Heinlein, Robert A - SS - Our Fair City.pdf

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OurFairCity
Robert A. Heinlein
Pete Perkins turned into the all- niteparking lot and called out, "Hi, Pappy!"
The old parking lot attendant looked up and answered, "Be with you in a moment, Pete." He was tearing
a Sunday comic sheet in narrow strips. A little whirlwind waltzed near him, picking up pieces of old
newspaper and bits of dirt and flinging them in the faces of passing pedestrians. The old man held out to it
a long streamer of the brightly colored funny-paper. "Here, Kitten," he coaxed. "Come, Kitten-"
The whirlwind hesitated, then drew itself up until it was quite tall, jumped two parked cars, and landed
sur le point near him.
It seemed to sniff at the offering.
"Take it, Kitten," the old man called softly and let the gay streamer slip from his fingers. The whirlwind
whipped it up and wound it around its middle. He tore off another and yet another; the whirlwind wound
them in corkscrew through the loose mass of dirty paper and trash that constituted its visible body.
Renewed by cold gusts that poured down the canyon of tall buildings, it swirled faster and even taller,
while it lifted the colored paper ribbons in a fantastic upswept hair-do. The old man turned, smiling.
"Kitten does like new clothes."
"Take it easy, Pappy, or you'll have me believing in it."
"Eh? You don't have to believe in Kitten-you can see her."
"Yeah, sure-but you act as if she-I mean 'it'-could understand what you say."
"You still don't think so?" His voice was gently tolerant.
"Now, Pappy!"
"Hmm . . . lend me your hat." Pappy reached up and took it. "Here, Kitten," he called. "Come back,
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Kitten!" The whirlwind was playing around over their heads, several stories high. It dipped down.
"Hey! Where you going with that chapeau?" demanded Perkins.
"Just a moment- Here, Kitten!" The whirlwind sat down suddenly, spilling its load. The old man handed
it the hat. The whirlwind snatched it and started it up a fast, long spiral.
"Hey!" yelped Perkins. "What do you think you're doing? That's not funny-that hat cost me six bucks
only three years ago."
"Don't worry," the old man soothed. "Kitten will bring it back."
"She will, huh? More likely she'll dump it in the river."
"Oh, no!Kitten never drops anything she doesn't want to drop.Watch." The old man looked up to where
the hat was dancing near the penthouse of the hotel across the street."Kitten! Oh, Kitten! Bring it back."
The whirlwind hesitated, the hat fell a couple of stories. It swooped, caught it, and juggled it reluctantly.
"Bring it here, Kitten."
The hat commenced a downward spiral, finishing in a long curving swoop. It hit Perkins full in the face.
"She was trying to put it on your head," the attendant explained. "Usually she's more accurate."
"She is, eh?" Perkins picked up his hat and stood looking at the whirlwind, mouth open.
"Convinced?" asked the old man.
" 'Convinced?'Oh, sho ' sho '." He looked back at his hat, then again at the whirlwind. "Pappy,this calls
for a drink."
They went inside the lot's little shelter shack; Pappy found glasses; Perkins produced a pint, nearly full,
and poured two generous slugs. He tossed his down, poured another, and sat down. "The first was in
honor of Kitten," he announced. "This one is to fortify me for the Mayor's banquet."
Pappy cluck-clucked sympathetically."You have to cover that?"
"Have to write a column about something, Pappy.' Last night Hizzoner the Mayor, surrounded by a
glittering galaxy of highbinders, grifters , sycophants, and ballot thieves, was the recipient of a testimonial
dinner celebrating-' Got to write something, Pappy, the cash customers expect it. Why don't I brace up
like a man and go on relief?"
"Today's column was good, Pete," the old man comforted him. He picked up a copy of the Daily
Forum; Perkins took it from him and ran his eye down his own column.
"OUR FAIR CITY by Peter Perkins," he read, and below that "What, No Horsecars ? It is the tradition
of our civic paradise that what was good enough for the founding fathers is good enough for us. We
stumble over the very chuckhole in which Great-uncle Tozier broke his leg in '09. It is good to know that
the bath water, running out, is not gone forever, but will return through the kitchen faucet, thicker and
disguised with chlorine, but the same. (Memo- Hizzoneruses bottled spring water.Must look into this.)
"But I must report a dismaying change. Someone has done away with the horsecars !
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"You may not believe this. Our public conveyances run so seldom and slowly that you may not have
noticed it; nevertheless I swear that I saw one wobbling down Grand Avenue with no horses of any sort.
It seemed to be propelled by some new-fangled electrical device.
"Even in the atomic age some changes are too much. I urge all citizens-" Perkins gave a snort of disgust.
"It's tackling a pillbox with a beanshooter , Pappy. This town is corrupt; it'll stay corrupt. Why should I
beat out my brains on such piffle? Hand me the bottle."
"Don't be discouraged, Peter. The tyrant fears the laugh more than the assassin's bullet."
"Where'd you pick that up? Okay, so I'm not funny. I've tried laughing them out of office and it hasn't
worked. My efforts are as pointless as the activities of your friend the whirling dervish."
The windows rattled under a gusty impact. "Don't talk that way about Kitten," the old man cautioned.
"She's sensitive."
"I apologize." He stood up and bowed toward the door. "Kitten, I apologize. Your activities are more
useful than mine." He turned to his host. "Let's go out and talk to her, Pappy. I'd rather do that than go to
the Mayor's banquet, if I had my druthers."
