the Homestead end of the bridge. About
forty men, leaning on crowbars, picks, and shovels, blocked the
way, smoking, talking, milling about something in the middle
of the pavement. They looked around at Paul with an air of
sheepishness and, as though there were nothing but time in the
world, they moved slewly to the sides of the bridge, leaving
an alley barely wide enough for Paul s car. As they separated,
Paul saw what it was they had been standing around. A small
man was kneeling beside a chuckhole perhaps two feet in diam-
eter, patting a fresh ll of tar and gravel with the at of his
shovel.
Importantly, the man waved for Paul to go around the patch,
not over it. The others fell silent, and watched to make sure
that Paul did go around it.
Hey, Mae, your headlamp s busted, shouted one of the
men. The others joined in, chorusing the message earnestly.
Paul nodded his thanks. His skin began to itch, as though
he had suddenly become unclean. These were members of the
Reconstruction and Reclamation Corps, in their own estimate
the Reeks and Wrecks. Those who couldn t compete econom-
22 PLAYER PIANO
icalIy with machines had their choice, if they had no source of
income, of the Army or the Reconstruction and Reclamation
Corps. The soldiers, with their hollowness hidden beneath twin
kling buttons and buckles, crisp serge, and glossy leather, didn t
depress Paul nearly as much as the Reeks and Wrecks did.
He eased through the work crew, past a black government
limousine, and into Homestead.
A saloon was close to the end of the bridge. Paul had to park
his car a half bloek away, for another crew was ushing out
the storm sewers With an opened re hydrant. This seemed to be
a favorite undertaking. Whenever he had come to Homestead
when the temperature had been above freezing, he d found a
hydrant going.
One big man, with an air of proprietorship, kept his hands
on the wrench that controlled the ow. Another stood by as
second-in-command of the water. All around them, and along
the course of the water to the sewer mouth, a crowd stood watch-
ing. A dirty little boy caught a scrap of paper skittering along
the sidewalk, fashioned it into a crude boat, and launched it in
the gutter. All eyes followed the craft with interest, seeming
to wish it luck as it shot perilous rapids, as it snagged on a twig,
spun free, shot into the swift, deep main ow, mounted a crest
for a triumphant instant, and plunged into the sewer.
Uh! grunted a man standing by Paul, as though he had
been aboard the boat.
Paul worked his way through the crowd, which was contin-
uous with the clientele of the saloon, and got to within one rank
of the bar. His back was against an old player piano. No one
seemed to have recognized him. It would have been surprising
if someone had, for, in line with policy, he kept pretty much to
his own side of the river and never permitted his name or pic
ture to appear in the Ilium Star-Tn'bune.
Around the bar were old men, pensioners, too old for the
Army or the Reeks and Wrecks. Each had before him a head
less beer in a glass whose rim was opaqued by hours of slow,
thoughtful sipping. These oldsters probably arrived early and
left late, and any other business had to be done over their heads.
On the screen of the television set behind the bar, a large earth
mother of a woman, her voice shut off by the volume knob,
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PLAYER PIANO 23
r 1i 5 excitedl , and broke eggs into a mixing
beamed, 1:23:12: witched, occisionally clicking their dentures
u e," said Paul self-consciously.
Nixg fmtzde a move to let him get to the bar. A fat, whiten-
- collie, curled beneath the barstool of an old man blocklng
mg 1 way showed its toothless gums and growled fuzz y.
Paguiilely,,Paul waved his hand for the bartender s attention.
As he shifted from one foot to the other, he recalled thefully
mechanized saloon he, Finnerty, and ShepherdHhad de51gned
hen they d been playful young engineers. To their surprise, the
bvwner of a restaurant chain had been interested enough to give
the idea a try. They d set up the experimentahumt about ve
doors down from where Paul now stood, with com machines and
endless belts to do the serving, with germiudal lamps cleaning
the air, with uniform, healthful light, wlth continuons soft musm
from a tape recorder, with seats selenti cally de51gned by an
anthropologist to give the average man the absolute maXimum
in comfort. . . _
The rst day had been a sensation, with a waiting lme extend-
ing blocks. Within a week of the opening, cur1051ty had been
satis ed, and it was a boom day when ve customers stopped
in. Then this place had opened up almost next door, With a
dust and-gerrn trap of a Victorian bar, bad light, poor ventila-
tion, and an unsanitary, inef cient, and probably dishonest bar-
tender. It was an immediate and un agging success.
He caught the bartender s eye at last. When the bartender
saw Paul, he dropped his role of highhanded supervisor of
morals and settler of arguments and became an obsequious host,
like the bartender at the Country Club. Paul was afraid for a
moment that he d been recognized. But when the bartender failed
to call him by name, he supposed that only his class had been
recognized.
There were a few men in Homesteadmlike this bartender, the
police and remen, professional athletes, cab drivers, specially
skilled artisans who hadn t been displaced by machines. They
lived among those who had been displaced, but they were aloof
and often rude and overbearing with the mass. They felt a
camaraderie with the engineers and managers across the river,
24 PLAYER PIANO
a feeling that wasn t, incidentally, reciprocated. The general
feeling across the river was that these persons weren t too bright
to be replaced by machines; they were simply in activities where
machines weren t economical. In short, their feelings of superi~
ority were unjusti ed.
Now, the bartender had sensed that Paul was a personage,
and he made a show of letting everyone else go to hell while' he
gave service to Paul. The others noticed, and turned to stare
at the privileged newcomer.
Paul ordered the bottle of Irish in a. quiet voice, and tried
to become inconspicuous by bending over and petting the aged
collie. The dog barked, and its owner turned on his barstool to
confront Paul. The old man was as toothless as the dog. Paul s
rst impression was of red gums and huge hands as though
everything were sapped of color and strength but these.
He wouldn t hurt nobody, said the old man apologetically.
Just kind of edgy about being old and blind, and never sure
of what s going on, is all. He ran his big hands along the dog s I
fat sides. He s a good old dog. He looked thoughtfully at
Paul. Say, I bet I know you.
Paul looked anxiously after the bartender, who had disap-
peared into the cellar after the whisky. Really? I ve been in
here once or twice before.
No, not here, said the old man loudly. The plant, the
plant. You re young Doctor Proteus.
A lot of people heard, and those closest to the two studied
Paul with disturbing candor, and fell silent in order to hear
whatever was being said.
The old man was apparently quite deaf, for his voice was
erratically loud, then soft. Don t recognize my face, Doctor ?
He wasn t mocking, he was frankly admiring, and proud that
he could prove himself on speaking terms with this distinguished
man.
Paul colored. I can t say I remember. The old welding shop,
was it?
The old man swept his hand over his face deprecatingly.
Aaaah, not enough left of the old face for my best friend to
recognize, he said good-humoredly. He thrust out his hands,
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PLAYER PIANO 25
palms up. But look at those, Doctor. Good as ever, and there s
not two like them anywhere. You said so yourself.
Hertz, said Paut. You re Rudy Hertz.
Rudy laughed, and looked about the room triumphantly, as
though to say, See, by God, Rudy Hertz does know Doctor
Proteus, and Proteus knows Hertz! How many of you can say
that ?
And this is the dog you were telling me about~ten, fteen
years ago ?
Son of the dog, Doctor. He laughed. I wasn t no pup,
then, though, was I?
You were a damn ne machinist, Rudy.
I say so myself. Knowing that, knowing smart men like you
say that about Rudy, that means a lot. It s about all I got, you
know, Doctor? That and the dog. Rudy shook the arm of the
man next to him, a short, heavy, seemingly soft man, middle-
aged, With a homely, round face. His eyes were magni ed and
fogged by extremely thick glasses. Hear what Doctor Proteus
here said about me P Rudy gestured at Paul. Smartest man in
Ilium says that about Rudy. Maybe he s the smartest man in the
country.
Paul wished to God the bartender would hurry up. The man
Rudy had shaken was now studying Paul sullenly. Paul glanced
quickly about the room and saw hostility all around him.
Addled Rudy Hertz thought he was doing a handsome thing
by Paul, showing him off to the crowd. Rudy was senile, re-
membering only his prime, incapable of remembering or under-
standing what had followed his retirement. . . .
But these others, these men in their thirties, forties, and fties
-they knew. The youngsters in the booth, the two soldiers and
three girls, they were like Katharine Finch. They couldn t re-
member when things had been different, could hardly make sense
of what had been, though they didn t necessarily like what was.
But these others who stared now, they remembered. They had
been the rioters, the smashers of machines. There was no threat
of violence in their looks now, but there was resentment, a wish
to let him know that he had intruded where he was not liked.
And still the bartender did not return. Paul limited his eld
26 PLAYER PIANO
of vision to Rudy, ignoring the rest. The man with thick glasses;
whom Rudy had invited to admire Paul, continued to stare.
Paul talked inanely now about the dog, about Rudy s remark-
able state of preservation. He was helplessly aware that he was
hamming it up, proving to anyone who might still have doubts
that he was indeed an insincere ass.
Let s drink to old times I said Rudy, raising his glass. He'
didn t seem to notice that silence greeted his proposal, and that
he drank alone. He made clucking noises with his tongue, and
winked in fond reminiscence, and drained his glass with a
ourish. He banged it on the bar.
Paul, smiling glassily, decided to say nothing more, since any-
thing more would be the wrong thing. He folded his arms and
leaned against the keyboard of the player piano. In the silence
of the saloon, a faint discord came from the piano, bummed to
nothingness.
Let s drink to our sons, said the man with thick glasses
suddenly. His voice was surprisingly high for so resonant-look-
ing a man. Several glasses were raised this time. When the toast
was done, the man turned to Paul with the friendliest of smiles
and said, My boy s just turned eighteen, Doctor.
That s nice.
He s got his whole life ahead of him. Wonderful age, eigh-
teen. He paused, as though his remark demanded a response.
I d like to be eighteen again, said Paul lamely.
He s a good boy, Doctor. He isn t what you d call real bright.
Like his old man his heart s in the right place, and he wants
to do the most he can with what he s got. Again the waitful
pause.
That s all any of us can do, said Paul.
Well, as long as such a smart man as you is here, maybe I
could get you to give me some advice for the boy. He just n-
ished his National General Classi cation Tests. He just about
killed himself studying up for them, but it wasn t any use. He
didn t do nearly well enough for college. There were only twenty-
seven openings, and six hundred kids trying for them. He
shrugged. I can t afford to send him to a private school, so
now he s got to decide what he s going to do with his life,
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Doctor: what s it going to be, the Army or the Reeks and
Wrecks ?
I suppose there s a lot to be said for both, said Paul un-
comfortably. I really don t know much about either one. Some-
body else, like Matheson, maybe, would . . ." His sentence
trailed off. Matheson was Ilium s manager in charge of testing
and placement. Paul knew him slightly, didn t like him very well.
Matheson was a powerful bureaucrat who went about his job
with the air of a high priest. I ll call Matheson, if you like,
and ask him, and let you know what he says.
Doctor, said the man, desperately now, with no tinge of
baiting, isn t there something the boy could do at the Works?
He s awfully clever with his hands. He s got a kind of instinct
with machines. Give him one he s never seen before, and in ten
minutes he ll have it apart and back together again. He loves
that kind of work. Isn t there someplace in the plant P
He s got to have a graduate degree, said Paul. He reddened.
That s policy, and I didn t make it. Sometimes we get Recon-
struction and Reclamation people over to help put in big ma-
chines or do a heavy repair job, but not very often. Maybe he
could open a repair shop.
The man exhaled, slumped dejectedly. "Repair shop, he
sighed. Repair shop, he says. How many repair shops you think
Ilium can support, eh? Repair shop, sure! I was going to open
one when I got laid off. So was Joe, so was Sam, so was Alf.
We re all clever with our hands, so we ll all open repair shops.
One repairman for every broken article in Ilium. Meanwhile,
our wives clean up as dressmakers~one dressmaker for every
woman in town.
Rudy Hertz had apparently missed all the talk and was still
celebrating in his mind the happy reunion with his great and
good friend, Doctor Paul Proteus. Music, said Rudy grandly.
Let s have music 1 He reached over Paul s shoulder and popped
"a nickel into the player piano.
Paul stepped away from the box. Machinery whirred impor-
tantly for a few seconds, and then the piano started clanging
away at Alexander s Ragtime Band liked cracked carillons.
Mercifully, conversation was all but impossible. Mercifully, the
28 PLAYER PIANO
bartender emerged from the basement and handed Paul a dusty
bottle over the old heads.
Paul turned to leave, and a powerful hand closed on his upper
arm. Rudy, his expansive host, held him.
I played this song in your honor, Doctor, shouted Rudy -
above the racket. Wait till it s over. Rudy acted as though the
antique instrument were the newest of all wonders, and he ex-
citedly pointed out identi able musical patterns in the bobbing
keys trills, spectacular runs up the keyboard, and the slow,
methodical rise and fall of keys in the bass. See see them two
go up and down, Doctor! Just the way the teller hit em. Look
at em go!
The music stopped abruptly, with the air of having delivered
exactly ve cents worth of joy. Rudy still shouted. Makes you
feel kind of creepy, don t it, Doctor, watching them keys go up
and down? You can almost see a ghost sitting there playing
his heart out.
Paul twisted free and hurried out to his car.
CHAPTER IV
DARLING, YOU LOOK as though you ve seen a ghost,
said Anita. She was already dressed for the party at the Country
Club, already dominating a distinguished company she had yet
to join.
As she handed Paul his cocktail, he felt somehow inadequate,
bumbling, in the presence of her beautiful assurance. Only things
that might please or interest her came to mind all else sub-
merged. It wasn t a conscious act of his mind, but a re ex, a
natural response to her presence. It annoyed him that the feel
ing should be automatic, because he fancied himself in the image
of his father, and, in this situation, his father would have been
completely in charge taking the rst, last, and best lines for
himself.
The expression armed to the teeth occurred to Paul as he
looked at her over his glass. With an austere dark gown that left
her tanned shoulders and throat bare, a single bit of jewelry on
.
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PLAYER PIANO 29
her nger, and very light make-up, Anita had successfully com
bined the weapons of sex, taste, and an aura of masculine com
petence. '
She quieted, and turned away under his stare. Inadyertently,
he'd gained the upper hand. He had somehow communicated the
thought that had bobbed up in his thoughts uneg cpectedly: that
her strength and poise were no more than a mirror image of
his own importance, an image of the power and self-satisfaction
the manager of the Ilium Works could have, if he wanted it.
In a eeting second she became a helpless, bluf ng little girl in
his thoughts, and he was able to feel real tenderness toward her.
Good drink, sweetheart, he said. Finnerty upstairs ?
I sent him on over to the club. Kroner and Baer got there
early, and I sent Finnerty over to keep them company while you
get dressed.
How does he look ?
How did Finnerty always look? Awful. I swear he was
wearing the same baggy suit he wore when he said goodbye to
us seven years ago. And I ll swear it hasn t been cleaned since
then, either. I tried to get him to wear your old tuxedo, and he
wouldn t hear of it. Went right over the way he was. I suppose
-a stiff shirt would have been worse in a way. It would have
showed how dirty his neck is. .
She pulled the neck of her dress lower, looked at herself in
a mirror, and raised it slightly again a delicate compromise.
' Honestly, she said, talking to Paul s image in the mirror, I m
crazy about that man you know I am. But he just looks awful
all the time. I mean, after all, a man in his position, and not
even clean.
Paul smiled and shook his head. It was true. Finnerty had
.ialways been shockingly lax about his grooming, and some of
' his more fastidious supervisors in the old days had found it hard
: to believe that a man could be so staggeringly competent, and
at the same time so unsanitary-looking. Occasionally, the tall,
gaunt Irishman would surprise everyone usually between long
stretches of work by showing up with his cheeks gleaming like
' wax apples, and-with new shoes, socks, shirt, tie, and suit, and,
presumably, underwear. Engineers and managers' wives would
make a big fuss over him, to show him that such care of him-
3o PLAYER PIANO
self was important and rewarding; and they declared that he
was really the handsomest thing in the Ilium industrial fold.
Quite possibly he was, in a coarse, weathered way: grotesqueiy
handsome, like Abe Lincoln, but with a predatory, de ant cast
to his eyes rather than the sadness of Lincoln s. After Fin-
nerty s periodic outbursts of cleanliness and freshness, the wives
would watch with increasing distress as he wore the entire
celebrated out t day in and day out, until the sands and soot
and grease of time had lled every seam and pore.
And Finnetty had other unsavory aspects. Into the resolutely
monogamous and Eagle Scout like society of engineers and
managers, Finnerty often brought women he d picked up in
Homestead a half hour before. When it came time, after supper,
to play games, Finnerty and the girl would generally take a
highball in either hand and wander off to the shrub walled rst
tee, if it was warm, or out to his car, if it was cold.
His car- in the old days, anyway~had been more disreputable
than Paul s was today. In this direction, at leastm-the most in-
nocuous direction, socially Paul had imitated his friend. Fin-
nerty had claimed that his love of books and records and good
whisky kept him too broke to buy a car and clothes commen-
surate with his position in life. Paul had computed the value of
Finnerty s record, book, and bottle collections and concluded
that the Irishman would still have plenty left for even two new
cars. It was then that Paul began to suspect that Finnerty s way
of life wasn t as irrational as it seemed; that it was, in fact, a
studied and elaborate insult to the managers and engineers of
Ilium, and to their immaculate wives.
Why Finnerty had seen t to offend these gentle people was
never clear to Paul, who supposed the aggressiveness, like most
aggressiveness, dated back to some childhood muddle. The only
intimation as to what that childhood had been like had come not
from Finnerty but from Kroner, who took a breeder's interest
in his engineers bloodlines. Kroner had once remarked, con-
dingly and with a show of sympathy, that Finnerty was a
mutant, born of poor and stupid parents. The only insight Fin-
nerty had ever permitted Paul was in a moment of deep de-
pression, during a crushing hangover, when he'd sighed and
said he d never felt he belonged anywhere.
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PLAYER PIANO 31
Paul wondered about his own deep drives as he realized how
much pleasure he was getting from recollections of Fmnerty s
socially destructive, undisciplined antics. Paul indulged himself
in the wistful sensation of feeling that he, Paul, might be con-
tent, if oniy and let the thought stop there, as though he knew
vaguely what lay beyond. He didn t. '
Paul envied Finnerty s mind, for Finnerty could be anything
he wanted to be, and be brilliant at it. Whatever the times might
have called for, Finnerty would have been among the best. If
this had been the age of music, Finnerty would have been, and
in fact was, a top ight pianist or he might have been an arch-
tect or physician or writer. With inhuman intuition, Finnerty
could sense the basic principles and motives of almost any human
work, not just engineering.
Paul could have been only what he was, he thought. As he
lled his glass again, he supposed that he could oniy have come
to this moment, this living room, into the presence of Anita.
It was an appalling thought, to be so well-integrated into the
machinery of society and history as to be able to movie In only
one plane, and along one line. Finnerty s arrival was disturbing,
for it brought to the surface the doubt that life'shouid be that
way. Paul had been thinking of hiring a psychlatrist to make
him docile, content with his lot, amiable to all. But now, here
V 'was Finnerty, pushing him in the other direction. Fmnerty had
seemed to see something in Paul he hadn t seen in the others,
something he d liked possibly a rebellious streak that Paul was
only n0w beginning to suspect. For some reason Finnerty had
made Paul his only friend. . .
In a way, I wish Finnerty d picked another day, sald Anita.
It raises all sorts of problems. Baer s supposed to be on my
left, and Kroner on my right; but now, with a member of the
National Industrial Planning Board blowing in unexpectedly,
I'm not sure who goes where. 15 Ed Finnerty bigger brass than
"Kroner and Baer ? she asked incredulously.
Look in the Organization Directory, if you want, said 1:32:11].
I think you ll nd the N.I.P.B. is listed ahead of the regional
p peopleubut it s more brain trust than brass. Finnerty won t care.
H He ll probably eat with the help.
If he sets foot in the kitchen, the Board of Health will
32 PLAYER PIANO
throw him in jail. She laughed uneasily. It was evident that she
found it trying to be a good sport about Finnerty, to pretend
that his eccentricities were amusing. She changed the subject.
Tell me about today.
Nothing about today. One more, like all the rest.
You got the whisky?
Yes. I had to go across the river to get it.
Was it such an awful ordeal? she chided. She couldn t
understand why he hated to run errands into Homestead, and
teased him about it. Was it so awful? she said again, border
ing on baby talk, as though he were a lazy little boy coaxed into
doing a small favor for his mother.
Pretty bad.
Really ? She was surprised. Nothing violent, I hope.
No. Everybody was very polite, in fact. One ofithe pen-
sioners recognized me from the old days and threw an im-
promptu party for me.
Well, that sounds like downright fun.
Does, doesn t it? His name is Rudy Hertz. Without de-
scribing his own reactions, he told her what had happened. He
found himself watching her closely, experimenting.
And that upset you ? She laughed. You are a sensitive
darling, aren t you? You tell me you ve been through a night-
mare, and nothing, happened at all.
They hate me.
They proved they loved and admired you. And, what s more,
they should.
The man with the thick glasses as much as said his son s
life wasn t worth living on account of me.
You said that. He didn t. And I won t have you sayingr
ridiculous things like that. Do you get some sort of pleasure
out of making things up to feel guilty about? If his son isn t
bright enough for anything but the Reeks and Wrecks or the
Army, is that your fault ?
No; but if it hadn t been for men like me, he might have
a machine in the plant
Is he starving 3 _
Of course not. Nobody starves.
And he s got a place to live and warm clothes. He has what
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PLAYER PIANO 33
he d have if he were running a stupid machine, swearing at it,
making mistakes, striking every year, fighting with the fore-
man, coming in with hangovers.
You re right, you re right. He held up his hands. Of
course you re right. It s just a hell of a time to be alive, is all
._just this goddamn messy business of people having to get used
to new ideas. And people just don t, that s all. I wish this were
a hundred years from now, with everybody used to the change.
You re tired. I m going to tell Kroner you need a month 0E.
I ll tell him, if I feel like it. y
I wasn t trying to run your life, darling. But you never ask
for anything.
Let me do the asking, if you don t mind.
I don t. I promise you I don t mind at all.
Did you lay my things out?
On your bed, she said primly. She d been hurt. Tuxedo,
shirt, socks, studs, cuff links, and a new tie.
New tie ?
Dubonnet.
Dubonnet! For Christ s sake.
. Kroner and Baer are wearing dubonnet ties.
And is my underwear like theirs P
"I m sure I didn t notice."
I m wearing a black tie."
Pittsburgh, darling remember? You said you wanted to go
there.
Hi ho, dubonnet. He climbed the stairs to their bedroom,
. stripping off his coat and shirt as he went.
Ed! Finnerty was stretched out on Anita s bed.
So there you are, said Finnerty. He pointed at the tuxedo
laid out on Paul s bed. I thought this was you. I ve been talk-
ing to it for half an hour.
Anita said you'd gone to the club.
Anita expelled me out the front door, so I came in the back
and up here.
Well, I'm glad you did. How are things ?
, Worse than ever, but there s hope.
Fine, said Paul, laughing uncertainly. Married ?
Never. Shut the door.
34 PLAYER PIANO
Paul closed it. How s the Washington job P
I ve quit.
Really? Something bigger yet ?
I think so, or I wouldn t have quit.
Where ?
No place. No job at all.
Not enough pay, or worn out, or what ?
Sick of it, he said slowly. The pay was fantastically good,
ridiculously good «paid like a television queen with a forty-inch
bust. But when I got this year s invitation to the Meadows,
Paul, something snapped. I realized I couldn t face another ses~
sion up there. And then I looked around me and found out I
couldn t face anything about the system any more. I walked out,
and here I am.
Paul s invitation to the Meadows was carelessly displayed by
Anita in the front-hall mirror, where no one could fail to notice
it. The Meadows was a at, grassy island in the St. Lawrence,
in Chippewa Bay, where the most important men, and the most
promising men ( Those whose development within the organ.
ization is not yet complete, said the Handbook) in the Eastern
and MiddIe-Western Divisions spent a week each summer in an
orgy of morale building through team athletics, group sings,
bon res and skyrockets, bawdy entertainment, free whisky and
cigars ; and through plays, put on by professional actors, which
pleasantly but unmistakably made clear the nature of good de-
portment within the system, and the shape of rm resolves for
the challenging year ahead.
Finnerty took a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket,
offered one bent at almost a right angle. Paul straightened it
out, his ngers unsteady. Got the shakes ? said Finnerty.
I m chief speaker tonight.
"Oh ? He seemed disappointed. Then you don t ordinarily
have the shakes these days? What s the occasion P
Thirteen years ago today, the Ilium Works was placed under
the National Manufacturing Council.
Like every other plant in the country.
Ilium was a little earlier than most. The union of the coun-
try s manufacturing facilities under one council had taken place
not long after Finnerty, Paul, and Shepherd came to work in
PLAYER PIANO 35
V Ilium It had been done because of the war. Similar councils had
been formed for the transportation, raw materials, food, and
Communications industries, and over them all had been Paul s
father. The system had so cut waste and duplication that it was
preserved after the war, and was, in fact, often cited as one of
the few concrete bene ts of the war.
Does that make you happy, that this has been going on
thirteen years ?"
It calls for comment, anyway. I m going to keep it factual.
It isn t going to be like Kroner s evangelism.
Finnerty fell silent, apparently uninterested in pursuing the
subject. Funny, he said at last, I thought you d be pretty
close to the edge by now, That s why I came here.
Paul twisted his face as he struggled to get his collar button
moored. Well, you weren t completely wrong. There s talk of
my chatting with a psychiatrist.
So you are in rough shape. Wonderful! Let s, get out of
this damn party. We ve got to talk.
The bedroom door opened, and Anita looked in from the hall.
FOh! Ed. Who s with Baer and Kroner ?
Kroner s with Baer, Baer s with Kroner, said Finnerty.
f Close the door, please, Anita.
It s time to go to the club.
' It s time for you to go to the club, said Finnerty. Paul
land I ll be along later.
We re going together, and now, Ed. We re ten minutes late
as it is. And I won t be bullied by you. I refuse. She smiled
u'nconvincingly.
. Let s go, said Paul.
' Anita, said Finnerty, if you don t show more respect for
men s privacy, I ll design a machine that s everything you are,
and does show respect."
: She colored. I can t say I nd you screamingly funny."
Stainless steel, said Finnerty. Stainless steel, covered with
sponge rubber, and heated electrically to 98.6 degrees."
Now, looke said Paul.
And blushes at will," said Finnerty.
And I could make a man like you out of a burlap bag lled
with mud, said Anita. Anybody who tries to touch you comes
36 PLAYER PIANO
away dirty! She slammed the door, and Paul listened to her
heels clicking down the staircase.
Now, why in hell did you do that ? said Paul. Do you
mind telling me ?
Finnerty lay motionless on the bed, staring at the ceiling. I
don t know, he said slowly, but I m not sorry. Go on with
her.
What are your plans ?
Go on 1 He said it as though Paul had suddenly intruded
just as he was giving form to an important, dif cult thought.
There s Irish whisky for you in a brown bag in the front
hall, said Paul, and he left Finnerty lying there.
CHAPTER V
PAUL OVERTOOK ANITA in the garage, where she was
starting the station wagon. Without looking directly at him, she
waited for him to climb in beside her. They drove to the club
in silence, with Paul feeling let down by the coarse, irrational
reality of Finnerty. Over the years, he supposed bitterly, he
must have created a wise and warm Finnerty in his imagination,
an image that had little to do with the real man.
At the club door, Anita straightened Paul s tie, pulled her
cape down to bare her shoulders, smiled, and pushed into the
brightly lighted foyer.
The far end of the foyer opened into the bar, and there two
dozen of the Ilium Works bright young men, identical in their
crew cuts and the tailoring of their tuxedos, surrounded two
men in their middle fties. One of the older men, Kroner, tall,
heavy and slow, listened to the youngsters with ponderous affec-
tionateness. The other, Baer, slight and nervous, noisily and
unconvincingly extroverted, laughed, nudged, and clapped shoul
ders, and maintained a continuous commentary on whatever was
being said: Fine, ne, right, sure, sure, wonderful, yes, yes,
exactly, ne, good.
Ilium was a training ground, where fresh graduates were sent
to get the feel of industry and then moved on to bigger things.
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PLAYER PIANO 37
The staff was young, then, and constantly renewing itself. The
oldest men were Paul, and his second-in-command, Lawson
Shepherd. Shepherd, a bachelor, stood by the bar, somewhat
apart from the rest, looking wise, and faintly amused by the
naiveté of some of the youngsters remarks.
The wives had congregated in two adjacent booths, and there
spoke quietly and uneasily, and turned to 100k whenever the
volume of voices rose above a certain level, or whenever the
bass voice of Kroner rumbled through the haze of small talk
with three or four short, wise, wonderfully pregnant words.
The youngsters turned to greet Paul and Anita effusively,
with playful obsequiousness, with the air of having proprietor-
ship over all good times, which they generously encouraged their
elders to share in.
Baer waved and called to them in his high-pitched voice.
Kroner nodded almost imperceptibly, and stood perfectly still,
not looking directly at them, waiting for them to come up so
that greetings could be exchanged quietly and with dignity.
Kroner s enormous, hairy hand closed about Paul s, and Paul,
in spite of himself, felt docile, and loving, and childlike. It was
as though Paul stood in the enervating, emasculating presence
grof his father again. Kroner, his father s closest friend, had al-
ways made him feel that way, and seemingly wanted to make
him feel that way. Paul had sworn a thousand times to keep his
wits about him the next time he met Kroner. But it was a matter
beyond his control, and at each meeting, as now, the power and
resolve were all in the big hands of the older man.
Though Paul was especially aware of the paternal aura about
Kroner, the big man tried to make the feeling general. He spoke
of himself as father to all of the men under him, and more
vaguely, to their wives ; and it was no pose. His administration
of the Eastern Division had an emotional avor about it, and
V it seemed unlikely that he could have run the Division any other
way. He was cognizant of every birth or major illness, and
V heaped blame on himself in the rare instances that any of his
men went wrong. He could also be stern again, paternally.
How are you, Paul? he said warmly. The quizzical set of
his thick eyebrows indicated that this was a question, not a
salutation. The tone was one Kroner used when inquiring into
38 PLAYER PIANO
someone s condition after a siege of pneumonia or worse.
He s never been better, said Anita briskly.
Glad to hear it. That s ne, Paul. Kroner continued to hold
onto his hand and to stare into his eyes.
Feel good, do you, eh? Good? Good, eh? Wonderful, said
Baer, clapping him on the shoulder several times. Wonderful.
Baer, the Eastern Division s chief engineer, turned to Anita.
And, oh my! Don t you look nice. My, yes. Oh! I should say
so. He grinned.
Baer was a social cretin, apparently unaware that he was any-
thing but suave and brilliant in company. Someone had once
mentioned his running commentary on conversations to him,
and he hadn t known what they were talking about. Technically,
there wasn t a better engineer in the East, including Finnerty.
There was little in the Division that hadn t been master~minded
by Baer, who here seemed to Kroner what a fox terrier seems
to a St. Bernard. Paul had thought often of the peculiar com-
bination of Kroner and Baer, and wondered if, when they were
gone, higher management could possibly duplicate it. Baer em-
bodied the knowledge and technique of industry; Kroner per-
soni ed the faith, the near-holiness, the spirit of the complicated
venture. Kroner, in fact, had a poor record as an engineer and
had surprised Paul from time to time with his ignorance or
misunderstanding of technical matters ; but he had the priceless
quality of believing in the system, and of making others believe
in it, too, and do as they were told.
The two were inseparable, though their personalities met at
almost no point. Together, they made an approximately whole
man.
Did someone tell you Paul had been sick ? said Anita, laugh-
mg.
I d heard Paul s nerves had been bothering him, said
Kroner.
Not true, said Paul.
Kroner smiled. Glad to hear it, Paul. You re one of our best
men. He looked at him fondly. In the footsteps of your father,
Paul.
Where did you hear about Paul s nerves ? said Anita.
Can t imagine, said Kroner.
Anita.
PLAYER PIANO 39
Doctor Shepherd told us," said Baer brightly. I was there
this morning. Remember? It was Shepherd.
Now listen, said Kroner with unaccustomed quickness,
that was something else Shepherd was talking about. You
know it was, if you ll just think back.
Oh sure, that s right, that s right; something else, something
else, said Baer, looking puzzled. He clapped Paul on the shoul-
der again. So you re feeling better, eh? Well, that s what
counts. Wonderful, wonderful.
Doctor Shepherd, his neck blazing red above his stiff coIlar,
moved quietly away from the bar toward the French doors that
opened onto the golf course.
By the way, said Kroner heartily, where s your friend
Finnerty? What does Ed look like? I imagine he s found life
in Washington a little less he searched for a word informal
than here. . .
If you mean, does he wash ? -the answer 15 stllI no, sald
That s what I meant, said Kroner. Well, none of us are
perfect, and darn few of us perfect enough to get a place on
the National Industrial Planning Board. Where is he ?
He may be along later, said Paul. He s a little tired from
his trip.
Why, where s Mom ? said Anita, ditching the subject of
Finnerty. Mom was Kroner s wife, whom he always brought
to social functions, deposited with other wives, and ignored until
i the affectionate moment when it was time to retrieve her and
cart her hundred and eighty pounds home.
That intestinal thing that s been making the rounds, said
Kroner gravely.
Everyone within hearing shook his or her head compassion-
' ately.
,
Dinner, said a Philippino waiter. There had once been a
movement to have the service done by machines, but the ex-
, tremists who d proposed this had been voted down by an over-
whelming majority.
As Paul, Kroner, Baer, and Anita walked into the candlelit
' dining room, followed by the rest, four of the youngest engi-
4o PLAYER PIANO
neers, the most recent arrivals, brushed past and turned to block
the way.
Fred Berringer, a short, heavy, slit-eyed blond, seemed to be
their leader. He was a wealthy, extroverted, dull boy from a
good family of engineers and managers in Minneapolis. He had
squeaked through college, and was just barely acceptable to
the personnel machines. Ordinarily, nobody would have hired
him. But Kroner, who knew his bloodlines, had taken him on
anyway and sent him to Ilium to be trained. The break had
done anything but teach him humility. He took it as evidence
that his money and name could beat the system any time and,
paraphrased, he d said as much. The hell of it was that his atti-
tude won grudging admiration from his fellow engineers, who .
had got their jobs the hard way. Paul supposed, gloomily, that
heaters of systems had always been admired by the conventional.
At any rate, Kroner still believed in the boy, so Paul had no
choice but to keep him on, and to pair a smarter man with him
to backstop his mental apparatus.
What is this, Fred, :1 stickup ? said Paul.
Checker champion," said Fred, I hereby challenge you for
the championship immediately after dinner.
Kroner and Baer seemed delighted. They were forever sug-
gesting that teams be formed and games be played as a method
for building morale in the Eastern Division s family.
Just you, or all four of you ? said Paul. He was in fact the
club checker champion, though there had never been any sort
of of cial playo . No one could beat him, and, wearin as often
as not, he had had to prove his invincibility to each new group
of engineers like these four. It was a custom, and the close
little society on the north side of the river seemed to feel the
need of customs, of private jokes, of building up social char-
acteristics to distinguish themselves in their own eyes from
the rest of society. The checker game of the new engineers with
Paul was one of the hoariest traditions, now in its seventh year.
Me, mostly, said Berringer. But all of us, in a way. The
others laughed like conspirators. Apparently something special
had been cooked up, and one or two of the older engineers
seemed to be sharing in the high expectations.
All right, said Paul good-humoredly; if there were ten of
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PLAYER PIANO 41
you, and each one blowing cigar smoke in my face, I d still win.
The four parted to let Paul, Anita, and the two guests of
honor get to the table.
Oh, said Anita, studying the place cards at the head of the
table, there s been a mistake. She picked up the card to her
left, wadded it up, and handed it to Paul. She moved another
card into the vacant position and sat down, anked by Kroner
and Baer. She called a waiter to take away the now extra place
setting. Paul looked at the card and saw it was Finnerty s.
The assemblage was a practical, earthy one, and the shrimp
cocktails, consommé, creamed chicken, peas, and mashed pota-
toes were enjoyed for their own sake. There was little talk, and
much pantomimed savoring and beaming to show the hostess
that everything tasted rst rate.
Periodically, Kroner would comment on this dish or that, and
he would be echoed by Baer, and then by nods about the table.
Once, an argument broke out in loud whispers at the far end
of the table, among the four youngsters who had chaiIenged
Paul to the checker game. When all eyes turned in their direc-
tion, they shut up. Berringer frowned, sketched a diagram of
some sort 011 a napkin, and thrust it at the other three. One
of them made a slight correction and handed it back. Under-
standing, then admiration, showed on Berringer s face. He
nodded vigorously and went back to eating.
Paul counted around the table twenty~seven managers and
engineers, the staff of the Ilium Works and their wives, less the
evening shift. There were two vacant places: one, the bare
square of tablecloth once reserved for Finnerty; the other, the
untouched setting for Shepherd, who had not come back from
his hurried trip onto the golf course.
Finnerty was probably still lying in the bedroom, staring at
the ceiling, perhaps talking to himself. Maybe he d left soon
after they had and gone on a bender or whoring expedition in
Homestead. Paul hoped they d seen the last of him for another
few years. The brilliant liberal, the iconoclast, the freethinker
he had admired in his youth now proved to be no more than
- sick, repellent. The quitting, the uninvited attack on Anita, the
glorying in neuroses~all had a frightening cast to them. It was
an awful disappointment. Paul had expected that Finnerty would
42 PLAYER PIANO
be able to give him somethingwwhat, he didn t know~to assuage
the nameless, aching need that had been nagging him almost, as
Shepherd had apparently told Kroner, to the point of distrac-
tion.
As for Shepherd, Paul felt completely charitable, and even
embarrassed that the man should be so upset at having been
discovered as an informer. Paul stood.
Where are you going, dear P said Anita.
To get Shepherd.
He didn t say you were having a breakdown, said Baer.
Kroner frowned at Baer. No, really he didn't Paul. If you
like, I ll go after him. It was my fault, bringing up the subject.
It wasn t Shepherd, and the poor boy
I just thought it was Shepherd, said Baer.
I think it s up to me, said Paul.
I ll come, too, said Anita. There was a promise of ven-
geance in her voice.
No, I d rather you wouldn t.
Paul headed through the bar quickly, and heard her coming
after him.
I wouldn t miss this for anything.
There isn t going to be anything to miss, said Paul. I m
simply going to tell him everything s OK, I understand. And
I do understand.
He wants that Pittsburgh job, Paul. That s why he told
Kroner you were having a breakdown. Now he s scared stiff for
fear of Iosing his job. Good!
I m not going to get him red.
You could keep him worrying for a while. It d serve him
right.
Please, Anitawthis is between Shepherd and me.
They stood on the turf 0f the golf course now, in a muf ed
world of blues and blacks under the frail light of a new moon.
Seated on the bench by the first tee, his legs stretched out and
far apart, was Shepherd, with three cocktail glasses lined up
beside him.
Shep, called Paul softly.
Hello. It was at, with nothing behind it.
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PLAYER PIANO 43
Beat it, whispered Paul to Anita. She stayed, clenching and
unclenching her hands.
Soup s getting cold, said Paul, as kindly as possible. He
sat down on the bench, with the three glasses between them. I
don t give a damn whether you told them I was going to pieces
or not. Anita stood a dozen yards away, silhouetted against
the Ftench doors.
I d rather you d get sore as heil about it, said Shepherd. I
told them, all right. Go ahead and can me.
Oh, for Christ s sake, Shep, nobody s going to can you.
Paul had never known what to make of Shepherd, had found
it hard to believe that any man really thought as Shepherd did.
When Shepherd had rst arrived in Ilium, he had announced
to his feiiow new arrivals, Paul and Finnerty, that he intended
to compete with them. Baldly, ridiculously, he talked of com-
petitiveness and rehashed with anyone who would listen various
crises where there had been a showdown between his abilities
and those of someone else, crises that the other participants had
looked upon as being routine, unremarkable, and generally form-
less. But, to Shepherd, life seemed to be laid out like a golf
course, with a series of beginnings, hazards, and ends, and with
a de nite summing up for comparison with others scores after
each hole. He was variously grim or elated over triumphs or
failures no one else seemed to notice, but always stoical about
the laws that governed the game. He asked n0 quarter, gave no
quarter, and made very little difference to Paul, Finnerty, or
any of his other associates. He was a ne engineer, dull com-
pany, and doggedly master of his fate and not his brother s
keeper.
Paul, dgeting silently on the bench, tried to put himself in
Shepherd s place. Shepherd had lost a round, and now, grimly
respectful of the mechanics of the competitive system, he wanted
to pay the forfeit for losing and get on to the next episode,
which he was, as always, determined to win. It was a hard world
hillived in, but he wouldn t have it any other way. God knows
w y.
Wanted to do me out of the Fittsburgh job, eh ? said Paul.
I think I m a better man for it, said Shepherd. But what
difference does that make now? I m out of it.
44 PLAYER PIANO
You lost.
I tried and lost, said Shepherd. It was a vital distinction.
Go ahead and re me.
The surest way to needle Shepherd was to refuse to compete.
I don t know, said Paul, I think you d be a good man for
the Pittsburgh spot. If you like, I ll write a recommendation.
Paul ! said Anita.
Go back in, Anita, said Paul. We ll be back in a minute.
Anita seemed to be itching to give Shepherd just what he
wanted, a rousing ght, something he could use as a starting
point for another, as he saw it, cycle of play.
I forgive you, said Paul. I want you to go on working
for me, if you will. There isn t a better man in the world for
your job.
You d like to keep me right under your thumb, wouldn t
you 3
Paul laughed bleakly. N0. It d be just as before. Under my
thumb? How could
If you won t re me, I want a transfer.
All right. You know that isn t up to me. But let s go inside,
shall we ? He held out his hand as Shepherd stood. Shepherd
refused it, and brushed by.
Anita stopped him . If you have any opinions on my hus-
band s health, perhaps he or his doctor should be the rst to
hear them, she said huskily.
Your husband and his doctor have known for months what
I told Kroner and Baer. He isn t in any shape to be trusted with
a foot treadle sewing machine, let alone Pittsburgh. He was
warming up now, getting his spirit back, and perhaps seeing the
possibilities of having their voices carry into the dining room.
Paul seized them both by their arms and propelled them into
the bar and in View of the dinner party. All were looking ques-
tioningly in their direction. Paul, Anita, and Shepher smiled,
and crossed the bar to the dining room, arm in arm.
Under the weather ? said Kroner to Shepherd kind
Yessir. Scallops for lunch did it, I think.
Kroner nodded sympatheticaIly and turned to the waiter.
Could the boy have milk toast, do yOu suppose? Kroner was
willing to go to any lengths to preserve harmony in his family,
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to give a man in a tight spot a way out. For the rest of the
evening, Paul supposed, Kroner would be keeping alive as with
the milk toast now~the polite ction of Shepherd's illness.
After coffee and a liqueur, Paul gave a brief talk on the in-
tegration of the Ilium Works with other industry under the
National Manufacturing Council fourteen years before. And
then he went into the more general subject of what he called
the Second Industrial Revolution. He read the talk, rather, tak-
ing pains to look up from his manuscript at regular intervals.
It was, as he had told Katharine Finch in the of ce that after-
noon, old stu a progress report, a reaf rmation of faith in
what they were doing and had done with industry. Machines
were doing America s work far better than Americans had ever
done it. There were better goods for more people at less cost,
and who could deny that that was magni cent and gratifying?
It was what eVeryone said when he had to make a talk.
At one point, Kroner raised his big hand and asked if he
might make a comment. just to sort of underline what you re
saying, Paul, I d like to point out something I thought was
rather interesting. One horsepower equals about twenty-two
manpowermbig manpower. If you convert the horsepower of
one of the bigger steel mill motors into terms of manpower,
you ll nd that the motor does more work than the entire slave
population of the United States at the time of the Civil War
could do and do it twenty-four hours a day. He smiled be-
ati cally. Kroner was the rock, the fountainhead of faith and
pride for all in the Eastern Division.
That is an interesting gure, said Paul, searching for his
place in the manuscript. And that, of course, simply applies
to the First Industrial Revolution, where machines devalued
muscle work. The second revolution, the one we re now com-
pleting, is a little tougher to express in terms of work saved.
If there were some measure like horsepower in which we could
express annoyance or boredom that people used to experience in
routine jobs--but there isn t.
You can measure rejects, I m here to tell you, said Baer,
and the darnedest, stupidest mistakes imaginable. The waste,
the stoppages, the lemons! You can express it in dollars all right,
dollars that went into bad workmanship.
I
46 PLAYER PIANO
Yes, said Paul, but I was thinking of it from the worker s
point of view. The two industrial revolutions eliminated two
kinds of drudgery, and I was looking for some way of estimat-
ing just how much the second revolution had relieved men of.
I work, said Baer. Everyone laughed.
The others across the river, said Paul.
They never did work, said Kroner, and again everyone
laughed.
And they're reproducing like rabbits, said Anita.
Somebody telling dirty jokes about rabbits reproducing?
said Finnerty standing in the doorway. He swayed slightly, and
his breathing was shallow. He had evidently found the whisky.
Which one was it? Where the little girl rabbit went into the
rabbit hardware store, and the clerk
Kroner was on his feet. Well, Finnerty how are you, my
boy ? He summoned the waiter. You re just in time for coffee,
my boy a big cup of black coffee. He put his huge arm around
Finnerty and steered him to the place that Anita had had cleared.
Finnerty picked up the place card of the engineer next to him,
squinted at it, then at the man. Where s my goddamn place
card 3
Give him his place card, for heaven s sakes, said Anita.
Paul took it from his pocket, smoothed it out, and set it be-
fore Finnerty. Finnerty nodded, and felt into a morose silence.
We were just talking about the Second Industrial Revolu-
tion, said Kroner, as though nothing were amiss. Paul was
talking about how there is no real measure of the kind of
drudgery it has eliminated. I think the story can be told in terms
of a curve, perhaps as most stories can be presented most
clearly.
Not the one about the little girl rabbit in the rabbit hard-
ware store, said Finnerty.
Everyone, following Kroner s example, ignored him. If we
plot man hours worked against the number of vacuum tubes
in use, the man hours worked drop as the tubes increase.
Like rabbits, said Finnerty.
Kroner smiled. "As you say, likerabbits. Incidentally, Paul,
another interesting sidelight your father probably told you about
is how people didn t pay much attention to this, as you call it,
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PLAYER PIANO 47
Second Industrial Revolution for quite some time. Atomic en
ergy was hogging the headlines, and everybody talked as though
peacetime uses of atomic energy were going to remake the
world. The Atomic Age, that was the big thing to look forward
to. Remember, Baer? And meanwhile, the tubes increased like
rabbits.
And dope addiction, alcoholism, and suicide went up pro-
portionately, said Finnerty.
Ed 1 said Anita.
That was the war, said Kroner soberIy. It happens after
every war.
And organized vice and divorce and juvenile delinquency,
all parallel the growth of the use of vacuum tubes, said Fin-
nerty.
Oh, come on, Ed, said Paul, you can t prove a logical
connection between those factors.
If there s the slightest connection, it s worth thinking about,
said Finnerty.
I m sure there isn t enough connection for us to be con-
cerned with here, said Kroner severely. .
Or enough imagination or honesty, said Finnerty.
Oh, honestly! What are you talking about? said Anita. She
wadded her napkin nervously. Come on shal] we leave this
gloomy place and have the checker championship ?
The response was sighs and grateful nods all around the
table. With little regret, Paul laid the remainder of his speech
aside. The party, save for Finnerty, swept into the club s game
room, where a checkerboard had already been set up, and where
a battery of oor lamps ringed the table on which it rested,
immaculate and glaring.
The four challengers trotted ahead, held a hurried confer-
ence, and three of them went to the checkroom. The fourth,
J 3 Fred Berringer, sat down at the board and grinned mysteriously.
Paul took the chair opposite. Play much ? he said.
A little, a little.
Let s see, Fred, you re from Minnesota, aren t you? Is the
Minnesota checker championship by any chance at stake, Fred ?
Sorry, I ve got the club championship to win, and nothing
to lose.
48 PLAYER PIANO
You re going to lose, going to lose, said Baer. They all
do, all do, all of them do, eh Paul? A11 lose to you.
Modesty forbids that I answer, said Paul. My record
speaks for itself. He permitted himself a mild sort of elation
over his invincibility. There would be some bizarre twist to
tonight s game, judging from the activity in the checkroom, but
he wasn t worried.
Make way for Checker Charley! Make way for Checker
Charley! shouted Berringer s seconds from the foyer.
The crowd in the gameroom parted, and the three rolled in
a man-high box that was shrouded in a bedsheet and grumbled
along on casters.
There s a man in there ? said Kroner.
A brain, a brain, said Berringer triumphantly. Checker
Charley, world's champion checker player, and looking for new
planets to conquer. He grabbed a corner of the bedsheet, and
unveiled Charley a gray steel box with a checkerboard painted
on its front panel. In each square that could be occupied by a
checkerpiece were a red and a green jewel, each with a lamp
behind it.
Pleased to meet you, Charley, said Paul, trying to smile.
When he realized What was going on, he felt himself reddening
and getting a. little mad. His rst inclination was to walk the
hell out.
Baer had the back of the box open. Oh, oh, my, yes indeed,
he said. Look, look, .look, and that goes over to therewand
oh! Ha! Oh, my, I believe it s even got a memory. Isn t that
what the tape s for boys, huh? Memory? Tape memory?
Yessir, said Berringer uncertainly. I guess so.
You built this ? said Kroner incredulously.
Nossir, said Berringer, my father. His hobby.
Berringer, Berringer, Berringer, said Baer, frowning.
You know wDave Berringer ; this is Dave s boy, said
Kroner.
Oh ! Baer looked at Checker Charley with new admiration.
By George, no wonder, no wonder, no wonder. Fred s father,
one of the top computing machine men in the country, had
built it.
Paul slouched in his chair resignediy and waited for the
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comedy to begin. He looked at young Berringer s dull, com-
piacent face, and was sure that the youngster didn t know much
more about the machine than its external switches and signals.
Finnerty strolled in from the dining room, eating from a
plate he held at chin level. He set his plate atop the cabinet and
stuck his head into the back, alongside Baer s. Any money on
this P he said.
Are you crazy ? said Paul.
Anything you say, boy; anything you say, said Berringer.
He laid his fat billfold on the table.
The other three youngsters had plugged a cord from Checker
Charley into an outlet in the baseboard; and now, as they icked
switches on and o , the b0x hummed and clicked, and lights on
the front panel winked off and on.
Paul stood. I concede, he said. He patted the box. Con-
gratulations, Charles, you re a better man than I am. Ladies
and gentlemen, I give you the new club champion. He started
out toward the bar.
Darling, said Anita, catching his sleeve. Oh, come on now,
that isn t like you.
I can t win against the damn thing. It can't make a mis-
take.
You can at least play against it.
And prove what ?
Come on, Paul, said Finnerty, I ve looked Charley over,
and he doesn t look so aIl- red bright to me. I ve got fty
dollars on you with Goldilocks here, and I ll cover anybody else
who thinks Checker Charley s got a chance.
Eagerly, Shepherd slapped down three twenties. Finnerty
covered him.
Bet the sun won't rise tomorrow, said Paul.
Play, said Finnerty.
Paul settled into his chair again. Dispiritedly, he pushed a
checkerpiece forward. One of the youngsters closed a switch,
and a light blinked on, indicating Paul s move on Checker
Charley s bosom, and another light went on, indicating the per~
feet countermove for Berringer.
Berringer smiled and did what the machine told him to do.
He lit a cigarette and patted the pile of currency beside him.
50 PLAYER PIANO
Paul moved again. A switch was closed, and the lights twin-
kled appropriately. And so it went for several moves.
To Paul s surprise, he took one of Berringer s pieces without,
as far as he could see, laying himself open to any sort of dis-
aster. And then he took another piece, and another. He shook
his head in puzzlement and respect. The machine apparently took
a long range view of the game, with a grand strategy not yet
evident. Checker Charley, as though con nning his thoughts,
made an ominous hissing noise, which grew in volume as the
game progressed.
As of now, I am offering odds of three to one against
Checker Charley, said Finnerty. Berringer and Shepherd both
took him up on it for another twenty apiece.
Paul exchanged one man for three.
Say now wait just a minute, said Berringer.
Wait for what ? said Finnerty.
Something s wrong.
You and Checker Charley are being beaten is all. Somebody
always wins, and somebody always loses, said Finnerty. That s
the way it goes.
Sure, but if Checker Charley was working right he couldn t
lose. Berringer arose unsteadily. Listen, we d better call this
thing off while we nd out what s wrong. He tapped the front
panel experimentally. Jesus Christ, he s hot as a frying pan!"
Finish the game, Junior. I want to know who s champ,
said Finnerty.
Don tcha see! said Berringer furiously. It isn t working
right. He looked pleadingly around the room.
Your move, said Paul.
Berringer looked helplessly at the lights, slid a man forward.
Paul took two more of Berringer s pieces and made his own
piece a king. This must be the trickiest booby trap in history,
he laughed. He was enjoying himself immensely.
Any minute now, Checker Charley s going to see his open«
ing, and then it s going to be bye-bye championship, said Fin-
nerty. Hop, hop, hop, hoppity hop. Curtains, Paul.
Calculus is a wonderful thing, said Paul. He sniffed. The
air was getting heavy with a smell like burning paint, and his
eyes were beginning to smart.
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One of Berringer s seconds jerked open the back of the hex,
and smoke, colored a poisonous green by the glare from within,
poured into the room.
Fire! cried Baer.
A waiter came running with a re extinguisher and sent a
jet of uid into Checker Charley s entrails. Steam billowed up
as the jet zzed and sputtered 0n the glowing parts.
The lights on Charley s steel bosom were skittering about the
board wildly now, playing a demoniacal and swift game accord-
ing to rules only the machine could understand. All the lights
went on at once, a hum swelled louder and louder, until it
sounded like a thunderous organ note, and suddenly died. One
by one, the little lamps winked out, like a village going to sleep.
Oh my, my, oh my, murmured Baer.
Fred, I m so sorry, said Anita. She looked reproachfully
at Paul.
. The engineers crowded around Checker Charley, and those
m the front rank probed through the ashes, melted tubes, and
blackened wires. Tragedy was in every face. Something beau-
tiful had died.
Such a lovely thing, said Kroner sadly, resting his hand
on Berrmger s shoulder. If you like, perhaps things would go
eaSier if I told your father what happened.
It was practically his life away from the laboratory, said
B errmger. He was shocked and scared. Years and years. Why
d1d it have to happen P It was one more hollow echo t0 the
question humanity had been asking for millenniums, the ques-
tion men were seemingly born to ask.
The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away, said Finnerty.
Berringer bit his lip and nodded, until it began to dawn on
him just who it was that had spoken. His round, stupid face
slowly took on a mean, threatening cast. Uh huh, he said,
licking his lips, the wise guy. Almost forgot about you.
: Well, you d better not. I ve got a lot of money bet on who s
gomg to win.
Now, see here, Finnerty, said Kroner piacatingly, let s call
it a draw, shall we? I mean, after all, the boy s got a right to
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Draw, hell, said Finnerty. Paul beat Checker Charley fair
and square.
I m beginning to see, I think, said Berringer menacingly.
He gathered Finnerty s lapels in his hands. What d you do to
Checker Charley, wise guy P
Ask Baer. His head was in there with mine. Baer, did I
do anything to Charley?
What, eh? D0 anything, do anything? Damage, you mean?
No, no, no, said Baer.
So sit dOwn and nish the game, fat boy, said Finnerty.
Or concede. Either way, I want my money.
If you didn t do anything to Charley, how come you were
so sure he d lose ?
Because my sympathy's with any man up against a machine,
especially a machine backing up a knucklehead like you against
a man like Paul. Besides, Charley had a loose connection.
Then you should have said so 1 said Berringer. He gestured
at the ruins of the machine. Look -just look, will you? Look
what you did by not telling me about the connection. I ought
to mop this place up with your dirty face.
Now, now, now there, there, said Kroner, stepping be-
tween the two. You should have said something about that
connection, Ed. This is a shame, a real shame.
If Checker Charley was out to make chumps out of men,
he could damn well x his own connections. Paul looks after his
own circuits; let Charley do the same. Those who live by elec
tronics, die by electronics. Sic smper tyrannis. He gathered
up the bills from the table. Good night.
Anita dug her ngernails into Paul s arm. Oh Paul, Paul, _
he's ruined the whole evening.
On his way out, Finnerty paused by Paul and Anita. Nice
going, champ.
Please give them their money back, said Anita. The ma-
chine wasn t working right. Be fair. Isn t that right, Paul?
To the amazement of the whole somber group, Paul lost con-
trol and burst out laughing.
That s the spirit, champ, said Finnerty. I m going home
now, before these gentlemen sportsmen nd a rope.
Home? Washington ? said Anita.
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Your house, dear. I haven t got a place in Washington any
more.
Anita closed her eyes. Oh, I see.
CHAPTER VI
WHAT WAS HIS expression like when he said it? said
Anita.
. Paul had the comforter pulled up over his face and was try-
ing to get to sleep tightly curled in the dark, muf ed womb he
made of his bed each night. He looked sad, he murmured
But he always looks sad real sweet and sad. i
For three hours they had been going over the events of the
evening atthe club, coming back again and again to what Kroner
had send by way of farewell.
' And he didn t take you aside for a couple of words at any
time ? She was wide awake.
I Scout s honor, Anita, all he said was what he said at the
ast.
She repeated Kroner s words judiciously, I want you to
come see me and Mom sometime next week, Paul.
That s all.
Nothing about Pittsburgh ?
No, he said patiently. I tell you, no. He tucked the com-
forter more snugly around his head and pulled his knees up
higher. No.
Haven t I got a right to be interested ? she said. He d evi-
dently hurt her. Is that what you re telling me, that I haven t
the right to care ?
Gladja care, he said thickly. Fine, wonderful, thanks. In
the quasi nightmare of being only half asleep, he visualized
the notion of man and wife as one eshha physical monstrosity
pathetic, curious, and helpless Siamese twins.
Women .do have insight into things that men don t have,
she was saying. We notice important things that men let go
by. Kroner wanted you to break the ice about Pittsburgh to-
night, and you just
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We ll nd out what Kroner has on his mind when I call
on him. Now, please, let s sleep.
Finnerty! she said. He s the one who threw a monkey
wrench into things. Honestly! How long is he going to stay P
He ll get sick of us in a couple of days, the way he gets
sick of anything.
The N.I.P.B. mustn t leave him much time to go traipsing
over the country to insult old friends.
He quit. Hasn t got a job.
She sat up in bed. They red him! Well, good for them.
Quit. They offered him a raise to stay. His idea. He found
himself awakened by a subject that interested him. Anita s
hammering at the subject of Pittsburgh had tended to make him
curl up tighter and tighter. Now he felt himself relaxing some-
what, straightening out like a man. Finnerty was a magical
name again; Paul s feelings about him had swung a full circle.
Morale and esprit de corps, which Paul hadn t felt in any under-
taking for years, had sprung up between them in the course of
the exhilarating humiliation of Checker Charley. Moreover
Paul s thoughts were coming alive as though refreshed by a
cool windwthere was enchantment in what Finnerty had done,
a thing almost as inconceivable and beautifully simple as sui-
cide: he d quit.
Paul . . .
Hmmmm?
