The red machine
Hanna watched the pale, fleshy face in its frame of whitish blond hair slowly grow glazed, the eyes staring off unfocused into the distance. She had already typed him as one of those shy, sensitive creeps. The kind who never wanted to have any fun because he was always afraid of getting caught. Why didn't he realize that the whole point was to get away with things, to prove that you were better than all those stupid administrators, with all their stupid rules? So now they had put her in here. She glanced around again. In a way she was almost glad. It was better than being in solitary or cleaning the toilets. It was more interesting, for one thing, and kind of a challenge. The question was, why had they put him here? He had obviously never dared to break a rule in his life. Sometime she would have to figure that one out. In the meantime she was getting hungry. Now that she had decided, for the time being, to stop looking for the way out, food was beginning to be her main concern. Food had always come regularly before, but now that the situation she was in was completely different and unknown, it was possible that the food situation might be different too. Assuming they were going to be here for any length of time, it somehow didn't seem possible that someone would come and bring it to them—that just wouldn't fit in with this place. What if there wasn't going to be any food, then what would she do? She tossed her cigarette away and looked at Peter.
"Hey!" she said. He started, and his eyes came back to her face. "You hungry?" she asked.
"Um … no, I … I wasn't thinking about it."
The mumbling, hesitant quality of his speech irritated her. She did feel sorry for the poor kid; he'd probably had it rough; but it would have been better to be here with somebody who could help. She was going to have to take care of him as well as herself.
"Well, I'm hungry," she said, and stood up. "Come on, come on, honey, you've had your rest. Time to get moving again."
Now she proceeded in an upward direction, but also moving across, changing stairways frequently. She knew it was rather aimless; but she also knew that the only thing to do was to explore, to see as much as possible, in the faint hope that something might be different somewhere. But even in a million years would she ever get to know this place? It was impossible to tell whether or not they had been in a particular spot before, whether they were covering new ground or just going in circles. And it didn't help to have to go so slow! Why couldn't he get used to it? She fought down a growing feeling of desperation. She couldn't give up, she had to keep believing that there might be a way out, that something might change. If there was anything at all to be done, she was determined to discover it; and since feeling desperate would only make it more difficult, she refused to allow herself that luxury. Being ravenously hungry, of course, did not help. She had only missed one, perhaps two meals, and already it was growing more and more difficult to ignore the empty feeling in her stomach. How would she feel after another day or two? She had always tried to be tough, and was determined not to weaken now, but she had never really been faced with hunger before, and was not sure how to handle it. She even began to imagine that she was smelling food, and cursed herself for being so vulnerable. And then she stopped, motioning behind her with her hand for Peter to keep quiet. She waited, hardly breathing, and the sound came again. It was an undefinable series of noises, partly whirring and mechanical, but also strangely moist. Slurping, she would have called it.
"Did you hear that?" she asked, turning to Peter.
"I guess …," he said vaguely.
"Well, listen! I want to know what you think it is. You've got to do something to help, every once in a while!"
His eyes grew moist.
"And don't start crying. I'm being nicer than you deserve. Just listen!"
"Yes … I hear it, for sure," he said at last. "It sounds like … like some kind of machine that makes animal noises."
"Yeah. It sounds kinda like that to me too." She was indecisive only for a moment. Though there was certainly something menacing about the sound, any change would be better than this endless and aimless climbing. "Let's see, it sounds like it's over there…."
At first it was difficult to tell exactly which way to go, but after a few wrong guesses the sound began to grow steadily nearer. Soon it was quite clear that it was coming from a landing directly above them. The sound was quite regular: a whirring, a few soft clicks, then wet, chewing noises, a little pause, and the whirring would begin the pattern again. And the smell of food—of good food—was stronger now. Perhaps it wasn't just her imagination. The spiral stairway they were climbing led to a round hole in the landing, near the edge, through which they would have to climb to reach the top. Hanna paused for a moment, her head just below the hole, then took three quick steps and poked her head through. One inch from her nose was a bulge of white cloth, and it took her a moment to realize that it was a person, sitting on the floor with her back to the hole. A very fat person, with an abundance of golden curls tumbling down over her round back to the bulges at her waist. Still silently, Hanna crept up a few more steps until she could peer over the girl's shoulder. In front of the girl, built into the floor, was a large plastic hemisphere about a foot in diameter, made up of many diamond-shaped facets. It was red, and had a faint glow. As Hanna watched, the girl leaned forward, peered into the plastic, and stuck out her tongue. Immediately the whirring began, then the clicks, and a brown cylinder, with a paper plate and a steel fork rolled out of the slot. The girl was ready for it, her hand poised, and it had hardly appeared before, she threw out the paper and fork and the brown stuff was in her mouth. Then came the animal sounds. Stifling a gasp, Hanna watched in amazement.