Louse Read Online Free Page A

visually marked, and plug the power cord into an outlet near Jane’s facade above the sink. I run to the toilet with the remote control in hand and place it on the left-hand armrest. I crouch down and lift the receiver of the phone. I dial Godwin Beeles at the television station.
    â€œBeeles here.”
    â€œ12 A.M. ,” I say and hang up. He knows the procedure.
    I collect all of the debris and send it down the incineration chute in the supply closet and walk to the kitchen where I am to observe the Head of Domestic Staff, Celia Lonesome, prepare Poppy’s meal.
    When I reach the kitchen, a plastic package of rice bobs up and down in a pot of boiling water. Poppy’s silver dinner tray rests beside the stove. It contains a brilliantly shining can, a medium-sized pot, a Pyrex bowl, a package of silverware, freshly bleachedcotton napkins, and a can opener. Ms. Lonesome exits Food Pantry Number Four carrying a can of peaches. She greets me with the smile with which we are to greet one another.
    â€œGood evening, Mr. Louse.”
    â€œGood evening, Ms. Lonesome.”
    I look into her light blue eyes, which are translucent and void of any visible curiosity. The bright fluorescent light of the kitchen reflects off her smooth white skin. Her face is round and shows no revealing signs of age or expression. Unlike Mr. Heinrik and Mr. Lutherford, Ms. Lonesome has no distinct intonations or patterns of speech. She stresses her vowels as if they’re not there. Her consonants click against her palate and her lips without enthusiasm, as if she isn’t talking at all. Each utterance triggers no recollection of any time or place in my forgotten past. In fact, her mouth hardly moves when she talks. I sometimes feel as if she is throwing her voice straight to my brain, and we are talking telepathically.
    â€œHave you heard the news, Mr. Louse?”
    â€œNo, Ms. Lonesome. Not in full.”
    Ms. Lonesome gently and slowly rocks the can of peaches between her palms, against the front of her blouse.
    â€œIntelligence has discovered the source of the missing funds,” she says softly. “The money has been attached to Mr. Blank. Mortimer Blank. Who they believe laundered the money with the assistance of a small group of accountants and Intelligence officers. Pan Opticon reports that Paradise may be threatened. It is very worrisome, Mr. Louse.”
    â€œYes, I agree, Ms. Lonesome. Very worrisome.”
    Ms. Lonesome looks at me blankly.
    I look at Ms. Lonesome with what feels like longing.
    Ms. Lonesome turns away.
    I could, at this juncture, inquire if she knows anything of Mr. Blank. But I generally find that the obvious questions are always the questions that never have answers. So I refrain from asking.
    Ms. Lonesome leans over the kitchen wash basin. She lifts a scrub brush and applies it to the can of peaches. She turns on the water and scrubs. Her motions, like her language, are confident and reassuring. She scrubs the metallic container until all remnants of the adhesive once holding the wrapper are gone. She scrubs until the canister is shining. She wipes. She polishes with a fresh paper towel and places the can on the tray next to the other can. She goes to the stove and with one hand removes the package of rice with a pair of tongs, and with the other wipes the water from the plastic with a paper towel. She carefully molds the hot package of rice onto the bottom of the Pyrex bowl, and then walks about the kitchen collecting all the paper goods, which she disposes of in the incinerator next to the sink.
    The tray is prepared, all but for the beverage.
    Ms. Lonesome walks to Refrigerator Number Three and removes a sanitized bottle of grape flavored NeHi. It is the only beverage Poppy will drink. Ms. Lonesome places the bottle onto the tray, takes hold of the silver handles and walks toward me and then past me into the obscurity of the western wing. She delicately steps on the linoleum floor so