Your father thought you d be manager of Pittsburgh some-
day. If he were alive, nothing would make him happier than
to know you got the jo .
Umm hmmmm. He remembered how Anita, shortly after
their marriage, had dug up a picture of his father from a trunk
and had had it enlarged and framed as her rst birthday present
to him. The picture was over on his bureau now, where she had
put it where he could see it the rst thing in the morning and
the last thing at night. She had never met Paul s father, and
he hadn t said much about him to her ; yet she d built up a kind
of mythology about the man that could keep her talking know-
ingly for hours. The myth had it that Paul s father in his youth
had been just as easygoing as Paul, and that the strength that
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got him to the top job in the economy came in the middle years
of his life came in the years Paul was just beginning.
Kroner, too, kept alive the notion that Paul could be expected
to follow in his father s footsteps. This faith of Kroner s had
had a lot to do with Paul s getting to be manager of Ilium; and
now that faith might get him the managership of Pittsburgh.
When Paul thought about his effortless rise in the hierarchy,
he SOmetimes, as now, felt sheepish, like a charlatan. He could
handle his assignments all right, but he didn t have what his
father had, what Kroner had, what Shepherd had, what so
many had: the sense of spiritual importance in what they were
doing; the ability to be moved emotionally, almost like a lover,
by the great omnipresent and omniscient spook, the corporate
personality. In short, Paul missed what made his father aggres-
sive and great: the capacity to really give a damn.
What are you going to do about Shepherd P said Anita.
Paul started to curl up again. Do? I ve already done it.
Nothing.
If somebody doesn t clip his wings, he s going right over
everybody s heads one of these days.
Welcome to.
You don t mean that.
I mean I want to sleep.
Her bedsprings creaked as she lay down once more. She
shifted her weight about restlessly for several minutes. You
know, it s a funny thing, she said.
Hmmmm P
I lve always noticed that when Shepherd turned his face a
certain way, he looked an awful lot like somebody else. And
it wasn t until tonight that I gured out who it was.
Mmmm.
When you see him at just the right angle, he s the spitting
image of your father.
CHAPTER VII
PRIVATE FIRST CLASS ELMO C. HACKETTS, JR, ap
proached the Shah of Bratpuhr, Doctor Ewing J. Halyard, of
56 PLAYER PIANO
the State Department, Khashdrahr Miasma, their interpreter,
General of the Armies Milford S. Bromley, General William
K. Corbett, camp commander, Major General Earl Pruitt, divi-
sion commander, and their aides.
Private First Class Hacketts was in the middle of the First
Squad of the Second Platoon of B Company of the First Bat-
talion of the 427th Regiment of the 107th Infantry Division
of the Ninth Corps of the Twelfth Army, and he stayed right
there, and put his left foot down every time the drummer hit
the bass drum.
Dee-veesh ee own
through a loudspeaker.
Reg ee ment " bawled four regimental commanders.
Tal ee own- cried twelve battalion commanders.
Cump neeee Shouted thirty six company commanders.
Batt ~reeee shouted twelve battery commanders.
P toon - muttered a hundred and ninety-two platoon com-
manders.
Hacketts, said Private First Class Hacketts to himself.
Halt !
And Hacketts did, hut, two.
Ri yut said the loudspeaker.
Right, right, right, right, right, right . . . echoed two hun-
dred and fty-six voices.
Right, said Private First Class Hacketts to himself.
Fay-yuss l
Hacketts faced right, hut, two. And he stared into the small,
bright eyes of the Shah of Bratpuhr, spiritual leader of 6,000,-
000 people somewhere else.
The Shah bowed slightly from the waist.
Hacketts did not how back because he wasn t supposed to and
he wasn t going to do a goddamn thing he wasn t supposed to
do and he had only twenty-three more years to go on his hitch
and then he was through with the Army and the hell with it,
and in twenty-three years if some sonofabitching coionel or
lieutenant or general came up to him and said, Salute me,"
or Pick up that butt, or Shine your shoes, or something
like that he d say, Kiss my ass, sonny, and whip out the old
discharge and spit in his eye and walk away laughing like crazy
cried the Division Commander
gay.
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PLAYER PIANO 57
because his twenty- ve
_ years was up and all he had to do was
hahg around Wlth the old gang in Hooker s in Evansville and
wait ro1('i the 21d pensmn check and to hell with you buddy be-
cause on t ave to take no cra f
I m through and._ p rom nobody no more because
The Sheh clapped his hands delightedly and continued to
stare ?'EIngl v;te First Class Hacketts, who was a huge healthy
man. ' ' '
Sumkh's}: z akam! he cried, exhaling a strong e luvmm of
:No Takam! said Doctor Halyard. Sol-dee yers.
No szkaru? said the Shah in puzzlement.
Whats he say? said General of the Armies Bromley.
Said they re a ne bunch of slaves, said Halyard. He turned
to the Shah again and wag l '
ged hlS n er t t
man. akam. No, no, no. g a he small, dark
K ashdrahr seemed baf ed too (1
in clarifying the point , , an offered Halyard no help
Sim koula Takaru, akka h (15 1 '
Khashdrahr, sa n 3 et. said the Shah to
SlifhEShdrah ; sl rugged and looked questioningly at Halyard
a sa I
they do? ys 1 t ese not slaves, how you get them to do what
Patriotism, said General of th A '
Patriotism, damn it. e rmies Bromley stemly.
Love of country, said Haiyard.
Khashdrahr told the Shah, and the Shah nodded slightly, but
his 100k 0f puzzlement did not dis ' - n .
tentatively, appear, Shh [70 he said
Eh P said Corbett.
Even 30 translated Kha hd h
ful as the Shah. 5 1'a 1', and he looked as doubt-
Lay-eft - shouted the loudspeaker.
Left, left, Ieft, left, left, left . . .
Lszt siid Hacketts to himself.
11 ac etts thou ht of how he w '
in the barracks this wgeek end when einy iilf :gebihesfhsioge
pass because of what happened in inspection that mornin after:
he d plopped and squeegeed the oor and washed the wigndow
by his bunk and tightened up his blankets and made sure th:
58 PLAYER PIANO
tooth paste tube was to the left of the shaving-cream tube and
the tube caps both pointed away from the aisle and that the
cuffs on his rolled-up socks pointed up in his footlocker and that
his mess kit and mess cup and mess spoon and mess fork and
mess knife and canteen were shining and that his wooden ri e
was waxed and its simulated metalwork blackened and his shoes
shined and that the extra pair under his bunk were laced to the
top and tied and that the clothes on his hangers went: two
shirts, O.D.; two pants, O,D.; three shirts, khaki; three pants,
khaki; two shirts, herringbone twill; two pants, herringbone
twill; eld jacket; dress blouse, O.D. ; raincoat, O.D., and that
ali the pockets were empty and buttoned and then the inspecting
of cer came through and said, Hey soldier your y s open and
no pass for you, and
Fay yuss.
Hut, two, said Hacketts.
For d
For d, for d, for d, for d, for d for d . . .
For d, said Hacketts to himself.
And Hacketts wondered where the hell he d go in the next
twenty three years and thought it d be a relief to get the hell
out of the States for a while and go occupy someplace else and
maybe be somebody in some of those countries instead of a
bum with no money looking for an easy lay and not getting it
in his own country or not getting a good lay anyway but still
a pretty good lay compared to no lay at all but anyway there
was more to living than laying and he d like a little glory by
God and there might be laying and glory overseas and while
there wasn t any shooting and wasn t going to be none either
probably for a good long while still you got a real gun and
bullets and there was a little glory in that and sure as hell it
was more grownup than matching up and down with a wooden
one and he d sure like a little rank too but he knew what his
IQ. was and everybody else did too and especially the machines
so that was that for twenty three more years unless one of the
machines burned out a tube and misread his card and sent him
to O.C.S. and that happened now and then and there was old
Miilcahy who got ahold of his card and doctored it with an
icepick so the machines would think he was quali ed for a big
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promotion but he got restricted to barracks instead for having
clap twenty-six times and then transferred to the band as a
trombone player when he couldn t even whistle Hot Cross
Buns and anyway it was better than the frigging Reeks and
Wrecks any day and no big worries and a niee loo-king suit only
the pants ought to have zippers and in only twenty-three more
years he could go up to some sonofabitching general or colonel
or something and say, Kiss my
Harch !
Boom ! went the bass drum, and down came Hacketts left
foot, and 0E he went in the midst of the vast, tractable human
avalanche.
Takam, said the Shah to Khashdrahr above the din.
Khashdrahr nodded and smiled agreement. Takam.
What the hell am I supposed to do ? said Halyard unhappily
to General of the Armies Bromley. This guy thinks of every
thing he sees in terms of his own country, and his own country
must be a Goddamn mess.
Amerikka vagga bound, m' houm' maniac Salim da vagga
dinko, said the Shah.
What s eating him now ? said Halyard impatiently.
He say Americans have changed almost everything on
earth, said Khashdrahr, but it would be easier to move the
Himalayas than to change the Army.
The Shah was waving goodbye to the departing troops.
"Dibo, Takam, dibo.
CHAPTER VIII
PAUL BREAKFASTED ALONE, while Anita and Finnerty,
in widely separated beds, slept late after a busy evening.
He had dif culty starting his Plymouth and nally realized
that it was out of gas. There had been almost a half-tank the
afternoon before. Finnerty, then, had gone for a long ride in
it after they d left him alone on the bed and gone to the Country
Club without him.
60 PLAYER PIANO
Paul rummaged about the glove compartment for a siphon
hose, and found it. He paused, sensing that something was
missing. He stuck his hand into the glove compartment again
and felt around inside. The oid pistol was gone. He looked on
the oor and searched behind the seat cushion without nding
it. Perhaps some urchin had taken it while he d been in Home-
stead after the whisky. He d have to tell the police about it right
away, and there d be all sorts of forms to ll out. He tried to
think of a. lie that would get him out of accusations of negli-
gence and not get anybody else in trouble.
He dipped the siphon hose into the station wagon s tank,
sucked and spat, and plunged the other end of the hose into the
Plymouth s empty tank. As he waited for the slow transfer to
take place, he stepped out of the garage and into a warm patch
of sunlight.
The bathroom wind0w above clattered open, and he looked
up to see Finnerty staring at himself in the medicine~cabinet
mirror. Finnerty didn t notice Paul. He had a bent cigarette in
his mouth, and there it remained while he washed his face with
a cursory and random dabbing motion. The ash on the cigarette
grew longer and longer, and, incredibly, longer, until the coal 7
was almost at his lips. He removed the cigarette from his mouth,
and the long ash fell. Finnerty ipped the butt in the direction
of the toilet, replaced it with another, and proceeded to shave.
And the ash grew longer and longer. He leaned closeto the
mirror, and the ash broke against it. He pressed at pimple be-
tween his thumb and fore nger, seemingly without results. Still
squinting in the mirror at the reddened spot, he groped for a
towel with one hand, seized one without looking at it, and swept
Anita s stockings from the towel rack and into the bathtub.
Finnerty, his toilet complete, said something to his re ection,
grimaced, and made his exit.
Paul returned to the garage, coiled the siphon hose in the
glove compartment, and drove off. The car was hesitating again
-catching and slowing, catching and slowing. At any rate, it
took his mind momentarily from the inconvenient matter of the
missing pistol. On the long grade past the golf course, the engine
seemed to be hitting on no more than three cylinders, and a
squad from the Reconstruction and Reclamation Corps, putting
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in a spruce windbreak to the north of the clubhouse, turned to
watch the car s enervated struggle with gravity.
Hey! Headlamp s busted, called one of the men.
Paul nodded and smiled his thanks. The car faltered, and
came to a stop, just short of the summit. Paul set his emergency
brake and got out. He lifted the hood and tested various con-
nections. Tools being laid against the side of the car made a
clattering noise, and a half dozen Reeks and Wrecks stuck their
heads under the hood with his.
It s his plugs, said a small, bright eyed, Italian iooking man.
Aaaaaaah, in a pig s ass it s his plugs, said a tall, ruddy-
faced man, the oldest of the group. Lemme show you where
the real trouble is. Here, that wrench, that s the ticket. He went
to work on the fuel pump, soon had the top off of it. He pointed
to the gasket beneath the cap. There, he said soberly, like an
instructor in surgery, there s your trouble. Sucking air. I knew
that the minute I heard you coming a mile off.
Well, said Paul, guess I d better call somebody to come
and get it. Probably take a week to order a new gasket.
Five minutes, said the tall man. He took off his hat and,
with an expression of satisfaction, ripped out the sweatband. He
took a penknife from his pocket, laid the cap of the fuel pump
over the sweatband, and cut out a leather disk just the right
size. Then he cut out the disk s center, dropped the new gasket
in place, and put the pump back together. The others watched
eagerly, handed him tools, or o ered to hand him tools, and
tried to get into the operation wherever they could. One man
scraped the green and white crystals from a battery connection
Another one went around tightening the valve caps on the tires.
Now try her 1" said the tall man.
Paul stepped on the starter, the motor caught, roared fast and
slow without a miss as he pumped the accelerator. He looked
up to see the profound satisfaction, the uplift of creativity, in
the faces of the Reeks and Wrecks.
Paul took out his billfoid and handed two ves to the tall man.
One ll do, he said. He folded it carefully and tucked it into
the breast pocket of his blue workshirt. He smiled sardonically.
First money I ve earned in ve years. I oughta frame that one,
eh P He looked closely at Paul, for the rst time aware of the
62 PLAYER PIANO
man and not his motor. Seems like I know you from some
where. What s your line P
Something made Paul want to be someone other than who
he was. Got a little grocery store, he said.
Need a guy who s handy with his hands ?
Not just now. Things are pretty slow. .
The man was scrawling something on a piece of paper. He
held the paper against the hood, and twice punched his pencil
through the paper as the pencil crossed a crack. Here here s
my name. If you ve got machines, I m the guy that can keep
them going. Put in eight years in the works as a millwright
before the war, and anything I don t know, I pick up fast. He
handed the paper to Paul. Where you going to put it ?
Paul slipped the paper under the transparent window in his
billfold, over his driver s license. There -right on top. He
shook the man s hand and nodded to the others. Thanks.
The motor took hold with assurance and swept Paul over the
hilltop and up to the gate of the Ilium Works. A watchman
waved from his pillbox, a buzzer sounded, and the iron, high-
spiked gate swung open. He came now to the solid inner door,
honked, and looked expectantly at a thin slit in the masonry,
behind which another guard sat. The door rumbled upward,
and Paul drove up to his o ice building.
He went up the steps two at a time his only exercise and
unlocked two outer doors that led him into Katharine s of ce,
and beyond that, his own.
Katharine hardly looked up when he came in. She seemed lost
in melancholy, and, on the other side of the room, on the couch
that was virtually his, Bud Calhoun was staring at the oor.
Can I help ? said Paul.
Katharine sighed. Bud wants a job.
Bud wants a job? He s got the fourth highest-paid job in
Ilium now. I couldn t equal what he gets for running the depot.
Bud, you re crazy. When I was your age, I didn t make half J
Ah want a job, said Bud. Any job.
Trying to scare the National Petroleum Council into giving
you a raise? Sure, Bud, I ll make you an o er better than what
you re getting, but you ve got to promise not to take me up
on it. '
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Ah haven t got a job any more, said Bud. Canned.
Paul was amazed. Really? What on earth for? Moral turpi-
tude? What about the gadget you invented for
Thet s it, said Bud with an eerie mixture of pride and re«
morse. Works. Does a ne job. He smiled sheepishly. Does
it a whole lot better than Ah did it.
It runs the whole operation ?
Yup. Some gadget.
And so you re out of a job.
Seventy-two of us are out of jobs, said Bud. He slumped
even lower in the couch. Ouah job classi cation has been elim~
inated. Poof. He snapped his ngers.
Paul could see the personnel manager peeking out Bud s job
code number on a keyboard, and seconds later having the ma-
chine deal him seventy-two cards bearing the names of those
who did what Bud did for a living what Bud s machine now
did better. Now, personnel machines all over the country would
be reset so as no longer to recognize the job as one suited for
men. The combination of holes and nicks that Bud had been to
personnel machines would no longer be acceptable. If it were
to be slipped into a machine, it would come popping right back
out.
They don t need P 128's any more, said Bud bleakly, and
nothing s open above or below. Ah d take a cut, and go back to
P-129 or even 13-130, but it s no dice. Everything s full up.
Got any other numbers, Bud P said Paul. The only P num-
hers we re authorized are
Katharine had the Manual open before her. She d already
looked the numbers up. P-225 and P-226 lubrication engi~
neers, she said. And Doctor Rosenau s got both of those.
That s right, he does, said Paul. Bud was in a baf ing mess,
and Paul didn t see how he could help him. The machines knew
the Ilium Works had its one allotted lubrication engineer, and
they wouldn t tolerate a second. If Bud were recorded as a
lubrication engineer and introduced into the machines, they d
throw him right out again.
As Kroner often said, eternal Vigilance was the price of ef-
ciency. And the machines tirelessly ri led through their decks
g?
64 PLAYER PIANO
again and again and again in search of foot draggers, free
riders, and mis ts.
You know it isn t up to me, Bud, said Paul. I haven t got
any real say about who s taken on.
He knows that, said Katharine. But he has to start some-
where, and we thought maybe you d know of some opening, or
who to see.
Oh, it makes me sore, said Paul. Whatever got into them
to give you a Petroleum Industries assignment, anyway? You
should be in design.
Got no aptitude for it, said Bud. Tests proved that."
That would be on his ill fated card, too. All his aptitude-test
grades were on it-irrevocably, immutable, and the card knew
best. But you do design, said Paul. And you do it with a
damn sight more imagination than the prima donnas in the
Lab. The Lab was the National Research and Development
Laboratory, which was actually a war born conglomeration of
all the country s research and development facilities under a
single headquarters. You re not even paid to design, and still
you do a better job of it than they do. That telemetering ar-
rangement for the pipeline, your car, and now this monster
that runs the depot
But the test says no, said Bud.
So the machines say no, said Katharine.
So that s that, said Bud, Ah guess.
You might see Kroner, said Paul.
Ah tried, and didn t get past his secretary. Ah told her Ah
was after a job, and she called up Personnel. They ran mah
card through the machines while she held the phone; and then
she hung up, and looked sad, and said Kroner had meetings all
month.
Maybe your university can help, said Paul. Maybe the
grading machine needed new tubes when it went over your
development aptitude test. He spoke without conviction. Bud
was beyond help. As an old old joke had it, the machines had
all the cards.
Ah ve written, asking them to check my grades again. No
matter what Ah say, Ah get the same thing back. He threw
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a piece of graph paper on Katharine s desk. Theah. Ah ve
written three letters, and gotten three of these back.
Uh huh, said Paul, looking at the familiar graph with dis
taste. It was a so~called Achievement and Aptitude Pro le, and
every college graduate got one along with his sheepskin. And
the sheepskin was nothing, and the graph was everything. When
time for graduation came, a machine took a student s grades
and other performances and integrated them into one graph-
the pro le. Here Bud s graph was high for theory, there low for
administration, here low for creativity, and so on, up and down
across the page to the last qualitympersonality. In mysterious,
unnamed units of measure, each graduate was credited with
havirrg a high, medium, or low personality. Bud, Paul saw, was
a. strong medium, as the expression went, personaiity-wise.
When the graduate was taken into the economy, all his peaks
and valleys were translated into perforations on his personnel
card.
Well, thanks anyway, said Bud suddenly, gathering up his
papers, as though embarrassed at having been so weak as to
bother anyone with his troubles.
Something will turn up, said Paul. He paused at his of ce
door. How are you xed for money ?
They re keepin me on a few more months, until all the new
equipment gets installed. And Ah ve got the award from the
suggestion system.
Well, thank God you got something out of it. How much ?
Five hundred. It s the biggest one this year.
Congratulations. Is that on your card ?
Bud held the rectangle of cardboard up to the window and
squinted at the nicks and perforations. Think thet little devil
raht there s it.
That s for your smallpox vaccination, said Katharine, look-
ing over his shoulder. I ve got one of those.
No, the little triangle next to thet one.
Katharine s phone rang. Yes? She turned to Paul. A Doc-
tor Finnerty is at the gate and wants in.
If it s just to shoot the bull, tell him to wait until late this
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66 PLAYER PIANO
He says he wants to see the plant, not you.
All right; let him in.
They re Shorthanded at the gate, said Katharine. One of
the guards is down with u. What ll they do about an escort
for him ?
The few visitors that did get admitted to the Ilium Works
were taken about by guides, who only incidentally pointed out
the wonders of the place. The guides were armed, and their
main job was to see that no one got close enough to vital con
trols to knock them out. The system was a holdover from the
war, and from the postwar riot period, but it still made sense.
Every so often, antisabotage laws notwithstanding, someone got
it into his head to jimmy something. It hadn t happened in
Ilium for years, but Paul had heard reports from other works
reports of a visitor with a crude bomb in a briefcase in Syra-
cuse ; of an old lady in Buffalo stepping from a group of sight-
seers to jam her umbrella into some vital clockwork. . . .
Things like that still happened, and Kroner had stipulated that
visitors to plants should be watched every second. The saboteurs
had come from every walk of Iife including, in at least one
hushed up instance, the brass. As Kroner had said, you never
could tell who was going to try it next.
Oh, what the hell, let Finnerty in without an escort, said
Paul. He s a special case an old Ilium man.
The directive said no exceptions, said Katharine. She knew
all of the directives and there were thousands of them cold.
Let him roam.
Yessir.
Bud Calhoun watched the interchange with far more interest
than it merited, Paul thought. It was as though they had been
putting on an absorbing drama. When Katharine hung up she
mistook his gaze for adoration and returned it warmly.
Six minutes, said Bud.
Six minutes for what ? said Katharine.
Six minutes foah nothin , said Bud. It took thet long to
get a man in through the gate.
Well?
Three of you tied up for six minutes~you two and the
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guard. Eighteen man minutes in all. Hell, it cost over two bucks
to let him in. How many people come to the gate a year ?
Ten 3 day, maybe, said Paul.
Twenty-seven hundred and fty-eight a year, said Kath-
arme.
And you pass on each one?
Katharine usually does, said Paul. That s the biggest part
of her job.
At a dollah a head, thet s twenty-seven hundred dollahs a
year, said Bud reproachfully. He pointed at Katharine. This
is ridiculous! If policy is iron-clad, why not let a machine make
the decisions? Policy isn t thinkin , it s a re ex. You could even
build a gadget with an exception for Finnerty and still get away
foah less than a hundred dollahs.
There are all sorts of special decisions I have to make, said
Katharine defensively. I mean, all sorts of things come up that
require more than routine thought more than any old machine
could do.
Bud wasn t listening. He held his palms apart, marking the
size of the box being born in his imagination. Either a visitor
is a nonentity, a friend, an employee, small brass, or big brass.
The guard presses one of ve buttons in the top row on the box.
See it? Either the visitor is sight-seein , inspectin , makin a
personal call, or here on business. The guard pushes one of
four buttons in thet row. The machine has two lights, a red one
for no, and a green one for yes. Whatever the policy is, bingo!
- -the lights tell him what to do.
Or we could tack a memo about policy on the guardhouse
wall, said Paul.
Bud looked startled. Yes, he said slowly, you could do
thet. It was clear he thought it was a pretty drab man who
would think much of that solution.
I m mad, said Katharine, her voice small. You have no
right to go around saying a machine can do what I do.
Aw, now honey there wasn t anything personal in it.
She was crying now, and Paul slipped into his of ce and shut
the door.
Your wife s on the phone, said Katharine brokenly on the
intercom set.
68 PLAYER PIANO
All right. Yes, Anita?
Have you heard from Kroner ?
N0. I ll let you know if I do.
"I hope he had a good time last night.
He did or rmly believes he did.
Is Finnerty there ?
In the plant somewhere.
You should see the bathroom.
I saw it in the making.
He had four cigarettes going, and forgot about every one
of them. One On top of the medicine cabinet, one on the window
sill, one on the top of the john, and one on the toothbrush rack.
I couldn t eat my breakfast He s got to go.
I ll tell him.
What are you going to tell Kroner ?
I don t know yet. I don t know what he s going to say.
Pretend I m Kroner and I ve just said, sort of casually,
Well, Paul, the Pittsburgh spot is still open. Then what do you
say ?
This was the game she never tired of one that took every
bit of Paul s patience to play. She was forever casting herself
as a person of in uence and making Paul play dialogues with
her. There would then be a critique, in which his responses were
analyzed, edited, and polished by her. No real dialogues ever
came close to her phantasies, which served chie y to show how
primitive a notion she had of men of affairs and of how busi-
ness was done.
Go on, she prodded.
Pittsburgh, eh? said Paul. Holy smokes! Wow!
No, now, I m serious, she said rmly. What will you say ?
Darling, I m busy now.
All right; you think it over and call me back. You know
what I think you should say?
I ll call you back.
All right. Goodbye. I love you.
I love you, Anita. Goodbye.
Doctor Shepherd is on the phone, said Katharine.
Paul picked up the now moist instrument again. What s the
matter now, Shep ?
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There s an unauthorized man in Building 57! Get the guards
down here.
Is it Finnerty ?
An unauthorized man, said Shepherd stubbornly.
All right. Is it an unauthorized Finnerty P
Yes but that s beside the point. It makes no difference what
his name is. He s roaming around without an escort, and you
know how Kroner feels about that.
I gave him permission. I know he s down there.
You re putting me in a sweet spot.
I don t get you.
I mean I m responsible for these buildings, and now you re
telling me to ignore very speci c orders from Kroner. Am I
supposed to be left holding the bag if word gets out?
Look, just forget it. It s all right. I ll take the responsibility.
In other words, you order me to let Finnerty go through
unescorted.
Yes -that s it. I order you.
O.K., I just wanted to make sure I had it straight. Ber-
ringer wondered about it, too, so I had him listen in.
Berringer ? said Paul.
Yeah! said Berringer.
Just keep this under your hat is all.
You re the boss, said Berringer atly.
All squared away now, Shepherd ? said Paul.
I guess. And are we to understand that you've authorized
him to make drawings, too ?
Drawings ?
Layouts.
At this point Paul realized that his judgment had been pushed
into the background by more emotional matters, but he decided
it was too late to do anything about it gracefully. Let him do
what he wants. He may come up with some useful ideas. All
right?
You re the boss, said Shepherd. Isn t that right, Ber-
ringer?
He s the boss, said Berringer.
I m the boss, said Paul, and he let the telephone clatter
into its cradle.
70 PLAYER PIANO
Bud Calhoun was still trying to patch things up with Kath-
arine in the next of ce. His voice had become wheedling and
penetrating. Paul could understand snatches of it.
As far as thet goes, Bud was saying, it wouldn t be much
of a trick to replace him with a gadget. Paul had a good idea
where Bud s stubby index nger was pointing.
CHAPTER IX
FINNERTY APPARENTLY FOUND plenty to entertain
himself with in the Ilium Works. He didn t appear in Paul s
of ce until late in the afternoon. When he did arrive, Katharine
Finch gave a small cry of surprise. He d let himself in through
two locked doors with keys he d presumably failed to turn in
when he left the plant for Washington years before.
Paul s door was ajar, and he heard the conversation.
Don t go for your rod, lady. The name s Finnerty.
Katharine did have a gun somewhere in her desk, though no
ammunition. That secretaries should be armed was a regulation
held over from the old days, too; one Kroner thought well
enough of to revive in a directive.
You re not authorized to have those keys, she said coldly.
Have you been crying ? said Finnerty.
I ll see if Doctor Proteus can see you.
What is there to cry about? See none of the red lights are
on, no buzzers going off, so all s well with the world.
Send him in, Katharine, called Paul.
Finnerty walked in and sat on the edge of Paul s desk.
What s the matter with Miss Policy out there P
Broken engagement. What s on your mind ?
Thought we d have a couple of drinks if you feel like Iis-
tening.
All right. Let me call Anita and tell her we ll be late for
supper."
Katharine got Anita on the line, and Paul told his wife what
herwas up to.
Have you thought out what you d say to Kroner if he told
you Pittsburgh was still open ?
:3
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PLAYER PIANO 71
No it s been a hell of a day.
Well, I ve been thinking about it, and
Anita, I ve got to go.
All right. I love you.
I love you, Anita. Goodbye. He looked up at Finnerty.
O.K., let s go. He felt somehow conspiratorial, and got a
small lift from the feeling. Being with Finnerty had often had
that e ect. Finnerty had an air of mysteriousness about him,
an implication that he knew of worlds unsuspected by anyone
else-a man of unexplained absences and shadowy friends. Actu-
ally, Finnerty let Paul in on very little that was surprising, and
only gave him the illusion of sharing in mysteries if, indeed,
there were any. The illusion was enough. It lled a need in
Paul s life, and he went gladly for a drink with the odd man.
Is there somewhere I can reach you P said Katharine.
No, I m afraid not, said Paul. He planned to go to the
Country Club, where he could be reached easily enough. But,
on an impulse, he indulged his appetite for secretiveness.
Finnerty had come over in Paul s station wagon. They left
it at the Works and took Paul s old car.
Across the bridge, said Finnerty.
I thought we d go to the club.
This is Thursday, isn t it? Do the civic managers still have
their big dinner there on Thursdays ?
The civic managers were the career administrators who ran
the city. They lived on the same side of the river as the man-
agers and engineers of the Ilium Works, but the contact be-
tween the two groups was little more than perfunctory and,
traditionally, shspicious. The schism, like so many things, dated
back to the war, when the economy had, for ef ciency s sake,
become monolithic. The question had arisen: who was to run
it, the bureaucrats, the heads of business and industry, or the
military? Business and bureaucracy had stuck together long
enough to overwhelm the military and had since then worked
side by side, abusively and suspiciously, but, like Kroner and
Baer, each unable to do a whole job without the other.
Not much changes in Ilium, said Paul. The civic managers
will be there all right. But if we get over there this early, we
can get a booth in the bar.
72 PLAYER PIANO
I d rather share a bed in a leprosarium.
All right; over the bridge it is. Let me put on something
more comfortable. Paul stopped his car just short of the
bridge, and traded his coat for the jacket in the trunk.
I wondered if you still did that. That s even the same jacket,
isn t it P
Habit.
What would a psychiatrist say about it ?
He d say it was a swat at my old man, who never went
anywhere without a Hamburg and a double-breasted suit.
Think he was a bastard ?
How do I know what my father was? The editor of Who s
Who knows about as much as I do. The guy was hardly ever
home.
They were driving through Homestead now. Paul suddenly
snapped his ngers in recollection and turned down a side street.
I ve got to stop by police headquarters for a minute. Mind
waiting ?
What s the trouble ?
Almost slipped my mind. Somebody swiped the gun from
the glove compartment, or it fell out, or something.
Keep driving.
It ll just take a minute, I hope."
I took it.
You? Why P
Had an idea I might want to shoot myself. He said it
matteriof factly. Even had the barrel in my mouth for a while,
and the hammer back for maybe ten minutes.
Where is it new P
Bottom of the Iroquois somewhere. He licked his lips.
Tasted oil and metal all through dinner. Turn left.
Paul had learned to listen with outward calm when Finnerty
spoke of his morbid moments. When he was with Finnerty he
liked to pretend that he shared the man s fantastic and alter-
nately brilliant or black inner thoughts-walrnost as though he
were discontent with his own relative tranquility. Finnerty had
spoken dispassionately of suicide often; but, seemingly, he did
it because he got pleasure from savoring the idea. If he d felt
driven to kill himself, he would have been dead long ago.
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You think I m insane ? said Finnerty. Apparently he wanted
more of a reaction than Paul had given him.
You re still in touch. I guess that s the test.
Barely ba/rely.
A psychiatrist could help. There s a good man in Aibany.
Finnerty shook his head. He d pull me back into the center,
and I want to stay as close to the edge as I can without going
over. Out on the edge you see all kinds of things you can t see
from the center. He nodded, Big, undreamed of things-the
people on the edge see them first. He laid his hand on Paul s
shoulder, and Paul fought a re ex that suddenly made him
want to get as far away as possible. Here s the place we want,
said Finnerty. Park here.
They had circled several blocks and were back at the head of
the bridge, by the same sa100n Paul had visited for the whisky.
Paul, with uncomfortable memories of the place, wanted to go
somewhere else, but Finnerty was already out of the car and
on his way in.
Gratefully, Paul saw that the street and saloon were almost
deserted, so there was a good chance he wouldn t see any of
the people who d watched his confusion the day before. No
hydrants were going, but from far away, from the direction of
Edison Park, came faint band music a clue as to where every-
one might be.
Hey, your headlamp s busted, said a man, peering through
the doorway of the saloon.
Paul passed him quickly, without getting a good look at him.
Thanks.
Only when he d overtaken Finnerty in the damp twilight of
the inside did he turn for another look at the man at his short,
broad back. The man s neck was thick and red, and glinting
behind his ears were the hooks of steel spectacles. It was the
same man, Paul realized, the same man who had been sitting
by Rudy Hertzhthe man whose son had just turned eighteen.
Paul remembered that he had promised this man, in the panic
of the moment, to speak to Matheson, the placement director,
about the son. Perhaps he hadn t recognized Paul. Paul slid into
a booth with Finnerty, in the darkest corner of the room.
The man turned and smiled, his eyes lost behind the milky,
74 PLAYER PIANO
thick lenses of his glasses. You re entirely welcome, Doctor
Proteus, he called. It isn t often that anyone can do a favor
for anyone in your position.
Paul pretended he hadn t heard, and turned his attention to
Finnerty, who dug a spoon around and around and around in
a sugar bowl. Some of the white grains spilled over, and Fin-
erty absently drew the mathematical symbol for in nity in them
with the tip of his nger.
Funny what I expected from this reunion, what I guess
everybody expects from a ectionate reunions. I thought seeing
you would somehow clear up all sorts of problems, get me think
ing straight, said Finnerty. He had a candor about his few
emotional attachments that Paul found disquieting. He used
words to describe his feelings that Paul could never bring him
self to use when speaking of a friend: love, affection, and other
words generally consigned to young and inexperienced lovers.
It wasn t homosexual; it was an archaic expression of friend-
ship by an undisciplined man in an age when most men seemed
in mortal fear of being mistaken for pansies for even a split
second.
I guess I looked forward to some sort of rebirth too, said
Paul.
But you nd out quick enough that old friends are old
friends, and nothing more no wiser, no more help than any
one else. Well, what the heli, that doesn t mean I m not damned
pleased to see you again.
No booth service until eight, called the bartender.
I ll get them," said Finnerty. What ll it be ?
Bourbon plain water. Make it a weak one. Anita s expect
ing us in an hour.
Finnerty came back with two strong highballs.
Is there any water in it ? said Paul.
There was enough water in it as it was. Finnerty swept
the sugar from the table with his palm. It s .the loneliness, he
said, as though picking up the thread of' a conversation that had
been interrupted. It s the loneliness, the not belonging any-
where. I just about went crazy with loneliness here in the old
days, and I gured things would be better in Washington, that
I d nd a lot of people I admired and belonged with. Washington
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PLAYER PIANO 75
is worse, Paulmllium to the tenth power. Stupid, arrogant, self-
congratuiatory, unimaginative, humorless men. And the women,
Paul the dull wives feeding on the power and glory of their
husbands.
Oh, now listen, Ed, said Paul, smiling, they re good-
hearted peoPIe.
Who isn t? I m not, I guess. Their superiority is what gets
me, this damn hierarchy that measures men against machines.
It s a pretty unimpressive kind of man that comes out on top.
Here come some more! called the man with the thick
glasses from the door. From far off came the sound of march~
ing, and the thump of a bass drum. The noise came closer, a
whistle blew, and a brass band exploded with music.
Paul and Finnerty hurried to the door.
Who are they ? shouted Finnerty at the man in thick glasses.
The man smiled. Don t think they want anybody to know.
Secret.
At the head of the procession, surrounded by four trumpeters
dressed as Arabs, was a orid, serious old man in a turban and
pantaloons, carefully cradling in his arms an elephant tusk in-
scribed with mysterious symbols. Behind him came an enormous
square banner, held aloft by a staggering giant, and steadied
in the wind, maypole fashion, by a dozen Arabs tugging at
colored ropes. The banner, which from a distance had given
promise of explaining all, was embroidered with four lines of
lc'mg-forgotten-or perhaps recently invented script, and with
four green owls against a eld of apricot. After it came the
band, which carried out the Arabian motif. There were owi-
bearing pennants hung from the brasses, and the banner s mes
sage was repeated, in case anyone had missed it, on a cart-borne
bass drum perhaps twelve feet in diameter.
Hooray, said the man in thick glasses mildly.
Why are you cheering ? said Finnerty.
Don t you think something s called for? Cheering Luke Lub-
bock mostly. He s the one with the tusk.
Doing a swell job, said Finnerty. What s he represent ?
Secret. He couldn t be it any more, if he told.
Looks like he s about the most important thing.
Next to the tusk.
76 PLAYER PIANO
The parade turned a corner, the whistle blew again, and the
music stopped. Down the street, another whistle shrilled, and
the whole business began again as a company of kilted bag-
pipers swung into view.
Parade competition down at the park, said the man with
the glasses. They ll be coming by for hours. Let s go in and
have a drink.
On us P said Finnerty.
Who else P
Wait, said Paul, this should be interesting.
An automobile had just come from the north side of the
river, and its driver honked irritably at the marchers, who
blocked his way. The horn and the bagpipes squalled at one
another until the last rank of marchers had turned down the
side street. Paul recognized the driver too late to get out of
sight. Shepherd looked at him with puzzlement and mild censure,
waved vaguely, and drove on. Peering through the back window
were the small eyes of Fred Berringer.
Paul refused to attach any importance to the incident. He
sat down in the booth with the short, heavy man, while Fin-
nerty went after more drinks.
How s your son? said Paul.
Son, Doctor? Oh, oh, of course my son. You said you were
going to talk to Matheson about him, didn t you? What did
the good Matheson say ?
I haven t seen him yet. I ve been meaning to, but the oppor-
tunity hasn t come up.
The man nodded. Matheson, Matheson~beneath that cold
exterior, there beats a heart of ice. Well, it s just as well. There s
no need to talk to him now. My boy s all set.
Oh, really? I m glad to hear that.
YesLhe hanged himself this morning in the kitchen.
Lord!
Yes, I told him what you said yesterday, and it was so dis«
couraging that he just gave up. It s the best way. There are too
many of us. Upps! You re spilling your drink!"
What s going on here P said Finnerty.
I was just telling the Doctor here that my son couldn t nd
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any good reason for being alive, so he quit it this morning
with an ironing cord.
Paul covered his eyes. Jesus, oh Jesus I m sorry.
The man looked up at Finnerty with a mixture of bewilder-
ment and exasperation. Now, hell, Why d I have to go and do
that? Have a drink, Doctor, and pull yourself together. I haven t
got a son, never had one. He shook Paul s arm. Hear me?
It s a lot of crap.
Then why don t I bust your stupid head open ? said Paul,
half standing in the booth.
Because you re wedged in too tightly, said Finnerty, push
ing him back down. He set the drinks before them.
Sorry, said the man to Paul. I just wanted to see how
one of those superbrains worked. What s your IQ, Doctor?
It s a matter of record. Why don t you go look it up ? It
was a matter of record. Everyone s I.Q., as measured by the
National Standard General Classi cation Test, was on public
record «in Ilium, at the police station. Go on, he said acidly,
experiment with me some more. I love it.
You picked a bad specimen if you re out to nd out what
the rest of them across the river are like, said Finnerty. This
guy s an odd one.
You re an engineer too.
Until I quit.
The man looked surprised. You know, this is really very
illuminating, if you re not kidding me. There are malcontents,
eh?
Two that we know of, said Finnerty.
Well, you know, in a way I wish I hadn t met you two. It s
much more convenient to think of the opposition as a niCe hemo-
geneous,'dead-wr0ng mass. Now I ve got to muddy my think-
ing with exceptions.
How have you got yourself typed, said Paul, as an up-
state Socrates ?
The name is Lasher, the Reverend James J. Lasher, R427
and 58-55. Chaplain, Reconstruction and Reclamation Corps.
The rst number s for Protestant minister. What s the sec
end, that SS thing? said Finnerty.
78 PLAYER PIANO
Social scientist, said Lasher. The 55 designates an an-
thropologist with a master's degree.
And what does an anthropologist do these days ? said Paul.
Same thing a supernumerary minister doesmbecomes a public
charge, a bore, or possibly a rum-dum, or a bureaucrat. He
looked back and forth between Paul and Finnerty. You, I
know, Doctor Proteus. And you ?
Finnerty, Edward Francis Finnerty, Ph.D., one~time EC-
002.
There s a collector s item a double-o two number! said
Lasher. I ve known several single-o men, but never a double-O.
I guess you re the highest classi cation I ever had friendly
words with. If the Pope set up shop in this country, he d be
only one notch up in the R-numbers of course. He d be an
R-OOI. I heard somewhere that the number was being held for
him, over the objections of Episcopal bishops who want R OOI
themselves. Delicate business.
They could give him a negative number, said Paul.
That the Episcopalians would go along with. My glass is
empty.
What was this business about the people across the river
being the opposition ? said Paul. You think they do the Devil s
work, do you ?
That s pretty strong. I will say you ve shown up what thin
stuff clergymen were peddling, most of them. When I had a
congregation before the war, I used to tell them that the life
of their spirit in relation to God was the biggest thing in their
lives, and that their part in the economy was nothing by com-
parison. Now, you people have engineered them out of their
part in the economy, in the market place, and they re nding
out most of them that what s left is just about zero. A good
bit short of enough, anyway. My glass is empty.
Lasher sighed What do you expect? he said. For gen-
erations they ve been built up to worship competition and the
market, productivity and economic usefulness, and the envy of
their fellow men and boom! it s all yanked out from under
them. They can t participate, can t be useful any more. Their
whole culture s has been shot to hell. My glass is empty.
I just had it lled again," said Finnerty.
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PLAYER PIANO 79
Oh, so you did. Lasher sipped thoughtfully. These dis-
placed people need something, and the clergy can t give it to
themhor it s impossible for them to take what the clergy offers.
The clergy says it s enough, and so does the Bible. The people
say it isn t enough, and I suspect they re right.
If they were so fond of the old system, how come they were
so cantankerous about their jobs when they had them i said
Paul.
Oh, this business we ve got now it s been going on for a
long time now, not just since the last war. Maybe the actual
jobs weren t being taken from the people, but the sense of par-
ticipation, the sense of importance was. Go to the library some-
time and take a look at magazines and newspapers clear back
as far as World War II. Even then there was a lot of talk about
know-how winning the war of production know how, not peo-
ple, not the mediocre people running most of the machines. And
the hell of it was that it was pretty much true. Even then, half
the people or more didn t understand much about the machines
they worked at or the things they were making. They were
participating in the economy all right, but not in a way that
was very satisfying to the ego. And then there was all this let s-
not-shoot-Father Christmas advertising.
How s that ? said Paul.
You know those ads about the American system, meaning
managers and engineers, that made America great. When you
nished one, you d think the managers and engineers had given
America everything: forests, rivers, minerals, mountains, oil
- the works.
Strange business, said Lasher. This crusading spirit of
the managers and engineers, the idea of designing and manu-
facturing and distributing being sort of a holy war: all that
folklore was cooked up by public relations and advertising men
hired by managers and engineers to make big business popular
in the old days, which it certainly wasn t in the beginning. Now,
the engineers and managers believe with all their hearts the
glorious things their forebears hired people to say about them.
Yesterday s snow job becomes today s sermon.
Well, said Paul, you ll have to admit they did some pretty
wonderful things during the war.
80 PLAYER PIANO
Of course ! said Lasher. What they did for the war effort
really was something like crusading; but - he shrugged so
was What everybody else did for the war effort. Everybody
behaved wonderfully. Even I.
You keep giving the managers and engineers a bad time,
said Paul. What about the scientists? It seems to me that-m
Outside the discussion, said Lasher impatiently. They
simply add to knowledge. It isn t knowledge that s making
trouble, but the uses it s put to.
Finnerty shook his head admiringly. So what s the answer
right now ? .
That is a frightening question, said Lasher, and also my
favorite rationalization for drinking. This is my last drink, in-
cidentally; I don t like being drunk. I drink because I m scared
just a little scared, so I don t have to drink much. Things,
gentlemen, are ripe for a phony Messiah, and when he comes,
it s sure to be a bloody business.
Messiah P
Sooner or later someone s going to catch the imagination of
these people with some new magic. At the bottom of it will be
a promise of regaining the feeling of participation, the feeling
of being needed on earth hell, dignity. The police are bright
enough to look for people like that, and lock them up under the
antisabotage laws. But sooner or later someone s going to keep
out of their sight long enough to organize a following.
Paul had been watching his expression closely, and decided
that, far from being in horror of the impending uprising, Lasher
was rather taken by the idea. And then what ? said Paul. He
picked up his glass and rattled the ice cubes against his teeth.
He d nished his second drink and wanted another.
Lasher shrugged. Oh, heli prophecy s a thankless business,
and history has a way of showing us what, in retrospect, are
very logical solutions to awful messes.
Prophesy anyway, said Finnerty.
Well I think it s a grave mistake to put on public record
everyone s LQ. I think the rst thing the revolutionaries would
want to do is knock off everybody with an IQ. over I10, say.
If I were on your side of the river, I d have the I.Q. books
closed and the bridges mined.
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Then the 100 s would go after the lids, the 90 s after the
100 s, and so on, said Finnerty.
Maybe. Something like that. Things are certainly set up for
a class war based on conveniently established lines of demarka
tion. And I must say that the basic assumption of the present
setup is a grade-A incitement to violence: the smarter you are,
the better you are. Used to be that the richer you were, the
better you were. Either one is, you ll admit, pretty tough for the
have not s to take. The criterion of brains is better than the one
of money, but he held his thumb and fore nger about a six-
teenth of an inch apart- about that much better.
It s about as rigid a hierarchy as you can get, said Fin-
nerty. How s somebody going to up his I.Q.?
Exactly, said Lasher. And it s built on more than just
brain power it s built on special kinds of brain power. Not only
must a person be bright, he must be bright in certain approved,
useful directions: basically, management or engineering.
01' marry someone who s bright, said Finnerty.
Sex can still batter down all sorts of social structures~you re
right, Lasher agreed.
Big tits will get you in anywhere, said Finnerty.
Well, it s comforting to know that something hasn t changed
in centuries, isn t it? Lasher smiled.
There was a mild commotion at the bar, and Lasher leaned
out of the booth to see what was going on. Hey, he called,
Luke Lubbock come over here.
Luke, the serious old man who had borne the elephant tusk
at the head of the parade, came over from the bar, gulping his
beer as he came, and looking nervously at the clock. He was
perspiring and short of breath, like a man who d been running.
He had a large parcel wrapped in brown paper under his arm.
Paul welcomed the opportunity to study Luke s magni cent
costume more closely. Like a stage set, it was designed to im-
press at a distance. Nearness showed that the splendor was a
fraud of cheap cloth, colored glass, and radiator paint. At his
waist was a jeweled poniard, basically plywood, with an owl on
its hilt. Counterfeit rubies as big as robin s eggs, mounted in
golden sunbursts, were hung at random on the front of his
lavender blouse. About the cuffs of his blouse and jade-green
82 PLAYER PIANO
pantaioons were circlets of tiny bells, and again perched at the
upturned tips of his golden slippers were a pair of miniature
owls.
Luke, you look wonderful, said Lasher.
Luke s eyes ashed agreement, but he was an important man,
in too much of a hurry to respond to attery. It s too much,
too much, he said. Now I got to change 50 s I can march
with the Parmesans. They re waiting up the street, and I got to
change, and some damn fool s locked hisself in the can, so I
got no place to change. He looked around quickly. Would you
let me do it in the booth, and kind of screen me 3
You bet, said Finnerty.
They let Luke squirm into the shadows of the booth, and Paul
found himself keeping a playful, leering lookout for women.
Muttering, Luke started to disrobe. He dropped his belt and
poniard on the table, Where they struck with an impressive
thump. The glittering heap grew and grew, until, from a dis-
tance, it might have looked good enough to be at the end of
a rainbow.
Paul relaxed his vigil for an instant to glance at Luke, and
he was shocked at the transformation. The man was in his
underwear now, ragged and drab, and none too-clean. And
Luke had somehow shrunk and saddened and was knobbed and
scarred and scrawny. He was subdued now, talking not at all,
and meeting no one s eyes. Almost desperately, hungrily, he
ripped open the brown parcel and took from it a pale-biue uni-
form, encrusted with gold embroidery and piped in scarlet. He
pulled on the trousers and black boots, and the jacket with its
ponderous epaulets. Luke was growing again, getting his color
back, and as he strapped on his saber he was talkative again
important and strong. He bundled up his other costume in the
brown paper, left the parcel with the bartender, and rushed into
the street, waving naked steel.
A whistle blew, and the Parmesans fell in behind him, to be
led to glorious exploits in a dreamv'vorld those on the sidewaik
could only speculate about.
Harmless magic: good, old-fashioned bunkum, laughed
Lasher. Talk about your hierarchies: Luke, with an IQ. of
about 80, has titles that d make Charlemagne sound like a cook s
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helper. But that sort of business wears thin pretty quick for
everybody but a few Luke Lubbocks. The lodge turnover is ter
ri c. He stood. No more for me, thanks. He rapped on the
table. But someday, gentlemen, someone is going to give them
something to sink their teeth in probably you, and maybe me.
We ll give them something to sink their teeth in? said
Paul. He noticed he was getting somewhat thick of speech.
You ll be what they ll get to sink their teeth in. Lasher laid
his hand on Paul s shoulder. One more thing: I want to be sure
you understand that men really do worry about what there is
for their sons to live for; and some sons do hang themselves.
And this is as old as life itself, said Paul.
Well? said Lasher.
Well, it s too bad. I meertainly not overjoyed about it.
You gure to be the new Messiah ? said Finnerty.
Sometimes I think I d like to be if only in self defense.
Also, it d be a swell way to get rich. Trouble is, I can be sold
or unsold on anything too easily. I enj0y being talked into some-
thing. Pretty shaky outlook for a Messiah. Besides, who ever
heard of a short, fat, middle-aged Messiah with bad eyesight?
And I haven t got that common touch. Frankly, the masses give
me a pain in the tail, and I guess I show it. He made ducking
sounds with his tongue. I m going to get myself a uniform, so
I il know what I think and stand for.
Or two ~like Luke Lubbock, said Paul.
All right, two. But that s the absolute maximum any self-
respecting human being ought to permit himself. He sipped
from Paul s highbail. Well, good night.
Have another, said Finnerty.
No I mean it. I don t like getting tight.
All right. I want to see you again, anyway. Where can I
nd you ?
Here, most likely. He wrote an address on a paper'napkin.
Or try here. He looked closeiy at Finnerty. You know, wash
your face, and you might do real well as a Messiah.
Finner-ty looked startled, and didn t laugh.
Lasher picked up a hard-boiled egg at the bar, crackled its
shell by rolling it along the keyboard of the player piano, and
walked out into the evening.
84 PLAYER PIANO
Magni cent, wasn t he? said Finnerty raptly. His gaze
returned reluctantly from the door to Paul. Paul saw his eyes
take on a glaze of ennui, of letdown, and he knew that Finnerty
had found a new friend who made Paul look very pale indeed.
Your orders, gentlemen ? said a short, dark waitress, with
a hard, trim gure. She looked at the television screen while
waiting for them to reply. The sound never seemed to be turned
on, only the video. An anxious young man in a long sports coat
jiggled up and down on the screen, and blew through a saxo-
phone.
The saloon was lling up, and many of the amboyantly and
enigmatically costumed marchers had come in for refreshment,
giving the place an atmosphere of international unrest and in-
trigue.
Ohe small young man in mufti, with immensely wise and
large eyes, leaned back against the table in Paul s and Ed s booth
and watched the television screen with what seemed to be more
than routine interest. He turned casually to Paul. What you
think he s playing ?
Beg pardon ?
The guy on television~what s the name of the song ?
I can t hear it.
I know, he said impatiently, that s the point. Guess from
just seeing.
Paul frowned at the screen for a moment, tried to jiggle as
the saxophonist jiggIed, and to t a song to the rhythm. Sud-
denly his mind clicked, and the tune was owing in his imag
ination as surely as though the sound had been turned on.
Rosebud. The song is Rosebud, said Paul.
The young man smiled quietly. Rosebud, eh? Just for
laughs, want to put a little money on it? I ll say it s um, ah,
weli Paradise Moon, maybe.
How much ?
The young man studied Paul s jacket, and then, with slight
surprise, his expensive trousers and shoes. Ten ?
Ten, by God. Rosebud !
What s he say it is, Alfy ? called the bartender.
He says Rosebud, I say Paradise Moon. Turn her on.
The last notes of Paradise Moon blared from the loud-
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speaker, the saxophonist grimaced and backed off the screen.
The bartender winked admiringly at Alfy and turned down the
volume again.
Paul handed Aify the ten. Congratulations.
Alfy sat down in the booth without being invited. He looked
at the screen, blew smoke through his nose, and closed his eyes
re ectively. What you gure they re playing now ?
Paul decided to buckle down and get his money back. He
looked hard at the screen, and took his time. The whole orches-
tra was in view now, and, once he thought he d picked up the
thread of a melody, he looked from musician to musician for
con rmation. An old, old one, he said. Stardust.
For ten it s Stardust ?
For ten.
What is it, Alfy ? called the bartender.
Alfy jerked a thumb at Paul. This kid s fair. He says
Stardust, and I can see where he gets it. He s right about the
oIdy, but he picked the wrong one. Mood Indigo is the name.
He looked sympathetically at Paul. It s a tough one all right.
He snapped his ngers.
The bartender twisted the volume knob, and Mood Indigo
lled the air.
Wonderful! said Paul, and he turned to Finnerty for con-
rmation. Finnerty was lost in his own thoughts, and his lips
moved slightly, as though in an imaginary conversation. Despite
the noise and excitement of Alfy s performances, he apparently
hadn t noticed them.
A knack, said Alfy modestly. Like anything else: you
know, keep at it long enough, and you surprise yourself.
Couldn t tell you in real detail, you know how I did it. Gets
to be another sensewyou kind of feel it.
The bartender, the waitress, and several other bystanders had
fallen silent in order to hear Alfy s words.
Oh, there s some tricks, said Alfy. Watch the bass drum
quiver instead of what the guy s doing with the traps. Get the
basic beat that way. Lot of people watch the traps, see, and
the guy may be going off on a tangent. Things like that you
can learn. And, you gotta know instruments how they make
a high note, how they make a low one. But that ain t enough.
86 PLAYER PIANO
His voice took on a respectful, almost reverent tone. It s kind
of spooky what else it takes.
He does classical stuff too, said the bartender eagerly.
Oughta see him with the Boston Pops on Sunday nights.
Alfy ground out his cigarette impatiently. Yeah, yeah
cIassics, he said, frowning, mercilessly airing his inner doubts
about himself. Yeah, I was lucky last Sunday when you saw
me. But I ain t got the repertory for that. I m over my head,
and you can t pick up in the middie of the classics. And you
play hell building a repertory of that stuff, when you gotta wait
sometimes a year, two years, to see the thing twice. He rubbed
his eyes, as though remembering hours of concentration before
a video screen. You gotta see em plugged and plugged and
plugged. And all the time new ones and lots of em steals from
oldies.
Tough, eh ? said Paul.
Alfy raised his eyebrows. Yeah, it s tough like anything
else. Tough to be the best.
There s punks trying to break in, but they can t touch Alfy,
said the bartender.
They re good in their specialties usually the quick killings,
said Alfy. You know, the minute a new number s out, they try
and cash in on it before everybody s seen it. But none of em s
making a living at it, I ll tell you that. Got no repertory, and
that s what it takes to keep going day in, day out.
This is your living? said Paul. He hadn t succeeded in
keeping the sense of whimsey out of his voice, and quick resent-
ment was all about him.
Yeah, said Alfy coldly, this is my living. A buck here,
ten cents there
Twenty buckshere, said Paul; This seemed to soften most
of the expressions.
The bartender was anxious to maintain a friendly atmos-
phere. Alfy started out as a pool shark, eh, Alfy ? he said
briskly.
Yeah. But the eld s crowded. Maybe room for ten, twenty
guys going at it steady. There must of been a couple of hundred
of us trying to make a go of it with pool The Army and the
Reeks and Wrecks were on my tail, so I started looking around
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for something else. Funny, without thinking much about it, I d
been doing this since I was a kid. It s what I should of gone
into right from the rst. Reeks and Wrecks, he said Contemp-
tuously, apparently recalling how close he came to being drafted
into the R and R Corps. Army! He spat.
A couple of soldiers and a large number of men from the
Reeks and Wrecks heard him insult their organizations, and
they did nothing but nod, sharing his contempt.
Alfy looked at the screen. Baby, Dear Baby, Come Home
With Me Now, he said. A newy. He hurried to the bar to
study the movements of the band more closely. The bartender
rested his hand on the volume knob and watched anxiously for
Alfy s signals. Alfy would raise an eyebrow, and the bartender
would turn up the volume. It would be on for a few seconds,
Alfy would nod, and off it would go again.
What ll it be, boys ? said the waitress.
Hmmm 3 " said Paul, still fascinated by Alfy. Oh ~bourbon
and water. He was experimenting with his eyes, and nding
that they didn t work too Well
Irish and water, said Finnerty. Hungry.?
Yeah give us a couple of hard-boiled eggs please. Paul
felt wonderful, at one with the saloon, and, by extension, with
all humanity and the universe. He felt witty, and on the verge
of a splendid discovery. Then he remembered. Holy God!
Anita!
Where ?
At home waiting. Unsteadily, mumbling cheery greetings
to all he passed, Paul got to the telephone booth, which reeked
with a previous occupant s cigar smoke. He called home.
Look, Anita I won t be home for supper. Finnerty and I
got to talking, and
It s all right, dear. Shepherd told me not to wait."
Shepherd ?
Yes he saw you down there, and told me you didn t look
like a man on his way home.
When did you see him ?
He s here now. He came to apologize for last night. Every-
thing s all ironed out, and we re having a very nice time.
Oh? You accepted his apology ?
88 PLAYER PIANO
Let s say we arrived at an understanding. He s worried that
you ll turn in a bad report on him to Kroner, and I did every-
thing I could to make him think you were considering it seri
ously.
th Oh, now listen, I m not going to turn in any bad report on
at_
It s the way he plays. Fight re with re. I got him to agree
not to spread any more tales about you. Aren t you proud of
me ?
Yeah, sure.
Now you ve got to keep working on him, keep him wor-
tied.
Uh~huh.
Now, you just go ahead and have a good time. It does you
good to get away now and then.
l Ye53m'3,
And please try to get Finnerty to move out."
Yes m.
Do you think I nag you ?"
No m.
Paul! Would you like it if I didn t take an interest ?
( N0 m.
All right. You just go ahead and get drunk. It ll do you
good. Eat something, though. I love you.
I love you. He hung up, and turned to face the world
through the steamy window of the phone booth. Along with his
feeling of dizziness was a feeling of newness the feeling of
fresh, strong identity growing within him. It was a generalized
love particularly for the little people, the common people, God
bless them. All his life they had been hidden from him by the
walls of his ivory to Wer. Now, this night, he had come among
them, shared their hopes and disappointments, understood their
yearnings, discovered the beauty of their simplicities and their
earthy values. This was real, this side of the river, and Paul
loved these common people, and wanted to help, and let them
know they were loved and understood, and he wanted them to
love him too.
