sk.everythingseventual-第62章

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　　He　served　seven　terms　in　the　state　legislature；　starting　in　1978。　When　a　group　of　Progressive　Democrats　asked　him　to　run　for　the　U。S。　Senate　in　1996；　he　said　he　wanted　to　'do　some　reading　and　consider　his　options。'　The　implication　was　that　he　would　be　ready　for　a　national　career　in　politics　by　2000；　2002　at　the　latest。　He　was　getting　old；　but　Vermonters　like　old　guys；　I　guess。　1996　went　past　without　Unger　declaring　himself　a　candidate　for　anything　（possibly　because　his　wife　died　of　cancer）；　and　before　2002　came　around；　he　bought　himself　a　big　old　dirt　sandwich　and　ate　every　bite。
　　There　was　a　small　but　loyal　contingent　in　Stovington　which　claimed　Roll　Em's　death　was　an　accident；　that　Silver　Star　winners　don't　jump　off　their　roofs　even　if　they　have　lost　a　wife　to　cancer　in　the　last　year　or　so；　but　the　rest　pointed　out　that　the　guy　probably　hadn't　been　repairing　the　shingles…not　in　his　nightshirt；　not　at　two　o'clock　in　the　morning。
　　Suicide　was　the　verdict。
　　Yeah。　Right。　Kiss　my　ass　and　go　to　Heaven。
　　
　　XVIII
　　
　　I　left　the　library　and　thought　I'd　head　home。　Instead；　I　went　back　to　the　same　park　bench　again。　I　sat　there　until　the　sun　was　low　and　the　place　had　pretty　much　emptied　out　of　kids　and　Frisbee…catching　dogs。　And　although　I'd　been　in　Columbia　City　for　three　months　by　then；　it　was　the　latest　I'd　ever　been　out。　That's　sad；　I　guess。　I　thought　I　was　living　a　life　here；　finally　getting　away　from　Ma　and　living　a　life；　but　all　I've　been　doing　is　throwing　a　shadow。
　　If　people；　certain　people；　were　checking　up　on　me；　they　might　wonder　why　the　change　in　routine。　So　I　got　up；　went　on　home；　boiled　up　a　bag　of　that　shit…on…a…shingle　stuff；　and　turned　on　my　TV。　I've　got　cable；　the　full　package　including　premium　movie　channels；　and　I've　never　seen　a　single　bill。　How's　that　for　an　eventual　deal？　I　turned　on　Cinemax。　Rutger　Hauer　was　playing　a　blind　karate…fighter。　I　sat　down　on　the　couch　beneath　my　fake　Rembrandt　and　watched　the　show。　I　didn't　see　it；　but　I　ate　my　chow　and　looked　at　it。
　　I　thought　about　stuff。　About　a　newspaper　columnist　who　had　liberal　ideas　and　a　conservative　readership。　About　an　AIDS　researcher　who　served　an　important　linking　function　with　other　AIDS　researchers。　About　an　old　general　who　changed　his　mind。　I　thought　about　the　fact　that　I　only　knew　these　three　by　name　because　they　didn't　have　modems　and　e…mail　capability。
　　There　was　other　stuff　to　think　about；　too。　Like　how　you　could　hypnotize　a　talented　guy；　or　drug　him；　or　maybe　even　expose　him　to　other　talented　guys　in　order　to　keep　him　from　asking　any　of　the　wrong　questions　or　doing　any　of　the　wrong　things。　Like　how　you　could　make　sure　such　a　talented　guy　couldn't　run　away　even　if　he　happened　to　wake　up　to　the　truth。　You'd　do　that　by　setting　him　up　in　what　was；　essentially；　a　cashless　existence　。　。　。　a　life　where　rule　number　one　was　no　ratholing　any　extra　dough；　not　even　pocket…change。　What　sort　of　talented　guy　would　fall　for　something　like　that？　A　naive　one；　with　few　friends　and　next　to　no　self…image。　A　guy　who　would　sell　you　his　talented　soul　for　a　few　groceries　and　seventy　bucks　a　week；　because　he　believes　that's　about　what　it's　worth。
　　I　didn't　want　to　think　about　any　of　that。　I　tried　to　concentrate　on　Rutger　Hauer；　doing　all　that　amusing　blind　karate　shit　（Pug　would　have　laughed　his　ass　off　if　he'd　been　there；　believe　me）；　so　I　wouldn't　have　to　think　about　any　of　that。
　　Two　hundred；　for　instance。　There　was　a　number　I　didn't　want　to　think　about。　200。　10　x　20；　40　x　5。　CC；　to　the　old　Romans。　At　least　two　hundred　times　I'd　pushed　the　button　that　brought　the　message　DINKYMAIL　SENT　up　on　my　screen。
　　It　occurred　to　me…for　the　first　time；　as　if　I　was　finally　waking　up…that　I　was　a　murderer。　A　mass　murderer。
　　Yes　indeed。　That's　what　it　es　down　to。
　　Good　of　mankind？　Bad　of　mankind？　Indifferent　of　mankind？　Who　makes　those　judgements？　Mr。　Sharpton？　His　bosses？　Their　bosses？　And　does　it　matter？
