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BUMMERS
by Thomas Nevin Huber
I hate the city. Twenty-five million people and I'm livin' in
The Pits. The pits of despair, the pits of poverty, the pits of the
worst of the worst. It can't get any worse.
Al-Zed is the biggest city on the most populated planet in the
Alliance. It houses the headquarters of the Alliance, the most advanced
medical center, and the collected works of civilization. If you want
somethin', you can find it here. If you don't want somethin' --
you'll still find it.
Years ago, cities used to have slums. Ghettos, they called them. They
used to be out in the open -- eye sores of trash-filled lots, half-burned
buildings, and boarded-up windows and doors. Al-zed was like that . . .
for a while. Until they decided to make it the show case of the Alliance.
But do you think they'd make it a decent place to live? Not as long
as Ragnoruk remains the prison planet and death world to us Dracs. Make a
mistake, get caught, and bang! Off they send you to an early grave. Not
that we can't survive in a double-gravity environment -- we can. It's
just that we can't live very long in that situation. But then, you know
all that -- DON'T YOU?
Enough of this chatter. My story is an oddity, I suppose. First, I'm
a barmaid down in The Pits. That's what they call this place. When they
built the so-called model of the universe above us, they didn't bother
tearin' down where we lived and worked and made love. Instead, they
just drove the massive pillars right down through our places -- down to
bedrock, where nothin' could shake them loose.
Then they built the city on top and left us down here -- in The Pits.
Where the sun don't shine, and it stinks like I need a shower. That's
because I really do -- need a shower. No water, at least, not for things
like that. And the stuff we drink is enough to give a normal Drac a bad
case of the runs for a month.
Bad? You bet. But it could be a lot worse. Hell, it is a lot worse.
I'll tell you about it.
One night, I was workin' the night shift. Heh! There is no day shift,
but this was the night, night shift. A little man sat at the end of the
bar and I'm watchin' him. He's been nursing that drink all night. Causin'
me no trouble, but he ain't doing much of nothin' either.
Finally, I decide that he's been alone long enough, so I go up to him
and nod.
He glances at me and then stares back at the drink.
"Need a refill?" I ask.
"Nope."
"Need some company?"
He sighs one of those sighs. Something that sounds like the night
wind on Ragnoruk's High Plains. You know, kind of ragged and sad. I
swallow at the sound and stay put. I know for certain that if I move,
he'll let me wander away. Then there'll be two of us -- lonely and alone.
It ain't supposed to be that way, but that's the way it is.
He stares ahead and finally shrugs. "'Spose so," he says. Just like
that. Nothin' to say yes and nothin' to say no.
I slide into the seat across from him and wipe away an imaginary spot
with my bar rag. Not that it does any good. There are plenty of real
spots on that table.
"Ever been in love?" he asks, all of a sudden, like.
I stare at him, but he doesn't return my look. Just sittin' there,
that little man with his half-finished drink.
Well, I'm not very good at talkin' or maybe you hadn't noticed how
I can't stay on a subject very good and I know that my grammar could
use some help. So I shrug and he nods.
"I know whatcha mean," he replies.
I scratch at an itch on the side of my nose and stare at one of the
beams they drove through this place. Just part of it made its way into
the room, so one wall is mostly beam. And crushed furniture. We sawed
the ends off, 'cause that's all we could do.
The stuff's the beam's made out of is inpreg . . . heck, it's damned
tough. As tough as some of the animals on Ragnoruk. And so it looks out
of place here, where everything needs cleanin' and paintin' and . . . .
"I was in love once."
The little man's words surprise me. After a while, I shrug and say,
"Tell me about it." I'm a sucker for a good story.
"It was late and I'd just gotten off'n my shift. I'm the night
watchman over at the Bell Tower . . . ."
I grunt because I know that place. It used to be a bell tower, until
they took the top off when they put in the first elevated. But it still
needs watchin' and I guess that's what he does.
"I'd stopped in a tav much like this place," he continues, "for my
usual drink afore goin' on home." He swishes his glass a little and
stares at the liquid goin' round 'n' round. I watch it, too.
"Then I saw her." A far-away look creeps into his eyes. "She coulda
stepped outter one of them beauty rags," he says, something glinting
in his eyes.
"Blonde, clean as the air in the Heritage District. She looked like
she needed a friend, so I sat down across from her. She smiled at me."
For the first time, the little man looks at me! As if I'm the girl of
his dreams. I don't know what he's seeing, but it ain't me. Not now, not
with the look he's giving me. I smile a little, back at him.
"Yeah, like that," he says. "She pulls out a weed and offers me one.
I don't usually smoke, but I figger one can't hurt. She puffs on hers and
I take a drag on mine. It'd been years, but I still remembered how not to
breathe it in. I let it out slowly and she blows a circle with hers.
"Funny . . ." he says, drifting off. I look at him as he seems to slip
somewhere out of time. Like it doesn't have any meaning for him. We sit
there a minute, maybe two, I don't know. Time doesn't flow normally
when it's like this.
"We both enjoyed a drink and then I asked her if she's got any place
to stay. She says she don't, so I offered my place."
I raise an eyebrow at him.
