Free The Fan Man by William Kotzwinkle Page B

guard.”
    “You called, Miss Winston?”
    “Yes, would you take this gentleman to … where exactly do you have to do your work, sir?”

    “At the main unit … the big fan, man, it must be in the basement somewhere.”
    “Right, I know where you mean. Just follow me, sir.”
    Repairman Badorties and the guard walk down the hall, man, and down some steps, and down another hall, and open a door marked
    Staff Only
    and go down some more steps into the sub-basement of the lonely house of death, man, into the cold stone cellar, man, where the hum is growing louder, man. The great roaring drone of the supreme fan is exciting my eardrums to the visionary state, man. Man, what a sound, open the mind completely out, tremendous vibrating drone:
    “BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUMMMMMMMMMMMMMNNNNNN.’’
    And there it is ahead of us, man. Enormous, the great Museum Fan, man, with numerous ducts connecting it to the entire building. This is the Chief, man, speaking his great word to the dead:
    “BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUMMMMMMMMMMMMMNNNNNN.’’
    And now, man, I will answer, putting in a Horse Badorties Dalai Lama bass note:
    “BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUMMMMMMMMMMMMMNNNNNN.’’
    The guard, man, is scratching his head. “How’s she doin?”
    “The pitch seems all right, man. I can’t understand the problem.”
    “Seems all right, does it?”
    “Operating perfectly, man. But I’ll just check it out on the oscillator.” Removing from my satchel, man, the Doctor Badorties army surplus stethoscope, man. Putting the rubber-tipped prongs in my ears, man, and applying the sensitive listening disc to the heart of the Great Fan. Oh, man, this is fantastic, man. This is the primal voice, man, singing into my stethoscope. I hear a thousand songs in there, man, and a couple of dinosaurs running around talking to each other with bass notes beyond belief, man. They have some dinosaur bones on the fourth floor of this pad, man, and I’m picking up their vibes. And I see by the label this fan was built by the Passaic Fan Company. Looks like I’m going to have to make another trip to New Jersey, man, and purchase one of these fans on long-term credit with a rubber check down.
    “The pressure of the sound waves is all right, man. Everything is checking out. The only thing I can suggest, man, is that perhaps some kid threw a hot dog down one of the ducts. “
    “You think so?”
    “It’s happened before, man. I’ll have to go back to the main office and get my duct-diving suit, man. Without it, the pressure would be too great. You see the suit I’m now wearing? I wrecked it only an hour ago, climbing through the fan duct at the Pan Am Building.”
    “It’s dangerous, is it?”
    “Right, man, I’ll be back in an hour or so. You might want to take this piece of chalk from my satchel, man, and go through the building, marking each of the vents with an X, so that when I get back, we can go straight to work.”
    “Will do.”
    And up we go, and up again, and out the side door of the museum goes fan-repairman Badorties.

Chapter 15
The Fan Man Gets the Shaft
    And now, man, I must proceed directly to NBC. Here comes a bus, man, must run. “HOLD THAT BUS, MAN!”
    Difficulty getting enormous umbrella in the door, it is caught in the driver’s wheel.
    “Watch that umbrella, will ya mac.”
    “I’m sorry, man … sorry. …” In the confusion, drop a few pennies into the coin box and continue on the way, riding for four cents downtown, bus moving jerking forward and I am careening backward to the back of the bus and accidentally strike strap-hanging man behind the knees with my satchel and he falls straight to the floor.
    “Sorry, man … terribly sorry … coming through… .”
    It’s hot on this bus, man. Time for further fanning. What is this, man, it is not working. The Central Park lake water has disintegrated the points of my fan. And it has also shrunk my suit, man, I can feel it getting tighter every