Machine Dreams

her on sulfanilamides, only thing I could get during the war, but she developed an allergy and I had to take her off.” He shook his head. “So she was unprotected and went rheumatic again. Bess recognized the weakness right away, but the damage was done. That’s why the murmur is so bad.”
    “But she won’t get strep again?”
    “No. Katie is real lucky the war is over. Now we can get penicillin. And the heart will get a little stronger, with rest, good food, care. No one could take better care than Bess. She blames herself for not realizing it was something serious that first bout, but no one could have known.” He was quiet a moment. “Maybe, if we’d known about the throat that first time, before the strep developed—”
    “And the kid did it, kept it secret, to win some school attendance prize. Now here she is. It’s a goddamn hell of a thing.”
    “Yes—lots of hellish things. Holdovers from the war.” Reb smiled sadly. He looked up and Mitch watched the ceiling light play across his eyeglasses. Didn’t use to wear those; Reb had gotten older too. Now Reb took the glasses off and rubbed the lenses with his wrinkled linen handkerchief.
    McAtee brought the plates and moved on down the counter to wash glasses. Meat loaf was good today, and Mitch ate with Reb quiet beside him. Sound of the glasses in water, clink as McAtee set them on the drying rack.
    “They say the Nips like MacArthur,” Mitch said. “First ruler they’ve had isn’t a direct descendant of the gods.”
    “What gods are those, Cowboy?”
    “Who the hell knows.”
    They ate then without speaking until Reb pushed his empty plate to the far edge of the bar. “Clayton said you were out with Miss Chidester last night.”
    “That’s right.” Mitch looked over and registered Reb’s expression without much surprise; of course, he’d been there too. “You old married lech. Then she’s a real tramp.”
    “Hey.” Reb did a modest pantomime of throwing up his hands. “Doctors get it easy. And I’m not saying she’s a tramp. Bea little broad-minded, Old Man—might be a good idea to marry a girl like her. Lively, young enough to keep her looks awhile. Move her out of town, settle her hash quick with a few kids. You’re up to it, aren’t you?” Reb finished the beer and faked a right cross to Mitch’s ribs. “Then you really got problems.”
    Mitch stopped Reb’s hand and held him by the wrist. “You’ll talk to Clayton? I don’t want this getting any worse.”
    “I hear you.” Reb pulled his arm away gently and stood from the bar stool, reaching in his pockets for money. “What’s more, I’ll buy lunch. With Mary Chidester’s hands in your pockets, your change won’t last long.”
    Mitch shrugged, smiling. “It’s a crime. I keep telling you, Doc, you don’t get anything in this world for free.”
    Katie loved to ride in the new Pontiac. Mitch had first brought the car home the week before, and she’d asked to have her picture taken—a movie star picture, she said. Clayton sat her on the long swoop of front fender, and she arranged her white skirt against the dark blue of the car. Twister stood aside making faces, trying to get her to laugh and spoil her serious expression. Where did she get those expressions? Studied movie posters probably, looked at magazines. Always after Mitch to take her to the matinees.
    Today she sat over next to the door like a grown-up, wrapped in a soft cotton blanket from head to foot. Mitch had made a joke of it and said he’d wrap her in the warm cloth like an Egyptian mummy.
    “You sure you’re warm enough, Fritzel?” He glanced over. She’d assented to the blanket for his sake, but once in the car pulled it down so only her legs were covered. In case anyone saw her in the bright new sedan, she would look like any other kid.
    “I’m warm, honest.” She smiled, rested one arm on the plush gray armrest.
    “Lock your door there. Don’t want you falling out before we even get to the pictures.” He always drove her around a bit before they went to the movie house; the route was a ritual by now: length of Main Street, up Quality Hill past the big old houses and the school, down around by the grocery and the Mobil station, where he got gas. The Mobil station was a favoritesince they’d installed the new sign. Giant red horse with wings: NEW MOBILGAS GIVES FLYING HORSEPOWER. She would sit and stare at that big sign until he didn’t know what the hell she was seeing,