Cat's Cradle

by Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

Her smile was glassy, and she was ransacking her mind for something to say, finding nothing in it but used Kleenex and costume jewelry.

“Peculiar travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God.”

There was a quotation from The Books of Bokonon on the page before me. Those words leapt from the page and into my mind, and they were welcomed there. The words were a paraphrase of the suggestion by Jesus: “Render therefore unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s.” Bokonon’s paraphrase was this: “Pay no attention to Caesar. Caesar doesn’t have the slightest idea what’s really going on.”

“You’re certainly candid.” “I’m also rich.” “Glad to hear it.” “If you want an expert opinion, money doesn’t necessarily make people happy.” “Thanks for the information. You’ve just saved me a lot of trouble. I was just about to make some money.” “How?” “Writing.”

“Take your time. Relax. He’s a moron.” “He said it was important.” “How does he know what’s important? I could carve a better man out of a banana.”

“Fort Jesus?” “The training camp for our soldiers.” “It’s named after Jesus Christ?” “Sure. Why not?”

I was grateful when he took his hand from my shoulder. He meshed the fingers of his hands like gear teeth. One hand represented him, I suppose, and the other represented me. “We need each other.” He wiggled his fingers to show me how gears worked.