When he got back to the booth, two young women were sit-
ting with Finnerty, and Paul loved them instantly.
PLAYER PIANO 89
Paul I d like you to meet my cousin Agnes from Detroit,
said Finnerty He rested his hand on the knee of a fat and
determinediy cheerful redhead sitting next to him. And this,
he said, pointing across the table at a tall, homely brunette, is
your cousin Agnes.
How do you do, Agnes and Agnes.
Are you as crazy as he is 3 said the brunette suspiciously.
If you are, I m going home.
Good, clean, fun-loving American type, Paul is, said Fin-
nerty.
Tell me about yourself, said Paul expansively.
My name isn t Agnes, it s Barbara, said the brunette. And
she s Martha.
What ll it'be ? said the waitress.
Double Scotch and water, said Martha.
Same," said Barbara.
That li be four dollars for the ladies drinks, said the
waitress.
Paul handed her a ve.
Holy smokes! said Barbara, staring at the identi cation
card in Paul s billfold. This guy s an engineer!
You from across the river ? said Martha to Finnerty.
Deserters.
Both girls moved away, and with their backs against the wall
of the booth, they looked at Paul and Finnerty with puzzle-
ment. I ll be go to hell, said Martha at last. What you
want to talk about? I had algebra in high school.
We re just plain folks, said Paul.
What ll it be ? said the waitress,
Scotch, double, said Martha.
Same, said Barbara.
Come here, damn it, said Finnerty, pulling Martha to his
side again.
Barbara still kept her distance from Paul and looked at him
distastefully. What are you doing over here having a good
laugh at the dumb bunnies ?
I like it over here, said Paul earnestly.
You're making fun of me.
90 PLAYER PIANO
Honest, I m not at all. Did I say anything that sounded
like I was 2
You re thinking it, she said.
That ll be four dollars for the ladies drinks, said the
waitress.
Paul paid again. He didn t know what to say next to Bar
bara. He didn t want to make a pass at her. He simply wanted
her to be friendly and companionable, and to see that he wasn t
a stuffed shirt at all. Far from it.
They don t castrate you when they give you an engineering
degree, Finnerty was saying to Martha.
They might as well, said Martha. Some of the kids that
come over from across the river you d think they were.
After our time, said Finnerty. I meant they didn t use to.
To build up more of an atmosphere of intimacy, rapport, Paul
casually picked up one of the shot-glasses before Barbara and
sipped at it. It then dawned on him that the shots of expensive
Scotch, which had been arriving as though by bucket brigade,
were no more than brown water. Smooth, he said.
So what am I supposed to do, have a nervous breakdown ?"
said Barbara. Let me out.
No, please, that s all right. Just talk to me is all. I under-
stand.
What ll it be P said the waitress.
Scotch, double, with water, said Paul.
Trying to make me feel bad ?
I want you to feel good. If you need money, I want to
help. He meant it with all his heart.
Suit yourself, plunger, said Barbara. She looked restlessly
about the room.
Paul s eyelids grew heavier and heavier and heavier as he
tried to think of the phrase that would break the ice with Bar-
bara. He folded his arms on the table top and, for just an in-
stant s rest, he laid his head on them.
When he opened his eyes again, Finnerty was shaking him,
and Barbara and Martha had gone. Finnerty helped him out
onto the sidewalk for air.
The out of-doors was a nightmare of light and noise, and
Paul could see that some sort of torchlight parade was under
PLAYER PIANO 91
way. He burst into a cheer as he recognized Luke Lubbock, who
was being borne by in a sedan chair.
When Finnerty had established him back in the booth, a
speech, the nugget of the whole evening s nebulous impressions,
composed itself in Paul s mind, took on form and polish in-
spirationally, with no conscious effort on his part. He had only
to deliver it to make himself the new Messiah and Ilium the
new Eden. The rst line was at his lips, tearing at them to be
set free.
Paul struggled to stand on the bench, and from there he
managed to step to the stable. He held his hands over his head
for attention.
Friends, my friends l he cried. We must meet in the middle
of the bridge! The frail table suddenly lurched beneath him.
He heard the spiitting of wood, cheers, and again darkness.
The next voice was the bartender s. Come on-closing time.
Gotta lock up, said the bartender gently.
Paul sat up and groaned. His mouth was dry, and his head
ached. The table was gone from the booth, and there were only
cracked plaster and boltheads to show where it had once been
moored t0 the wall. '
The saloon seemed deserted, but the air was lled with a
painful clangor. Paul peered out of the booth and saw a man
mopping the oor. Finnerty sat at the player piano, savagely
improvising on the brassy, dissonant antique.
Paul shuf ed over to the piano and laid his hand on Fin-
nerty s shoulder. Let s go home.
Finnetty continued to lash at the keys. Staying l he shouted
above the music. Go home!
Where you going to stay ?
Then Paul saw Lasher, who sat unobtrusively in the shadows,
leaning against the wall in a chair. Lasher tapped his thick chest.
With me, he said with his lips.
Finnerty shook oi? Paul s hand and wouldn t answer.
O.K., said Paul fuzzily. So long.
He stumbled into the street and found his car. He paused for
a moment to listen to Finnerty s hellish music echoing from the
fagades of the sleeping town. The bartender stood respectfully
at a distance from the frenzied pianist, afraid to interrupt.
92 PLAYER PIANO
CHAPTER X
AFTER THE NIGHT with Finnerty and Lasher, and with
the good little people, Alfy, Luke Lubbock, the bartender, and
Martha and Barbara, Doctor Paul Proteus slept until late in the
afternoon. When he awoke, Anita was out of the house, and
with a dry mouth, burning eyes, and a stomach that felt as
though it were stuffed with cat fur, he went to his responsible
post in the Ilium Works.
The eyes of Doctor Katharine Finch, his secretary, were
bloodshot for another reason, a reason so all-consuming that
she took little note of the condition of Paul.
Doctor Kroner called, she said mechanically.
Oh? He wants me to call back ?
Doctor Shepherd took the message.
He did, eh? Anything else ?
The police P
Police? What did they want ?
Doctor Shepherd took the message.
AH right. Everything seemed hot and bright and sopori c.
He sat on the edge of her desk, and rested. Get Dog-Eat-Dog
on the phone.
That won t be necessary. He s in your of ce now.
Wondering bleakly what grievance or slight or infraction of
rules Shepherd wanted to see him about, Paul pushed open his
of ce door gingerly.
Shepherd sat at Paul s desk, absorbed in signing a stack of
reports. He didn t look up. Briskiy, his eyes stillon the papers,
he icked on the intercom set. Miss Finch
Yessir.
On this monthly security report: did Doctor Proteus tell you
how he planned to handle Finnerty s admission without escort
yesterday 3
I planned to keep my big mouth shut about it, said Paul.
Shepherd looked up with seeming pleasure and surprise.
Well, speak of the Devil. He made no move to get out of
Paul s chair. Say, he said with hearty camaraderie, I guess
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you were really hung over, eh, boy? Should have taken the whole
day off. I know my way around well enough to ll in for you.
Thanks
No trouble. There really isn t a heck of a. lot to the job.
I expected Katharine to watch over things for me, and call
for help if she needed it.
You know what Kroner would think of that. It doesn t take
a whole lot more troubie to do things right, Paul.
Do you mind telling me what Kroner wanted?
Oh, yes he wants to see you tonight instead of Thursday.
He s got to be in Washington tomorrow night, and for the
rest of the week.
Wonderful. And what s the good news from the police P
Shepherd laughed richly. Some foul-up. They were all ex-
cited about a pistol they found down by the river. They claimed
the serial numbers were for a gun checked out to you. I told
them to check againuthat no man who s bright enough to be
manager of the Ilium Works is dumb enough to ieave a pistol
around loose.
That s a nice tribute, Shep. Mind if I use my phone ?
Shepherd pushed the phone across the desk and went back to
signing: Lawson Shepherd, in absence of P. Proteus.
Did you tell him I had a hangover ?
Hell no, Paul. I covered up for you all right.
What did you say was wrong?"
Nerves.
Great! Katharine was getting Kroner s of ce on the line
for Paul.
Doctor Proteus in Ilium would like to speak to Doctor
Kroner. He s returning Doctor Kroner s cail, said Katharine.
It wasn t a day for judging proportions. Paul had been able
to take the disturbances of Kroner, Shepherd, and the police
with something bordering on apathy. Now, however, he found
himself enraged by the ceremony of of cial telephone etiquette
wtime-consuming pomp and circumstance lovingly preserved by
the rank-happy champions of efficiency.
Is Doctor Proteus on? said Kroner s secretary. Doctor
Kroner is in.
94 PLAYER PIANO
Just a moment, said Katharine. Doctor Proteus, Doctor
Kroner is in and will speak to you.
All right, I m 011.
Doctor Proteus is on the line, said Katharine.
Doctor Kroner, Doctor Proteus is on the line.
Tell him to go ahead, saiq Kroner.
Tell Doctor Proteus to go ahead, said Kroner s secretary.
Doctor Proteus, please go ahead, said Katharine.
This is Paul Proteus, Doctor Kroner. I m returning your
call. A little bell went tink tink tmk, letting him know his
conversation was being recorded.
Shepherd said yo d been having trouble with your nerves,
my boy.
Not quite right. A touch of some kind of virus.
Lot of that oating around. Well, do you feel well enough
to come over to my house tonight P"
Love it. Is there anything I should bring anything in par-
ticular you want to discuss ?
Like Pittsburgh ? said Shepherd in a stage whisper.
No, no, purely social, Paul just good talk is all. We haven t
had a good, friendly talk for a long while. Mom and I would
just like to see you socialwise.
Paul thought back. He hadn t been invited to Kroner s social-
wise for a year, since he d been sized up for his last raise.
Sounds like fun. What time ?
Eight, eight thirty.
And Anita s invited too P It was a mistake. It slipped out
without his thinking about it.
Of course! You never go anywhere socially without her,
do you P
Oh, no, sir.
I should hope not. He laughed perfunctorily. Well, good-
bye.
What did he say ? said Shepherd.
He said you had no damn business signing those reports for
me. He said Katharine Finch was to take off your name with
ink-eradicator at once.
Say, now just hold on, said Shepherd, standing.
Paul saw that all of the desk drawers were ajar. In the bottom
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PLAYER PIANO 95
drawer the neck of the empty whisky bottle was in plain view.
He slammed each of the drawers shut in quick succession. When
he came to the bottom one, he took out the bottle and held it
out to Shepherd. Here want this? Might be valuable some-
time. It s got my ngerprints all over it.
Are you going to get me canned is that it ? said Shepherd
eagerly. You want to make an issue of it in front of Kroner?
Let s go. I m ready any time. Let s see if you can make it stick.
Get down where you belong. Go on. Clear out of this o ice,
and don t come back unless I tell you to come back. Katharine !
Yes 3
If Doctor Shepherd comes in this of ce again without per
mission, you re to shoot him.
Shepherd slammed the door, railed against Paul to Katharine,
and left.
Doctor Proteus, the police are on the phone, said Katharine.
Paul stalked out of the of ce and went home.
It was the maid s day 0%, and Paul found Anita in the kitchen,
the picture, minus children, of domesticity.
The kitchen was, in a. manner of speaking, what Anita had
given of herself to the world. In planning it, she had experi-
enced all the anguish and hell re of creativity tortured by
doubts, cursing her limitations, at once hungry for and fearful
of the opinions of others. Now it was done and admired, and
the verdict of the community was: Anita was artistic.
It was a large, airy room, larger than most living rooms.
Rough~hewn rafters, taken from an antique barn, were held
against the ceiling by concealed bolts xed in the steel framing
of the house. The walls were wainscoted in pine, aged by sand-
blasting, and given a soft yellow patina of linseed oil.
A huge replace and Dutch oven of eldstone lled one wall.
Over them hung a long muzzle loading ri e, powder horn, and
bullet pouch. On the mantel were candle molds, a coffee mill, an
iron and trivet, and a rusty kettle. An iron cauldron, big enough
to boil a missionary in, swung at the end of a long arm in the
replace, and below it, like so many black offspring, were a
cluster of small pots. A wooden butter churn held the door open,
and clusters of Indian corn hung from the molding at aesthetic
intervals. A colonial scythe stood in one corner, and two Boston
96 PLAYER PIANO
rockers on a hooked rug faced the cold replace, where the
unwatched pot never boiled.
Paul narrowed his eyes, excluding everything from his eld
of vision but the colonial tableau, and imagined that he and
Anita had pushed this far into the upstate wilderness, with the
nearest neighbor twenty-eight miles away. She was making soap,
candles, and thick wool clothes for a hard winter ahead, and he,
if they weren t to starve, had to mold bullets and go shoot a
bear. Concentrating hard on the illusion, Paul was able to muster
a feeling of positive gratitude for Anita s presence, to thank
God for a woman at his side to help with the petrifying amount
of work involved in merely surviving. As, in his imagination,
he brought home a bear to Anita, and she cleaned it and salted
it away, he feit a tremendous lift-uthe two of them winning by
sinew and guts a mountain of strong, red meat from an inhos-
pitable world. And he would mold more bullets, and she would
make more candles and soap from the bear fat, until late at
night, when Paul and Anita would tumble down together on a
bundle of straw in the corner, dog-tired and sweaty, make love,
and sleep hard until the brittle-eold dawn. . . .
Urdlevurdle urdle, went the automatic washing machine.
Urdle urdle ur dull!
Reluctantly, Paul let his eld of vision widen to include the
other side of the room, where Anita sat on a ladder-back chair
before the cherry breakfront that concealed the laundry console.
The console had been rolled from the breakfront, whose fagade
of drawers and doors was one large piece, making the break-
front sort of a small garage for the laundry equipment. The
doors of a corner cabinet were open, revealing a television screen,
which Anita watched intently. A doctor was telling an old lady
that her grandson would probably be paralyzed from the waist
down for the rest of his life. .
Urdle mdle-urdle, went the console. Anita paid no atten
tion. Zm'ck. Bazz-wap! Chimes sounded. Still Anita ignored
it. "Azzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Froomp ! The top of the console popped
open, and a basket of dry laundry burst from' it like a great
Chrysanthemum, white, fragrant, and immaculate.
Hello, said Paul.
Anita motioned for him to be silent, and wait until the pro-
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gram was over, which meant the commercial too. All right,
She said at last and turned down the volume. Your blue suit
is laid out on the bed.
Oh? What for ?
What do you mean, what for? For going over to Kroner s.
How did you know that ?
Lawson Shepherd called to tell me.
Deuced nice of him.
Nice of someone to tell me what s going on, since you won t.
What else d he say ?
He supposed you and Finnerty must have had a wonderful
time, judging from how terrible you looked this afternoon.
He knows as much about it as I do.
Anita lit a cigarette, shook out the match with a ourish, and
squinted through the smoke she let out through her nose. Were
there girls, Paul?
In a manner of speaking. Martha and Barbara. Don't ask
me who had who.
Had ?
Sat with.
She hunched in the chair, looked out the window soberly, and
kept her cigarette hot with quick, shallow pu s, and her eyes
watered in the dramatic gusts from her nose. You don t have
to tell me about it, if you don t want to."
I won t, because I can t remember. He started to laugh.
One was called Barbara, and the other was called Martha, and
beyond that, as the saying goes, everything went black.
Then you don t know what happened? I mean, anything
could have happened ?
His smile withered. I mean everything really went black,
and nothing could have happened. I was clay curled up in a
booth.
And you remember nothing '5 "
I remember a man named Alfy, who makes his living as
a television shark, a man named Luke Lubbock, who can be
whatever his clothes are, a minister who gets a kick out of see
ing the world go to hell, and -
And Barbara and Martha.
And Barbara and Martha. And parades my God, parades.
98 PLAYER PIANO
Feel better 3 _
No. But you should, because I think anerty s found a new
home and a new friend.
Thank God for that. I want you to make it clear to Kroner
tonight that he forced himself on our hospitality, that we were
as upset by him as anyone was.
That isn t quite true.
Well then, keep it to yourself, if you like him so much.
She lifted the lid of the schoolmaster s desk, where she made
out the daily menus and compared her stubs with the bank state-
ments, and took from it three sheets of paper. I know you
think I m silly, but it s worth a little trouble to do things right,
Paul.
The papers contained some sort of an outline, with major
divisions set off by Roman numerals, and with sub-subwsub-sub-
sub-divisions as small as (a). At random, and with his headache
taking on new vitality, he chose item 111., A., 1., a.: DOn t
smoke. Kroner is trying to break the habit.
Maybe it would help to read it aloud, said Amta. ,
Maybe it d be be better if I read it alone, where there aren t
any distractions.
It took most of the afternoon."
I expect it did. It s the most thorough job you ve done yet.
Thanks, darling, I appreciate it.
I love you, Paul.
I love you, Anita.
Darling about Martha and Barbara
I promise you, I didn t touch them. _ n
I was going to ask, did anybody see you With them?
I guess they did, but nobody of any importance. Not Shep-
herd, certainly. ,
If it ever got back to Kroner, I don t know what Id do. He
might laugh off the drinking, but the women
I went to bed with Barbara, said Paul suddenly. . '
I thought you did. That s your affair. She was tiring of
the conversation, apparently, and she looked restwely at the
television screen. . . .
And Shepherd saw me coming downstairs Wlth her.
Paul I
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Joke.
She put her hand over her heart. Oh thank the Lord.
Summer Loves, said Paul, looking at the television screen
judiciously.
What s that?
The band they re playing, Summer Loves. He whistled
a few bars.
How can you tell, with the volume off ?
Go ahead, turn it up.
Apathetically, she turned the knob, and Summer Loves,
as sweet and indigestible as honey cake, oozed into the air.
Humming along With the orchestra, Paul went up the steps
to his bedroom, reading the outline as he went:
IV., A., I. If Kroner asks you why you want Pittsburgh,
say it is because you can be of greater service . . . a. Soft-
pedal bigger house and raise and prestige.
Fuzzily, Paul was beginning to see that he had made an ass
of himself in the eyes of those on both sides of the river. He
remembered his cry of the night before: "We must meet in the
middle of the bridge!" He decided that he would be about the
only one interested in the expedition, the only one who didn t
feel strangly about which bank he was on.
If his attempt to become the new Messiah had been success-
ful, if the inhabitants of the north and south banks had met in
the middle of the bridge with Paul between them, he wouldn t
have had the slightest idea of what to do next. He knew with
all his heart that the human situation was a frightful botch, but
it was such a logical, intelligently arrived at botch that he
couldn t see how history could possibly have led anywhere else.
Paul did a complicated sum in his mindhhis savings account
plus his securities plus his house plus his cars and wondered if
he didn t have enough to enable him simply to quit, to stop being
the instrument of any set of beliefs or any whim of history that
might raise hell with somebody s life. To live in a house by
the side of a road. . . .
IOO PLAYER PIANO
CHAPTER XI
THE SHAH OF BRATPUHR, looking as tiny and elegant
as a snuffbox in one end of the vast cavern, handed the Sumklish
bottle back to Khashdrahr Miasma. He sneezed, having left the
heat of summer above a moment before, and the sound chat-
tered along the walls to die whispering in bat roosts deep in
Carlsbad Caverns.
Doctor Ewing J. Halyard was making his thirty-seventh pil-
grimage to the subterranean jungle of steel, wire, and glass that
lled the chamber in which they stood, and thirty larger ones
beyond. This wonder was a regular stop on the tours Halyard
conducted for a bizarre variety of foreign potentates, whose
common denominator was that their people represented un
tapped markets for America s stupendous industrial output.
A rubber-wheeled electric car came to a stop by the elevator,
where the Shah s party stood, and an Army major, armed with
a pistol, dismounted and examined their credentials slowly, thor-
oughly.
Couldn t we speed this up a little, Major ? said Halyard.
We don t want to miss the ceremony.
Perhaps, said the major. But, as of cer of the day, I m
responsible for nine billion dollars worth of government prop-
erty, and if something should happen to it somebody might be
rather annoyed with me. The ceremony has been delayed, any-
way, so you won t miss anything. The President hasn t showed
up yet.
The major was satis ed at last, and the party boarded the
open vehicle.
Siki?" said the Shah.
This is EPICAC XIV, said Haiyard. It s an electronic .
computing. machine a brain, if you like. This chamber alone,
the smallest of the thirty one used, contains enough wire to
reach from here to the moon four times. There are more vacuum
tubes in the entire instrument than there were vacuum tubes in
the State of New York before World War II. He had recited
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PLAYER PIANO 101
these gures so often that he had no need for the descriptive
pamphlet that was passed out to visitors.
Khashdrahr told the Shah.
The Shah thought it over, snickered shyly, and Khashdrahr
joined him in the quiet, Oriental merriment.
Shah said, said Khashdrahr, people in his land sleep with
smart women and make good brains cheap. Save enough wire
to go to moon a thousand times.
Halyard chuckled appreciativeiy, as he was paid to do, wiped
aside the tears engendered by his ulcer, and explained that
cheap and easy brains were what was wrong with the world
in the bad old days, and that EPICAC XIV could consider
simultaneously hundreds or even thousands of sides of a ques-
tion utterly fairly, that EPICAC XIV was wholly free of
reason-muddying emotions, that EPICAC XIV never forgot
anything that, in short, EPICAC XIV was dead right about
everything. And Halyard added in his mind that the procedure
described by the Shah had been tried about a trillion times, and
had yet to produce a brain that could be relied upon to do the
right thing once out of a hundred opportunities.
They were passing the oldest section of the computer now,
what had been the whole of EPICAC I, but what was now
little more than an appendix or tonsil of EPICAC XIV. Yet,
EPICAC I had been intelligent enough, dispassionate enough,
retentive enough to convince men that he, rather than they, had
better do the planning for the war that was approaching with
stupifying certainty. The, ancient phrase used by generals testi-
fying before appropriation committees, all things considered,
was given some validity by the ruminations of EPICAC I, more
validity by EPICAC II, and so on, through the lengthening
series. EPICAC could consider the merits of high-explosive
bombs as opposed to atomic weapons for tactical support, and
keep in mind at the same time the availability of explOsives as
opposed to ssionable materials, the spacing of enemy foxholes,
the labor situation in the respective processing industries, the
probable mortality of planes in the face of enemy antiaircraft
technology, and on and on, if it seemed at all important, to the
number of cigarettes and Cocoanut Mound Bars and Silver
Stars required to support a high-morale air force. Given the
102 PLAYER PIANO
facts by human beings, the war-bom EPICAC series had of-
fered the highly informed guidance that the reasonable, truth-
loving, brilliant, and highly trained core of American genius
could have delivered had they had inspired leadership, boundless
resources, and two thousand years.
Through the war, and through the postwar years to the pres-
ent, EPICAC S nervous system had been extended outward
through Carlsbad Caverns intelligence bought by the foot and
pound and kilowatt. With each addition, a new, unique individ
ual had been born, and now Halyard, the Shah, and Khashdrahr
were arriving at the bunting covered platform, where the Presi-
dent of the United States of America, Jonathan Lynn, would
dedicate to a happier, more ef cient tomorrow, EPICAC XIV.
The trio sat down on folding chairs and waited quietly with
the rest of the distinguished company. Whenever there was a
break in the group s whispering, EPICAC S hummings and
clickings could be heardm-the sounds attendant to the ow of
electrons, now augmenting one another, now blocking, shuttling
through a maze of electromagnetic crises to a condition that was
translatable from electrical qualities and quantities to a high
grade of truth.
EPICAC XIV, though undedicated, was already at work,
deciding how many refrigerators, how many lamps, how many
turbine generators, how many hub caps, how many dinner plates,
how many door knobs, how many rubber heels, how many tele
vision sets, how many pinochle decks how many everything
America and her customers could have and how much they
would cost. "And it was EPICAC XIV who would decide for
the coming years how many engineers and managers and re-
search men and civil servants, and of what skills, would be
needed in order to deliver the goods; and what IQ. and apti-
tude levels would separate the useful men from the useless ones,
and how many Reconstruction and Reclamation Corps men and
how many soldiers could be supported at what pay level and
where, and . . .
Ladies and Gentlemen, said the television announcer, "the
President of the United States.
The electric car pulled up to the platform, and President
Jonathan Lynn, born Alfred Planck, stood and showed his white
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teeth and frank gray eyes, squared his broad shoulders, and ran
his strong, tanned hands through his curly hair. The television
cameras dollied and panned about him like curious, friendly
dinosaurs, snif ng and peering. Lynn was boyish, tall, beautiful,
and disarming, and, Halyard thought bitterly, he had gone di-
rectly from a three-hour televisiori program to the White House.
Is this man the spiritual leader of the American people P
asked Khashdrahr.
Halyard explained the separation of Church and State, and
met, as he had expected to meet, with the Shah s usual disbelief
and intimations that he, Halyard, hadn t understood the ques-
tion at all.
The President, with an endearing, adolescent combination of
brashness and shyness, and with the barest trace of a Western
drawl, was now reading aloud a speech someone had written
about EPICAC XIV. He made it clear that he wasn t any sci-
entist, but just plain folks, standing here, humble before this
great new wonder of the world, and that he was here because
American plain folks had chosen him to represent them at occa-
sions like this, and that, looking at this modern miracle, he was
overcome with a feeling of deep reverence and humility and
gratitude . . .
Halyard yawned, and was annoyed to think that Lynn, who
had just read order out of chaos as order out of koze.
made three times as much money as he did. Lynn, or, as Halyard
preferred to think of him, Planck, hadn t even nished high
school, and Halyard had known smarter Irish setters. Yet, here
the son of a bitch was, elected to more than a hundred thou
sand bucks a year!
You mean to say that this man governs without respect to
the people s spiritual destinies P whispered Khashdrahr.
He has no religious duties, except very general ones, token
ones, said Halyard, and then he started wondering just what
the hell Lynn did do. EPICAC XIV and the National Indus-
trial, Commercial, Communications, Foodstuffs, and Resources
Board did all the planning, did all the heavy thinking. And
the personnel machines saw to it that all governmental jobs
of any consequence were lled by topmotch civil servants. The
more Halyard thought about Lvnn s fat pay check, the madder
104 PLAYER PIANO
he got, because all the gorgeous dummy had to do was read
whatever was handed to him on state occasions: to be suitably
awed and reverent, as he said, for all the ordinary, stupid
people who d elected him to of ce, to run wisdom from some-
where else through that resonant voicebox and between those
even, pearly choppers.
And Halyard suddenly realized that, just as religion and
government had been split into disparate entities centuries be-
fore, now, thanks to the machines, politics and government lived
side by side, but touched almost nowhere. He stared at Presi
dent Jonathan Lynn and imagined with horror what the country
must have been like when, as today, any damn fool little Amer-
ican boy might grow up to be President, but when the President
had had to actually run the country!
President Lynn was explaining what EPICAC XIV would
do for the millions of plain folks, and Khashdrahr was trans-
lating for the Shah. Lynn declared that EPICAC XIV was, in
effect, the greatest individual in history, that the wisest man
that had ever lived was to EPICAC XIV as a worm was to
that wisest man.
For the rst time the Shah of Bratpuhr seemed really im-
pressed, even startled. He hadn t thought much of EPICAC
XIV s physical size, but the comparison of the worm and the
wise man struck home. He looked about himself apprehensively,
as though the tubes and meters on all sides were watching every
move.
The speech was over, and the applause was dying, and Doctor
Halyard brought the Shah to meet the President, and the tele
vision cameras nuzzled about them.
The President is now shaking hands with the Shah of Brat-
puhr, said the announcer. Perhaps the Shah will give us the
fresh impressions of a visitor from another part of the world,
from another way of life.
Altman Khabou pillan? said the Shah uncertainly.
He wonders if he might ask a question, said Khashdrahr. 7
Sure, you bet," said the President engagingly. If I don t
know the the answers, I can get them for you.
Unexpectedly, the Shah turned his back to the President and
walked alone, slowly, to a deserted part of the platform.
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Wha d I do wrong P said Lynn.
Sssshl said Khashdrahr ercely, and he placed himself,
like a guard, between the puzzled crowd and the Shah.
The Shah dropped to his knees 0n the platform and raised
his hands over his head. The small, brown man suddenly seemed
to ll the entire cavern with his mysterious, radiant dignity,
alone there on the platform, communing with a presence no one
else could sense.
We seem to be witnessing some sort of religious rite, said
the announcer.
Can t you keep your big mouth shut for ve seconds ? said
Halyard.
Quiet! said Khashdrahr.
The Shah turned to a glowing bank of EPICAC s tubes and
cried in a piping singsong voice:
"Aliakahi balm billa,
Moumi a fella nam;
Semm (mm lm,
Towel serin (1 mm.
The crazy bastard s talking to the machine, whispered
Lynn.
Ssssh! said Halyard, strangely moved by the scene.
, Siki? cried the Shah. He cocked his head, listening. Siki?
The word echoed and died lonely, lost.
Mmmmmm, said EPICAC softly. "Dit, dit. Mmmmm.
Dit.
The Shah sighed and stood, and shook his head sadly, terri-
bly let down. Nibo, he murmured. Nibo.
What s he say ? said the President.
" Nt'bo -. nothing. He asked the machine a question, and
the machine didn t answer, said Halyard. Nibo.
Nuttiest thing I ever heard of, said the President. You
have to punch out the questions on that thingamajig, and the
answers come out on tape from the whatehamacallits. You can t
just talk to it. A doubt crossed his ne face. "I mean, you
can t, can you ?
No sir, said the chief engineer of the project. As you say,
not without the thingamajigs and whatehamacallits.
106 PLAYER PIANO
What d he say 3 said Lynn, catching Khashdrahr s sleeve.
An ancient riddle, said Khashdrahr, and it was plain that
he didn t want to go on, that something sacred was involved.
But he was also a polite man, and the inquiring eyes of the
crowd demanded more of an explanation. Our people believe,
he said shyly, that a great, all wise god will come among us
one day, and we shall know him, for he shall be able to answer
the riddle, which EPICAC could not answer. When he comes,
said Khashdrahr simply, there will be no more suffering on
earth.
All-wise god, eh P said Lynn. He licked his lips and patted
down his unruly forelock. How s the riddle go ?
Khashdrahr recited:
Silver bells shall light my way,
And nine times nine maidens ll my day,
And mountain lakes will sink from sight,
And tigers' teeth will ll the nigh .
President Lynn squinted at the cavern roof thoughtfully.
Mmm. Silver bells, eh ? He shook his head. That s a stinker,
you know? A real stinker. I give up.
I m not surprised, said Khashdrahr. I m not surprised. I
expect you do.
Halyard helped the Shah, who seemed to have been aged and
exhausted by the emotional ordeal, into the electric car.
As they rode to the foot of the elevator, the Shah came back
to life somewhat and curled his lip at the array of electronics
about them. Baku! he said.
That s a new one on me, said Halyard to Khashdrahr,
feeling warmly toward the little interpreter, who had squared
away Jonathan Lynn so beautifully. What's Baku?
Little mud and straw gures made by the Sutrasi, a small
in del tribe in the Shah s land.
This looks like mud and straw to him P
He was using it in the broader sense, I think, of false god.
Um, said Halyard. Well, how are the Surrasi doing ?
They all died of cholera last spring. He added after a
moment, Of course. He shrugged, as though to ask what else
people like that could possibly expect. Baku.
PLAYER PIANO 107
CHAPTER XII
THE KRONER HOME, just outside Albany, was a Victorian
mansion, perfectly restored and maintained down to the ligree
along the eaves, and the iron spikes along the roof peak. The
archprophet of efficiency, Kroner, preferred it to the gracile,
wipe-clean with-a-damp cloth steel and glass machines almost
all of the engineers and managers lived in. Though Kroner had
never accounted for his having bought the placeubeyond saying
that he liked lots of room it was so in keeping with him that
no one gave the anachronism more than passing thought.
A portrait painter had sensed the rightness of the setting,
with no clues other than Kroner s face. The painter had been
commissioned to do portraits of all the district managers. He
did them from photographs, since the managers were too busy
- or prudently claimed to be to sit. Intuiti'vely, the painter had
depicted Kroner in a red plush chair, with a massive wedding
ring prominently displayed, and with a background of heavy
velvet drapes.
The mansion was one more af rmation of Kroner s belief
that nothing of value changed; that what was once true is al-
ways true; that truths were few and simple; and that a man
needed no knowledge beyond these truths to deal wisely and
justly with any problem whatsoever.
Come in, rumbled Kroner gently, answering the door him
self. He seemed to ll the whole house with his slow strength
and rock bound calm. He was as informal as he ever became,
having replaced his double-breasted suit coat with a single-
breasted one of a slightly lighter shade and With suede patches
at the elbows. The coat, he explained to visitors, was something
his wife had given him years ago, something which he d only
recently mustered nerve enough to wear.
I love your house more every time I see it, said Anita.
You must tell Janice that. Janice was Mrs. Kroner, who
smiled sweetly from the living room. She was a fat repository
of truisms, adages, and homilies, and was usually addressed
by the young engineers and managers as Mom.
108 PLAYER PIANO
Mom, Paul recalled, had never liked that Finnerty boy, who
would never call her Mom nor con de in her. Once, after she d
prodded him to unburden himself and feel better, he d rather
testily told her that he d already fled one mother. Paul she liked,
because Paul, as a youngster, had con ded in her now and then.
He would never do it again, but his demeanor before her con-
veyed that his failure to con de recently wasn t due to revul-
sion, but to a lack of problems.
Hello, Mom, said Paul.
Hello, Mom, said Anita.
You children take a load off your feet, said Mom. Now
just tell me all about yourselves.
Well, we ve redone the kitchen," said Anita.
Mom was thrilled, eager for details.
Kroner hung his huge head, as though listening intently t0
the small talk, or, more likely, Paul thought, counting away the
secouds before it would be polite to separate the men and women
a custom of the house.
As Anita paused for breath, Kroner stood, beamed, and sug-
gested that Paul come into his study to see the guns. It was
the same gambit every time the men were to see the guns.
Years ago, Anita had made the mistake of saying she was in-
terested in guns, too. Kroner had politely told her that his
weren t the kind women liked.
Mom s response was always the same, too: Oh guns nI hate
them. I can t see why men want to go around shooting sweet
little animals.
The fact was, Kroner never red his guns. His pleasure
seemed to be in owning and handling them. He also used them
for props, to give an air of informality to his man-to man talks.
He announced raises and promotions, demotions and rings,
and praised or warned, always in seemingly casual asides made
while swabbing a bore.
Paul followed him into the dark-paneled study, and waited
for him to choose his weapon from the gunrack that lled one
wall. Kroner ran his index nger along the collection, like a
stick along a picket fence. It had been a matter of speculation
among Kroner s underlings as to whether there was any sig-
ni cance in the guns he chose for a particular discussion. For
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PLAYER PIANO 109
a while the rumor was current that shotguns were bad news,
ri es were good news. But it hadn t withstood the test of time.
Kroner nally chose a ten-gauge shotgun, broke open the breach,
and squinted through the bore at a streetlight outside.
Wouldn t dare shoot modern ammunition in this one, said
Kroner. Twist barrelw-thing d go all to pieces. But look at
that inlay work, Paul.
Beautiful. Priceless.
Some man spent maybe two years on it. Time didn t mean
anything in those days. The industrial dark ages, Paul.
Yessir.
He selected a cleaning rod and lined up on his desk top a
can of oil, a jar of grease, and several cloth patches. Got to
keep after a bore, or it ll pit on you just like that. He snapped
his ngers. He oiled a patch, twisted it about the tip of the
cleaning rod. Especially in this climate.
Yessir. Paul started to light a cigarette, and then remem-
bered Anita s warning in the outline.
Kroner drove the cleaning rod downward. Where s Ed Fin-
nerty, by the way ?
Don t know, sir.
Police are looking for him.
Really?
Kroner slid the patch back and forth and didn t look at Paul.
Uh-huh. Now that he s out of a job, he s got to register with
the police, and he hasn t.
I left him downtown in Homestead last night.
I know that. I thought maybe you knew where he went.
Kroner had a habit of saying-he already knew what he d just
been told. Paul was sure the old man didn t really know any-
thing about the night before. I haven t any idea. He didn t
want to make trouble for anyone. Let the police nd out that
Finnerty was with Lasher, if they could.
Umm hmmm. See that pit right there ? He held the muzzle
of the gun a few inches from Paul s face and pointed out a
tiny aw. That s what happens if you let a bore go for even
a month. They ll run right away with you.
Yessir.
He isn t to be trusted any more, Paul. He isn t right in his
I10 PLAYER PIANO
head, and it wouldn t do to take chances with him, would it ?
Nossir.
Kroner dabbed at the pit with the corner of a patch. I sup
posed you saw it that way. That s why it s a little dif cult for
me to understand why you let him wander around the plant
unescorted.
Paul reddened. No words came.
Or why you d let him have your gun. He isn t authorized
for rearms any more, you know. Yet they tell me they found
your pistol covered with his ngerprints.
Before Paul could order his thoughts, Kroner clapped him
on his knee and laughed like Santa Claus. I m so sure you ve
got a good explanation, I don t even want to hear it. Got a lot
of faith in you, my boy. Don t want to see you get into any
trouble. Now that your father s gone, I feel it s sort of up to
me to watch out for you.
That s nice of you, sir.
Kroner turned his back to Paul, assumed a ready stance with
the shotgun, and picked 05 an imaginary bird ushed from be-
hind the desk. Kaplowie! He ejected an imaginary shell.
These are dangerous times -more dangerous than you d sus-
pect from the surface. Kaplowie! But it s also the Golden Age,
isn t it, Paul?
Paul nodded.
Kroner turned to look at him. I said, isn t this the Golden
Age ?
Yessir. I nodded.
Pull! said Kroner, apparently imagining clay pigeons now.
Kaboom! There have always been doubters, criers of doom,
stoppers of progress.
Yessir. About Finnerty and the pistol, In
Behind us now, forgotten, said Kroner impatiently. The
slate is clean. As I was about to say, look where we are now,
because men went right ahead and took forward steps with
stout hearts, in spite of the people telling them not to.
Yessir.
Kaplowie! Some men try to make light of what we re doing,
what men like your father did, by saying it s just gadgeteering,
blind tinkering. It s more than that, Paul.
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Paul leaned forward, eager to hear what this extra quality
might be. He d felt for some time that everyone else in the
system must be seeing something he was missing. Perhaps this
was it, perhaps the beginning of an overwhelming fervor like
his father s.
It s a sight more than gadgeteering, I ll tell you, Paul.
Yessir ?
It s strength and faith and determination. Our job is to
open new doors at the head of the procession of civilization.
That s what the engineer, the manager does. There is no higher
calling.
Dejectediy, Paul let his spine sag back in the chair.
Kroner put a fresh patch on the cleaning rod and began
swabbing the bore again. Paul Pittsburgh is still open. The
eld has been narrowed down to two men.
It was somewhat startling that he said it just that way, the
way Anita had said he would. He wondered what it was she
thought he should say in response. He d never given her a
chance to say, and hadn t read the outline. It s a wonderful
chance to be of real service, he said. He supposed that was
pretty close to what she had in mind.
Paul felt lightheaded, having borrowed Anita s thoughts for
want of enthusiasm of his own. He was being offered the Pitts-
burgh job, lots more money, and, since he would have risen so
high with the greater portion of his Iife still ahead, the assur-
ance that he would almost certainly go clear to the top. The
moment of his arrival at this point of immense good fortune
was curiously bland. He had known it was coming for a long
time. Kroner had wanted it for him and had come close to
promising it to him often always in the name of his father.
When advances had come, as now, there had been a vestigal
sort of ritual of surprise and congratulation, as though Paul,
like his ancestors, had arrived by cunning, tenacity, and God s
will or the Devil s laxness.
It s a tough decision, Paul, between you and Fred Garth.
Garth was a much older man, nearly Kroner s age, manager
of the Buffalo Works. Frankly, Garth hasn t got your technical
imagination, Paul. As a manager he s excellent, but if it wasn t
for prodding, the Buffalo Works would be just as it was when
PLAYER PIANO
he took over ve years ago. But he s steady and reliable, Paul,
and there s never been any question that he was one of us,
that he put progress and the system ahead of his own interests.
Garth s a ne man, said Paul. Garth was, too: four-square,
desperate to please, and he seemed to have an anthropomorphic
image of the corporate personality. Garth stood in relation to
that image as a lover, and Paul wondered if this prevalent type
of relationship had ever been given the consideration it de-
served by sexologists. On second thought, he supposed that it
hadwthe general phenomenon of a lover s devotion to the un-
seen in studies of nuns symbolic marriages to Christ. At any
rate, Paul had seen Garth at various stages of his love a air,
unable to eat for anxiety, on a manic crest, moved to maudlin
near-crying at recollections of the a air s tender beginnings. In
short, Garth suffered all the emotional hazards of a perennial
game of she~loves-me, she loves-me-not. To carry out directions
from above «an irritating business for Paul was, for Garth,
a favor to please a lady. I d like to see him get the job.
I d like to see you get the job, Paul. Kroner s expression
indicated that the mention of Garth had been so much Window
dressing. You ve got imagination and spirit and ability
Thank you, sir.
Let me nish. Imagination, spirit, and ability, and, for all
I know, I may be completely wrong in calling your loyalty into
question.
Loyalty ?
Kroner laid the shotgun aside and pulled up a chair to face
Paul s. He laid his big hands on Paul s knees and lowered his
thick brows. The situation had the quality of a séance, with
Kroner as the medium. Again, as he had felt when Kroner took
his hand at the Country Club, Paul felt his strength and will
dwarfed by the old man. Paul, I want you to tell me what s
on your mind.
The hands on his knees tightened. Paul struggled resentfully
against the urge to pour his heart out to this merciful, wise,
gentle father. But his sullenness decayed. Paul began to talk.
His formleSS misgivings and disquiet of a week before, he
realized, had shape now. The raw material of his discontent was
now cast in another man s molds. He was saying what Lasher
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PLAYER PIANO 113
had said the night before, talking about the spiritual disaster
across the river, about the threat of revolution, about the hier
archy that was a nightmare to most. The way he phrased it,
it wasn t a condemnation, it was a ,plea for refutation.
Kroner, his hands still on Paul s knees, hung his head lower
and lower.
Paul came to the end, and Kroner stood and turned his back
to stare out of the window. The spell was stiil in force, and
Paul looked expectantly at the broad back, waiting for wisdom.
Kroner turned suddenly. So you re against us.
I didn t mean to say that, certainly. They re questions that
deserve some sort of anerer.
Keep to your own side of the river, Paul! Your job is man-
agement and engineering. I don t know what the answers are
to Lasher s questions. I do know that it s far easier to ask ques-
tions than to answer them. I know that there have always been
questions, and men like Lasher ready to make trouble by ask
ing them.
You know about Lasher ? Paul hadn t mentioned his name.
Yes, I ve known about him for quite some time. And, as
of this noon, I know what you and Lasher and Finnerty were
up to last night. He looked sad. As district industrial secur-
ity of cer, there isn t much I don t know, Paul. And sometimes,
like now, I wish I didn t know so much.
And Pittsburgh?
I still think you re the man for the job. I m going to pre-
tend that you didn t do last night what you did, didn t say just
now what you said. I don t believe it came from your heart.
Paul was amazed. By some freakish circumstance he d ap-
parently clinched the job after having arrived with the vague
intention of disqualifying himself.
This is the main stretch, Paul. Now it s all up to you.
I could go on the wagon, I suppose.
It s a little more complicated than that, I m afraid. In a
very short while you managed to pile up a fairly impressive
police dossier: the pistol, letting Finnerty into the plant, last
night s indiscretions and, well, I ve got to be able to explain it
all away to the satisfaction of Headquarters. You could go to
prison, you know.
1:4 PLAYER PIANO
Paul laughed nervously.
I want to be able to say, Paul, that you were doing special
security work for me, and I d like to prove it.
I see. Paul didn t.
You ll agree that both Lasher and Finnerty are dangerous
men, potential saboteurs who should be put where they can t
do any harm. He took the shotgun down from the rack again
and distorted his face as he cleaned around the ejector with a
toothpick. So, he said after a few moments of silence, I ll
want you to testify that they tried to get you into a plot to
sabotage the Ilium Works.
The door ew open, and Baer came in, grinning. Congratw
lations, my boy. Congratulations. Wonderful, wonderful, won-
derful.
Congratulations 2 said Paul.
Pittsburgh, my boy, Pittsburgh!
It hasn t quite been settled, said Kroner.
But you said yesterday
A little something s come up since then. Kroner winked
at Paul. Nothing very serious, though, eh, Paul? A little
hurdle.
Um, oh, I see, uh huh; a hurdle, a hurdle. I see. Um.
Paul was shaken and confused by what had just happened to
him, and he hid his lack of composure behind a vacuous smile.
He wondered if Baer had come in on cue. '
Paul here had some questions, said Kroner.
Questions? Questions, my boy?
He wanted to know if we weren t doing something bad in
the name of progress.
Baer sat on the desk and began taking kinks out of the tele-
phone cord. He was thinking very hard, and from the man s
expression Paul could only conclude that the question had never
come to Baer s attention before. Now that it had, he was giv«
ing it his earnest consideration. Is progress bad? Uh~huh~
good question. He looked up from the cord. I don t know,
don t know. Maybe progress is bad, eh ?
Kroner looked at him with surprise. Look, you know darn
good and well history s answered the question a thousand times.
It has? Has it? You know; I wouldn t. Answered it a
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PLAYER PIANO 115
thousand times, has it? That s good, good. All I know is, you ve
got to act like it has, or you might as well throw in the towel.
Don t know, my boy. Guess I should, but I don t. Just do my
job. Maybe that s wrong.
It was Kroner s turn to be dismayed. Well, what say to
a refresher P he said briskly.
I say yes to a refresher, said Paul gratefully.
Kroner chuckled. There, there; it wasn t so rough, now
was it?
Nope.
That s my boy. Chin up.
As Baer, Paul, and Kroner led into the living room, Mom
was telling Anita sadly that it took all kinds of people to make
a world.
I just want to make sure everybody understands he invited
himself, said Anita. Mom, there wasn t a thing we could do
about it.
Kroner dusted his hands. Well, what say to a pickwme-up ?
Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, said 3361'.
Did you men have a good time with those awful gun ? said
Mom, wrlnkling her nose.
Swell, Mom, said Paul.
Anita caught Paul s eyes, and raised her brows uesti in 1
Paul nodded slightly. q on g y.
She smiled and lay back in her chair, exhausted, satis ed.
Mom handed out small glasses of port, while Kroner tinkered
with the phonograph. Where is it P he said.
Now, now right where it always is, on the turntable
said Mom. ,
Oh yes here it is. I thought maybe somebody else had been
playing something since I used it.
No. Nobody s been near the phonograph since last night.
Kroner held the tone arm over the spinning record; This is
for you, Paul. When I said piek-me-up I really had this in
mind more than the wine. This is meat for the spirit. This can
pull me out of a slump like nothing I can think of.
I gave it to him last month, and I can t think of anything
that s ever pleased him as much, said Mom.
S
__
116 PLAYER PIANO
Kroner lowered the needle into the groove and hurried to a
chair and covered his eyes before the music began.
The volume was turned way up, and suddenly the loudspeaker
howled:
"Ooooooooooooh, give me some men, who are stout-hearted
men, who will ght for the right they adore .
Paul looked around the room. Kroner was clumping his feet
up and down and jerking his head from side to side. Mom was
jerking her head too, and so were Baer and Anita - Anita more
violently than any of them.
Paul sighed, and began to jerk his head, too.
Shoulder to shoulder, and bolder and bolder, they grow a:
they go to the fore! Ooooooooooooh . . .
CHAPTER XHI
LYING ABED AFTER the stout-hearted men s evening at
the Kroner s, Doctor Paul Proteus, son of a successful man,
himself rich with prospects of being richer, counted his material
blessings. He found that he was in excellent shape to afford
integrity. He was worth, without having to work another day
in his life, almost three quarters of a million dollars.
For once, his dissatisfaction with his life was speci c. He
was reacting to an outrage that would be regarded as such by
almost any man in any period in history. He had been told to
turn informer on his friend, Ed Finnerty. This was about as
basic as an attack on integrity could be, and Paul received it
with the same sort of relief that was felt when the rst shots
of the last war were red after decades of tension.
Now he could damn well lose his temper and quit.
Anita slept utterly satis ed, not so much by Paul as by the
social orgasm of, after years of the system s love play, being
offered Pittsburgh.
She had delivered a monologue on the way home from A1-
banyna recitation that might have come from Shepherd. She d
reviewed Paul s career from the instant of their marriage on-
ward, and Paul was surprised to learn that his path was strewn
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PLAYER PIANO 117
with bodies men who had tried to best him, only to be chag
rined and ruined.
She made the carnage so vivid that he was obliged for a
moment to abandon his own thoughts, to see if there was the
slightest truth in what she was saying. He Went over the Scalps
she was counting one by one men who had competed with him
for this job or that and found that they all had done well for
themselves and were quite unbroken either nancially or in
spirit. But to Anita they were dead men, shot squarely between
the eyes, and good riddance of bad rubbish.
Paul hadn t told Anita the conditions he would have to meet
before he could have Pittsburgh. And he didn t intimate that
he was going to do anything but take the job proudly, joyfully.
Now, lying beside her, he congratulated himself on his calm,
on his being wily for the rst time in his life, really. He wasn t
going to tell Anita that he was quitting for a long time, not
until she was ready. He would subtly re educate her to a new
set of values, and then quit. Otherwise the shock of being the
wife of a nobody might do tragic things. The only grounds on
which she met the world were those of her husband s rank.
If he were to lose the rank it was frighteningly possible that
she would lose touch with the world altogether, or, worse for
Paul, leave him.
And Paul didn t want either of those things to happen. She
was what fate had given him to love, and he did his best to
love her. He knew her too well for her conceits to be offensive
most of the time, to be anything but pathetic.
She was also more of a source of courage than he cared to
admit.
She also had a sexual genius that gave Paul his one un-
quali ed enthusiasm in life.
And Anita had also made possible, by her dogged attention
to details, the luxury of his detached, variously amused or
cynical outlook on life.
She was also all he had.
A vague panic welled up cold in his chest, driving away
drowsiness when he would most have welcomed it. He began
to see that he, too, would be in for a shock. He felt oddly dis-
embodied, an insubstantial wisp, nothingness, a man who de-
1:8 PLAYER PIANO
clined to be any more. Suddenly understanding that he, like
Anita, was little more than his station in life, he threw his arms
around his sleeping wife, and laid his head on the breast of
his fellow wraith-to-be.
Mmmmm ? said Anita. Mmmmmmm ?
Anita
Mmm?
Anita, I love you. The compulsion was upon him to tell
her everything, to mingle his consciousness with hers. But as
he momentarily raised his head from the drugging warmth and
fragrance of her bosom, cool, fresh air from the Adirondacks
bathed his face, and wisdom returned. He said nothing more
to her.
I love you, Paul, she murmured.
CHAPTER XIV
DOCTOR PAUL PROTEUS was a man with a secret. Most
of the time it was an exhilarating secret, and he extracted mo-
mentary highs of joy from it while dealing with fellow_mem-
bers of the system in the course of his job. At the beginnihg
and close of each item of business he thought, To hell With
on.
y It was to hell with them, to hell with everything. This seeret
detachment gave him a delightful sense of all the world s being
a stage. Waiting until the time when he and Anita would be
in mental shape to quit and start a better life, Paul acted out
his role as manager of the Ilium Works. Outwardly, as man-
ager, he was unchanged; but inwardly he was burlesqulng
smaller, less free souls who would have taken the job seriously.
He had never been a reading man, but now he was develop-
ing an appetite for novels wherein the hero lived vigorously
and out of doors, dealing directly with nature, dependent upon
basic cunning and physical strength for survival woodsmen,
sailors, cattlernen. . . .
He read of these heroes with a half smile on his lips. He
knew his enjoyment of them was in a measure childish, and
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PLAYER PIANO 119
he doubted that a life could ever be as clean, hearty, and satis-
tying as those in the books. Still and all, there was a basic truth
underlying the tales, a primitive ideal to which he could aspire.
He wanted to deal, not with society, but only with Earth as
God had given it to man.
Is that a good book, Doctor Proteus ? said Doctor Kath-
arine Finch, his secretary. She d come into his of ce carrying
a large gray cardboard box.
Oh-hello, Katharine. He laid the book down with a smile.
Not great literature; I ll promise you that. Pleasant relaxation
is all. All about bargemen on the old Erie Ship Canal. He
tapped the broad, naked chest of the hero on the book jacket.
"Don t make men like that any more. Well, what s in the box?
That for me ?
It s your shirts. They just came by mail.
Shirts P
For the Meadows.
Oh, those things. Open them up. What coIor are they ?
Blue. You re on the Blue Team this year. She laid the
shirts on the desk.
Oh, no! Paul stood and held one of the deep blue T~shirts
at arm s length. Dear God in heaven no! Across the chest
of each of the shirts, in blazing gold letters, was the word
Captain. Katharine, they can t do this to me.
It s an honor, isn t it P
Honor ! He exhaled noisily and shook his head. For four-
teen days, Katharine, 1, Queen of the May and captain of the
Blue Team, am going to have to lead my men in group singing,
marches, greased-pole climbing, volley ball, horseshoes, soft
bail, golf ball driving, badminton, trapshooting, capture the
ag, Indian wrestling, touch football, shuf eboard, and trying
to throw the other captains into the lake. Agh I
Doctor Shepherd was very pleased.
He always has been fond of me.
No I mean he was pleased about being a captain himself."
Oh? Shepherd is a captain ? Paul s raised eyebrows were
part of an old re ex, the wary reaction of a man Who has been
in the system for a good many years. Being chosen to captain
one of the four teams was an honor, if a man gave a damn
Ah.
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120 PLAYER PIANO
about such things. It was a way the higher brass had of show
ing favor, and, politically, Shepherd s having been choseh a
captain was a striking business. Shepherd had always been a
nobody at the Meadows, whose chief fame was as a pretty fair
softball pitcher. Now, suddenly, he was a captain. Which
team ?
Green. His shirts are on my desk. Green with orange letter
ing. Very vivid.
Green, eh? Well, if one cared about such things, Green
was the lowest in the unof cial hierarchy of teams. It was one
of those things that was understood without anyone s saying
anything about it. Having looked this far into the piddling
matter, Paul congratulated himself for having been named
captain of the Blue, which, again, everybody seemed to feel
was the team with the most tone. Not that it made any differ-
ence at all any more. Made none. Silly. To hell with it.
They certainly give you enough shirts, said Katharine,
counting. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve.
Nothing like enough. For two weeks you drink and sweat,
drink and sweat, drink and sweat, until you feel like a sump
pump. This is a day s supply at the outside.
Uh huh. Well, sorry, that s all there is in the box except
this book. She held up the volume, which looked like a hymnal.
Hi ho The Meadows Songbook, said Paul wearily. He
leaned back and closed his eyes. Pick a song, Katharine, any
song, and read it aloud.
Here s the song for the Green Team, Doctor Shepherd s
team. To the tune of the Wimam Tell overture.
The whole overture ?
That s what it says here.
Well, go ahead and give it a try.
She cleared her throat, started to sing softly, thought better
of it, and lapsed into plain reading:
Green oh Green oh Green s the team!
Mightiest e er the world has seen!
Red, Blue, White will scream,
When
They see the great Green Team I
PLAYER PIANO 121
That ll put hair on your chest, Katharine.
Oh, gosh but it ll be fun! You know you ll love it when you
get up there.
Paul opened his eyes to see that Katharine was reading an-
other song, and her eyes shone with excitement and she rocked
her head from side to side. What s that you re reading now P
Oh, I wish I were a man! I was just reading your song.
My song ?
The Blue Team s song.
Oh my song. By all means, let s hear it.
She whistled a few bars of Indiana, and then sang, this
time heartily:
Oh you Blue Team, you tried and true team,
There are no teams as good as you!
You will smash Green, also the Red Team,
And the White Team you ll batter, too.
They d better scurry before your fury,
And in a hurry, without a clue;
Because the Blue Team s a tried and true team,
And there s no team as good as you 1
Hmmm.
And you will win, too. I know you will, said Katharine.
You going to be at the Mainland ?" The Mainland was a
camp for wives and children, and women employees whose
development wasn t yet complete, across the water from the
Meadows, the island where the men went.
That s as close as I can get to the real thing, said Katharine
wistfully.
That s close enough, believe me. Tell me, is Bud Calhoun
going to be there?
She colored, and he was instantly sorry he d asked. He had
an invitation, I know, she said, but that was before She
shrugged unhappily. And you know what the Manual says.
The machines can't stand him any more, said Paul heavily.
Why don t they build in a gimmick that will give a man a free
drink before he gets the ax? Do you know what he s up to
now ?
122 PLAYER PIANO
I haven t talked to him or seen him, but I did call up
Matheson s of ce to nd out what was going to be done with
him. They said he was going to be a project supervisor for
the her voice caught for the Reeks and Wrecks. Emotion
was giving her a rough going-over now, and she left Paul s
of ce hurriedly.
I m sure he ll do well, Paul called after her. I ll bet we
won t know our city a year from now, with him thinking up
things for the Reeks and Wrecks to do.
Her phone rang, and she relayed the information to Paul
that Doctor Edward Finnerty was at the gate, wanting in.
Bind his hands and feet, put a bag over his head, and have
four men bring him up. Fixed bayonets, of course. And be sure
and get a picture of it for Shepherd.
Ten minutes later, Finnerty was escorted into Paul s of ce
by an armed guard.
For heaven s sake look at you I said Paul. Finnerty s hair
was cut and combed, his face was pink, shining, and shaved,
and his seersucker suit, while worn and a poor t, was crisp
and sanitary-looking.
Finnerty looked at him biankly, as though he couldn t guess
what the fuss was about. I d like to borrow your car
Promise to wipe off the ngerprints when you re through?
Oh you re sore about that pistol business, I suppose. Sorry.
I meant to throw it in the river.
You know about it, then ?
Sure and about how Shepherd turned in a report on you,
too, telling how you let me in the plant without an escort.
Tough. Finnerty, after less than a week in Homestead, had
taken on rough, swashbuckling mannerisms glaringly syn-
thetic. He also seemed to be getting a real kick out of being a
liability as an associate for anyone respectable.
Paul was amazed, as he had been amazed at Kroner s, by
how much others knew about his a airs. How do you know
so much P
You d be surprised who knows what, and how they nd
out. Surprise the pants off you to know what goes on in this
world. My eyes are just opening. He leaned forward earnestly.
And, Paul I m nding myself. At last I m nding myself.
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PLAYER PIANO 123
What do you look like, Ed?
Those dumb bastards across the river they re my kind of
people. They re real, Paul, real!
PauI had never doubted that they were real, and so found
himself without any sort of comment or emotional response
for Finnerty s important announcement. Well, I m glad you ve
found yourself after all these years, he said. Finnerty had
been nding himself ever since Paul had known him. And,
weeks later, he d always deserted that self with angry cries of
impostor, and discovered another. That s swell, Ed,
Well, anyway, how about the keys to the car?
Is it fair to ask what for ?
This is a milk run. I want to pick up my clothes and stuff
at your house and run them over to Lasher s.
You re living with Lasher ?
Finnerty nodded. Surprising how well we hit it off, right
from the first. His tone implied the barest trace of contempt
for Paul s shallow way of life. Keys ?
Paul threw them to him. How do you plan to use the rest
of your life, Ed?"
With the people. That s my place.
You know the cops are after you for not registering ?
Spice of life.
You can be jailed, you know.
