so you hit the manuals hard and one day you go out on a breakdown call and none of the older men could figure out why the pump was on the blink; a roaring, chewing monster of a pump it was, sitting there like a dead husk and the cattlefeed backed up four miles to a storage tank in the suburbs and the steers in the yards bawling with hunger, and you traced the dead wire, you out with the spot-welder, a zip of blue flame and the pump began to chew again and you got the afternoon off.
And there they were.
Lee Falcaro: (Bending over the 'muttering, twitching carcass) Adrenalin. Brighter picture and louder sound.
Assistant: (Opening a pinch cock in the tube that enters the arm, increasing video contrast, increasing audio): He's weakening.
Lee Falcaro: (In a whisper) I know. I know. But this is IT.
Assistant: (Inaudibly) You cold-blooded bitch.
You are Max Wyman, you are Max Wyman,
and you don't know what to do about the Syndic that betrayed you, about the girl who betrayed you with the living representative of the Syndic, about the dream of scholarship that lies in ruins, the love that lies in ruins after how many promises and vows, the faith of twenty years that lies in ruins after how many declarations.
The ringing bell.