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Entombed outside time and space and thought, the voyagers sat silently within
their trip ship, facing in any direction they chose. Direction did not matter.
The vessel only traveled in one direction. And they, within, entombed.
Moth wandered through the lounge, sitting here for a few moments to tell a fat
man of how he had taken a girl who worked for him as a secretary away from her
husband and children, had set her up in an expensive apartment, and then,
weary of her, had left her with the unbreakable lease and no funds, even
without a job because it simply isn t good business to be having an affair
with someone who works for you. particularly not with a woman who is so
suicide-prone. And he told the fat man how he had set up a trust fund for the
children after it was over, after the girl who had worked for him as a
secretary had become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Wandered through the lounge,
sitting there for a long time confessing to an old woman with many rings how
he had mercilessly used his age and illness to bind his sons and daughters to
him till long past the time when they could find joyful lives for themselves,
with no intention of ever signing over his wealth to them. Wandered through
the lounge sitting over there for a time to reveal to a tall, thin
chocolate-colored man how he had betrayed the other members of a group to
which he had belonged, naming names and, from the dark interior of the back
seat of a large automobile, pointing out the ones who had led the movement,
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and watching as they had been battered to their knees in the rain and the mud,
and wincing as the thugs with the lead pipes had smashed in the back of each
head, very professionally, very smoothly, only one solid downstroke for each
man. Wandered through the lounge and talked to a pretty young girl about the
devious mind games he had played with lovers, unnerving them and unsettling
them and forcing them to spend all their time trying to dance and sing their
dances and songs of life for his amusement, until their dances had degenerated
into feeble tremblings and their songs had died away to rattles. Wandered
through the lounge being penitent, remorseful, contrite. Sat and recanted,
rued, confessed, humbled himself and wept occasionally.
And each person, as he walked away leaving them to their secret thoughts,
flickered for a moment with life in the eyes, and then the lights died and
they were once again alone.
He came to a table where a thin, plain-looking young woman sat alone, biting
her thumbnail.
 I d like to sit down and discuss something with you, he said. She shrugged
as if she didn t care, and he sat.
 I ve come to realize we re all alone, he said.
She did not reply. Merely stared at him.
 No matter how many people love us or care for us or want to ease our burden
in this life, Moth said,  we are all, all of us, always alone. Something
Aldous Huxley once said, I m not sure I know it exactly. I ve looked and
looked and can t find the quote, but I remember part of it. He said:  We are,
each of us, an island universe in a sea of space. I think that was
it.
She looked at him without expression. Her face was thin and without remarkable
features. No engaging smile, no intricate intriguing bone structure, no sudden
dimple or angle that revealed her as even momentarily attractive. The look she
gave him was the one she had perfected. Neutral.
 My life has always been sad music, Moth said, with enormous sincerity.  Like
a long symphony played all in minors. Wind in trees and conversations heard
through walls at night. No one looked at me, no one wanted to know. But I
maintained; that s all there is.
There s one day, and the end of it, and night, and sleep that comes slowly,
and then another day. Until there are as many behind as there are ahead. No
questions, no answers, alone. But I
maintain. I don t let it bend me. And the song continues.
The unprepossessing young woman smiled faintly.
She reached across and touched his hand.
Moth s eyes sparkled for a moment.
Then the gigantic vessel began to slow. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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