"She didn't say why, just that she'd like that. I don't know why."
The little man looks at his drink and then takes a slow sip. Nice
and easy, and I notice his hands. Gentle and kind. I think I understand
what's goin' on. The girl's on the rocks. Sometimes we see them here in
The Pits. And I guess that's kinda what he experienced.
He puts down his drink and rubs his head. Wrinkles come and go as he
rubs like he's rubbin' a headache away. He looks at me and shakes his
head. "It was like a dream come true," he says, gettin' that far-away
look again.
"We walked from the tav to my place, 'bout a block and a half. It
ain't much but it's all I have. I keep it clean and neat, no messy
dishes or anything like that." He pauses, starin' off into space, like
there's no tomorrow.
He takes a deep breath. "I let her in ahead of me, and she turned to
face me as I followed." A look of sadness crosses his eyes.
"`Come here,' she told me. I didn't know quite what to do. She was
beautiful, and she reached out for my hand. I took it and she pulled me
gently to her."
There's somethin' in his eye -- I can't tell what -- and he rubs it
away before I can see it plainly.
"God, what a body," he whispers. "So kind, so lovely, so wonderful.
We kissed, then. Deep and long. Passionate like I've never been kissed
or kissed since."
"As we broke apart, I asked her if she wanted anything, like
something to drink or eat. She told me that would be nice, so I got out
some cheese and crackers. It's about the only thing I kept around. We
shared and made a bunch of small talk."
A bitterness crosses his lips. "She'd been battered, she had, by
some sonofabitchin' spacer. I couldn't see nothin' until she raised
her skirt and I got a good look at her legs. Bruises like you wouldn't
believe."
He takes another drink. "You ever been battered?" he asks.
A chill runs down my back. Sure I have. What girl hasn't been, down
here in The Pits? We get it and we see it. Nothin' new. Except maybe for
him. His eyes tell me that he ain't one of them. There's a pain there
that you can see but can't describe.
The best I can do is shrug my answer and he nods. "I don't like it
when a man beats a woman. It don't make him no man, it makes him a
nothin' -- a Ragnorukian antworm."
I know what he's talkin' about. A bug that is built like an ant, but
drags its body behind it, oozin' out slime behind it, all along its
trail. That's what he was talkin' about. A man that's got so low that
he's an antworm -- someone that beats women.
He continues, "I laid my hand over hers and she smiled at me. I don't
know why she did that, but it made me feel whole. I wasn't empty no more."
I just sit there and look at him.
"Later that night I turned down the lights and undressed for bed. I
could see her moving against the darkness. Graceful, like an angel.
Maybe she was." His eyes look like their gettin' heavy, so I clear my
throat and swallow. He nods a knowing nod.
"I watched her," he confesses to me. "I watched her get undressed
in the dark. She did it at the end of the bed, knowin' that I was
watching her."
I watch his eyes. They're deep and green. Gentle and kind -- no
malice, no hatred -- no lust. He glances at me and I hastily look down.
"She crawled into bed next to me all naked and warm. I could feel
her warmth next to me. Dry and clean, like a newborn babe. I felt for
her hand and found it. We held hands for a long time."
I watch him as he swirls his drink again. His hands -- no callouses
-- are just gentle hands, like his eyes.
"Pretty soon, she drew my hand to her and asked me to rub her softly.
I did, rubbing her back as she cuddled next to me, purring like some
kitten in ecstasy. It didn't take her long before we really got together."
He shakes his head and murmurs the words to an old, old song. "Her
kisses were sweeter'n wine..."
He's sittin' there for a long time, just starin' into emptiness.
My heart goes out to him as he finishes his story.
"I never felt so whole," he repeats. He's gentle and decent and
don't go into the details of their love, but I know they did it. All
natural and gentle as you please. You can see it in his face.
He finishes his drink in one gulp, then sets down the glass. "The
next morning, the sun was shinin'. That was before they built the city
on top o' us. It had been rainin' the night afore, but now it was
shinin' like nothing was wrong with the world.
"I turned to her and found her gone. In her place was a six-word
letter: `I've got to be movin' on.'"
That's all he says. "I've got to be movin' on."
His gentle eyes fill the room before me and his hands lay there
empty. He's never felt so whole. What I would give to be like that.
I've never been much of a looker, and I ain't had no men like him in
a long, long time. I reach over and take his hand in mine, and slowly
bring it to my lips. "I know I ain't much to look at," I tell him, "and
I'm twenty years too old, but damn! I sure wish I was that girl."
"Well that's okay," he replies, taking my other hand in his. "I don't
mind at all. I'll wait around 'till you get off, then if you don't mind
an old bachelor, why don't you come over and sit a spell."
"I'd like that," I tell him and then give him a little smile -- just
like I did some twenty years ago.
# # #
Copyright 1994 Thomas Nevin Huber
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Tom Huber is rapidly approaching middle age (50). Involved with computers
since the early '60's and has been employed as a technical writer for a major
computer manufacturer for over 12 years. Previous works include numerous user,
installation, service, & tech manuals, and magazine articles. Hobbies include
genealogy and running his bbs. Look for his major series of SF novels, soon.
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