Mockingbird by Walter Tevis Page A

never felt that way before.
    When Mary Lou returned I told her nothing about my visitor. But when she wanted to go on with our reading I made love to her instead. She was a little angry with that at first; but my desire for her was so strong, and we made love so powerfully, on the carpet on the floor, with my holding her body tightly and forcing myself into her strongly, that before long she was kissing me all over my face and laughing.
    And afterward I felt so good, so relaxed, that I said, “Let’s read for a while.” And we did. And nothing happened. Spofforth did not return.
     
    Mary Lou has been writing down the memory of her life at the same time that I have been writing this. I am at my desk and she is sitting in my< extra chair, using a large book in her lap as a writing surface. She prints beautifully, methodically, in small, neat letters. I am embarrassed that after such a short time she can write better than I. Yet I was her teacher, and I am proud of that. I think now that in my years at the university I never taught anyone anything worth knowing; I have more pleasure from what I have taught Mary Lou than in all my work in Ohio.
     
     
DAY SEVENTY-EIGHT
     
     
    We saw a group immolation today.
    We decided to do a new thing and eat breakfast in the Burger Chef. It is a seven-block walk, and I mentioned that to her, telling her how I had got into the habit of counting things. At the dormitories everyone learns to count to ten, but counting is used mainly for the eight different prices of things a person can buy. A pair of pants costs two units and an algaeburger costs one unit and so on. And when you have used up all your units for the day your credit card turns pink and won’t work anymore. Most things, of course, are free—like thought-bus rides and shoes and TV sets.
    She counted the blocks and agreed that there were seven. “But I always counted my five sandwiches at the zoo,” she said.
    I thought of
Arithmetic for Boys and Girls
. “After you ate three sandwiches how many were left?” I said.
    She laughed. “Two sandwiches.” Then she stopped on the street and made herself look like the moron robot at the zoo. She , held out her left hand stiffly as though it were holding five sandwiches. And she made her eyes blank and held her head cocked to the side and let her lips open slightly, like a moron robot’s, and just stood there, staring stupidly at me.
    At first I was shocked and didn’t know what she was doing. Then I laughed aloud.
    Some students passing by in denim robes stared at her and then looked away. I was a little embarrassed at her. Making a Spectacle; but I could not help laughing.
    We went on to the Burger Chef, and there was an immolation already in progress.
    It was exactly the same booth that I had seen it happen in before. It must have been almost over because the smell of burnt flesh in the room was pungent and you could feel the strong breeze from the exhaust fans that were trying to clear the air.
    There were three people again—all women. Their bodies had burned black, and in the breeze short flames flickered from what was left of their clothing and hair. Their faces were smiling.
    I thought they were already dead when one of them spoke—or shouted. What she shouted was: “This is the ultimate inwardness, praise Jesus Christ our Lord!” Her mouth inside was black. Even her teeth were black.
    Then she became silent. I supposed she was dead.
    “My God!” Mary Lou said. “My God!”
    I took her arm, not even caring if anyone saw me do it, and took her out the door. She walked to the curb and sat down, facing the street.
    She said nothing. Two thought buses and a Detection car went by in the street, and people passed her on the sidewalk, all ignoring her as she ignored them. I stood beside her, not knowing what to say or do.
    Finally she said, still staring at the street, “Did they do it to themselves?”
    “Yes,” I said. “I think it happens often.”
    “My God,”