Patented

“Your office has languished without purpose or direction for many years, to the point where even the man who was supposed to be supervising you in this office didn’t really know what you were doing. However, by cultivating the support of a certain Congressman, you have managed to keep your program alive. However, what you are currently doing has gone well beyond the scope of any mandate you have ever been given.”

Smythe fixed Wiseman with a cold stare.

“I suppose I have been chosen to talk to you because I was the only one that could offer a solution that helped everyone out of the dilemma they faced. You see, your patron, who is retiring, has let a few of his more sexually liberated colleagues in on your secret. They think that these ‘statues’ you have in your storeroom are sculpture, or performance art…but we both know that’s not true, don’t we?

“So, the people who were just here really had only two goals. The politicians want you to continue ‘collecting.’ The FBI and the Patent Office don’t want to be anywhere near you should the news ever leak out.

“And that’s where I come in.

“You now work for me.”

*****

Wiseman clapped Frank hard on the shoulder. “And that, my boy, is how the Office of Unusual Carnal Knowledge changed into something much more innocuous: the Office of Folklore, Urban Cultural Knowledge, and Understanding. Every month, we give an invitation-only showing in a sub-level exhibition room at the Smithsonian. There are no more special patents; the SPs of a decade ago are now SEs – Special Exhibit numbers. Our signature book is still published every two years, and still brings new inquiries every year as to how someone can be listed. And all of that is funded by a special grant through, ironically enough, the National Endowment for the Arts.

“Though I’m sure if Newt Gingrich were still around, he’d wonder how any organization whose abbreviated name spells OFUCKU gets special priority for that type of grant.”

Frank stood still for a moment, taking it all in.

“It’s one of the best jobs ever created, son,” Wiseman said softly. “You’ll read the applications that come in, use the database in the computer to see if they’ve come up with anything truly original, or at least not in the current list of exhibits. When you hit on something, you’ll forward it to one of our contacts at the FBI, who’ll work up the file. If they fit into the 75% of most applicants, you’ll invite them here to demonstrate. One out of every two will accept. After they’ve signed all the documentation, you’ll ask them to demonstrate. And they will take off their clothes and start making love in front of you.” Wiseman took a small device no bigger than a remote control from his pocket. “You’ll point this at them, press the large red button…and you’ll have another exhibit for our special collection.”

“But….”

Wiseman shook his head. “Don’t get all moralistic on me, kid. The fact is that I don’t choose anyone who is even vaguely happy or content with life. Most of these people don’t have lives, only the illusion of one. They expend no effort to make anyone else’s life better. Instead, they mark time, looking for some magical transformation of their lives, some spell that will make it all fantastic. Some bit of immortality, born from sexual precociousness.

“And that’s what I give them.”

“What’s behind the curtain?”

Wiseman had been so caught up in his speech, he had not noticed that the young man had moved over to the back of the room, where one corner was blocked by a sheer white curtain.

“Ahhhh. Now we come to the tragic part of our tale.”

*****

In 1965, having secured a stable government job paying what was then a more than decent wage, Dan Wiseman married his college sweetheart, Lana.

They had raised four children together, spent countless hours touring the country by car, and managed to keep the passion in their marriage well past the age when most couples went to bed only to sleep.

In 1995, Lana had developed a melanoma. She went to the doctor, had it biopsied, was told it was benign, and had it removed surgically.

A year later, it reappeared. This time, it proved to be malignant.

And it had already spread. And it was non-operable.

They tried aggressive chemotherapy. Holistic treatments. Lasers.

Until finally, Dan Wiseman had brought her home to die.

Except…he couldn’t bear to part with her. So one day, he brought home his little device, and the next day, a small van pulled up to the rear of his home and took his wife to the little storeroom beside his office.

There was no funeral. Dan told his children that their mother had wished to be cremated, and, to spare them further pain, he had not waited for them before having it done. At the memorial service in her honor, he grieved with friends and family, and cried and laughed at their memories and stories.

The next day, he arranged her gently on the hospital bed he’d had delivered, and hung the curtain that separated her from the rest of the “collected.”

*****

As he told Frank his story, he gently stroked his wife’s cheek, as he’d done so many times in the intervening years.

“You hoped that some day you’d be able to unfreeze her, so they could cure her?”

Dan Wiseman began to laugh - a dark, strangled laughter that mixed with the tear streaks on his face when he turned to face his successor.

But he didn’t say anything. He simply stood up and walked over to where Dr. Calhoun stood frozen since 1988. He pointed the device at Calhoun and pressed the large green button.

Calhoun’s image shimmered briefly, and Frank thought he saw the barest movement of his hands and mouth…as the shimmer around Calhoun began to shrink. Rapidly.

Seconds later, Rory Calhoun was gone, with not even a small POP to mark his disappearance.

Wiseman turned back to Frank. “I tried to unfreeze one of them, a few years back. It depends on how long you keep them frozen. Let them go quick, and there’s no effect. Keep them too long….” Wiseman looked at the spot where Calhoun had stood a moment before.

“My wife isn’t coming back, Frank. Ever.

“That’s why I need you to do something for me.”

*****

Frank Snowdon was on the phone, leaning back in the padded leather chair in his newly redecorated office.

“I tell you, Dad, its incredible! Just like you said! I can’t thank you enough for giving me the chance at this job. Wiseman was right, it’s the best fucking job in the world!”

As he spoke, Frank eyed the dark-haired couple that stood frozen in the space in front of his desk. The man was kneeling to give oral sex to the petite woman in front of him. Except, the woman had both a male AND female sex organs, and, when he froze them, the kneeling man had his lips wrapped around the woman’s cock.

“What was that, Dad? The old man? Oh, yes, I think he’s happy in retirement. In fact, I think you could say that my first action ‘on the job’ made him happier than he’s been in quite a while.”

*****

In the next room, one could stand amid a tableau of silent figures acting out the infinite couplings possible with the human body, and marvel at their creativity and variety.

Behind a sheer white curtain, however, a man and woman lay side-by-side. The woman, slightly gaunt, with dark circles under her eyes, reclined on her back as if asleep. The man held her left hand in one of his, and touched her cheek with the other. He looked directly at her, his slight smile reflecting in the soft expression in his eyes.

Instead of a hospital chart, a sign was framed and hung at the foot of the bed. It read:

“Love in Repose. SE-000231.”

FINIS