Free The Somebodies by N. E. Bode

factory in the city beneath the city. Hurlman designed the system of paths, a network that became worldwide: a fleet of hidden, highly disguised and thoroughly hypnotized elevators, trained to take you to the city beneath the city. Engineering,” the elevator operator said dreamily. “If I didn’t have to face my elevator fears day in and day out, I’d take classes.”
    Fern said, “You should take classes, if that’s what you want.”
    “Don’t be silly,” the elevator operator said. He cleared his throat and went on with his telling. “The really great Anybodies can find the city beneath the city in their own ways,” he explained. “But for the less gifted or those who don’t want to waste their gifts on travel—and most fall into one or the other group—the elevators work best. In New York, for example, there are hidden elevators in various locations.” He named a few: behind a certain bookcase at the Bank Street Bookstore; in the back room of Epstein’s Bar; inside a certain Gap dressing room.
    “These elevators will take you straight to a number of places in the city beneath the city: a spot near the concession stand at Bing Chubb’s Ballpark; to the back of Melvin’s Laundromat and Dry Cleaner’s where thepressed shirts draped in plastic ride the carousel; or to the side door next to the jukebox at Jubber’s Pork Rind Juke Joint; or up into the confessional of Blessed Holy Trinity Catholic Church and Bingo Hall.
    “Regular people don’t know that we exist, and they stick to that notion. It’s easier than you’d think. The Anybodies philosophy, you see, depends on the idea that the world is in a constant state of change, and one of the things that changes most is a person’s perception of things. Your perception, Howard, was that we were in part of a house. Mrs. Hershbaum’s perception was that we were in her apartment building. Both were right enough.” Here, he smiled as if he’d really made everything crystal clear. “So, you understand.”
    “Not at all!” Howard said.
    “Humph,” the elevator operator grunted. “Well, we’re getting closer to New York now. Can you understand that?”
    “Yes,” Howard said, and then he stared out. They were flying past dirt. “Kinda.” The elevator took a sharp left. Howard and Fern slammed into a wall. “But you didn’t answer my question about why you don’t fall off your stool!”
    “I don’t fall off my stool because I’m living in my perception, and in my perception, elevator operators don’t roll around on the floor.”
    “What about my question?” Fern asked, trying to inch up the side of one of the glass walls.
    “Well, sure it flies! Didn’t you read the book?”
    “Oh, no,” Howard moaned. “No, no, no! It isn’t mathematically, statistically…Well, it doesn’t add up!” But even as he said these words, his voice shook with a lack of confidence. He knew that so many things weren’t logical. He’d already dived through an envelope. Fern had a miniature pony in her pocket made out of his teacher’s hair. The book that he was holding was filled with an entire art that was not sensible.
    Soon the obstacles became more frequent, and the elevator was having to skinny in, and curve, as if it weren’t made of glass for a moment but of something more flexible. This made Fern and Howard very nervous. The pony shook and pawed in Fern’s pocket. They rode for a while alongside a subway car. Fern and Howard pressed their faces to the glass and waved, but the people on the other side didn’t seem to notice. The ones that were looking in the right direction seemed to be staring only at their own shortsighted reflections in their subway windows, which isn’t unlike New Yorkers. (Also, let’s be honest. If some of those New Yorkers had seen two kids waving from a glass elevator traveling sideways beside their subway car, most of them would be tooabove-it-all to react. At most, they’d sigh, and say, Oh, that again! )
    As