Yarn (15 page)

Next, a young man held an Envoy Duvet and a BallerinaHead Girl. "I credited both, and they said I can combine them!" he screamed. "It has to be done instantly. I'm already late!"

I'd been told not to mix the costumes, but this t'up seemed like he was about to rage. "Of course," I told him. Ballerina and Envoy had similar constructions, so I knew I could do it quickly. Besides I could try the seam-ripping mode on the Juki. Dill had showed me how it worked when a t'up came in with a defective Choky Bear.

Engaging the ripper, I opened the seams on the arms and legs as easily as slicing white bread. Switching the Juki back to sew, I married the gold-embossed sleeves of the Envoy with the torso of Ballerina. Envoy's hat, I tacked cockeyed on the man's head, and on his legs, I used her stockings and the envoy's floppy white boots.

"Not too bad," he muttered, before he dashed off.

Seven hours later when the shift was over, I was exhausted. When we headed into the barracks to wash up, the owner, Kastle, stood waiting for us.

"Someone down here mixed a costume!" he growled. "We charge extra for refinements, adaptations, and any character redesign! That's custom work! That's not your jobs down here! Now who was it?"

At first, no one moved. Finally, I raised my hand. "He seemed like he was in a hurry."

Kastle stepped before me. "We have rules, soldier. You broke them."

I feared he was going to ask for my papers. But in a flash, he yanked the Juki from my hand, tearing it from the power cord. "Return all your YeOld#1 articles to the company exchange. You're court-martialed!" With that he turned and left.

I couldn't believe how crazy he'd acted. Glancing at the frayed wires in my hand, I asked Dill, "What was that?"

His face was white. "You're fired."

I looked where Kastle had gone and wanted to shout,
No!

"When I saw that BallerinaHead and Envoy mix walk out, I had a bad feeling. I wish I saw you and could have stopped you, but I was deluged with a bunch of fat Fairies."

"They credited him both costumes. He said it was okay."

Dill shook his head. "You can't trust our customers."

"I was just trying to help." I stared at the floor and worried what Pilla was going to think.

"Don't fret." Dill patted my arm. "You'll find other costume tailoring work. You're really good. I thought your mod was real calm!"

Dill invited me to dinner and Xi burning. Thanking him, I said I would catch up later, but figured I had better deliver the bad news and headed to the Xi boutique.

Pilla looked at me as if she couldn't fathom what I'd told her. "Wait. What'd you do?"

"I mixed two costumes. I know they told me not to, but this customer was shouting, and I just thought it would be better just to help him." I waited for her to go rot like Kastle.

Instead, her nonchalance surprised me. "We'll find you something better. That was a waste of time anyway."

"I loved using the Juki."

Shaking her head thoughtfully, she said, "You're not labor. You're design."

I thought about catching up with the others from YeOld#1, but decided against it. I didn't want to wallow in my firing with Dill, nor was I in the mood to hear their usual complaints.

Idly winding my way down several sets of showstairs, I passed singers and snake dancers and then slowed and stopped. Vada's face flashed in my head, so I headed to an entervator port to look for the Europa Showhouse.

The port was crowded with trippers and consumers, and as I made my way to the info desk, I came to a group all dressed in Blackwitch Breath costumes.

"Ye Old Number One," I said, knowingly.

"Anger's my super shake. Suck thee down!" sneered one with an affected accent.

They laughed and headed off to a waiting entervator. For a moment I hated them and their warTalk curses, but then I noticed the crooked hems, ill-fitting shoulders, and sagging bodices of the cheap rented costumes and I felt two small satisfactions: my alterations would have been better, and most t'ups wouldn't know the difference.

The Europa Showhouse came, but I saw that it was heading up to the 800th floor in Parfum Spaceship where the drap-de-Berry rip occurred, so I waited for it to come back down before boarding, raced on, and got a seat in the front. When we started down, the stage lights came on and Vada appeared in a red bobbin lace dress and brass-colored boots.

Shielding her eyes from the spots, she peered out at us. "I need the brave assistance of one of the fair shoppers in the audience. I will read the humors and veins of your mind and assist you in divining your heart and your steed. I see hands… thank you. Among you, do we have someone from out of town? Good! And maybe not just out of town, but someone who doesn't truly belong, but someone who wants to…" She ran a gloved hand seductively over her crotch. "…
fit in
." The crowd laughed.

