Confido (Stories) by Kurt Vonnegut

Author:Kurt Vonnegut [Vonnegut, Kurt]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-440-33940-3
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2009-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Ellen was in a trance when she fed the two children and sent them off to school. She came out of it momentarily, when her eight-year-old-son, Paul, yelled into a loaded school bus, “Hey! My daddy says we’re going to be rich as Croesus!”

The school bus door clattered shut behind him and his seven-year-old sister, and Ellen returned to a limbo in a rocking chair by her kitchen table, neither heaven nor hell. Her jumbled thoughts permitted one small peephole out into the world, and filling it was Confido, which sat by the jam, amid the uncleared breakfast dishes.

The telephone rang. It was Henry, who had just gotten to work. “How’s it going?” he asked brightly.

“As usual. I just put the children on the bus.”

“I mean, how’s the first day with Confido going?”

“I haven’t tried it yet, Henry.”

“Welllll—let’s get going. Let’s show a little faith in the merchandise. I want a full report with supper.”

“Henry—have you quit yet?”

“The only reason I haven’t is I haven’t gotten to a typewriter.” He laughed. “A man in my position doesn’t quit by just saying so. He resigns on paper.”

“Henry—would you please hold off, just for a few days?”

“Why?” said Henry incredulously. “Strike while the iron’s hot, I say.”

“Just to be on the safe side, Henry. Please?”

“So what’s there to be afraid of? It works like a dollar watch. It’s bigger than television and psychoanalysis combined, and they’re in the black. Quit worrying.” His voice was growing peevish. “Put on your Confido, and quit worrying. That’s what it’s for.”

“I just feel we ought to know more about it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Henry, with uncharacteristic impatience. “O.K., O.K., yeah, yeah. See you.”

Miserably, Ellen hung up, depressed by what she’d done to Henry’s splendid spirits. This feeling changed quickly to anger with herself, and, in a vigorous demonstration of loyalty and faith, she pinned Confido on, put the earpiece in place, and went about her housework.

“What are you, anyway?” she thought. “What is a Confido?”

“A way for you to get rich,” said Confido. This, Ellen found, was all Confido would say about itself. She put the same question to it several times during the day, and each time Confido changed the subject quickly—usually taking up the matter of money’s being able to buy happiness, no matter what anyone said.

“As Kin Hubbard said,” whispered Confido, “‘It ain’t no disgrace to be poor, but it might as well be.’”

Ellen giggled, though she’d heard the quotation before. “Now, listen, you—” she said. All her arguments with Confido were of this extremely mild nature. Confido had a knack of saying things she didn’t agree with in such a way and at such a time that she couldn’t help agreeing a little.

“Mrs. Bowers—El-len,” called a voice outside. The caller was Mrs. Fink, the Bowerses’ next-door neighbor, whose driveway ran along the bedroom side of the Bowerses’ home. Mrs. Fink was racing the engine of her new car by Ellen’s bedroom window.

Ellen leaned out over the windowsill. “My,” she said. “Don’t you look nice.

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