　　I　decided　it　didn't　matter　a　fuck　in　a　rabbit…hutch。　I　further　decided　I　really　couldn't　spend　too　much　time　moaning　（even　to　myself）　how　I　had　been　drugged；　hypnotized；　or　exposed　to　some　kind　of　mind…control。　The　truth　was；　I'd　been　doing　what　I　was　doing　because　I　loved　the　feeling　I　got　when　I　was　posing　the　special　letters；　the　feeling　that　there　was　a　river　of　fire　running　through　the　center　of　my　head。
　　Mostly；　I'd　been　doing　it　because　I　could。
　　'That's　not　true；'　I　said　。　。　。　but　not　real　loud。　I　whispered　it　under　my　breath。　They　probably　don't　have　any　bugs　planted　here；　I'm　sure　they　don't；　but　it's　best　to　be　safe。
　　I　started　writing　this　。　。　。　what　is　it？　A　report；　maybe。　I　started　writing　this　report　later　that　night　。　。　。　as　soon　as　the　Rutger　Hauer　movie　was　over；　in　fact。　I　write　in　a　notebook；　though；　not　on　my　puter；　and　I　write　in　plain　old　English。　No　sankofites；　no　bews；　no　smims。　There's　a　loose　floor…tile　under　the　Ping…Pong　table　down　in　the　basement。　That's　where　I　keep　my　report。　I　just　now　looked　back　at　how　I　started。　I've　got　a　good　job　now；　I　wrote；　and　no　reason　to　feel　glum。　Idiotic。　But　of　course；　any　fool　who　can　pucker　is　apt　to　whistle　past　the　graveyard。
　　When　I　went　to　bed　that　night；　I　dreamed　I　was　in　the　parking　lot　of　the　Supr　Savr。　Pug　was　there；　wearing　his　red　duster　and　a　hat　on　his　head　like　the　one　Mickey　Mouse　wore　in　Fantasia…that's　the　movie　where　Mickey　played　the　Sorcerer's　Apprentice。　Halfway　across　the　parking　lot；　shopping　carts　were　lined　up　in　a　row。　Pug　would　raise　his　hand；　then　lower　it。　Each　time　he　did　this；　a　cart　would　start　rolling　by　itself；　gathering　speed；　rushing　across　the　lot　until　it　crashed　into　the　brick　side　of　the　supermarket。　They　were　piling　up　there；　a　glittering　junkheap　of　metal　and　wheels。　For　once　in　his　life；　Pug　wasn't　smiling。　I　wanted　to　ask　him　what　he　was　doing　and　what　it　meant；　but　of　course　I　knew。
　　'He's　been　good　to　me；'　I　told　Pug　in　this　dream。　It　was　Mr。　Sharp…ton　I　meant；　of　course。　'He's　been　really；　really　eventual。'
　　Pug　turned　fully　to　me　then；　and　I　saw　it　wasn't　Pug　at　all。　It　was　Skipper；　and　his　head　had　been　smashed　in　all　the　way　down　to　the　eyebrows。　Shattered　hunks　of　skull　stuck　up　in　a　circle；　making　him　look　like　he　was　wearing　a　bone　crown。
　　'You're　not　looking　through　a　bombsight；'　Skipper　said；　and　grinned。　'You　are　the　bombsight。　How　do　you　like　that；　Dinkster？'
　　I　woke　up　in　the　dark　of　my　room；　sweating；　with　my　hands　over　my　mouth　to　hold　in　a　scream；　so　I　guess　I　didn't　like　it　very　much。
　　
　　XIX
　　
　　Writing　this　has　been　a　sad　education；　let　me　tell　you。　It's　like　hey；　Dink；　wele　to　the　real　world。　Mostly　it's　the　image　of　grinding　up　dollar　bills　in　the　kitchen　pig　that　es　to　me　when　I　think　about　what　has　happened　to　me；　but　I　know　that's　only　because　it's　easier　to　think　of　grinding　up　money　（or　chucking　it　into　the　storm…drain）　than　it　is　to　think　about　grinding　up　people。　Sometimes　I　hate　myself；　sometimes　I'm　scared　for　my　immortal　soul　（if　I　have　one）；　and　sometimes　I'm　just　embarrassed。　Trust　me；　Mr。　Sharpton　said；　and　I　did。　I　mean；　duh；　how　dumb　can　you　get？　I　tell　myself　I'm　just　a　kid；　the　same　age　as　the　kids　who　crewed　those　B…25s　I　sometimes　think　about；　that　kids　are　allowed　to　be　dumb。　But　I　wonder　if　that's　true　when　lives　are　at　stake。
　　And；　of　course；　I'm　still　doing　it。
　　Yes。
　　I　thought　at　first　that　I　wouldn't　be　able　to；　no　more　than　the　kids　in　Mary　Poppins　could　keep　floating　around　the　house　when　they　lost　their　happy　thoughts　。　。　。　but　I　could。　And　once　I　sat　down　in　front　of　the　puter　screen　and　that　river　of　fire　started　to　flow；　I　was　lost。　You　see　（at　least　I　think　you　do）；　this　is　what　I　was　put　on　Planet　Earth　for。　Can　I　be　blamed　for　doing　the　thing　that　finishes　me　off；　that　pletes　me？
　　Answer：　yes。　Absolutely。
　　But　I　can't　stop。　Sometimes　I　tell　myself　that　I've　gone　on　because　if　I　do　stop…maybe　even　for　a　day…they'll　know　I've　caught　on；　and　the　cleaners　will　make　an　unscheduled　stop。　Except　what　they'll　clean　up　this　time　will　be　me。　But　that's　not　why。　I　do　it　because　I'm　just　another　addict；　same　as　a　guy　smoking　crack　in　an　alley　or　some　chick　taking　a　spike　in　her　arm。　I　do　it　because　of　the　ha