[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
"They don't try to solve their problems, Stan. They think about them."
"That's bad," Stan said. "You mean just sitting there, staring at nothing not
doing anything about anything?"
"Right." Beth waved vaguely at the screen, which was showing baton-swinging
police clashing with demonstrators in a street riot somewhere in South
America. "It ain't as if they don't ever get to see the proper way to handle
life . . . I mean, everyone has problems, right? But people need to do
something positive about them like they throw something, scream, smash things,
go out and have a breakdown and beat up on somebody, or whatever. . . . But
kids these days don't do things like that any more. All they do is sit and
talk, and then say the problem's gone away, or maybe it ain't so bad or
something. They won't face up to anything."
"Hyperpassivity," Ella pronounced. "That's what Dr. Friedmann said was wrong
with Alice's daughter in Bayview Apartments. Too much thinking is the first
sign of losing touch with reality. It's a big problem everywhere with kids.
There are some pills that will get him back up to a normal level of hype."
"Thanks, but I'm sure I can manage fine without," Kenny said hastily.
"Don't keep thanking people," Arnie complained. "It ain't good manners. It
sounds like people are doing you favors or something . . . as if they're
nobodies trying to get liked."
"Well that god-awful music you play in there won't get you anyplace," Beth
said to Kenny. She turned toward Ella and Stan. "You know the kind of stuff I
mean no beat or feel to it all, just noise."
"The kids across the street from us are always playing it out the window,"
Stan said, nodding. "It's primitive, not even electronic. I went over there
one night and set fire to their rose bushes."
"What's that place you were talking about the other week?" Arnie asked Kenny.
"Beat Heaven or something? I mean, what's it all about, huh? Where in hell is
Beat Heaven supposed to be?"
"Beethoven," Kenny said with a sigh.
"Same difference. So where in hell is that?"
"Is that where they wear all the freaky clothes, Kenny?" Ella asked, giggling
and waving her hand at his general appearance.
"They don't say anything, kid," Stan told him. "Are you ashamed to be
yourself? Is that what it is, huh?" He gestured down at his own crotch-hugging
white pants with scarlet side-stripes, tucked into calf-length astronavigator
boots, officer's belt with Alpha Centauri Squadron buckle, and navy, white-
trimmed blouse, complete with Strikefleet shoulder patch. "See. You should try
to find yourself, and then tell the world who you are like a starship admiral,
Page 144
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
for instance. It's easy once you find yourself and make the effort to fit in."
"But I never lost myself," Kenny said. "And I'm not a starship admiral."
"You have to be something sooner or later," Ella insisted. "You can't spend
your whole life staring at books and listening to crazy music. You have to get
involved eventually. It ain't all gonna change to suit you."
There was short pause. Then Beth lowered her eyes and said dismally, in the
voice of someone finally revealing a long-concealed secret of congenital
madness in the family, "He says he wants to be some kind of scientist." She
looked at Arnie. "What was it, a fizzy-something?"
"Physicist," Kenny supplied. Arnie looked away to hide his shame.
"But that kind of thing is for nobodies, like schoolteachers, technical
waddyacallits, or people who make things," Ella protested. "Why would anyone
wanna do something like that?"
Arnie showed his empty palms. "That's the way they are, Ella. They want to
work, and learn things. They say it shouldn't be the government's job to keep
them. Something to do with `ethics' and that kind of crap. . . . I don't
know."
Kenny looked around and shook his head. For the first time his expression
betrayed rising exasperation. He pointed at the screen. "Look . . . that idiot
behind the desk is telling you how the U.S. is more respected in the world
today because of the way we've strengthened our strategic forces, right? But
they only voted the appropriation a year ago. They haven't actually spent any
money yet. They're still only talking about what to spend it on. And even if
they had spent it, it couldn't have made any difference on that kind of time
scale. It would be ten years at least before any new weapons ordered through
last year's budgets could be produced and deployed. But they're talking as if
it had all already happened, and taking the credit for it.
"Can't you see what's happening? Things in the real world don't happen fast
enough to be entertaining any more. So the media have created a make-believe
world that runs at several times the speed of real time, with a crisis every
half hour and always an instant solution.
"It's the same with all the other `crises' that they invent and then say
they've solved. How could a crime wave of `epidemic proportions' that nobody
had heard of before suddenly materialize in two months, just before Ed
Callones ran for governor and with a program already worked out to fight it? .
. . And then have been `successfully eliminated' in just as short a time after
he was elected? It couldn't have. Things don't change that quickly. The
`economic recoveries' that somebody or other is always supposed to be
masterminding every six months are from slumps that never happened. The
`environmental catastrophes' that are always supposed to be imminent never
materialize. And yet people everywhere believe it all and carry on paying . .
."
Kenny looked from one to another of the four faces staring blankly back at
him. He exhaled a long sigh. "It doesn't matter. . . . I guess I got carried
away a little. I was going out anyhow. I'll just be on my way. You folks have
a good evening." With that he turned away quickly and left, closing the door
behind him.
An uncomfortable silence persisted for a while. Finally Stan said, "Gee, I
didn't realize you guys had it so bad. . . . I guess he'll probably grow out
of it, huh?"
"What was he talking about?" Ella asked, still dazed after Kenny's outburst.
Arnie was still looking down at the floor. Beth came over and leaned her head
against his shoulder. "Oh Arnie," she sobbed. "We tried, didn't we? Where did
we go wrong?"
* * *
Outside, Kenny pulled his parka on over his jacket and walked around to the
Page 145
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
back of the house to pick up the backpack, suitcase full of selected books,
and crammed briefcase that he had dumped from his bedroom window. He carried
his things to the end of the street and waited in the shadows of the shrubbery
by the corner streetlight. After about ten minutes, Marv Stewart's battered
'95 Chevy van appeared. Marv was at the wheel, with Bev Johnson and Harry
wedged in next to him up front. Kenny slid open the side door and hoisted his
bags inside. Then he climbed in to join the crush of young people jammed in
the back amidst coats, rucksacks, suitcases, sleeping bags, and bundles of
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]