On the occasions Cordis deigns to speak to him, it’s usually to air some peevish apocalyptic pronouncement-trees, habitats, resources, hurricanes, guns, polar bears, pollinators, this, that. Not that he, personally, much cares, but Cordis ought to. For this, a tree was torn limb from limb. The damn catalog he’s lugging in must weigh five pounds. Just yesterday when he came up with the mail there were elephants behind her on Celeste’s old screen, playfully squirting water at one another while some fool prattled on about them like a proud dad. But obviously she’d taken something in, because since then he’s caught her hunched over all kinds of weird stuff-clips of ancient comedy shows, cowboy movies of all things, nature documentaries. Predictably, she just stood there, an unsturdy tower, hands clasped tensely and eyebrows slightly raised, as if waiting for a child to conclude a tantrum, while he’d demonstrated, grinning and waving his arms like a used-car salesman.
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She could read the news, he’d cajoled she could look at things-she could see anything there on that little screen: photos, magazines, movies, old TV shows-practically any rerun she wanted, going back to the dawn of time! Push a button, power over all re-creation! The goddess Cordis! And at least Keith has managed to convince her to use it for something. She’s got a perfectly good computer, a recent hand-me-down from Celeste. Really, Cordis’s life would be so much better if she’d only acquire some rudimentary skills, skills that every kindergarten child is able to acquire. And in any case, Celeste has been away for weeks now. But as Celeste’s apartment is just down the hall, not a whole lot of preparation or anxiety would have been occasioned by those visits. But it’s not as if digital communication is some outlandish new fad that she’s going to outlast.Īnd to what might she prefer people? There’s no indication that Cordis likes people at all! Nobody seems to call, she doesn’t even use e-mail let alone social media, and as far as Keith knows, the only person who has ever come by is his…his what? His friend? His girlfriend? His…? Anyhow, Celeste. But the other day when he offered, she just waved a hand in her vague, languid, dotty way, and said, “Strange, but I prefer people.” As if Keith preferred electrons.Īll right, she’s old, she can’t be expected to understand things. Why can’t she pay her bills online, why can’t she look at catalogs online, why can’t she get announcements online, like everyone else? He can easily teach her how. All this paper! Cordis is singlehandedly keeping the post office alive. Keith has to pry the stuff out, and what wasn’t already mashed and tattered is mashed and tattered now. Her little tail thumps against the floor.Ĭordis’s mailbox is jammed. “But winning ways have taken your kind far,” she comforts aloud, “and soon they’ll take you, as an individual, to the park.
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You and I are stuck with each other, Cordis comments to Moppet subverbally as she puts the teakettle on to boil.
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Moppet is a cornucopia of lacks, a prisoner-no, an overbred parasite, poor thing, entirely dependent on her hostess, Cordis.
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What does Moppet want? A treat? A tickle? A furlough? Moppet is not glamorous, except in the most trivial sense Moppet is cute. Munderson, peers at the blank screen, baffled, then paws at Cordis. The dog, a parting so-called gift from unfortunate Mrs. Yes, sensible Cordis decides, not a drink, time for a nice cup of tea. Thundering down, a cataract from a high plateau, raising billows of dust, manes, tails, whinnies rippling like banners, a glamorous species, captive yes, but not entirely subdued, they-oh, no, a fellow in that ridiculous getup pops up from behind a rock and pulls out a- bink! That’s enough, goodbye stupid old show, time for a cup of tea. As soon as you have that, you have an infinite variety of hierarchically structured expressions available to you. What happened is that we got Merge…an operation that enables you to take mental objects, already constructed, and make bigger mental objects out of them.