being here with me.”
“So I have.” Her heart clenches with joy at his words, and she flings her arms around him. They stand embracing in the fresh air amid the beauty of the gardens. She summons the monitor. “Muse, does this beautiful place last a long time?”
Muse searches the Archives, posts a file in Zhu’s peripheral vision. “Woodward’s Gardens will be torn down five years from now, at the turn of this century. The site will be paved over and filled in with industrial warehouses and low-cost multifamily housing. Where the grand entrance stands now will be the on-ramp to a major elevated freeway. In the earthquake of 2129, the elevation will collapse, killing two thousand commuters at the height of the rush hour. In 2254--“
“Muse off,” Zhu says, unexpected tears welling. “I don’t want to hear any more.”
Daniel takes her hand. He’s somber and pale. “By God, is the future really that terrible?”
“You’re beginning to believe me?”
His hand trembles in hers. “How can you bear it?”
“We bear it because we must. Oh, listen!” She doesn’t want to see him sink into depression again on account of her tall tales. “Listen.” In the distance, a pipe organ strikes up a lively tune. “Let’s go see.”
They stroll up to a stage set inside of a cage just outside the zoological gardens, the back wall equipped with a door leading to another cage inside the zoo proper. A dapper fellow in tails and a top hat steps onstage, equipped with a riding crop and bucket of chopped apples. “Ladies and gentlemen-ah, we now-ah present Woodward’s famous dancing bears-ah!”
The back door rattles open and four sizeable brown bears amble out onto the stage. Each bear wears a silly hat and a costume. Zhu spies a bellboy’s cap and a necktie; a sailor’s cap and a life preserver; a lady’s straw boater and an apron; a lace bonnet and a ballerina’s tutu.
“Hah, hup, hup, hup!” shouts the dapper fellow, slapping his crop but mostly tossing apple chunks which the bears catch in their jaws.
The bears whirl, roll over, climb up onto pedestals, stand up on their hind legs, paws batting the air, and turn slow shuffling pirouettes. They snuffle and bleat with strange goatlike cries, bend and lunge.
With each burst of applause, the dapper fellow winks and sends his performers into another frenzy of gesticulation and posture. “Woodward’s dancing bears-ah!”
“That’s probably bear abuse,” Zhu says, enchanted, “but I don’t care.”
Daniel laughs, a welcome sound. “Bear abuse? I suppose now you’re going to tell me that people in future worry about whether bears have feelings.”
“Not just whether bears have feelings, but whether they’re happy.”
“By God,” he murmurs, “I feel just like that fellow in the bellboy’s cap.”
“Muse,” Zhu whispers, suddenly inspired. “Shoot a holoid of this. Do it for him. Can you do it?”
Alphanumerics flicker in her peripheral vision.
But as they watch Woodward’s bears dance, Daniel’s smile fades and a wistful mood falls over him. That awful wooden look steals over his face, and his eyes seem to sink, their surface icing over. His hand grows cold in hers.
“Daniel,” she says gaily, “you’ve gotten much too thin. I’m gonna buy you a squarer, and damn the cholesterol. I know how much you love sautéed oysters.”
“No, no,” he mutters, distracted. Distant. “I’m not hungry, miss.”
“Oh, but you haven’t had oysters in such a long time. Come, let’s picnic down by the lake. Anyway, I want to show you something lovely and amazing.”
She takes his hand and firmly leads him to a bench set along the path, sits him down. Has she pushed him too far today? Well, he’s got to eat. She hurries to a food stall staffed by a hardy Chinese cook with a huge smile and a quick intelligence sparkling in his dark eyes.
“Could you make me an oyster loaf, please?” She hands him a silver bit.
“Missy mean a squarer?”
“I do, indeed. A squarer, please.”
“For sick gentleman friend?”
She looks at him, surprised. “He looks that bad, does he?”
The cook gives her a look of deep sympathy. “I make good squarer for him.” He rewards her with that smile. “And for you, too, missy.”
The cook seizes a loaf of fresh milk bread, slashes the loaf in half with a huge steel knife, presses out a hollow, and slathers top and bottom with sweet butter. He pops the bread into a little wood-burning oven to toast. Next he tosses a bowl of fresh bay oysters into a shiny copper sauté pan with a huge scoop of