Patchwork Universe

Dr. William T. Odom · Good Joined: 01 Dec 2003 Posts: 42 Location: The Museum

Dr. Odom stubbed out the last useful bit of his cigarette in one of the sand-filled ashtrays. He fished his watch from his pocket and checked the time. 9:32. He was in Impressionism and it had been 9:32 in Digital Arts, a brisk twenty minutes away. A good shaking set the watch ticking again. The Curator General strode to the middle of an intersection of corridors, thrust his hands into his trouser pockets, and listened.

There should be visitors. Individual art enthusiasts aside, any number of universities ought to have been sending their young armies through. The only person in sight was a junior member of Housekeeping, sifting the ashtrays for butts with a rusty slotted spoon that Dr. Odom remembered from his own short tenure with Housekeeping.

The spoon clattered deafeningly off of the sides of the ashtray until Dr. Odom turned in a swirl of coattails and his heels drowned it out as he headed for the central stairway.

* * *

"Mr. Curator, sir," William began, only to be hushed by a flapping hand.
"'Thomas' will do, young Mr. Curator, sir," mocked the older man sitting on the wire milk crate.
"Thomas, then, sir . . . I there's been a dropoff in attendance."
"Happens." The other man shrugged. His comically hooked nose looked like it might dip into the bowl of his pipe. His shoulders hunched within his grey jumpsuit. He looked like a tall vulture with laughing eyes.
"But sir, Thomas, sir, it's been very quiet. I've never seen such quiet! There's no one at 'The Conception of Leyna' or 'The Mowers' Lunch'." William flushed slightly as he named the two most popular paintings in the Museum. He had always thought that Leyna's mother looked an awful lot like Emily and so had avoided the gallery with the picture and thought of it often.
"Not really my problem," Thomas grunted, but his manner showed considerable surprise. "I'm not Curator General. I gave that up. It's your job now."
"Yes, but, sir, nobody else has ever resigned! That demonstrates your devotion to the Museum!" William rolled a cigarette with shaking hands.
"Pfft! I realized I wanted power. I cared more about power than about the Musem. That's no way to be Curator General." Thomas poked a spill into the fire for the boiler for the east wing and lit William's cigarette. "Now I've got some real power and I've still got room to move up."
"But sir, Thomas, power aside, you were Curator General. You must have some thoughts!"
"Oh, yes, quite a few since my resignation, William, sir. But, really, I've thought about fuck-all if it wasn't me since I retired."
"Sir, you can't be serious!"
"I am, sir, and I've told you that before! I was thinking of me when I sought the post. Now I'm thinking of me. Before I was being selfish. Now I'm being contemplative." He shrugged. "I do my job. I think. I'm happy."
"But what ought I do?" William practically wailed. "There has never been a drop in attendance like this!"
"Look," Thomas suggested. "Maybe the doors aren't open. Maybe the world outside no longer exists. Who knows?"

* * *

Dr. Odom squared his shoulders and faced the door. He had not been out of the Museum in the last seventeen years except to help unload a large fossil on the other side of the building. The Main Entrance, the east door, was not generally used by staff.
The woman at the ticket counter looked asleep.
"Hrm!"
A shiver passed through Dr. Odom as he reached for the push-bar of the door. He was about to step outside.
Outside. The Curator General had no fear of such a trivial event. Stepping outside. The researchers and archaeologists and purchasers who supplied the Museum spent quite a lot of time outside. Dr. Odom had never even seen an archaeologist.
Dr. Odom took a deep breath of the familiar indoor air and pushed the door open. He stepped through into the mist-shrouded city to the east.