Page 17 of Unruly
“Yeah, like in your off time.”
“I don’t have off time.”
“You work continuously?”
“For the most part. When it’s quiet, if my work is caught up, I may read a book from time to time.”
“Where do you get books? Is there an Afterlife library?”
“Yes, actually. We do our best to keep up with the times. Our research agents visit the Above quarterly to stay abreast of changes and trends, though I still prefer the classics. I learn what I can to be able to assist Chasers when necessary.”
“Fascinating. Have you ever used a phone?”
He shakes his head. “I have no need of one.”
“That sounds kind of nice. We’re addicted to these little machines, connected at all times. People can always find us, even when we don’t want to be found.”
“Are there positives?”
“Sure. We can talk to people when we’re traveling or not at home. We can get help if we’re lost or have car trouble. We can find out what’s happening all over the world in an instant. That’s both good and sometimes bad.”
Farnsworth gets a far-off look on his face for a moment. “When I was alive, to get news from a friend, we wrote a letter and hand delivered it to a courier, who traveled days, weeks, sometimes months on horseback, to deliver the letter. I had no understanding of anything that happened outside my own village.”
“That doesn’t exist anymore.”
“I remember the first time I saw a television. I visited the Above to consult with a Chaser and there it was, blaring a singing program. I fell in love right at that moment.”
“With television?”
“No. With the singing man. I always hoped he would end up in the Revival House, but he lived a long life, and I’m not sure his moral compass would have led him to us anyway.”
“What was his name?”
“Dean Martin.” He sounds wistful. “He was so handsome. Sinatra too. I liked his eyes, but it was their voices that did me in. Romantic, smooth, absolutely perfect.”
“I know a few of their songs.”
“How? Old records?”
“Nope. We can still listen to old music.” I tap my phone, pull up a Dean Martin classic, “Volare,” and hit play.
Farnsworth’s eyes light up and he excitedly grabs my wrist, pulling the phone closer to hear it over the sounds of the city around us.
“It’s him. It’s Dean.”
“It’s a recording of him, yes.”
“On the phone. Magical.”
“We can get you some earbuds so you can hear it easily.”
“Earbuds?”
“Yeah, listening devices you put in your ears.”
He nods, actually smiling for once. “I had no idea people of this time still listened to men like Dean.”
“Oh yeah. People do. We listen to all kinds of music. Some people love classical music like Bach and Beethoven.”
