The Intuitionist (8 page)

“Just show me to them,” Lila Mae said. It will be easy.

Before Lila Mae can re-create her inspection further, the porter opens the door to her room, despite her silence. He holds the silver platter with hands snug in white gloves. He smiles. She pulls the thick red blankets up to her slight chin.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” he says, “but it seemed a shame to let this nice breakfast go to waste.”

“Thank you,” Lila Mae says. She sits up against the oak headboard. The headboard’s detailed engraving of United’s first lift
motor digs into her left shoulder. The man sets the platter across her waist. Eggs, ham, juice. Normally when offered so much food early in the morning (a rare occurrence, to be sure) Lila Mae pecks, and politely moves the food around on the plate to maximize the illusion of being eaten. This morning she is grateful.

The porter’s mouth is quick to smile. He is a tall and broad fellow, and would almost be menacingly handsome if not for the smile. Lila Mae sees he is a strong man, although his strength is wasted on his petite duties; the white uniform fits him well, but he seems trapped by its starched and creased confines. But we take what jobs we can get, Lila Mae thinks. Whatever we can scrabble for. She doesn’t take to it, being waited on by colored people. This is wrong.

He is at the window. “Shall I open the curtains?” he asks.

Lila Mae nods. It’s later in the morning than she thought. The light congeals in globs on the leaves of the old trees in the courtyard. The back walls of the adjoining buildings are decrepit compared to the facades they present to the street, but serve their purpose: to fortify against those who might take the treasures of the courtyard. The garden of old money.

Lila Mae is about to dig into her breakfast when she notices that her green suitcase is ajar across the room, next to an imposing-looking bureau. And empty.

“Don’t worry,” the porter reassures, observing her stare. “It wasn’t me. Mrs. Gravely unpacked your things last night. Mr. Reed thought it would make you more comfortable.” His eyebrows bow. “What is it?” he asks.

“Nothing,” she says. “I’m just tired.”

“You don’t look tired at all,” the porter says. “You’re a vision. Like you’re up and ready to go.”

Hmm. Lila Mae shakes her head and says, “Thanks.”

“I mean it,” he says through a grin. “This isn’t my regular job—my uncle is sick, that’s why I’m here. I’m filling in for him.
But if I’d known his job had this many extras, I would have come around here before.” He extends his hand. “My name is Natchez,” he says.

“Lila Mae.”

Hmm.

* * *

“Are you with us, Miss Watson?”

“Yes, sir. I was just thinking that—”

“You are aware this is a timed exam?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then we’ll begin. 1846.”

“Sir William Armstrong designs and manufactures a hydraulic crane. Erected at Newcastle, the crane utilized water pressure from London’s mains. Armstrong eventually used the same principles in his weighted accelerator.”

“The main function of the pole shader?”

“Is to prevent heating outside the prescribed parameters.”

“A citizen has what chance of being in an elevator misfortune?”

“Injury or fatality?”

“Both.”

“One in three hundred million and one in six hundred fifty million, respectively.”

“Nonmetallic material may be used in T-rails provided what?”

“The rated speed for the car does not exceed zero point seven six meters per second.”

“The three types of safety gears?”

“Instantaneous, Instantaneous with buffered effect, and Progressive. Instantaneous type exerts a rapidly increasing pressure on the guide rails during the stopping period. The stopping time and distance are short. These gears can be employed in cars rated for speeds not in excess of zero point seven six meters per second.
Instantaneous type with buffered effect incorporates an elastic system of either energy accumulation or energy dissipation. It generally consists of a system of oil buffers on the lower car frame and safety planks on the guard rails. Effective for rated speeds of up to two point five meters per second. Progressive type applies limited, increasing pressure on the guard rails and is primarily used in Europe on cars with rated speeds of one meter per second or less.”

“That was a very full answer.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“The standard accident curve possesses what shape?”