They went outside, Perkins bearing with him the remains of the colored comic sheet. He began tearing
off streamers. "Here, Kitty! Here, Kitty!Soup's on!"
The whirlwind bent down and accepted the strips as fast as he tore them. "She's still got the ones you
gave her."
"Certainly," agreed Pappy. "Kitten is a pack rat. When she likes something she'll keep it indefinitely."
"Doesn't she ever get tired? There must be some calm days."
"It's never really calm here. It's the arrangement of the buildings and the wayThird Street leads up from
the river. But I think she hides her pet playthings on tops of buildings."
The newspaperman peered into the swirling trash. "I'll bet she's got newspapers from months back. Say,
Pappy, I see a column in this, one about our trash collection service and how we don't clean our streets.
I'll dig up some papers a couple of years old and claim that they have been blowing around town since
publication."
"Whyfake it?" answered Pappy, "let's see what Kitten has." He whistled softly. "Come, baby-let Pappy
see your playthings." The whirlwind bulged out; its contents moved less rapidly. The attendant plucked a
piece of old newspaper from it in passing. "Here's one three months old."
"We'll have to do better than that."
"I'll try again." He reached out and snatched another. "Last June."
"That's better."
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A car honked for service and the old man hurried away. When he returned Perkins was still watching the
hovering column. "Any luck?" asked Pappy.
"She won't let me have them.Snatches them away."
"Naughty Kitten," the old man said. "Pete is a friend of ours. You be nice to him." The whirlwind
fidgeted uncertainly.
"It's all right," said Perkins. "She didn't know. But look, Pappy-see that piece up there?A front page."
"You want it?"
"Yes. Look closely-the headline reads 'DEWEY' something. You don't suppose she's been hoarding it
since the '48 campaign?"
"Could be.Kitten has been around here as long as I can remember. And she does hoard things. Wait a
second." He called out softly. Shortly the paper was m his hands. "Now we'll see."
Perkins peered at it. "I'll be a short-term Senator! Can you top that, Pappy?"
The headline read: DEWEY CAPTURES MANILA the date was "1898."
Twenty minutes later they were still considering it over the last of Perkins' bottle. The newspaperman
stared at the yellowed, filthy sheet. "Don't tell me this has been blowing around town for the last half
century."
"Why not?"
" 'Whynot?' Well, I'll concede that the streets haven't been cleaned in that time, but this paper wouldn't
last.Sun and rain and so forth."
"Kitten is very careful of her toys. She probably put it under cover during bad weather."
"For the love of Mike, Pappy, you don't really believe- But you do. Frankly, I don't care where she got
it; the official theory is going to be that this particular piece of paper has been kicking around our dirty
streets, unnoticed and uncollected, for the past fifty years.Boy, am I going to have fun!" He rolled the
fragment carefully and started to put it in his pocket.
"Say, don't do that!" his host protested.
"Why not?I'm going to take it down and get a pic of it."
"You mustn't! It belongs to Kitten-I just borrowed it."
"Huh? Are you nuts?"
"She'll be upset if she doesn't get it back. Please, Pete-she'll let you look at it any time you want to."
The old man was so earnest that Perkins was stopped. "Suppose we never see it again? My story hangs
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on it."
"It's no good to you-she has to keep it, to make your story stand up. Don't worry-I'll tell her that she
mustn't lose it under any circumstances."
"Well-okay."They stepped outside and Pappy talked earnestly to Kitten,then gave her the 1898
fragment. She promptly tucked it into the top column. Perkins said good-bye to Pappy, and started to
leave the lot. He paused and turned around, looking a little befuddled. "Say, Pappy-"
"Yes, Pete?"
"You don't really think that whirlwind is alive, do you?"
"Why not?"
" 'Whynot?' Why not, the man says?"
"Well," said Pappy reasonably, "how do you know you are alive?"
"But . . . why, because I-well, now if you put it-" He stopped. "I don't know. You got me, pal."
Pappy smiled. "You see?"
"Uh, I guess so. G'night , Pappy. G'night , Kitten." He tipped his hat to the whirlwind. The column
bowed.
The managing editor sent for Perkins.
"Look, Pete," he said, chucking a sheaf of gray copy paper at him, "whimsy is all right, but I'd like to see
some copy that wasn't dashed off in a gin mill."
Perkins looked over the pages shoved at him."OUR FAIR CITY by Peter Perkins. Whistle Up The
Wind. Walking our streets always is a piquant, even adventurous, experience. We pick our way through
the assorted trash, bits of old garbage, cigarette butts, and other less appetizing items that stud our
sidewalks while our faces are assaulted by more buoyant souvenirs, the confetti of last Hallowe'en ,
shreds of dead leaves, and other items too weather-beaten to be identified. However, I had always
assumed that a constant turnover in the riches of our streets caused them to renew themselves at least
every seven years-" The column then told of the whirlwind that contained the fifty-year-old newspaper
and challenged any other city in the country to match it.
" 'Smatterwith it?" demanded Perkins.
"Beating the drum about the filth in the streets is fine, Pete, butgive it a factual approach."
Perkins leaned over the desk. "Boss, this is factual."
"Huh? Don't be silly, Pete."
"Silly, he says. Look-" Perkins gave him a circumstantial account of Kitten and the 1898 newspaper.
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