sk.everythingseventual-第52节

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　　I　thought　about　it；　then　said　no。　I　thanked　him　and　hung　up。　It　had　been　on　the　tip　of　my　tongue　to　tell　him　I　thought　I'd　been　drugged；　as　well　。　。　。　given　some　sort　of　mood…elevator　to　help　me　through　the　worst　of　my　homesickness；　but　in　the　end　I　decided　not　to　bother　him。　It　was　three　in　the　morning；　after　all；　and　if　they　had　been　giving　me　anything；　it　was　probably　for　my　own　good。
　　
　　XII
　　
　　Dr。　Wentworth　came　to　see　me　the　next　day…he　was　the　Big　Kahuna…and　he　did　apologize。　He　was　perfectly　nice　about　it；　but　he　had　a　look；　I　don't　know；　like　maybe　Mr。　Sharpton　had　called　him　about　two　minutes　after　I　hung　up　and　gave　him　a　hot　reaming。
　　Dr。　Wentworth　took　me　for　a　walk　on　the　back　lawn…green　and　rolling　and　damned　near　perfect　there　at　the　end　of　spring…and　said　he　was　sorry　for　not　keeping　me　'up　to　speed。'　The　epilepsy　test　really　was　an　epilepsy　test；　he　said　（and　a　CAT…scan；　too）；　but　since　it　induced　a　hypnotic　state　in　most　subjects；　they　usually　took　advantage　of　it　to　give　certain　'baseline　instructions。'　In　my　case；　they　were　instructions　about　the　puter　programs　I'd　be　using　in　Columbia　City。　Dr。　Wentworth　asked　me　if　I　had　any　other　questions。　I　lied　and　said　no。
　　You　probably　think　that's　weird；　but　it's　not。　I　mean；　I　had　a　long　and　sucky　school　career　which　ended　three　months　short　of　graduation。　I　had　teachers　I　liked　as　well　as　teachers　I　hated；　but　never　one　I　entirely　trusted。　I　was　the　kind　of　kid　who　always　sat　in　the　back　of　the　room　if　the　teacher's　seating…chart　wasn't　alphabetical；　and　never　took　part　in　class　discussions。　I　mostly　said　'Huh？'　when　I　was　called　on；　and　wild　horses　wouldn't　have　dragged　a　question　out　of　me。　Mr。　Sharpton　was　the　only　guy　I　ever　met　who　was　able　to　get　into　where　I　lived；　and　ole　Doc　Wentworth　with　his　bald　head　and　sharp　eyes　behind　his　little　rimless　glasses　was　no　Mr。　Sharpton。　I　could　imagine　pigs　flying　south　for　the　winter　before　I　could　imagine　opening　up　to　that　dude；　let　alone　crying　on　his　shoulder。
　　And　fuck；　I　didn't　know　what　else　to　ask；　anyway。　A　lot　of　the　time　I　liked　it　in　Peoria；　and　I　was　excited　by　the　prospects　ahead…new　job；　new　house；　new　town。　People　were　great　to　me　in　Peoria。　Even　the　food　was　great…meatloaf；　fried　chicken；　milkshakes；　everything　I　liked。　Okay；　I　didn't　like　the　diagnostic　tests；　those　boogersnots　you　have　to　do　with　an　IBM　pencil；　and　sometimes　I'd　feel　dopey；　as　if　someone　had　put　something　in　my　mashed　potatoes　（or　hyper；　sometimes　I'd　feel　that　way；　too）；　and　there　were　other　times…at　least　two…when　I　was　pretty　sure　I'd　been　hypnotized　again。　But　so　what？　I　mean；　was　any　of　it　a　big　deal　after　you'd　been　chased　around　a　supermarket　parking　lot　by　a　maniac　who　was　laughing　and　making　race…car　noises　and　trying　to　run　you　over　with　a　shopping　cart？
　　
　　XIII
　　
　　I　had　one　more　talk　on　the　phone　with　Mr。　Sharpton　that　I　suppose　I　should　mention。　That　was　just　a　day　before　my　second　airplane　ride；　the　one　that　took　me　to　Columbia　City；　where　a　guy　was　waiting　with　the　keys　to　my　new　house。　By　then　I　knew　about　the　cleaners；　and　the　basic　money…rule…start　every　week　broke；　end　every　week　broke…and　I　knew　who　to　call　locally　if　I　had　a　problem。　（Any　big　problem　and　I　call　Mr。　Sharpton；　who　is　technically　my　'control。'）　I　had　maps；　a　list　of　restaurants；　directions　to　the　cinema　plex　and　the　mall。　I　had　a　line　on　everything　but　the　most　important　thing　of　all。
　　'Mr。　Sharpton；　I　don't　know　what　to　do；'　I　said。　I　was　talking　to　him　on　the　phone　just　outside　the　caff。　There　was　a　phone　in　my　room；　but　by　then　I　was　too　nervous　to　sit　down；　let　alone　lie　on　my　bed。　If　they　were　still　putting　shit　in　my　food；　it　sure　wasn't　working　that　day。
　　'I　can't　help　you　there；　Dink；'　he　said；　calm　as　ever。　'So　solly；　Cholly。'
　　'What　do　you　mean？　You've　got　to　help　me！　You　recruited　me；　for　jeepers'　sake！'
　　'Let　me　give　you　a　hypothetical　case。　Suppose　I'm　the　President　of　a　well…endowed　college。　Do　you　know　what　well…endowed　means？'
　　'Lots　of　bucks。　I'm　not　stupid；　I　told　you　that。'
　　'So　you　did…I　apologize。　Anyhow；　let's　say　that　I；　President　Sharpton；　use　some　of　my　school's　plentiful　bucks　to　hire　a　great　novelist　as　the　writer…in…residence；　or　a　great　pianist　to　teach　music。　Would　that　entitle　me　to　tell　the　novelist　what　to　write；　or　the　pianist　what　to　pose？'
　　'Probably　not。'
　　'Absolutely　not。　But　let's　say　it　did。　If　I　told　the　novelist；　'Write　a　edy　about　Betsy　Ross　screwing　around　with　George　Washington　in　Gay　Paree；'　do　you　think　he　could　do　it？'
　　I　got　laughing。　I　couldn't　help　it。　Mr。　Sharpton's　just　got　a　vibe　about　him；　somehow。
　　'Maybe；'　I　said。　'Especially　if　you　whipped　a　bonus　on　the　guy。'
　　'Okay；　but　even　if　he　held　his　nose　and　cranked　it　out；　it　would　likely　be　a　very　bad　novel。　Because　creative　people　aren't　always　in　charge。　And　when　they　do　their　best　work；　they're　hardly　ever　in　charge。　They're　just　sort　of　rolling　along　with　their　eyes　shut；　yelling　Wheeeee。'
　　'What's　all　that　got　to　do　with　me？　Listen；　Mr。　Sharpton…when　I　try　to　imagine　what　I'm　going　to　do　in　Columbia　City；　all　I　see　is　a　great　big　blank。　Help　people；　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