The Bumblebee Flies Anyway Read Online Free PDF

would foul up the project. And foul up Barney’s place in it.
    “But why use a machine when anybody could ask these questions?” Barney had asked.
    “It saves staff time,” the Handyman explained, “and it gives us complete access to the information by storing it. I can summon anyone’s history and receive it in a matter of moments. Actually, this particular unit is a diagnostic tool—it is capable of coming up with evaluations of the data it receives from patients.”
    “But why me?” Barney had asked. “All I do is answer: no pain, nothing abnormal, no change in routine.”
    “It’s a requirement we must fulfill. As long as you are receiving drugs, you must be monitored. Knowing the reaction to the drugs—and even
no
reaction is a reaction of sorts—is vital. It is why you’re here, Barney.”
    REPEAT.
    WAS YOUR ROUTINE ALTERED IN THE PAST 24 HOURS?
    He thought of the moment on the fence today when he had seen the car hurtling down the hill. Hell, he’d been
inside
the car, and it hadn’t been a dream or a nightmare, it had been happening at that moment. The car, the steering wheel, the wet pavement, the slanting street and the girl stepping off the curb. That wasn’t normal, was it, to have a thing like that happen in broad daylight? Yet he knew that there was no way he could tell the Machine what had happened in a series of YES and NO questions. The Machine handled only objective data, the Handyman had said. Subjective matter like dreams were covered in personal interviews. Barney had told the Handyman about the dream of the car—it had occurred three or four times in the past few weeks—but the Handyman had only shrugged and made a note in Barney’s case history. If it keeps recurring and if it bothers you, we’ll get someone in to discuss it,he had said. Barney knew who that someone would be: a psychiatrist. He wasn’t in love with the idea of talking to a psychiatrist.
    REPEAT.
    REPEAT.
    WAS YOUR ROUTINE ALTERED IN THE PAST 24 HOURS?
    Barney pressed the NO button and watched the word appear on the screen.
    The Machine hummed its tuneless song again and then fell silent and blank. A short session this time. He felt disappointed. This always happened when the questions ended, as if somehow he had failed a test.
    Suddenly he was tired. He left the room and passed through the silent corridor, past all the doorways—doors closed, red lights glowing above the doors—of poor Billy the Kidney and pathetic Allie Roon and Mazzo with the telephone that he didn’t want but Billy the Kidney did.
    Barney took a chance as he swung Mazzo’s door open slowly and quietly. The patients weren’t supposed to be disturbed after the staff turned the red light on. A small lamp burned on a table near Mazzo’s bed. Mazzo was an indistinct form under the blanket. Letting his eyes get accustomed to the dimness of the room, Barney waited, not breathing, not moving, listening for footsteps in the corridor. He heard the hum of the machine Mazzo was connected to, the ping of his heartbeats being monitored. He could not see the telephone: It was lost in the shadows.
    “Mazzo,” Barney called softly. “I meant what I said. If there’s anything I can do, let me know. I can get around this place and you can’t.”
    No response. Or had there been a slight movement inthe bed, a small stirring, and had he seen a flash of perspiration on Mazzo’s forehead as he moved?
    Barney waited a moment, then withdrew, closing the door gently.
    The corridor was empty, the red lights glowing. Silence, except for the hum of a motor somewhere in the walls. Odorless and colorless, the walls a drab gray, the ceiling a dull white. He felt lonesome, suddenly.
    What am I doing in this place, anyway? Barney asked himself.
    But he knew what he was doing in this place, after all, Barney thought as he viewed himself in the mirror. Each night before taking the capsule and slipping into the bed, Barney inspected himself in the mirror, as if to