Pastoralia Read Online Free PDF Page B

is, it is necessary for me to avoid dwelling negatively on problems in the dark of night in my Separate Area, because if I do, I will be tired in the morning, and might then do a poor job, which could jeopardize my ability to keep the money coming in, especially if, for example, there is a Spot Check.
    I continue to count the tiles but as I do it try to smile. I smile in the dark and sort of nod confidently. I try topositively and creatively imagine surprising and innovative solutions to my problems, like winning the Lotto, like the Remixing being discontinued, like Nelson suddenly one morning waking up completely cured.
    16.
    Next morning is once again the morning I empty our Human Refuse bags and the trash bags and the bag from the bottom of the sleek metal hole.
    I knock on the door of her Separate Area.
    “Enter,” she says.
    I step in and mime to her that I dreamed of a herd that covered the plain like the grass of the earth, they were as numerous as grasshoppers and yet the meat of their humps resembled each a tiny mountain etc. etc.
    “Hey, sorry about yesterday,” she says. “Really sorry. I never dreamed that little shit would have the nerve to come here. And you think he paid to get in? I very much doubt it. My guess is, he hopped the freaking fence.”
    I add the trash from her wicker basket to my big white bag. I add her bag of used feminine items to my big white bag.
    “But he’s a good-looking kid, isn’t he?” she says.
    I sort of curtly nod. I take three bags labeled Caution Human Refuse from the corner and add them to my big pink bag labeled Caution Human Refuse.
    “Hey, look,” she says. “Am I okay? Did you narc me out? About him being here?”
    I give her a look, like: I should’ve but I didn’t.
    “Thank you so much,” she says. “Damn, you’re nice. From now on, no more screw-ups. I swear to God.”
    Out I go, with the white regular trash bag in one hand and our mutual big pink Human Refuse bag in the other.
    17.
    Nobody’s on the path, although from the direction of Pioneer Encampment I hear the sound of rushing water, possibly the Big Durn Flood? Twice a month they open up the Reserve Tanks and the river widens and pretty soon some detachable house parts and Pioneer wagons equipped with special inflatable bladders float by, while from their PA. we dimly hear the sound of prerecorded screaming Settlers.
    I walk along the white cliff, turn down the non-Guest path marked by the little yellow dot, etc. etc.
    Marty’s out front of the doublewide playing catch with a little kid.
    I sit against a tree and start my paperwork.
    “Great catch, son!” Marty says to the kid. “You can really catch. I would imagine you’re one of the very best catchers in that school.”
    “Not exactly, Dad,” the kid says. “Those kids can really catch. Most of them catch even better than me.”
    “You know, in a way I’m glad you might quit that school,” says Marty. “Those rich kids. I’m very unsure about them.”
    “I don’t want to quit,” says the kid. “I like it there.”
    “Well, you might have to quit,” says Marty. “We might make the decision that it’s best for you to quit.”
    “Because we’re running out of money,” says the kid.
    “Yes and no,” says Marty. “We are and we aren’t. Daddy’s job is just a little, ah, problematical. Good catch! That is an excellent catch. Pick it up. Put your glove back on. That was too hard a throw. I knocked your glove off.”
    “I guess I have a pretty weak hand,” the kid says.
    “Your hand is perfect,” says Marty. “My throw was too hard.”
    “It’s kind of weird, Dad,” the kid says. “Those kids at school are better than me at a lot of things. I mean, like everything? Those kids can really catch. Plus some of them went to camp for baseball and camp for math. Plus you should see their clothes. One kid won a trophy in golf. Plus they’re nice. When I missed a catch they were really really nice. They always said, like,