You re afraid to live, Paul. That s what s the matter with
you. You know about Thoreau and Emerson?
A little. About as much as you did before Lasher primed
you, I ll bet.
Anyway, Thoreau was in jail because he wouldn t pay a
tax to support the Mexican War. He didn t believe in the war.
And Emerson came to jail to see him. Henry, he said, why
are you here? And Thoreau said, Ralph, why aren t you
here ?
I should want to go to jail ? said Paul, trying to get some
sort of message for himself out of the anecdote.
You shouldn t let fear of jail keep you from doing what
you believe in.
Well, it doesn t. Paul re ected that the big trouble, really,
was nding something to believe in.
124 PLAYER PIANO
All right, so it doesn t. There was weary disbelief in Fin-
nerty's voice. He was apparently getting bored with his con-
vention-ridden former friend from the north side of the river.
Thanks for the car.
Any time. Paul was relieved when the door closed behind
the new this week s Finnerty.
Katharine opened the door again. He scares me, she said.
You needn t be scared. He wastes all his energy on games
with himself. There goes your phone.
It s Doctor Kroner, said Katharine. Yes, she said into
the telephone, Doctor Proteus is in.
"Would you please put him on, said Kroner s secretary.
Doctor Proteus speaking.
Doctor Proteus is on, said Katharine.
"Just a moment. Doctor Kroner wishes to speak with him.
Doctor Kroner, Doctor Proteus in Ilium is on the line.
Hello, Paul.
How do you do, sir.
Paul, about this Finnerty and Lasher business His play-
fully conspiratorial tone implied that the proposed prosecution
of these two was sort of a practical joke. Just wanted to tell
you that I called Washington about it, to let them in on what
we re going to do, and they say we should hold OE for a While.
They say the whole thing ought to be well planned at the top
level. It s apparently bigger stuff than I thought. His voice
dropped to a whisper. It s beginning to look like a problem
nationwise, not just Iliumwise.
Paul was pleased that there was to be a delay, but the reason
for it was a surprise. How could Finnerty get to be a problem
nationwise or even Iliumwise? He s only been here a few days.
Idle hands do the Devil s work, Paul. He s probably been
getting into bad company, and it s the bad company we re really
after. Anyway, the top brass wants in on whatever we do, and
they want to have a meeting about it at the Meadows. Let s
see sixteen days from now.
Fine, said Paul, and added, in his mind, the imaginary
seal he a xed to all of cial business these days And to hell
with you. He had no intention of turning informer on anyone.
He would simply stall until he and Anita were fully prepared
PLAYERPIANO 125
to say, To hell with you, to hell with everything, aloud.
We think the world of you over here, Paul.
Thank you, sir.
Kroner was silent for a moment. Suddenly he shouted into
the phone, almost rupturing Paul s eardrum.
Beg your pardon, sir ? The message had been so loud as
to be all pain and no sense.
Kroner chuckled, and lowered his voice a little. I said,
who s going to win, Paul?
lWin ?J)
The Meadows, the Meadows! Who s going to win?
Oh the 'Meadows, said Paul. It was a nightmarish con-
versation, with Kroner vehement and happy, and with Paul
devoid of the vaguest notion as to what was being discussed.
What team ? said Kroner, a shade peevishly.
Oh. Oh! The Blue Team is going to win! He lled his
lungs. Blue! he shouted.
You bet your life we re going to win! Kroner shouted
back. The Blues are behind you, Cap n 1 Kroner, then, was on
the Blue Team, too. He started to sing in his rumbling basso:
Oh you Blue Team, you tried and true team,
There are no teams as good as you!
You will smash Green, also the Red Team,
And the White Team you ll batt
The song was interrupted by a cry: White s going to win!
Go, White! It was Baer, yelling in the background. So you
think Blue s going to win, do you, do you, eh? Win? Think
Blue s going to win, eh, eh? The White Team will trim you,
trim you~aha, aha-trim the daylights out of the Blue Team.
There was the sound of laughter and banter and scu iing,
and Kroner picked up the Blue Team s song where he d left off:
"They d better scurry before your fury,
And in a hurry, without a clue;
Because the«
Baer s piercing voice cut through Kroner s bass with the
126 PLAYER PIANO
White Team s song, to the tune of Tramp, Tramp, Tramp :
White, White, White s the one to watch for.
Blue, Green, Red will come to grief.
Before the fury of the White
They ll get knocked clear out of-~
The scuf ing grew louder, and the songs degenerated into
panting laughter. There was a clatter in Paul s receiver, a cry,
a click, and then the dial tone
Paul restored the receiver to its cradle with a limp hand.
There was no quitting before the Meadows, he told himself
glumly no re-educating Anita and quitting in the few days
remaining. The Meadows would have to be endured, and, worse
luck, he would have to endure it as captain of the Blue Team.
His glance passed over the hairy tan chest, frank gray eyes,
and keg sized biceps of the man on the book jacket, and his
thoughts slid easily, gratefully, into the fantasy of the new,
good life ahead of him. Somewhere, outside of society, there
was a place for a manwa man and wifewto live heartily and
blamelessly, naturally, by hands and wits.
Paul studied his long, soft hands. Their only callus was on
the large nger of his right hand. There, stained a dirty orange
by cigarette tars, a tough hump had grown over the years,
protecting his nger against the attrition of pen and pencil
shafts. SkilIs that was what the hands of the heroes in the
novels had, skills. To date, Paul s hands had learned to do little
save grip a pen, pencil, toothbrush, hair brush, razor, knife,
fork, spoon, cup, glass, faucet, doorknob, switch, handkerchief,
towel, zipper, button, snap, bar of soap, book, comb, wife, or
steering wheel.
He recalled his college days, and was sure he d learned some
sort of manual skill there. He d learned to make mechanical
drawings. That was when the lump on his nger had begun to
grow. What else? He d learned to bounce a ball off several
walls with skill, and to the consternation of most of his squash
opponents. He d been good enough to make the quarter- nals
of the Regional Collegiate Squash Tournament two years in
a row. He used to be able to do that with his hands.
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PLAYER PIANO 127
What else?
Again uneasiness crept up on him the fear that there was
far too little of him to get along anywhere outside the system,
to get along at all contentedly. He might go into some small
business, such as the one he claimed to be in when he didn t
want to be recognized wholesale groceries. But he would still
be caught in the mesh of the economy and its concomitant
hierarchy. The machines wouldn t let him into that business,
anyway, and even if they would, there d be no less nonsense
and posturing. Moreover, despite the fact that Paul was saying
to hell with the whole system, he was aware that the relatively
unskilled and dull business of buying and selling was beneath
him. So to hell with it. The only thing worse would be complete
idleness, which Paul could afford, but which, he was sure, was
as amoral as what he was quitting.
Farming now there was a magic word. Like so many words
with a little magic from the past still clinging to them, the word
farming was a reminder of what rugged stock the present
generation had come from, of how tough a thing a human
being could be if he had to. The word had little meaning in
the present. There were no longer farmers, but only agricul-
tural engineers. In the rich Iroquois Valley in Ilium County,
thousands of settlers had once made their living from the soil.
Now Doctor Ormand van Curler managed the farming of the
whole county with a hundred men and several millions dollars
worth of machinery.
Farming. Paul s pulse quickened, and he daydreamed of
living a century beforemliving in one of the many farmhouses
now crumbling into their foundations over the valley. He chose
one farmhouse in particular for his fantasy, one close to the
edge of town that he d often admired. He suddenly realized
that the farm, the little patch of the past, wasn t a part of van
Curler s farm system. He was almost sure it wasn t.
Katharine, he called excitedly, get me the Ilium Real
Estate Manager on the phone . _
Ilium Real Estate Of ce. Doctor Pond speaking." Pond s
speech was effeminate, lisping.
Doctor Pond, this is Doctor Proteus at the Works."
Well! What can I do for you, Doctor Proteus ?
,
128 PLAYER PIANO
You know that farmhouse out on King Street, just outside
the city limits 3
Mmmm. Just a moment. Paul heard a machine shuf ing
through cards, and then a bell announced that the card had
been found. Yes, the Gottwald place. I have the card right
here.
What s being done with it P
A good question! What can be done with it? I wish I knew.
It was a hobby with Gottwald, you know, keeping it just like
an old-fashioned farm. When he died, the heirs wanted to get
van Curler to take it over, but he said it wasn t worth bother-
ing with. Two hundred acres is all, and he d have to cut down
the windbreaks to connect it with other elds so he could farm
it ef ciently. Then the heirs found out that they couldn t have
sold it to the Farm System anyway. It s in the deed that the
place has to be kept oId-fashioned. He laughed bitterly. So
all old Gottwald left his heirs was a nice headache, a white
elephant. ,
How much P
Are you serious? The thing s a museum exhibit, Doctor.
I mean, almost nothing mechanical on the place. Even if you
could beat the restrictions in the deed, it d cost you thousands
to get it in shape.
How much ? The farm was looking better and better.
Eighteen thousand, it says on the card. Before Paul could
close the deal that instant, Pond added, but you can get it for
fteen, I m sure. How would twelve suit you ?
Would ve hundred hold it until I can look it over ?
It s been holding itself for almost fourteen years. Go on
out and have a look, if you really feel you have to. After
you ve thrown up, there are some really nice things I d like
to show you. The machine rif ed through its cards again. For
instance, there s a nice Georgian house on Grif n Boulevard.
Electronic door openers, thermostatically controlled windows,
radar range, electrostatic dust precipitators, ultrasonic clothes
washer built in, forty-inch television screens in the master bed-
room, guest room, living room, kitchen, and rumpus rooms,
and twenty-inch screens in the maids rooms and the kiddies
rooms, and
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PLAYER PIANO 129
Where can I get the key to the farm?
Oh, that thing. Well, to give you an idea of what you're
getting into, there is no lock. There s a latchstring.
Latchstring ?
Yes, latchstring. I had to go out myself to nd out what
the darn thing is. There s a latch on the inside of the door,
with a string tied to it. When you want to let somebody just
walk in, you stick the little string through a hole in the door,
so the string dangles outside. If you don t want peopie walking
in, you pull the string in through the hole. Ghastly ?
I il survive somehow. Is the latchstring out 1
There's a caretaker there, detailed from the Reeks and
Wrecks. I ll call him and tell him to put it out. Con dentially,
I m sure they ll take eight.
CHAPTER XV
THE LATCHSTRING AT the GottwaId house was out for
Doctor Paul Proteus.
He tugged at it, listened with satisfaction as the latch dis-
engaged itself inside, and walked in. The living room was dimly
lit through tiny-paned, dusty windows, and what light did get
in died without re ection on dull, dark antique surfaces. The
oor rose and fell like a springboard beneath Paul s feet.
The house breathes with you, like good underwear, said
a lisping voice from the shadows. Paul looked in the direction
from which it had come. The man sucked on his cigarette,
lighting his moon face with a pink glow. Doctor Proteus?
Yes.
I m Doctor Pond. Would you like me to turn on the lights?
Please, Doctor. '
Well, there aren t any. Kerosene lanterns throughout. Want
to wash your hands or something ?
Well, not
Because, if you do, there s a pump in the back yard, and
an outhouse by the chicken coop. Would you like to see the
termites, the dry rot, the hog pen, and the manure-spreader,
I30 PLAYER PIANO
or shall we go to see that Georgian on Grif n Boulevard ? He
walked to where they could see each other. Doctor Pond was
very young, fat, and earnest, and plainly distressed by his sur-
roundings.
You re certainly eager to seil me the place, said Paul,
laughing. With each new inconvenience, the place became more
irresistible. It was a completely isolated backwater, cut off from
the boiling rapids of history, society, and the economy. Time-
less.
I have a certain responsibility, said Doctor Pond carefully.
An administrator without a certain awareness, above and be
yond the Manual, is like a ship without a rudder.
He is P said Paul absently. He was peering through a back
window into the barnyard, and beyond that, through an opened
barn door, where he could see the rm buff ank of a COW.
Yes, said Doctor Pond, like a ship without a rudder. For
example, while the Manual doesn t tell me to do it, I make very
sure that every man gets a house suited to his station on the
ladder of life. The way a man lives can destroy or increase the
stature of his j0b-can increase or decrease the stabiiity and
prestige of the entire system.
You say I can get this whole farm for eight P
Please, Doctor you put me in an uncomfortable position.
I was excited when you rst called, because this place has been
such a headache for so long. But then my conscience started
to work on me, and, well, I simply can t let you do it.
I ll take it. Do the animals go with it ?
Everything goes with it. That s in Gottwald s will and in
the deed. It has to be kept just as it is and it must be farmed.
See how impossible it is? Now, shall we go to Grif n Boule-
vard, where there s just the right house for the Manager of
the Ilium Works ? When he spoke the title, his voice sounded
like a choir of French horns.
I want this.
If you try to force me to sell it, I ll quit. Doctor Pond
reddened. My classi cation number may be twice what yours
is, but I have a certain amount of integrity.
The word, coming from Pond, struck Paul as ridiculous at
rst, and he started to smile about it. Then he saw how tense
PLAYER PIANO :3i
the man was, and realized that what Pond was talking about
was, by God, integrity. This pipsqueak of a man in a pipsqueak
job had pipsqueak standards he was willing to lay his pipsqueak
life dOWn for. And Paul had a vision of civilization as a vast
and faulty dike, with thousands of men like Doctor Pond in a
rank stretching to the horizon, each man grimly stopping a leak
with his nger.
This would be a hobby, of course a plaything, Paul lied.
I d go on living where I m living now.
Doctor Pond sighed and sank into a chair. Oh-thank the
Lord! Oh! You have no idea how much better I feel. He
laughed in nervous relief. Of course, of course, of course.
And you d keep Mr. Haycox on?"
Who is Mr. Haycox ?
The Reek and Wreck who s assigned to keep the place go-
ing. He s under orders from the Reeks and Wrecks, but of
course the Gottwald estate pays him. You d have to do the
same.
I d like to meet him.
He s an antique too. He threw his hands over his head.
What a place. I think you re mad, simply mad. But he who
pays the piper calls the tune.
As long as he doesn t threaten to disgrace the system.
Exactly! That s almost good enough to carve over your
mantel, but I doubt if the deed will let you.
How about, After us the deluge. said Paul.
Hmm? Doctor Pond tried to make sense of the quota-
tion, seemingly decided that it was some archaic, pleasant sen-
timent for those who understood poetry, and smiled. That s
nice too. Apparently the word "deluge stuck in his mind.
Now, about the cellar here: it has an earth oor and is damp.
He leaned out of the back door, wrinkled his nose in the sweet,
stringent odor of manure cooking in the sunlight, and shouted,
Mr. Haycox! Oh, Mr. Haycox!
Paul had opened the back of a grandfather clock. I ll be
damned, he said under his breath. Wooden works. He
checked his own watch, the shock-proof, waterproof, antimag-
netic, glow-in-the-dark, self winding chronometer Anita had
given him for Christmas, and found that the grandfather clock
I32 PLAYER PIANO
was off by about twelve minutes. Indulging an atavistic whim,
he set his watch to correspond with the hands of the relic,
which grated and creaked away the seconds, sounding like a
wooden ship straining in a strong wind.
The house was certainly one of the oldest in the valley. The
rough rafters were inches above Paul s head, and the replace
was sooted black, and there wasn t a true right angle anywhere.
The house seemed to have twisted and stretched on its founda-
tions until it had found a position of comfort for all of its
parts Iike a sleeping dog.
More remarkable than the way the house had relieved its
stresses was the way it conformed to Paul s particular, not to
say peculiar, needs. Here was a place where he could work
with his hands, getting life from nature without being dis-
turbed by any human beings other than his wife. Not only that,
but Anita, with her love for things colonial, would be en
chanted, stunned, even, by this completely authentic microcosm
of the past.
Ah, said Doctor Pond, Mr. Haycox at last. When you
yell for him, he never yells back. Just starts coming, taking his
own sweet time.
Paul watched Mr. Haycox s heavy-footed progress across
the hard-packed earth of the barnyard. The caretaker was an
old man, with close-cropped white hair, coarse, tanned skin,
and, like Rudy Hertz, with remarkably big hands. Unlike Rudy,
Mr. Haycox wasn t desiccated. His esh was rm, hard, and
well colored. The chief toll he seemed to have paid time was
in teeth, of which he had few. He might have been part of a
pageant recalling farm life as it had once been. He wore old-
fashioned blue denim overalls, a wide brimmed straw hat, and
heavy, crusty work shoes.
As though to point up the anachronism of Mr. Haycox and
the Gottwald place for Paul, one of Doctor Ormand van Cur-
ler s men, riding on a tractor, appeared on the other side of
the windbreak, snappy in spotless white coveralls, a red base-
ball cap, cool sandals which almost never touched the ground,
and white gloves which, like Paul s hands, rarely touched any-
thing but steering wheels, levers, and switches.
What do you want ? said Mr. Haycox. What s the matter
PLAYER PIANO 133
now ? His voice was strong. He had none of the sheepishness
or obsequiousness Paul had seen so frequently in Reeks and
Wrecks. Mr. Haycox bore himself as though he owned the
place, wanted the talk to be as brief and pithy as possible, and
doubted that whatever was wanted of him could possibly be
more important than what he had been doing.
Doctor Proteus this is Mr. Haycox.
How are you ? said Paul.
Do, said Mr. Haycox. What kind of doctor ?
Doctor of Science, said Paul.
Mr. Haycox seemed annoyed and disappointed. Don t call
that kind a doctor at all. Three kinds of doctors: dentists,
vets, and physicians. You one of those ?
N0. Sorry.
Then you ain t a doctor.
He is a doctor, said Doctor Pond earnestly. He knows
how to keep machines healthy. He was trying to build up the
importance of graduate degrees in the mind of this clod.
Mechanic, said Mr. Haycox.
Well, said Doctor Pond, you can go to college and learn
to be a specialist in all sorts of things besides making people or
animals well. I mean, after all. The modern world would grind
to a halt if there weren t men with enough advanced training
to keep the complicated parts of civilization working smoothly."
Um, said Mr. Haycox apathetically. What do you keep
working so smoothly?
Doctor Pond smiled modestly. I spent seven years in the
Cornell Graduate School of Realty to qualify for a Doctor of
Realty degree and get this job.
Call yourself a doctor, too, do you P said Mr. Haycox.
I think I can say without fear of. contradiction that I earned
that degree, said Doctor Pond coolly. My thesis was the
third longest in any eld in the country that year eight hun-
dred and ninety six pages, double-spaced, with narrow mar-
gins.
Real estate salesmanx said Mr. Haycox. He looked back
and forth between Paul and Doctor Pond, waiting for them
to say something worth his attention. When they d failed to
rally after twenty seconds, he turned to go. I m doctor of
134 PLAYER PIANO
cowshit, pigshit, and chickenshit, he said. When you doctors
gure out what you want, you ll nd me out in the barn shovel-
ing my thesis.
Mr, Haycox! said Doctor Pond, furious. You ll stay
here until we re through with you!
"Thought you was. He stopped, and stood perfectly n10-
tionless.
Doctor Proteus is buying the farm.
My farm ? Mr. Haycox turned slowly to face them, and
real concern was in his eyes.
The farm you ve been taking care of, said Doctor Pond.
My farm.
The Gottwald estate s farm, said Doctor Pond.
That a man ?
You know it isn t.
Well, I m a man. As far as men go, this here is my farm
more n it s anybody else s. I m the only man who ever cared
about it, ever did anything about it. He turned earnestly to
Paul; You know the will says you got to keep it just like
1t 15.
I plan to. .
And keep me on, said Mr. Haycox.
Well, I don t know for sure, said Paul. This was a com-
plication he hadn t foreseen. He planned to do the work him~
self. That was the point of the undertaking.
That isn t in the will, said Doctor Pond, pleased to have
found something that shocked respect into Mr. Haycox.
"All the same, you got to keep me on, said Mr. Haycox.
This is what I do. He gestured at the yard and buildings,
all neat. This is what I ve done.
Gottwaid bought this place from Mr. Haycox s father,
Doctor Pond explained. There was some sort of informal
agreement, I think, that Mr. Haycox could have the job of
caretaker for his lifetime.
Informal, hell! said Mr. Haycox. He promised, Gott
wald did. This here s been our family s for more n a hundred
years lots more. And I m the last of the line, and Gottwald
promised, by God, he promised it d be the same as mine till
it came time for me to go.
PLAYER PIANO 135
Well, the time has come, said Doctor Pond.
Dead Gottwald meant when I was dead. I got twice as
many years behind me as you do, sonny boy, and twice as many
ahead of me. He moved closer to Doctor Pond, and squinted
at him. I ve moved so many big piles of shit in my life, gure
I could throw a little dab like you clean over the barn.
Doctor Pond s eyes widened, and he backed away. We ll
see about that, he said faintly.
Look, said Paul hastily, I m sure we can work this out.
Soon as I close the deal, Mr. Haycox, you ll be working for
me.
Things going to be just like they were 3
My wife and I ll be coming out from time to time. Now
didn t seem to be the time to tell him or anyone that he and
Anita would be permanent residents.
Haycox didn t care for this much. When ?
We ll give you plenty of notice.
He nodded grimly. Then, unexpectedly and charmingly, Mr.
Haycox smiled. Wonder if I went and offended that there
Doctor of Realty ? Pond had ed. Well, I ll be getting back
to work. Long as this here is going to be your farm, you
might s well x the pump. Needs a new packing.
Afraid I don t know how, said Paul.
Maybe, said Mr. Haycox walking aWay, maybe if you d
0f gone to college another ten or twenty years, somebody would
of gotten around to showing you how, Doctor.
CHAPTER XVI
ANITA SEEMINGLY MISTOOK Paul s quiet excitement
for daydreams of happy hours to come at the Meadows, which
were less than two weeks away.
She didn t know that he was learning to be a farmer and
laying the groundwork for teaching her to be a farmer s wife.
It was a hot Saturday, and on the pretext of buying himself
a elder s mitt, Paul went to his farm to his and Mr. Hay-
cox s farm. There Mr. Haycox condescendingly and impa-
136 PLAYER PIANO
tiently imparted half truths about running the place, and gave
Paul a vague con dence that he could get the hang of it after
a while.
That evening at suppertime, Paul, satisfyingly pooped after
having trailed Mr. Haycox for hours, asked his wife if she
knew What day the coming Wednesday was.
She looked up from a list of things she was to pack for her
trip to the Mainland and, more important, for Paul s trip to
the Meadows. Can t imagine. Have you got nice-looking tennis
shoes for the trip ?
"They ll do. For your information, next Wednesday is "
Shepherd is taking twelve pairs of socks all green. He s
a captain, too, you know.
I know.
What do you make of that? It s kind of a surprise: the
rst time you get to be captain, he does too.
Maybe he sent a coupon to the Rosicrucians. How on earth
do you know how many pairs of socks he s taking ?
Well, he hasn t got a wife to help him plan, so he came
over this afternoon to get my help. So I made a list of things
he ought to take. Men are so helpless.
They muddle through. Did he have anything interesting
to say ?
She laid down the list and looked at him reproachfully.
Only about the police report about your pistol, and another
one about the underworld people you were with that awful
night in Homestead. She wadded her napkin and threw it
dOwn petulantly. PauI why don t you teli me these things?
Why do I always have to nd out from someone else ?"
Underworld! snorted Paul. Oh, for heaven s sake.
Shepherd says Lasher and Finnerty are being watched as
potential saboteurs.
Everybody s being watched! Why do you listen to that old
woman of a man!
Why don t you tell me what s going on?"
Because those things were trivial. Because I was afraid
you wouldn t see them that way and get all upset the way
you re getting upset. It s all xed. Kroner xed it.
PLAYER PIANO I37
Shepherd said you could get ten years for the pistol busi-
ness alone.
Next time he s over, ask him if he has any idea how much
time I d get if I mashed up his long nose for him.
Paul s muscles were tight from the unaccustomed rigors of
the afternoon, and animal smells had communicated to him
a feel of primitive strength. The notion of pushing Shepherd s
face in-«a bizarre sport in a lifetime of paci stic notions
came as an unexpected complement to the day. Well, to hell
with the captain of the Green Team, I say. Again I ll ask, what
day is the coming Wednesday?
I m sure I don t know.
Our engagement anniversary.
It was an anniversary with disquieting connotations for both
of them an anniversary that neither had ever mentioned in
their years of marriage. It was the date on which Anita had
announced to Paul that she was with child, his child, and on
which he had responded by offering her his name, etc. Now,
with the event softened by years of more or less adequate
marriage, Paul thought that they might sentimentally make it
something that it was not. The anniversary, more to the point,
fell at an ideal time for the beginning of his re-education
program for Anita. ,
And I have a special evening planned, he said; not like
any evening we ve ever had together, darling.
Funny, I d forgotten the date completely. Really? Next
Wednesday? She gave him an odd, rebuking smile, as though
the story of their engagement had got twisted in her mind
as though she thought he had brought about the event by a
now insigni cant deception. Well that s sweet, she said.
Kind of cute of you to remember. But, with the Meadows
so close She was of such a methodical nature that, when
something of importance was in the of ng, other aspects of
life could have no importance at all. To her it seemed almost
indecent to give attention to anything but the crucial matter
of the Meadows.
To hell with the Meadows.
You don t mean that.
138 PLAYER PIANO
I mean we re still going out next Wednesday.
Well, I hope you know what you re doing. You re the
captain.
I m the captain.
CHAPTER XVII
EDGAR R. B. HAGSTROHM, thirty seven, R&R I 31313,
Undercoater First Class, 22nd Surface Preserving Battalion,
58th Maintenance Regiment, IIoth Building and Grounds
Division, Reconstruction and Reclamation Corps, had been
named after his father s favorite author, the creator of Tarzan
Tarzan, who, far away from the soot and biting winter of
the Hagstrohms home town, Chicago, made friends with lions
and elephants and apes, and swung through trees on vines, and
was built like a brick outhouse with square Wheels and Vene-
tian blinds, and took what he wanted of civilization s beautiful
women in tree houses, and left the rest of civilization alone.
E. R. B. Hagstrohm liked Tarzan as much as his father
had, and hated being a little man and being in Chicago ten
times as much.
And Edgar was reading about Tarzan in the bedroom when
his fat wife, Wanda, called to him from her station before
the picture window in the front room of their prefabricated
home in Proteus Park, Chicago, a postwar development of
three thousand dream houses for three thousand families with
presumably identical dreams. Gosh, here he comes, Edgar!
All right, all right, all right, said Edgar. So he s com-
ing! So what am I supposed to do, holler bloody murder, kiss
his feet, and faint ? He took his time about getting off the
bed, and he didn t smooth out the dent he d made in the bed-
ding. He laid his book open on the bedside table, so the visitors
would see that he was a reader, and started for the living room.
What s he look like, Wan?
You gotta see, Ed Iike a Chinese bird cage or something,
all gold and fancy.
The Shah of Bratpuhr had asked his guide, Doctor Ewing
PLAYER PIANO 139
J. Halyard, if he might see the home of a typical Takaru,
freely translated, from one culture to another, as average
man. The request had been made as they were passing through
Chicago from Carlsbad Caverns, and Halyard had stopped off "
at the local personnel of ce for the name of a representative
American in the neighborhood.
The personnel machines had considered the problem and
ejected the card of Edgar R. B. Hagstrohm, who was statis
tically average in every respect save for the number of his
initials: his age (36), his height ( 5 7 ), his weight (I48 lbs.),
his years of marriage (II), his LQ. (83), the number of his
children (2: I m., 9; I f. 6), the number of his bedrooms (2),
his car (3 yr. old Chev. 2 dr. sed.), his education (h.s. grad,
II7th in class of 233; maj. in business practice; 2nd string
f ball, b k tb l; soc. comm., sen r play; no coll.) his vocation
(R&R), his avocations (spec r sports, TV, softb l, f sh g),
and his war record (5 yrs, 3 ov sea; T-4 radioman; 157th
Inf. Div.; battle stars: Hjoring, Elbesan, Kabul, Kaifen, Ust
Kyakhta; wounded 4 times; P ple H t, 3 cl.; Silv. Star; Br ze
Star, 2 CL; G d Cond. Med).
And the machines could have made an educated guess that,
since Hagstrohm had gone that far in being average, he had
probably been arrested once, had had sexual experience with
ve girls before marrying Wanda (only moderately satisfy-
ing), and had had two extramarital adventures since (one
eeting and foolish, the other rather long and disturbing), and
that he would die at the age of 76.2 of a heart attack.
What the machines couldn t guess was that Edgar s second
extramarital affair, the deep one, was with a widow named
Marion Frascati, that it was still going on, and that Marion s
deceased husband had been Lou Frascati, a second-coater rst
class, Edgar s best friend. To their own profound shock, Edgar
and Marion had found themselves in each other s arms a scant
month after good old Lou s death. And again, and again, and
again and they d tried to bring it to an end, honest-to-God
they had. But it was like a bright, fat cherry on the gray mush
of their lives. And they thought, wistfully, weakly, that maybe
it wouldn t really matter as long as no one was hurt the kids,
sweet, loyal Wanda. And that Lou wouldn t have wanted any-
I
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14o PLAYER PIANO
thing more, now that he had another variety of bliss, than that
good old Edgar and good old Marion make the most of life
while they had the use of their esh.
But they hadn t believed it. And the kids noticed something
screwy was going on, and Wanda d cried a couple of times
lately and refused to tell him why, and probably Lou, wherever
he was. . . . Anyway, Edgar was going to go on seeing
Marion, but he was going to tell Wanda, God bless her and
God help her tell her, and Who was hanging on the Hag-
strohm door but the goddam Shah of Bratpuhr, for Chris-
sakes.
Come in, come in, said Edgar, and he added under his
breath, your majesty, your highness, emperor of the universe
and all the ships at sea, you nosy son of-a bitch.
When Halyard had phoned him about the visit, Hagstrohm
had made a point of not being impressed by the Shah s title,
or by Halyard s rank. It was rarely that he got the opportunity
to show what he thought of rank that a man was a man for
all that. He was going to behave perfectly naturally, just as
he would if the callers had been fellow Reeks and Wrecks.
Wanda had taken a different view, and had started frantically
to clean the place from top to bottom, and to make Iemonade
and send Edgar, Jr., out for little cookies, but big Edgar had
put a stop to all that. He put the kids out, and that was the
only cleaning up that was to be done.
The door opened, and in came the Shah, followed by Khash
drahr, Halyard, and Doctor Ned Dodge, the manager of Pro-
teus Park.
Aha ! said the Shah, gingerly touching the enameled steel
wall of the living room. Mmmmrn.
Edgar held out his hand, and the parade brushed past it,
heedless. Well, kiss mine, he muttered.
Eh? said Doctor Dodge.
You heard me.
7 You re not in a saloon now, Hagstrohm, whispered Dodge.
Watch yourself ; this is international relations.
All right if I go to a saloon ?
What s eating you, anyway ?
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PLAYER PIANO 141
The guy walks into my house and won t even shake my
hand. '
It s not the custom in his country.
Is it in yours ?
Dodge turned his back and grinned hospitably at the Shah.
Two bedrooms, living room with dining alcove, bath, and
kitchen, he said. This is the M-I'; house. Radiant heating
in the oor. The furniture was designed after an exhaustive
national survey of furniture likes and dislikes. The house, the
furniture, and the lot are sold as a package. Simpli ed plan
ning and production all the way round.
Lakki ti, Takam? piped the Shah, looking at Edgar closely
for the rst time.
What s he say?
He wants to know if you like it here," said Khashdrahr.
Sure I guess. It s all right. I suppose. Yeah.
It s nice," said Wanda.
Now, if you ll follow me into the kitchen, said Doctor
Dodge, leaving Wanda and Edgar behind, you ll see the radar
range. Cooks by high frequency, and cooks the inside of what-
ever s being cooked as fast as the outside. Cooks anything in
a matter of seconds, with perfect control. Make bread without
a crust, if you want to.
What is the matter with crust on bread? asked Khash-
drahr politely.
And this is the ultrasonic dishwasher and clotheswasher,
said Dodge. High-frequency sound passing through the water
strips dirt and grease off anything in a matter of seconds. Dip
in, take out, bingo!
And then what does the woman do? asked Khashdrahr.
Then she puts the clothes or dishes in this drier, which
dries them out in a matter of seconds, and-here s a nifty trick,
I think-wgives the clothes at spanking-clean outdoors odor, like
they were dried in the sun, see, with this little ozone lamp in
here.
And then what? asked Khashdrahr.
She feeds the clothes through this ironer, which can do
what was an hour s ironing before the war in three minutes.
Bing!
I42 PLAYER PIANO
And then what does she do ? asked Khashdrahr.
And then she s done.
And then what ?
Doctor Dodge reddened perceptibly. -Is this a joke P
No, said Khashdrahr. The Shah would like to know what
it is that. the woman Takaru
What s a Takam? said Wanda suspiciously.
Citizen, said Halyard.
Yes," said Khashdrahr, smiling at her oddly, citizen. The
Shah would like to know why she has to do everything so
quickly this in a matter of seconds, that in a matter of seconds.
What is it she is in such a hurry to get at? What is it she has
to do, that she mustn t waste any time on these things?"
Live! said Doctor Dodge expansively. Live! Get a little
fun out of life. He laughed, and clapped Khashdrahr on the
back, as though to jar him into feeling some of the jollity in
this average American man s home.
The effect on Khashdrahr and the Shah was a poor one.
I see, said the interpreter coldly. He turned to Wanda. And
how isit you live and get so much fun out of life?
Wanda blushed and looked down at the oor, and worried
the carpet edge with her toe. Oh, television, she murmured.
Watch that a lot, don t we, Ed? And I spend a lot of time
with the kids, little Delores and young Edgar, Jr. You know.
Things.
Where are the children now P asked Khashdrahr.
Over at the neighbors place, the Glocks, watching tele-
vision, I expect.
Would you like to see the ultrasonic washer work ? said
Doctor Dodge. Right before your eyes, hing! Takes off egg,
lipstick, bloodstains
The transducer s shot again, said Edgar, so the washer s
out of commission. Wanda s been doing the washing in a tub
for a month now, waiting for a new transducer.
Oh, I don t mind, said Wanda. Really, I like doin em
that way. It s kind of a relief. A body needs a change. I don t
mind. Gives me something to do.
Halyard ended the silence that followed her statement with
a brisk suggestion that they leave these good people alone and
PLAYER PIANO 143
have a look at the central recreation pavilion down the street.
If we hurry, said Doctor Dodge, we ll probably catch the
leathercraft class still in session.
The Shah patted the radar stove, the laundry console, and
peered for a moment at the television screen, which showed
ve persons seated around a conference table, arguing earnestly.
Brahouna! he chuckled.
Khashdrahr nodded. Brahmma! Live!
As the party left, Halyard was explaining that the house and
contents and car were all paid for by regular deductions from
Edgar s R&RC pay check, along with premiums on his com
bination health, life, and old age security insurance, and that
the furnishings and equipment were replaced from time to time
with newer models as Edgar or the payroll machines, rather
completed payments on the old ones. He has a complete
security package, said Halyard. His standard of living is
constantly rising, and he and the country at large are pro
tected from the old economic ups and down by the orderly,
predictable consumer habits the payroll machines give him.
Used to be he d buy on impulse, illogically, and industry would
go nutty trying to gure out what he was going to buy next.
Why, I remember when I was a little boy, we had a crazy
neighbor who blew all his money on an electric organ, while
he still had an old-fashioned icebox and kerosene stove in his
kitchen 1"
Edgar closed the door and leaned against it, against the door
of his M-I7 castle.
Wanda sank to the couch. The place looked nice, I think,
she said. She said it whenever a visitor Amy Glock, Gladys
Pelrine, the Shah of Bratpuhr, anybody-wleft.
Yep, said Edgar. And he felt evil and damned as he looked
at Wanda, good, good soul, who d never done anything to
offend him, whose love for him was as big as all outdoors.
He ngered the three ten-dollar bills in his pocket, his take«
home paymcigarette money, recreation money, small luxury
money the machines let him have. This tiny atom ot the
economy under his control he was going to spend, not on
himself or Wanda or the kids, but on Marion. Edgar s troubled
heart had gone out to the crazy man in Halyard s story, the
144 PLAYER PIANO
guy who d bought himself an electric organ. Expensive, im-
practical, strictly personal above and beyond the goddamned
package.
But deceit was another thing. Wanda," said Edgar, I m
no good.
She knew what he was talking about, all right. She wasn t
in the least surprised. Yes, you are, Edgar," she said lamely.
You re a ne man. I understand.
About Marion?
Yes. She s very beautiful and charming. And I m not ex
actly a girl any more, and I expect I m pretty dull. She started
to cry, and, good soul that she was, she tried to keep him from
seeing it. She hurried into the kitchen, took four suppers from
the deep freeze, and thrust them into the radar range. Call
the children, will you please, Edgar P she said in a small, high
voice. Supper will be ready in twenty-eight seconds.
Edgar shouted the children s names into the twilight, and
returned to Wanda. Listen, Wan it isn t you. The Lord
knows it isn t your fault. He hggged her from behind, and
she twisted away and pretended to adjust dials on the range,
though there was no adjusting to be done. Clockwork was
doing everything.
Chimes rang, the clockwork clicked, and the range s hum
ming stopped. Call the children before everything gets cold,
she said.
They re coming. Edgar tried to hug her again, and she
let him this time. Listen, he said passionately, it s the world,
Wan me and the world. I m no good to anybody, not in this
world. Nothing but a Reek and Wreck, and that s all my kids ll
be, and a guy s got to have kicks or he doesn t want to live
and the only kicks left for a dumb bastard like me are the bad
ones. I m no good, Wan, no good!
It s me that s no good to anybody, said Wanda wearily.
Nobody needs me. You or even little old Delores could run
the house and all, it s so easy. And now I m too fat for any-
body but the kids to love me. My mother got fat, and my
grandmother got fat, and guess it s in the blood; but some-
body needed them, they were still some good. But you don t
need me, Ed, and you can t help it if you don't love me any
i
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PLAYER PIANO 145
more. Just the way men are, and you can t help it if you re
the way God made you. She looked at him lovingly, pityingly.
Poor man.
Delores and Edgar, In, hustled in, and Edgar and Wanda
composed themselves and told their children all about the Shah.
The subject was soon exhausted, and at dinner only the
children spoke and touched their food.
Somebody sick ? said Edgar, Jr.
Your mother isn t well. She has a headache, said Edgar.
Yeah? That s too bad, Mom.
Just a little thing, said Wanda. It ll pass.
How about you, Pop ? said Edgar, Jr. You well enough
to take in the basketball game at the pavilion tonight ?
Edgar kept his eyes on his plate. Like to, he mumbled.
Promised Joe I d go bowling with him tonight."
Joe Prince ?
Yeah, Joe Prince.
Why, Daddy, said Delores, we saw Mr. Prince over to
the Glocks , and he said he was going to the basketball game.
He did not I said Edgar, Jr., ercely. Just be quiet. You
don t know what you re talking about. He didn t say that at
all.
He did, too! said Delores stubbornly. He said "
Delores, honey, said Wanda, I m sure you misunder-
stood Mr. Prince.
Yes, said Edgar, J12, I remember now he said he was
going bowling with Pop. Sis got it all wrong, Mom. His
hands were trembling, and, clumsily, he knocked over his milk
glass. Both he and his father jumped to their feet to catch it
before it toppled all the way. Young Edgar caught it, and
when his eyes met old Edgar s they were full of hate. Guess
I m too tired to go to the ball game after all, he said. Guess
I ll stay home and watch television with Mom.
Don t miss any good times on my account, said Wanda.
I get along just ne by myself.
There was a series of sharp taps 0n the picture window,
and the Hagstrohms looked up to see the Shah of Bratpuhr
rattling his ringed ngers against the glass. He had just re-
a I
146 PLAYER PIANO
turned from the pavilion to the limousine, which had been left
in front of the Hagstrohm s M-I7 home.
Brahauna! cried the Shah cheerfully. He waved. Bm-
houna, Takam.
Live 1 translated Krashdrahr.
CHAPTER XVIII
WHEN WEDNESDAY CAME, Paul stopped by his farm
early in the morning and gave Mr. Haycox his instructions.
Mr. Haycox made it clear that he wasn t a parlor maid.
Reluctantly, Paul gave Mr. Haycox to understand that he
could do the job or clear out, and that the job had better be
well done. It was that important to Paul that everything be
perfect for the delicate transformation of Anita.
You think you can just go around buying anybody to do
anything you damn please, said Mr. Haycox. Well, you re
mistaken this time, Doctor. You can take your doctor s degree,
and
I don t want to re you.
Then don t!
For the last time, as a favor to me
Why didn t you say so in the rst place P
Say what ?
As a favor.
All right; as a favor
As a favor, just this once, said Mr. Haycox. I m no
parlor maid, but I try to be a good friend.
Thanks.
Nothing at all. Don t mention it.
During the day, Anita called Paul to ask what she was to
wear.
Old clothes.
A barn dance ?
"Not quite, but close. Dress as though it were.
Paul, with the Meadows so close and all, do you think we
should be going out and tearing around?
W,\W:,«M\
w-MN.:+M
PLAYER PIANO 147
The Meadows isn t a funeral.
It could be, Paul.
Just for tonight, let s forget the Meadows. Tonight it s
going to be just Paul and Anita, and to hell with everybody
else.
That s very easy to say, Paul. It s a sweet idea and every-
thing, but
But what? he asked irritably.
Well, )1 don t know; I don t want to nag, but it does seem
to me that you re being awfully slap-happy about the Meadows,
about the Blue Team.
What should I be doing?
Shouldn t you be training or something? I mean, shouldn t
you be getting lots of sleep and eating the right foods and
jogging around a little after work? And cutting down on
cigarettes, maybe P
What?
You ve got to be in shape if the Blue Team s going to win.
Paul laughed.
Now listen, Paul, you needn t laugh. Shepherd says he s
seen careers made and broken by how men made out as team
captains at the Meadows. Shepherd s given up smoking com-
pletely.
You can tell him I ve taken up hashish to speed up my
reaction time. His fast ball will look like a toy balloon blowing
over home plate. We are going out tonight.
All right, she said gloomily. All right.
I love you, Anita.
I love you, Paul.
And she was ready when he got home, not as Ilium s Lady
of the Manor but as a trim, kittenish girl in denim trousers
rolled above her knees. She wore one of Paul s shirts, with its
tails knotted below her breasts, white sneakers, and a red
bandana about her neck.
Is this right ?
Perfect.
Paul I don t understand what s going on. I called up
the Country Club, and they don t know about any barn dance.
And neither do the clubs in Albany, Troy, or Schenectady.
I48 PLAYER PIANO
Anita, Paul knew, hated surprises, couldn t bear not to be on
top of every situation.
This is a private one, said Paul. Just for the two of us.
You ll see when the time comes.
I want to know now.
Where are our anniversary martinis ? The table where the
pitcher and glasses awaited him every night was bare.
You re on the wagon until after the Meadows.
Don t be ridiculous! Everybody is going to be drinking for
two weeks up there.
Not the captains. Shepherd says they can t afford to drink.
That shows how much he knows. The drinks are on the
house.
Paul mixed martinis, drank more than his usual ration, and
changed into a suit of sti , crackling denim overalls he d
bought. in Homestead that afternoon. He was sorry to see that
Anita was getting no pleasure from the suspense he d built up.
Instead of happy anticipation, she showed signs of suspicion.
Ready ? he said brightly.
Yes- I suppose.
They walked in silence to the garage. With a grand gesture,
Paul held the car door open.
Oh, Paul, not the old car.
There s a reason.
There couldn t be a reason good enough to get me in that
thing.
Please, Anita you ll see soon enough why we ve got to
take this one.
She got in and sat on the edge of the seat, trying to come
in contact With the car as little as possible. Honestly! I mean
really!
They rode like strangers. On the long grade by the golf
course, however, she unbent a tri e. In the beams of the head-
lights was a pale and hairy man in green shorts, green socks,
and a green shirt with the word Captain written across it.
The man was jogging along"tt1e shoulder of the road, now and
then breaking his pace to pirouette and shadowbox, then pick-
ing up his jogging again.
Paul blasted Shepherd with his automobile horn, and was
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PLAYER PIANO I49
delighted to see him bound across the ditch to get out of his
way.
Anita rolled down her window and cheered.
The captain of the Green Team waved, his face twisted by
exertion
Paul pressed the throttle to the oor, laying down a cloud
of burned oil and carbon monoxide.
That man s got a lot of get up and go, said Anita.
He lls me full of lie down and die, said Paul.
They were passing the battlements of the Ilium Works now,
and one of the guards, recognizing Paul s car from his pillbox,
waggled his fty-caliber machine gun in friendly fashion.
Anita, who had been getting more and more restiess, made
as though to grab the wheel. Paul! Where are you going?
Are you crazy?
He brushed her hand away, smiled, and kept on going across
the bridge into Homestead.
The bridge was blocked again by Reeks and Wrecks who
were painting yellow lines to mark traf c lanes. Paui looked
at his watch. They had ten more minutes until time for, as
the expression went, knocking off work. Paul wondered if
Bud Calhoun had thought up this project. Like most of the
R&R projects, it was, to Paul at least, ironic. The four-lane
bridge had, before the war, been jammed with the cars of
workers going to and from the Ilium Works. Four lanes had
been nothing like enough, and a driver stayed within his lane
01 got the side of his car ground off. Now, at any time of day,
a driver could swerve from one side of the bridge to the other
with perhaps one chance in ten thousand of hitting another
vehicle.
Paul came to a stop. Three men were painting, twelve were
directing traf c, and another twelve were resting. Slowly, they
opened a lane.
Hey, Mac, your headlamp s busted.
Thanks, said Paul.
Anita slid across the seat to get close to him, and he saw
that she was scared stiff. Paul -this is awful. Take me home.
Paul smiied patiently and drove into Homestead. The hy
drant in front of the saloon by the end of the bridge was going
150 PLAYER PIANO
again, anti he had to park down the block. The same dirty boy
was hiaking paper boats for the amusement of the crowd.
Leaning against a building and smoking nervously was a seedy
old man who looked familiar to Paul. Then Paul realized that
the nian was Luke Lubbock, the indefatigable joiner, who was
lost in the limbo 0f mufti, waiting for the next parade or meet
ing to start. With mixed emotions he looked around for Lasher
and Flnnerty, but saw no sign of them. Very probably they
were in the saloon s dark, rearmost booth, agreeing on every-
thing.
Paul is this your idea of a joke? Take me home, please.
Nobody s going to hurt you. These people are just your
fellow Americans."
Just because they were born in the same part of the world
as I was, that doesn t mean I have to come down here and
wallow with them.
Paul had expected this reaction, and remained patient in
the face of it. Of all the people on the north side of the river,
Anita. was the only one whose contempt for those in Homestead
was laced with active hatred. She was also the only wife on
the north side who had never been to college at all. The usual
attitude of the Country Club set toward Homesteaders was
contempt, all right, but it had an affectionate and amused un-
dertone, the same sort of sentiment felt by most for creatures
of the woods and elds. Anita hated Homesteaders.
If Paul were ever moved to be extremely cruel to her, the
cruelest thing he could do, he knew, would be to point out to
her why she hated as she did: if he hadn t married her, this
was where she d be, what she d be.
We re not getting out, said Paul. We ll just sit here a
few minutes and watch. Then we ll move on.
Watch what P
. Whatever there is to see. The line painters, the man run-
ning the hydrant, the people watching him, the little boy mak-
ing boats, the old men in the saloon. just keep looking around.
There s plenty to see.
She didn t look around, but slouched down in the seat and
stared at her hands.
Paul had an idea what she was thinking that for some rea-
i
PLAYER PIANO 15x
son she couldn t understand, he was doing this to humiliate
her, to recall her humble origins. Had that been what he
wanted to do, he would have been completely successful, be-
cause her virulent hate had decayed. She d fallen silent and
tried to make herself small.
You know why I brought you here ?
Her voice was a whisper. No. But I want to go home, Paul.
Please ? ..
Anita- I brought us here because I think it s high time we
got a completely new perspective, not on just our relationship
to ourselves, but on our relationship to society as a whole. He
didn t like the sound of the words as they came out, sententious
and in ated. Their impact on Anita was nothing.
He tried again: In order to get what we ve got, Anita, we
have, in effect, traded these people out of what was the most
important thing on earth to them the feeling of being needed
and useful, the foundation of self-respect. That wasn t much
good either. He wasn t getting through to Anita yet. She still
seemed certain that she was somehow being punished by him.
He tried once more: Darling, when I see what we ve got,
and then see what these people have got, I feel like a horse s
ass.
A glimmering of understanding crossed Anita s face. Guard
edly, she cheered up a little. Then you re not mad at me ?
Lord, no. Why should I be mad at you?
I don t know. I thought maybe you thought I agged too
much or maybe you thought something was going on between
Shepherd and me.
This last this suggestion that he would ever worry about
Shepherd threw Paul completely off the orderly course of re-
edueating Anita. The notion that he might be jealous of the
captain of the Green Team was so ludicrous, showed so poor
an understanding, that it commanded his full attention. I ll
be jealous of Shepherd when you re jealous of Katharine
Finch, he laughed.
This, to his surprise, Anita chose to take seriously. You
don t mean that I
Mean what?
152 PLAYER PIANO
That I should be jealous of Katharine Finch. That dumpy
little
Wait a minute! The conversation was. really a eld now.
I just meant there was about as much chance of there being
something between Katharine and me as there was of there
being something between you and Shepherd.
She was still on the defensive, and apparently hadn t grasped
the negative sense of his parallel. She came back at him ag
gressively. Well, Shepherd is certainly a more attractive man
than Katharine is a woman.
I m not arguing that, said Paul desperately. I don t want
to argue that at all. There isn t anything between Katharine
and me, and there isn t anything between you and Shepherd.
I was simply pointing out how absurd it would be for either
one of us to suspect the other.
You don t think I m attractive?
I think you re devastatingly attractive. You know that.
His voice had gotten loud, and as he glanced out at the street
scene he saw that he and Anita, the would-be observers, were
being observed A paper boat shot the rapids to the storm sewer
unnoticed. I didn t bring us here to accuse each other of
adultery, he whispered hoarsely.
Then why did you?
I told you: so we could both get the feel of the world as
a whole, not just our side of the river. So we could see what
our way of life has done to the lives of others.
Anita was on top of the situation now, having successfully
attacked and confused Paul, and having found that she wasn t
being baited or punished. They all look perfectly well fed
to me.
But they ve had the spiritual stuf ng knocked out of them
by people like my father, like Kroner and Baer and Shepherd,
like us.
They couldn t have been too well stuffed in the rst place,
or they wouldn t be here.
Paul was mad, and the delicate mechanism that kept him
from hurting her stripped its gears. Here, but for the grace
of God, go you!
Paul! She burst into tears. That s not fair, she said
PLAYER PIANO 153
brokenly. Not at all fair. I don t know» why you had to say
that.
It isn t fair for you to cry.
You re cruel, that s what you arewjust plain cruel. If you
wanted to hurt me, congratulate yourself. You certainly did.
She blew her nose. I must have had something these people
don t, or you wouldn t have married me.
Oligomenorrhea, he said.
She blinked. What s that 3
Oligomenorrhea that s what you had that these others
don t. Means delayed menstrual period.
How on earth did you ever learn a word like that 1
I looked it up a month after we were married, and it etched
itself on the inside of my skull.
Oh. She turned crimson. You ve said enough, quite
enoug , she said bitterly. If you won t drive me home, I ll
walk.
Paul started the car, abused the gears with savage satisfac-
tion, and drove back across the bridge, toward the north side
of the river.
When they d reached the mid point of the bridge, he was
still warmed and excited by the sudden ght with Anita. By
the time they were under the guns of the Ilium Works, ra-
tionality and remorse were setting in.
The ght had been a complete surprise. Never had they gone
at it so poisonously. More surprising, Paul had been the vicious
one, and Anita had been little more than a victim. Confusedly
he tried to remember the events that had led up to the ght.
His memory was no help.
And how completely fruitless and destructive the ght had
been! In the heat of a bad instant he had said what he knew
would hurt her most, would, by extension, make her hate him
most. And he hadn t wanted to do that. God knows he hadn t.
And here he was with his cheery and careful plans for starting
a new life with her shot to hell.
They were passing the golf course now. In minutes they d
be home.
Anita -
By way of an answer, she turned on the car radio and im-
154 PLAYER PIANO
patiently twiddled the dials, waiting for the volume to come
up, presumably to drown him out. The radio hadn t worked
for years.
Anita-listen. I love you more than anybody on earth.
Good God but I m sorry about what we said to each other.
I didn t say anything to you like what you said to me.
I could cut my tongue out for having said those things.
Don t use any of our good kitchen knives.
It was a. freak.
So am I, apparently. You passed our driveway.
I meant to. I have a surprise for you. Then you ll see how
much I really love you how insigni cant that stupid ght
was.
I ve had quite enough surprises tonight, thank you. Turn
around, please. I m worn out.
This surprise cost eight thousand, Anita. Still want to turn
around ?
Think I can be bought, do you ? she said angrily, but her
expression was softening, answering her own question. What
on earth could it be? Really? Eight thousand dollars ?
Paul relaxed, settling back in his seat to enjoy the ride.
You don t belong in Homestead, sweetheart.
Oh, hell maybe I do.
No, no. You ve got something the tests and machines will
never be able to measure: you re artistic. That s one of the
tragedies of our times, that no machine has ever been built
that can recognize that quality, appreciate it, foster it, sym-
pathize with it.
It is, said Anita sadly. It is, it is.
I love you, Anita.
I love you, Paul.
Look! A deer I Paul icked on his bright lights to illumi
nate the animal, and recognized the captain of the Green Team,
still jogging, but now in an advanced state of exhaustion.
Shepherd s legs ailed about weakly and disjointedly, and his
feet struck the pavement with loud, limp slaps. There was no
recognition in his eyes this time, and he oundered on heed-
lessly.
With every step he hammers another nail into my cof n,
PLAYER PIANO 155
said Paul, lighting a fresh cigarette from the one he had just
nished.
Ten minutes later he stopped the car, went around to Anita s
side, and affectionately offered his arm. The Iatchstring is
out, darling, for a whole new and happier life for the two
of us.
What does that mean?"
You ll see. He led her to the front door of the low little
house through a dark, fragrant tunnel roofed and walled by
lilacs. He took her hand and placed it on the latchstring. Pull.
She tugged gingerly. The latch inside clattered free, and the
door swung open. Oh! Ohhhh Paul!"
Ours. This belongs to Paul and Anita.
She walked in slowly, her head back, her nostrils wide. I
feel like crying, it s so darling.
Hastily, Paul checked the preparations for the tricky hours
ahead, and was delighted. Mr. Haycox, probably in an orgy
of masochism, had scrubbed every surface. Gone were the soot
and dust, leaving only the clean, soft, glowing patina of age
over everything the pewter on the mantel, the cherry case of
the grandfather clock, the black ironware on the hearth, the
walnut stock and silver inlays of the long ri e on the wall,
the tin potbeilies of the kerosene lamps, the warm, worn maple
of the chairs. . . . And on a table in the center of the room,
looking archaic, too, in the soft light, were two glasses, a
pitcher, a bottle of gin, a bottle of vermouth, and a bucket
of ice. And beside these were two glasses of whole, fresh milk
from the farm, fresh hard~boiled eggs from the farm, fresh
peas from the farm, and fresh fried chicken from the farm.
As Paul mixed the drinks, Anita went about the room sigh-
ing happily, touching everything lovingly. Is it really ours ?
As of yesterday. I signed the nal papers. Do you really
feel at home here ?
She dropped into a chair before the replace and took the
glass he handed her. Can t you tell? Don t I radiate how I
feel? She laughed quietly. He wants to know if I like it.
It s priceless, you brilliant darling, and you got it for eight
thousand dollars! Aren t you smart!
Happy anniversary, Anita.
156 PLAYER PIANO
I want a stronger word than happy."
Ecstatic anniversary, Anita.
Ecstatic anniversary to you, Paul. I love you Lord, how
I love you I
I love you. He had never loved her so much.
. Do you realize, darling, that that grandfather clock alone
is worth almost a thousand dollars ?
Paul felt terribly clever. It was fantastic how well things
were turning out. Anita s contentment with the place was
genuine, and the process of weaning her from one house to
another, from one way of life to another, seemed, in a mir-
aculous few minutes, to have been almost completed. This
is your kind of surroundings, isn t it.
You know it is.
Did you know the clock had wooden works? Think of it?
Every part whittled out of wood.
Don t worry about it. That s easily remedied.
Hmm P
We can get an electric movement put in.
But the whole charm
She was in a transport of creativity now, and didn t hear
him._ You see with the pendulum gone, an electrostatic dust
pre cg t tor would t right in the lower part of the case.
And you know where I d put it ?
He looked around the room and saw no spot for it other
than where it was. That niche there seems ideal.
:In the 'front hail! Can t you just see it there 1 "
There 15 no front hall, he said in puzzlement. The front
door opened right into the living room.
Our front hall, silly.
But, Anita
. And that spice cabinet on the wali wouldn t it be darling
With some of the drawers sticking out, and with philodendron
growing from them? I know just the spot in the guest room.
Swell.
And these priceless rafters, Paul! This means we can have
rough-hewn beams in our living room, too. Not just in the
PLAYER PIANO 157
kitchen, but the living room too! And I ll eat your classi cation
card it that dry-sink won t take our television set.
I was iooking forward to eating it myself, said Paul
quietly.
And these wide-board oors: you can imagine what they ll
do for the rumpus room.
What did the rumpus room ever do for me?" said Paul
grimly.
What did you say?
I said, what did the rumpus room ever do for me?
Oh. I 'see. She laughed perfunctorily and, her eyes bright,
she searched for more plunder.
Anita-
Yes? Oh! What a delightful Cape Cod lighter."
Listen to me for just a minute."
Certainly, darling.
I bought this place for us to live in.
You mean just the way it is?
Exactly. It can t be changed.
You mean we can t take any of these things out i
No. But we can move ourselves in.
This is another one of your jokes. Don t tease me, darling.
I m having such a good time.
I m not teasing! This is the life I want. This is where I
want to live it.
It s so dark, I can t see by your face whether you re serious
or not. Turn on the lights.
N0 lights.
No electricity ?
Only what s in your hair.
How do they run the furnace 5
No furnace.
And the stove ?
Firewood. And the refrigerator is a cold spring.
How perfectly hideous !"
I m serious, Anita. I want us to live here.
We d die in six months.
The Haycox family lived here for generations.
i
t
i
158 PLAYER PIANO
You are playful tonight, aren t you? Just so straight faced
and everything, keeping your joke alive. Come here and kiss
me, you sweet clown.
T We re going to spend the night here, and tomorrow I m
gomg to do the chores. Will you give it a try, anyway 3
And I ll be a good old fat farm Mama, and get breakfast
on the wood stove -co ee, home grown eggs and cream, home-
baked biscuits drowned in homemade butter and jam.
Would you ?
I d drown in butter and jam rst.
You could learn to love this life.
I couldn t, and you know it.
l Iis temper was rising again, in response to bitter disap~
p01ritment, as it had done an hour before in Homestead. And
again he was looking for something short of a slap in her face
that would shock humility into her. The sentence that came
out had been ready for a long time. He spoke it now, not
because now was the right time, but because it packed a punch.
It doesn t matter what you think, he said evenly. I ve
made up my mind to quit my job and live here. Do you under-
stand? I m going to quit.
