Zindaloo, Fragment II
meandering
The Mantis sat sullenly in his room. The "resort" he'd found himself the surprised and unwilling guest of had them somewhere within its grounds, he knew it. They could have incapacitated him entirely by removing them to a more distant place or damaging them beyond use, but he knew they would be keeping them here to torment him, nearby but hidden and guarded. He was not surprised to find himself crying. His teeth were clenched and he made no sound, but tears were welling up in his eyes, running down his face. This was the way he always cried; about what his father had done, about his life as a personality (but never a person), and now about his loss of what had been inflicted on him. He began to rock slowly back and forth with his hands (useless, clumsy hands) folded in front of his shins, his head on his knees as he sat on the floor next to the bed.
After a while, he stood up, lost his balance, and fell on the bed. He didn't cry now, just slithered off the side and onto the floor where he crawled like a baby under the dividing curtain and into the nook where the water closet was. He pulled himself up to the basin, which sat on a pedestal with a mirror behind it and washed his face.
--
The outbuilding turned out to be a garage with a door two or three times the ordinary width set into the far wall where the Baron hadn't seen it from the outside. Where he had entered there was a door to a smaller room on his left and a wall on his right. The wall of the smaller room didn't extend more than a foot past the frame of its door and the floor of the garage ahead was bare. The typical paraphenalia of motorists hung from the walls in places - wrenches, a grease gun, shelves of smudged cans and bottles and on the floor near the rear wall - the wall that formed the outside of the smaller room - some large petrol cans. The door to this room was not locked more stoutly than any of those the Baron had encountered in his younger, leaner years as a destitute person in Bavaria, and he was soon inside with it pulled close behind him. A few large, insulated cables or small pipes came in from the ceiling and entered a maze of pipes of various sizes, a few of which terminated into the floor or the far wall. Others connected to metal casings, some with gauges or machinery attached. It took a moment for Zweihauser to realize he was in a miniature pumping station, which lay in quiet readiness. He gasped. The house had plumbing; it was rare in his native Europe and unknown in the Argentinian village where he'd been hiding from his creditors. He sniffed at the excess and proceeded to the far wall where, in addition to ends of various pipes, he saw two tall metal cabinets, padlocked shut. He'd come this far and while he had no grudge to speak of against the owners of the estate, the country where he'd found himself yesterday had been treating him as a criminal of a far worse sort than he admittedly was. There was no dilemma. He opened them.
They proved disappointing. One held a stiff and grimy set of coveralls. The other had metal poles wrapped in a tarp - the makings of a tent, presumably. There was no food, which he now realized was something he could very much benefit from.
--
One of the attendants, blonde and smartly dressed, gave a cursory knock and let herself in.
"Mister Callow, would you care for a slice of blueberry pie? It's just been baked. Fresh blueberries." The Mantis was surprised. For a week he'd been fed poorly on gruel and a weak tea that made his head ache and kept him asleep half the day. This was suspicious, but there was no way for him to escape regardless of how much more they drugged him. He did not refuse and, when he realized some time later that he had not had any gruel yet today, concluded that this dessert was replacing rather than augmenting his usual meal. He ate.
--
Three more of the pies sat cooling on the kitchen windowsill, steam wafting away from the slits in their crusts and presenting a tempting sight indeed. "What the Hell," thought the Baron, "I've always wanted to do this." He spirited one away, only half-concious of the way he stooped over his ill-gotten dessert, for this was the way one stole a pie. He even had a diabolical leer upon his face, and his eyes darted from side to side in a manner even more suspect than usual. Lamentably, all his finely honed skills as a cad and second-story man, of being aware of one's surroundings and keeping oneself hidden and whatnot were abandoned. He nearly collided with a large man in institutional-looking white clothes. The burly obstacle looked about to deliver a blast upon his whistle, then happened to glance at the pie. "Enjoy!" he chuckled, and went on his way. Disconcerting as this was, the Baron was by this time on the verge of fainting from hunger. He ducked behind a convenient tree and ate with gusto.
After a while, he stood up, lost his balance, and fell on the bed. He didn't cry now, just slithered off the side and onto the floor where he crawled like a baby under the dividing curtain and into the nook where the water closet was. He pulled himself up to the basin, which sat on a pedestal with a mirror behind it and washed his face.
--
The outbuilding turned out to be a garage with a door two or three times the ordinary width set into the far wall where the Baron hadn't seen it from the outside. Where he had entered there was a door to a smaller room on his left and a wall on his right. The wall of the smaller room didn't extend more than a foot past the frame of its door and the floor of the garage ahead was bare. The typical paraphenalia of motorists hung from the walls in places - wrenches, a grease gun, shelves of smudged cans and bottles and on the floor near the rear wall - the wall that formed the outside of the smaller room - some large petrol cans. The door to this room was not locked more stoutly than any of those the Baron had encountered in his younger, leaner years as a destitute person in Bavaria, and he was soon inside with it pulled close behind him. A few large, insulated cables or small pipes came in from the ceiling and entered a maze of pipes of various sizes, a few of which terminated into the floor or the far wall. Others connected to metal casings, some with gauges or machinery attached. It took a moment for Zweihauser to realize he was in a miniature pumping station, which lay in quiet readiness. He gasped. The house had plumbing; it was rare in his native Europe and unknown in the Argentinian village where he'd been hiding from his creditors. He sniffed at the excess and proceeded to the far wall where, in addition to ends of various pipes, he saw two tall metal cabinets, padlocked shut. He'd come this far and while he had no grudge to speak of against the owners of the estate, the country where he'd found himself yesterday had been treating him as a criminal of a far worse sort than he admittedly was. There was no dilemma. He opened them.
They proved disappointing. One held a stiff and grimy set of coveralls. The other had metal poles wrapped in a tarp - the makings of a tent, presumably. There was no food, which he now realized was something he could very much benefit from.
--
One of the attendants, blonde and smartly dressed, gave a cursory knock and let herself in.
"Mister Callow, would you care for a slice of blueberry pie? It's just been baked. Fresh blueberries." The Mantis was surprised. For a week he'd been fed poorly on gruel and a weak tea that made his head ache and kept him asleep half the day. This was suspicious, but there was no way for him to escape regardless of how much more they drugged him. He did not refuse and, when he realized some time later that he had not had any gruel yet today, concluded that this dessert was replacing rather than augmenting his usual meal. He ate.
--
Three more of the pies sat cooling on the kitchen windowsill, steam wafting away from the slits in their crusts and presenting a tempting sight indeed. "What the Hell," thought the Baron, "I've always wanted to do this." He spirited one away, only half-concious of the way he stooped over his ill-gotten dessert, for this was the way one stole a pie. He even had a diabolical leer upon his face, and his eyes darted from side to side in a manner even more suspect than usual. Lamentably, all his finely honed skills as a cad and second-story man, of being aware of one's surroundings and keeping oneself hidden and whatnot were abandoned. He nearly collided with a large man in institutional-looking white clothes. The burly obstacle looked about to deliver a blast upon his whistle, then happened to glance at the pie. "Enjoy!" he chuckled, and went on his way. Disconcerting as this was, the Baron was by this time on the verge of fainting from hunger. He ducked behind a convenient tree and ate with gusto.
