Chapter 25 A Hauler of Water
Guiles had been unwilling to believe in such an astounding turn of fortune when Prevarica had told him that the Mayor himself had assured her of the safety of their house. As soon as City offices were open that morning he called the Development Office, gave them his address, and asked for the status. A young woman told him that his house had indeed been moved far down on the demolition list.
So for an hour he, Oblivia, and the children were full of cheer and confidence. Plainly, all was forgiven by the City leaders and they could go back to living as they always had. However, this complacency ended as soon as the electric power—so recently restored—was cut off again, followed by the gas and the water. Then the landline phone went dead.
In the quiet of the darkened house, Guiles called the offices of all these on Prevarica’s cell phone and was reminded again and again that he was far behind on his payments. That, he argued, had been the case for years and yet he had never been cut off before. Why didn’t they ask his friend the Mayor what to do? Why not his other friend Mr. Power? Politely, firmly, they answered that all customers were invariably treated exactly the same. Did he feel that his bill was incorrect? He was given a number to call if he wanted to contest the bill.
At last he called Mammonette’s office and to his surprise was put straight through to her. However, she began talking to him before he could tell her of his plight.
“Guiles,” she said, “you’re way behind on paying me back for the large amounts I’ve loaned you. When can I expect payment?”
“I’ve applied for another loan,” he said, nonsensically. But such nonsense had always worked before.
“Denied,” she said. “When can I expect payment?”
“We were always such friends, Mammonette! You’ve always been so understanding. It’s Mr. Power that’s put you up to this, isn’t it?”
“It’s nothing personal. When, Guiles?”
“When?”
“Yes, when?”
“Uh, next week for sure. Absolutely. Count on it. Listen, I have to get off the phone now.”
So now he knew that things would not be the same. Power had halted the Relocation, but it seemed that everything else in his life had become strangely violable. Raging at the unfairness of it, he tried to think of other ways to get back the carefree existence to which he was entitled.
He proceeded to call his many friends, asking for loans. But as his family gathered round him (having no TV to watch) in the flickering death-light in their basement living room, supplemented by one crooked candle, they heard him being snubbed by one old chum after another. All had turned against him; some scarcely bothering to conceal their delight over his ruin. Several of them told him, in passing, that they were planning on buying land on speculation in Founders Grove, and they wondered—illogically—whether he would do the same? He said he was thinking it over.
One who talked longer than the rest, a Mr. Factfinder, was an employee of Mammonette and confirmed to him that she had been ordered by Power to deny Guiles any further loans and to demand full payment of what was owed. This, Factfinder helpfully explained, was calculated to make Guiles as pitiful as possible in his cousin Dignity’s eyes. He must therefore play along, doing his best to win Dignity’s sympathy and help, drawing him gradually into a quicksand of disastrous obligations to the City. Suck in a few Heavenites in this fashion, train them in City ways, and Power and Mammon would yet smile upon him—that was Factfinder’s prediction. He added helpfully that he had heard that police protection had been withdrawn from Guiles’ house and that Prevarica would soon lose her position as a page on the City Council. He asked whether Guiles would be buying any Founders Grove land, and finally contributed a forewarning having to do with the Leasing family surname.
Guiles thanked him, got off the phone, and looked around at the still faces of his family, who were nearly his only remaining assets. He began to explain the situation to them in a whining manner. His City Seal was gone, he quite unnecessarily reminded them. Pinch and Confusion were gone and would not return to work for them for no wages. Uncle Mockery had long since moved out and was not answering phone calls. Prayer, though she was still in the house, he did not mention, continuing his policy of denying her existence. At any rate Oblivia had hinted to him, without naming her, that the Heavenite agent was ill this morning. Perhaps if ill enough, she would leave, and good riddance.
In feebler tones, he went on to explain another matter. The family had been renamed, he said. Mr. Power had thought a change useful to excite sympathy among Heavenites and also helpful in teaching the family to accept its new and lowly place in the world. Prevarica insisted it was impossible that even the City could, just like that, replace someone’s last name. Though he knew better, Guiles did not argue with his princess but moved on to consider a few other practical matters.
“I’m thinking of calling Pastor Hypocrisy,” he said, “to ask for a little charitable help from the church.”
Oblivia and the children did not brighten at this word, remembering as they did that very recently the Pastor had gleefully mocked and reviled them and had been ready to dance on their graves. Nevertheless, Guiles continued to hope at least for a few cans of beans from the Mammon Church food bank. The family’s health needs, he said, would be met through the Free Clinic. He asked Prevarica, Rage, and Plausible to gather buckets and haul in water from whatever neighbor would be kind.
At the end of her patience, Prevarica became very sarcastic. She asked, remembering a phrase she had come across in Sunday School, if she had now become a hewer of wood and a hauler of water? She suggested that Guiles might prefer that she wear chains on her ankles while carrying a bucket. Or would he perhaps sell her outright?
With no more than a slight pause and a murmured apology, he reminded her that the Mammon Mart had for untold millennia maintained a Slave Department, and that in the present crisis he must unfortunately but quite seriously consider family members as sellable assets.
“Oblivia,” he said, with a smile for his dim-witted spouse, “is too old and sedentary to bring much of a price. You, children, on the other hand… But we of course will sell the television and other electric powered items first, since we have no power anyway. Then the furniture. Then I think Prevarica as the brightest and oldest.”
Prevarica, to his surprise, had an answer for this. “Oh, but daddy,” she wheedled, “no one would buy me once they knew I’m invisible.”
Guiles had not yet comprehended why his little Princess was now wearing thick makeup, sunglasses, and what appeared to be a wig, nor why she had been barely opening her mouth when speaking.
