Machine Dreams

it.”
    They had turned down Sedgwick Street to the back campus of the college. Mitch pulled over while Danner gazed at the dininghall. Red brick, with a concrete porch and white columns, the hall matched all the other buildings on the densely green lawns. The small campus ended here; behind the dining hall stretched the railroad tracks and the athletic field.
    “You should see the ministers running,” Danner said. “It’s so hot, you’d think they’d drop dead. Afternoons while we’re cleaning, we see them running circles around the field.”
    Mitch chuckled. “Damn right. Ministers should run, that’s about all they’re good for.”
    The banquet hall was full of smooth clatter and murmuring talk while the ministers ate. They didn’t raise their voices and weren’t boistrous, but their combined noises were like those of a flock of serious, famished birds. They were all in their forties or older; Danner imagined them to be veterans of some sort—veterans of no less than six southern churches, for instance, or of thirty years’ service with merit. They ate with studious attention and talked intently. Immediately, they made the room hotter. The air conditioning in the hall didn’t work well, and the ministers sat moistly at long tables in their dark suits, eating roasted meat and mashed potatoes. The noon meal was the large one; for supper, the ministers ate hamburgers and french fries with ketchup. Danner thought them a sad lot and could almost be sad herself as she stood by the silverware cart, watching them chew. Automatically, she read the placard again.
    Each day there was a placard with the title of the afternoon colloquium, and the titles were always questions about current events. The big card was displayed on a music stand at the back of the room. Today it said: RIOT IN WATTS , IS GOD THERE ? The TV news had run pictures of Watts all week. Danner made remarks about the placards to the other waitresses. Today in particular, the question struck her as horrible and pathetic and funny, and she had to walk past the hand-lettered words every time she went into the kitchen. Now she stole a glance at the clock above the entrance doors, then gazed around the hall.
    Waitresses stood at various points in the room, camouflaged in their uniforms. Most of them were pretty, and they signaled each other flirtatiously. Everyone was bored at the prospect ofcleaning stainless-steel counters and milk machines and floors all afternoon, while the ministers talked about Watts. Finally the men would arrive for their hamburgers or grilled sandwiches. Later the waitresses would clear again, replenish condiments, and do an abridged version of the cleaning they’d just finished. Danner looked at the windows behind the ministers; sunlight assaulted the glass. She wanted to be at Rafferty’s Public Pool where girls with no summer jobs tanned themselves all day. Lee Ann Casto, Danner’s best friend, worked beside her in the banquet hall. She’d given Danner a gift-certificate admission to Rafferty’s Pool. The certificate was worth one dollar, it admitted them both for one afternoon, and it was dated several years in the future.
    Lee Ann caught Danner’s eye now and gave her characteristic half-shrug. During meals, she often stared at one minister after another, directing Danner’s gaze to especially strange specimens. Danner had cracked her up in the kitchen by explaining exactly where God was during the Watts riot: gleaming, black and taut as a leopard, he glided along carrying a huge silver radio. Price tags still flew from the radio and God was all in gold, blasting James Brown amidst sirens and fire. Danner sighed. The ministers ate for a full hour. To pass the time, she dropped ice cubes from the Styrofoam bucket into her water pitcher, one by one, with tongs. She wondered how many of the ministers had even been to California. None of the waitresses had; Danner had asked.
    Riley wasn’t interested in California. This summer he’d gone to Florida with the guys. For honeymoons, he said, it was a toss-up between Florida and Acapulco. Jean had heard him joking and told him he shouldn’t be thinking about honeymoons until he got himself through college. Riley had saluted, and grinned at Danner. He wasn’t very excited about college; mostly, he wanted to have a good time, avoid the draft, and stay close to Bellington. He wanted to pick Danner up from school on Fridays this fall, take her to school on Monday