A man came forward and stood beside her. Closing her eyes, she touched his neck and around his ears as the man squirmed. As she guessed his name, where he came from, and his age, I imagined how the caustic dimity of her gloved hands would feel against my skin.

While she sang a quiet song accompanied by water-harp music, she stood in front of me for several moments. Unlike Tinyko, who had been disappointing, up-close, Vada was more beautiful, powerful, vulnerable.

SEATTLEHAMA: TORN AND MENDED

"We're going up to meet a designer," said Pilla the next evening as we walked to the entervator port. "I'd like you to apprentice with him. We'll see what could happen from there. "She smiled wistfully. "It's a long shot, but I would so love to see Withor's face if it happened."

I didn't like the idea of taunting him. Didn't he already hate me?

An entervator soon came. We ascended to the 700s in the Shangtung and then walked along a balcony that overlooked the immense near mile drop to the atrium. I slowed for a moment as I tried to locate the Velour Building, where Kira had been, and the Parfum Spaceship, where I had ripped yarn from Tinyko.

I caught up to Pilla as she headed into a dinnershow. The dark room was studded with tables made of black lava and the waitresswarriors wore nothing but black pearl lamé masks. Pilla ordered drinks for both of us.

"Are we meeting the designer here?" I asked.

She peered toward the entrance. "He should be here in a few minutes. Listen, he used to be huge in Europa. He's fallen, but he's very bright… if a little eccentric. Maybe that's typical of a top designer… or a
former
top designer. Have you ever heard of Zanella?"

"No."

As she stood and smiled at an approaching man, she whispered, "Pretend you have."

The man had black hair and a stubbly beard. He wore a long coat. A pair of enormous yellow-tinted shades covered half of his face. "Pilla has told me all about you," he said as he sat. His accent was hard and heavy on the saliva.

"It's an honor to meet you," I said.

He narrowed his eyes as if he doubted me. When the waitresswarrior came with our mercury floats, he ordered a hemlocktwist.

"You were
involved
with that yarn-ripping boom." His tone was disapproving.

"Kind of."

"He's from the slubs," Pilla added, as if that explained anything.

His face was a study of wrinkles. "And you want to learn fashion from me? With an out-of-line designer who goes around wearing fornication coats in Seattlehama?"

"I do."

"He was knitting skivvé," enthused Pilla. "You know, those fantasy sex panties that are big here. Tane made them without any training. Usually those knitters study for a couple of years."

The waitresswarrior returned with his drink. He downed it in one long gulp and handed back the glass. "Another." Frowning at Pilla, he said, "Knit skivvé are not
real
fashion. They are just an accessory and a trifling one at that." He looked at me. "Was this underpants your own design?"

I shook my head. "Not really."

"Those awful things popped up in Miran six months ago," he told Pilla. He then went on about some boutique, jobbers, and a group of weavers involved in some Xi scandal in Europa2, but I couldn't follow.

Zanella's second drink arrived with the food. Pilla and I had walrus stakes. He devoured his albatross sushi so quickly I wondered if he'd eaten in a week.

"Can you show him something?" asked Pilla at the end of our meal.

"He seems unlikely." Zanella smiled sourly. "But for what you mentioned earlier, Pilla, I will endeavor to introduce him to something of the world of true fashion."

She reached across the table and they shook. It was like I was a slubber again and these two reps had just bought and sold me.

"Pay attention to him," she whispered before we left. "He's a legend. You have no idea how lucky you are that he's in need. You'll study with him during the day and stay with me at night. I'll see you later. And listen to everything he says." She headed to the Xi boutique; Zanella and I boarded the Shangtung entervator and traveled across the city to The Marcella. His place was in the six hundreds, and although The Marcella was opposite The Velour, Kira and her sharpened knitting needles were not far.

Our ride was silent, and Zanella spoke to me only once to say, "I came to Seattlehama to think about existence, contemplate the flow of time, and to learn how to play the steam koto." I got the feeling he expected me to laugh, but I didn't know if it was funny. Zanella rolled his eyes and sighed deeply. As I sat staring down at my feet, I imagined slinking back to YeOld#1 and begging for my Juki.

