sk.everythingseventual-第59部分

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ople；　you　said。　Make　the　world　a　better　place。　Get　rid　of　the　Skippers。　All　that　sounds　great；　except　I　don't　know　how　to　do　it！'
　　'You　will；'　he　said。　'When　the　time　es；　you　will。'
　　'You　said　Wentworth　and　his　guys　would　focus　my　talent。　Sharpen　it。　Mostly　what　they　did　was　give　me　a　bunch　of　stupid　tests　and　make　me　feel　like　I　was　back　in　school。　Is　it　all　in　my　subconscious？　Is　it　all　on　the　hard　disk？'
　　'Trust　me；　Dink；'　he　said。　'Trust　me；　and　trust　yourself。'
　　So　I　did。　I　have。　But　just　lately；　things　haven't　been　so　good。　Not　so　good　at　all。
　　That　goddam　Neff…all　the　bad　stuff　started　with　him。　I　wish　I'd　never　seen　his　picture。　And　if　I　had　to　see　a　picture；　I　wish　I'd　seen　one　where　he　wasn't　smiling。
　　
　　XIV
　　
　　My　first　week　in　Columbia　City；　I　did　nothing。　I　mean　absolutely　zilch。　I　didn't　even　go　to　the　movies。　When　the　cleaners　came；　I　just　went　to　the　park　and　sat　on　a　bench　and　felt　like　the　whole　world　was　watching　me。　When　it　came　time　to　get　rid　of　my　extra　money　on　Thursday；　I　ended　up　shredding　better　than　fifty　dollars　in　the　garbage　disposal。　And　doing　that　was　new　to　me　then；　remember。　Talk　about　feeling　weird…man；　you　don't　have　a　clue。　While　I　was　standing　there；　listening　to　the　motor　under　the　sink　grinding　away；　I　kept　thinking　about　Ma。　If　Ma　had　been　there　to　see　what　I　was　doing；　she　would　have　probably　run　me　through　with　a　butcher…knife　to　make　me　stop。　That　was　a　dozen　twenty…number　Bingo　games　（or　two　dozen　cover…alls）　going　straight　down　the　kitchen　pig。
　　I　slept　like　shit　that　week。　Every　now　and　then　I'd　go　to　the　little　study…I　didn't　want　to；　but　my　feet　would　drag　me　there。　Like　they　say　murderers　always　return　to　the　scenes　of　their　crimes；　I　guess。　Anyway；　I'd　stand　there　in　the　doorway　and　look　at　the　dark　puter　screen；　at　the　Global　Village　modem；　and　I'd　just　sweat　with　guilt　and　embarrassment　and　fear。　Even　the　way　the　desk　was　so　neat　and　clean；　without　a　single　paper　or　note　on　it；　made　me　sweat。　I　could　just　about　hear　the　walls　muttering　stuff　like　'Nah；　nothing　going　on　in　here'　and　'Who's　this　turkey；　the　cable…installer？'
　　I　had　nightmares。　In　one　of　them；　the　doorbell　rings　and　when　I　open　it；　Mr。　Sharpton's　there。　He's　got　a　pair　of　handcuffs。　'Put　out　your　wrists；　Dink；'　he　says。　'We　thought　you　were　a　tranny；　but　obviously　we　were　wrong。　Sometimes　it　happens。'
　　'No；　I　am；'　I　say。　'I　am　a　tranny；　I　just　need　a　little　more　time　to　get　acclimated。　I've　never　been　away　from　home　before；　remember。'
　　'You've　had　five　years；'　he　goes。
　　I'm　stunned。　I　can't　believe　it。　But　part　of　me　knows　it's　true。　It　feels　like　days；　but　it's　really　been　five　fucking　years；　and　I　haven't　turned　on　the　puter　in　the　little　study　a　single　time。　If　not　for　the　cleaners；　the　desk　it　sits　on　would　be　six　inches　deep　in　dust。
　　'Hold　out　your　hands；　Dink。　Stop　making　this　hard　on　both　of　us。'
　　'I　won't；'　I　say；　'and　you　can't　make　me。'
　　He　looks　behind　him　then；　and　who　should　e　up　the　steps　but　Skipper　Brannigan。　He　is　wearing　his　red　nylon　tunic；　only　now　TRANSCORP　is　sewn　on　it　instead　of　SUPR　SAVR。　He　looks　pale　but　otherwise　okay。　Not　dead　is　what　I　mean。　'You　thought　you　did　something　to　me；　but　you　didn't；'　Skipper　says。　'You　couldn't　do　anything　to　anyone。　You're　just　a　hippie　waste。'
　　'I'm　going　to　put　these　cuffs　on　him；'　Mr。　Sharpton　says　to　Skipper。　'If　he　gives　me　any　trouble；　run　him　over　with　a　shopping　cart。'
　　'Totally　eventual；'　Skipper　says；　and　I　wake　up　half　out　of　my　bed　and　on　the　floor；　screaming。
　　
　　XV
　　
　　Then；　about　ten　days　after　I　moved　in；　I　had　another　kind　of　dream。　I　don't　remember　what　it　was；　but　it　must　have　been　a　good　one；　because　when　I　woke　up；　I　was　smiling。　I　could　feel　it　on　my　face；　a　big；　happy　smile。　It　was　like　when　I　woke　up　with　the　idea　about　Mrs。　Bukowski's　dog。　Almost　exactly　like　that。