She folded her arms across her chest, as though ghting a
chill, and rocked in silence for a few moments. I thought
maybe that was coming, she said at last. I thought maybe
that was what you were up to. I d hoped it wasn t, Paul. I d
prayed it wasn t. But well, here we are, and you ve said it.
She lit a cigarette, smoked it in shallow, tasteless pu 's, and
blew the smoke through her nose. Shepherd said you would.
He said I was about to quit ?
No. He said you were a quitter. She sighed heavily. He
knows you better than I do, apparently.
God knows it d be easy enough to stick with the system,
and keep going right on up. It s getting out that takes nerve.
But why quit, if it s so easy to stick with it ?
Didn t you hear anything I said in Homestead? That s
why I took you there, so you d get the feel of things.
That silly business about Katharine Finch and Shepherd ?
N0, no God no. About how people like us have taken all
the self respect from all the others.
PLAYER PIANO 159
You said you felt like a horse s ass. I remember that.
Don t you, sometimes ?
What an idea!
Your conscience, dammit doesn t it ever bother you?
Why should it? I ve never done anything dishonest.
Let me put it another way: do you agree things are a mess 3
Between us 3
Everywhere! The world! She could be appallingly near-
sighted. Whenever possible, she liked to reduce any generaliza-
tion to terms of herself and persons she knew intimately.
Homestead, for instance.
What else could we possibly give the people that they haven t
got?
There! You made my point fortme. You said, what else
could we give them, as though everything in the world were
ours to give or withhold.
Somebody s got to take responsibility, and that s just the
way it is when somebody'does.
That s just it: things haven t always been that way. It s
new, and it s people like us who ve brought it about. Hell,
everybody used to have some personal skill or willingness to
work or something he could trade for what he wanted. Now
that the machines have taken over, it s quite somebody who has
anything to offer. All most people can do is hope to be given
something.
If someone has brains, said Anita rmly, he can still
get to the top. That s the American way, Paul, and it hasn t
changed. She looked at him appraisingly. Brains and nerve,
Paul.
And blinders. The punch was gone from his voice, and
he felt drugged, a drowsiness from a little too much to drink,
from scrambling over a series of emotional peaks and pits,
from utter frustration.
Anita caught the strap of his overalls and pulled him down
to kiss him. Paul yielded sti ly.
Ohhhhhhh, she chided, you re .mch a little boy some-
times. She pulled him down again, this time making sure he
kissed her on the lips. You stop worrying, now, you hear ?"
she whispered in his ear.
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I60 PLAYER PIANO
Descent into the Maelstrom, he thought wearily, and closed
his eyes, and gave himself over to the one sequence of events
that had never failed to provide a beginning, a middle, and a
satisfactory end.
I love you, Paul, she murmured. I don t want my little
boy to worry. You re not going to quit, sweetheart. You re
just awfully tired.
Mmmm.
Promise not to think any more about it 2
Mmmrn.
And, we are going to Pittsburgh, aren t we ?
Mmmm.
And what team is going to win at the Meadows ?
{(Mmmm.}
Paul-
Hmmm?
"What team is going to win ?
Blue, he Whispered sleepily. Blue, by God, Blue.
ghat s my boy. Your father would be awfully proud.
(I up.
He carried her across the wide-board oor into the pine-
wainscoted bedroom and laid her down on a patchwork quilt
on a bird s~eye maple bed. There, Mr. Haycox had told him,
six independent people had died, and fourteen had been born.
CHAPTER XIX
DOCTOR PAUL PROTEUS, for want of a blow severe
enough to knock him off the course dictated by the circumstances
of his birth and training, arrived uneventfully at the day when
it was time for men whose development was not yet complete
to go to the Meadows.
The crisis was coming, he knew, when he would have to quit
or turn informer, but its approach was unreal, and, lacking a
decisive plan for meeting it, he forced a false tranquillity on
himself «a vague notion that everything would come out all
right in the end, the way it always had for him.
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PLAYER PIANO 16I
The big passenger plane, after an hour in the air, circled over
the shore, where the pine forest met the waters at the source
of the St. Lawrence. The plane dropped lower, and the landing
strip in the forest could be seen, and then the cluster of log
lodges and dining hall and shu leboard courts and tennis courts
and badminton courts and softball diamonds and swings and
slides and bingo pavilion of the Mainland, the camp for women
and children. And jutting into the river was a long dock and
three white yachts, the port of embarkation for men going to
the island called the Meadows.
I guess this is just about goodbye, said Paul to Anita, as
the plane came to a stop.
You look wonderful, said Anita, straightening his blue
captain s shirt for him. And what team is going to win ?
Blue, said Paul. "Gait mit um.
Now, I m going to be working on Mom here, while-
Ladies over here ! boomed the public address system. Men
will assemble over on the dock. Leave your Iuggage where it
is. It will be in your cabins when you arrive.
Goodbye, darling, said Anita.
Goodbye, Anita.
I love you, Paul.
I love you, Anita.
Come on, said Shepherd, who had arrived on the same
plane. Let s get going. I m anxious to see just how hot this
Blue Team is.
Blue Team, eh 1 said Baer. Worried about the Blue Team,
are you, eh? Eh? White. White s the one to look out for, boy.
He stretched out his white shirt for them to admire. See?
See? That s the shirt to look out for. See? Aha, aha
Where's Doctor Kroner ?" said Shepherd.
Went up yesterday, said Paul. He s among the of cial
greeters, so he s already on the island. He waved once more
to Anita, who was going down a gravel path toward the Main-
land s buildings with a dozen other women, Katharine Finch
and Mom Kroner among them, and a handful of children. All
day, planes would be bringing more.
Anita sidled up to Mom and took her fat arm.
Concealed loudspeakers in the virgin forest burst into song:
I62 PLAYER PIANO
To you, beautiful lady, I raise my eyes;
My heart, beautiful lady, to your heart sighs.
Come, come, beautiful lady, to Paradise . .
The song died in a clatter in the loudspeaker, a cough, and
then a command: Men with classi cation numbers from zero to
one hundred will please board the Queen of the Meadows; those
with numbers from one hundred to two hundred and fty will
board the Meadow Lark; those with numbers above two hun-
dred and fty will get on the Spirit of the Meadows.
Paul, Shepherd, Baer, and the rest of the contingent from
the AJbany«Troy-Schenectady-Ilium area walked out onto the
dock where earlier arrivals were waiting. All putt on dark glasses,
which they would wear during the next two weeks to protect
their eyes from the unrelenting glare of the summer sun on the
river, and on the whitewashed buildings, white gravel paths,
white beach, and white cement courts of the Meadows.
Green s going to win! shouted Shepherd.
You tell em, Cap!
Everyone shouted and sang, the marine engines burbled and
roared, and the three yachts shot toward the island in V-for-
mation.
Squinting through spray, Paul watched the Meadows come
closer and closer, hot, bleached, and sanitary. The white ser-
pent stretching the island s length could now be seen as a row
of white cubes, the insulated cement biock structures called, in
Meadows parlance dating back to more primitive facilities, tents.
The amphitheater on the island s northernmost tip looked like
a dinner plate, and the sports area around it was a geometric
patchwork of every imaginable kind of court. Whitewashed
rocks everywhere framed the paths and gar
The air quaked with a sharp, painful crash. And another.
Another. Blam!
Rockets from the island were exploding overhead. In another
minute the three yachts were rumbling and fuming into their
slips, and the band was playing The Star-Spangled Banner.
And the rockets red glare,
The bombs bursting in air . . .ll
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PLAYER PIANO I63
The bandmaster held up his baton, and the bandsmen paused
signi cantly.
Vuuuuzzzzzzi ! went a rocket. Kablooooom!
Gave proof through the night,
That our ag was still there . H
After the anthem came a cheery kaleidoscope of Pack Up
Your Troubles, I Want a Girl, Take Me Out to the Ball
Game, Working on the Railroad.
The new arrivals scrambled over the decks to catch the hands
extended from the wharf by a rank of older men, most of whom
were fat, gray, and balding. These were the Grand Old Men
-the district managers, the regional managers, the associate
vice-presidents and assistant vice~presidents and vice-presidents
of the Eastern and Middle-Western divisions.
Welcome aboard! was the greeting, and always had been.
Welcome aboard!
Paul saw that Kroner was reserving his big hand and wel-
come for him, and he picked his way across the deck until he
reached the hand, took it, and stepped to the wharf.
Good to have you aboard, Paul.
Thank you, sir. It s good to be aboard. A number of the
other older men paused in their greetings to look in friendly
fashion at the bright young son of their departed wartime leader.
Report to the Ad Building for registration, then check into
your tents to make sure your luggage is there, said the public
address system. Get to know your tentmate, then lunch.
With the band leading them, the new arrivals swung along
the gravel walk to the Administration Building.
Across the buiiding s entrance was a banner declaring: The
Blue Team Weieomes You to the Meadows.
There were cries of good-natured outrage, and human pyra-
mids were built in a twinkling, with the top men clawing down
the infuriating message.
A young member of the Blue Team slapped Paul on the back.
What an idea, Cap n ! he crowed. Boy, that really showed em
who s got the wide-awake out t. And we ll go on showing these
guys, too.
164 PLAYER PIANO
Yep, said Paul, you bet. That s the spirit. Apparently
this was the youngster s rst visit to the Meadows. In this state
of nature he didn t know that the banner was the work of a
special committee whose sole mission \ vas to stir up team rivalry.
There would be more such goads at every turn.
Inside the door was a green placard: Abandon All Hope,
Ye Who Don t Wear Green Shirts 1
Shepherd whooped delightedly, brandished the placard over-
head, and in the next second was thrown to the oor by a wave
of Blues, Whites, and Reds.
No rough housing indoors! said the loudspeaker sharply.
You know the rules. No roughhousing indoors. Save your
ginger for the playing eld. After registration, report to your
tents, get to know your buddies, and be back for lunch in fteen
minutes.
Paul arrived at his tent ahead of his as yet unknown buddy.
The two of them, according to the foreword in the Song Book,
would develop a sort of common law brotherhood as a result
of their having shared so much beauty, excitement, and deep
emotion together.
The chill of the air-conditioned room made him feel dizzy.
Coming out of this icker of vertigo, Paul s eyes focused on
a dinner-plate sized badge on the pillow of his bunk. Dr.
Paul Proteus, Wks. Mgr., Ilium, N. Y., it said. And, below
this, Call Me Paul or Pay Me $5. The second part of the
legend was on every badge. The only man who was not to be
called by his rst name at the Meadows was the Old Man him-
self, the successor of Paul s father, Doctor Francis Eldgrin
Gelhorne. He, National Industrial, Commercial, Communica-
tions, Foodstuffs, and Resources Director, was damn well Doc
tor Gelhorne, sit, at any hour of the night or day, and anywhere
he went.
And then Paul saw the badge on his buddy s pillow: Dr.
Frederick Garth, Wks. Mgr., Buffalo, N. Y. Call Me Fred or
Pay Me $5.
Paul sat down on the edge of his bed and struggled against
the uneasy perplexity the sight of Garth s badge had precipi-
tated. He had known many men, Shepherd for instance, who
were forever seeing omens and worrying about them omens
PLAYER PIANO 165
in a superior s handshake, in the misspelling of a name in an
of cial document, in the seating arrangement of a banquet table,
in a superior s asking for or offering a cigarette, in the tone
of . . . Paul s career, until recent weeks, had been graceful
and easy all the way, and he d found omen analysis dull, pro t-
less. For him the omens were all good or had been until now.
NOW, he, too, was growing aware of possibly malevolent spooks,
revealing themselves in oblique ways.
Was it chance or ignorance or some subtle plot that had put
him in the same cell with Garth, the other candidate for Pitts-
burgh? And why had Shepherd been made a captain, when the
honor was reserved for those who were going high and far
indeed? And why. . . . Manfully, Paul turned his thoughts
into other channels, super cially, at least, and managed to laugh
like a man'who didn t give a damn about the system any more.
His buddy walked in, gray at the temples, tired, pale, and
kind. Fred Garth wanted desperately to be liked by everyone,
and had achieved a sort of social limbo, affecting no one very
much one way or the other. He had risen because of this quality
rather than in spite of it. Time and time again two powerful
personalities, backed by impressive factions, had aspired for the
same job. And the top brass, fearing a split if they chose one
faction s man over the other, had named Garth as an inoffensive
compromise candidate. There was a feeling, general enough not
to be branded sour grapes. that Garth was all but over his head
in the big assignments compromise politics had handed him.
Now, though he was only in his early fties, he seemed terribly
old willing, good-hearted, but apologetically weak, used up.
Doctor Proteus! I mean Paul. Garth shook his head,
laughed as though he d done a comical thing, and oEered a
ve dollar bill to Paul.
Forget it, Doctor Garth, said Paul, and handed it back to
him. I mean Fred. How are you P
Fine, ne. Can t complain. How s the wife and children ?"
"All ne, ne, thanks.
Garth blushed. Oh say, I'm sorry.
About what?
I mean, that was silly of me, asking about your children
when you haven t got any.
I66 PLAYER PIANO
Silly of me not to have any.
Maybe, maybe. It s a trial, though, watching yourrkids grow
up, wondering if they ve got what it takes, seeing em just about
killing themseives before the General Classi cation Tests, then
waiting for the grades The sentence ended in a sigh. I ve
just gone through that GCT business with my oldest, Brud,
and I ve got to live through the whole nightmare twice more
still, with Alice and little Ewing.
How d Brud make out ?
Hmmm? Oh how d he make out? His heart s in the right
place. He wants to do well, and he boned up harder for the
tests than any kid in the neighborhood. He does the best he
can.
0th see.
Well, he s going to get another crack at the tests different
ones, of course. He was under the weather when he took them
the rst time tail end of some virus business. He didn't miss
by much, and the Appeal Board made a special ruling. He gets
his second chance tomorrow, and we ll have the grades around
suppertime.
He ll make it this time, said Paul.
Garth shook his head. You d think they d give a kid some-
thing for trying, wouldn t you? God, you oughta see the little
guy plugging away.
Nice day, said Paul, changing the distressing subject.
Garth looked out of the window abstractedly. It is, isn t it.
God smiles on the Meadows.
Probany did before we occupied it.
I didn t make that up.
Make what up ?
About God smiling. That s from Doctor Gelhorne, of course.
Remember? He said that last year on the closing day.
Yep. Doctor Gelhorne said so manv memorable things, it
was hard for a person to stow them all away in his treasure
house of souvenirs.
Lunch ! said the loudspeakers. Lunch! Remember the rule:
get to know somebody new at each meal. Have your buddy on
one side, but a stranger on the other. Lunch! Lunch! Irrele-
vantly, the speakers blared Oh How I Hate to Get Up in the
PLAYER PIANO 167
Morning. Paul and Garth and ve hundred other pairs walked
across the parade ground to the dining hall.
As the crowd bore Paul and his buddy through the swinging
screen doors, Kroner caught his arm and drew him to one side.
Garth, like the good buddy he wanted to be, stepped out of
line and waited.
Tomorrow night, said Kroner. The big meeting is tomor-
row night after the keynote play and bon re.
Fine.
I told you the Old Man himself is coming. It s going to be
that important. You re going to be that important. I don t quite
know what s up, but I ve a hunch it s going to be the biggest
thing in your career.
Gosh.
Don t worry. With the blood you ve got in your veins, you ve
got more than what it ll take to do the job whatever it is.
Thanks.
Paul got back in line with Garth. He certainly likes you,
doesn t he 2 said Garth.
Old friend of my father s. Said it was good to have me
aboard.
Oh. Garth looked a little embarrassed. Paul s bald lie had
pointed up for the rst time their competitive situation. He let
the lie pass. Shepherd would have hounded Paul, and, more
subtly, Kroner, until he d learned every word that had passed
between them.
Paul felt real warmth for Garth. Come on, buddy, let s nd
a couple of strangers.
It s going to be tough. We ve been around a long time,
Paul.
Look for some appIe-cheeked youngster fresh out of school.
There s one.
Berringer! said Paul, amazed. When the machines had
made a list of Ilium men eligible for the Meadows, Berringer s
card had stayed in its slot. He was the last man in the whole
Works who deserved an invitation. Yet, here he was.
Berringer seemed to know what was going through Paul s
head, and he returned Paul s gaze with an insolent smile.
Baer stepped between them. Forgot, forgot supposed to tell
I68 PLAYER PIANO
you, he said. Berringer, about Berringer. Kroner said to tell
you, and I forgot, forgot.
How the hell did he get up here ?
Kroner brought him up. Last minute thing, see? Hmm?
Kroner thought it d break his father s heart if the boy wasn t
asked, and after What happened to Checker Charley and all.
There goes the merit system, said Paul.
Baer nodded. Yep there it goes, there it goes, all right.
He shrugged and raised his eyebrows quizzically. Zip zip, out
the window.
Paul re ected that Baer was possibly the most just, reason-
able, and candid person he d ever known remarkably machine-
like in that the only problems he interested himself in were
those brought to him, and in that he went to work on all
problems with equal energy and interest, insensitive to quality
and scale.
Paul glanced once more at Berringer, saw his luncheon com-
panion was Shepherd and that his shirt was green, and forgot
about him.
He and Garth finally found a pair of very young strangers
with two empty seats between them, and sat down.
The redheaded youngster next to Paul looked at his badge.
Oh, Doctor Proteus. I ve heard of you. How are you, sir?
Paul, not Doctor. Fine, how are you he studied his com-
panion s badge « Doctor Edmund L. Harrison, of the Ithaca V
Works P .
Get to know the man next to you, said the loudspeaker.
Don t talk to anyone you know.
Married ?" said Paul.
That s what you re here for, to get to know new people, to
broaden your horizons, said the loudspeaker.
Nossir, I m en
The more contacts you make here at the Meadows, said the
loudspeaker, the more smoothly industry will function, co-
operationwise."
I m engaged, said Doctor Harrison.
An Ithaca. girl?"
Two seats right over here, gentlemen over in the corner.
Right over there. Let s get our seats quickly, because there s
H
A
PLAYER PIANO 169
a full program, and everybody wants to get down to knowing
everybody else, said the loudspeaker.
Nossir, said Doctor Harrison. Atlanta. He looked at
Paul s badge again. Aren t you the son of--
Now that we re all seated and getting to know one another,
how about a iittle song to pull us all together P said the loud-
speaker.
Yes, he was my father, said Paul.
Turn to page twenty-eight of the Song Book, said the
loudspeaker. Twenty-eight, twenty-eight!
He was quite a man, said Harrison.
Yes, said Paul.
Wait Till the Sun Shines, Nellie! shouted the loud-
speaker. Find it? Twenty eight! All right, now, let s go!
The band at the far end of the hail, ampli ed to the din of
an elephant charge, smashed and hewed at the tune as though
in a holy war against silence. It was impossible even to be
cordial to oneself in the midst of the uproar. Paul s stomach
knotted and his tastebuds went dead, and the delicious, expen-
sive food went down his gullet like boiled horsemeat and hominy
grits.
Paul, Paul, Paul, oh Paul! shouted Baer from across the
table. Paul!"
What ?
That s yOu you they re calling for; they re calling for you 1
Don t tell me the captain of the Blue Team is such a coward
he ran out at the last minute, the loudspeaker was saying sar-
castically. Come on! Where s that Blue captain?
PauI stood, and held up his hand. Here, he said, in a voice
inaudible even to himself.
Cheers and boos greeted him, in a proportion of one to three.
He was pelted by wadded paper napkins and maraschino cher-
ries from the tops of salads.
Well, said the loudspeaker tauntingly, let s hear your
song.
Hands gripped Paul and hoisted him into the air, and he was
borne down the aisle toward the bandstand by a ying wedge
of blue shirted men. They dumped him on the bandstand and
formed a cordon about him. The master of ceremonies, a fat,
170 PLAYER PIANO
red old man with breasts like a woman s sticking through his
wet T-shirt, thrust a Song Book into his hands. The band
blasted out the ght song of the Blue Team.
Oh you Blue Team, you tried and true team, said Paul.
His voice came back at him, strange and frightening, ampli ed
electronically to erce de ance and determination. There are
no teams as good as you !
At this point he was completely drowned out by the stamp-
ing of feet, whistles, catcalls, and the clank of spoons on glasses.
The master of ceremonies, delighted with the high spirits he
was evoking, handed Paul a blue banner to wave. No sooner
were Paul s hands on the staff than he saw the ranks of his
protectors split wide open. Berringer, his head lowered, his thick
legs driving, charged him.
In the scuf e, Paul swung at the info-rmality-maddened Ber-
ringer, missed, and was knocked, hors de combat, off the band-
stand and halfway through the kitchen doors.
Please! Please! the loudspeaker was pleading. There are
very few rules at the Meadows, but the few that there are must
be observed! Get back to your seat, now, you in the green shirt.
There s to be no rough stuFf indoors. Do you understand ?
Laughter was general.
One more outburst like this one, and you ll be asked to leave
the island!
Kind hands picked up Paul, and he found himself looking
into the grave, dull face of Luke Lubbock, the perennial joiner,
who wore a busboy s uniform. One of the cooks, who had been
watching with disdain, turned away quickly when Paul looked
at him, and disappeared into the big meat locker.
As Paul s teammates carried him back to his seat, he realized
eetingly, as a fragment of a nightmare, that the cook had
been Alfy, the master of silent television.
Now, now, said the loudspeaker. No more rough stu ,
or we ll have to call off the rest of the fun. Now, where s the
captain of the White Team ?
When the fun was over, Paul and Doctor Harrison of Ithaca
walked out together.,
You have ten minutes of free time until the memorial ser-
PLAYER PIANO 171
vice, said the loudspeaker. Ten minutes to make new con-
tacts before the memorial service.
Nice meeting you, sir, said Doctor Harrison.
I enj 1?
My wild Irish rose, howled the loudspeaker, the sweetest
0w r that grows The refrain ended in a clatter. Your at-
tention, please. The Program Committee has just informed me
that we re running seven minutes behind schedule, so would you
please form up at the Oak right away, please. The memorial
service will take place right away.
A reverent hush settled like smog over the perspiring crowd
that had dispersed over the shuf eboard courts and around the
ping-pong tables near the dining hall. Now they began to form
about the Oak, the of cial symbol for the entire national or-
ganization. Its image was on every letterhead, and, stitched in
a rectangle of white silk, its image snapped in the breeze, just
below the American Flag on the parade-ground mast.
The youngsters imitated the oldsters uniform stances of
piety: eyes xed on the lower branches of the magni cent old
tree, hands folded before their genitals.
White s going to win! cried a short, thin youngster with
big teeth.
The older men looked at him with sadness, with melancholy
rebuke. Now was not the time for such horseplay., Now was
almost the only time that was not the time. The youngster s
outburst of in nite bad taste would poison his next two weeks,
and probably his career. He had in an instant become the
boy who yelled at memorial service. That described him, and
nobody would care to investigate him any further. Now, if he
turned out to be a spectacular athlete . . . No. His acaid
physique and pale skin indicated that this avenue to forgiveness
was closed to him.
Paul looked at him sympathetically, and recalled similar bad
starts from the past. The man would be terribly lonely, turn
to a career of surly drinking, and never be invited again.
The only sounds now were the rustling of leaves and the
uttering of the ags, and now and then the clatter of dishes
and silverware from the dining hall.
I72 PLAYER PIANO
A harried looking photographer ran in front of the group,
dropped to one knee, red a ashbulb, and ran away again.
Vunuuzzzzzip! went a rocket. Kabloooom! A parachuted
American Flag was ung from the bomb to drift lazily to the
river.
Kroner detached himself from the crowd and walked soberly
to the thick tree trunk. He turned and looked down at his hands
thoughtfully. His rst words were so soft, so choked with
emotion, that few heard them. He inhaled deeply, threw back
his shoulders, raised his eyes, and gathered strength to say them
agam.
In the brief moment before Kroner spoke again, Paul looked
about himself. His eyes met those of Shepherd and Berringer,
and what passed between them was tender and sweet. The crowd
had miraculously become a sort of homogenized pudding. It
was impossible to tell Where one ego left off and the next began.
It is our custom, said Kroner; it is the custom here at
the Meadows our custom, our Meadowswto meet here under
our tree, our symbol of strong roots, trunk, and branches, our
symbol of courage, integrity, perseverance, beauty. It is our
custom to meet here to remember our departed friends and
co-workers.
And now he forgot the crowd, and talked to the fat cumulus
clouds seudding over the blue sky. Since last we met, Doctor
Ernest S. Bassett has left our world for his reward in a better
one. Ernie, as you all know, was
The photographer ran out, ashed a bulb in Kroner s face,
and disappeared again.
Ernie was manager of the Philadelphia Works for ve years,
of the Pittsburgh Works for seven. He was my friend ; he was
our friend: a great American, a great engineer, a great man-
ager, a great pioneer at the head of the procession of civiliza
tion, opening new, undrearned-of doors to better things, for
better living, for more people, at less cost.
Now and then brokenly, Kroner told of Ernie Bassett as
a young engineer, and he traced his career from works to
works.
He gave himself unstintingly engineeringwise, manager-
shipwise, personalitywise, Americanwise, and Kroner paused
PLAYER PIANO 173
to look impressively from face to face. Again he talked to the
clouds heartwise.
A man stepped from the crowd to hand Kroner a long white
box. Kroner opened it slowly and studied it thoughtfully be-
fore showing its contents to anyone else. At last he reached in
and unfurled a blue and white pennant, the Armed Forces E
that Bassett had won during the war as manager of the Phila-
delphia Works.
A muted bugle played taps.
Kroner knelt at the foot of the tree and placed Ernie Bas-
sett s pennant there.
The photographer dashed up, got the picture, and dashed
away.
Vuuuuzzzzzip! Kabloooom!
A male choir, concealed in the shrubbery, sang ever so softly
to the tune of Love s Sweet Song :
Fellows at the Meadows,
Lift your tankards high ;
Toast our living symbol, reaching toward the sky.
Grown from but an acorn,
Giant now you are;
May you ne er stop growing;
Rise to the stars!
Proud sy-him bol a hov
Ourrrrrrrrs.
A minute of silence in unspoken prayer for departed
friends, said the loudspeaker.
All through the minute of silence, Paul was aware of a
snuf ing in the background. Someone s dam of reserve had
broken under the impact of the Ceremony someone who must
have been awfully close to Bassett. There were tears standing
in many eyes, and here and there teeth were sunk in unstable
lips, but nowhere could Paul see the sobber. Suddenly he spotted
him, not in the crowd, but in the dining hall. Luke Lubbock,
a pile of dirty dishes in his arms, had been completely carried
away. Big, honest tears for the manager of the Pittsburgh
Works ooded his cheeks. Rather roughly, the headwaiter hus-
tled him away from the screen door.
I74 PLAYER PIANO
Vuuuuzzzzzip! Kablooooom!
The band exploded into The Stars and Stripes Forever,"
and Kroner was half led from the tree by other oldsters who
had known Bassett well. The crowd dispersed.
Paul looked longingly at the doors of the saloon, which was
located in a separate white building. He tested the doors to
make sure they were really locked, and of course they were.
The saloon never opened until the cocktail hour, after the games.
Your attention! said the loudspeaker. Your attention,
please. The program for the rest of the day:
In ten minutes the teams will meet at their captains tents
for assignments to various sports. Formal competition will not
begin until tomorrow morning. After assignment, relax, get to
know your buddy, don t hang around with the same old crowd.
Cocktails at ve thirty. Supper at six-thirty. Now attenw
tion to this change: the keynote play and bon re will not take
place tonight. Will not. They will take place tomorrow night,
and there will be a group sing tonight in the amphitheater in-
stead. Taps at midnight.
Team captains, team captains will you please report to your
tents.
Without much hope, Paul rattled the saloon doors, thinking
he might be able to talk a oor sweeper inside into getting him
a little something.
I ve just been informed, said the loudspeaker, I ve just
been informed that the captain of the Blue Team is not in his
tent. Doctor Paul Proteus; Doctor Paul . . .
CHAPTER XX
THE SHAH OF BRATPUHR S golden turban hung un
furled like a roller towel in heaven from the hat rack in Miami
Beach.
Puku pala kako, pulm ebo koko, nibo aki koko, said the
Shah.
What s the foreign gentleman after? asked Homer Biglev.
proprietor of the barber shop.
PLAYER PIANO 175
He wants a little off the sides, a little off the back, and leave
the top alone, mumbled Khashdrahr Miasma, under a steam-
ing towel in the barber chair next to the Shah s.
Doctor Ewing J. Halyard was giving himself a ragged mani-
cure with his teeth in one of the waiting chairs, while his
charges received their rst American haircuts. He smiled and
nodded at whatever was being said, but heard nothing save the
soft crackle of the letter in his breast pocket as he shifted ner-
vously in a search for comfort n0 chair could give him. The
letter, from the personnel of cer of the State Department, had
pursued him from New York to Utica to Niagara Falls to
Camp Drum to Indianapolis to St. Louis to Fort Riley to
Houston to Hollywood to the Grand Canyon to Carlsbad Cav-
erns to Hanford to Chicago to Miami Beach, where he roosted
long enough for the letter to catch himwcatch him like a javelin,
quivering squarely between the shoulder-blades of his spirit. He
was lobster-red from a day on the sand, but beneath this sting-
ing veneer of ne health and spirits he was cold and dead white
with fear. My dear Mr. Halyard, it had begun. My dear
Mr. . . .
While Halyard brooded, Homer Bigley, with the re exes born
of a life of barbering, selected his scissors, clicked them in air
about the sacred head, and, as though his right hand were ser-
viced by the same nerve as his diaphragm and voicebox, he
began to cut hair and talk talked to the uncomprehending Shah
after the fashion of an extroverted embalmer chatting with a
corpse.
Yessir, picked a nice time to come. They call this the off-
season, but I say it s the nicest time of year. Cheapest time,
too. But that isn t what I meant. It s fteen degrees cooler right
here and now than it is in New York City, and I ll bet not one
person in fty up north knows that. Just because the fact hasn t
been promoted. Everything s promotion. Ever stop to think
about that? Everything you think you think because somebody
promoted the ideas. Education nothing but promotion.
Good promotion and bad promotion. Barbers, now, they get
a lot of bad promotion on account of cartoons and television
comedians, you know? Can t pick up a magazine or turn on the
television without you see a joke about a barber cutting some-
,1
Fife
I76 PLAYER PIANO
body. And sure, maybe that s good for a little snicker, maybe,
and God knows the world can use a few snickers, but I don t
think it s right to hurt somebody to give somebody else a snicker.
I mean that it all kind of cancels out, and nobody s ahead. And
I just wonder if any of those comedians or cartoon people ever
stop to think about the thousands of barbers who go from one
year to the next without they ever cut a customer, and still
these people go around telling everybody that barbers are slash-
ing so many arteries and veins you wonder how the sewers can
handle it all. But seems like nobody ever thinks about what s
maybe sacred to somebody, any more.
Matter of fact, of course, used to be barbers did bleed peo-
ple, of course, and got paid for it, too. One of the oldest
professions on earth, if you stop to think about it, but nobody
does. Used to be sort of doctors, bleeding people and setting
their bones and all, and then the doctors got sore and took
over all that stuff and left the barbers haircutting and shav-
ing. Very interesting history. But my father used to say, be-
fore he died, of course, that the barbers would be here long
after the last doctor s laid away, and there was a lot in what
he said. He was worth listening to.
Nowadays, by golly, it takes more time and skill to cut
hair n to do what the doctors do. If you had syphilis or the
clap or scarlet fever or yellow fever or pneumonia or cancer
or something, why, hell, I could cure you while I was drawing
the water for a shampoo. Take a little old needle, puncho!
squirto! miracle! and give you a clean bill of health along with
your change. Any barber could do what a doctor does now-
adays. But I ll give you fty dollars if you can show me a
doctor who can cut hair.
Now, they say barbering isn t a profession, but you take
the other professions that got so big for their breeches since
the Middle Ages and look down on barbering. You take medi-
cine, you take the law. Machinery!
Doctor doesn t use his head and education to gure out
what s the matter with you. Machines go over you measure
this, measure that. Then he picks out the right miracle stuff,
and the only reason he does is on account of the machines
tell him that s what to do. And the lawyers! Of course, I say
PLAYER PIANO 177
it s a pretty good thing what happened to them, because it
was a bad thing for them, which couldn t help to be a good
thing for everybody else. I didn't say that. My father said it.
Those are his words. But the law s the law now, and not a con-
test between a lot of men paid to grin and lie and yell and
nagle for whatever somebody wanted them to grin and lie and
yell and nagle about. By golly, the lie detectors know who s
lying and who s telling the truth, and those old card machines
know how the law runs on whatever the case is about, and they
can nd out a helluva sight quicker n you can say habeas corpus
what judges did about cases like that before. And that settles it.
No more of this fast footwork. Hell, if I had a lie detector and
card machines and all, I could run a law business here and x
you up with a divorce or a million dollar damage suit or what-
ever you needed whatsoever while you were sticking your feet
and a dime into that shoeshine machine.
Used to be sort of high and mighty, sort of priests, those
doctors and lawyers and all, but they re beginning to look more
and more like mechanics. Dentists are holding up pretty good,
though. They re the exception that proves the rule, I say. And
barberingw one of the oldest professions on earth, incidentally
has held up better than all the rest. Machines separated the
men from the boys, you might say.
The men from the boySwthat s what they used to say in
the Army, Sergeant Elm Wheeler would. Memphis boy. Here
we go, boys, he d say. Here s where we separate the men
from the boys. And off we d go for the next hill, and the
medics d follow and separate the dead from the wounded. And
then Wheeler d say, Here we go, here s where'we separate the
men from the boys. And that went on till we got separated
from our battalion and Wheeler got his head separated from
his shoulders.
But y0u know, terrible as that mess was-not just Wheeler,
but the whole war it brought out the greatness in the Amer-
ican people. There s something about war that brings out
greatness. I hate to say that, but it s true. Of course, maybe
that s because you can get great so quick in a war. Just one
damn fool thing for a couple of seconds, and you re great. I
could be the greatest barber in the world, and maybe I am, but
178 PLAYER PIANO
I d have to prove it with a lifetime of great haircutting, and
then nobody d notice. That s just the way peacetime things are,
you know?
But Elm Wheeler, you couldn t help but notice him when
he went hog wild after he got a letter from his wife saying
she d had a baby, and he hadn t seen her for two years. Why,
he read that and ran up to a machine-gun nest and shot and
hand-grenaded everybody in it something awful, then he ran
up to another one and mashed up all the people there with his
ri e butt, and then, after he d busted that, he started after a
mortar emplacement with a rock in each hand, and they got him
with a shell fragment. You could of paid a surgeon a thousand
dollars, and he couldn t of done a niCer job. Well, Elm Wheeler
got the Congressional Medal for that, and they laid it in his
cof n with him. Just laid it there. Couldn t hang it around his
neck, and if they d put it on his chest, I expect they d of had
to use solder, he was so full of lead and scrap iron.
But he was great, and nobody d argue about that, but do
you think he could of been great today, in this modern day
and age? Wheeler? Elm Wheeler? You know what he would
be today? A Reek and Wreck, that s all. The war made him,
and this life would of killed him.
And another nice thing about war wnot that anything about
war is nice, I guess is that while it s going on and you re
in it, you never worry about doing the right thing. See? Up
there, ghting and all, you couldn t be tighter. You could of
been a heller at home and made a lot of people unhappy and
all, and been a dumb, mean bastard, but you re king over there
«king to everybody, and especially to yourself. This above all,
be true to yourself, and you can t be false to anybody else, and
that s it in a hole, being shot at and shooting back.
These kids in the Army now, that s just a place to keep em
off the streets and out of_ trouble, because there isn t anything
else to do with them. And the only chance they ll ever get to
be anybody is if there s a war. That s the only chance in the
world they got of showing anybody they lived and died, and
for something, by God.
Used to be there was a lot of damn fool things a dumb
bastard could do to be great, but the machines xed that. You
W
s
,
PLAYER PIANO ' 179
know, used to be you could go to sea on a big clipper ship or
a shing ship and be a big hero in a storm. Or maybe you could
be a pioneer and go out west and lead the people and make trails
and chase away Indians and all that. Or you could be a cow-
boy, or all kinds of dangerous things, and still be a dumb
bastard. \
Now the machines take all the dangerous jobs, and the
dumb bastards just get tucked away in big bunches of prefabs
that look like the end of a game of Monopoly, or in barracks,
and there s nothing for them to do but set there and kind of
hope for a big re where maybe they can run into a burning
building in front of everybody and run out with a baby in their
arms. Or maybe hopeuthough they don t say so out loud be-
cause the last one was so terriblemfor another war. Course, there
isn t going to be another one.
And, oh, I guess machines have made things a lot better.
I d be a fool to say they haven t, though there s plenty who
say they haven t, and I can see what they mean, all right. It
does seem like the machines took all the good jobs, where a
man could be true to hisself and false to nobody else, and left
all the silly ones. And I guess I m just about the end of a
race, standing here on my own two feet.
And I m lucky barbering held out as long as it did long
enough to take care of me. And I m glad I don t have any kids.
That way it comes out even, and I don t have to think about
this shop not being here for them, about nothing being for them
but the Army or the Reeks and Wrecks, probably unless an
engineer or manager or research man or bureaucrat got at my
wife, and thekids had their brains instead of mine. But Clara d
let one of those jerks at her just about as quick as you could
stuff a pound of oleomargerine up a cat s ass with a hot awl.
Anyway, I hope they keep those barber machines out of
Miami Beach for another two years, and then I ll be ready to
retire and the hell with them. They had the man who invented the
damn things on television the other night, and turns out he s
a barber hisself. Said he kept worrying and worrying about
somebody was going to invent a haircutting machine that d put
him out of business. And he d have nightmares about it, and
when he d wake up from them, he d teil hisself all the reasons
tam;
180 PLAYER PIANO
Why they couldn t ever make a machine that d do the jobwyou
know, all the complicated motions a barber goes through. And
then, in his next nightmare, he d dream of a machine that did
one of the jobs, like combing, and he d see how it worked clear
as a bell. And it was just a vicious circle. He d dream. Then
he d tell hisself something the machine couldn t do. Then he d
dream of a machine, and he d see just how a machine could do
what he d said it couldn t do. And on and on, until he d dreamed
up a whole machine that cut hair like nobody s business. And
he sold his plans for a hundred thousand bucks and royalties,
and I don t guess he has to worry about anything any more.
Ever stop to think what a funny thing the human mind
is? And there you are, sir, how s that look to you ?
Sumklisk, said the Shah, and he took a long drink from the
ash Khashdrahr handed him. He studied himself soberly in
the mirror Bigley held up for him. Nibo bakula ml 1210710, he
said at last.
He likes it ? asked Bigley.
He says it s nothing a turban won t cover, said Khashdrahr,
whose haircut was also over. He called to Halyard. Your turn,
Doctor.
Hmmm ? said Halyard absently, looking up from the letter.
Oh no haircut for me. Think we ought to go back to the
hotel for a rest, eh ? He glanced at the letter once more:
My dear Mr. Halyard:
We have just completed an audit of the personnel cards
for our Department, checking the information coded on them
against the facts.
During this audit, it was discovered that you failed to meet
the physical-education requirements for a bachelor s degree
from Cornell University, and that the degree was awarded
you through a clerical oversight of this de ciency. I regret to
inform you that you are, therefore, technically without a
bachelor s degree, and, hence, technically ineligible for the
M.A. and PhD. degrees which also appear on your record.
Since there are, as you know, severe penalties for willfully
coding false information on personnel cards, we are obliged
to advise you that you are of cially without a college degree
PLAYER PIANO 181
of any sort, and that you are transferred from staff to proba-
tionary status for a period of eight weeks, in which time you
will return to Cornell and make up this de ciency.
Perhaps you can work this small chore into your itinerary,
and give the Shah an opportunity to see a representative
American institution of higher learning.
I have been in touch with Cornell about this mix-up, and
they assure me that they will arrange for you to take the
physical-education tests whenever you like. You will not have
to take the course, but only the nal examinations. These
tests, I understand, are quite simple: swim six lengths of the
swimming pool, twenty pushups, fteen chinnings, climb a
rope, stand on your. . .
CHAPTER XXI
THE MOON WAS full over the Thousand Islands, and, on
one of them at least, there were a thousand eyes to see it. The
cream of the East and Middle West, engineeringwise and man-
agerwise, was met in the amphitheater of the Meadows. It was
the second night, the night of the keynote play and the bon re.
The stage in the center of the circling stone seats was hidden
beneath a pair of steel quarter spheres, which would presently
open like the shells of a steamed quahog.
Kroner sat down next to Paul and laid his hand on Paul s
knee. Nice night, boy.
Yessir.
Think we ve got a good team this year, Paul.
Yessir. They look good. After one day of competition, the
Blue Team did look good, good despite the large proportion of
topmhence tired and oId executives in its ranks. That after-
noon the Blues had knocked the captain of the Greens, Shep-
herd, out of the box after three innings. Shepherd, in his
determination to win and his horror of losing, had blown up
completely.
Paul, by contrast, had played heads up ball all the way, ef-
182 PLAYER PIANO
fortlessly, laughingly, wholly out of character. In analyzing the
magical quality of the afternoon during the cocktail hour, Paul
realized what had happened: for the rst time since he d made
up his mind to quit, he really hadn t given a damn about the
system, about the Meadows, about intramural politics. He d
tried not to give a damn before, but he hadn t had much luck.
N0w, suddenly, as of the afternoon, he was his own man.
Paul was half tight, and pleased with himself. Everything
was going to be just ne. A
The Old Man wants to start the meeting shortly after his
piane lands, said Kroner, so we ll have to leave whatever s
going on.
O.K., said Paul. Swell. Swell night, tangy air, and a
drowsy sort of harmlessness over everything. Maybe he d give
notice tonight, if he felt like it. No hurry. Fine."
Everybody in their seats, please, said the loudspeaker. Will
everybody take their seats. The Program Committee has just
informed me that we are eight minutes behind time, so will
everybody take their seats.
Everybody did. The band, wearing summer tuxedos, struck
up a medley of Meadows favorites. The music faded. The quar-
ter-spheres opened a tri e at the top, freeing a beam of light
that shot through cigarette smoke to the deep-blue heavens.
The music stopped, machinery underground grumbled, and the
quarter-spheres sank into the earth, revealing:
An old man, with a white beard reaching to his waist, wearing
a long white robe and golden sandals and a blue conical hat speckled
with golden stars, sits atop an extraordinarily tall stepladder. He
looks wise, just, and tired by responsibility. In one hand he holds
a large dust cloth. Beside the ladder, and of the same height, is a
slender pole. Another just like it stands across the stage. Between
the two poles is a loop of wire, passing, like a clothesline, over
pulleys xed to the poles. Hanging from the wire are a series of
metallic stars about two feet across. They are coated with uo-
rescent paint, so that a beam of invisible infrared light, playing on
one star, then another, makes them come alive with dazzling color.
The old man, oblivious to the audience, contemplates the stars
strung out before him, unhooks the star nearest to him, studies its
surface, polishes'a tarnished spot on it, shakes his head sadly, and
PLAYER PIANO 183
lets the star fall. He looks down at the fallen star with regret, then
at those still on the wire, then at the audience. He speaks.
OLD MAN. I am the Sky Manager. It is I who keep night skies
shining brightly; I who, when a star s glory is tar-
nished beyond restoration, must take it from the rma-
ment. Every hundred years I climb my ladder to keep
the heavens bright. And now my time has come again.
(He pulls cm the wire, bringing another star within
reach. He removes the star and examine: it.)
And this is a strange star to be shining in the mod
ern heavens. And yet, a hundred years ago, when I
last kept my vigil, it was proud and new, and only
a few meteors, destroying themselves in a brilliant
instant, shone more brightly than this. (He hold: up
the star, and the infrared light makes it glow brightly,
bringing out the lettering which says, Labor Union
ism. He dusts it detulton ly, shrugs, and lets it
drop.) In brave company. (Look: down at scrap
heap.) With stars named Rugged Individualism, So-
cialism, Free Enterprise, Communism, Fascism, and
(Lea7Jes sentence un nished, and sighs.)
It is not an easy job, not always a. pleasant one.
But One far wiser than I, in nitely good, has decreed
that it must be done (sighs), and be done dispas
sionately.
(He pulls on wire, and brings in another star, the big-
gest of all. The infrared light hit: it, and it light: up
brilliantly, and on it is the image of the Oak, the symbol
of the organization.)
Alas, a young beauty. But already there are those
who hate the sight of it, who clamor for it to be torn
from the heavens. (He dab: at it with his dust cloth,
shrugs, and holds the star at arm s length, preparap
tory to dropping it.) Enter a clean cut, handsome
young engineer from audience.
YOUNG ENG. (Shakes foot of ladder.) No! No, Sky Manager, no!
OLD MAN. (Looks down curiously.) What is this? A mere strip-
ling challenges the caretaker of the heavens? Enter
unkempt young radical through trap door in stage.
RADICAL. (Sneeringly) Take it down.
YOUNG ENG. There's never been a more brilliant, beautiful star!
184
RADICAL.
OLD M AN.
YOUNG ENG.
RADICAL.
PLAYER PIANO
There s never been a bloodier, blacker one!
(Looks perplexedly from the two men to the star
and back.) Hmmmm. Are you prepared to appeal
the fate of this star with reason rather than emotion?
My duties require that I be the sworn enemy of emo~
tion.
I am!
I, too. (Smiles) And I promise to take very little of
your time.
CLOSE QUARTER SPHERES.
OPEN QUARTER SPHERES.
A tall judge s rostrum now surrounds the old man's ladder. The
old man wears a judge s wig and robes. The radical and the young
engineer are similarly robed and wigged after the fashion of Eng-
lish barristers.
OFFSTAGE
VOICE.
OLD MAN.
RADICAL.
OFFSTAGE
VOICE.
RADICAL.
Oyez, oyez, oyez! The Court of Celestial Relations
is now in session!
(Bangs with gavel.) Order in the court. The prosecu-
tion will proceed.
(O ensively ingratiating.) Your honor, ladies and
gentlemen 0f the jury, the prosecution will show that
the star in question is as tarnished nay, blackI as
any ever hung in the heavens. I will call but one
witness, but that witness in effect is a million wit-
nesses, each of whom could tell the same sordid tale,
tell the unvarnished truth in the same simple words
from the heart. I d like to call John Averageman to
the stand.
John Averageman, John Averageman. Take the
stand, please. Enter John Averagemcm through
trap door in stage oor.
(He is slightly pudgy, shy, middle aged, endearing.
His clothes are cheap, verging on being comical. He is
in awe of the court, and has perhaps had a couple of
drinks to bolster his nerve.)
(Touches John s arm.) I m looking out for you,
John. Take your time about answering. Don t let
OFFSTAGE
VOICE.
JOHN.
RADICAL.
JOHN.
RADICAL.
JOHN.
RADICAL.
JOHN.
RADICAL.
JOHN.
RADICAL.
YOUNG ENG.
OLD MAN.
YOUNG ENG.
RADICAL.
IOH N.
PLAYER PIANO 185
them rattle you. Let me do the thinking, and you ll
be all right.
Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the Whole
truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?
(Look: questioningly at radical.) Do I?
You do.
Yessir, I do.
John, suppose you tell the court what you did before
the war, before this new star arose to spoil, to be-
smirch the heavens.
I was a machinist in the Averagetown Works of the
Averagetown Manufacturing Company.
And now?
I m in the Reconstruction and Reclamation Corps,
sir. Shovelman First Class.
Suppose, for the edi cation of the court, you tell us
what you made before the star arose, and what you
make now.
(Stare: upward, remembering and computing with
di culty.) VWell, sir, when the defense work and all
got going before the war, seems to me I could make
better n a hundred a week with overtime. Best week
I ever had, I guess, was about a hundred and forty-
ve dollars. Now I get thirty a week.
Uh-huh. In other words, as that star went up, your
income dropped. To be exact, John, your income
dropped about eighty per cent.
I(Jumps to feet impulsively, likably.) Your honor,
Wait until the cross-examination.
Yessir. Sorry, sir.
I think we ve made it amply clear that the American
standard of living has tumbled eighty per cent. (His
features assume an annoyingly pious expression.)
But enough of merely materialistic considerations.
What has the ascent of this star meant to John Aver-
ageman in terms of his spirit? John, tell the court
what you told me. Remember? About the engineers
and managers»
Yessir. (Looks hesitantly at young engineer.) No
offense, sir
186
RADICAL.
JOHN.
YOUNG ENG.
OLD MAN.
RADICAL.
JOHN.
RADICAL.
YOUNG ENG.
PLAYER PIANO
(Prodding.) The truth can never be spoken without
someone getting hurt, John. Go right ahead.
Well, sir, it hurts a man a lot to be forgotten. You
know~to have the tellers in charge, the engineers
and managers, just sort of look right through him
like they don t see him. A guy likes to lmow some-
body thinks enough of him to look out Jfor him.
(Urgently) Your honor!
(Severely) I will not tolerate any further interrup-
tions from you. The issues are far grave: than I
thought. (To radical) Please proceed.
Go ahead, John.
Well, sir, that s just about it. Kind of summing up,
seems like these days the engineers and managers
and the like are everything, and the average man is
just nothing any more.
(Pretends to be overcome by the tragedy of John s
testimony. After seemingly searching for words and
struggling with emotion for thirty seconds, he at last
speaks, choked up and angry.) Star of wonder, star
of might; star of wondrous beauty bright. Take it
dowu. (Shakes st.) Take it down! (Gesture: at
John.) We ve heard the voice of the people the peo-
ple, yes. Take it down ! they say.
Who is it that says, Leave it up? Who? Not
John, not the people. Who? (Dramatically, he pro
duce: a pamphlet from his breast pocket.) Your
honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury (reads from
pamphlet), at the start of the war, the average in-
come for engineers and managers in this great land
of ours was $8,449.27. Now, on this poisoned night,
as the black star reaches its zenith, eighty per cent
of John Averageman s pay check has been wrenched
from him. And what is the average pay check for
engineers and managers, you ask? (Reads from the
pamphlet again, with bitter emphasis on every syl-
lable.) Fifty-seven thousand eight hundred and
ninety-six dollars and forty-one cents !
(Explosively.) Your witness!
(Radical slink: over to the far post and leans against
it to watch contemptuouxly.)
(Softly, kindly) John.
iE
;
JOHN.
YOUNGENG.
JOHN.
YOUNG ENG.
JOHN.
YOUNG ENG.
JOHN.
YOUNG ENG.
JOHN.
YOUNG ENG.
JOHN.
RADICAL.
YOUNG ENG.
JOHN.
YOUNG ENG.
JOHN.
YOUNG ENG.
PLAYER PIANO 187
(Suspiciously, hostilely) Yessir?
John, tell me when you had this large income, before
the star arose, did you by any chance have a twenty~
eight inch television set?
(Puzzled) No, sir. -
Or a laundry console or a radar stove or an electronic
dust precipitator?
No, sir, I didn t. Them things were for the rich folks.
And tell me, John, when you had all that money, did
you have a social insurance package that paid all of
your medical bills, all of your dentist bills, and pro-
vided for food, housing, clothes, and pocket money
in your old age?
No, sir. There wasn t no such thing then, in those
days.
But you have them now, now that the (sarcastically)
black star has risen, haven t you?
Yessir, that s right, I do. But
John, you ve heard of Julius Caesar? Good, you have.
John, do you suppose that Caesar, with all his power
and wealth, with the world at his feet, do you sup
pose he had what you, Mr. Averageman, have today?
(Surprised) Come to think of it, he didn t. Huh!
What do you know?
(Furiously) I object! What has Caesar got to do
with it?
Your honor, the point I was trying to make was that
John, here, since the star in question has risen, has
become far richer than the wildest dreams of Caesar
or Napoleon or Henry VIII! Or any emperor in his-
tory! Thirty dollars, Iohn yes, that is how much
money you make. But, not with all his gold and
armles could Charlemagne have gotten one single
electric lamp or vacuum tube! He would have given
anything to get the security and health package you
have, John. But could he get it? No!
Well, for heaven s sakes! But
(Antim'pates John s objection.) But the engineers
and managers have forgotten Mr. Averageman?
Yessir, that s what I was going to say.
John, do you know that no manager or engineer
would have a job if it weren t for you? How could
188
JOHN.
YOUNG ENG.
JOHN.
YOUNG ENG.
JOHN.
YOUNG ENG.
JOHN.
YOUNG ENG.
JOHN.
YOUNG ENG.
PLAYER PIANO
we forget you for even a minute, when every minute
of our lives is spent trying to give you what you
want! Do you know who my boss is, John?
Don t believe I ever met the gentleman.
(Smiling) Oh, I think maybe you have. He s you,
John! If I can t give you what you want, I m through.
We re all through, and down comes the star.
(Blushing) Gosh, I never looked at it quite that way
before, sir. (Laughs modestly.) But I guess that s
right, isn t it? What do you know about that? Butw
But I make too much money? Fifty seven thousand
dollars? Is that what worries you?
Yessir, that s a lot of money.
John, before that star arose, the payroll for pro-
ducing what I produce for you, for my boss, Mr.
Averageman, ran to more than fty-seven thousand
dollars a week. Not a year, mind you, but a week!
It looks to me, John, like you, the consumer, are the
big winner, not me.
(Whistles law, under his breoth.) Is that a fact!
(Points suddenly at radical, who is very restive.)
But, he said
We ve answered everything he s said, John. And I d
like to add one little thought. He'd like to take ad
vantage of your good nature. He wants power, and
he doesn t care about anything else. He d like to make
you swallow his half-truths, John, an'd get you to
help him pull down the star, and put himself in
power, and the whole world back in the Dark Ages!
(Glowering.) Oh, he would, would he?
(Radical looks worried, then frightened and chagrined,
and suddenly makes dash for trap door in stage. John is
right after him, and trap door cloxes. Stage lights fade,
aud blue feature spot comes up on young engineer, who
moves directly to center of stage. Band starts "Battle
Hymn of the Republic softly, almost imperceptibly.)
(Re ectively, soberly, conversationally) Yes, there .
are those who ve clamored so loudly against our star
that some have been convinced it is tarnished. And
if that star were to come down, it would be partly
our fault. Yes, ours! Every minute of the day we
should be pointing out how beautiful it is, and why
PLAYER PIANO 189
it is beautiful. We hold our peace too much.
(Points at star. Infrared beam hits it, making it
glow beautifully.) Under it, we ve become rich be-
yond the wildest dreams of the past! Civilization has
reached the dizziest heights of all time!
(Muxic swells a little in volume.)
Thirty one point seven times as many television sets
as all the rest of the world put together!
(Mmic gets louder.)
Ninety-three per cent of all the world s electrostatic
dust precipitators! Seventy-seven per cent of all the
world s automobiles! Ninety eight per cent of its
helicopters! Eighty one point nine per cent of its
refrigerators !
(Music gets louder still.)
Seventy one point three per cent of the world s gen-
erating capacity!
Eighty ve per cent of its industrial control vacuum
tubes!
Sixtymine per cent of its fractional horsepower
motors!
Ninety-eight point three per cent of . . .
(Mmic crescendos, drowning him out.)
(Fade feature spot. Launch rocket: from shore.)
CLOSE QUARTER SPHERES.
OPEN QUARTER-SPHERES.
The young engineer is gone, and so are the trappings of the
court. The old man is at the top of his ladder, alone with his stars,
as he was at the beginning.
He holds out the star bearing the image of the Oak, smiles,
hooks it onto the wire, and sends it out, where it glows in infrared.
OLD MAN. Yes, out it goes again, brighter than all the rest. (H2
reaches under his robe, and comes out with a power-
ful ashlight, whose beam he aims directly upward.)
And when I come back to examine the stars for stains
in another century, will it gleam as it does now? Or?
(Looks meaningfully at the foot of the ladder.) Well,
what determines Whether it will be tarnished or not?
(hook: at the audience.) It depends on~ (Suddenly
brings down the ashlight, so it: beam strikes face
190 PLAYER PIANO
after face after face in the audience.) You! And
You! And You! etc.
(Fire rockets. Hit Stars and Stripes Forever" hard.)
CLOSE QUARTER-SPHERES.
(Turn on amphitheater oodlights.)
Kroner s hand crashed down on Paul s knee. Phwew! The
best keynoter yet! Paul the story, the whole story in a nut-
shell 1
You ii be interested in knowing said the loudspeaker over
the applause. Here s an announcement of interest: In the past,
the keynote plays have been written by professional writers under
our supervision. This play you ve just seen was written, be-
lieve it or not, by an engineer and manager within the organ-
ization! Bill Holdermann, stand up! Stand up! Stand up, Bill !
The audience went wild.
I knew it ! shouted Kroner. It was real! It went right to
the heart. It had to be somebody inside!
Holdermann, a shaggy, worn-out nobody from the Indian-
apolis Works, stood a few rows ahead of Paul, red, smiling,
and with tears in his eyes. At the sunset of life, he had arrived.
Perhaps a muf ed wisp of the applause reached the ears of his
wife, the woman Who had had faith in him when no one else
had, across the water, on the Mainland.
Bon re in ve minutes, said the loudspeaker. Five min-
utes to make new contacts, then the bon re.
Shepherd struggled through the crowd and took Kroner s
attention away from Paul. Not with all his gold and armies,
Shepherd Quoted from the play. Not With all his gold and
armies could Charlemagne have gotten one single electric lamp
or vacuum tube 1 He shook his head wonderingly, admiringly.
Don t tell me art is dying.
Art who? said Paul under his breath, and he walked away
from them, into the twilight at the fringe of the ring of oode
Eights. The rest of the crowd drifted, tightly packed, toward the
shore, where Luke Lubbock, Alfy, and others of the service
staff were pouring kerosene on a hillock of pine fagots.
The play was virtually the same play that had begun every
Meadows session, even before the war, when the island had
PLAYER PIANO 191
belonged to a steel company. Twenty years ago, Paul s father
had brought him up here, and the play s message had been
the same: that the common man wasn t nearly as grateful as
he should be for what the engineers and managers had given
him, and that the radicals were the cause of the ingratitude.
When Paul had rst seen the allegory, as a teen-ager, he d
been moved deeply. He had been struck full force by its sublime
clarity and simplicity. It was a story in a nutshell, and the heroic
struggle against ingratitude was made so vivid for his young
mind that he d worshipped his father for a Iittie while as a
ghter, a latter-day Richard the Lionhearted.
Well, his father had said after that rst play, years ago,
what are you thinking, Paul?
I had no idea no idea that s what was going on.
That s the story, his father had said sadly. The whole
story. That s the way it is.
Yessir. Their eyes had met, and an inexpressibly sweet
sense of eternal tragedy had passed between them, between their
generations a legacy of Weltschmerz as old as humanity.
Now, Paul stood by himself on a dark walk, bewildered by
the picture of, as Kroner put it, the men at the head of the
procession of civilization, the openers of doors to undreamedwf
new worlds. This silly playlet seemed to satisfy them completely
as a picture of what they were doing, why they were doing it,
and who was against them, and why some people were against
them; It was a beautifully simple picture these procession lead-
ers had. It was as though a navigator, in order to free his mind
of worries, had erased all the reefs from his maps.
Suddenly, light ashed in Paul s eyes, but 1655 dazzling light
than the Sky Manager s. He faced his own image in a mirror
framed by uorescent lamps. Over the mirror was the legend,
THE BEST MAN IN THE WORLD FOR THE BEST JOB IN THE
WORLD. The island was covered With such booby traps. The
lamps about this mirror were old ones, and they gave of? a
wavering light tinged with greens and purples. They gave his
skin the quality of corroded copper, and his lips and eye rims
were lavender. He discovered that there was nothing disquiet
ing about seeing himself dead. An awakening conscience, unac-
companied by new wisdom, made his life so damned lonely, he
:92 PLAYER PIANO
decided he wouldn t much mind being dead. And the good
o ices of the cocktail hour were wearing away.
