aaron_the fall of america_chapter_29

Chapter 29

"That was the tallest free standing structure in the world when I left, maybe still is."

"What is it for?"

"Communications, I think. It might have been an effort at egotism."

"The light won't pass threw it."

"No, it's solid like a lamp post."

"What's that?"

"Concrete and steel, give us a few years and we'll get on to something better. You must also remember we have a different environment here. We take more abuse."

"Okay."

"They play baseball and football in there. The Blue Jays, you will soon hear of them. And the roof opens up as well. It's pretty good."

"Is it religious?"

"Some would say it was but sports have a slightly different belief system. The fanaticism and creeds can get out of hand just like a religion."

We were approaching the station and everyone was preparing for disembarkment. There were scarves and coats and gloves to organise as well as luggage. When the train stopped, we filed out into the cold wind, through some doors, down some stairs and along an old terrazzo floor. It was an old station. Although the corridors we were in lacked charm, I remembered the main entrance way was very impressive. There was something comforting about an old train station. It felt as though trains and train stations were more magical than the sterility of more modern methods.

"Jesus Christ," a voice cried out.

"That's me."

I hadn't seen Richard until he grabbed me and hugged me. He was awfully happy to see me.

"You look a mess. God dam, it's good to see you," Richard declared. "I bet though, if you had a good sleep you would look the same as when you left."

"It wasn't that long ago."

"True enough for you."

"Anything new?"

"Jumpin' Jesus."

Richard took me by the arm and lead me out into the snow at the front of the station. He hadn't noticed Karna with us.

"Look. Snow," I said.

I picked up a hand full and tossed it at Karna. She was amazed. She looked up to witness it fall from the sky."

"I'm double parked. We got to go," Richard yelled as he hurried to the jeep.

"Beautiful," Karna said.

"'Tis. Take a look at the building we just came out of."

"Yes, it has a presence."

"Come."

We climbed into the jeep.

"Would you look at you; you are a pleasure to look at," Richard said.

"I don't owe you any money, do I?"

That got me a shot in the arm.

"If I wasn't looking at you, I wouldn't believe I was looking at you after nearly eight bloody years and you have the nerve not to have aged a minute."

"Two months."

Richard was suddenly curious about Karna sitting in the back seat. He pushed his face into mine.

"Who is in the back seat?"

I turned and looked.

"Why, that's Karna."

"Hi, I'm Aaron's brother, Richard."

He looked out the front window without saying anything. Finally he put the key in the ignition.

"Very beautiful," Richard said.

I wasn't decided if he meant Karna or the situation he might be conjuring in his mind.

I rolled down the window to get some air.

"Red is for stop, isn't it?" Karna asked.

"What?"

"Red light," I said.

Richard slammed on the brakes, stopping about a third of the way into the intersection. He backed up to the line. A policeman watched from where her was parked across the street. He seemed to find the situation typical enough and failed to even change his expression.

"Where you from, Karna?"

"One of the villages near the old city."

"Which city."

"Santiago," I answered.

"Why can't she answer, Aaron? Tell me that. Are you lying for her? Is there a madman in the front seat and a strangely human looking alien in the back? Have I got that right? I prey to any god that will listen that I'm not at all right."

"I don't think you are mad."

"You are a crazy reckless bastard."

"I am so."

"But why? How? You can't do that. Do you know what you've done? She might have a disease to wipe us all out, or she might be millions of small life forms posing as something that a hormonal Earthling would want to take home. I can't believe this."

"I gave he a medical."

"You're not a fuckin' doctor."

"The computer is."

"Where is the computer? Where did you leave the craft? Not at Cape Canaveral or else there would be one less alien in my jeep and one more in quarantine."

"The craft is safe."

"How did you do it?"

"I came back early and didn't land in a military controlled sight."

"What do you mean, early?"

"Everything went according to procedure in the jump. I stopped in on a planet for several weeks after the first jump and noticed that there sun was about ten times as big as ours.

"And you used it for acceleration with no concern for incineration."

