more
than short wooden posts driven earthward, connected through
their run by three steel cables. A waist-high divider separated
roadways with concrete barrier. Along the roadedge, aligned rows
of high wooden poles of two types stood. Long metal pipes attached
at right angles to the shorter poles hung overroad; hooked on to the
pipe ends were low-watt globes. At each taller pole's peak two
crossbeams were affixed; between the poles, attached to the beams
by small glass caps, stretched dozens of wires. From their strands
rose the hum of a million bugs in eveningsong. A pole-posted sign
said ROUTE 3 Weehawken 7 Mi. New York 9 Mi. The Route 3 we
knew carried twenty-two lanes of neverending traffic. Another sign
bore an unworded symbol: an orange peacemaker and single stone,
outlined in black, with directing arrow beneath. Beyond the far
roadside the swamp continued on into darkness. On the road
embankment facing east stood a high billboard, its wooden planks
scraped paint-free, its advertisement new-posted. In the scene's
foreground was a headshot of an oddly familiar, historically
unplaceable face; backgrounded was the White House, radiating as
if it burned. EVERY MAN A KING, the sign's legend read.
"Causality prohibits," I said, attempting to convince rather than
enlighten. "It's impossible."
"But true," said Jake. Eyeing the Empire State afresh, common
sense's block having now worn away, I spotted at once the difference
missed. Its pinnacle's TV tower lacked; the building stood as hypo
sans needle. Running view along ridge's brow I saw the absence of
considerable: the Trade Towers, Battery Spire, Battery Park, One
Coliseum, Cititower, Lincoln Park-all gone. "We've disconnected, Luther. "
Downroad west, two thin white shafts lit the path ahead. As the car drew close I roadsided, aiming to hitch; anxiety's hands pulled
me away so that I might size the locals at near range before direct
contact ensued. The car passed, its driver giving us a second's
onceover. We'd camped directly beneath one of those dim lights;
when his vehicle had its moment under spotlight, it first hit me odd
to see something so old look new and used simultaneously. The car
resembled a colossal potato bug, with bulbous abdomen, narrow
thorax, wide round eyes; its hue showed briefly as a dull dirty
yellow. A timekeeper in our day, of hostage ransom's worth; here, it
looked as if it sat overlong parked in the rain. Its taillights flew away,
toward New York.
"Flag the next, Luther," said Jake, crouching beside Oktobriana,
his trousers rolled knee-high as he plucked leeches from his legs.
"She needs doctoring quick."
"We all do," I said. "We've got to play this proper."
"Proper for whom?"
"For us. And them. If we're where we seem, circumspection in
word and act is essential."
"To what purpose?" He tore one last black strand from his skin.
"We'll show like snow on ice to their eyes, surely."
"Unproven," I said. "Our look and sound may cycle odd in these
surroundings, possibly in ways unforeseen. We don't want to be
mentaled without trial. We could show as institution's dream and
not even know "
"Recommendations, then?"
"Keep profile low Don't react as trained. Don't show surprise at
their behavior, or their tools, or their uses. Move without rudeness
or sudden shock. These are demands, not suggestions, Jake."
"Act as if traipsing Third World scenes?"
"You've got. We're in innocent days, Jake. Remember that we
can infect worse than they."
"New lights showing, Luther. Flagaway. "
Standing on the gravel shoulder, I overheaded arms, semaphoring oncomers. A truck rumbled past, dark miasma's cloud spewing
behind; its full load of glass bottles rattled, shaking against one
another and against the flatbed's wooden walls. Two more cars
trailed: one's shell flowed in unbroken curve from bumper to bumper, its sinuous chrome seemingly designed by wind's wish;
the other showed age, and resembled a boat estranged
than short wooden posts driven earthward, connected through
their run by three steel cables. A waist-high divider separated
roadways with concrete barrier. Along the roadedge, aligned rows
of high wooden poles of two types stood. Long metal pipes attached
at right angles to the shorter poles hung overroad; hooked on to the
pipe ends were low-watt globes. At each taller pole's peak two
crossbeams were affixed; between the poles, attached to the beams
by small glass caps, stretched dozens of wires. From their strands
rose the hum of a million bugs in eveningsong. A pole-posted sign
said ROUTE 3 Weehawken 7 Mi. New York 9 Mi. The Route 3 we
knew carried twenty-two lanes of neverending traffic. Another sign
bore an unworded symbol: an orange peacemaker and single stone,
outlined in black, with directing arrow beneath. Beyond the far
roadside the swamp continued on into darkness. On the road
embankment facing east stood a high billboard, its wooden planks
scraped paint-free, its advertisement new-posted. In the scene's
foreground was a headshot of an oddly familiar, historically
unplaceable face; backgrounded was the White House, radiating as
if it burned. EVERY MAN A KING, the sign's legend read.
"Causality prohibits," I said, attempting to convince rather than
enlighten. "It's impossible."
"But true," said Jake. Eyeing the Empire State afresh, common
sense's block having now worn away, I spotted at once the difference
missed. Its pinnacle's TV tower lacked; the building stood as hypo
sans needle. Running view along ridge's brow I saw the absence of
considerable: the Trade Towers, Battery Spire, Battery Park, One
Coliseum, Cititower, Lincoln Park-all gone. "We've disconnected, Luther. "
Downroad west, two thin white shafts lit the path ahead. As the car drew close I roadsided, aiming to hitch; anxiety's hands pulled
me away so that I might size the locals at near range before direct
contact ensued. The car passed, its driver giving us a second's
onceover. We'd camped directly beneath one of those dim lights;
when his vehicle had its moment under spotlight, it first hit me odd
to see something so old look new and used simultaneously. The car
resembled a colossal potato bug, with bulbous abdomen, narrow
thorax, wide round eyes; its hue showed briefly as a dull dirty
yellow. A timekeeper in our day, of hostage ransom's worth; here, it
looked as if it sat overlong parked in the rain. Its taillights flew away,
toward New York.
"Flag the next, Luther," said Jake, crouching beside Oktobriana,
his trousers rolled knee-high as he plucked leeches from his legs.
"She needs doctoring quick."
"We all do," I said. "We've got to play this proper."
"Proper for whom?"
"For us. And them. If we're where we seem, circumspection in
word and act is essential."
"To what purpose?" He tore one last black strand from his skin.
"We'll show like snow on ice to their eyes, surely."
"Unproven," I said. "Our look and sound may cycle odd in these
surroundings, possibly in ways unforeseen. We don't want to be
mentaled without trial. We could show as institution's dream and
not even know "
"Recommendations, then?"
"Keep profile low Don't react as trained. Don't show surprise at
their behavior, or their tools, or their uses. Move without rudeness
or sudden shock. These are demands, not suggestions, Jake."
"Act as if traipsing Third World scenes?"
"You've got. We're in innocent days, Jake. Remember that we
can infect worse than they."
"New lights showing, Luther. Flagaway. "
Standing on the gravel shoulder, I overheaded arms, semaphoring oncomers. A truck rumbled past, dark miasma's cloud spewing
behind; its full load of glass bottles rattled, shaking against one
another and against the flatbed's wooden walls. Two more cars
trailed: one's shell flowed in unbroken curve from bumper to bumper, its sinuous chrome seemingly designed by wind's wish;
the other showed age, and resembled a boat estranged
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