A drone in the sky to the east distracted him probably the
amphibian bearing the priceless two hundred and fty pounds
of Doctor Francis Eldgrin Gelhorne, and his know-how.
Paul took a step down the path, which turned ott the lights,
and headed back toward the bon re, which was sending sparks
and ames up hundreds of feet and turning the faces about it
to a sweaty pink.
A professional actor, painted bronze, wearing an eagle~feather
war bonnet and a beaded G string, held up his hand and tilted
his head back proudly. The crowd fell silent. How ! He looked
earnestly from face to face. How! Many moons ago, my people-
made their home on this island.
The amphibian was circling the island now, coming lower.
It s the Old Man all right, whispered Kroner to PauL
Wouldn t look good to walk out on the ceremony, though.
We ll have to stick it out.
My people were brave people, said the Indian. My people
were proud and honest people. My people worked hard, played
hard, fought hard, until it was time to go to the Happy Hunt
ing Ground.
The same actor had been hired to play the Indian for years,
ever since Paul had been coming to the Meadows. He d been
hired originally for his deep voice and beautiful muscles. Now,
Paul noticed, his belly cast a shadow over his G-string, his left
calf had developed a varicose vein, and war paint failed to hide
the gray bags under his eyes. He had become such a regular
at the Meadows, such a vital symbolmsurpassed in that func-
tion only by Doctor Gelhorne and the Oak that he was a man
apart from the other hired help, on a rst-name footing with
the brass, and with the drinking privileges of a regular guest.
Now our braves are gone, our strong young men gone from
this island, which belonged to my people, 10, these many moons
ago, said the Indian. Now other young men come. But the
spirit of my people lives on, the Spirit of the Meadows. It is
everywhere: in the wind through the pines, in the lapping of
the great blue water, in the whir of an eagle wing, in the growl
of summer thunder. No man can call this island his, no man
PLAYER PIANO 193
can be happy here, who does not harken to the Spirit, who does
not take the Oath of the Spirit.
There was the clattering of the switch in the loudspeaker
again. Young braves at the Meadows for the rst time step
forward, said a ponti cal voice, not that of the usual drover.
Raise your right hands, said the Indian. Repeat after me
the Oath of the Spirit of the Meadows. I solemnly swear by the
voice in the pines
By the voice in the pines, said the neophytes.
By the lapping of the great blue water, by the whir of
the eagle wing
The Old Man s plane had skated across the water to the
shore 0n the other side of the island and was roaring its en-
gines as it inched up a ramp onto land.
By the growl of the summer thunder, said the Indian.
By the growl of the summer thunder.
I will uphold the Spirit of the Meadows, said the Indian.
I will obey the wise commands of my chiefs, for the good of
the people. I will work and ght fearlessly, tirelessly for a better
world. I will never say the job is done. I will uphold the honor
of my profession and what I represent at all times. I will seek
out enemies of the people, enemies of a better world for all
children, relentlessly.
Relentlessly! said someone in the crowd near Paul, passion-
ately. He turned to see that Luke Lubbock, again swept into the
mainstream of pomp and circumstance, held his hand high and
swore to everything that came along. In Luke s left hand was
a re extinguisher, apparently for use in case the blaze spread.
When the oath was done, the Indian looked and saw it was
good. The Spirit of the Meadows is pleased, he said. The
Meadows belong to these stout hearted braves, and it shall be
a proud, happy place as it was, lo, these many moons ago.
A smoke bomb concealed before him screened him for a
startling instant, and he was gone.
The saloon is open," said the loudspeaker. The saloon is
open, and will be open until midnight.
Paul found himself walking beside the pleasant youngster
he d met at lunch, Doctor Edmund Harrison of the Ithaca
194 PLAYER PIANO
Works. Shepherd and Berringer were right behind, attering
the life out of Kroner.
Well, how d you like it, Ed ? said Paul.
Harrison looked at him searchingly, started to smile, and
seemed to think it inadvisable. Very well done, he said care-
fully. Very professional. .
Jesus Christ, Berringer was saying, I mean, Chrlst, boy,
that was a show. You know, it s entertainment, and still you
learn something, too. Christ! When you do both, that s art, boy.
Christ, and that wasn t cheap to put on, either, I ll bet.
Ed Harrison of Ithaca stopped and picked up a bit of stone
from the side of the path. I ll be damned, he said. An arrow-
head!
A nice one, too, said Paul, admiring the relic.
So there really were Indians on this island, said Harrison.
For chrissakes, you crazy bastard, said Berringer. You
deaf, dumb, and blind? Whaddya think they been trying to tell
you for the past half hour ?
CHAPTER XXII
THE MEETING OF Doctors Paul Proteus, Anthony Kroner,
Lou MacCleary, Executive Manager of National Industrial Se-
curity, and Francis Eldgrin Gelhome, National Industrial, Com-
mercial, Communications, Foodstuffs, and Resources Director,
was to take place at the Meadows in the so-called Council House.
The Council House was a frame building, away from the rest,
that had been built in the old, wilder days as a lazaretto for
surly drunks. Drinking at the Meadows had become more
careful since the war more mature, Kroner said so the pest-
house fell into disuse and was nally converted into a meeting
place for top-policy brass.
All save Doctor Gelhorne were now seated around a long
meeting table, looking thoughtfully at the empty chair Gel-
horne would be lling any minute. It was a time for silence.
The mixing, the making of new contacts, the packing up of
"\-
PLAYER PIANO 195
troubles in old kit bags went on noisily across the island, in
the saloon. Here in the Council House there was no joy, only
the summer cottage aroma of mildew and incipient dry rot,
and a grave awareness on the part of each of the three men
that the world was their apple.
The shouts and songs that oated over the greensward from
the saloon, Paul noted, had a piping quality. There wasn t the
inimitable hoarseness of an honest to-God drunk in the lot.
It was unthinkable that there was a man in the saloon without
a glass in his hand, but it was also unlikely that many men
would have their glasses lled more than twice. They didn t
drink at the Meadows now the way they used to in the old
days when Finnerty and Shepherd and Paul had joined the
organization. It used to be that they d come up to the Meadows
to relax and really tie one on as a relief from the terribly hard
work of war production. Now the point seemed to be to pre-
tend drunkenness, but to stay sober and discard only those
inhibitions and motor skills one could safely do without.
Paul supposed there would be a couple of men who wouldn t
realize what was going on, who would earnestly try to get as
drunk as everyone else seemed. They would be frightfully alone
and lost when the party broke up. And there would be one or
two lonely drunks with nothing to lose anyway, men who had
fallen into disfavor one way or another, who knew they had
received their last invitation. And what the hell, the liquor was
free. De mortuis m'l m'si bonum.
There was a voice on the porch of the Council House. Doctor
Gelhorne was on the other side of the door, pausing a moment
for some last word with the world outside. Look at those
youngsters over there, Paul heard the Old Man say, and tell
me God isn t in his heaven.
As the doorknob turned, Paul continued to contemplate
trivia, to atomize the xtures and conventions of the only way
of life he d ever known, an easy, comfortable life, with simple
answers for every doubt. That he was quitting that life, that
now was perhaps the time he would do it the grand idea over
shadowing all the little ones rarely occupied his consciousness.
It showed itself mainly in a sensation of being disembodied,
or now and then of standing in a chilling wind. Maybe the
196 PLAYER PIANO
right time to quit would come now, or a few months from
now. There was no need to hurry, no need at all.
The door opened.
The three waiting men stood. '
In came Doctor Francis Eldgrin Gelhorne, National Indus-
trial, Commercial, Communications, Foodstuffs, and Resources
Director; His spherical bulk was enclosed in a double breasted,
dark blue suit. His single concession to the Meadows: tradition
of informality was an unbuttoned collar and the sliding of his
necktie knot a fraction of an inch below where it should have
been. Though he was seventy, his hair was as thick and black
as a twenty-year-old Mexican s. His fatness was .turned into
something impressive rather than comical by his perpetual
I smell-excrement expression.
He seemed to be the end of a race, as, Paul re ected, so
many leaders seemed to be. It was hard to believe that when
Gelhorne was gone there would ever be another man as won-
derfully old, shrewd, and unafraid as he.
He cleared his throat. We re here because somebody wants
to kill'us, wreck the plants, and take over the country. That
plain enough for you ?
Everyone nodded.
The Ghost Shirt Society, said Doctor Lou MacCleary,
Executive Manager of National Industrial Security.
The Ghost Shirt Society, said Doctor Gelhorne ac1dly.
Give a name to something, and you think you ve got it. But
you haven t got it. All you ve got s the name. That s why we re
here. All we ve got is the name. .
Yessir, said Lou. The Ghost Shirt Society. And we think
the headquarters is in Ilium.
We think, said Doctor Gelhorne. We don t know any-
thing.
Yessir, said Lou.
Gelhorne dgeted for a moment and looked about the room.
His eyes fell on Paul. How are you, Doctor Proteus ?
Fine, thank you, sir.
Uh huh. Good. That s good. He turned to Lou MacCleary.
Let s see that report of yours that tells everything we don t
know about the Ghost Shirt Society.
PLAYER PIANO 197
MacCleary gave him a thick typewritten manuscript.
Gelhorne, his lips moving, leafed through it, frowning. No
one spoke or smiled or looked at anyone else.
Paul considered the notion of Doctor Gelhorne s being the
last of a race, and decided it was true. He had got to the top
through a disorderly route that the personnel machines would
never tolerate. Had machines been watching things when Gel-
horne started his climb to the top, his classi cation card would
have come ying out of the card les like an old Wheaties
box top.
He had no college degree of any kind, other than bouquets
of honorary doctorates that had come to him in his late fties
and sixties.
He d had nothing to do with industry, in fact, until he was
thirty. Before that, he d pulled a mail-order taxidermy business
out of bankruptcy, sold his interest in it, and bought a trailer
truck. He d built his eet to ve trucks when he received a hot
market tip, sold his business, invested the proceeds, and tripled
his wealth. With this bonanza, he d bought the largest, yet fail-
ing, ice cream plant in Indianapolis, and put the business in
the black inside of a year by building ice-cream routes servicing
Indianapolis manufacturing plants during the lunch hour. In
another year, he had his trucks carrying sandwiches and coffee
along with ice cream. In another year, he was running plant
cafeterias all over town, and the ice-cream business had become
a minor division of Gelhorne Enterprises.
He d found that many of the manufacturing rms were
owned by third- or fourth generation heirs who, by some seem
ing law of decay, didn t have the nerve or interest the plants
founders had had. Gelhome, half playfully at rst, had offered
these heirs advice, and found them amazingly eager to sur-
render responsibility. He d bought in, watched and learned, and,
discovering nerve was as valuable as special knowledge, he d
become manager and part owner of a dozen small plants.
When war became certain and the largest corporations were
looking about for new manufacturing facilities, Gelhorne had
delivered his prosperous community of plants to General Steel,
and become an of cer of that corporation. The rule-of-thumb
familiarity he had with many different industries, as repre-
198 PLAYER PIANO
sented by the plants he d taken over, had been broader than
that of any executives General Steel had developed within its
own organization, and Gelhorne was soon spending all his time
at the side of the corporation s war-rattled president.
There he d come to the attention of Paul s father in Wash-
ington, and Paul s father had made Gelhorne his general
executive manager when the whole economy had been made
one esh. When Paul s father died, Gelhorne had taken over.
It could never happen again. The machines would never
stand for it.
Paul remembered a week end long ago, when he had been
a tall, skinny, polite, and easily embarrassed youth, and Gelhome
had paid a call. Gelhorne had suddenly reached out and caught
Paul by the arm as Paul passed his chair. Paul, boy.
Yessir ?
Paul, your father tells me you re real smart.
Paul had nodded uncomfortably.
That s good, Paul, but that isn t enough.
No, sir.
Don t be bluffed.
No, sir, I won t.
Everybody s shaking in his boots, so don t be bluffed.
No, sir.
Nobody s so damn well educated that you can t learn ninety
per cent of what he knows in six weeks. The other ten per cent
is decoration.
Yes, sir.
Show me a specialist, and I ll show you a man who s so
scared he s dug a hole for himself to hide in.
Yes, sir.
Almost nobody s competent, Paul. It s enough to make you
cry to see how had most people are at their jobs. If you can
do a half-assed job of anything, you re a one-eyed man in the
kingdom of the blind.
Yes, sir.
Want to be rich, Paul?
Yes, sir I guess so. Yes, sir.
All right. I got rich, and I told you ninety per cent of what
I know about it. The rest is decoration. All right ?
, ,, ,______~
PLAYER PIANO 199
Yes, sir.
Now, after many years, Paul and Doctor Francis Eldgrin
Gelhorne were looking at each other over the long table in the
Council House at the Meadows. They weren t close friends,
and there was none of Kroner s aromatic paternalism about
Gelhorne. This was business.
There s nothing new about the Society in this report, said
Gelhorne.
Only the part about Finnerty, said Lou MacCleary. It s
been slow going.
It certainly has, said Doctor Gelhorne. Well, Doct0r
Proteus and Doctor Kroner, the point is that this Ghost Shirt
nonsense might turn out to be something pretty big. And Lou,
here, hasn t been able to get an agent into it to nd out what
they re up to or who s running it.
This bunch is smart, said Lou. They re being pretty
selective about who gets in.
But we think we know how to get a man into it, said
Gelhorne. We think they d be very tempted by a discontented
manager and engineer. We think they ve already recruited at
least one.
Finnerty, said Kroner heavily. He nally registered with
the police, incidentally.
Oh? said MacCleary. "What did he say he was doing
with his time ?
Says he s getting out Braille editions of pornography.
He s being pretty cute now, said Gelhorne, but I think
we ll x his wagon all right. But that s a side issue. The point
we re getting at, Paul, is that I think they ll take you into the
Ghost Shirt Society under the right conditions.
Conditions, sir?
If we re you. As of now, as far as anyone outside this
room knows, you re through. The rumor s already circulating
at the saloon, isn t it, Lou ?
Yes, sir. I let it slip in front of Shepherd at dinner.
Good boy, said Gelhorne. He ll be taking over Ilium, by
the way.
Sir, about Pittsburgh~ said Kroner worriedly. I prom-
200 PLAYER PIANO
ised Paul that he was slated for that job when he was nished
with the investigation.
That s right. In the meanwhile, Garth will run the works
there. Gelhorne stood briskly. All right, Paul? Everything
clear? You re to get off the island tonight and back to Ilium.
He smiled. It s really a break for you, Paul. It gives you a
chance to clear up your record.
Record, sir? Things were happening so quickly now that
Paul could only seize upon a word and repeat it as a question
in order to keep in the conversation.
That business of letting Finnerty go through the plant un-
escorted, and the pistol affair.
The pistol affair, said Paul. Can I tell my wife ?
I m afraid not, said Lou. The plan is that nobody out
side this room is to know.
It ll be hard, I know, said Gelhorne sympathetically. But
just now I m remembering a young boy who told me he didn t
want to be an engineer when he grew up, he wanted to be a
soldier. You know who that boy was, Paul?
Me 3 said Paul bleakly.
You. Well, now you re in the front lines, and we re proud
of you.
Your father would be proud of you, Paul, said Kroner.
I guess he would. He really would be, wouldn t he, said
Paul. Gratefuliy he was welcoming the blind, envigorating heat
of anger. Sir, Doctor Gelhorne, may I say one more thing
before you leave ?
Kroner was holding the door open for the Old Man. All
right, by all means.
I quit.
Gelhorne, Kroner, and MacCIeary laughed. Wonderful,
said the Old Man. That s the spirit. Keep that up, and you ll
fool the hell out of them.
I mean it! I m sick of the whole childish, stupid, blind
operation.
Attaboy, said Kroner, smiling encouragingly.
"Give us two minutes to get to the saloon before you leave,
said MacCleary. Wouldn t do for us to be seen together now.
And don t worry about packing. Your stuff is being packed
PLAYER PIANO 201
right now, and it ll be down at the dock in time for the last
boat.
He shut the door behind himself, Gelhorne, and Kroner.
Paul sank heavily back into his chair. I quit, I quit, I quit,
he said. Do you hear me? I quit!
What a night, he heard Lou say on the porch.
God smiles on the Meadows, said Doctor Gelhorne.
Look! said Kroner.
The moon ? said Lou. It is beautiful.
The moon, yes but look at the Oak.
Oh and the man, said Doctor Gelhorne. What do you
know about that !
A man, standing there alone with the Oak, with God and
the Oak, said Kroner.
Is the photographer around?" said Lou.
Too late he s going away now, said Kroner.
Who was he? said Doctor Gelhorne.
We ll never know, said Lou.
I don t want to know, said Kroner. I want to remember
this scene and think of him as a little bit of all of us.
You re talking poetry, said the Old Man. That's good,
that s good.
Paul, alone inside, exhaled a puff of smoke with too much
force, and coughed.
The men on the porch whispered something.
Well, gentlemen, said Doctor Gelhorne, shall we g0 ?
CHAPTER XXIII
IF DOCTOR PAUL PROTEUS, former manager of the
Ilium Works, hadn t found reality disquieting at all points, he
wouldn t have shown himself in the saloon before boarding the
last boat for the Mainland. As he made his way along the
gravel path toward the noise and light of the saloon, however
the eld of his consciousness narrowed down to a pinprick, and
lling the eld was a twinkling shot glass.
The crowd fell silent as he entered, and then exploded into
202 PLAYER PIANO
even greater excesses of happy noise. Quickly as Paul glaneed
about the room, he didn t catch a single man looking at hlm,
nor, in the blurred vision of excitement, did he recognize a
single face among these old friends.
Bourbon and water, he said to the bartender.
Sorry, sir."
Sorry about what ?
I can t serve you.
Why not?
I ve been told you re no longer a guest at the Meadows,
sir. There was a prim satisfaction in the bartender s voice.
A number of people observed the incident, Kroner among
them, but no one made a move to change the bartender s ruling.
It was a crude moment, and in its fetid atmosphere Paul
made an ultimately crude suggestion to the bartender, and
turned to leave with dignity.
What he still had to learn was that without rank, without
guest privileges, he lived on a primitive level of social justice.
He wasn t prepared when the bartender vaulted the bar and
spun him around.
Nobody says that to me, sonny Jim, said the bartender.
Who the hell do you think you are 3 said Paul.
I m no goddamn saboteur, said the bartender hotly. Every-
one heard it, the ugliest word in the language, one that per-
mitted no muttering withdrawal, no shaking of. hands and
forgetting it. Son of«a-bitch could be softened w1th a smile,
but not saboteur.
Somehow the idea of a wrecker of machines had become the
smallest part of the word, like the crown of an iceberg._The
greatest part of its mass, the part that called forth such poxson-
ous emotions, was unde ned: an amalgam of perversions, lth,
disease, a galaxy of traits, any one of which would make a
man a despicable outcast. The saboteur wasn t a wrecker of
machines but an image every man prided himself on being un~
like. The saboteur was the man who, it dead, would no longer
make the world a trying place to live in.
You want me to say it again ? said the bartender. Sabo-
teur. You re a stinking saboteur. .
It was an electrifying situation, an elemental Situation. Here
PLAYER PIANO 203
one big man had offered the ultimate insult to another big
man. No one looked as though he were willing to bring the
drama to an end, or as though he thought he could. It was like
seeing a man caught in a threshing machine, beyond saving.
As long as God had precipitated the tragedy, the onlookers
might as well watch and learn what a threshing machine would
do to a man once it caught him.
Paul hadn t hit anyone since his sophomore year in high
school. He had none of what bayonet instructors hoped to
instill in their pupils, the will to close with the enemy. It was
an unpromising sort of will, he thought. Still, obedient to some
system of involuntary nerves and glands, his hands tightened
into sts, and his feet spaced themselves to form a solid bipod
from which to swing.
Just as there is no encore for the I812 Overture save The
Stars and Stripes Forever, so Paul had no choice of re-
joinders. Saboteur yourself, he said evenly, and swung at
the bartender s nose.
Absurdly, the bartender collapsed, snuf ing and snorting.
Paul walked out into the night, like Wild Bill Hickock, like
Dan l Boone, like the bargeman on the book jacket, like- He
was suddenly spun around again. For a split second, he saw the
bartender s red nose, white face, white apron, and white st.
A brilliant ash illuminated the inside of his skull, and then
midnight.
Doctor Proteus Paul.
Paul opened his eyes to nd himself staring up at the Big
Dipper. A cool breeze played across his aching head, and he
couldn t see where the voice was coming from. Someone had
stretched him out on the cement bench that ran the length of
the dock, to be loaded with the band and the outgoing mail
aboard the last boat for the Mainland.
Doctor Proteus
Paul sat up. His lower lip was shredded and puffed, and
his mouth tasted of blood.
Paul, sir
The voice seemed to be coming from behind the spiraea
hedge at the foot of the dock. VVho s that P
Young Doctor Edmund Harrison emerged from the shrub-
204 PLAYER PIANO
bery furtively, a highball in his hand. I thought you might
want this.
That s real Christian of you, Doctor Harrison. Guess I'm
well enough to sit up and take nourishment now.
Wish I d thought of it. It was Kroner s idea.
Oh? Any message?
Yes but I don t think you ll want it. I wouldn t, if I were
in your spot.
Go ahead.
He says to tell you it's always darkest before the dawn;
and every cloud has a silver lining.
Um.
But you ought to see the bartender, said Harrison brightly.
Aaaaaah. Tell me all.
He s got a nosebleed that won t stop because he can t stop
sneezing. Looks Iike a vicious circle that with luck could last
for years.
Wonderful. Paul felt better. "Look, you d better beat it
before your luck runs out and somebody sees you with me.
Mind telling me what on earth you did?
It s a long, sordid story,
I guess. Boy! one day you re king, the next day you re out
on your tail. What re you going to do?
Talking softly there in the dark, Paul began to appreciate
what a remarkable young man he d picked to sit down beside
the rst day-this Ed Harrison. Harrison had apparently taken
a liking to Paul, and now, with no personal reasons for turning
against Paul, he was sticking with him as a friend. This was in-
tegrity, all right, and a rare variety, because it often amounted,
as it might amount now, to career suicide.
What am I going to do? Farm, maybe. I ve got a nice
little farm.
Farm, eh ? Harrison clueked his tongue re ectiveiy. Farm.
Sounds wonderful. I ve thought of that: up in the morning
with the sun; working out there with your hands in the earth,
just you and nature. If I had the money, sometimes I think
maybe I d throw this
You want a piece of advice from a tired old man ?
Depends on which tired old man. You ?
PLAYER PIANO 205
Me. Don t put one foot in your job and the other in your
dreams, Ed. Go ahead and quit, or resign yourself to this life.
It s just too much of a temptation for fate to split you right
up the middle before you ve made up your mind which way
to go.
That s what happened to you ?
Something like that. He handed Harrison the empty glass.
Thanks, better beat it. Tell Doctor Kroner it never rains but
what it pours.
The cabin cruiser, Spirit of the Mendows, grumbled into her
slip, and Paul climbed aboard. A few minutes later the band
got on with their instruments, and a last call was put out over
the loudspeakers. The lights in the saloon blinked off, and
knots 0f remarkably sobered roisterers crossed the parade
ground to their tents.
The rattle 0f the switch, the scratch of a needle, and the
loudspeakers sang for the last time that night:
Fare thee well, for I must leave you,
Please don t let this parting grieve you;
Fare thee welt, the time has come for us to
say goodbye.
Adieu, adieu, kind friends, adieu,
yes, adieu! . . .
And Paul waved wanly, apathetically. This was goodbye to
his life so far, to the whole of his father s fife. He hadn t had
the satisfaction of teiling someone he d quit, of being believed;
but he d quit. Goodbye. None of this had anything to do with
him any more. Better to be nothing than a blind doorman at
the head of civilization s parade.
And as Paul said these things to himself, a wave of sadness
washed over them as though they d been written in sand. He
was understanding now that no man could live without roots
roots in a patch of desert, a red clay eld, a mountain slope,
a rocky coast, a city street. In black loam, in mud or sand or
rock or asphalt or carpet, every man had his roots down deep
In home. A lump grew in his throat, and he couldn t do any-
thing about it. Doctor Paul Proteus was saying goodbye for-
ever to home.
206 PLAYER PIANO
So long, he said. And then, in spite of himself, So long,
gang.
A laggard group, genuinely inebriated, was being coaxed
out of the saloon. They were singing an effusiveiy sentimental
rendition of Toast the Oak. They draped their arms over
each other s shoulders; and made clumsily for the great tree.
Their voices came clearly to Paul over the at, green lawns:
Grown from but an acorn,
Giant now you are ;
May you ne er stop growing ;
Rise to the stars!
Proud sy-him-bol a-hov
Ourrrrrrrrs.
There was a reverent pause, broken by an exclamation.
Jesus! It was Berringer s voice, Berringer s word.
Smatter ?
Look at the tree around the bottom !
Holy smokes !
Somebody s stripped the bark off clear around, said Ber-
ringer hollowa.
Who ?
Who do you think ? said Berringer. That stinking sabo-
teur. Where is he ?
The Spirit of the Meadows gunned her engines and backed
into open water.
Hey, cried a lonely, frightened voice in the night. Hey
~somebody s killed the Oak.
Killed the Oak, echoed the shore.
The loudspeakers clattered on again, and a chilling war
whoop lled the air. Beware the Ghost Shirt! shrieked a ter-
rible voice.
Ghost Shirt, said the shore, and all was deathly still.
CHAPTER XXIV
EN ROUTE BY air from Miami Beach to Ithaca, New York,
home of Cornell University, the Shah of Bratpuhr caught a
,
k..
.~
ww.
t
W
.
H
PLAYER PIANO 207
nasty cold. When seven prakhouls (that quantity of uid that
can be contained in the skin of an adult male Bratpuhrian
marmot) of Sumkh'sh improved the Shah s spirits but did noth-
ing for his respiratory system, it was decided that the plane
should land in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, in order that the
Shah might rest and try the magic of American medicine.
With seven pmkhouls of Sumkh'sh under his belt, the Shah
calied cheery messages to pretty female Takarus on his way to
the doctor s of ce.
Pitty t- t, sibi Takam? Niki t- t. Akka sahn m'bo t-
t, simi Takam?
Khashdrahr, who was without the bene t of Sumklish, was
livid with embarrassment. Shah says it is a nice day, he ex-
plained unhappily.
Fit t, {m sibi bonanza? called the Shah to a small bIonde
who had her hands in a streetcorner manicure machine.
She blushed, and jerked her hands from the machine and
stalked away, leaving the machine to but? away at nothing-
ness. A street urchin stuck his grubby hands in for the re-
mainder of the operation, and drew them out with gleaming,
red enameled nails.
I m glad he likes the weather, said Haiyard glumly. For
many weeks now, they'd traveled without the subject s coming
up once, and Halyard had hopefully told himself that the Shah
really was different from his other guests in this respect, dif-
ferent from the French and Bolivians and Czechs and Japanese
and Panamanians and Yaps and. . . . But, no. The Shah, too,
was now getting curious about American type women. Halyard,
at a frightful price in dignity, was once more going to have
to perform the role of utterly perfect host or pimp.
Fit- t? called the Shah, as they pulled up to a stoplight.
Look, said Haiyard reproachfully to Khashdrahr, tell
him he just can t walk up to any American girl at all and ask
her to sleep with him. I ll see what I can do, but it won t be
easy.
Khashdrahr told the Shah, who waved him away. Before
anyone could stop him, the Shah was out on the sidewaik,
con dently confronting a startlingly beautiful, dark-skinned
brunette. Fit t, siln' Takaru?
208 PLAYER PIANO
Please, said Halyard to her, please excuse my friend.
He s a bit under the weather.
She took the Shah s arm, and together they climbed back
into the limousine.
I m afraid there s been a terrible misunderstanding, young
lady, said Halyard. I hardly know how to put it. I,.ah, he,
that is What I mean to say, rather, is he wasn t'o enng you
,J
a £1de. ' ' t h ?
He was asking for somethmg, wasn 6.
Yes.
There's been no misunderstanding.
Fit- t, said the Shah.
Quite so, said Halyard. _
Khashdrahr began looking out of the window Wltl l fresh
interest, wildness, in fact, and Halyard had dif culty holding
himself in check. .
Here we are, said the driver. Here 5 Doctor Pepkothz 5
of ce. -
Yes, well, you wait in the car, young lady, said Halyard,
while the Shah goes in here for a cold treatment. .
The Shah was grinning, and inhaling and exhallhg rapidly.
His sni les are gone, said Khashdrahr wondermgly.
Drive on, said Halyard. He had seen a. smnlar miracle
cure of an Ecuadorian brigadier s hives.
The girl seemed restless and unhappy, and utterly out. of
character, Halyard thought. She smiled constantly, uneonvmc
ingly, and was apparently anxious to get the whole thing over
with. Halyard still couldn t believe that she knew what the
whole thing was.
Where are we going now ? she said, grimly cheerful. A
hotel, I suppose.
Yes, said Halyard unevenly. .
Good. She patted the Shah on his shoulder, and burst mto
tears.
The Shah was distressed and tried clumsily to comfort her.-
r Oh, m'bo Jami, sibi Takaru. Akka sahn souri? Ohhh. Tip;
Takam. Ahhhh.
There, now, said Halyard. See here.
PLAYER PIANO 209
I don t do this every day, she said, blowing her nose.
Please excuse me. I ll try to be better.
Certainly. We understand, said Halyard. The whole thing
has been a terrible mistake. Where would you like us to leave
you off ?
Oh, no I m going through with it, she said gloomily.
PIease said Halyard. Perhaps it would be better for
all concerned if .
If I lost my husband? Better if he shot himself or starved ?
Certainly not! But why would those terrible things happen
if you refused to«- That is
It s a long story. She dried her eyes. My husband, Ed,
is a writer.
What s his classi cation number ? said Halyard.
That s just it. He hasn t one.
Then how can you call him a writer ? said Halyard.
Because he writes, she said.
My dear girl, said Halyard paternally,
we re all writers.
Two days ago he had a 'number W 44I.
Fiction novice, Halyard explained to Khashdrahr.
Yes, she said, and he was to have it until he d completed
his novel. After that, he was supposed to get either a W-440
Fiction journeyman, said Halyard.
Or a W-255.
Public relations, said Halyard.
Please, what are public relations ? said Khashdrahr.
That profession, said Halyard, quoting by memory from
the Manual, that profession specializing in the cultivation, by
applied psychology in mass communication media, of favorable
public opinion with regard to controversial issues and institu
tions, without being offensive to anyone of importance, and
with the continued stability of the ecommy and society its
primary goal.
Oh well, never mind, said Khashdrahr. Please go on with
your story, sibi Takam." .
Two months ago he submitted his nished manuscript to
the National Council of Arts and Letters for criticism and
assignment to one of the book clubs.
1
on that basis,
210 PLAYER PIANO
There are twelve of them, Halyard interrupted. Each one
selects books for a speci c type of reader.
There are twelve types of readers P said Khashdrahr.
There is now talk of a thirteenth and fourteenth, said
Halyard. The line has to be drawn somewhere, of course,
because of the economics of the thing. In order to be self
supporting, a book club has to have at least a half-million
members, or it isn t worth setting up the machinery the elec-
tronic billets, the electronic addressers, the electronic wrappers,
the electronic presses, and the electronic dividend computers.
And the electronic writers, said the girl bitterly.
That ll come, that ll come, said Halyard. But Lord knows
getting manuscripts isn t any trick. That s hardly the problem.
Machinery s the thing. One of the smaller clubs, for instance,
covers four city blocks. DSM.
DSM? said Khashdrahr.
Excuse me. Dog Story of the Month.
Khashdrahr and the Shah shook their heads slowly and made
ducking sounds. Four city blocks, echoed Khashdrahr hol
lowly.
Well, a fully automatic setup like that makes culture very
cheap. Book costs less than seven packs of chewing gum. And _
there are picture clubs, too pictures for your walls at amaz-
ingly cheap prices. Matter of fact, culture s so cheap, 3. man
gured he could insulate his house cheaper with books and
prints than he could with rockwool. Don t think it s true, but
it s a cute story with a good point.
And painters are well supported under this club system ?
asked Khashdrahr.
Supported I guess! said Halyard. It s the Golden Age
of Art, with millions of dollars a year poured into reproduc-
tions of Rembrandts, Whistlers, Goyas, Renoirs, El Grecos,
Dégas , da Vincis, Michelangelos . . .
These club members, they get just any book, any picture ?
asked Khashdrahr.
I should say not! A lot of research goes into what s run.
off, believe me. Surveys of public reading tastes, readability
and appeal tests on books being considered. Heavens, running
PLAYER PIANO 2
off an unpopular book would put a club out of business like
that ! He snapped his ngers ominously. The way they keep
culture so cheap is by knowing in advance what and how much
of it people want. They get it right, right down to the color
of the jacket. Gutenberg would be amazed.
Gutenberg ? said Khashdrahr.
Sure the man who invented movable type. First man to
mass produce Bibles.
Alla sutta takki? said the Shah.
Eh ? said Halyard.
Shah wants to know if he made a survey rst.
Anyway, said the girl, my husband s book was rejected
by the Council.
h' E adly written, said Halyard primly. The standards are
1g .
Beautifully written, she said patiently. But it was twenty-
seveh pages longer than the maximum length; its readability
quotlent was 26.3, and
N0 club will touch anything with an R.Q. above 17, ex-
plained Halyard.
And, the girl continued, it had an antimachine theme.
Halyard s eyebrows arched high. Well! I should hope they
wouldn t print it! What on earth does he think he s doing?
Good lord, you re lucky if he isn t behind bars, inciting to
advocate the commission of sabotage like that. He didn t really
think somebody d print it, did he ?
He didn t care. He had to write it, so he wrote it.
Why doesn t he write about clipper ships, or something like
that? This book about the old days on the Erie Canal-the
man who wrote that is cleaning up. Big demand for that bare-
chested stuff.
She shrugged helplessly. Because he never got mad at
clipper ships or the Erie Canal, I guess.
He sounds very maladjusted, said Halyard distastefuily.
If you ask me, my dear, he needs the help of a competent
psychiatrist. They do wonderful things in psychiatry these
days. Take perfectly hopeless cases, and turn them into grade
A citizens. Doesn t he believe in psychiatry?
2I2 PLAYER PIANO
Yes, indeed. He watched his brother nd peace of mind
through psychiatry. That s why he won t have anything to do
with it.
I don t follow. Isn t his brother happy?
Utterly and always happy. And my husband says some-
body s just got to be maladjusted; that somebody s got to be
uncomfortable enough to wonder where people are, where
they re going, and why they re going there. That was the
trouble with his book. It raised those questions, and was re-
jected. So he Was ordered into public-relations duty.
So the story has a happy ending after all, said Halyard.
Hardly. He refused.
Lordy!
Yes. He was noti ed that, unless he reported for public-
relations duty by yesterday, his subsistence, his housing permit,
his health and security package, everything, would be revoked.
So today, when you came along, I was wandering around
town, wondering what on earth a girl couid do these days to
make a few dollars. There aren t many things. A
This husband of yours, he d rather have his wife 3» Rather,
have herw Halyard cleared his throat than go into public
relations ?
I m proud to say, said the girl, that he s one of the few
men on earth with a little self-respect left.
Khashdrahr translated this last bit, and the Shah shook his
head sadly. The Shah removed a ruby ring and pressed it
into her hand. Ti, sibi Takam. Dibo. Brahous bmhouna,
hound saki. Ippi goum Brahouna ta tippo d mismit. He opened
the limousine door for her.
What did the gentleman say? she asked.
He said to take the ring, pretty little citizen, said Khash-
drahr tenderly. He said goodbye and good luck, and that some
of the greatest prophets were crazy as bedbugs.
Thank you,_sir, she said, climbing out and starting to cry
again. God bless you.
The iimousine pulled away from her. The Shah waved wist-
fully. "Dibo, sibi Takaru, he said, and was seized by a violent
sneezing t. He blew his nose. Sumklish!
Khashdrahr handed him the sacred ask.
PLAYER PIANO 213
CHAPTER XXV
WHEN THE SPIRIT OF THE MEADOWS churned up to
the dock at the Mainland, the public address system, turned low,
was murmuring Good Night, Sweetheart, a sweet wraith
of music a whisper above the voice in the pines, the lapping
of the great blue water, the whir of the eagle wing.
No lights shone from the women s and children s lodges.
In the Central Administration Building was a single square
of light, silhouetting a sleeping clerk.
As Paul made for it, to ask the clerk where he might nd
Anita, lights ashed in his night-aecustomed eyes. When his
pupils had adjusted themselves to the glare, he found himself
staring at his re ection in a mirror again, under the legend,
THE BEST WIFE FOR THE BEST MAN FOR THE BEST JOB IN
THE WORLD.
He hurried past the mirror, wondering how many times
Anita had contempiated her re ection and the legend here,
wondering how she would take the news that her Best Man
had become merely a man, with no job at all.
He woke up the clerk, who called the matron in charge of
the lodge where Anita slept.
What s matter With the party Over there ? said the clerk
sleepily, waiting for the matron to answer. You re about the
tenth guy to come over here tonight. Usually they don t start
coming until about the fourth day. Now, what s the matter with
the matron, anyway? The phone s right by her bunk. He
glanced at the clock. You know what time it is? You haven t
got time to make a nickel. The last boat back for the island
leaves in three minutes.
Keep ringing. I m not going back.
If you re going to spend the night, don t tell me about it.
There re about twentyeeven rules against it.
Paul handed him a ten dollar bill. Keep ringing.
For that, you can be invisible for a week. Whaddya like?
Blondes, brunettes, redheads? Aha! She answered. Where the
hell you been ? he asked the matron. You got a Mrs. Paul
214 PLAYER PIANO
Proteus there ? He nodded. Uh huh, uh huh. O.K. Leave a
note on her bunk, will you. He turned to Paul. She s out,
Doctor.
Out P
Walking in the moonlight, probably, Matron says she s a
great walker.
If Anita was a great walker, it was news to Paul. He d seen
her drive a car to the house across the street from theirs, and
she denied all the tenets of physical culture by remaining young
and graceful while eating like a farmhand and conserving her
strength like a princess. Bound feet and six inch ngernails
wouldn t have restricted her activities in the least.
Paul sat down on a wicker chair in the cool blue shadows
of the Administration Building s porch and rested his feet on
the peeling bark of the log railing to wait.
Now the lights along the walks blinked on and o , a siient
signal, warning that the last boat was about to leave for the
island.
There was laughing, and quick crunching in the gravel, and
a couple ran from the woods toward the dock. Their insistence
on keeping their arms about each other s waists made their
progress as graceless as a sack race. This annoyed Paul as a
critic. It was painful to watch a clumsily conducted mating
rite, knowing, from long experience with the skilled Anita,
how much like a dance it could be when'done properly.
There she was making him slow down now, and their gait
through the trees, against the moon, was more orderly. Paul
had been sure that the fareWell kiss would be an ungainly busi-
ness, but, all credit to her, they stopped, and took the time
and stances to do it right. Good.
Paul watched them with increasing identi cation with the ,
man. Paul had always been a petty thief of others high mo-
ments, and his hunger for this particular sort of moment was
acute. With his old life gone, and his new one, whatever it was
to be, not yet begun, he was voracious for lovemAnita s love.
vividly imagined love, vicarious love any love, whatever was
immediately available.
Now she was coming back, slowly, thoughtfully, content.
Wonderful.
PLAYER PIANO 215
The lights on the booby-trap mirror ashed on. The woman
smoothed her slacks over her hips and tucked in a wisp of hair.
She lingered before her image a long time, turning this way
and that, seemingly pleased, as well she might be, by the shape
of her breasts ingenuousiy hidden under tight green cotton,
with the word Captain undulating uphill, downdale.
Anita!
She jumped, and quickly folded her arms across her bosom
in a protective gesture. Slowly her arms went to her sides
again, and she stood erect, a woman with nothing to hide, least
of all Shepherd s shirt. Hello, Paul. She walked over to
the porch where he sat, stately, cold, and sat down beside him.
[KWeII ?
When he said nothing, her poise began to fail, and she
plucked nervously at the bark on the log railing, pulling off
little strips and throwing them out into the summer night. Go
ahead, she said at last.
Me go ahead 3 said Paul.
Don t you think an explanation is in order ?
Decidedly.
You did get red, didn t you ?
Yes, but not for breaking a Commandment.
Is wearing another man s shirt adultery in your book?
Underneath, she was plainly rattled.
Paul was delighted. He was sure now that he could bluff
her into coming away with him. It was inconceivable that she
was using the boring, sententious, contentious Shepherd for
anything but a hollow threat to him, but this semblance of
wrongdoing could now be turned to advantage. Wouldn t you
say the shirt was symptomatic, coupled with fornication in the
underbrush? he said.
If you mean do I love him, the answer is yes.
PauI laughed quietly.
I m glad you re taking it so well, she said primly. I guess
it proves what I thought all along.
Which was" ?
Unexpectedly she burst into tears. That I wasn t any damn
use to you at all! Finnerty was right, she sobbed. All you
216 PLAYER PIANO
need is something stainless steel, shaped like a woman, covered
with sponge rubber, and heated to body temoerature.
It was Paul s turn to be startled. Anita darling, listen.
And you d lend it to anybody, if you didn t need it just
then.
Hell s bells, 1
I m sick of being treated like a. machine! You go around
talking about what engineers and managers do to all the other
poor, dumb people. Just look what an engineer and manager
did to me !
For heaven s sakes, sweetheart, 1
You talk about how wrong it is for smart people to lord
it over people who aren t so smart, and then go around our
house showing off your great big LQ. like it was on a sand-
wich sign. All right, so I m dumb.
No you aren t, Angel. Listen, 1
Saboteur !
Paul fell back in his seat and shook his head, as though
groggily trying to avoid a clubbing. For the love of God,
listen, will you ? he begged.
Go on. She was magni cently on top of the situation
again.
Darling, what you say may be true. I don t know. But
please, sweetheart, wife, I need you now like I never needed
anybody in all my life.
Ten minutes ought to take care of that. At the outside,
she added scornfully.
For richer, for poorer, in sickness as in health," said Paul.
Remember that, Anita? Do you remember ?
You re still rich, and you re not sick. She looked at him
with passing concern. You re not sick, are you ?
At heart.
You ll get used to it. I did.
I m sorry, Anita I didn t know it had been that bad. I
see now that it probably was.
Next time I ll marry for love.
Shepherd ?
He needs me, respects me, believes in the things I be-
lieve in.
PLAYER PIANO 217
I hope you ll be very happy, said Paul, standing.
Her lips trembled, and she burst into tears again. Paul,
' Paul, Paul.
Hmmmm ?
I Iikeyou. Don t forget that ever.
And I like you, Anita."
Doctor Proteus, called the clerk through the window.
[ Yes ?31
Doctor Kroner called and said you were to be driven over
to the railroad station tonight. The jeep s on the other side
of the building, waiting. We ve got half an hour to make the
12:52.
Coming.
Kiss me, said Anita.
It was a stunning kiss, and, in its wake of lackadaisicalness,
Paul realized that she had had absolutely nothing to gain by
the kiss, that she had done it out of, of all things, the goodness
of her heart.
Come with me, Anita, he whispered
I m not as dumb as you think. She pushed him away
rmly. Goodbye.
CHAPTER XXVI
DOCTOR PAUL PROTEUS, an unclassi ed human being,
was put aboard the 12 :52, where he shared an ancient coach,
half cuspidor, half humidor, with sixty troops on furlough
from Camp Drum.
Great Bend. The stop is Great Bend, said a tape recording
through a loudspeaker over Paul s head. The engineer pressed
a button in his cab as he pulled into each station, down came
the steps, and out came the voice. Next station, Carthage. Next
statiom Carthage. Click.
Board! bawled another loudspeaker on the outside of the
car.
An old man, kissing his wife goodbye on the rotting planks
of the Great Bend platform, looked apologetically at the urgent
218 PLAYER PIANO
voice, as though to ask the man to wait just a second more for
him to say one last word. Board1 Machinery whirred, and
the coach steps arose from the platform, nestled into one an-
other, and disappeared into their niche.
Coming! Coming ! cried the old man, and jogged unhappily
toward the moving train as fast as his brittle legs would carry
him. He caught the handrail, swung aboard, and stood panting
in the vestibule. He fumbled for his ticket, dropped it into the
mechanism on the door. The mechanism considered it, found
everything in order, pulled back the door bolt, and let him into
the frieze and cast-iron monument to tobacco.
He settled, winded, in the seat next to Paul s. Somof-a-
bitch won t even wait a second for an old man, he said bit-
terIy.
It s a machine, said Paul. All automatic.
Don t mean he ain t a son of a-bitch.
Paul nodded appreciatively.
Used to be conductor on this line.
0h ? The man had the orid, righteous look of a specialized
bore, and Paul wasn t interested in listening to him.
Yes, forty-one years, he said. For-tee wunnnn years!
I(Huh 1U
For-tee-wunnnn. Two times twenty plus one. And I d like
to see one of them machines deliver a baby.
Huh! You delivered a baby, eh ?
Yep. Little boy. By coincidence I done it in the men s room.
He chuckled richly. For tee-wunnnn years I
K Huh.)5
And I never seen the machine yet that d watch out for a
little girl three years old all the way from St. Louis to Pough-
keepsie.
Nope. Guess not, said Paul. He led this remark away
for his next meeting with Bud Calhoun. He could see the device
now sort of an Iron Maiden, without the spikes, of course, and
electronic, of course, that would grasp a little girl rmly at
St. Louis, and eject her into the arms of relatives at Pough-
keepsie.
For-tee wunnnn years! With machines you get quan~titty,
but you don t get qual itty. Know what I mean ?
PLAYER PIANO 219
Yup, said Paul.
Carthage, said the tape recording. The stop is Carthage.
Next station, Deer River.
Paul settled back against the unyielding seat with a sigh of
relaxation, and closed his eyes in a pretense of sleep.
For-tee-wunnnn years! These machines never help an old
lady down the steps.
In time the chi conductor ran out of examples of man s
superiority over machines and took to anticipating the tape re-
cording s station calling, casually, contemptuously, as though
any fool could do it. Deer River. The stop is Deer River. Next
station, Castorland.
"Deer River. The stop is Deer River, said the tape record-
ing. Next station, Castorland.
Ha! What d I tell you ?
Paul actually did drop off to sleep tfully, and at last, at
Constableville, he saw his companion slipping his ticket into the
door slot and being let off. Paul checked his ticket to make sure
it wasn t bent or torn, that it would unlock the door at Ilium.
He d heard tales of addled old ladies locked aboard cars for
days for having misplaced their tickets, or for having missed
their stops. Hardly a newspaper was printed that didn t have
a human interest story about car clean up crews from the Reeks
and Wrecks liberating somebody.
The old displaced conductor disappeared into the Constable
ville night, and Paul wondered at what thorough believers in
mechanization most Americans were, even when their lives had
been badly damaged by mechanization. The conductor s plaint,
like the lament of so many, wasn t that it was unjust to take
jobs from men and give them to machines, but that the machines
didn t do nearly as many human things as good designers could
have made them do.
Constablew'lle. The stop is Cunstablew'lle. Next station, Rem-
sen.
A poker game was going on in the facing seats behind Paul,
and a superannuated rst sergeant, zebra-like under symbols for
patience, individuai bloodlettings, and separations from home,
was telling tales of the last war of the Last War.
Jesus, he said, rif ing through the deck absently, as though
220 PLAYER PIANO
his mind were a thousand miles away, there we was, and there
they was. Imagine the men s room there s a hog-back, With the
bastards dug in deep on the reverse slope. The recruits looked
at the men s room through narrowed, battle wise eyes, and the
sergeant shuf ed the cards some more. The night before, a
lucky shot knocked out the generator.
Holy cow! said a recruit.
You can say that again, said the sergeant. Anywayw ve-
card stud, nothing wild there we were with no juice, eighteen
of us facing ve hundred of them. The microwave sentinels,
the proximity mines, the electric fence, the re-control system,
the remote-control machine gun nests p t! No juice, Queen,
ace, ace, and dealer gets a deuce. Bet the rst ace.
Well, boys a dime to me? Raise it a dime just to make
things interesting. Well, boys, then the fun started. At seven
hundred hours they tried a hundred-man patrol on us, to see
what we had. And we had nothin ! And communications was
cut to hell, so we couldn t call for nothin . All our robot tanks d
been pulled out to support a push the 106th was makin , so we
was really alone. Snafu. So, I sent Corporal Merganthaler back
to battalion for help. - Two queens, no help, two aces, and
dealer catches another lousy deuce. Bet the aces. So over they
come, screamin bloody murder, and us with nothing but our
goddamn ri es and bayonets workin . Looked like a tidal wave
comin over at us. Aces cheek? Aw, hell, deuees ll try a dime.
*Just then, up comes Merganthaler with a truck and generator
he s moonlight-requisitioned from the 57th. We hooked her
into our lines, cranked her up, and my God, I wish you could
of seen it. The poor bastards fryin on the electric fence, the
proximity mines poppin under em, the microwave sentinels
openin up with the remote-control machine gun nests, and the
re-control system swiveling the guns and amethrowers around
as long as anything was quiverin within a mile of the place.
And that s how I got the Silver Star.
Paul shook his head slightly as he listened to the sergeant s
absurd tale. That, then, was the war he had been so eager to
get into at one time, the opportunity for basic, hot tempered,
hard-muscled heroism he regretted having missed. There had
been plenty of death, plenty of pain, all right, and plenty of
PLAYER PIANO 221
tooth-grinding stoieism and nerve. But men had been called
upon chie y to endure by the side of the machines, the terrible
engines that fought with their own kind for the right to gorge
themselves on men. Horatio on the bridge had become a radio-
guided rocket with an atomic warhead and a proximity fuse.
Roland and Oliver had become a pair of jet«driven computers
hurtling toward each other far faster than the ight of a man s
scream. The great tradition of the American ri eman survived
only symbolically, in voileys red into the skies over the dead
in thousands of military cemeteries. Those in the graves, the
front-line dead, were heirs to another American tradition as old
as that of the ri eman, but once a peaceful tradition that of
the American tinker.
Gosh! Sarge, how come you never went after a commis-
sion ?
Me go back to college at my age? I m not the school kind,
sonny. Gettin that B5. was enough for me. Two more years
and an MA. for a pair of lousy gold bars? Naaaaaah! And
a queen, and no help, and a jack, and no help, and a ve, and
no help, and dealer gets a what do you know? Three deuces.
Looks like my lucky day, boys.
Middlem lle. The stop is Middle'w'lle. Next station, He rki-
mer.
Sarge, d ya mind talkin about your wound stripes ?
Hmmm? No guess not. This un s for a dose of Gamma
rays at Kiukiang. This un s lemme securadioactive dust in
the bronchial tubes at Afyon Karahisar. And this little bastard
~uh trenehfoot at Kransystav.
Sarge, what was the best piece you ever had ?
A little redheaded half Swede, half Egyptian in Farafan-
gana, said the Sarge without hesitation.
Boy! I hope that s where they send me.
That much of a ne old American military tradition, Paul
supposed, would always be alive send me where the tail is.
"Herkimer, The stop is Herkimer. Next station, Little Falls.
Say, Sarge, is this train a local?
You might call it that. How s about a round of cold hands
for the odd change ? said the sergeant.
OK. with me. Oops. Lousy trey. A queen for Charley. An
222 PLAYER PIANO
eight for Lou. And, I ll be go to hell, the Sarge catches a bullet.
Say, Sarge, hear Pfc. Elmo Hacketts is shipping out.
Yep. Been asking for overseas ever since he joined the out-
t. Pair of treys for Ed, nothing for Charley, jack for Lou,
and dealer catches a I Il be damned. '
(Ace !JJ
Little Falls. The stop is Little Falls. Next station, John-
sonville.
Here we go around again, and What you know about
that? said the sergeant. Ed s got three treys. Yep hate to
see Hacketts go. With a couple. years seasoning, I could see him
as a helluva ne guidon bearer. But, if he wants to throw all
that over, that s his business. Nothing for Charley, and Lou
gets my ace. Three treys got it so far.
Where s Hacketts going? You know?
And no help, and help, and no help, and no help, said the
sergeant. Yeah, his orders came through today. Last time
around, boys. No heip, no help, no help, and "
Jesus!
Sorry about that third ace, Ed. Guess that one s mine too.
Yeah, Hacketts gets his overseas duty all right. Shipping out
for Tamanrasset tomorrow morning.
Tamanrasset ?
The Sahara Desert, you dumb bastard. Don t you know any
geography P He grinned wol shly. How about a little black
jack for laughs ?
Paul sighed for Hacketts, born into a spiritual desert, now
being shipped to where the earth was sterile, too.
Johnsonville . . . Ft. Plain . . . Fonda . . . Ft. John-
son . . . Amsterdam . . . Schenectady . . . Cohoes . . .
Watemliet . . . Albany . . . Rensselaer . . . Ilium, the stop
is Ilium.
Bleary eyed, Paul shuf ed to the door, inserted his ticket,
and stepped onto the Ilium station platform.
The door on the baggage compartment cIa-ttered open, a
cof n slid onto a waiting freight elevator and was taken into
the refrigerated bowels of the station.
No cabs had bothered to meet the unpromising train. Paul
phoned the cab company, but no one answered. He looked
PLAYER PIANO 223
helplessly at the automatic ticket vendor, the automatic nylon
vendor, the automatic coffee vendor, the automatic gum vendor,
the automatic book vendor, the automatic newspaper vendor, the
automatic toothbrush vendor, the autornatic Coke vendor, the
automatic shoeshine machine, the automatic photo studio, and
walked out into the deserted streets 0n the Homestead side of
the river.
It was eight miles through Homestead, across the bridge, and
up the other side of the river to home. Not home, Paul thought,
but the house where his bed was.
He felt dull, mushy inside, with an outer glaze of bright
heat sleepy yet sleepless, assailed by thoughts yet thoughtless.
His footsteps echoed against Homestead s gray fagades, and
lifeless neon tubes, proclaiming one thing and another of no
importance at this hour, were empty, cold glass for want of the
magic of electrons in ight through inert gas.
Lonesome?
( Huh ?n
A young woman, with bosoms like balloon spinnakers before
the wind, looked down from a second story window. I said,
are you lonesome ?
Yes, said Paul simply.
Come on up.
W611, Paul heard himself saying, all right, I will.
The door next to the Automagic Market.
He climbed the long, dark stairway, each riser of which pro-
claimed Doctor Harry Friedmann to be a. painless dentist, 1i-
censed under the National Security and Health Plan. Why,
asked Friedmann rhetorically, set-tie for less than a D-oo6 3 "
The door on the hallway, next to Doctor Friedmann s, was
open, the woman waiting.
What s your name, honey?
Proteus.
Any relation to the big cheese across the river ?
My half-brother.
You the black sheep, honey ?
(KYup-L'
Screw your brother.
Please, said Paul.
PLAYER PIANO
He awoke once during the remainder of the night with her.
awoke from a dream in which he saw his father glowering at
him from the foot of the bed.
She mumbled in her sleep.
As Paul dropped off once more, he murmured an automatic
reply. And I love you, Anita.
224
CHAPTER XXVIJf
DOCTOR PAUL PROTEUS had been his own man, alone
in his own house for a week. He d been expecting some sort
of communication from Anita, but nothing came. There was
nothing more, he realized wonderingly, to be said. She was stiil
at the Mainland, probably. The Meadows session had another
week to run. After that would come the muddle of her sepa-
rating her effects from his and divorce. He wondered on what
grounds she would divorce him. Extreme mentai cruelty amused
him, and he supposed it was close enough to the truth. Any
variation from any norm pained her terribly. She d have to
leave New York State, of course, since the only grounds for
divorce there were adultery, and incitement to conspire to advo-
cate sabotage. A case could be made for either, he supposed,
but not with dignity.
Paul had gone to his farm once, and, in the manner of a
man dedicating his life to God, he d asked Mr. Haycox to put
him to work, guiding thehand of Nature. The hand he grasped
so fervently, he soon discovered, was coarse and sluggish, hot
and wet and smelly. And the charming little cottage he d taken
as a symbol of the good life of a farmer was as irrelevant as
a statue of Venus at the gate of a sewage-disposal plant. He
hadn t gone back.
He d been to the Works once. The machinery had been shut-
off during the Meadows session, and only the guards were on
duty. Four of them, now of cious and scornful, had telephoned
to Kroner at the Meadows for instructions. Then they d es-
corted him to what had been his desk, where he d picked up
a few personal effects. They d made a list of what he d taken,
PLAYER PIANO 225
and questioned his claim to each item. Then they d marched him
back into the outside world, and shut the gates against him for-
ever and ever.
Paul was in the kitchen now, before the laundry console,
seated on a stool, watching television. It was late afternoon,
and; for the unadorned hell of it, he was doing his own laundry.
Urdle urdle-urdle, went the console. Urdle urdle-ur dull!
Zm'ck. Bazz wap! Chimes sounded. Azzzzzzzzzz. Fromp!
Up came the anticlimactic offering: three pairs of socks, three
pairs of shorts, and the blue Meadow s T-shirts, which he was
using for pajamas.
On the television screen, a middle-aged woman was counsel
ing her teen age son, whose hair and clothes were disordered
and soiled.
Fightin don t help, Jimmy, she was saying sadly. Lord
knows nobody ever brought any more sunshine into the world
by bloodyin somebody s nose, or by havin' his own nose
bloodied.
I know~but he said my LQ. was 59, Ma! The boy was
on the point of tears, he was so furious and hurt. And he said
Pop was a 53 !
Now, now that s just child s talk. Don t you pay it no
mind, Jimmy.
But it s true, said the boy brokenly. Ma, it s true. I went
down to the police station and looked it up! Fifty-nine, Ma!
and poor Pop with a 53. He turned his back, and his voice
was a bitter whisper: And you with a 47, Ma. A 47.
She bit her lip and looked heartbroken, then, seeming to draw
strength miraculously from somewhere above eye level, she
gripped the kitchen table. Jimmy, look at your mother.
He turned slowly.
Jimmy, LQ. isn t everything. Some of the unhappiest people
in this world are the smartest ones.
Since the start of his week of idleness at home, Paul had
learned that this, with variations, was the basic problem situa
tion in afternoon dramas, with diseases and injuries of the
optic nerve and locomotor apparatus close seconds. One program
was an interminable exploration of the question: can a woman
226 PLAYER PIANO
with a low LQ. be happily married to a man with a high one?
The answer seemed to be yes and no.
Jimmy, boy, son I.Q. won t get you happiness, and St.
Peter don t give LQ. tests before he lets you in those Pearly
Gates. The wickedest people that ever lived was the smartest
Jimmy looked suspicious, then surprised, then guardedly will-
ing to be convinced. You mean a plain feilow like me, just
another guy, folks like us, Ma, you mean we re as good as, as,
as, well, Doctor Garson, the Works Manager ?
Doctor Garson, with his 169 Lg? Doctor Garson, with his
Ph.D., D.Sc., and his Ph. and D. I-don t-know-wha-t-else?
Him ?
Yeah, Ma. Him.