“The failure rate for elevators is expressed by RT equals one minus FT, where R is reliability, T is time and F is failure. The equation is characterized by a ‘bathtub’-shaped curve with three distinct phases. The initial or ‘early failure’ phase begins with a relatively high incident of accidents—mostly due to installation errors—and then drops off sharply. This is the first wall of the ‘bathtub.’ The next phase, called the ‘random failure’ phase, is a plateau and extends for the majority of the elevator’s service life. This flat plane is the bottom of the ‘bathtub.’ The accidents in this phase are unpredictable and generally result from passenger misuse or poor maintenance. It is also in this phase that the rare ‘catastrophic accident’ occurs. The curve ascends quickly again in the final, or ‘wear-out’ phase, when the elevator is past its period of prime use. The opposite wall of the bathtub. Most of these accidents can be prevented, again, by diligent inspection and careful maintenance during this crucial time. May I take a drink of water?”

“Yes. The Four Questions?”

“As put forth by Mettleheim: How did this happen? How could this happen? Is it exceptional? How will it be avoided in the future?”

“The verdict in
The United States vs. Mario’s
?”

“Ruled that restaurant dumbwaiters are hand elevators and
subject to scrutiny by municipal elevator inspectors, despite the fact that they do not carry human freight.”

“And the fallout?”

“Critics charged that the elevator inspector ‘cabal’ was attempting to unduly extend the scope of its jurisdiction.”

“The Sixteen?”

“Elevator, freight: an elevator used for carrying freight on which only the operator and the persons necessary for unloading and loading are permitted. Elevator, gravity: an elevator utilizing gravity to move the car. Elevator, hand: an elevator utilizing manual energy. Elevator, inclined: an elevator traveling at an angle of inclination of seventy degrees or less from the horizontal. Elevator, multideck: an elevator having two or more compartments located immediately above the other. Elevator, observation: designed to permit exterior viewing by passengers. Elevator, passenger: an elevator used primarily to carry persons other than the operator. Elevator, power: utilizing power other than gravitational or manual. Elevator, electric: a power elevator utilizing an electric driving-machine. Elevator, hydraulic: a power elevator where the energy is applied, by means of a liquid under pressure, in a cylinder. Elevator, direct-plunger hydraulic: a hydraulic elevator having a plunger or cylinder attached directly to the car frame or platform. Elevator, electro-hydraulic: a direct-plunger elevator where liquid is pumped by an electric motor. Elevator, maintained-pressure hydraulic: a direct-plunger elevator where liquid under pressure is available at all times for transfer into the cylinder. Elevator, roped-hydraulic: a hydraulic elevator having its piston connected to the car with wire ropes. Elevator, private residence: a power passenger elevator installed in a private residence or in a multiple dwelling as a means of access to a private residence. Elevator, sidewalk: a freight elevator for carrying material exclusive of automobiles and operating between a landing in a sidewalk or other area exterior to a building and floors below the sidewalk or grade level. That’s the Sixteen.”

“You’re doing very well, Miss Watson.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“We’re almost done here. Answer me this: Do you know how many colored elevator inspectors there are in this country?”

“Twelve.”

“And do you know how many are employed as such? Are not working as shoeshine boys? Or maids?”

“I don’t know. Less than twelve.”

“So you don’t know everything. That will be all, Miss Watson. You’ll receive your grade next week.”

* * *

The falling elevator’s wake is sparks, thousands of them, raking the darkness all the way down.

* * *

The address is 117 Second Avenue but everyone knows it as Intuitionist House. Edward Dipth-Watney, two-time winner of the Werner von Siemens Award for Outstanding Work in Elevator Innovation (first for his Flyboy limit switch, the second time for the “smart” overspeed governor), purchased the townhouse two decades ago, when the movement was still the soiled stepchild. The elevator community regarded Edward Dipth-Watney as a man of quixotic temperament; while not entirely swayed by Intuitionism, he felt that anything that caused such bellowing and recrimination merited a place to germinate and unfold itself, and hopefully cause more bellowing and recrimination. He was also a well-known model train enthusiast.

Edward Dipth-Watney’s achievements were, and still are, appreciated; his name will maunder about the indexes of elevator inspector textbooks until the end of time. One snapshot: Arbo Elevator Co., the fortunate licensees of Dipth-Watney’s Flyboy
limit switch, dipping the prototype in gold and bestowing it upon its inventor as a Christmas gift one cold year. Edward Dipth-Watney was not interested in the gilded privileges of fame, however. The longevity of Fulton’s science was uncertain; nonetheless, Dipth-Watney reasoned, if God had given him a gift, the least he could do was to help others find theirs. It was this same faith in God’s will that prevented Edward Dipth-Watney from witnessing the results of his efforts on behalf of the international Intuitionist brotherhood. He believed the cyst on his neck to be another of His gifts, a reminder against vanity. He was incorrect.

