Читать книгу Blind.Faith 2.0.50 - Tomasz Tatum - Страница 9

FISHBO.NELLY

Fishbo.Nelly tapped the bill of her cap downward, pushing it a bit lower and squinting her eyes as she sat and peered into the late afternoon haze. The day’s quivering heat continued to hover stubbornly above the beach and over the steely matte surface of the ocean that rippled before her with only a few modest waves breaking lazily at the shoreline with metronomic regularity. Evening was beginning to set in now, she registered with some gratitude as she looked forward to the temperature falling to a more comfortable level. To her right and somewhat behind her, the sun would soon begin its long slow plunge toward the western horizon. Shifting around a bit, she sat up straight for a moment on a well-worn dark blue blanket and allowed her mind the luxury of wandering. As her thoughts streamed freely, she stretched out her legs before her, half-burying her feet in the sand of the dune as she did so. It was warm, white sand, extremely fine and soft, and it felt somehow sensuously heavy as she burrowed her hands and feet into it over and over again while regarding the area around her. Countless irregularly spaced clumps of dry grayish-green marsh grass dotted the crests of the soft dunes for as far as she could see, sharply punctuating the lazy curves of a restless and fluidly changing landscape spreading itself around her.

These bushels of dry marsh grass grew plentifully out here, the only significant vegetation that could be found growing on the loose sand between the waterline and the firmer ground somewhat further away from the beach, upon which a few forms of low shrubbery with thin leaves subsisted nearly in the shadow of the city’s perimeter wall. The marsh grass, although it doubtlessly enhanced the otherwise bland scenery and was arguably even somewhat quaint and picturesque if one were inclined to view it through the eyes of an aquarelle landscape painter, made it a bit of a task sometimes to find a truly suitable spot to sit or lay on comfortably for any length of time. As long as one exercised good judgment, though, and possessed a keen awareness that the knife-like blades of this marsh grass had the discrete charm of porcupine quills, walking through this area or choosing a spot to sit was not really that challenging.

In fact, it was entirely likely that the presence of this marsh grass contributed to the relative solitude of this strip of sand and weeds by latently discouraging some people from making even casual forays across the dunes.

This wind-blown bit of salty sand and water, which Fishbo.Nelly, and probably just about everyone else in the city, referred to as twilight.Zone, was located far off the beaten path, wedged in nearly secretively between the outermost eastern fringe of Libertyville@Esperantia’s concrete perimeter wall and an erratic series of patchy river marshes bordering the river estuary and, a bit further eastward, the oceanfront itself. Because the landscape out here was generally both fairly inaccessible and largely regarded to be rather inhospitable, it was never frequented by any great number of visitors. And even if one might view her assumption as being a tad presumptuous or simply naïve, Fishbo.Nelly had with time come to consider this area to be something like her very own exclusive and private escape hatch, as her privileged emergency relief valve from a civilization that she, with the passage of time, found to be increasingly unappealing.

Although she didn’t by any measure reject the notion of civilization nor urban living outright, she nevertheless judged Libertyville@Esperantia to be so colorless and hypocritical, so uncool and so corrupt that she had long since resolved to try to avoid making any more than the absolute bare essential minimum contribution to its existence, to its underlying order and to its prosperity.

She wasn’t a person who perceived herself or her way of thinking as being anything even remotely revolutionary. She could probably be described as being apolitical, but nonetheless, at some point in her young life, she discovered deep within her heart that she possessed the modestly irrational, and even a tad egocentric, wish that she might one day somehow succeed in rendering the whole system around her irrelevant to her own existence.

And although she couldn’t possibly know it yet as she sat on the beach on this evening gazing into the blur and haze of the maritime distance, she would one day be so wildly successful in her attempts at achieving this objective that the system in its entirety would literally forget anything and everything it had ever known about her.

The entrance which she used to gain access to twilight.Zone on her occasional and very irregular visits was probably the only really significant breach to be found in the otherwise clearly defined and very secure boundaries of the state. This gap was not due to some oversight or omission, however, but was attributable instead to the sporadic meandering hurricanes and tropical storms of varying ferocity which gathered steam as they passed by, usually far enough offshore that Libertyville@Esperantia seldom suffered any significant material damage on their account. But the veritable mountains of water which these storms moved whenever they happened to pass too closely near this rather flat coastal region regularly resulted in waves that tended to significantly, and sometimes dramatically, alter the landscape with the passage of time. And, as this entire area remained largely inaccessible by land with the sole exception of the direct route which passed through the city itself and its eastern outskirts, official efforts to completely restrict access to Fishbo.Nelly’s twilight.Zone ended up being fairly half-hearted and at some point eventually just sputtered to a standstill.