Him? Doctor Garson? Jimmy, son, boy have you seen the
bags under his eyes? Have you seen the lines in his face? He s
carryin the world around on his shoulders, Jimmy. That s what
a high IQ. got him, Doctor Garson. Do you know how old
he is 3
An awful old man, Ma.
He s ten years younger than your Pa, Jimmy. That s What
brains got him.
Pa came in at that moment, wearing the brassard of a Re-
construction and Reclamation Corps Asphalt Leveler, First
Class. He was cheery, pink, in rst-rate heaith. Hi, there,
folks, he said. Everything hunky-dory in my little old home,
eh P
Jimmy exchanged glances with his mother, and smiled oddly.
Yessir, reckon it is. I mean, you re darn right it is !
In came the organ music, the announcer, and the washless,
rinseless wash powder, and Paul turned down the volume.
The door chimes were ringing, and Paul wondered how long
they d been at it. He might have turned on the televiewer, to
see if the bell ringer was worth opening the door for, but he
was hungry for companionship just about any kindw and he
went to the door gladly, gratefully.
A policeman looked at him coldly. Doctor Proteus ?
((Yes ? l
I m from the police.
So I see.
PLAYER PIANO 227
You haven t registered.
Oh. Paul smiled. Oh I ve been meaning to do that. And
he had meant to do it, too.
The policeman did not smile. Then why haven t you P
I haven t found the time.
You better start looking for it, hard, Doc.
Paul was annoyed by this rude young man, and he was in
clined, as he had been inclined with the bartender at the
Meadows, to put him in his place. But he thought better of it
this time. All right. I ll be down to register tomorrow morn-
mg.
You ll be down to register in an hour, today, Doc. The
honori c Doc, Paul was learning, could be spoken in such a
way as to make a man wish to God he d never come within ten
miles of a university.
Yes all right, whatever you say.
And your industrial identi cation card you ve failed to
turn that in.
Sorry. I ll do that.
And your rearms and ammunition permit.
I ll bring that.
And your club membership card.
I ll nd it.
And your airline pass.
All right.
And your executive security and health policy. You ll have
to get a regular one.
Whatever you say.
I think that s all. If anything else comes up, I ll let you
know.
I m sure you will.
The young policeman s expression softened suddenly, and
he shook his head. Lo! How the mighty are fallen, eh, Doc?"
Lo! indeed, said Paul.
And an hour later Paul reported politely at the police sta-
tion, with a shoebox full of revoked privileges.
While he waited for someone to notice him, he interested
himself in the radiophoto machine behind glass in one corner,
which was fashioning a portrait of a fugitive, and noting be-
228 PLAYER PIANO
side it a brief biography. The portrait emerged from a slit in
the top of the machine bit by bit rst the hair, then the brows,
on line with the word WANTED, and then, on line with the large,
fey eyes, the name: Edgar Rice Burroughs Hagstrohm, R&R-
131313. Hagstrohm s sordid tale emerged along with his nose:
Hagstrohm cut up his M-I7 home in Chicago with a blow-
torch, went naked to the home of Mrs. Marion Frascati, the
widow of an old friend, and demanded that she come to the
woods with him. Mrs. Frascati refused, and he disappeared into
the bird sanctuary bordering the housing development. There
he eluded police, and is believed to have made his escape drop-
ping from a tree onto a passing freight
You! said the desk sergeant. Proteus!
Registration involved the lling out of a long, annoyingly
complicated form that started with his name and highest classi-
cation number, investigated his reasons for having fallen from
grace, asked for the names of his closest friends and relatives,
and ended with an oath of allegiance to the United States of
America. Paul signed the document in the presence of two wit-
nesses,rand watched a coding clerk translate it, on a keyboard,
into terms the machines could understand. Out came a card,
freshly nicked and punched.
That s all, said the police sergeant. He dropped the card
into a slot, and the card went racing through a system of
switches and sidings, until it came to rest against a thick pile
of similar cards.
What does that mean ? said Paul.
The sergeant looked at the pile without interest. Potential
saboteurs.
"Wait a minute~what s going on here? Who says I am ?
No re ection on you, said the sergeant patiently. No-
body s said you are. It s all automatic. The machines do it.
What right have they got to say that about me?
Oh, they know, they know, said the sergeant. They ve
been around. They do that with anybody who s got more n
four years of college and no job. He studied Paul through
narrowed lids. And you d be surprised, Doc, how right they
are.
A detective walked in, perspiring and discouraged.
PLAYER PIANO 229
i Any break on the Freeman case, Sid 2 said the sergeant,
105mg interest in Paul.
Nah. All the good suspects came off clean as a whistle on
the lie detector.
Did you check the tubes ?
Sure. We put in a whole new set, had the circuits checked.
Same thing. Innocent, every damn one of em. Not that every
damn one of em wouldn t of liked to of knocked him 0E. He
shrugged. Well, more leg work. We ve got one lead: the sis-
ter says she saw a strange man around the back of Freeman s
house a half-hour before he got it.
Got a description P
Partial. He turned to the coding clerk. Ready, Mac ?
All set. Shoot.
Medium height. Black shoes, blue suit. N0 tie. Wedding
ring. Black hair, combed straight back. Clean-shaven. Warts
on hands and back of neck. Slight limp.
The clerk, expressionless, punched keys as he talked.
Dinga-dingw dinga ding1 went the machine, and out came.
a card.
Herbert J. van Antwerp, said Mac. Forty-nine fty-six
Collester Boulevard.
Nice work, said the sergeant. He picked up a microphone.
Car 57, car 57~proceed to . . .
As Paul walked into the bright sunlight of the street, a
Black Maria, its siren silent, its tires humming the song of new
rubber on hot tar, turned into the alleyway that ran behind
the station house.
Paul peered curiously at it as it stopped by a barred door.
A policeman dismounted from the back of the shiny black
vehicle and waved a riot gun at Paul. All right, all right, no
loitering there!
Paul started to mo've on, lingering an instant longer for a
glimpse of the prisoner, who sat deep in the wagon s dark in-
terior, misty, futile, between two more men with riot guns.
Go on, beat it! shouted the policeman at Paul again.
Paul couldn t believe that the man would actually loose his
terrible hail of buckshot on a loiterer, and so loitered a mo
ment longer. His awe of the riot gun s yawning bore was tem-
230 PLAYER PIANO
pered by his eagerness to see someone who had made a worse
botch of getting along in society than he had.
The iron door of the station house clanged open, and three
more armed policemen waited to receive the desperado. The
prospect of his being at large in the alley for even a few seconds
was so harrowing, seemingly, that the policeman who had been
badgering Paul now gave his full attention to covering the
eight or ten square feet the prisoner would cross in an instant.
Paul saw his thumb release the safety catch by the trigger guard.
A11 righty, no funny stuff, you hear P said a nervous voice
in the wagon. Out you go 1
A moment later, Doctor Fred Garth, wearing a badly tom
Blue Team shirt, unshaven, his eyes wide, emerged into the
daylight, manacled and sneering.
Before Paul could believe in the senseless scene, his old tent-
and teammate, his buddy, the man next in line for Pittsburgh,
was inside.
Paul hurried around to the front, and back into the o ice
where he'd lled out the papers and turned in his credentials.
The sergeant looked up at him superciliously. Yes ?
Doctor Garth what s he doing here ? said Paul.
Garth? We got 110 Garth here.
I saw them bring him in the back door.
Naah. The sergeant went back to his reading.
Look he s one of my best friends.
Should 0f stuck with your dog and your mother, said the
sergeant without looking up. Beat it.
Bewildered, Paul wandered back to the street, left his old
car parked in front of the station house, and walked up the hill
to the main street of Homestead, to the saloon at the foot of
the bridge.
The town hail clock struck four. It might have struck mid
night or seven or one, for all the difference it made to Paul.
He didn t have to be anywhere at any time any more ever, he
supposed. He made up his own reasons for going somewhere,
or he went without reasons. Nobody had anything for him to
do anywhere. The economy was no longer interested. His card
was of interest now only to the police machines, who regarded
PLAYER PIANO 23r
him, the instant his card was introduced, with instinctive dis-
trust.
The hydrant was going as usuai, and Paul joined the crowd.
He found himself soothed by the cool spray from the water. He
waited with eagerness for the small boy to nish fashioning his
paper boat, and enjoyed the craft s jolting progress toward cer-
tain destruction in the dark, gurgling unknown of the storm
sewer.
Interesting, Doc ?"
Paul turned to nd Aify, the television shark, at his elbow.
Well! Thought you were at the Meadows.
Thought you were. How s the lip ?
Healing. Tender.
If it s any consolation, Doc, the bartender s still sneezing.
Good, wonderful. Did you get red ?"
Didn t you know? Everybody got sacked, the whole service
staff, after that tree business. He laughed. They re doing their
own cooking, making their own beds, raking the horseshoe pits,
and all, all by theirselves.
Everybody 3
Everybody beiow works manager.
They're cleaning their own latrines, too P
The dumb bunnies, Doc, with I.Q. s under I40.
What a thing. Still play games, do they ?
Yep. Last I heard, Blue was way out ahead.
You don t mean it !
Yeah, they were so ashamed of you, they justabout killed
theirselves to win.
And Green P
Cellar.
In spite of Shepherd?
You mean Jim Thorpe? Yeah, he entered everything, and
tried to make every point.
KSO__!
So nobody made any points. Last I heard, his team was
trying to convince him he had virus pneumonia and ought to
spend a couple of days in the in rmary. He s got something,
that s for sure. Alfy looked at his watch. Say, there s some
chamber music on channel seven. Care to play ?
232 PLAYER PIANO
Not with you." '
Just for the hell of it. No money. I m just gettlng checked
out on chamber music. A whole new eld. C mon, Doc, we ll ,
learn together. You watch the cello and bass, and I ll watch the
viola and violin. O.K.? Then we ll compare notes and pool our
knOwledge.
I ll buy you a beer. How s that ?
That s good; that s very good. .
In the bar s damp twilight, Paul saw a teen ager looking at
him hopefully from a booth. Before him, on the table top, were
three rows of matches: three in the rst row, ve in the second,
seven in the third.
Hello, said the young man uneasily, hopefully. Very in-
teresting game here. The object of the game is to make the
other guy take the last match. You can take as many or as few
as you want from any given row at each turn.
WelI said Paul.
Go ahead, said Alfy.
For two dollars ? said the youngster nervously.
All right, for two. Paul took a match from the longest row.
The youngster frowned and looked worried, and countered.
Three moves later, Paul left him looking disconsoiately at the
last match. Goddammit, Alfy, he said miserably, look at
that. I lost.
This is your rst day! said Alfy sharply. Don t get dis-
couraged. All right, so you lost. So you re just starting out.
Alfy clapped the boy on the shoulder. Doc, this is my kid
brother, Joe. He s just starting out. The Army and the Reeks
and Wrecks are hot for his body, but I m trying to set him up
in business for hisself instead. We ll see how this match busi-
ness works out, and if it doesn t, we ll think of something else.
I used to play it in college, said Paul apologetically. I ve
had a lot of experience.
College! said Joe, awed, and he smiled and seemed to feel
better. Jesus, no wonder. He sighed and sat back, depressed
again. But I don t know, Alfyml m about ready to throw in
the towel. Let s face it, I haven t got the brains. He lined up
the matches again, and picked at them, playing a game with
PLAYER PIANO 233
himself. I work at it, and I just don t seem to get any better
at it.
Sure you work ! said Alfy. Everybody works at something.
Getting out of bed s work! Getting food off your plate and
into your mouth s work! But there s two kinds of work, kid,
work and hard work. If you want to stand out, have something
to sell, you got to do hard work. Pick out something impossible
and do it, or be a burn the rest of your life. Sure, everybody
worked in George Washington s time, but George Washington
worked hard. Everybody worked in Shakespeare s time, but
Shakespeare worked hard. I m who I am because I work hard.
O.K., OK, OK, said Joe. Me, Alfy, I haven t got the
brains, the eye, the push. Maybe I better go down to the Army.
You can change your name before you do, kid, and don t
bother me again, said Alfy tensely. Anybody by the name
of Tucci stands on his own two feet. It s always been that way,
and that s the way it s always going to be.
O.K., said Joe, coloring. Awri. So I give it a try for
a couple more days.
O.K. ! said Alfy. See that you do.
As Alfy hurried to the television set, Paul stayed at his side.
Listen, do you happen to know who Fred Garth is P
Garth ? He laughed. I didn t at rst, but I sure as hell do
now. He s the one that ringbarked the oak.
CCNO !
Yep. And they never even thought of questioning him. He
was on the committee that was supposed to do the questioning.
How d they catch him ?
Gave hisself away. When the tree surgeon got there to patch
up the tree, Garth tossed his tools in the drink.
Alfy! said the bartender. You missed the rst number.
Alfy pulled up a bar stool.
Paul sat down next to him and engaged the bartender in
conversation. Their talk was disjointed, as Alfy kept the man
busy twisting the television set s volume knob .
Ever see Finnerty around ? said Paul.
The piano player?
Yeah.
What if I have ?
234 PLAYER PIANO
I d just like to see him, is all. A friend of mine.
Lot s of people d like to see Finnerty these days.
Uh-huh. Where s he keep himself ?
The bartender looked at him appraisingly. Nobody sees Fin-
nerty these days.
Oh? He s not living with Lasher any more ?
Full of questions today, aren t you? Nobody sees Lasher
these days.
I see. Paul didn t. They leave town?
Who knows? Come on, I haven t got all day. What ll it be ?"
Bourbon and water.
The bartender mixed the drink, set it before Paul, and turned
his back. 4
Paul drank the health of his hostile or apathetic companions
in the new life he d chosen, coughed, smiled, smacked his lips
judiciously, trying to determine what waSn t quite right about
the drink, and fell senseless from the barstool.
CHAPTER XXVIII
FROM BLUE CAYUGA," piped the young voices in the
autumn evening
From hill and dell,
Far rings the story of the glory of Cornell -
Doctor Harold Roseberry, PE -002, laid two documents side
by side on'the naked, waxy expanse of the top of his rosewood
desk. The desk, big enough for a helicopter to land on, was
a gift from the Cornell alumni, and a silver plate on one corner
said so. Justi cation 0f the lavish gift was inlaid in precious
woods on the desk top: the football scores run up by the Big
Red during the past ve seasons. The why and wherefore of
this object, at least, would leave no questions in the minds of
future archaologists. '
From East and West the crashing echoes answenng call,
cried the young voices, and Doctor Roseberry found it extremely
difficult to concentrate on the two documents before him: a
PLAYER PIANO 235
memo from theedean of the School of Arts and Sciences, a
quaint, antique man in a quaint, antique part of the university;
and a ve year-old letter from a carping alumnus who objected
to the deportment of the team when off the playing eld. The
memo from the dean said that a Mr. Ewing J. Halyard had
arrived in town in order to show the university to the Shah of
Bratpuhr, and, incidentally, to make up a seventeen-year old
credit de ciency in physical education. The memo asked that
Doctor Roseberry assign one of his staff to the chore of giving
Halyard the nal physical-education tests the next morning.
"Cornell victorious!
The champions of all !
came the voices.
Doctor Roseberry was inclined to react ironically to the last
line of the song. Certainly, victorious last year, four years
afore that, he muttered in his pregnant solitude. But here was
another year that might not look so hot inlaid in rosewood.
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, he said wearily.
Every coach in the Ivy League was out to knock him down to
a PE oo3 again, and two losses would do it. Yale and Penn
were loaded. Yale had oated a bond to buy the whole Texas
A&M back eld, and Penn had bought Breslaw from Wisconsin
for $43,000.
Roseberry groaned. How the hell long they think a man
can play college football ? he wanted to know. Six years before,
Cornell'had bought him from Wabash College, and asked him
to list his idea of a dream team. Then, by God they d bought
it for him.
But what the hell they think they bought ? he asked him-
self. Sumpin made outa steel and see-ment? Supposed to last
a lifetime, is it ? They hadn t bought him so much as a water
boy since, and the average age of the Big Red was now close
to thirty one.
Far above Cayuga s waters,
With its waves of blue,
Stands our noble Alma Mater,
Glorious to view
came the voices.
236 PLAYER PIANO
Certainly it s glorious, said Doctor Roseberry. Who the
hell you gure paid for it i' In its rst two years the football
team had paid for itself. In the next three, it had paid for a
new chemistry building, a heat and power laboratory, 3 new
administration building for the Agricultural Engineering De-
partment, and four new professorial chairs: the Philosophy
of Creative Engineering, Creative Engineering History, Crea-
tive Public Relations for Engineers, and Creative Engineering
and the Captive Consumer.
Roseberry, who wasn t expected to pay any attention to the
academic side of the university, had nonetheless kept a careful
accounting of all these improvements, glorious to view, that
had been added since he and his football team had arrived far
above Cayuga s waters. In anticipation of a poor season, he
was roughing out in his mind a polemic letter to the alumni,
in which the academic expenditures would gure prominently.
He had the rst line of the letter, following the salutation,
Sportsmen, already perfected, and enjoyed imagining it writ-
ten out in capitals:
Is THE FOOTBALL BUSINESS AT CORNELL GOING TO BE RUN
ON A BUSINESS-LIKE BASIS, OR IS THE BIG RED GOING TO BE
BLED WHITE?
And then the next sentence sprang inspirationally to mind:
IN THE PAST FIVE YEARS, NOT ONE CENT HAS BEEN REINVESTED
IN THE BUSINESS, NOT ONE CENT LAID ASIDE FOR DEPRECIA-
TION!
He saw now that the whole thing would have to be in
caps. The situation called for a letter with real punch.
The telephone rang.
Doctor Roseberry speakin .
This is Buck Young; Doc. Note here says you wanted me
to call. The husky voice was tinged with uneasiness, just as
Roseberry had hoped it would be. He could imagine that Buck
had sat by the phone with the note in his hand for several
minutes before he d dialed. Now that Buck had gone this far,
Roseberry told himself, he d go the rest of the way too.
Yeah, yeah, said Roseberry, smiling captivatingly. Bucky
boy, how are you ?
Fine. What s on your mind ?
PLAYER PIANO 237
Maybe I should ask what s on yours.
Thermodynamics. Stress analysis. Fluid ow. Differential
equations.
Aaah, said Roseberry, why n t you loosen up and have a
beer with me down at The Dutch? You hear the news I got,
I think maybe you ll get something else on your mind.
Cheer, cheer, here we are again
To cheer with all our might
sang the voices, and Doctor Roseberry waited impatiently for
the racket to stop. If they had to have a football rally, he wished
they d hold it somewhere where it wouldn t bother him and his
team. That was another thing: Cornell was so cheap, they quar-
tered their athletes on the campus rather than setting up a
separate establishment away from all the student racket. Wait ll
they shut up, Bucky boy, and I can hear myself think.
Cheer, cheer, here we are again,
To cheer for the Red and White l
Either Cornell was going to get progressive, or they could
nd themselves another coach, Roseberry told himself. Now,
Tennessee~there was a progressive setup. They kept their team
in Miami Beach, and no wonder Milankowitz went there for
$35,000, after he turned down Chicago for $40,000. O.K.,
Bucky, I can hear again. What about I meet you down at
The Dutch for a couple of quick ones in fteen minutes ?
The voice was faint, reluctant. Just for half an hour.
Doctor Roseberry climbed into his black convertible in the
team parking lot, and drove over to the Delta Upsilon fraternity
house, on whose lawn he d rst spotted Buck Young playing
interfraternity football. There, Young had done things for
Delta Upsilon for nothing that any college in the country would
have considered a steal at $50,000 a year.
That had been last fall, and DU. had eked out the inter-
fraternity football championship with 450 points to their oppo
nents six. Young had scored 390 of the points, and had thrown
the passes for the other 54, the remaining touchdown being
PLAYER PIANO
accounted for by a George Ward, whose name had somehow
burned itself into Roseberry s memory along with all of the
other statistics.
But Young had said rmly, when Roseberry had approached
him, that he played football for fun, and that he wanted to be
an engineer. A year ago, with the Big Red by far the biggest
thing in the East, with the Yale and Penn alumni still to mo-
bilize their economic resources, Roseberry could afford to be
amused by Young s preference for a career in engineering. Now
nothing was amusing, and Roseberry saw Young as his one
chance to remain a PE ooz under the fouled-up Cornell foot-
ball economies. He would sell a couple of superannuated line-
men to Harvard, who would buy anything that was cheap, and
use the proceeds to buy himself the services of Young at far
below their value on the open market.
The Dutch, its paneling antiqued by the condensation from
breaths of generations of adolescent alcoholics, was packed and
noisy, and in almOSt every hand was the drink fashionable that
season, benedictine and Pluto water, with a sprig of mint.
Doctor Roseberry was cheered and toasted by the children as
he entered. He grinned, and colored becomingly, and inwardly
demanded of himself and history, What the hell these baby
engineers got to'do th me, for chrissakes P He pushed his way
through the crowd, which claimed him for reasons not at all
clear, to a dark corner booth, where Purdy and McCloud, the
linemen whom he intended to sell to Harvard, were nursing
the one beer a night apiece permitted during training. They
were talking quietly, but darkly, and, as Doctor Roseberry ap-
proached, they looked up, but didn t smile.
Evenin boys, said Doctor Roseberry, sitting down on the
small ledge not occupied by McCloud s backside, and keeping
his eyes on the door through which Buck Young would be
coming.
They nodded, and went on with their conversation. No
reason, said McCloud, why a. man can t play college ball till
he s forty, if he takes good care of hisself. McCloud was
tlIirty4six.
Sure, said Purdy gravely, a older man s got a certain
PLAYER PIANO 239
matoority you don t nd in the young ones. Purdy was thirty-
seven.
Look at Moskowitz, said McCloud.
Yup. Forty-three, and still goin strong. No reason why he
shou n t keep goin until he s fty. N0 reason why most men
shou n t.
Bet I could go to the Reeks and Wrecks now and put to-
gether a Ivy League championship team out of guys past forty
who re s posed to be through.
Planck, said Purdy. Poznitsky.
McCarren, said McCloud, Mirro, Mellon. Ain t that right,
Doc ? McCloud asked Roseberry the question casually.
Yup, guess so. Hope so. Better. Kind of out t I ve got to
work with.
Um, said McCloud. He stared down into his beer, nished
it off with a ourish, and looked plaintively at Roseberry. O.K.
if I have one more short one t0night ?
Sure« why the hell not P said Roseberry. I ll even buy it.
McCloud and Purdy looked distressed at this, and both, on
second thought, gured they d better keep in good shape for
the important Big Red season ahead.
Roseberry offered no reply to this clumsy gambit.
Better not hit that stuff too hard, said a leering student,
pointing to the two bottles of beer. Not if Cornell s going to
go on ruling the Ivy League, you better not, boys.
Purdy glowered at him, and the youngster retreated into the
crowd. One minute, they ask you should go out and bust both
arms and legs so s they can say how tough Cornell is. Then the
next minute, they want you should live like a goddam mission-
ary, said Purdy bitterly.
Like in the Army, said McCloud.
The subject reminded Doctor Roseberry of the letter and the
memo he d been reading in his of ce, and he patted his breast
pocket to make sure he still had them.
Like in the Army, said Purdy, only no pension.
Sure, give the best years of your life to some college, and
what the hell they do when you re through? Toss you right
into the Reeks and Wrecks. The hell with you, buddy.
24o PLAYER PIANO
Look at Kisco, said Purdy.
Died for dear old Rutgers, and his widow s got what 3'
Nuttin ! Nuttin but a chenille R she can use as a. bath-
mat, and a government pension.
Shoulda saved his money! said Doctor Roseberry impa-
tiently. He was makin more n the college president. How come
he was so poor? Whose fault that ?
Purdy and McCloud looked down at their big hands and
dgeted. Both of them, in their prime, had made as much as
the late Buddy Kisco, who had actually died for Rutgers. But
both were likewise broke forever broke, building amboyant
mansions in Cayuga Heights, buying new cars every six months,
dressing expensively. . . .
That s the thing, said McCloud plaintively. A athalete has
to keep up appearances. Sure, people think a athalete makes
plenty, and he do on paper. But people never stop to think he s
ailus gotta keep up a expensive front.
Purdy leaned forward in excited agreement. For who ? he
demanded rhetorically. For the athalete ?
For Cornell ! said McCloud.
Damn right! said Purdy, leaning back, satis ed.
Buck Young, tall, massive, shy, appeared in the doorway and
looked around the room. Doctor Roseberry stood and waved,
and left Purdy and McCIoud to join him at the door.
Bucky boy!
Doc. Buck seemed somewhat ashamed to be seen with the
coach, and looked hopefully at a vacant booth. He was behav-
ing as though he were keeping an appointment with a dope
peddler, and, in a way, Doctor Roseberry re ected cheerfully,
he was.
Buck, I m not going to waste any words, because there isn t
much time. This o er won t be open many more days. Maybe
it ll be off tomorrow. It s all up to the alumni, he lied.
Uh-huh, said Buck.
I m prepared to offer you thirty thousand, Buck, six hun-
dred a week, all year round, startin tomorrow. What do you
$3 ?
yYoung s Adam s apple bobbed. He cleared his throat. Every
week ? he asked faintly.
PLAYER PIANO 241
That s how much we think of you, boy. Don t sell yourself
short.
And I could study, too? You d give me time off for classes
and study ?
Roseberry frowned. Well-there s some pretty sti rulings
about that. You can t play college football, and go to school.
They tried that once, and you know what a silly mess that was.
Buck ran his blunt ngers through his hair. Golly, I dunno.
That s a lot of money, but my family d be awful surprised and
disappointed. I mean-
I m not askin it for me, Buck! Think of your schoolmates.
You want them to lose a game this year ?
No, he murmured.
Thirty ve grand, Buck.
Jesus, I-
I have heard every word you ve said, said a young red-
head thickly. He w'asn t drinking benedictine and Pluto water,
but sloshed instead a puddle of whisky and water on the table
as he sat down by Buck, facing Doctor Roseberry, uninvited.
Beneath his open-necked shirt the red of a Meadows T shirt
showed plainly. Heard it all," he said, and he laid his hand on
Buck s shoulder graveiy. Here you are at a crossroads, my
boy. You re lucky. Not many crossroads left for people. Noth-
ing but one way streets with ciiffs on both sides.
Who the hell are you ? said Doctor Roseberry irritably.
"Doctor, Doctor, mind you, Edmond L. Harrison of the
Ithaca Works. Call me Ed, or pay me ve dollars.
Let s get away from this lush, said Doctor Roseberry.
Harrison banged on the table with his st. Hear me out !
He appealed to Buck, whose exit he blocked. The eminent
Doctor Roseberry represents one road, and I the other. I am
you, if you continue on your present course, ve years from
3)
now.
His eyes were haif closed, and after the fashion of benign
drunks he seemed on the verge of tears, so powerfully was he
compelled to love and help others. If you are good, he said,
and if you are thoughtful, a fractured pelvis on the gridiron
will pain you less than a life of engineering and management.
24.2 PLAYER PIANO
In that iife, believe me, the thoughtful, the sensitive, those who
can recognize the ridicuious, die a thousand deaths.
Doctor Roseberry leaned back and folded his hands across
his at, hard belly. If he d thought of it, he would have hired
a. professional actor to do what Doctor Harrison was doing for
nothing. How do you mean? he asked helpfully.
The best man I knew at the Meadows-J
The Meadows? said Buck in awe.
The Meadows, said Harrison, where the men at the head
of the procession of civilization demonstrate in private that they
are ten-year-olds at heart, that they haven t the vaguest notion
of what they re doing to the world.
They re opening new doors at the head of the procession!
said Buck hotly, shocked by the blunt, near-sabotage talk, and
now ghting it, like the good citizen he was. He d learned the
resounding phrase about opening doors in a freshman orien-
tation program, at which a Doctor Kroner had been the im-
pressive chief speaker.
Slamming doors in everybody s face, said Harrison.
That s what they re doing.
Keep your voice down, warned Doctor Roseberry.
I don t care, said Harrison stridently, not after what they
did to the only grownup there. They gave Proteus the sack,
that s what they did.
Proteus has been dead for years, said Buck, sure Harrison
was a fake.
His son, his son, Paul, said Harrison. 50 let me say, my
boy, go out and make your money on the gridiron, with blood -
and sweat and sinew. There s honor and glory in that a little,
anyway and you ll never hate yourself. But keep the hell away
from the head of the procession, where you ll get it in the neck
if you can t get a lump in your throat over the ups and downs
of a bunch of factories. He attempted to rise, failed once ,
made it the next time. And now, goodbye.
Where are you going ? said Doctor Roseberry. Stick
around, stick around.
Where? First to shut off that part of the Ithaca works for
which I am responsible, and then to an island, perhaps, a cabin
in the north woods, 3 shack in the Everglades."
PLAYER PIANO 243
And do what ? said Buck, baf ed.
Do ? said Harrison. Do? That s just it, my boy. All of
the doors have been closed. There s nothing to do but to nd
a womb suitable for an adult, and crawl into it. One without
machines would suit me particularly.
What have you got against machines ? said Buck.
"They re slaves.
Well, what the heck, said Buck. I mean, they aren t people.
They don t suffer. They don t mind working.
N0. But they compete with people.
That s a pretty good thing, isn t it considering what a
sloppy job most people do of anything?
Anybody that competes with slaves becomes a slave, said
Harrison thickly, and he left.
A dark man, dressed like a student, but much older looking,
set down his untouched benedictine and Pluto water on the bar,
studied the faces of Roseberry and Young as though memoriz-
ing them, and followed Harrison out of the building.
Let s go out in the lobby, where we can talk, said Rose-
berry, as a cycle of songs began.
Cheer, cheer, here we are again, cried the young voices,
and Young and Roseberry moved into the lobby.
Well? said Doctor Roseberry.
IKI_J
Doctor Roseberry, I believe ?
Roseberry looked up at the intruder, a sandy mustached gen-
tleman, in a violet shirt, matching boutonniere, and a gay waist-
coat contrasting with his dark suit. Yes ?
My name is Halyard, E. J., of the State Department. And
these gentlemen here are the Shah of Bratpuhr, and his in-
terpreter, Khashdrahr Miasma. We were just leaving for the
president s house, and I happened to spot you.
Charmed, said Doctor Roseberry.
Brahous bmhouna, bozma saki, said the Shah, bowing
slightly.
Halyard laughed nervously. Guess we have a little business
tomorrow morning, eh ?
Oh, said Roseberry, "you re the one the one for the phys.
ed. nals.
244 PLAYER PIANO
Yes, yes indeed. Haven t had a cigarette in two weeks. W111
' Ion ?" . n
It t E lllfli), I dgon t think so. Fifteen minutes ought to do the trick.
Oh? That short a time, eh? Well, well. The tennis shoes
and shorts he d bought that afternoon wouldn t get much wear
1me.
11'! t lgltlf scuse me, gents, said Roseberry. This here s Buck
Young. Student just now.
Lakkz'vti Takam? the Shah asked Buck.
Like it here ? translated Khashdrahr.
Yessir. Very much, sir, your highness. -
A lot different from my day, said Halyard. By gosh, we
had to get up every morning bright and early, chmb the hill
in all kinds of weather, and sit there and hsten to some of the
dullest lectures you ever heard of. And, of course, some poor
sh would have to get up in front of us and talk every day of
the week, and chances are he wasn t much of a speaker, and
anyway no showman.
Yes, the professmnal actors and the television circuits are
a big improvement, sir, said Buck.
And the exams! said Halyard. Pretty cute, you lmow,
punching out the answers, and then nding out ght off if you
passed or unked. Boy, believe me, we hsed to have to wnte
our arms off, and then we d have to wait weeks for a Rrof to
grade the exams. And plenty of times they made bad nustakes
on the grades.
Yessir, said Buck politely. .
Well, I ll see one of your assistants tomorrow, eh? sald
Hal ard to Roseberry. .
I, intend I should give you the tests personal, sald Rose-
berr . . . .
llVell! I guess that s an honor, With the season Just begIn-
in . . .
n gSure, said Roseberry. He reached mto hlS breast pocket
and produced the letter and the memo. He handed the letter to
Halyard. Here s something you should oughta read before you
come. . . .
Fine, thanks." Halyard took it, supposmg 1t was a hst of
the things he would have to do. He smlled warmly at Rose-
PLAYER PIANO 245
berry, who had given every indication that Halyard would be
given an exceedingly simple and short series of tests. A mere
fteen minutes, he d said. That would do it.
Halyard glanced at the letter, and couldn t imagine what it
was all about at rst. It was addressed to the president of
Cornell, Doctor Albert Herpers, not to him. Moreover, the date
on it indicated that it was ve years old.
Dear Doctor Herpers: he read
I had occasion to see the wearers of the Red and White
after the Penn game in Philadelphia this Thanksgiving, and
I must say I was ashamed to admit to anyone that I had ever
come within fty miles of Ithaca.
I was dining in the Club Cybernetics after the game, when
the team, led by this new man, Doctor Roseberry, arrived en
masse . . .
The letter went on to describe the bacchanal that followed,
with particular emphasis on the crudities of Roseberry s be-
havior
while, mind you, all were wearing what I, perhaps in my old-
fashioned way, consider sacred, the C of the Big Red. . . .
In view of this, Doctor Herpers, I feel constrained to point
out, as a loyal alumnus, that Doctor Roseberry, in his rst
year with the Big Red, is off to an extremely poor start. In
the brief time of his incumbency, I have no doubt that the
shockingly public moral turpitude of the team has made a
worse name for what I was once proud to claim as my Alma
Mater than a lifetime of gridiron victories can possibly off-
set. . . .
It is my fervent hope that Roseberry will be forced to re-
sign forthwith, or, failing that, that outraged alumni sell him
to some Grade C school forthwith.
To this end, I am sending copies of this letter to the Alumni
Secretary, to each of the local alumni chapters, to the Trus~
tees, and to the Secretary of Athletics in Washington, D. C.
Very truly yours,
Doctor Ewing J. Halyard
246 PLAYER PIANO
Oh, said Halyard, his poise gone, suddehly looking ridicu-
lous in the clothes that had been high fashlon a moment be-
fore. Saw this, did you P . "
Doctor Herpers thought I d be 1nterested. H _
A sickly grin framed Halyard s thte teeth. Eong tune ago,
wasn t it, Doctor? Seems like a hundred years.
Like esterday. .
Ha hi. Lot of water under the dam smce those days, eh?
The Shah looked questioningly at Khashdrahr for an ex-
planation of what made Halyard so gray suddenly. Khashdrahr
shru ed. . . .
Ogger the dam, said Buck Young, lllng the grtm v01d 1n
the conversation. Or under the bndge.
Yes. Quite so, said Halyard hollowly. Well, best we should
go. See you in the morning.
Wouldn t miss it for the world.
Doctor Roseberry turned back to Buck Young, as Halyard,
his face somber, shepherded the Shah and Khashdrahr mto the
Ithaca ni ht. The Shah was sneezing violently:
Well,gkid, said Roseberry. What say to thlrty- ve grand?
Yes or no?
(I ))
Thirty-six. k H 11 H
Yes, whispered Buc . e yes. .
When the two went back into The Dutch to drlnk t0 the deal,
Purdy and McCloud were still talking gloomily in their dark
corner.
Sure, said Purdy, Roseberry s 3. tough guy to work for, -
but thank God you ain t workin for Harvard. ,
McCloud nodded. Yeah, work there, and . ey wont letch
wear nothin but dark gray annels in the wmter, and seer-
ucker in the summer. .
5 They both shuddered, and furtively re lled thelr glasses from
a half-case hidden under the table.
Wit out shoulders, said Purdy.
l
1
l
s;
PLAYER PIANO 247
CHAPTER XXIX
DOCTOR PAUL PROTEUS, to all practical purposes Mr.
Paul Proteus, dreamed of nothing but pleasant things under
the benign drug, and spoke simultaneously, without re ection
but truthfully, on whatever subject was brought to his atten-
tion. The talking he did, the answering of questions, went on
as though it were being done by a person hired to represent
him, While Paul personally gave his attention to entertaining
phantasmagoria within the privacy of his closed eyelids.
Did you really get red, or was it a pretense P said the
voice.
Pretense. Supposed to get into the Ghost Shirt Society and
nd out what they re up to. Only I quit, and they don t know
that, yet. Paul chuckled.
And in his dream, Paul danced powerfully, gracefully, to
the hectic rhythms of the Building 58 Suite.
Furmzz owow ow ow 0w~akf ting! went lathe group
three, and Paul leapt and spun among the machines, while,
pink amid the gray machines in the building s center, Anita
lay invitingly in a rainbow colored nest of control wires. Her
part in the dance called for her only to lie there motionless,
while Paul approached and ed, approached and ed in fren-
zied, random action.
Why are you quitting?
Sick of my job.
Because what you were doing was morally bad ? suggested
the voice.
Because it wasn t getting anybody anywhere. Because it
was getting everybody nowhere.
Because it was evil? insisted the voice.
Because it was pointless, said Paul s representative, as
Kroner joined the ballet, ponderously, earthbound, with a
methodical marching to the voices of the punch presses in the
basement: Aw gmmph! tonkadonka. Aw gmmph! tonka-
tonka . . .
248 PLAYER PIANO
Kroner looked lovingly at Paul, caught him as he bounc'led
past, and carried him -in a bearlike embrace toward Amta.
Paul squirmed free in the nick of time, and off he went again,
leaving Kroner in tears, urging Anita to follow h1m mto the
out-of-doors.
Then you re against the organization now ?
I m not with them now. m? : .
Shepherdk clumsily but energetically, entered the growmg
tableau from the basement, choosing as his theme the hoarse
voices of the welders: Vaaaaaaa-zuzip! Vaaaaaaa-zuzzp!
Shepherd marked time with one foot, watching Paul s gyra-
tions, another rejection of Kroner, another effort to coax the
dead-panned Anita from her nest amid the machines. Shepherd
watched with puzzlement and disdain, shrugged: and walked
straight to Kroner and Anita. The three settled 1n the nest of
wires, and together followed Paul s movements w1th baf ed,
censorious eyes.
Suddenly, a window by which Paul was bounding ew open,
and Finnerty s face was thrust into the opening.
Paul 1
Yes, Ed ?
You re on our side now 1 .
The Building 58 Suite stopped abruptly, and a hlack curtam
fell between Paul and the rest of the cast, save anerty.
Hmmm ? said Paul. .
You re on our side," said Finnerty. If you re not w1th
them, you re with us I
Paul s head was aching now, and his lips were dry. He
opened his eyes and saw Finnerty s face, gross, earicatured by
its closeness.
With who? Whom ?
The Ghost Shirt Society, Paul. .
Oh, them. What do they think, Ed 3 he asked drows y.
He was on a mattress, he realized, in a chamber whose air was
still and damp, dense with the feel of dead mass pressing down
from above. What they think, Ed '5
That the world should be restored to the people.
By all means," said Paul, trying to nod. His muscles were
PLAYER PIANO 249
only faintly connected to his will, and his will, in turn, was
a fuzzy, ineffectual thing. People oughta get it back.
You re going to help.
Yup, murmured Paul. He was in a highly tolerant mood,
full of admiration and well wishing for anyone with convic-
tions, and cheerfully hors de combat under the in uence of the
drug. Obviously, he couldn t be expected to do anything. And
Finnerty began to fade again, and Paul danced once more in
Building 58, danced God knows why, uncertain that there was
an audience anywhere to appreciate his exertions.
What do you think ? he heard Finnerty say.
He ll do nicely, he heard another voice reply, and he recog-
nized the voice as Lasher s.
What s a ghost shirt ? murmured Paul between prickling
lips.
Toward the end of the nineteenth Century, said Lasher,
a new religious movement swept the Indians in this country,
Doctor.
The Ghost Dance, Paul, said Finnerty.
The white man had broken promise after promise to the
Indians, killed off most of the game, taken most of the Indians
land, and handed the Indians bad beatings every time they d
offered any resistance, said Lasher.
Poor Injuns, murmured Paul.
This is serious, said Finnerty. Listen to what he s tell-
ing you.
With the game and land and ability to defend themselves
gone, said Lasher, the Indians found out that all the things
they used to take pride in doing, all the things that had made
them feel important, all the things that used to gain them
prestige, all the ways in which they used to justify their ex
istence they found that all those things were going or gone.
Great hunters had nothing to hunt. Great ghters did not come
back from charging into repeating arms re. Great leaders
could lead the people nowhere but into death in hopeless attack,
or deeper into wastelands. Great religious leaders could no
longer show that the old religious beliefs were the way to vic-
tory and plenty.
250 PLAYER PIANO
Paul, suggestible under the drug, was deepiy disturbed by
the plight of the redskins. Goliy.
The world had changed radically for the Indians, said
Lasher. It had become a white man s world, and Indian ways
in a white man s world were irrelevant. It was impossible to
hold the old Indian values in the changed world. The only
thing they could do in the changed world was to become second
rate White men or wards of the white men.
Or they could make one last ght for the old values,
Finnerty with relish.
And the Ghost Dance religion, said Lasher, was that
last, desperate defense of the 01d values. Messiahs appeared,
the way they re always ready to appear, to preach magic that
would restore the game, the old values, the 01d reasons for
being. There were new rituals and new songs that were sup-
posed to get rid of the white men by magic. And some of the
more warlike tribes that still had a little physical ght left in
them added a ourish of their own ~the Ghost Shirt.
Oho, said Paul.
They were going to ride into battle one last time, said
Lasher, in magic shirts that white men s bullets couldn t go
through.
Luke! Hey, Luke! called Finnerty. Stop the mimen
machine a second and come on over here.
Paul heard footsteps shuf ing across the damp oor. He
opened his eyes to see Luke Lubbock, his features sour with
the tragic stoicism of a dispossessed redskin, standing by his
bed, wearing a white shirt fringed in an imitation of a buck-
skin shirt, and decorated with thunderbirds and stylized buffalo
worked into the fabric with brightly insulated bits of wire.
Ug, said Paul.
Ug, said Luke, without hesitation, deep in his role.
This isn t any joke, Paul, said Finnerty.
Everything s a joke until the drug wears off, said Lasher.
Does Luke think he s bulletproof ? said Paul.
It s the symbolism of the thing! said Finnerty. Don t you
get it yet ?
I expect, said Paul amiably, dreamily. Sure. You bet.
I guess.
1
said
sa
sw
em
ai
l
g
2
PLAYER PIANO 251
What is the symbolism ? asked Finnerty.
Luke Lubbock wants his buffaloes back.
Paul come on, snap out of it ! said Finnerty.
Okey dokey.
Don t you see, Doctor ? said Lasher. The machines are
to practically everybody what the white men were to the In-
dians. People are nding that, because of the way the machines
are changing the world, more and more of their old values
don t apply any more. People have no choice but to become
second-rate machines themselves, or wards of the machines.
. Goci help us, said Paul. But, I dunno, this Ghost Shirt
thiéigj it s kind of childish, isn t it? Dressing up like that,
an
: Childish Iike Hitler s Brown Shirts, like Mussolini s Black
Shirts. Childish like any uniform, said Lasher. We don t
deny it s childish. At the same time, we admit that we ve got
to Be a little childish, anyway, to get the big following we
nee .
Wait until he sits in on some meetings, said Finnerty.
They re like something out of Alice in Wonderland, Paul.
All meetings are, said Lasher. But, by some magic that s
beyond my comprehension, meetings get things done. I could
do With a little more dignity and maturity in our operations,
because those are the things we re ghting for. But rst of
fill we ve got to ght, and ghting is necessarily undigni ed and
immature.
Fight P said Paul.
Fight. said Lasher And there s ho f '
. _ . pe 0 putting up a
good ght. This busmess of one set of values being replaced
by force by another set of values has come up often enough
m history~
{Xmong the Indians and the Jews and a lot of other people
who ve been tyrannized by outsiders, said Finnerty.
Yes, it s come up often enough for us to make a good guess
as to what can happen this time, said Lasher. He paused.
What we can make happen.
Beat it, Luke, said Finnerty.
Yessir.
Paul, are you listening ? said Finnerty.
252 PLAYER PIANO
Yep. Interesting. .
All right, said Lasher, his voice low, In the past, in a
situation like this, if Messiahs showed up with credible,
dramatic messages of hope, they often set off powerful physmal
and spiritual revolutions in the face of terri c odds. If a Mes-
siah shows up now with a good, solid, startling message, and
if he keeps out of the hands of the police, he can set off a
revolution maybe one big enough to take the world away
from the machines, Doctor, and give it back to the people.
And you re just the boy to do it, too, Ed, said Paul.
That s what I thought too, said Lasher, at rst. Then
I realized we could do much better starting OPE with a name
that was already well known.
Sitting Bull? said Paul.
Proteus, said Lasher.
You don t have to do anything but keep out of sight, said
Finnerty. Everything will be done for you.
"Is being done, said Lasher. .
. So you just rest now, said Finnerty gently. Build up your
strengt .
( 1 !)
You don t matter, said Finnerty. You belong to History
now. i
A heavy door thumped shut, and Paul knew that he was
alone again, and that History, somewhere on the other Slde
of the door, would let him out only when it was good and
ready to.
CHAPTER XXX
HISTORY, PERSONIFIED AT this point in the life of
Doctor Paul Proteus by Ed Finnerty and the Reverend James
J. Lasher, let Paul out of his cell in an old Ilium air raid
shelter only in order for him to eliminate the wastes accrued
in the process of his continued existence as an animal. Other
signs of his being alive outcries, protests, demands,_profan1ty
- were beneath History s notice until the proper time came,
PLAYER PIANO 253
when the door swung open, and Ed Finnerty ushered Paul into
his rst meeting of the Ghost Shirt Society.
When Paul was led into the meeting chamber, another seg-
ment of the air raid shelter system, everyone stood: Lasher,
at the head of the table, Bud Calhoun, Katharine Finch, Luke
Lubbock, Paul s tenant farmer Mr. Haycox, and a score of
others, whose names Paul didn t know.
It wasn t a brilliant-looking aggregation of conspirators, on
the whole, but a righteous and determined one. Paul supposed
that Lasher and Finnerty had gathered the group on the basis
of availability and trustworthiness rather than talent, starting,
seemingly, with some of the more intelligent regulars at the
saloon at the foot of the bridge. While the group was pre-
dominantly composed of Iliumites, Paul learned, every region
of the country was represented.
Amid the mediocrity was a scattering of men who radiated
a good deal of competence and, incidentally, prosperity, who
seemed, like Paul, in the act of deserting a system that had
treated them very well indeed.
As Paul studied these interesting exceptions, he looked at
one of the seedier members adjacent, and was surprised by
another familiar face that of Professor Ludwig von Neu
mann, a slight, disorderly old man, who had taught polit
ical science at Union College in Schenectady until the Social
Sciences Building had been torn down to make space for the
new Heat and Power Laboratory. Paul and von Neumann
had known each other slightly as members of the Ilium His-
torical Society, before the Historical Society Building had been
torn down to make room for the new Ilium Atomic Reactor.
Here he is, said Finnerty proudly.
Paul was given a polite round of applause. The expressions
of the applauders were somewhat chilly, giving Paul to under
stand that he could never really be a full partner in their enter-
prise, since he had not been with them from the beginning.
The only exceptions to this snobbery were Katharine Finch,
formerly Paul s secretary, and Bud Calhoun, both of whom
seemed as amiable and unchanged as though they were loung
ing in Paul s outer o i ce at the Works in the old days. Bud,
Paul re ected, moved from situation to situation in the pro-
254 PLAYER PIANO
tective atmosphere of his imagination, while Katharine was
similarly insulated by her adoration for Bud.
The formality of the meeting, the purposefulness in the
faces, blu ed Paul into holding his peace for the moment.
The chair on Lasher s left was pulled out for him, and Fin-
nerty took the chair on Lasher s right.
As Paul sat down, he noted that only Luke Lubbock wore
a ghost shirt, and he supposed that Luke couldn t accomplish
anything without a uniform of some sort.
Meeting of the Ghost Shirt Society will come to order,
said Lasher.
Paul, with a trace of drug-inspired whimsey still in his
bloodstream, had expected a show of fraternal order nonsense,
full of quasi-Indian talk. Instead, save for Luke Lubbock s
shirt, the meeting belonged very much to the present, a sordid,
realistic present, an angry present.
The Ghost Shirt Society, then, was simply a convenient and
dramatic title for a businesslike group, a title whose historical
roots were of interest principally to Lasher and his disciple
Finnerty, who entertained each other with elaborate com-
mentaries on the insu erable status quo. For the rest, simple
commentaries, special personal resentments, were reasons enough
for joining anything that promised a change for the better.
Promised a change for the better, 07; Paul amended his thought
after looking into some of the eyes, promised same excitement
for a change.
What Bud Calhoun was doing here, Paul couldn t imagine,
since Bud wasn t at all interested in political action and was
without capacity for resentment. As Bud had said of himself,
A11 Ah want is time an equipmen to faht around with, and
Ah m happy as a pig in mud.
We ll start with you, Z-II, said Lasher, looking at
Katharine.
There were circles under Katharine s gentle, wondering eyes,
and she looked startled when Lasher called on her, as though
Lasher, the meeting, the underground chamber, had suddenly
risen about her in her clean, girlish world. Oh, she said, and
rattled the papers on the table before her. We now have seven
hundred and fty-eight ghost shirts on hand. Our quota for
PLAYER PIANO 255
now was a thousand, she said wearily, but Mrs. Fishbein
No names! cried sEveral of the members.
Sorry. She blushed, and referred to her papers. Er,
X-229 came down with cataracts and had to stop the design
work. She ll be all right in about six weeks, and can get back
to work. Also there s a shortage of red wire.
A42 1 said Lasher.
Yessir, said a swarthy man, and Paul recognized him as
one of the Works security guards out of uniform. A-Iz wrote
down the requisition for red wire, and grinned sheepishly at
Paul.
The shirts that are done are packaged, ready for delivery,
said Katharine.
Very good, said Lasher. G-I7, have you anything to
report?"
Bud Calhoun smiled, and leaned back and rubbed his hands.
Comin along jes ne. Got two modeis ready fo trial out
at L-56 s place some dark night.
They ll make it through a works fence all right? asked
Lasher.
Like a dose of salts, said Bud, thout trippin the alarm,
neither.
Who cares if the alarm s tripped or not ?" said Finnerty.
The whole country's going to be in an uproar anywayi"
Just th owed thet in, said Bud. Also got an idea for a
'gimmick thet d feed powah into the telephone system so it d
knock the guards at on theah tails when they try to call for
he p. He chuckled merrily.
Thought we were going to cut the phone wires.
Could do thet, I s pose, said Bud.
What we want from you, said Lasher, is a design for
a good practical, cheap armored car for breaking through the
works fences, something our people all over the country ought
to be able to knock together in a hurry, with jalopies and
sheet metal.
Hell, we got thet,f said Bud. What Ah m thinkin of now,
is how we can really fox ern. See, if we wanted to, Ah gger
we could x a li l 01
Talk to me about it after the meeting, said Lasher.
256 PLAYER PIANO
Bud looked momentarily unhappy, and then began sketching
on a pad before him. Paul saw that he had drawn an armored
car, to which he was adding antennae, a radar dome, spikes,
ails, and other instruments of terrible slaughter. His eyes
met Paul s, and he nodded. Very in er stin problem, he
whispered. .
All right, said Lasher. Recruiting. D-7I got something
for us ?
He s in Pittsburgh, said Finnerty.
That s right, said Lasher. Forgot. Seeing What he can
do with the Moose there.
Luke Lubbock cleared his throat several times, and rif ed
papers. Sir, he asked me to give his report, sir.
Go ahead.
We got a man in every chapter of the Royal Parmesans.
That s fty seven chapters.
Good men? said someone.
You can count on D 7I, said Lasher. Anybody he or
his boys recruit gets exactly the same treatment you did the
Mickey, then the questioning under sodium pentathol.
O.K., said the questioner. Just wanted to make sure no-
body was getting sloppy at this stage of the game.
Relax, said Finnerty, very tough, out of the corner of his
mouth.
Him too? said the questioner, pointing at Paul.
Him especially, said Lasher. We know things about Pro-
teus he d be surprised to know about himself.
No names, said Paul.
Everybody laughed. It seemed to be a welcome bit of humor
that broke the tension of the meeting.
What s funny? said Paul.
You re the name," said Lasher.
Now wait, just a minute
What are you worried about? You don t have to do any-
thing, said Finnerty. What a break, Paul. Wouldn t we like
to be able to serve the cause just sitting down here, keeping
away from the cops no responsibilities, no chances to take,
It s pretty soft all right, said Paul, but not quite soft
enough. I m walking out. Sorry.
PLAYER PIANO 257
They ll kill you, Paul, said Finnerty.
You d kill him, if you were told to, said Lasher.
Finnerty nodded. That s right, Paul, I would. I d have to.
Paul sank back into his chair. He found that he wasn t
really shocked by the alternatives of life and death just pre-
sented to him. It was such a clean cut proposition, unlike any-
thing he d ever encountered before. Here were honest-to-God
black and White, not at all like the muddy pastels he d had to
choose from while in industry. Having it put like that, Do as
we say or get killed, had the same liberating effect as the drug
of a few hours ago had had. He couldn t make his own deci-
sions for reasons anybody could understand.
50 Paul leaned back in his chair and began to take a real
interest in what was going on.
Luke Lubbock nished reading D-7I s report on recruiting
in the lodges across the country. The goal, to have at least two
in uential Ghost Shirt Society members in every major social
organization in every major industrial city, was about sixty
per cent realized.
S I what have you got to say for yourself ?" said Lasher.
We re getting the word around about who the Leader is,
said Finnerty. Take a few days to see What sort of effect it
has.
Don t see how it could be anything but good, said Lasher.
Recruiting should really go to town now, said Finnerty.
What s the score on that television bug P asked the Works
security guard. Wasn t you going after him personal?"
Alfy Tucci? said Finnerty.
No names !
Kick that name around all you want, said Lasher glumly.
He isn t ours.
That s right, said Finnerty. He isn t anybody s, and
never will be. He never joined anything, his father never joined
anything, and his grandfather never joined anything, and if
he ever has a son, he ll never join anything either.
What s his reason P asked Paul.
Says it s all he can do to gure out what he represents with-
out trying to represent a thousand other people besides, said
Finnerty.
258 PLAYER PIANO
Are there any conditions under which he d join? asked
the man who d been nervous about loose recruiting methods.
One, said Finnerty. When everybody looks and thinks
exactly the way Alfy Tucci does.
Lasher smiled sadly. The great American individual, he
said. Thinks he s the embodiment of liberal thought through
out the ages. Stands on his own two feet, by God, alone and
motionless. He d make a good lamp post, if he d weather better
and didn t have to eat. All right, where were we P
We got a date yet ? asked Mr. Haycox politely.
We ll get a date two days before it happens, and no sooner !"
said Lasher.
Could I ask a question? said Paul.
Don t know why not. I haven t succeeded in heading any
body else off, yet.
What, generally, is supposed to happen on this date?
A special meeting of every chapter of every big social or-
ganization in the country, outside of the engineers and man-
agers , will have been called. At the meetings, our people, big
men in the organizations, Will tell the members that all over
the country men are marching through the streets on their
way to wreck the automatic factories and give America back
to the people. Then they ll put on their ghost shirts and lead
whoever Will follow, starting with a few more of our people
planted around.
This is the headquarters group here, but the movement is
largely decentralized, with regional and local people responsible
for their areas. We give them help on organization and re-
cruiting and objectives and tactics, but, on the big day, the
local people will be pretty much on their own. We d like to
have a bigger organization, a more centralized one. But that
would lay us that much more open to the police. The way
things stand now, the police don t know who we are and what
we ve got. On paper, we don t look like much. Actually, with
our people placed right, we have a tremendous potential in
fellow travelers. ,
How many do you suppose will follow ? said Paul.
As many people as are bored to death or sick of things
the way they are, said Lasher.
PLAYER PIANO 259
All of em, said Finnerty.
And then what 3 said Paul.
And then we get back to basic values, basic virtues! said
Finnerty. Men doing men s work, women doing women s
work. People doing people s thinking.
Which reminds me, said Lasher. Who s going to do the
job on EPICAC?
Last I heard D-7I say was, it s between the Moose and the
Elks in Roswell who s goin to do it, said Luke Lubbock.
Put them both on it, said Lasher. G-I7, any bright ideas
on how to knock off EPICAC ?
Bes idee, said Bud, d be to put some kind of bomb
in the coke machines. They got one in every chambah. That
way, we d git all of him, not just part. His hands were work-
ing in air, fashioning a booby trap for a coke machine. See?
Take a li l ol coke bottle, only ll her full of nitro. Then we
run a li l ol --
All right. Make a sketch and give it to D I7, so he can
get it to the right people.
An balooooooowie! said Bud, bringing his st down on
the table.
Great, said Lasher. Anybody else got anything on his
mind?
What about the Army ? said Paul. What if they re called
out to
Both sides had better throw in the towel if somebody s
crazy enough to give them real ri es and ammunition, said
Lasher. Fortunately, I think both sides know tha .
Where we stand now ? asked the nervous man.
Not bad, not good, said Lasher. We could put on a pretty
good show now, if they forced our hand. But give us two more
months, and we ll really have a surprise for them. All right,
let s get this meeting over with, so we can all get to work.
Transportation ?
On and on the reports went: transportation, communica-
tions, security, nance, procurement, tactics . . .
Paul felt as though he d seen the surface scraped from a
clean, straight rafter, and been shown the tunnels and imsy
membranes of a termite metropolis within.
~~~7 1 , n W reri v_ n w
PLAYER PIANO 261
the Ghost Shirt Society and I thank God. But we cannot
win good lives for ourselves in peacetime by the same methods
we used to win battles in wartime. The problems of peace
are altogether more subtle.
I deny that there is any natural or divine law requiring
that machines, ef ciency, and organization should forever in-
crease in scope, power, and complexity, in peace as in war.
I see the growth of these now, rather, as the result of a
260 PLAYER PIANO I
Public information ? said Lasher. , i
We ve mailed out warning letters to all the bureaucrats, [
engineers, and managers with classi cation numbers below one E
hundred, said Professor von Neumann. Carbon copies to
the news service, the radio network, and the television network.
Damn good ietter," said Finnerty.
Rest of you like to hear it ? said von Neumann.
There were nods around the table.
Countrymen, the professor read
Admittedly, we are all in this together. But
You, more than any of us, have spoken highly of progress
recently, spoken highly of the good brought by great and
continued material change.
You, the engineers and managers and bureaucrats, almost
alone among men of higher intelligence, have continued to
believe that the condition of man improves in direct ratio to
the energy and devices for using energy put at his disposal.
You believed this through the three most horribie wars in
history, a monumental demonstration of faith.
That you continue to believe it now, in the most mortify-
ing peacetime in history, is at least disturbing, even to the
slow-witted, and downright terrifying to the thoughtful.
Man has survived Armageddon in order to enter the Eden
of eternal peace, only to disc0ver that everything he had
looked forward to enjoying there, pride, dignity, self-respect,
work worth doing, has been condemned asun t for human
consumption.
Again, let me say we are all in this together, but the rest
of us, for what we perceive as good, plain reasons, have
changed our minds about the divine right of machines, ef-
ciency, and organization, just as men of another age changed
their minds about the divine right of kings, and about the
divine rights of many other things.
During the past three wars, the right of technology to
increase in power and scope was unquestionably, in point of
national survival, almost a divine right. Americans owe their
lives to superior machines, techniques, organization, and man-
agers and engineers. For these means of surviving the wars,
dangerous lack of law.
The time has come to stop the lawlessness in that part of
our culture which is 3mm special responsibility.