“Are you invisible, princess? Well now, how did that happen? Is it something the Heavenites did to you last night?”
“Yes, daddy.”
“Then I just hope they can live with themselves! Well, you’re right then, that makes you worth little on the slave market. You’re appearance wouldn’t do, or should I say your disappearance? Anyway, you’d be hard for an owner to catch if you ran off, and potential buyers are sure to think of that. We’ll put up you boys for sale after the electric items and the furniture.”
“If we’re slaves, will we still have to go to school?” asked Rage.
“No, you won’t. But before we sell you, we’ll try getting you a paper route instead.”
“If we have a paper route, do we have to go to school?” asked Plausible.
It was now mid-morning. From her vantage point by a second story window of Hope House, Wittily Hope could see over the barrier wall and into the front yard across the street and so keep a good watch on her neighbors. Thus, when a City workman arrived in a van and passed through the barrier gate with a key to its padlock, she was able to observe his labor at the front of the house. In the course of a few minutes, he pried from the wall the gold plate identifying it as Leasing House and replaced it with a cheap plastic sign, hasti
ly nailed in place, that read ‘Goner House.’
While working he was careful not to knock over CRISP agent Edgar, who was at ease in a folding chair just outside the front door. The well-dressed skeleton sat casually with legs crossed, a picture of jaunty unconcern, apparently ready to remain vigilantly on duty for days or weeks.
When the van had gone, Wittily saw Prevarica come out the front door, carrying two buckets and, stepping carefully around Edgar, pass the barrier and start across the street. Full of curiosity, Wittily ran down to her own front yard and met the girl there, where both stood awkwardly facing each other under the forbidden Heavenite flag that was always displayed at Hope House. She was, of course, surprised by Prevarica’s strangely altered appearance.
“Can I do something for you, Prevvy?” she asked.
Prevarica stood holding the buckets and perhaps staring. Who could tell behind those sunglasses?
“I came to get water,” she said flatly, barely moving her lipstick covered mouth.
Wittily made an immediate guess that the City had cut off the Leasings’, or rather the Goners’, utilities. Because her own family had once experienced the same, she felt acutely sympathetic.
“Sure, come on in,” she said. “Hey, kid, why the wig and the makeup? Don’t want to talk about it? Say, I’m sorry your family is in such a fix. We’ll get you some water. Really, I’m surprised Rage and Plausible aren’t doing this instead of you.”
“They found out the batteries in their portable video game players are still working.”
“Oh, I see. Yeah, everyone’s got priorities. Wait a minute, Prevarica, you don’t have go around back to the outdoor spigot. Come on in to the laundry room. The mud sink there is deep enough for a bucket.”
But the girl continued around the side of the house. “No, thanks. I’m stealing and so I won’t do anything you suggest.”
This made a sort of sense to Wittily. Prevarica would of course prefer to steal water rather than take what was given by a Heavenite. She decided not to point out that it could not be called stealing after having been freely offered. After following the girl around to the back, she stood by while Prevarica detached the hose from the silcock and began to fill the bucket.
“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Wittily ventured. “After the City cut off our house, we flew Heaven’s flag, and then Heavenite Power started supplying us with all our utilities.”
Prevarica grimaced, showing no teeth or inside of her mouth, and nearly knocking Wittily over with fright.
“They can keep their damn charity,” she said.
Wittily just did manage to stay with the girl, rather than run in the house and hide. She told herself that, however strange Prevarica’s appearance might be, since she was speaking plainly, she must have teeth and an inner mouth. Then, as she began to imagine what it would be like to look like that, how it would feel to be such a freak, her sympathy re-awoke and her fear lessened.
When both buckets were full, Prevarica returned to her own house, her skinny arms dragged down by them. Before long she came back for more buckets full, and then more. Wittily soon retreated back inside her house and stopped watching. It was too painful to see Prevarica labor like this. Where were her parents? And what had happened to her mouth?
Oblivia was unsure of herself but eventually descended through the trapdoor and inched down the ladder to the floor of Goner House’s lowest level, a basement below the basement, heated to an almost unbearable temperature by a furnace built by the Sin Nature Company. By the faint death-light that haunted the house, she saw Guiles seated on a battered old chair he had brought down with him. Dressed in slacks and a sleeveless undershirt, the little man was slumped over and motionless. Other than the Sin Nature furnace, this room was bare. Several empty door frames were dimly visible, suggesting unexplored and frightening areas all around them. She came near him nervously, unable to see his face clearly though a dim and ghastly glow was crawling over both of them.
“You don’t mean to be down here for long, do you dear?” she asked timidly.
Guiles did not answer.
“I just wanted to ask you what to do about, uh, that woman.” By this she meant Prayer. “She can’t speak and she’s all woozy and down in bed in a bad way. Maybe she’ll die. I gave her some water and aspirin. I’m sorry, Guiles, I know you prefer that I not mention her, but I have to do something.”
“Send her out of the house,” he said.
“Oh, yes, I will. But Guiles, not in daylight? You know how it would look if the neighbors saw a Heavenite coming out of our house. You might say they can’t see her, but she’s getting more visible now, you know, at least she is to me. If the neighbors can see her too, then think how humiliating! And all the worse because she’s black. What if they thought we were socializing with her? So why don’t I just make her leave after dark?”
“Yeah, do that. But how bad is she, Blivvy? Any chance she’ll die first?”
“Oh, I hope so!” she said, brightening. “That would solve everything, wouldn’t it? Guiles, please come back upstairs soon.”
When he failed to answer, she slowly climbed the ladder, closing the trapdoor after herself.