Free The Road to Amber by Roger Zelazny Page B

know.
UNCLE MATT
    The next time you see him, tell him it had nothing to do with him, or with you. Tell him we wish he’d stop by sometime.
DAVID
    You will get to see him. He says everyone does. I’ll ask him to name a date for you next time—
UNCLE MATT
    (interrupting)
    Never mind that!

    SCENE 3
    Later that evening. DAVID goes out to the porch, climbs onto his bike.
DAVID
    Dorel, I’m really happy with you, and I want to go and thank Morrie for such a great birthday present. I don’t know where to find him but I’ve got a feeling you do. I’d like you to help me get to him—now.
DOREL (V.O.)
{SONG: IT’S ROUGH BEING A BIKE}
    It’s rough being a bike, subject to nicks and dents.
    It’s tough being a bike, though it makes special sense:
    I’m paying for a sin that still seems fresh
    Against one who claims his pound of steel
    As readily as flesh.

    City lights or astral lights, they’re all the same to see.
    And David’s my new master—a good-hearted lad.
    He’s heading for a crash, though not on me.
    I wish that I could warn him for it’s sad:
    He’ll fall into compassion’s trap,
    And Morrie does not give a rap
    For all those things that must be good or bad
    (Or all that’s in between for elbow room).
    Morrie towers to the stars. His feet go down to hell.
    He looked at me and spoke my doom.
    Now I have wheels and handlebars, creature of his spell,
    Now I have very little elbow room.

    I wish that I could reach the kid and warn him what I see:
    That surely as the gear-teeth mesh
    Morrie will have his pound of flesh
    Or pound of steel, as the case may be.
    It’s rough having wheels and handlebars—
    Though good for taking corners, dodging cars.
    I’d tell him but I lack the elbow room.
    There is no way that I can see,
    Though all I want’s to warn him of his doom
    And maybe find a way of getting free.
    (The bicycle vibrates.)
    Periods of darkness are broken by flashes oflight that gradually grow dimmer and shorter. DAVID rides into a dark tunnel. DOREL vibrates and the bike picks up speed. The light grows brighter as DAVID enters a gallery of stalactites and still pools. Lit candles are everywhere—on ledges, niches and on every flat surface. They vary in size. DAVID and the bike come to a halt.
DAVID
    Thanks, Dorel.
    He sets the kick-stand and walks around, sees tunnels leading off in various directions, all ablaze with candles. Occasionally a burnt-down candle stub goes out. Shadows dart about them as they die. DAVID wanders down one of the tunnels, starts back out, only to see MORRIE, wearing a dark cloak, riding slowly toward him on DOREL.
MORRIE
    How good of you to come and visit.
DAVID
    Wanted to say thanks for the present. Dorel’s really neat.
MORRIE
    Glad you like him.
    (He dismounts and sets the stand)
DAVID
    I never knew a bike to have a name before.
MORRIE
    (runs a bony finger over the handlebars)
    He is someone who owes me a great debt. He is paying it off in this fashion. Would you care for a cup of tea or hot chocolate?
DAVID
    I’d like hot chocolate.
    They go around the corner and into a niche where a slab of stone bears a red and white calico tablecloth. Two cups and saucers, napkins and spoons are set. Classical music plays. They sit down. MORRIE fills the cups from a carafe. Ghostly figures occasionally pass in the background.
DAVID
    What is that music?
MORRIE
    Schubert’s Quartet in D Minor, a favorite of mine. Marshmallows?
DAVID
    Yes, please.
    (MORRIE adds them)
    Is this where you work, Morrie, or where you live?
MORRIE
    (hands DAVID the cup, leans back and cracks his knuckles one by one)
    I do a lot of my work in the field. But you might consider this my office, and my apartments are here also. It is really both.
DAVID
    I see. It’s certainly well-lit.
MORRIE
    (He laughs and gestures broadly. A nearby flame flickers.)
    She’ll think it a fainting spell.
DAVID
    Who?
MORRIE
    The lady who belongs to that candle. Name’s Luisa Trujillo. She’s 48 years old and lives in New York