"I had a little concern. But I wanted to get back, I missed you."

"That's sweet. Where's the ship?"

"Where they'll find it."

"Where will they find it."

"Disney World."

Richard just nodded his head and turned right then left before continuing on.

"It doesn't matter."

"What doesn't?"

"They have no money for the space program. There is no NASA. The only people that might have been waiting for you would be intelligence idiots."

"Why's that?"

"God doesn't want us in space."

"He wants it quiet," I suggested.

"We've slipped back since you left."

"You mean you and the Americans?"

"Yes, me and my country have modern technology and dark ages mentality. The new mode inquisition with church and state as one.

"Sounds like hell," I said.

"Comparatively, I'd say hell ain't a bad place to be."

"You still have my records?"

"In Nova Scotia."

"With Ashley and the kids?"

"Yes, uncle Aaron. Your nephew is five years old?"

"And my niece?"

"Not sure."

"You're not sure of what?"

"They took her away a few years ago. They kidnapped her. They think that because she was born in America that she is American property."

"That's madness."

"We know where she is but there is no way I can go to America to get her. If I went in there they would brainwash me until I became a vegetable."

"I'm born Canadian, they can't keep me there."

"Don't be too sure."

"Someone has to."

We turned off the main street after going under some railway tracks, then turned again, then once more into a gravel roadway that was the parking lot of a long warehouse. It looked like it dated back to the second world war. It should have seemed ominous but it might have been the vary building I had lived in years before. If I could regain my memory, I'd remember where I was.

"I think I used to live here. But I lost the memory of it in the jumps."

"That was predicted, that's why you were supposed to land at Cape Canaveral."

"How would that help?"

"Well, it wouldn't now but NASA had proper conditioning to ease the shock."

"Might ease me right out of my head."

"They might have now, under the new government."

"Why do you live here?"

"I don't often, only when I come to Toronto. It's cheap and inconspicuous."

"But I thought we were in Canada where you're free to be as conspicuous as you please?"

"Unfortunately, American guns and missiles say they must be here to prevent danger to their country. They keep an eye on anyone who seems a threat to their security. They have consented to strict rules about shooting and kidnapping now that the United Nations have stationed permanent basses along many border crossings.

"So are you one of those who threaten American security?"

"I didn't become an American citizen to regain my daughter. That is a serious offence."

"I can almost understand that?"

"But I couldn't take the chance of them finding out who I really was. That would endanger Ashley, you and me."

"How come they haven't taken Ashley if she's American?"

"She is Canadian now and before that, when we were still here in Toronto, they where certain she would come back to get her daughter."

"Any reasonable parent would."

"I will try now that you are back."

"You mean, you will get me to try," I said. "Don't try to tell me you weren't thinking about it because we've been through all this before."

"It's cold," Karna said when we stepped out of the jeep.

"You're obviously not Canadian," Richard said.

"He means, this isn't that cold compared to what it can and will be."

"I think I am most unprepared for cold," Karna continued.

"We aren't going back to Florida so you'll have to endure until spring."

"How are Mom and Dad?"

"They send their love and would like to see you. They seem to be becoming more American and a little slower and older."

"That's to be expected after so many years in Florida."

"I guess so."

"You probably want a nap, but I want to show you something first."

We followed Richard up the stairs to a hallway lit with florescent lights. It looked like the place was temporarily put together fifty or sixty years earlier and would remain that way until it eroded away. We passed a cloud of dust coming out of a doorway where someone was chipping away at a large stone. A cat slipped into a hole in a wall when it saw us coming up the hall. When we finally came to a work shop, we went into a small office in the back that looked like a mail room.

"This building feels familiar," I said.

"It's somehow cosy," Richard said. "We have similar places to this little office in eight cities in Canada. We make registered Canadian identification for people wanting to get out of America. One way out of America is with the military, which means more brainwashing but they get to travel in Canada and South and Central America. The other way is to be a foreigner. We have the best luck with students. They use the story that they want to go back to Canada to visit parents. It's a little dangerous though because the American officials know that there are fewer and fewer foreigner studying in their pathetic schools. And if they can detect that you aren't a foreigner and are nevertheless attempting to leave the country, they remove your memory and give you a better one. One that doesn't attempt neurotic behaviour such as previously attempted."