The sleep boutique Zanella was staying at was quite select, which made the mess revealed when he unlocked the door all that much more shocking. Magazines, clothes, dishes, papers, screens, clocks, towels, masks, even bits of braided hair covered the floor.

"Oh," said the designer, as if he had forgotten. "Meet the mess." He cleared off a chair for me and had me sit. "You don't know shit about me, do you?"

"I don't know designers."

"Glorious!" Zanella rolled his eyes. "Well, a deal's a deal. I get high-quality Xi from Pilla and you'll get some… I don't know…
advice
sounds too unstructured… some
fashion lessons
from a former star." He pointed behind me. "Let's see if you've got some fashion bobbins. Over there in that…
stuff
is a suit safe. Bring it over here."

In the corner was a pile of junk taller than me. Most of it seemed to be dirty, wadded, and torn clothes. Buried in the chaos I found a gleaming, four-foot-tall, chrome safe with a large black dial in the middle. Even though it was on wheels, it seemed to weigh two tons and was difficult to maneuver. Zanella did nothing while I struggled with the shiny beast. As I pushed it toward him I let the wheels crease the magazines, boxes, and papers on the floor out of spite.

When I finally had it positioned before him, he inhaled deeply, and muttered, "What's the number…" He peered at me. "Any ideas?"

I shook my head. He puckered and unpuckered his mouth, obviously hoping to conjure the combination; I watched him for signs of obvious psychosis. A second later, he turned the clicking dial this way and that. The door popped open with a solid click.

Inside the lit interior hung a simple navy suit jacket. "It's one of mine. It's not that wonderful. It was a hit about twelve years ago… wait… no… god, it's been twenty-two years now. Anyway, your first task is to take it apart and then put it back together." He pushed himself up and headed to the bathroom. A minute later he emerged in a transparent suit. Through it I could see his droopy arms and the loose flesh between his legs. He scowled at me. "I'll be back tomorrow night to see how you're doing."

As he opened the door to head out, I asked, "You're going to burn?"

"It is none of your shit business." He seemed to go, but then stared forward as some momentary sadness seemed to fill his eyes. "Yes. I am."

"I tried Xi yesterday. Everything was made out of cloth."

"Cloth? Curious."

"My dad was a heavy burner." As I spoke, I wondered why I was telling him.

"Most burners in this city are young and fashionable. And they burn to free themselves from their suspicions and inhibitions." He stopped. Wrinkles scored his face. "This old man burns to ease his soul into the tight suits of senility and death."

For several moments after the designer had gone, I saw my dad sleeping in the corn, his chest covered with Xi sores. I wondered why he had burned so much and hoped whatever it was the yarn had been a comfort.

Waking from my thoughts, I cleared some space on the floor by pushing all of the junk into a corner, and spent the night taking that jacket apart. It was what I had wanted to do since I had gotten to the city, but hadn't been brave enough. I had snatched yarns because I had been afraid to take more. I had knit and tailored because it was a job, but this felt like the sex I had always wanted.

As for the navy jacket, it was unlike any I had seen in Seattlehama. The shell material was the best part. The heavy high-twist wool felt like what I imagined Vada's cheek felt like. The front of the jacket was dotted with double buttons, the left side slashed by an angled glove pocket. The bottom hem would have fallen a foot below the hip on most men, and the shoulders were heavily padded, which gave it a top-heavy look. The collar was wide with asymmetrical notches, and inside, the bright red lining seemed deliberately worn, even a little frayed in the left armpit. Dozens of tiny pockets covered the inside, as if to house a magician's colony of performing sparrows. On the inside back I counted nine labels, each with intricate logos and text: A production of Ottoman & Poplin, In Cooperation with Wadmal Council, With Assistance from Silesia Partners, Development and Coordination by A & U Industries, with thanks to Arch Velani. At the top a black label read: Executive Production by L. F. W. M. Nathan Zanella ACE.

While cleaning the floor, I had found a sewing needle and used that to pull the seams. I started below a fold of lining on the inside of the left sleeve. Each piece of lining, cloth, backing and pad, each pile of scribbly thread, all the buttons, stays, and labels, I laid it all out like an exploded view.