Читать книгу The Walls - Keith Laumer - Страница 5

Four walls do not a prison make, unless they look out upon a world that doesn’t exist any more.

Harry Trimble looked pleased when he stepped into the apartment. The lift door had hardly clacked shut behind him on the peering commuter faces in the car before he had slipped his arm behind Flora’s back, bumped his face against her cheek and chuckled, “Well, what would you say to a little surprise? Something you’ve waited a long time for?”

Flora looked up from the dial-a-ration panel. “A surprise, Harry?”

“I know how you feel about the apartment, Flora. Well, from now on, you won’t be seeing so much of it—”

“Harry!”

He winced at her clutch on his arm. Her face was pale under the day-glare strip. “We’re not—moving to the country...?”

Harry pried his arm free. “The country? What the devil are you talking about?” He was frowning now, the pleased look gone. “You should use the lamps more,” he said. “You look sick.” He glanced around the apartment, the four perfectly flat rectangular walls, the glassy surface of the variglow ceiling, the floor with its pattern of sink-away panels. His eye fell on the four-foot square of the TV screen.

“I’m having that thing taken out tomorrow,” he said. The pleased look was coming back. He cocked an eye at Flora. “And I’m having a Full-wall installed!”

Flora glanced at the blank screen. “A Full-wall, Harry?”

“Yep!” Harry smacked a fist into a palm, taking a turn up and down the room. “We’ll be the first in our cell block to have a Full-wall!”

“Why—that will be nice, Harry....”

“Nice?” Harry punched the screen control, then deployed the two chairs with tray racks ready to receive the evening meal.

Behind him, figures jiggled on the screen. “It’s a darn sight more than nice,” he said, raising his voice over the shrill and thump of the music. “It’s expensive, for one thing. Who else do you know that can afford—”

“But—”

“But nothing! Imagine it, Flora! It’ll be like having a....a balcony seat, looking out on other people’s lives.”

“But we have so little space now; won’t it take up—”

“Of course not! How do you manage to stay so ignorant of technical progress? It’s only an eighth of an inch thick. Think of it: that thick”—Harry indicated an eighth of an inch with his fingers—”and better color and detail than you’ve ever seen. It’s all done with what they call an edge-excitation effect.”

“Harry, the old screen is good enough. Couldn’t we use the money for a trip—”

“How do you know if it’s good enough? You never have it on. I have to turn it on myself when I get home.”

Flora brought the trays and they ate silently, watching the screen. After dinner, Flora disposed of the trays, retracted the table and chairs, and extended the beds. They lay in the dark, not talking.

“It’s a whole new system,” Harry said suddenly. “The Full-wall people have their own programming scheme; they plan your whole day, wake you up at the right time with some lively music, give you breakfast menus to dial, then follow up with a good sitcom to get you into the day; then there’s nap music, with subliminal hypnotics if you have trouble sleeping; then—”

“Harry—can I turn it off if I want to?”

“Turn it off?” Harry sounded puzzled. “The idea is to leave it on. That’s why I’m having it installed for you, you know—so you can use it!”

“But sometimes I like to just think—”

“Think! Brood, you mean.” He heaved a sigh. “Look, Flora, I know the place isn’t fancy. Sure, you get a little tired of being here all the time; but there are plenty of people worse off—and now, with Full-wall, you’ll get a feeling of more space—”

“Harry”—Flora spoke rapidly—”I wish we could go away. I mean leave the city, and get a little place where we can be alone, even if it means working hard, and where I can have a garden and maybe keep chickens and you could chop firewood—”

“Good God!” Harry roared, cutting her off. Then: “These fantasies of yours,” he said quietly. “You have to learn to live in the real world, Flora. Live in the woods? Wet leaves, wet bark, bugs, mould; talk about depressing....”

There was a long silence.

“I know; you’re right, Harry,” Flora said. “I’ll enjoy the Full-wall. It was very sweet of you to think of getting it for me.”

“Sure,” Harry said. “It’ll be better. You’ll see....”

*

The Full-wall was different, Flora agreed as soon as the service men had made the last adjustments and flipped it on. There was vivid color, fine detail, and a remarkable sense of depth. The shows were about the same—fast-paced, bursting with variety and energy. It was exciting at first, having full-sized people talking, eating, fighting, taking baths, making love, right in the room with you. If you sat across the room and half-closed your eyes, you could almost imagine you were watching real people. Of course, real people wouldn’t carry on like that. But then, it was hard to say what real people might do. Flora had always thought Doll Starr wore padded brassieres, but when she stripped on Full-wall—there wasn’t any fakery about it.

Harry was pleased, too, when he arrived home to find the wall on. He and Flora would dial dinner with one eye on the screen, then slip into bed and view until the Bull-Doze pills they’d started taking took effect. Perhaps things were better, Flora thought hopefully. More like they used to be.

But after a month or two, the Full-wall began to pall. The same faces, the same pratfalls, the same happy quiz masters, the puzzled prize-winners, the delinquent youths and fumbling dads, the bosoms—all the same.

On the sixty-third day, Flora switched the Full-wall off. The light and sound died, leaving a faint, dwindling glow. She eyed the glassy wall uneasily, as one might view the coffin of an acquaintance.