Leo Frankowski

said. “Gymnastics,
football fields, that sort of thing. Past that a lake’s going in, but it isn’t
done yet.”
    “And only two
years ago, this was all a desert,” Patricia said.
    “The worst
hellhole in the world. But everything was here: the sunlight, the soil, the
water.”
    “The
water?” Patricia asked.
    “What do you
think the white stuff on those moun tains is? All Death Valley needed was a
little reorganization, which Uncle Martin and Heinrich provided. In twenty years the
whole world will be a park like this, only varied and different. When we get to
Pinecroft, remind me to show you the plans they have for a town in the mountains east
of here. Fantastic!”
    “It’s all so perfect.” Patricia
noticed that the grass they were walking on
was like a putting green.
    “It’s getting
there. Nightlife is still sort of restricted. There’s no shortage of musicians, but
the bars and restaurants are
mostly serve yourself and clean up the mess,”
Mona said, leading Patricia to an open-air cafe.
    “There are two
exceptions. One is the Red Gate Inn, which is run by a sort of social group. It’s
kind of a fun place, most parts of it anyway,” Mona said.
    “What’s wrong
with the rest of it?”
    “Nothing,
really. It’s a matter of taste—the inn is divided up into about twenty different
rooms, each with a different motif and each with its own form of entertainment.
There’s always at least ten things going on. Like there’s one room for Irish
folk songs—interspersed with bagpipes. And there’s a Whopper Room where telling the truth is considered
bad form.”
    “It sounds like
fun,” Patricia said.
    “On the other
hand, Basin Street is men only. The only women there are waitresses and dancers.
They don’t
wear clothes. The Guardians of the Red Gate had the nerve to ask me to dance
there,” Mona said.
    “Did you?”
Patricia giggled.
    “Only once.
Heinrich hit the roof.” Mona laughed. “The other exception is Mama
Guilespe’s, over here.”
    As they sat at a
square table with a red-and-white checked tablecloth, Patricia suddenly
realized how few straight lines she had seen all day.
    Mama Guilespe
bustled over wearing a peasant costume of Ciociaria, near Naples, a
red-and-blue floor— length checked skirt, an embroidered purple apron, purple “leg of
lamb” sleeves on a white blouse, a red-and-gold scarf, and heavy gold earrings. All
of this was wrapped, despite the heat, around 250 pounds of fast— moving woman.
    “Eh! Mona! I
don’t see you for a week. Such a pretty friend you got!” Mama set down huge
cups of coffee in front of them.
    “Mama Guilespe,
this is Patty Cambridge.”
    “Pleased to
meet you, Mrs. Guilespe.”
    “So skinny! They
don’t feed you enough?” She was already piling a vast mound of pastry in
front of the women. “You got to be new here, and I was talking to such a nice boy only
this morning—”
    “She’s
taken,” Mona got in edgewise.
    “Such a
pity…” Mama Guilespe was already on her way to the next group of customers.
    “Whew!”
Patricia said.
    “You’ve got to
love her,” Mona said. “I know it’s silly, but Mama Guilespe loves to
cook. So she has her tree house make flour, sugar, and eggs, bakes these herself,
and serves them out here.”
    “They are good,”
Patty said, munching a Danish, “and the place seems popular enough.”
    “I think it
really functions as a meeting place, Patty. Mama Guilespe is quite a matchmaker. Drop by
here alone
sometime if you ever get tired of Uncle Martin.”
    “Impossible.”
    “I feel the
same way about Heinrich,” Mona said.
    “You know, I
haven’t seen him in five years,” Patty said.
    “Well, have
dinner with us tonight. But about Heinrich, well, expect some changes. He’s
used his bioengineering on himself. He’s seven feet tall now, and gorgeous.”
    “Just like
Martin, huh?”
    “Well, Heinrich has done a few changes to Uncle Martin. Those two are working on something
secret. Probably a new auditorium, which we certainly need.”
    “Dinner sounds
great,” Patty said. “I’d love to come.”
    “You’ll have
to, unless you want to eat alone. Even Liebchen and Dirk are at
Pinecroft,” Mona said.
    “You know, we
haven’t seen any of Heinrich’s things all day,” Patty said.
    “You won’t,
either. The TRACs are still kittens, and there are only twenty fauns right now,
although they’re all due to have twins of their own in about a week. Fauns can’t take the