The Simulacra

Today the lot had been set up in the hilly section of Oakland, California, among the winding, tree-shrouded streets of the better residential section. Across from the lot, Ian could see The Joe Louis, a peculiarly-shaped but striking apartment building of a thousand units, mostly occupied by very well-to-do Negroes. The building, in the morning sun, appeared especially neat and cared for. A guard, with badge and gun, patrolled the entrance, stopping anyone who did not live there from entering.

‘Slezak has to okay the programme,' Al reminded him.

‘Maybe Nicole won't want to hear the Chaco

In his mind Ian saw Nicole propped up in her enormous bed, in her pink, frilly robe, her breakfast on a tray beside her as she sca

She knows of our existence.

In that case, we really do exist. Like a child that has to have its mother watching what it does, we're brought into being, validated consensually, by Nicole's gaze.

And when she takes her eye off us, he thought, then what? What happens to us afterwards? Do we disintegrate, sink back into oblivion? Back, he thought, into random, unformed atoms. Where we came from, the world of nonbeing, The world we've been in all our lives, up until now.

‘And,' Al said, ‘she may ask us for an encore. She may even request a particular favourite. I've researched it, and it seems she sometimes asks to hear Schuma

‘I can't do it,' Ian said abruptly. ‘I can't go on. It means too much to me. Something will go wrong; we won't please her and they'll boot us out. And we'll never be able to forget.'

‘Look,' Al began. ‘We have the papoola. And that gives us -- ‘ He broke off. A tall, stoop-shouldered, elderly man in an expensive natural fibre-grey suit was coming up the sidewalk. ‘My god, it's Luke himself,' Al said. He looked frightened. ‘I've only seen him twice before in my life. Something must be wrong.'

‘Better reel in the papoola,' Ian said. The papoola had begun to move towards Loony Luke.

With a bewildered expression on his face Al said, ‘I can't.'

He fiddled desperately with the controls at his waist. ‘It won't respond.'

The papoola reached Luke, and Luke bent down, picked it up and continued on towards the lot, the papoola under his arm.

‘He's taken precedence over me,' Al said. He looked at Ian numbly.

The door of the office opened and Loony Luke entered.

‘We got a report that you've been using this in your own time, for purposes of your own,' he said to Al, his voice low and gravelly. ‘You were told not to do that; the papoola belongs to the lot, not to the operator.'

Al said, ‘Aw, come on, Luke -- ‘

‘You ought to be fired,' Luke said, ‘but you're a good salesman so I'll keep you on. Meanwhile, you'll have to make your quota without help.' Tightening his grip on the papoola, he started out. ‘My time is valuable; I have to go.'

He saw Al's jug. ‘That's not a musical instrument; it's a thing to put whisky in.'

Al said, ‘Listen, Luke, this is publicity. Performing for Nicole means that the network of jalopy jungles will gain prestige. Got it?'

‘I don't want prestige,' Luke said, pausing at the door. ‘There's no catering to Nicole Thibodeaux by me; let her run her society the way she wants and I'll run the jungles the way I want. She leaves me alone and I'll leave her alone and that's fine with me. Don't mess it up. Tell Slezak you can't appear and forget about it; no grown man in his right senses would be hooting into an empty bottle anyhow.'

‘That's where you're wrong,' Al said. ‘Art can be found in the most mundane daily walks of life, like in these jugs for instance.'

Luke, picking his teeth with a silver toothpick, said, ‘Now you don't have a papoola to soften the First Family up for you. Better think about that. Do you really expect to make it without the papoola?' He gri

After a pause Al said to Ian, ‘He's right. The papoola did it for us. But -- hell, let's go on anyhow.'

‘You've got guts,' Luke said. ‘But no sense. Still, I have to admire you. I can see why you've been a top-notch salesman for the organization; you don't give up. Take the papoola the night you perform at the White House and then return it to me the next morning.' He tossed the round, buglike creature to Al; grabbing it, Al hugged it against his chest like a big pillow. ‘Maybe it would be good publicity for the jungles,' Luke said meditatively. ‘But I know this. Nicole doesn't like us. Too many people have slipped out of her hands by means of us; we're a leak in mama's structure and mama knows it.' Again he gri

Al said, ‘Thanks, Luke.'

‘But I'll operate the papoola,' Luke said. ‘By remote. I'm a little more skilled than you; after all, I built them.'

‘Sure,' Al said. ‘I'll have my hands full playing anyhow.'

‘Yes,' Luke said, ‘you'll need both hands for that bottle.'

Something in Luke's tone made Ian Duncan uneasy.

What's he up to? he wondered. But in any case he and his buddy Al Miller had no choice; they had to have the papoola working for them. And no doubt Luke could do a good job operating it; he had already proved his superiority over Al, just now, and as Luke said, Al would be busy blowing away on his jug. But still ...

‘Loony Luke,' Ian said, ‘have you ever met Nicole?' It was a sudden thought on his part, an intuition.

‘Sure,' Luke said steadily. ‘Years ago. I had some hand puppets; my dad and I travelled around putting on puppet shows. We finally played the White House.'

‘What happened there?' Ian asked.

Luke, after a pause, said, ‘She -- didn't care for us. Said something about our puppets being indecent.'

And you hate her, Ian realized. You never forgave her.

‘Were they?' he asked Luke.

‘No,' Luke answered. ‘True, one act was a strip show; we had follies girl puppets. But nobody ever objected before. My dad took it hard but it didn't bother me.' His face was impassive.

Al said, ‘Was Nicole the First Lady that far back?'

‘Oh yes,' Luke said. ‘She's been in office for seventy-three years; didn't you know that?'

‘It isn't possible,' both Al and Ian said, almost together.

‘Sure it is,' Luke said. ‘She's a really old woman, now. Must be. A grandmother. But she still looks good, I guess. You'll know when you see her.'

Stu

‘Oh yeah,' Luke agreed. ‘On TV she looks around twenty. But go to the history books ... except of course they're ba

The facts, Ian realized, mean nothing when you can see with your own eyes she's as young-looking as ever. And we see that every day.

Luke you're lying, he thought. We know it; we all know it.

My buddy Al saw her; Al would have said, if she was really like that. You hate her; that's your motive. Shaken, he turned his back to Luke; not wanting to have anything more to do with the man now. Seventy-three years in office -- that would make Nicole almost ninety, now. He shuddered at the idea; he blocked it out of his thoughts. Or at least he tried to.

‘Good luck, boys,' Luke said, chewing on his toothpick.

It's too bad, Al Miller thought, that the government cracked down on those psychoanalysts. He glanced across his office at his buddy Ian Duncan. Because you're in a bad way, Al realized. But actually there was one of them left; he had heard about it over TV. Dr Superb or something like that.