"Excuse me."

"They call it counselling. It's especially effective on younger people who are still fairly malleable."

"How come the authorities don't track you down?"

"The Canadian authorities help us and the American authorities don't know what to look for."

"Why not?"

"God."

"That would do it."

"The mail is also smuggled across the border so that it is post marked in America."

"You've got it all figured."

"Look at this. This is a picture of a girl with her good friend, lord and saviour, Christly Jesus in a nice plastic frame and cover. Isn't it sweet?"

"Oh, sure."

"I can make you one," Richard boasted.

"That sound really lovely but I have one of me with the singer from Mad House and he looks enough like Jesus."

"Ah, but this Jesus ascends to heaven. The cover is first broken before bleaching Jesus. He goes away to visit God in Miami and our happy Christian then has Canadian identification. A different kind of salvation."

"Why wouldn't the government figure it out?"

"No authority would dare blaspheme the Lord God by bleaching a picture of his only holy son."

"Are you suggesting to me that the authorities actually believe in God and share the same fears as the people on the street?"

"Why wouldn't they?"

"Well, I always thought religion was a political manoeuvre."

"No, the western mind is Christian, even those who don't think they are part of it."

"Not me."

"Yes, even you."

"No. I'll have no part of it."

"You can't escape it. It's everywhere, even in your cereal box."

"That, I wish to disagree with but not discuss. Do you make much money at this Jesus picture thing?"

"Not much, just enough to pay bills and appear like a legitimate organization."

"Very good."

"You look like you better have a rest so I'll take you to your suite."

Richard walked us back into the direction we had come from and put us in his living space which also looked like a work shop.

"It feels like home," I said.

"It's better than sleeping in the snow or a box car."

"I was serious, I like it. Do you have any food in case we get hungry."

"No but here's some money. There's an all night store on the corner, end of this street then right."

He drew me a little map so that I wouldn't get lost. He found an extra key for me, then left. Thirty seconds later he stuck his head in again.

"Don't answer the door. I won't be back till morning," he shouted.

When he had gone again, we went straight to bed for a needed rest. Four or five hours later, I woke up hungry."

"Do you want to stay in bed or come with me to get some food."

"I prefer the warmth."

"If you get board, there's many books. I won't be long."

"Don't eat any bad bacon," Karna said.

"Okay."

I found a sweat shit and a warm vest and a coat to wear.

"Did I ever tell you that you are beautiful?"

"Thank you. Come back soon."

"No worries."

I locked the door behind me and walked through the warehouse listening to the fans of the large heaters. The space had a feeling of a small village. All around the perimeter of the open space were small businesses and shops. At the end of the space, I came to a set of stairs that took me outside. Though my memory didn't verify it, I felt I was on a familiar path.

I knew where I'd find the store and I knew that there would be at least two fast food places and a donut cafe. I strolled along the back road and watched a man encouraging his dog to remain obediently in the sit mode. He appeared to be waiting for me to pass before he crossed the road. Down a side street, I heard voices in a friendly conversation. Farther on, two more people walked by me. The area wasn't as desolate as it appeared. There was something quintessential about the area.

It was also a representative struggle into the future. There was little natural plant life. Pavement and brick buildings were planted in my foreground and toward the south horizon, an elevated highway supported the roar of constant smog machines.

Out of one of the warehouses came the sound of a band practising an old rock tune. On the next lamppost was glued a flyer telling when Sucker Punch would be next playing at the Rivoli.

The picture of the street would change in the morning when all the businesses and shops opened. The area would be teaming with life of busy humans.

When I got to the main intersection, a young and energetic self-abuser was flapping his arms around his stumbling body proposing that I could give him my spare change. I had nothing to say so I shock my head.