In the years following its benefactor’s death, the House thrived into the international headquarters of Intuitionism, continuing to stubbornly prosper even after Institute administrations reversed themselves, offered classes on the new science and even bestowed large (although not well-situated) offices upon its intrepid instructors. Very little actual research goes on at the House, but burning midnight oil was never the building’s intended purpose. Inspectors and theoreticians of elevators are still social creatures despite the toll their profession exacts on their souls. Every Tuesday, James Fulton (and later, Orville Lever) stood in the downstairs drawing room and lectured on the intricacies of his science. Lectured on the implications of European maintenance deviations on Intuitionism, expounded on the gloom of the shaft and how it does not merely echo the gloom inside every living creature, but duplicates it perfectly. Afterward there were mint juleps for everyone, and still later, after Fulton had retired to his Tudor-style house on the Institute for Vertical Transport’s north campus, Swedish films featuring large-breasted volleyball players. Fulton was unaware of this dubious activity; the House chauffeur regularly packed the Tuesday night lectures with traveling salesmen who were in search of a good time and willing to pay for it. Fulton, if he ever wondered about it, probably took his lay audience as evidence of the universal applicability of his theories.

Ever since Lever replaced Fulton as the man of the House, the
importance of 117 Second Avenue has trebled in the hearts and minds of the global Intuitionist tribe. It is now his campaign headquarters and home to a formidable optimism new to these generally sullen detective-philosophers of vertical transport. The new rumors have invigorated; the conventional wisdom whispers that Lever has a genuine chance of winning the election for Guild Chair. Their time has come, as they knew it would. Lever’s Tuesday night lectures no longer linger haughtily over the errata of nuts-and-bolts Empiricism, but excoriate. The House walls vibrate with the sibilants of campaign rhetoric. If he wins, the House will change forever.

For now the regular life of the House continues as it has for years, so as not to jinx the gathering magic of the time. From the continent come foreign scholars of the art, and after lecturing at the Institute they retire to the House and the second-floor guest rooms. (Lila Mae would be astonished to hear the names of the luminaries who have slept in the bed she lies in right now. Her fingers are laced beneath her skull and she stares at the ceiling.) Grand parties celebrating the publication of the latest Intuitionist tract are held here, and it is custom for the guests to comment with trickling awe on the sublime properties of Mrs. Gravely’s apple brown Betty. The local membership (those who have sworn oaths to Intuitionism, savvy Empiricists hedging their bets, and apolitical inspectors who just want to get away from the wife) still convene for poker games and, on special nights, to taste unblended scotches of the finest quality. Correlative to the House’s widening influence, the Swedish films have swelled in attendance now that the chauffeur, emboldened by how much his supplemental income has increased his estimation in his in-laws’ eyes, started inviting House members to join the tieclip, toaster and Bible salesmen at his after-hours confabs in the garage, said members whom he can single out with ruthless acuity, something in their eyes.

Ask her and Lila Mae will not admit that her heart skipped a
beat when Mr. Reed suggested it might be wise for her to spend a night or two at the House, but it’s true. A secret part of her wanted to stay in her home so that other unwanted guests might drop in and give her an outlet for her anger. It was rare that she felt this way, relishing violence. She is mistress to her personality and well accustomed to reminding her more atavistic inclinations that the world is the world and the odd punch or eye-gouge will not make it any other way. Very disturbing, however, this late business. It’s one thing to understand the muck of things, accept it, live in it, and quite another to have that muck change so suddenly and dramatically, to stumble down to a newer, deeper shelf. That’s how Lila Mae sees it. Things are happening too fast for her to convince herself that she does not need time to think, to get to the bottom of things. Even if that involves taking assistance from this man Reed—and it is the acceptance, and not the aid itself, which galls her and makes her pride curdle. It means she owes him. This specimen.