The bus rolls down I-80, and for the third time on this trip, I unfold some letters. The first two times, I was sharing a seat with cheerful busybodies from whom I instinctively shielded the letters. Third time's the charm -- I not only have the seat to myself, I have at least half the bus to myself. I raise my eyes for a moment and check the scenery -- still endless fields of something green and leafy. I lower my eyes to the first letter.
"Dear Brother,
"I have arrived, safe and sound, in the hamlet of Arkville. I thought there were mountains in the West, but I am informed that those are much farther off, and that one does not begin to see them until one is almost in Colorado. The bus journey was long, past fields of corn and soybeans, truck farms and truck stops. We passed one where the water tower had been decorated to resemble an enormous coffee percolator! On the way, I practiced my shorthand skills by transcribing the contents of billboards that we passed. I am most anxious to do well in my first job, working for the Arkville Refreshment Corporation. It's such a big move, from home to here. If my classmates at the Springfield Secretarial Academy could only see me now!
"I was greeted at the bus stop in Grand Island by a tall, rawboned man in overalls who never wasted a word. Indeed, he didn't use a word if he could nod his head or otherwise gesture the answer. He put my bags into the back of his truck and drove me the rest of the way to the company gates and was gone before I could fish out a tip from my purse. He is paid by the bus company to convey people the last part of the way, when someone wants to come to Arkville.
"I am working for the Vice President of the company, a Mister Traum. I had to stifle a giggle at his appearance, for he looks so very much like the 'before' picture on an advertisement for some sort of sleeping aid. His skin is grey, and his eyes have bluish hollows beneath, and he seems to shuffle or shamble when he walks. His speech seems almost listless, and I have to prick up my ears to catch what he says sometimes. What is more surprising, the other people I have met here look much the same. It's as if they were members of the same family, though their last names are mostly different from one another's. Perhaps there's something in the water?
"Anyway, it's late, and I will start work in the morning. Wish me luck! And do write to me!!
"Your loving sister."
I suspect I am now going through the same scenery she described in the letter. In fact, a few minutes later, I would see the giant percolator. The first time I opened a soda on the bus, I wasn't sure if it was allowed, but now I know the driver doesn't care. I decant the cola I bought at the last bus depot and use it to help choke down some cheese peanut butter crackers while I read the second letter.
"...I would have sent the first letter sooner, but there are no mailboxes here for employees to use! I finally walked out to the road, looking for the company mailbox, and encountered the mail carrier, and he took it for me. Can you imagine not having a mailbox?
"The work is rather easy, so far. My boss, Mister Traum, speaks so slowly I don't even know that I need to use my shorthand. I'm impressed, though, with his plans for the company. They make some kind of sweet beverage here in the form of a powder that you mix with water. He is poised to go national with his brand, by forming a partnership with an existing company that makes an orange-flavored breakfast drink. He has contacts at the company that used to work at his own company. They've been planning it for years -- he's really a visionary!
"My only regret is that I can't stand the stuff myself! Isn't that awful? It's a sort of bluish-purplish powder that mixes with water. I thought the water here was bad enough, but just put some of that in it, and it's worse! The water is kind of hard and chemically, but with this in, it tastes downright metallic, like some flavor not of this earth. This is just between you and me and the gatepost, though. Don't want to lose my job..."
So far, the tone of the letters was light and cheerful. That changed with the third one.
"...I'm peeved with Mister Traum, who keeps trying to get me to drink the purple stuff. It's not official company policy, apparently -- at least, it's not in the employee manual they gave me! -- but everybody else swills the foul stuff like it was ginger ale. You can tell who drinks it, because they all look like Mister Traum. I thought maybe it was a family operation, but they're not related. I'm the only one here who doesn't talk... real... slow... and slur words and shuffle around. I hate to think that the drink is why they all act like that.
"But it's getting annoying. When I started, my apartment had working taps, and then they sent a plumber in who said the water wasn't good to drink. Do I need to tell you that he talked slowly and shambled when he walked? They cut off my water, and the only running water in the place is in the bathroom. I thought of drinking from the tub water, but the way the pipes look, I'd almost as soon drink out of the can, pardon my French. They put pitchers of water and the purple junk outside my door every day, and they are cutting down how much water they give me. I could scream.
"I'm off to find the mailman, I guess. He'll be by in about an hour, more or less, and it takes twenty minutes to walk out to the road. Tomorrow's supposed to be a big day. Company tour..."
The bus was stopping. My perusal of the letters was temporarily put aside while I got out at the gas station that shared some space with the bus line. Apparently, the buses only stopped there if they put a flag up, or if the bus had someone to drop off. I expected a lunch counter, but found only another vending machine and pop machine. While I waited for the farmer and his truck, I got some change and stocked up on more cracker snacks and sodas.