　　I　pulled　on　a　pair　of　jeans　and　went　into　the　study。　I　turned　on　the　puter　and　opened　the　window　marked　TOOLS。　There　was　a　program　in　there　called　DINKY'S　NOTEBOOK。　I　went　right　to　it；　and　all　my　symbols　were　there…circles；　triangles；　japps；　mirks；　rhomboids；　bews；　smims；　fouders；　hundreds　more。　Thousands　more。　Maybe　millions　more。　It's　sort　of　like　Mr。　Sharpton　said：　a　new　world；　and　I'm　on　the　coastline　of　the　first　continent。
　　All　I　know　is　that　all　at　once　it　was　there　for　me；　I　had　a　great　big　Macintosh　puter　to　work　with　instead　of　a　little　piece　of　pink　chalk；　and　all　I　had　to　do　was　type　the　words　for　the　symbols　and　the　symbols　would　appear。　I　was　jacked　to　the　max。　I　mean　my　God。　It　was　like　a　river　of　fire　burning　in　the　middle　of　my　head。　I　wrote；　I　called　up　symbols；　I　used　the　mouse　to　drag　everything　where　it　was　supposed　to　be。　And　when　it　was　done；　I　had　a　letter。　One　of　the　special　letters。
　　But　a　letter　to　who？
　　A　letter　to　where？
　　Then　I　realized　it　didn't　matter。　Make　a　few　minor　customizing　touches；　and　there　were　many　people　the　letter　could　go　to　although　this　one　had　been　written　for　a　man　rather　than　a　woman。　I　don't　know　how　I　knew　that；　I　just　did。　I　decided　to　start　with　Cincinnati；　only　because　Cincinnati　was　the　first　city　to　e　into　my　mind。　It　could　as　easily　have　been　Zurich；　Switzerland；　or　Waterville；　Maine。
　　I　tried　to　open　a　TOOLS　program　titled　DINKYMAIL。　Before　the　puter　would　let　me　in　there；　it　prompted　me　to　wake　up　my　modem。　Once　the　modem　was　running；　the　puter　wanted　a　312　area　code。　312's　Chicago；　and　I　imagine　that；　as　far　as　the　phone　pany　is　concerned；　my　pu…calls　all　e　from　TransCorp's　headquarters。　I　didn't　care　one　way　or　another；　that　was　their　business。　I　had　found　my　business　and　was　taking　care　of　it。
　　With　the　modem　awake　and　linked　to　Chicago；　the　puter　flashed
　　
　　DINKYMAIL　READY。
　　
　　I　clicked　on　LOCALE。　I'd　been　in　the　study　almost　three　hours　by　then；　with　only　one　break　to　take　a　quick　piss；　and　I　could　smell　myself；　sweating　and　stinking　like　a　monkey　in　a　greenhouse。　I　didn't　mind。　I　liked　the　smell。　I　was　having　the　time　of　my　life。　I　was　fucking　delirious。
　　I　typed　CINCINNATI　and　hit　EXECUTE。
　　
　　NO　LISTINGS　CINCINNATI
　　
　　the　puter　said。　Okay；　not　a　problem。　Try　Columbus…closer　to　home；　anyway。　And　yes；　folks！　We　have　a　Bingo。
　　
　　TWO　LISTINGS　COLUMBUS
　　
　　There　were　two　telephone　numbers。　I　clicked　on　the　top　one；　curious　and　a　little　afraid　of　what　might　pop　out。　But　it　wasn't　a　dossier；　a　profile；　or…God　forbid…a　photograph。　There　was　one　single　word：
　　
　　MUFFIN。
　　
　　Say　what？
　　But　then　I　knew。　Muffin　was　Mr。　Columbus's　pet。　Very　likely　a　cat。　I　called　up　my　special　letter　again；　transposed　two　symbols　and　deleted　a　third。　Then　I　added　MUFFIN　to　the　top；　with　an　arrow　pointing　down。　There。　Perfect。
　　Did　I　wonder　who　Muffin's　owner　was；　or　what　he　had　done　to　warrant　TransCorp's　attention；　or　exactly　what　was　going　to　happen　to　him？　I　did　not。　The　idea　that　my　conditioning　at　Peoria　might　have　been　partially　responsible　for　this　disinterest　never　crossed　my　mind；　either。　I　was　doing　my　thing；　that　was　all。　Just　doing　my　thing；　and　as　happy　as　a　clam　at　high　tide。
　　I　called　the　number　on　the　screen。　I　had　the　puter's　speaker　on；　but　there　was　no　hello；　only　the　screechy　mating…call　of　another　puter。　Just　as　well；　really。　Life's　easier　when　you　subtract　the　human　element。　Then　it's　like　that　movie；　Twelve　O'Clock　High；　cruising　over　Berlin　in　your　trusty　B…25；　looking　through　your　trusty　Norden　bombsight　and　waiting　for　just　the　right　moment　to　push　your　trusty　button。　You　might　see　smokestacks；　or　factory　roofs；　but　no　people。　The　guys　who　dropped　the　bombs　from　their　B…25s　didn't　have　to　hear　the　screams　of　mothers　whose　children　had　just　been　reduced　to　guts；　and　I　didn't　even　have　to　hear　anyone　say　hello。　A　very　good　deal。
　　After　a　little　bit；　I　turned　off　the　speaker　anyway。　I　found　it　distracting。
　　
　　MODEM　FOUND；
　　
　　the　puter　flashed；　and　then
　　
　　SEARCH　FOR　E…MAIL　ADDRESS　Y/N。
　　
　　I　typed　Y　and　waited。　This　time　the　wait　was　longer。　I　think　the　puter　was　going　back　to　Chicago　again；　and　getting　what　it　needed　to　unlock　the　e…mail　address　of　Mr。　Columbus。　Still；　it　was　less　than