The Silver Metal Lover(23)

“Goodbye, Jane,” said Jason politely.

“Goodbye, Jane,” said Medea.

They went out, and the robot waiter came over on its tripod of wheels and charged me with Jason and Medea’s bill, which they’d told it I’d be paying. Not that they couldn’t pay it, it was just a joke. So I joked too, and refused, and gave the waiter their address. Their father would be furious (again), and normally I wouldn’t have done such a thing, just paid for them. But tonight. Oh, tonight, I had wings.

Worlds flying like birds; my car’s in flight. The city lights are spattered on my windshield like the fragments of the night. And I’m in flight. The sky’s a wheel, a merry-go-round of wings and snow and steel, and fire. We’ll tread the sky, we’ll ride the scarlet horses— What was that? A song—what—what—Silver’s song.

I left the waiter robot and my unfinished coffine. I went into a booth and dialed Clovis.

“Infirmary,” said Clovis, cautiously.

“Hallo,” I said.

“Thank God. I thought it was Austin ringing back.”

“Clovis,” I said.

“Yes, Jane,” said Clovis.

“Clovis,” I said. “Clovis. Clovis.”

A pause.

“What’s the matter?” he asked me so gently his voice was, for a second, like the voice, the voice— “Clovis, you see—Clovis—Clovis—”

“Where’s your mother?”

“She’s—away. Clovis—”

“Yes, I’m Clovis. Where are you?”

“I can’t remember. Yes. I’m in Jagged’s. I’m in the restaurant.”

“I’m not coming to get you, do you understand? Go down to the taxi-park. Get a cab and come here. If you’re not here in ten minutes I’ll worry. Jane?”

“Yes?”

“Can you do it?”

“Clovis! Oh, Clovis, black water’s coming out of my eyes!”

“Your mascara is running.”

“Oh—yes. I forgot I had any on.” I laughed.

“Pull yourself together and get a taxi,” he said.

I was quite calm and rather amused. I walked into the ladies room and washed my face, and then went down to the taxi-park. I looked at the wonderful star-fields of the city below, above and alongside. The city lights are spattered on my windshield—I’m in flight—we’ll tread the sky— “Block 21, New River Road,” I said to the driver, who was an astoundingly humanlike robot. “Good Lord,” I said, waving my black nails at him, “you’re almost as realistic as the special E.M. formats.”

“Which?” he asked.

“Electronic Metals. Copper, Golder and Silver.”

“Never heard of ‘em.”

“Have you ever been dismantled?”

“Not so you’d notice.”

“I wonder what it’s like. He looked so—he looked—”

“Could you please,” he said, “not cry like that when you get out of the cab? It might be bad for business.”

He was human of course, I’d forgotten about Jagged’s gimmick line of real drivers.

He’d been more forbearing than Egyptia.

Lights hit the windshield. We flew.

I managed to stop crying. The worst thing was not knowing why I was.

When I got up to the fifteenth gallery of Clovis’s block, his door rushed open before I even spoke to it, set for sight. Clovis stood in the middle of the rug, barefoot, in a shower robe, frowning.

“He’s dying,” I said. “They’re going to kill him.”

The sedative Clovis gave me wasn’t flavored. It had a bitter taste. I slept in the spare bedroom, which has black satin sheets, alternating with green or oyster satin sheets. The satin is a deliberate gesture, for you slide all night from one end of the bed to the other. Clovis usually makes his guests uncomfortable, in the hopes they’ll soon go away. Drugged, I slept. When I woke up, he gave me China tea and an apple.

“If you can find anything to eat in the servicery, you can eat it.”

Sleepwalking, drug-dazed, I found some instant toasts. Clovis stood in the doorway.

“I think I gave you too much Serenol. Do you remember what you told me last night? You were in very dramatic shock.”

I watched the instant toast rising from the hot plate, and I saw two silver eye-sockets with wheels turning.

“No, I didn’t give you enough Serenol,” said Clovis, as I wept.

I had told him everything, sitting on his couch, giving a performance Egyptia might have envied.

“I’m surprised you went as far as you did,” Clovis now said, handing me a large box of tissues, and removing the jumping toast from the floor. “Timid little Jane, confronting the might of Electronic Metals Ltd. What was the name of that prat?”

“Sw-Sw-Sw—”

“Swohnson, that’s right. I’m quite looking forward to meeting him.”

“What?”

“What?” Clovis copied my astonishment.

“Clovis, I can’t go back. I can’t do anything. I told him I was under eighteen. I haven’t enough money. And my mother wouldn’t—”

“It’s too boring to explain twice. Follow me.”