This somewhat forlorn triangle, consisting then of little more than low sandy dunes and plenty of knife-edge reed grass, was not really a vast area by anyone’s measure. In fact, from the very spot where she was sitting, Fishbo.Nelly was easily able to reach the wall as well as the outermost streets bordering Libertyville@Esperantia by foot in maybe two kilometers at the most. If one were to travel in the opposite direction from where she sat, it was perhaps another kilometer straight-line distance to the shoreline. The lazily meandering river that followed a long stretch of Libertyville@Esperantia’s wall swerved away to the north, thus forming a natural boundary in the region while a few smaller tributaries emptied themselves into the flat salt water marshes, reeking of dead fish and salt and adjoining the coastline not far to the North of her position. These, too, were at the most perhaps two or three kilometers distant. The marshes themselves were dotted with numerous clusters of PowerCranks, gigantic windmills that were being erected just about everywhere for the virtuous task of electric power generation.

In fact, with the exception of these PowerCranks or the sometimes very large seagoing vessels that could regularly be seen passing through the channel into the river tributary beyond, there was virtually nothing visible from her vantage point that any observer could or would attribute directly to any form of human activity.

Fishbo.Nelly reached out for the plastic bottle half buried in the sand to the right of her blanket. Without looking, she unscrewed the cap and took a long drink from it. The water in it tasted a bit stale and warm by now, but she savored it nonetheless as she swallowed it in small gulps. She had done the right thing. Her gut instinct had told her earlier that this would be the place to be alone with her thoughts today.

For her, twilight.Zone was, because of its nature, a perfect place to sit and gather her thoughts, undisturbed by the hustle and bustle of activity that reigned within the tight confines of the city. Owing to the fact that it offered no specific attractions–nor, more importantly, distractions–in the eyes of the vast majority of Libertyville@Esperantia’s denizens and due to its access being only possible by traversing through one of the less attractive fringe neighborhoods, she had come to take for granted the fact that no more than a mere handful of people would ever be underway out here at any given time.

Solitude was almost guaranteed.

The end.Zone district, a ramshackle and neglected-looking section of town upon which twilight.Zone bordered, just on the opposite side of the wall, was very often perceived to be Libertyville@Esperantia’s anarchic underbelly and therefore a place to be avoided by most. Given the necessarily close quarters of a city that lay nestled within an enclave in the manner that Libertyville@Esperantia did, contradictions like old and new or prosperity and poverty were never very far apart physically.

Fishbo.Nelly actually relished the kind of contradictions that in truth defined Libertyville@Esperantia. In fact, it was very likely that the real underlying source of her dissatisfaction with the system was little more than the fact that it, and the people who publicly professed to represent it, seemed intent on denying the validity or even the very existence of these parallel realities. The neighborhood that comprised end.Zone was a place populated largely by day laborers in a colorful medley of various ethnicities and persuasions that was completely at odds with the image that Libertyville@Esperantia strove to project. It certainly wasn’t mainstream in the conservative sense of the word but it possessed a pulse that beat much more palpably than that uptown. And, unsurprisingly, it was dotted by a handful of people who appeared to pride themselves on harboring a rainbow of decidedly bohemian or anti-authoritarian streaks.

With evening coming on rapidly now, there was still not a soul to be seen anywhere near her on the dunes or on the beach. Fishbo.Nelly was so pleased with her unexpectedly good fortune thus far that she spontaneously resolved to stay put, deciding that she would spend the night in twilight.Zone. It was an appealing thought and she crossed her fingers in the hope that her sojourn beneath the celestial canopy would be as clear and warm as the evening sky had thus far seemed to promise. She would gladly leave everything otherwise associated with so-called civilization behind tonight just for the opportunity to be on her own again, to sit in serene reflection under the infinite dark expanse of a star-studded sky. And with a bit of good fortune, she was excited as the thought popped into her mind, she might even spot a meteor or someone’s failing satellite streaking overhead, blazing its fiery trail through the silent emptiness high above her head.

For this chance, she was more than willing to accept a few uneven sleeping accommodations or contend with the clouds of bugs which she could see hovering in the distance.

She would even accept the risk, however minimal, of a nocturnal encounter with various biting bugs, snakes, lizards, scorpions or fleas–or any combination thereof. The only problem might be the mosquitoes. They could be a real deterrent out here but she quickly guessed that they would probably be no problem tonight due to the light but steady sea breeze that was blowing.