"...Get me out of here! I can't stand this any longer! They showed me where the powder comes from, and it's not something they make, it's something that comes from pits deep in the ground! It's horrible. We went down in a mine elevator. I can't tell you how far, but it felt like a mile. It stank down there. I hadn't realized the stuff had an odor, but now I can't get it out of my mind. It was hot, too, and of course, there was nothing to drink but the vile liquid itself. I took a sip, just a sip to keep my throat from constricting, and it was like I was intoxicated. I saw things moving in the tunnels, far away. I hoped it was a trick of the light, or maybe a hallucination from the foul draught. I begged them to take me back up. I don't remember the ride back to the surface.
"I woke up back in my room, and looked for the pitcher of water, and there was none. I shall lose my mind if I stay here much longer. Come and get me! I am afraid of this place and these people. Please, dear brother, you are my only hope!"
The truck arrived. I visited the restroom before we left, and took a long drink of water from the semi-clean sink. drinking out of my cupped hands. Reading her words had made me thirsty. I looked intently at the farmer who drove me from the station to a county road. He seemed normal. I asked him questions, and he answered them with an economy of verbiage that would have done Silent Cal Coolidge proud, but I learned that he goes back and forth to the company, conveying packages from the bus station and back, twice a week. I persuaded him, with the aid of a couple of large-denomination bills, to wait at the gate for an hour. He seemed unwilling at first to jeopardize his working relationship, but the promise of more money and my assurance that the company wouldn't mind overcame his reluctance. We turned off onto a dirt road, and I realized we were almost there.
The countryside wasn't what I was used to back East. Away from the irrigated fields, the land was dry, and flatter than Massachusetts. The vegetation was in clumps. I walked for several minutes down the gravel drive, finally reaching the strange, isolated complex of buildings that was the factory. Nobody was outside. I ended up going to the front door and trying the knob. It was locked. I rang the bell, and was greeted by a man who seemed to fit the description of Traum: grey skin, sunken eyes in dark circles. I introduced myself, and said I was looking for my sister. He turned, without a word, and started walking. I presumed I was supposed to follow, impatiently checking my watch. Would the farmer wait long enough? The man walked with devilish slowness. Down a hall, up a flight of stairs. I checked my watch again.
Finally, he took me down a corridor and stopped at a door. A tray stood on the floor, looking somewhat like a room service tray, with an empty pitcher on it. He knocked, and motioned for me to wait, and he slowly went back the way we had come. As I waited for the door to open, I mentally replayed the route we had taken. It was slightly circuitous, but I felt that I could retrace it if need be. There was a sound behind the door, and the knob turned. I found myself looking at my sister.
I smiled in recognition. "I'm here," I said. "Get your things together -- only as much as you can carry. We're leaving."
She looked up at me with sunken eyes, a flicker of regret on her greyish features. "I'm staying here," she said slowly. "This is my job. I'm sorry I brought you out here for nothing." She turned away and shuffled apathetically back into her room.
"But you wanted to leave! Come on, let's get out of here. I've only been here--" I looked at my watch. "--twenty minutes, and I'm anxious to go. Come back with me! I have your ticket."
She shambled over to the counter, where a glass of some bluish liquid stood. "I'm okay now. Everything is fine." Looking me in the eye, she took a long drink and put the glass down. I looked at my watch. If I hurried, I might make it back to where the farmer might be waiting in his truck. I strode out into the hall, my mind racing, and hastened back the way I'd come. I found the stairs I'd come up, and went back along the hallway I remembered. I came to a place I hadn't seen before, retraced my steps and found the hall branching off. I got to the front door of the building and stepped outside. The sky was starting to get a little darker. By my watch, I had ten minutes to travel a distance that had taken me twenty minutes before.
I walked, I ran. I lost my head and dashed as quickly as I could. When I got in sight of the gate in the barbed-wire fence that led to the dirt road, the truck wasn't there. The driver, the truck, my valise, even the sodas I had bought, all were gone.
The cold came quickly as it got dark. My coat was in the truck. I finally went back to the apartment, where I was admitted without comment. I now sit uneasily on a wooden chair, looking at the pitcher on the counter. Behind me is a woman who is no longer my sister, and all around me is a company bent on bringing to the world an unspeakable substance that will, I am convinced, be the downfall of us all. It will be two days before the farmer returns for his regular business here. My head swims with the enormity of it. I'm worn out from my exertions. There is nothing to drink here, nothing save for the ubiquitous, vile bluish-purplish liquid, and -- Lord help me! -- I THIRST!
.