"Merry Christmas," he said with biting sarcasm.

I walked into the truly American fast food establishment and up to the service counter. Two foolhardy fellows were spouting gibberish to aid in the confusion of the fat girl who wasn't too aware of her job function. I forced myself to be patient and mild tempered as I watched the long, drawn out, tedious exercise that gradually came to a dreary focus before the tiring boys were finally supplied with their flaccid calorie and salt stuffing. The next man placed his order before I place mine. Noticing there were no chicken sandwiches up, I ordered one so I would be certain to get it hot out of the boiling grease. I had to wait to have it cooked which gave me farther opportunity to watch our agonised server.

"Will that be large or small?"

"What? A large shake," he answered obviously unsure of her question since there were no size options on the edible oil drink. He dug in his pocket for money.

"Large or small fries?"

He had specified large fries when he first ordered so he answered the question again a little perturbed but not upset.

Our host was working to stay tuned into her surroundings. I had the impression the Americans had got to her head. She hadn't gained awareness. She didn't want people talking to her. She was unhappy about being short and fat which added to the tension of having to serve people.

The man finally got his large fries but the package was only half full and just short of warm. He departed a little unsatisfied.

More confusion incurred with another customer before I received my awaited catch. I managed to receive some mustard from my server with no difficulty. I sat down to consume my parody. The cheeseburger was dry, tasteless aside from salt, and nearly cold. I ate it without awareness. I had my heart set on the chicken sandwich. After dipping it into the mustard, I took a bite. It too, was not hot. I took two more bites before noticing that it wasn't fully cooked. On closer inspection, I discovered it was practically raw. I didn't mind rare roast beef but cold fast food restaurant chicken burgers I could not stomach raw. Since I was not trained in fast food customer etiquette that would have, with the influence of the mind altering music, directed me to eat it and be quiet, I took it back to the counter where I hoped I wouldn’t cause my sad server too much grief. She acquired the young manager.

"This is raw."

"It's not cooked enough?"

"No."

"We could cook you another one."

By this time I had lost my taste for chicken. The cooks were cleaning the kitchen so I understood my new chicken burger would cause a great dial of disorder.

"Not if you've shut everything down."

"You don't want us to make you another one?"

"It's not worth firing up the fat."

I could see that the cook was relieved to hear my decision against a new slab of chicken. He snapped out of his suspended animation to continue cleaning. He was obviously anxious to get home, maybe so he could get some sleep before going to school.

"We could give you a refund."

"That might be the best idea."

"I'll be right back."

Five minutes later he returned from the hidden region with my bit of cash.

"We're really sorry," he said.

"It's no big deal."

He appeared sincerely relieved.

"Thank you," he said.

I smiled graciously then let myself out the door.

Outside the variety store, which was only a few steps from my last adventure, stood a down trodden and weathered young man holding a scratched and lose lottery ticket. He looked up from it with pleading eyes, "Can you spare a quarter so I can buy another one of these?"

He was one of the millions of suckers who had been fooled by the lie that you can get something for nothing. Though he was unaware of it, he was an underpaid tax collector.

Even though his surprisingly honest request almost cause me to laugh, it failed to rouse my sympathy enough for a donation.

I picked up a loaf of bread, a carton of juice and some yoghurt with live culture in it. The man I had just recently witnessed purchasing a half container of cold French fries, confronted me. He modestly scratched his three-day growth of beard while inquiring about Richard's coat. He couldn't understand why people bought oilskin coats that looked like they came out of a western movie. Though his question seemed to answer itself, I told him they were from Australia. It didn't mean much but he accepted my response and left the issue. I could have explained that they weren't completely impractical because they kept the water off ones body but he had left me. I pushed past someone and made my way to the cashier.
"Did you enjoy your outing?" Karna asked when I returned.

"I don't know."

"Why not?"

"What you believe, depends on what crock of shit you ate."



read on. book_02 chapter_30



by Joanne B. Washington

© 2001 | the jose wombat project