Philip Kindred Dick - Time Out of Joint

Time Out of Joint

by
Philip Kindred Dick

1959

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Time Out of Joint
Copyright 1959 Philip Kindred Dick

The novel epitomises many of Dick's themes, with its concern about the nature of reality, and ordinary people in ordinary lives having the world unravel around them. The title is a reference to the line uttered by Hamlet to Horatio after being visited by his father's ghost and learning that his uncle Claudius murdered his father; in short, a shocking supernatural event that fundamentally alters the way Hamlet perceives the state and the universe ("The time is out of joint; O cursed spite!/That ever I was born to set it right!" [I.V.211-2]), much as do several events in the novel.
As the novel opens, its protagonist Ragle Gumm believes that he lives in the year 1959 in a quiet American suburb. His unusual profession consists of repeatedly winning the cash prize in a local newspaper competition called, "Where will the little green man be next?". Gumm's 1959 has some differences from ours: the Tucker car is in production, and Uncle Tom's Cabin was recently written. As the novel opens, strange things begin to happen to Gumm. A soft-drink stand disappears, replaced by a small slip of paper with the words "Soft-Drink Stand" written on it. Pieces of our 1959 turn up: an article on Marilyn Monroe (who didn't exist in their world), and radios (which had been abandoned at the dawn of television). People with no apparent connection to Gumm mention him by name, including military aircraft pilots. Few other characters notice these or experience similar anomalies; the sole exception is Gumm's supposed brother-in-law, Victor "Vic" Nielson, in whom he confides. A neighbor woman, Mrs. Keitelbein, invites him to a civil defense class where he sees a model of a strange military factory. He has the odd feeling he's been in that building before.

Contents

one

From the cold-storage locker at the rear of the store, Victor Nielson wheeled a cart of winter potatoes to the vegetable section of the produce department. In the almost empty bin he began dropping the new spuds, inspecting every tenth one for split skin and rot. One big spud dropped to the floor and he bent to pick it up; as he did so he saw past the check-out stands, the registers and displays of cigars and candy bars, through the wide glass doors and on to the street. A few pedestrians walked along the sidewalk, and along the street itself he caught the flash of sunlight from the fender of a Volkswagen as it left the store's parking lot.

Was that my wife? he asked Liz, the formidable Texas girl who was the checker on duty.

Not that I know of, Liz said, ringing up two cartons of milk and a package of ground lean beef. The elderly customer at the check-out stand reached into his coat pocket for his wallet.

I'm expecting her to drop by, Vic said. Let me know when she does. Margo was supposed to take Sammy, their ten-year-old, to the dentist for x-rays. Since this was April income tax timethe savings account was unusually low, and he dreaded the results of the x-rays.

Unable to endure the waiting, he walked over to the pay phone by the canned-soup shelf, dropped a dime in, dialed.

Hello, Margo's voice came.

Did you take him down?

Margo said hectically, I had to phone Dr. Miles and postpone it. About lunchtime I remembered that this is the day Anne Rubenstein and I have to take that petition over to the Board of Health; it has to be filed with them today, because the contracts are being let now, according to what we hear.

What petition? he said.

To force the city to clear away those three empty lots of old house foundations, Margo said. Where the kids play after school. It's a hazard. There's rusty wire and broken concrete slabs and

Couldn't you have mailed it? he broke in. But secretly he was relieved. Sammy's teeth wouldn't fall out before next month; there was no urgency about taking him. How long will you be there? Does that mean I don't get a ride home?

I just don't know, Margo said. Listen, dear; there's a whole flock of ladies in the living roomwe're figuring out last-minute items we want to bring up when we present the petition. If I can't drive you home I'll phone you at five or so. Okay?

After he had hung up he wandered over to the check-out stand. No customers were in need of being checked, and Liz had lit a cigarette for a few moments. She smiled at him sympathetically, a lantern-like effect. How's your little boy? she asked.

Okay, he said. Probably relieved he's not going.

I have the sweetest little old dentist I go to, Liz chirruped. Must be nearly a hundred years old. He don't hurt me a bit; he just scrapes away and it's done. Holding aside her lip with her red-enameled thumbnail, she showed him a gold inlay in one of her upper molars. A breath of cigarette smoke and cinnamon whisked around him as he leaned to see. See? she said. Big as all get out, and it didn't hurt! No, it never did! I wonder what Margo would say, he wondered. If she walked in here through the magic-eye glass door that swings open when you approach it and saw me gazing into Liz's mouth. Caught in some fashionable new eroticism not yet recorded in the Kinsey reports.

The store had during the afternoon become almost deserted. Usually a flow of customers passed through the check-out stands, but not today. The recession, Vic decided. Five million unemployed as of February of this year. It's getting at our business. Going to the front doors he stood watching the sidewalk traffic. No doubt about it. Fewer people than usual. All home counting their savings.

We're in for a bad business year, he said to Liz.

Oh what do you care? Liz said. You don't own the store; you just work here, like the rest of us. Means not so much work. A woman customer had begun unloading items of food onto the counter; Liz rang them up, still talking over her shoulder to Vic. Anyhow I don't think there's going to be any depression; that's just Democratic talk. I'm so tired of those old Democrats trying to make out like the economy's going to bust down or something.

Aren't you a Democrat? he asked. From the South?

Not any more. Not since I moved up here. This is a Republican state, so I'm a Republican. The cash register clattered and clanged and the cash drawer flew open. Liz packed the groceries into a paper bag.

Across the street from the store the sign of the American Diner Caf?started him thinking about afternoon coffee. Maybe this was the best time. To Liz he said, I'll be back in ten or so minutes. You think you can hold the fort alone?

Oh sholly, Liz said merrily, her hands making change. You go ahead on, so I can get out later and do some shopping I have to do. Go on, now.

Hands in his pockets, he left the store, halting at the curb to seek out a break in the traffic. He never went down to the crosswalk; he always crossed in the middle of the block, directly to the caf? even if he had to wait at the curb minute after minute. A point of honor was involved, an element of manliness.

In the booth at the caf?he sat before his cup of coffee, stirring idly.

Slow day, Jack Barnes the shoe salesman from Samuel's Men's Apparel said, bringing over his cup of coffee to join him. As always, Jack had a wilted look, as if he had steamed and baked all day in his nylon shirt and slacks. Must be the weather, he said. A few nice spring days and everybody starts buying tennis rackets and camp stoves.

In Vic's pocket was the most recent brochure from the Book-of-the-Month Club. He and Margo had joined several years ago, at the time they had put a down payment on a house and moved into the kind of neighborhood that set great stock by such things. Producing the brochure he spread it flat on the table, swiveling it so Jack could read it. The shoe salesman expressed no interest.