Without regard for the wishes of men, any machines or
techniques or forms of organization that can economically
replace men do replace men. Replacement is not necessariiy
bad, but to do it without regard for the wishes of men is
lawlessness.
Without regard for the changes in human life patterns
that may result, new machines, new forms of organization,
new ways of increasing ef ciency, are constantly being intr0*
duced. To do this without regard for the e ects on life pat-
terns is lawlessness.
I am dedicated, and the members of the Ghost Shirt So-
ciety are dedicated, to bringing this lawlessness to an end, to
give the world back to the people. We are prepared to use
force to end the lawlessness, if other means fail.
I propose that men and women be returned to work as
controllers of machines, and that the control of people by
machines be curtailed. I propose, further, that the effects of
changes in technology and organization on life patterns be
taken into careful consideration, and that the changes be with-
held or introduced on the basis of this consideration.
These are radical proposals, extremely dif cult to put into
effect. But the need for their being put into eEect is far
greater than all of the dif culties, and in nitely greater than
the need for our national holy trinity, Ef ciency, Economy,
and Quality.
Men, by their nature, seemingly, cannot be happy unless
engaged in enterprises that make them feel useful. They
262 PLAYER PIANO
must, therefore, he returned to participation in such enter-
prises.
I hold, and the members of the Ghost Shirt Society hold:
That there must be virtue in imperfection, for Man is
imperfect, and Man is a creation of God.
That there must be virtue in frailty, for Man is frail, and
Man is a creation of God.
That there must be virtue in inef ciency, for Man is in-
ef cient, and Man is a creation of God.
That there must be virtue in brilliance followed by stu-
pidity, for Man is alternately brilliant and stupid, and Man
is a creation of God.
You perhaps disagree with the antique and vain notion
of Man s being a creation of God.
But I nd it a far more defensible beiief than the one
implicit in intemperate faith in lawless technological progress
namely, that man is on earth to create more durable and
ef cient images of himself, and, hence, to eliminate any jus-
ti cation at all for his own continued existence.
Faithfully yours,
Doctor Paul Proteus.
Professor von Neumann took OE his glasses, rubbed his eyes,
and stared at a paper clip before him, waiting for someone to
say something.
Yeah, said the transportation chairman tentatively. Kinda
iong haired, though, ain t it?
Sounded purty good, said the security chairman, but
shun t there be sumpin in there boutw- Well, I m no good at
words, but somebody else could x it up. I don t know how
to say it good, exactly.
Go on, try, said Finnerty.
Well, it just don t seem like nobody feels he s worth a crap
to nobody no more, and it s a hell of a screwy thing, people
gettin buggered by things they made theirseives.
That s in there," said Lasher.
Paul coughed politely. Uh, you want me to sign it?
Von Neumann looked surprised. Heavens, they were signed
and mailed out hours ago, while you were asleep.
PLAYER PIANO 263
Thank you.
You re welcome, Paul, said the professor absently.
You don t expect that they ll really go along with us on
the new controls, do you ? said the nervous man.
Not for a minute, said Lasher. But it will certainly get
word around about us. When the big day comes, we want
everybody to know that ours is a great, big bandwagon.
"Cops! cried someone from far away in the network of
chambers.
Gun re boomed, echoed and crackled in the distance.
The west exit! commanded Lasher.
Papers were snatched from the table, stuffed into envelopes;
lanterns were blown out. Paul felt himself swept along through
the dark corridors by the eeing crowd. Doors opened and
shut, people stumbled and bumped into pillars and one another,
but made no outcry.
Suddenly, Paul realized that the sound of the others feet
had stopped, and that he was following only the echoes of his
own. Panting, stumbling in a nightmare of the policemen s
echoing shouts and running footfalls, he blundered about the
passages and chambers, coming again and again to barriers
of dead rock. At last, as he turned away from one of these,
he was dazzled by a ashlight beam.
There s one, Joe. Get him!
Paul charged past the ashlight, swinging both sts.
Something crashed against the side of his head, and he
sprawled on the wet oor.
Here s one that didn t get away, by God, he heard a voice
say.
Really socked him one, didn t you ?
Don t pay to mess around with no stinking sabotoors, by
God.
Must be one of the small fry, eh?
Sure. Whadja expect? You think this was Proteus walk-
ing around in little circles all by hisself, like he don t know
which way s up? Nossir, boy, Proteus is in the next county
by now, lookin out for his own sweet tail rst, last, and al-
ways.
Sabotagin bastard.
264 PLAYER PIANO
Yeah. O.K., you, on your feet and shag your tail.
t h ened?" mumbled Paul. ' .
\Iéhllliace. 212211 just got brained for savm Proteu-s 'hl e.
Why n t you wise up? He s nuts, guy. Hell, has got it m is
head he s gonna be king. a
CHAPTER XXX!
PAUL S CELLMATE IN the basement of p(zliiiel Hiaidqixv ;
Negro name aro ,
ters was a small, elegant young f fet
' ' He had smashed a tra c sa y
was m jall for petty sabotage. d ker arrangement
' ho -a ta e-recordmg and lou 596a .
edtlllliatthgril be; xedpto a lamppost outs1de hlS bedrcifm wétdxiisvové
' ' ' t e mi
k ut! it say. Don t yowgo crossm m . u ,
the bt l ? said Harold, mimickmg the tape rigordij . 6:31
d me done lived toge er.
two years, 01 loudmouth an h t at lectric eye, and
t' e some un come on pas , they 1 s ' .
g?tlohrgmouth, he just naturally gotta Shloot off 1311105 :11:tZS-ifi it
ked cars, e say.
Don step out tween two pa'r , Jus
' Loudmouth, he don care.
atxs, no matter what tahm tis. , h' I Don" on do
' Ca ful now! Don you dot 15. _y
getta be SOClable- y , b h t three in the mornm , and
that! 01 mangy dog come a. a If ou
' his two cents wuth m. y
01 loudmouth Jus gotta get p (3 drink!
dog, If you drahve, on
drahve he tells that 01 mangy _ 131mm
, long and 01 grave
n 01 drunk comes crawhn a . , . ,
tIeIIiznhim it s a city ohdnance ev y blcycle Jus gotta have a
re- ectah on the backf p 'd Paul
I on in or. 5211 .
E11; ngy: Judge said Ah coutd walic ,raht out. All 1:3:
had to do was say Ah s sorry. Ah am gom do that, caus ,
' 1d, Ah ain sorry. . .
salgaltjawchs glad that Harold was too bound up. m hlsldacli o:
'nte rity to explore Paul s troubles. Not that 1t wou t a:-
hainid Paul to talk about them, but because they were e253;
' ' His own motivatton was 0 ,
dlnanly dif cult to describe. _ d th denouement was
s unwieldy, and, Paul reahze , e .
:lt liishcjge. Through all his adventures, he had been a derelict,
PLAYER PIANO 265
tossed this way, then that. He had yet to lay a rm hand on
the tiller.
The managers and engineers still believed he was their man;
the Ghost Shirt Society was just as convinced that he belonged
to them, and both had demonstrated that there was no middle
ground for him.
When the police had identi ed Paul, they had been embar-
rassed by his I.Q., and his rank in the criminal hierarchy: the
arehcriminal, the would-be king of the saboteurs. There was
no comparable rank in the Ilium police force, and the police had,
out of humbleness and lifelong indoctrination, sent for inquisi
tors with adequate classi cation numbers and I.Q. s.
Meanwhile, Paul and Harold passed the time of day.
Ain a bit sorry, said Harold. Wha s at tap-tap-tappin ?
The irregular tapping came from the other side of the sheet-
metal wall that separated Paul s and Harold s barred cell from
the totally enclosed tank for desperados next door.
Experimentally, Paul tapped on his side.
Twenty-three- eight fteen, came the reply. Paul recog-
nized the schoolboy s code: one for A, two for B . . . Twenty-
three eight fteen was Who 3
Paul tapped out his name, and added his own query.
"Seven one eighteen twenty eight.
Garth i said Paul aloud, and he tapped out,
An exotic emotion welled up within him, and
moment to understand it. For t
his orderly life he was sharing profound misfortune with an-
other human being. Fate was making him feel a warmth for
Garth, the colorless, the nervous, the enervated, that he had
never felt for Anita, for Finnerty, for his parents, for any-
one. You xed the tree ?
You bet, tapped Garth.
I Why?
Boy anked GCT again. He cracked up.
Lord! Sorry, tapped Paui.
Dead weight on world. UseIess. Drag.
Not so.
But only God can make tree, tapped Garth.
Blessed are fetishists. Inherited earth, tapped Paul.
Chin up, boy.
it took him a
he rst time in the whole of
266 PLAYER PIANO
Rot, corrosion on our side.
What next for you ? tapped Paul.
Garth tapped out the story of his being discovered as the
criminal at the Meadows, of the furor, the threats, the actual
tears shed over the wounded oak. He d been locked up in the
Council House, and guarded by dozens of angry, stalwart young
engineers and managers. He d been promised grimly that he
would get the book thrown at him years of prison, nes that
would wipe him out.
When the police had arrived on the island to pick him up,
they d caught the hysteria of the brass and had treated Garth
like one of the century s most terrible criminals.
Only when we got back here and they booked me did they
wake up, he tapped.
Paul, himself awed by Garth s crime, was puzzled by this
twist. How so ? he tapped.
Ha! tapped Garth. fWhat s my crime ?
Paul laughed wonderingly. Treeslaughter ? he tapped.
Attempted treeslaughter, tapped Garth. Thing s still alive,
though probably never have acorns again.
Proteus! called the cellblock loudspeaker. Visitors. Stay
where you are, Harold.
Ain going nowhere, cause Ah ain sorry, said Harold.
Cayful, look out, now. Walk facin the tra c.
The cell door buzzed and opened, and Paul walked to the
green door of the visitors room. The green door opened, whis-
pered shut behind him, and he found himself face to face with
Anita and Kroner.
Both were dressed funereally, as though not to compete for
glamour with the corpse. Gravely, wordlessly, Anita handed him
a carton containing a milkshake and a sheaf of funnypapers.
She lifted her veil and peeked him on his cheek.
Paul, my boy, rumbled Kroner. It s been hard, hasn t it?
How are you, my boy?
Paul stepped back out of reach of the big, sapping, paternal
hands. Fine, thanks.
Congratulations, Paul, darling, said Anita, her voice tiny.
For what ?
PLAYER PIANO 267
She knows, my boy, said Kroner. She knows you re a
secret agent.
And I m awfully proud of you.
When do I get out?
Right away. Just as soon as we can transcribe what you
found out about the Ghost Shirts, who they are, how they
work," said Kroner.
Home is all ready, Paul, said Anita. I let the maid off,
so we could have an old-fashioned American homecoming.
Paul could see her creating this old-fasnioned atmosphere
putting a drop of Tabu on the lter of the electronic dust pre-
cipitator, setting the clockwork on the master control panel,
which would thaw a steak dinner and load it into the radar
stove at the proper moment, and turn on the television just as
they crossed the threshold. Goaded by a primitive and insistent
appetite, Paul gave her offer cautious consideration. He was
pleased to nd a higher order of human need asserting itself,
a need that made him think, if not feel, that he didn t give a
damn if he never slept with her again. She seemed to sense this,
too, and, for want of any proclivities to interest Paul save
sex, her smile of welcome and forgiveness became a thin and
chilling thing indeed.
Your bodyguards can eat later, said Kroner. He chuckled.
Say, that was quite a letter you wrote for the Ghost Shirts.
Sounded wonderful, till you tried to make sense out of it.
You couldn t ? said Paul.
Kroner shook his head. Words.
But it did one thing I ll bet you never expected, said Anita.
Can I tell him about the new job ?
Yes, Paul, said Kroner, the Eastern Division needs a new
manager of engineering.
And you re the man, darling! said Anita.
Manager of engineering ? said Paul. What about Baer?
Somehow Paul had expected the rest of the world to hold rm
while his own life went spinning. And of that rest of the world
nothing had seemed more rm than the union of Baer, the engi
neering genius, and Kroner, the rock of faith in technology.
"He isn t dead, is he ?
No, said Kroner sadly, no, he s still alive physically, that
268 PLAYER PIANO
is. He placed a microphone on a table and moved up a chair,
so that Paul might testify in comfort. Well, who knows
maybe what happened is just as well. Poor Baer never was too
stable, you know. He adjusted the microphone. There. Now,
you come over here, Paul, my boy.
What about Baer ? insisted Paul.
Oh, sighed Kroner, he read that fool letter, cleaned out
his desk drawers, and walked out. Sit right here, Paul."
The letter, then, had been that good, Paul thought, astonished
at the upheaval it had caused in at least one man s life. But then
he wondered if the letter hadn t won Baer s support by default
of the opposition rather than by its being unanswerable. If
someone with quicker wits than Kroner s had been at hand to
argue against the letter, perhaps Baer would still have been on
the job in Albany. What was the o icial reaction to the Ietter ?
asked Paul.
Classi ed as top secret, said Kroner, so anybody trying
to circulate it will come under the National Security Act. 50
don t worry, my boy, it isn t going any farther.
There is going to be an of cial reply, isn t there ? said
Paul.
That d be playing right into their hands, wouldn t it-
acknowledging publicly that this Ghost Shirt nonsense is worth
the notice of the system? That s exactly what they want to have
happen! Come on, now, sit down, and let s get this over with,
so your can get home and have a welI-earned rest.
Absently, Paul sat down before the microphone, and Kroner
switched on the recorder. The of cial reaction to the Ghost
Shirt Society was the o icial response to so many things: to
ignore it, as pressing and complicated matters were ignored in
the annual passion plays at the Meadows. It was as though the
giving or withholding of of cial recognition were life or death
to ideas. And there was the old Meadows team spirit in the
reaction, too, the spirit that was supposed to hold the system
together: the notion that the opposition wanted nothing but
to win and humiliate, that the object of competition was total
victory, with mortifying defeat the only alternative imaginable.
Now then, said Kroner, who s really at the head of this
monkey business, this Ghost Shirt Society?
PLAYER PIANO 269
Here it was again, the most ancient of roadforks, one that
Paul had glimpsed before, in Kroner s study, months ago. The
choice of one course or the other had nothing to do with ma-
chines, hierarchies, economics, love, age. It was a purely in-
ternal matter. Every child older than six knew the fork, and
knew what the good guys did here, and what the bad guys did
here. The fork was a familiar one in folk tales the world over,
and the good guys and the bad guys, whether in chaps, breech-
clouts, scrapes, leopardskins, or banker s gray pinstripes, all
separated here.
Bad guys turned informer. Good guys didn t no matter When,
no matter what.
Kroner cleared his throat. I said, who s their leader,
Paul ?) )5
I am, said Paul. And I wish to God I were a better one.
The instant he d said it, he knew it was true, and knew what
his father had known what it was to belong and believe.
CHAPTER XXXII
DO YOU SWEAR to tell the truth, the whole truth, and
nothing but the truth, so help you God ?
I do, said Paul.
The courtroom television cameras dollied back from his face,
to reveal on fty million television screens the tableau of the
Ilium Federal Courtroom s south wall. There, beside and above
Doctor Paul Proteus, sat the judge the Sky Manager, Paul
thought. The accused, seated on the witness stand, resembled
less a man than an old-fashioned switchboard, with wires run
ning from temperature~, pressure-, and moisture-sensitive in-
struments at his wrists, armpits, chest, temples, and palms.
These, in turn, ran to a gray cabinet under the witness stand,
where their ndings were interpreted and relayed to a dial a
yard in diameter over Paul s head.
The indicator needle on the dial, now pointing straight down,
was pivoted so as to swing easily between a black T on the right
27o PLAYER PIANO
and a red F on the left, or to a series of arbitrarily calibrated
points between them.
Paul had pleaded guilty to conspiring to advocate the com-
mission of sabotage, but was now being tried for treason, three
weeks after his arrest.
Doctor Proteus, said the prosecutor nastily. The television
cameras closed in on his sneer and panned to the beads of sweat
on Paul s forehead. You have pleaded guilty to conspiracy to
advocate the commissiOn of sabotage, isn t that so?
It is. The needle swung toward T, and back to the neutral
position, proving that, to the best of Paul s knowledge, it was
indeed true.
This conspiracy, of which you are the head, has as its
method, and I quote from your famous letter, We are prepared
to use force to end the lawlessness, if other means fail. Those
are your words, Doctor ?
They were written by someone else, but I m in sympathy
with them, said Paul.
And the word, lawlessness, refers in this case to the pres-
ent mechanized economy ?
And future.
Your goal, as I understand it, was to destroy machines in
order that people might take a more personal part in produc-
tion ?
Some of the machines.
What machines, Doctor ?
That would have to be worked out.
Oho! You haven t worked that out yet, eh?
The rst step would be to get Americans to agree that limi-
tations be placed on the scope of machines.
You would get this agreement by force, if necessary? You
Would force this arti cial c0ndition, this step backward, on the
American people?"
What distinguishes man from the rest of the animais is his
ability to do arti cial things, said Paul. To his greater glory,
I say. And a step backward, after making a wrong turn, is a
step in the right direction.
The tetevision cameras looked deep into the prosecutor s
PLAYER PIANO 271
righteously angry eyes, and backed away, awed at the still un~
loosed mighty lightning there.
Paul looked too, and saw that the prosecutor knew a great
deal more than he had yet revealed. But Paul doubted that the
prosecutor knew his secretary was a member of the Ghost Shirt
Society, and that Paul s answers, while registering as heartfelt
on the lie detector, were a synthesis of the best thinking and
phrasing of Lasher, Finnerty, and Professor von Neumann.
Paul was at ease, lled with the euphoria of well publicized
martyrdom for a cause in which he believed. There was no more
question in his mind than there was in the prosecutor s that
what the Ghost Shirt Society proposed to do was treason. The
machines and the institutions of government were so integrated
that trying to attack one without damaging the other was like
trying to remove a diseased brain in order to save a patient.
There would have to be a seizure of power a benevolent seizure,
but a seizure nonetheless.
The only old acquaintances in the room were Kroner, who
seemed close to tears, and the fat, pig-eyed Fred Berringer,
who was present, Paul supposed, to see the murder of Checker
Charley avenged.
Anita hadn t come to court, nor had Shepherd. The two of
them, presumably, were too busy mapping future campaigns to
give more than a brief, pious prayer for those caught on the
barbed wire of the battle eld of life. There was no need for
Anita s coming to court to show the world how she felt about
her erring husband. She had made that clear in several inter-
views with the press. She had married Paul, she d explained,
when she was but a child, and she thanked God things had come
to a head while she was still young enough to salvage a little
real happiness for herself. Salvage seemed a particularly apt
term to Paul, with its implications of picking over city dumps
and dragging harbor bottoms, for Anita had announced in her
next breath that she was going to marry Doctor Lawson Shep-
herd as soon as she could get a divorce from Paul.
Paul had read her public declarations with ennui, as though
they were gossip about someone else, about a television starlet s
accusations against a middle-aged producer, say. The thing he
272 PLAYER PIANO
concentrated on now, a far more entertaining and consequential
enterprise, was the saying of as many poignant, antimachine,
pro Ghost Shirt Society things as he could over a nationwide
television network.
This use of force-nyou don t regard that as a levying of
war against the United States, as treason, Doctor ? wheedled
the prosecutor.
The sovereignty of the United States resides in the people,
not in the machines, and it s the people s to take back, if they
so wish. The machines, said Paul, have exceeded the per-
sonal sovereignty willingly surrendered to them by the Amer-
ican people for good government. Machines and organization
and pursuit of ef ciency have robbed the American people of
liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
Paul twisted his head, and saw that the needle pointed at T.
The Witness will keep his head to the front, said the Judge
sternly. His concern is with telling the truth, the whole truth,
and nothing but the truth. The indicator will take care of itself.
The prosecutor turned his back to Paul, as though nished
with him, and suddenly Wheeled to shake a nger at him. You
are a patriot, are you, Doctor ?
I try to be.
Your chief wish is to serve the American people well?
It is. Paul was puzzled by this new line of questioning,
for which no one had prepared him.
That is your basic reason for sewing as nominal head of
the Ghost Shirt Soeiety to do good ?
It is, said Paul.
A ripple of whispers and a creaking of chairs under shift-
ing bottoms told Paul that something had gone wrong with the
lie detector s indicator.
The judge hammered with his gavel. Order in the court.
The court engineer will please check the tubes and circuits.
The engineer wheeled his steel cart up to the witness stand,
and impersonally tested the connections to Paul. He took meter
readings at various points along the circuits, slid the gray box
out from under the witness stand, took out each of the tubes
and tested them, and put everything back together, all in less
than two minutes. Everything in order, your honor.
PLAYER PIANO 273
The witness will please tell what he considers to be a lie,
said the judge.
Every new piece of scienti c knowledge is a good thing for
humanity, said Paul.
Object! said the prosecutor.
This is off the record a test of the instrument, said the
judge.
Swung to the left, all righty, said the engineer.
Now a truth, said the judge.
The main business of humanity is to do a good job of being
human beings, said Paul, not to serve as appendages to
machines, institutions, and systems.
Swung to T, O.K., said the engineer, tucking a metal clip
just a little deeper into Paul s armpit.
Now, a half truth, said the judge.
I am contented, said Paul.
The spectators chuckled appreciatively.
Square in the middle, said the engineer.
Proceed with the examination, said the judge.
I will ask the good patriotic doctor the same question, said
the prosecutor. Doctor, your part in this plot to overthrow
the ah machines: you say it was motivated solely by your
desire to serve the American people ?
I think 50.
Again the telltale restlessness in the courtroom.
You think so, eh? said the prosecutor. Do you know
where the needle pointed on that one, Doctor, patriot, latter-day
Patrick Henry?
' N0, said Paul uncomfortably.
Squarely between T and F, Doctor. Apparently you re not
sure. Perhaps we can dissect this haltltruth and remove from
it a whole oneulike removing a tumor.
(Um-n
Could it be, Doctor, that this hate of what you describe as
an injustice to humanity is in fact a hate of something a good
bit less abstract ? ,
Maybe. I don't quite follow you.
I m talking about your hate for someone, Doctor.
I don t know who you re talking about.
274 PLAYER PIANO
The needle says you do know, Doctor that you do know
your red white and-blue patriotism is really an expression of
hate and resentment hate and resentment for one of the great-
est true patriots in American history, your father!
Nonsense l
The needle says you lie 1 The prosecutor turned away from
Paul in seeming disgust. Ladies and gentlemen 0f the jury
and the television audience: I submit that this man before you
is little more than a spiteful boy, to whom this great land of
ours, this great economy of ours, this civilization of ours, has
become a symbol of his father! A father whom, subconsciously,
he would have liked to destroy!
A father, ladies and gentlemen of the jury and the tele-
vision audience, to whom we are all in debt for our lives, for
it was he, more than any other American, who mustered the
forces of know how, and brought civilization to victory!
But this boy chose to resent, to hate this brilliant appari
tion on the pages of history, out of whose Ioins he had sprung.
And now, as a man, he has transferred this hate to what might
very well serve as a symbol for his father, your land, ladies
and gentlemen of the jury and the television audience, and mine.
Call it Oedipus complex, if you will. He s a grown man
now, and I call it treason! Deny it, Doctor, deny it!
Deny it, he said again, his voice little more than a whisper.
The cameras aboubfaced, and closed in on Paul like dogs
closing in on a coon shot from a tree.
Apparently I can t deny it, said Paul. He looked down
helplessly, wonderingly, at the wires monitoring every re ex
God had given him with which to defend himself. A moment
before, he had been a glib mouthpiece for a powerful, clever
organization. Now, suddenly, he was all alone, dealing with
a problem singularly his own.
If my father were a petshop proprietor, he said at last, I
suppose I would be a subconscious dog poisoner.
The cameras doilied back and forth impatiently, panned across
the spectators, glanced at the judge, and returned to Paul.
But, even if there weren t this unpleasant business between
me and the memory of my father, I think I would believe in
PLAYER PIANO 275
the arguments against the lawlessness of the machines. There
are men who don t hate their fathers, so far as I know, who
believe in the arguments. What the hate does, I think, is to
make me not only believe, but want to do something about the
system. Does the needle agree P
A number of spectators nodded.
. Good. So far, so good. I suspect that all people are mo-
tivated by something pretty sordid, and I guess the clinical data
hears me out on that. Sordid things, for the most part, are what
make human beings, my father included, move. That s what it
is to be human, I m afraid.
What the prosecutor has just done is to prove what every-
thing about this world we ve made for ourselves seems deter-
rnmed to prove, what the Ghost Shirt Society is determined to
disprove: that I m no good, you re no good, that we re no good
because we re human.
Paul gazed into the television camera lenses and imagined
the millions now watching, now listening, and he wondered if
he d naade sense to any of them. He tried to think of some
ynnd image that would bring his point home to them all. An
image came to mind; he rejected it as indelicate, could nd no
other, and so blurted it out anyway.
The most beautiful peonies I ever saw,
grown in almost pure cat excrement. I--
Bagpipes and drums howled from the street below.
What s going on out there ? demanded the judge.
Parade, sir, said a guard, leaning out of the window.
What organization is it ? said the judge. I ll have every
last one of them hauled in for this outrage.
Dressed like Scotchrnen, sir, said the guard, with a couple
fellas up front that look kind of like Injuns.
All right," said the judge irritably, we ll stop the testimony
until they re past.
A brickbat shattered a courtroom window, showering the
American ag to the judge s right with bits of glass.
said Paul, were
276 PLAYER PIANO
CHAPTER XXXIII
THE STATE DEPARTMENT limousine, bound for New
York City, crossed the Iroquois River at Ilium once more. In
the back seat were Mr. Ewing I. Halyard, the Shah of Brat-
puhr, spiritual leader of 6,000,000 members of the Kolhouri
sect, and Khashdrahr Miasma, interpreter, and nephew of the
Shah. The Shah and Khashdrahr, languishing with nostalgia
for the temple bells, the splash of the fountain, and the cries
of the houn' selazno in the palace courtyard, were going home.
When the expeditic'm had crossed this bridge before, at the
beginning of their trip, Halyard and the Shah, each in the
fashion of his own culture, had been equals in splendor, with
Khashdrahr coming off a poor, self effacing third. Now, the
hierarchy of the travelers had shifted. Khashdrahr s function
had been extended, so that he served not only as a language
bridge between the Shah and Halyard, but as an intermediate
social step between them as well.
Wondering at the mechanics of being a human being, me-
chanics far beyond the poor leverage of free will, Mr. Halyard
found himself representing the fact of no rank as plainly as
Doctor Halyard had once represented a great deal of rank.
Though he had told his charges nothing of the physical~educa-
tion examination that could mean life or death to his career,
they had sensed the collapse of his status the instant he d been
broughtback from the Cornell gymnasium and revived.
When Halyard had recovered, and changed from the ruined
shorts and tennis shoes into street clothes, he had seen in the
mirror, not a brilliantly fashionable cosmopolite, but an old,
overdressed fool. Off had come the boutonniere, the contrasting
waistcoat, the colored shirt. Accessory by accessory, garment
by garment, he d stripped away the symbols of the discredited
diplomat. Now he was, spiritually and sartorially, whites, grays,
and blacks.
As though there were anything of Halyard left to crush, one
more crushing blow had fallen. The State Department s per-
sonnel machines, automatically, with a respect for law and order
PLAYER PIANO 277
never achieved by human beings, had started fraud proceedings
against him, since he had never been entitled to his Ph.D., his
classi cation numbers, or, more to the point, to his pay check.
I m going to bat for you, his immediate superior had
written, but it was, Halyard knew, an archaic incantation in
a Wilderness of metal, glass, plastic, and inert gas.
Khabu? said the Shah, without looking at Halyard.
Where are we 3 said Khashdrahr to Halyard, lling the
social gap for form s sake, though the Bratpuhrian word, God
knows, was familiar enough to Halyard by now.
Ilium. Remember? We crossed here before, going the other
way.
Nakka Takam tooz e, said the Shah, nodding.
( Eh P
Where the Takam spit in your face, said Khashdrahr.
Oh that. Halyard smiled. I hope you don t take that
home as your chief recollection of the United States. Perfectly
ridiculous incident, isolated, irrational. It certainly isn t any
indication of the temperament of the American people. That
one neurotic would have to manifest his aggressions in front
of you gentlemen. Believe me, you could travel this country for
the next hundred years and never see another outburst like that .
Halyard let none of his bitterness show. With a melancholy
spitefulne'ss he continued, for these last days of his career, to
perform his job impeccably. Forget about him, he said, and
remember all the other things you ve seen, and try to imagine
how your own nation might be transformed.
The Shah made thoughtful ducking sounds.
At no expense whatsoever to you, said Halyard, America
will send engineers and managers, skilled in all- elds, to study
your resources, blueprint your modernization, get it started, test
and classify your people, arrange credit, set up the machinery.
The Shah shook his head wonderingly. Prakka fut takki
sihn, he said at last, "souli, sakki EPICAC, siki K(mu pu?
Shah says, said Khashdrahr, Before we take this rst
step, please, would you ask EPICAC what people are for ?
The limousine came to-a stop at the head of the bridge on
the Homestead side, blocked this time, not by a Reconstruction
and Reclamation Corps crew, but by a phalanx of Arabs. They
278 PLAYER PIANO
were led, as though the signi cance of the banners and costumes
weren t confusing enough, by two men wearing Indian shirts
and war paint.
"Dinka?" said the Shah.
Army ? said Khashdrahr.
Halyard had his rst good chuckle in many weeks. That any-
one, even a foreigner, could look on this colorful tangle of
banners, sashes, and toy weapons as an effective ghting force!
Just some people having a little fun dressing up.
Some of them have guns, said Khashdrahr.
Wood, cardboard, and paint, said Halyard. All make-
believe. He picked up the speaking tube and spoke to the driver:
See if you can t ease past them and down a side street, toward
the courthouse. Things ought to be quieter down there.
Yessir, said the driver uneasily, I don t know, though,
sir. I don t like the way they re looking at us, and all that traf c
on the other side looked like they were running away from
something. Maybe we should turn around and
Nonsense. Lock the doors, lean on the horn, and go on
through. Things have come to a pretty pass if this sort of
monkey business has the right of way over o icial business.
The bulletproof windows slithered to the top, the door locks
clicked, and the limousine nosed di idently into the apricot,
green, and goid ranks of the Arabs.
Jeweled dirks and scimitars stabbed and slashed at the lim-
ousine s armored sides. Above the howls of the Arabs came
crashes of gun re. Two great pimples appeared suddenly in the
side of the car, inches from Halyard s head.
Halyard, the Shah, and Khashdrahr threw themselves on the
oor. The limousine plunged through the raging ranks, and
down a side street.
Head for the courthouse ! cried Halyard to the driver from
the oor, then out Westinghouse Boulevard !
The hell with you ! said the driver. I m bailing out right
here. The whole town s going nuts!
Stay at the wheel or I kill you ! said Khashdrahr savagely.
He was shielding the Shah s sacred body with his own poor
esh, and he held the point of a golden dagger against the back
of the driver s neck.
PLAYER PIANO 279
Khashdrahr's next words were lost in an explosion nearby,
followed by cheers and a hail of rubble on the limousine s top
and hood.
Here s the courthouse !" said the driver.
Good. Turn left 1 commanded Halyard.
My God! cried the driver. Look!
What s the matter ? quavered Halyard, prone with Khash
drahr and the Shah. He could see only sky and building tops
and passing skeins of smoke.
The Scotchmen, said the driver hollowly. My God, here
come the Scotchmen. The limousine stopped with a shriek of
rubber.
All right, back up and
You got radar down there on the oor? Take a look out
the back window, then tell me we should back up.
Halyard raised his head cautiously above the window sill.
The limousine was trapped by bagpipers ahead, and, behind, by
a squad of gold-epauleted Royal Parmesans, who had sallied
from an Automagic Market across the street from the court-
house.
An explosion hurled the market s conveyers and clips of
canned goods through the windows. An automagic cashier rolled
into the street, still miraculously upright on its round pedestal.
Did you see our special in Brussels sprouts ? it said, tripped
on its own wire, and crashed to the pavement by the limousine,
spewing cash from a mortal wound.
It isn t us they re after! called the driver. Look!"
The Royal Parmesans, the Scotchmen, and a handful of In-
dians had joined forces and were ramming the courthouse door
with a felled telephone pole.
The door burst into kindling, and the attackers were carried
inside by the ram s momentum.
A moment later they emerged with a man on their shoulders.
In the midst of their frenzied acclamation, he was marionette-
like. As though to perfect the impression, bits of wire dangled
from his extremities.
To the Works! cried the Indians.
The host, bearing their hero aloft like another banner beside
the Stars and Stripes, followed the Indians toward the bridge
280 PLAYER PIANO
across the Iroquois, cheering, skirling, smashing, dynamiting,
and beating drums.
The limousine stayed where it had been trapped by the Royal
Parmesans and Scotchmen for an hour, while the dull thunder
of explosions walked about the city like the steps of drunken
giants, and afternoon turned to twilight under a curtain of
smoke. Each time escape seemed possible, and Halyard raised
his head to investigate a lull, fresh eontingents of vandals and
looters sent him to the' oor again.
All right, he said at last, I think maybe we re all right
now. Let s try to make it to the police station. We can get pro
tection there until this thing plays itself out.
The driver leaned on the steering wheel and stretched in-
solently. You think you ve been watching a football game or
something? You think maybe everything s going to be just the
way it was before P
I don t know what s going on, and neither do you. Now,
drive to the police station, do you understand? said Halyard.
You think you can order me around, just because you ve
got a Ph.D. and I ve got nothing but a B.S. ?
Do as he says, hissed Khashdrahr, placing the point of his
knife in the back of the driver s neck again.
The limousine moved down the littered, now-deserted streets
toward the headquarters of Ilium s keepers of the peace.
The street before the police station was snow-white, paved
with bits of punctured pasteboard: the fty-thousand card deck
with which the Ilium personnel and crime-prevention machines
had played their tireless games shuf ing, dealing, off the bot-
tom, o ? the top, out of the middle, palming, marking, reading,
faster than the human eye could follow, controlling every card,
and implacably protecting the interests of the house, always the
house, any house.
The doors of the building had been torn from their hinges,
and within were rolling dunes of dumped les.
Halyard opened his window a crack. Hello, there, he called,
and waited hopefully for a policeman to appear. I say, hello!
He opened his door cautiously.
Before he could close it again, two Indians with pistols
jerked the door wide open.
PLAYER PIANO 281
Khashdrahr lunged at them with his knife, and was knocked
senseless. He fell on top of the quivering Shah.
I say, said Halyard, and was knocked cold, too.
To the Works! ordered the Indians.
When Halyard regained consciousness he found himself With
his aching head on the limousine oor, halfway out of the open
door.
The car was parked in front of a saloon near the bridge The
front of the saloon had been sandbagged, and inside were men
operating radios, moving pins on maps, oiling weapons, and
watching the clock. By the head of the bridge itself were crude
breastworks of sandbags and timbers, facing the pillboxes and
turrets of the Ilium Works across the river. Men in every con-
ceivable type of uniform wandered about the forti cations in
a holiday spirit, coming and going as they pleased, on missions
seemingly best known to themselves.
The commandeering Indians and the driver were gone, while
Khashdrahr and the Shah, bewildered and frightened, were
being castigated by a tall, gaunt man who wore an Indian shirt
but no war paint.
Goddammit! said the talI man. The Knights of Kandahar
are supposed to be manning the roadblock on Griffin Boulevard.
What the hell you doing here ?
We said Khashdrahr.
Haven t got time to listen to excuses. Get back to your or-
ganization on the double!
((But_,l
Lubbock! cried the tall man.
Yessir.
Give these men transportation to the Grif n Boulevard
block, or put 'em under arrest for insubordination.
Yessir. Ammo truck s leaving now, sir. Lubbock hustled
the Shah and Khashdrahr into the back of a truck, atop cases
of handmade grenades.
Brouha batouli, m'bo. Nibo! cried the Shah piteously.
"Nibo!"
The truck meshed its gears and disappeared into the smoke.
I say, said Halyard thickly.
Finnerty! cried a short, fat man in thick glasses from the
282 PLAYER PIANO
door of the saloon. The state police are trying to break through
the Grif n Boulevard roadblock! Who ve we got for reinforce
ments ?
Finnerty s eyes widened, and he ran his hands through his
hair. Sent back two stragglers, and that s it. The VFW and
the Knights of Pythias wandered off, and the Masons never
did show up. Tell them we haven t got any reserves!
A geySer of ame and shattered masonry spouted from the
Ilium Works across the river, and Halyard saw that where the
Stars and Stripes had own over the works manager s of ce,
a white ag now snapped in the smoky wind.
For chrissake! said Finnerty. Get the Moose and Elks
on the radio and tell them to quit it. They re supposed to occupy
the Works, not atomize it.
Baker Dog Three, said Lasher into a microphone. Baker
Dog Three. Protect all equipment in the Works until decision
can be made as to proper disposition. Can you hear me, Baker
Dog Three ?
The crowd by the saloon fell silent, to hear the reply of the
Moose and Elks above the shushing noise of the loudspeaker.
Baker Dog Three did you hear me ? shouted Lasher.
Zowie! came a faraway cry in the speaker, and another
volcano erupted in the Works.
Lubbock! said Finnerty. Take over. I m going over there
to teach those babies 3 little discipline. We ll see who s running
this show! He climbed into a car, and sped across the bridge
to the Works.
Salt Lake City is ours!" shouted another radio operator
inside the saloon.
Oakland and Salt Lake and Ilium so far! said Lasher.
What about Pittsburgh ?
No reply.
Pittsburgh s the key, said Lasher. Keep trying. He
glanced to the south over his shoulder, and a look of horror
crossed his face. Who set the museum on re ? He shouted
into his microphone desperately, All posts! All posts! Protect
all property! Vandalism and looting will be punished by death.
Attention all posts can you hear me ?
Silence.
PLAYER PIANO 283
Moose? Elks? Knights of Pythias? VFW? Eagles? Hello!
Anybody can you hear me? Hello!
Silence.
Proteus 2 called an Arab, staggering up to the saloon door,
brandishing a bottle. Where sh Proteus? Give us a word.
Paul, haggard and aged, appeared beside Lasher in the saloon
door. God help us, gentlemen, he said slowly. God help us.
If we ve won, it means that now the hard part begins.
Jesus you d think we losht, said the Arab. Shorry now
I ashked for a word.
KLou 1
Right here, said the drunk Arab.
Lou, boy we forgot the bakery. Still poopin out bread like
nobody s business.
Can t have it doin that, said Lou. Le sh go knock the
crap out of it.
Listen, wait, said Paul. We ll need the bakery.
Machine, ain t it P said Lou.
Yes, sure, but there s no sense in
Then le sh go knock the crap out of it. And, by God, here sh
01 Al to go with us. Where you been, y ol horsethief ?
Blew up the goddam sewage sposal plant," said AI proudly.
At s the shtu ! Give the friggin worl back to the friggin
people.
CHAPTER XXXIV
I DON T UNDERSTAND about Pittsburgh, said Finnerty.
I knew Seattle and Minneapolis were touch-and-go, but Pitts-
burgh!
And St. Louis and Chicago, said Paul, shaking his head.
And Birmingham and Boston and New York, said Lasher,
smiling sadly. He seemed curiously at peace, inexplicably satis-
ed.
P t! said Finnerty.
Ilium came off like clockwork, anyway, and Salt Lake and
Oaklan , said Professor von Neumann. So I think we can
284 PLAYER PIANO
say that the theory of attack was essentially valid. The execu-
tion, of course, was something else again.
It always is, said Lasher.
What makes you so cheery? said Paui.
Would a good cry make you feel better, Doctor? said
Lasher.
Now all we have to do is close ranks with Salt Lake City
and Oakland, and strangle the country into submission, said
Finnerty.
I wish now we d sent one of our Illium people out to get
EPICAC, said von Neumann. EPICAC was worth three
Pittsburghs.
Too bad about the Roswell Moose, all right, said Lasher.
D 7I said they were crazy about the idea of getting EPICAC.
Too crazy, said Paul.
Nitro s tricky enough stuff, without having crazy men try-
ing to get it into Coke bottles, said Finnerty.
The four thought-chiefs of the Ghost Shirt Society were
seated about what had once been Paul s desk, the works man-
ager s desk in the Ilium Works.
The revolution was not yet a day old. It was early in the
morning, before sunrise, but here and there burning buildings
made patches of Ilium as bright and hot as tropical noon.
I wish they d attack, and get it over with, said Paul.
It ll take them a little while to get their nerve back, after
what the Knights of Kandahar did to the state police on Grif n
Boulevard, said Finnerty. He sighed. By God, if only we d
had a few more out ts like that in Pittsburgh
And St. Louis, said Paul, and Seattle and Minneapolis
and Boston and
Let s talk about something else, said Finnerty. How s the
arm, Paul?
Not had, said Paul, stroking the makeshift splint. The
Messiah of the Ghost Shirt Society had had his left arm broken
by a rock while exercising his magnetism on a crowd interested
in seeing the power station blown up. How s the head, Pro-
fessor?
Ringing, said von Neumann, adjusting his bandage. He
had been struck by the Sacred Mace of The Order of the Aurora
PLAYER PIANO 285
Borealis while giving a crowd reasons for not felling a two-
hundred-foot radio tower.
Glockenspiel 0r carillon ? said Lasher. And how are your
oWn contusions and abrasions, Ed ?
Finnerty twisted his neck and raised his arms experimentally.
Nothing, really. If the paingets any worse, I can simply kill
myself. He had been oored and trampled by stampeding
Moose and Elks while explaining that the Works should be
kept intact until a cool decision could be made as to which ma-
chines should be destroyed, which retained.
Fire spurted Skyward from Homestead.
Keeping the map right up to the minute, Professor 3 said
Lasher.
Professor von Neumann looked out at the new blaze through
eld glasses, and made a black X on the map before him. Post
of ce, most likely.
The map of the city had been clean and crackling at the start
of the campaign, with a dozen small red circles indicating the
primary objectives of the Ilium Putsch: the police station, the
courthouse, communications centers, sites for roadblocks, the
Ilium Works. After these objectives were taken, with a mini-
mum of bloodshed and damage, the plan of operations declared,
the systematic replacement of automatic control devices by
human beings was to begin. The more important of these sec-
ondary objectives were circled in green.
But now the map was smudged and limp. Overlying the scat-
tered constellation of red and green circles was a black, con-
tinuous smear of X: that marked what had been taken, and,
moreover, destroyed.
Lasher glanced at his watch. I ve got 4 A.M. That right?
Who knows ? said Finnerty.
Can t you see the City Halt clock from there?
They got that hours ago 7
And they re likely to be after your watch any minute, said
Paul. Better put it back in your pocket.
What gets me are the specialists, said Finnerty. Some
guys seem to have it in for just one kind of machine, and leave
everything else alone. There s a little colored guy going around
286 PLAYER PIANO
town with a shotgun, blasting nothing but those little traf c
safety boxes.
Lord, said Paul, I didn t think it d be like this.
You mean losing ? said Lasher.
Losing, winning~whatever this mess is.
It has all the characteristics of a lynching, said the pro-
fessor. It s on such a big scale, though, I suppose genocide
is closer. The good die with the bad the ush toilets with the
automatic lathe controls.
I wonder if things would have been much different if it
hadn t been for the liquor, said Paul.
You can t ask men to attack pillboxes cold sober, said Fin-
nerty.
And you can t ask them to stop when they re drunk, said
Paul.
Nobody said it wasn't going to to be messy, said Lasher.
A terri c explosion lifted the oor and dropped it.
Boy !" said Luke Lubbock, standing guard in what had been
Katharine Finch s of ce.
What was it, Luke ? called Lasher.
Gasoline storage tanks. Boy!
Ray, said Paul dismally.
People of Ilium! boomed a voice from the sky. Peojnle of
Ilium!
Paul, Lasher, Finnerty, and von Neumann hurried to the
opening where the oor-to-ceiling window had once been. Look
ing up, they saw a robot helicopter in the sky, its belly and
blades reddened by the res below.
People of Ilium, lay down your arms! said its loudspeaker.
"Oakland and Salt Lake City have been restored to order. Your
cause i: lost. Overthrow your fatse leaders.
You are completely surrounded, cut of from the rest of
the world. The blockade will not be lifted until Proteus, Lasher,
Finnerty, and vim Neummm are turned over to the authorities
beyond the Gm' in Boulevard roadblock.
We could bomb and strafe you, but that is not the Amer-
ican way. We cauld send in tanks, but that is not the American
way.
This is an ultimatum: surrender your false leaders and lay
,:a- .W"I. J ._ ._.
PLAYER PIANO 287
down your arms within the next six hours, or su er in the
ruins of your own making for the next six months, cut 01?
from the rest of the world. Click.
People of Ilium, lay down your arms! Oakland and Salt
Lake City have been re
Luke Lubbock aimed his ri e and red.
Beeby dee bobble dee beezle! said the loudspeaker shrilly.
"Noozle ah reeble beejee boo.
3
Put it out of its misery, said Finnerty.
Luke red again.
The helicopter oundered 0H clumsily, still haranguing the
town. Beeby dee bobble dee beezle! Noozle ah reeble beejee . . .
Where are you going, Paul? said Finnerty.
A walk.
Mind if I come ?
That s a small matter these days.
And the two walked out of the building and down the broad,
littered boulevard that split the plant, past numbered fagades
that had nothing but silence, rubble, and scrap behind them.
Not enough of it left for this to be like old times, eh?
said Finnerty, after they had walked some distance without
speaking.
New era, said Paul.
Drink to it 2 said Finnerty, taking a pint from the pocket
of his ghost shirt.
To the new era.
They sat down together before Building 58, and wordlessly
passed the bottle back and forth.
You know, said Paul at last, things wouldn t have been
so bad if they d stayed the way they were when we rst got
here. Those were passable days, weren t they? He and Fin-
nerty were feeling a deep, melancholy rapport now, sitting amid
the smashed masterpieces, the brilliantly designed, beautifully
made machines. A' good part of their lives and skills had gone
into making them, making what they d helped to destroy in
a few hours.
Things don t stay the way they are, said Finnerty. It s
too entertaining to try to change them. Remember the excite-
288 PLAYER PIANO
ment of recording Rudy Hertz's movements, then trying to run
automatic controls from the tape ?
It worked! said Paul.
Damn right!
And then putting lathe group three together, said Paul.
Those weren t our ideas, of course.
N0, but we got ideas of our own later on. Wonderful ideas,"
said Finnerty. Happiest I ever was, I guess, Paul; so damn
engrossed, I never looked up to notice anything else.
Most fascinating game there is, keeping things from stay-
ing the way they are.
If only it weren t for the people, the goddamned people,
said Finnerty, always getting tangled up in the machinery. If
it weren t for them, earth would be an engineer s paradise.
Let s drink to that."
They did.
You were a good engineer, Paul.
You too, Ed. And there s no shame in that."
They shook hands warmly.
When they got back to the former works manager s of ce,
they found Lasher and von Neumann asleep.
Finnerty shook Lasher s shoulder. Master! Maestro! Mai-
tre!
Hmm? The squat, homely man fumbled for his thick
glasses, found them, and sat up. Yes ?"
Doctor Proteus here has asked me a very interesting ques-
tion, said Finnerty. I was unable to supply him with a satis-
factory answer.
You re drunk. Go away, and let an 01d man sleep.
This won t take long, said Finnerty. Go ahead, Paul.
What became of the Indians P said Paul.
What Indians 1 said Lasher wearily.
The original Ghost Shirt Society~the Ghost Dance Indians,
said Finnerty. Eighteemninety and all that.
They found out the shirts weren t bulletproof, and magic
didn t bother the U. S. Cavalry at all.
SO ?!5
So they were killed or gave up trying to be good Indians,
and started being second-rate white men.
PLAYER PIANO 239
And the Ghost Dance movement proved what ? said Paul.
That being a good Indian was an important as being a good
white man important enough to ght and die for, no matter
what the odds. They fought against the same odds we fought
against: a thousand to one, maybe, or a little more.
Paul and Ed Finnerty looked at him incredulously.
You thought we were sure to lose ? said Paul huskily.
Certainly, said Lasher, looking at him as though Paul had
said something idiotic.
But you ve been talking all along as though it were almost
a sure thing, said Pant.
Of course, Doctor, said Lasher patronizingly. If we hadn t
all talked that way, we wouldn t have had that one chance in
a thousand. But I didn t let myself lose touch with reality.
Lasher, Paul realized, was the only one who hadn t lost touch
with reality. He, alone of the four leaders, seemed unshocked
by the course of events, undisturbed by them, even, inexplicably,
at peace. Paul, perhaps, had been the one most out of touch,
having had little time for re ection, having been so eager to
join a large, con dent organization with seeming answers to the
problems that had made him sorry to be alive.
Finnerty was covering his initial surprise at Lasher s state
ment, so perfect an apostle was he. Most of all, apparently, he
wanted to remain intellectually as one with the dynamic Lasher,
and he, too, now looked at Paul as though surprised to nd
that Paul wasn t sure what was going on.
If We didn t have a chance, then what on earth was the
sense of ~? Paul left the sentence un nished, and included the
ruins of Ilium in a sweep of his hand.
Lasher was fully awake now, and he stood, and paced up and
down the room, apparently irritated that he should have to
explain something so obvious. It doesn t matter if we win or
lose, Doctor. The important thing is that we tried. For the
record, we tried ! f He walked behind Paul s 01d desk and faced
Paul and Finnerty across it.
What record ? said Paul.
Suddenly Lasher underwent a transformation. He showed
a side of himself he had mentioned, but which Paul had found
impossible to imagine.
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290 PLAYER PIANO
And, with the transformation, the desk became a pulpit.
Revolutions aren t my main line of business, said Lasher,
his voice deep and rolling. I m a minister, Doctor, remember?
First and last, I m an enemy of the Devil, at man of God 1"
CHARTER XXXV
AS THE SUN arose ov_er Ilium, and the embers of the town
seemed gray in the light of the eternal re ninety-three million
miles away, the State Department limousine, ying a ghost shirt
from its radio antenna, crept through the streets.
Bodies lay everywhere, in grotesque attitudes of violent death,
but manifesting the miracle of life in a snore, a mutter, the
ight of a bubble from the lips.
In the early light, the town seemed an enormous jewel box,
lined with the black and gray velvet of y ash, and lled with
miliions of twinkling treasures: bits of air conditioners, ampli-
dynes, analyzers, arc welders, batteries, belts, biIlers, bookkeep-
ing machines, bottIers, canners, capacitors, circuitbreakers,
clocks, coin boxes, caiorimeters, colorimeters, computers, con-
densers, conduits, Controls, converters, conveyers, cryostats,
counters, cutouts, densitometers, detectors, dust precipitators,
dishwashers, dispensers, dynamometers, dynamotors, electrodes, ,
electronic tubes, exciters, fans, lers, lters, frequency changers,
furnaces, fuses, gages, garbage disposers, gears, generators,
heat exchangers, insulators, lamps, loudspeakers, magnets, mass
spectrometers, motor generators, motors, noisemeters, oscillo-
graphs, panelboards, personnel machines, photoelectric cells, po-
tentiometers, pushbuttons, radios, radiation detectors, reactors,
recorders, recti ers, reducers, regulators, relays, remote con-
trols, resistors, rheostats, selsyns, servos, solenoids, sorters,
spectrophotometers, spectroscopes, springs, starters, strain-
gages, switchboards, switches, tape recorders, tachometers, tele-
meters, television sets, television cameras, testers, thermocouples,
thermostats, timers, toasters, torquemeters, traf c controls,
transitors, transducers, transformers, turbines, vacuum cleaners,
vacuum gages, vacuum tubes, venders, vibration meters, vis-
PLAYER PIANO 291
cosimeters, water heaters, wheels, X ray spectrogoniometers,
zymometers . . .
At the wheel of the limousine was Doctor Edward Francis
Finnerty. Beside him was Doctor Paul Proteus. In the back
seat were the Reverend James J. Lasher and Professor Ludwig
von Neumann, and, asleep on the oor, lay Mr. Ewing J. Hal-
yard of the State Department. In a world of ruins and deep
sleep, Halyard s form on the oor was hardly cause for curi-
osity, comment, or remedial action.
The brains of the Ghost Shirt Society were touring the
strongpoints on the frontiers of their Utopia. And everywhere
they found the same things: abandoned weapons, abandoned
posts, mounds of expended ammunition, and riddled machinery.
The four had come to an exciting decision: during the six
months of blockade threatened by the authorities, they would
make the ruins a laboratory, a demonstration of how well and
happily men could live with virtually no machines. They saw
now the common man s wisdom in wrecking practically every-
thing. That was the way to do it, and the hell with moderation!
All right, so we ll heat our water and cook our food and
light and warm our homes with wood res," said Lasher.
And walk wherever we re going, said Finnerty.
And read books instead of watching television, said von
Neumann. The Renaissance comes to upstate New York!
We ll rediscover the two greatest wonders of the world, the
human mind and hand.
No quarter asked; ho quarter given, said Paul as they con-
templated the entire furnishings of an M -II house, dragged
into a vacant lot and hacked to bits.
This is like the Indians massacre of Custer and his men,
said Lasher re ectively. The Little Bighorn. One isolated vic-
tory against an, irresistable tide. More and more whites where
Custer came from; more and more machines where these came
from. But we may win yet. Well! What is that noise? Some-
body awake?" _
A faint hubbub came from around a corner, from where the
railroad station had been, where it still was after a fashion.
Finnerty turned the corner for a better look at the celebrators.
In the station s waiting room, carnage was everywhere. The
292 PLAYER PIANO
terrazzo oor, depicting an earlier slaughter of Iliumites by
Oneida Indians, was strewn with the guts and internal secre-
tions of the automatic ticket vendor, the automatic nylon vendor,
the automatic coffee vendor, the automatic newspaper vendor, the
automatic toothbrush vendor, the automatic shoeshine machine,
the automatic photo studio, the automatic baggage checker, the
automatic insurance salesman . . .
But around one machine a group had gathered. The people
were crowding one another excitedly, as though a great wonder
were in their midst.
Paul and Finnerty left the car to examine the mystery, and
saw that the center of attention was an Orange O machine.
Orange O, Paul recalled, was something of a cause célébre, for
no one in the whole country, apparently, could stomach the
stu no one save Doctor Francis Eldgrin Gelhorne, National
Industrial, Commercial, Communications, Foodstuffs, and Re-
seurces Director. As a monument to him, Orange-O machines
stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the rest, though the coin-box
collectors never found anything in the machines but stale
Orange-O.
But now the excretor 0f the blended wood pulp, dye, water,
and orange-type avoring was as popular as a nymphomaniac
at an American Legion convention.
O..K., now let s try anotha nickel in her an see how she
does, said a famiiiar voice from behind the machine the voice
of Bud Calhoun.
Clunkle went the coin, and then a whir, and a gurgle.
The crowd was overjoyed.
Filled the cup almost to the top that time; and she s nice
and cold now, too, called the man by the machine s spout.
But the light behind the Orange O sign didn t light up,
said a woman. Supposed to.
We ll x that, won t we, Bud? said another voice from
behind the machine. You people get me about three feet of that
red wire hanging out of the shoeshine machine, and somebody
let me borrow their penknife a second. The speaker stood up
and stretched, and smiled contentedly, and Paul recognized him:
the tall, middle aged, ruddy-faced man who d xed Paul s car
with the sweatband of his hat long ago.
PLAYER PIANO 293
The man had been desperately unhappy then. Now he was
proud and smiling because his hands were busy doing what they
liked to do best, Paul supposed replacing men like himself with
machines. He hooked up the lamp behind the Orange-O sign.
There we are.
Bud Calhoun bolted on the back. Now try her.
The people applauded and lined up, eager for their Orange-O.
The rst man up emptied his cup, and went immediately to the
end of the line for seconds. _
Now, le s have a look at this Ii l ol ticket seiler, said Bud.
Oh, oh. Got it right through the microphone.
I knew we d be able to use the telephone out in the street
for something, said the ruddy man. I ll go get it.
The crowd, lled with Orange-O, was drifting over to en
courage them in their new enterprise.
When Paui and Finnerty returned to the limousine, they
found Lasher and von Neumann looking extremely glum, en-
gaged in conversation with a bright-looking teen-ager.
Have you seen an eighth-horsepower electric motor lying
around anywhere ? said the youngster. One that isn t busted
up too bad ?
Lasher shook his head.
Well, I just have to keep looking, I guess, said the young-
ster, picking up a cardboard carton jammed with gears, tubes,
switches, and other odd parts. This place is a gold mine, all
right, but it s tough nding exactly what you need.
I imagine, said Lasher.
Yep, if I had a decent little motor to go with what I go ,
said the youngster excitedly, I ll betch anything I could make
a gadget that d play drums like nothing you ever heard before.
See, you take a selsyn, and -
Proteus! Finnerty! said Lasher itritably. What s been
keeping you ?
Didn t know you were in a hurry to get anywhere, said
Finnerty.
Well, I am. Let s go.
"Where to? Finnerty started the car.
Grif n Boulevard. The roadblock.
What s going on out there ? asked Paul.
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294 PLAYER PIANO
The authorities are waiting for the people of Ilium to turn
OVer their false leaders, said Lasher. Anybody want to get
out? I ll drive myself, if you like.
Finnerty stopped the car.
Well? said Lasher.
I suppose now is the time,
factly.
Paul said nothing, but made no move to get out.
Finnerty waited a moment longer, then pressed down on the
accelerator.
No one spoke until they reached the concertina of barbed
wire, the felled telephone poles, and the sandbags of the Grif n
Boulevard roadblock. Two brown men, elegantly costumed
Khashdrahr Miasma and the Shah of Bratpuhr huddled to-
gether, asleep in a slit trench to the left of the barricade. Beyond
the barbed wire, their wheels toward heaven, were two riddled,
abandoned state police cars.
Professor von Neumann looked out over the countryside
through his eld glasses. Aha! The authorities. He handed
the glasses to Paul. There-to the left of that barn. See ?
Paul squinted at the three armored cars by the barn, and
the police with their riot guns, lounging, smoking, chatting
cheerfully.
Lasher patted Paul on his shoulder as Paul handed the glasses
on to him. Smile, Doctor Proteus you re somebody now, like
your old man was. Who s got a bottle 3
Finnerty produced one.
Lasher took it, and toasted the others. To all good Indians,
he said, past, present, and future. Or, more to the point -to
the record.
The bottle went around the group.
The record, said Finnerty, and he seemed satis ed with the
toast. He had got what he wanted from the revolution, Paul
supposed a chance to give a savage blow to a close little society
that made no comfortable place for him. .
To the record, said von Neumann. He, too, seemed at
peace. To him, the revolution had been a fascinating experi-
ment, Paul realized. He had been less interested in achieving a
said von Neumann matter of
PLAYER PIANO 295
premeditated end than in seeing what would happen with given
beginnings.
Paul took the bottle and studied Lasher for a moment over
its fragrant mouth. Lasher, the chief instigator of it all, was
coritented. A lifelong traf cker in symbols, he had created the
revolution as a symbol, and was now welcoming the opportunity
to die as one.
And that left Paul. To a better world, he started to say,
but he cut the toast short, thinking of the people of Ilium, al-
ready eager to recreate the same old nightmare. He shrugged.
To the record, he said, and smashed the empty bottle on a
rock.
Von Neumann considered Paul and then the broken glass.
This isn t the end, you know, he said. Nothing ever is,
nothing ever will be~not even Judgment Day.
Hands up, said Lasher almost gaily. Forward March.
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