She had even recently been told that armadillos were reputed to live way out here, the thought flashed through her mind. She sat and contemplated this for a short moment while she finished off the contents of her water bottle. She had some serious doubts about whether this stuff about various creatures out here wasn’t just a figment of someone’s overly active imagination. Besides that, although she knew little about them, armadillos were said to be fairly benign creatures. At least as far as she knew, that is. She’d never actually encountered one anywhere so she simply resolved to shrug off the thought.

Fancy that, she smiled to herself as she adjusted the blanket upon which she sat. Maybe people were just imagining long-eared soup cans? Or hallucinating shiny rabbits? In any case, she had yet to see a single one on any of her excursions out here.

Fishbo.Nelly was a very individualistic person, fiercely so, obsessed with the notion of finding and achieving the maximum attainable freedom in all things spiritual and, increasingly, all things social. And lately, she had discovered herself often beginning to seriously contemplate just how much she was actually willing to risk in her attempts to achieve true independence.

She awoke very early the next morning to the damp smell of salt water and fish being carried on the breeze. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear a small gaggle of sea gulls crying excitedly.

But it wasn’t really this that had awakened her. There was something else that had disturbed her sleep. It was the distinct sound of someone’s inquiring voice nearby. Someone was speaking to her.

“Hey. Are you OK?”

Off to her right, upon opening her eyes, she could see that a young man with a serious and very baffled expression on his face was crouched down low on his hands and knees, cautiously edging a tiny bit closer to get a better look at her.

This fellow had a bit of a deliberately unkempt-looking appearance, thus lending him a look that was, even if it was perhaps unintentional on his part, stylish in her estimation. She saw that he was dressed casually, wearing dark-dyed denims, canvas sneakers and a black t-shirt. TAKE ME HOME! was the message spelled in bold white capital lettering across the front of his t-shirt.

Although the question he had posed, in her opinion, obviously masked a tangible degree of helplessness on his part at finding her here, and thus seemed rather foreign if not completely idiotic to her at this particular moment, Fishbo.Nelly was not really sure that she was honestly able to answer with an unqualified yes. In fact, she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to answer at all yet. While she was instantly wide awake, at least from a mental viewpoint, she was still very, very tired. She hadn’t expected to awake feeling this way after spending only one night on the dunes.

Her neck was stiff as a board. Her back ached. Her arms and legs felt slightly numb.

An incredibly fine layer of white sand, deposited overnight by the breeze, had covered her and her blanket as well as everything else while she slept.

She propped herself up on her elbows and looked around. She decided that she wanted to respond to his question after all. As she swallowed, though, she could feel salt and sand in her mouth and in her throat. She withdrew her hand from under the blanket with which she was still covered and scratched absent-mindedly at her ear with her left index finger. It, too, was full of sand. Sand seemed to pour down everywhere as she then finally sat up halfway and brushed her hair back with her open hand. There was sand everywhere: in her T-shirt, in her hair, in the corners of her eyes, in her nostrils and probably in the crevice of her butt. This cloud of fine white sand was quite obviously endowed with both a will and a way to cover or infiltrate anything and everything.

More annoying to her than the sand or the momentary stiffness of her bones that she supposed were now protesting a potentially rheumatic chill, however, was the very rude surprise of having been discovered here by someone absolutely unawares. And, while it wasn’t entirely rational, she found herself to be more than just mildly irritated about the fact that this person had dared–and successfully, at that!–to violate the unspoken sanctity of her very own twilight.Zone. Her mind was bouncing back and forth, to and fro again like some nervous tiger confined to a cage, continually circling back to the disquieting thought of how and why he was able to surprise her like this while she slept. Inwardly, she seethed momentarily at the realization that her quest for independence not only seemed to have left her vulnerable but also with a strongly heightened perception of her own weakness.

She rubbed her eyes tiredly with the back of her hands, the ultimate result being that they, too, now had miniscule kernels of sand in them. Fishbo.Nelly sat there mutely, blinking repeatedly in an attempt to cleanse her eyes.

“Hey! Come on. Say something. Are you alright?” insisted Ch.ase. He was now half-squatting, half-kneeling. He was a bit out of her reach, staying perhaps a meter or so away from her. She eyed him fleetingly now and again, as though he were simply a fixture in the landscape, and tried her best to quickly fathom his motives and intentions. He seemed to be harmless, she deduced. In fact, to her surprise, he even seemed to be genuinely concerned about her.

Her mouth was still way too dry for her to formulate any sensible answer to his question coherently. She was thirsty. Her lips and tongue were parched by the salty air and the sand.

She took a deep breath, sat completely upright stretching her back and shoulders as she looked around, waiting for her head to clear. Then she turned around and faced Ch.ase, her eyebrows arched slightly in a look of only provisional resignation.

“Have you got anything to drink with you?” she asked him in a hoarse voice.