Pandora’s Bust
A crisp voice sounded through the speaker “That number is disconnected.”
“I know. Check my voice print and hurry up about it. This is Michelangelo Ben Canaan.”
“Yes, sir, Mr Ben Canaan.”
After several seconds a metallic sound, arranged to resemble a human voice, said. “You have connected to the Homeostatic Law Library. Your request, please.”
“Has Law 1971-62 gone on tape yet?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Read it back to me.”
“Law 1971-62. Primary clause: no human being may testify against a machine. Secondary clause one:”
The small cop’s finger on the phone button broke the connection.
“I think,” he said, “the primary clause will suffice.” Ben Canaan turned a blank face at him, then back at the mouthpiece, still held in his hand, six inches from his face.
“Angelo!” screamed Pandora, “They’re taking me away.” And so they were. The brown arms contrasted handsomely with the platichrome bands as the Vagina Police hoisted Pandora onto their shoulders. “Help me, Michelangelo!” When at last he couldn’t hear her Ben Canaan screamed and dropped the phone, as if the mouthpiece had scorched his hand.
two
When the turbo-car had whipped along some two hours on roads without street lamps Pandora began to suspect a fearsome secret. They must have left the city for the worker suburbs—why? Did the Vagina Police really house themselves in the country? Would Negroes really live so far from the ghetto “Mother Harlem” as they called it? Perhaps, thought Pandora and her skin tensed against the platichrome, they only pose as Muskie cops. She looked across the circular cab where the uniforms glowed in the soft light.
“Who are you?”
“What do you want with me?”
“You’re not cops. Cops work in the city.”
No answer to anything. She tried to imitate Ben Canaan’s one-time arrogance: “You fellows better tell me right now who you are and where we’re going.”
The brown faces said together, “We cannot talk with you. Such conversation might constitute sacrilege.”
Lord in heaven, thought Pandora, have I been kidnapped by a gang of flaming resurrectionists? She saw the whole plot—they’d dump her on some honky lawn where fifty or five hundred stoop-backed workers would rip apart her body while they growled their honky prayers to their honky gods. “Don’t touch my body!”
And yet, the danger, the whole situation, felt unreal, dream-like. Her entire life seemed a painted cellophane wrapper, sealing in her true self.
Right then the car lurched, causing the cab light to flicker off, on, off again. Moonlight sprayed through the tinted windows. Pandora looked outside.
They’d left the suburbs. She saw it right away she couldn’t believe it. No houses, no lawns, no people at all, not even a road. The car just whooshed along a flat grey nothing. They’d left behind the city, the suburbs, the whole world itself. “Take me back!” she screamed and slammed shut her eyes. The car stopped.
But she couldn’t bear to keep her eyes closed for suppose they grabbed her and threw her from the car? Keep watching, keep their hands off my body, thought Pandora; she opened her eyes.
Right then she thought she’d tumbled into a dream, for sure. Two men not men at all really, sat across from her and smiled benignly. Their faces, blacker than pure onyx, shone with transcendent glows, brighter than the moon, brighter than the soft-spun golden robes flowing from their shoulders to their knees. Faint coronas flickered over their kinky heads. But most remarkable of all—from each back sprouted white feathered wings. A dream, a dream, thought Pandora. As a little girl she’d often dreamt of such men flying with her round and round the house. “Take me home.”
They looked at each other, as if deciding whether or not to speak. At last, two deep liquid voices said. “We certainly intend to.” One winged man leaned over and touched his fingers to the platichrome, whereupon the bands sprung off onto the floor.
“You can’t do that,” said Pandora. “you’re just a dream.” Her voice rose. “Why don’t you let me wake up?” Just then the car roof sprung open and Pandora felt the unobstructed moonlight on her skin. She flailed her arms wildly as if a honky had thrown sand in her face. “Get it off.’
