js&cs.thebridge-第43节

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　Buckminster　Fuller；　The　Beatles　and　the　Kennedys　（not　to　mention　dozens　of　more　contemporary　hero…figures；　from　Bob　Geldof　to　Michael　and　Jesse　Jackson）。
　　Though　they；　too；　were　shouting　and　waving　signs；　not　a　one　of　them　was　laughing：　and　though　all　of　them　had　their　pants　around　their　ankles　as　well；　none　of　them　seemed　to　be　wanking　off　with　any　degree　of　success。　Their　signs　read　CUT　IT　OUT　and　THAT'S　NOT　NICE。
　　And　at　the　front　of　the　sad…eyed　crowd　hung　poor　old　Jesus；　three…quarters　crucified。　He'd　gotten　one　hand　free；　and　it　held　a　magnifying　glass。　He　was　trying　to　find　his　dick　with　it：　squinting　real　hard；　also　without　success。
　　The　little　sign　nailed　above　his　head　read；　simply：　WUSS。
　　〃So；〃　Lydia　blurted；　practically　beside　herself；　〃what　do　you　think？〃
　　〃I　think；〃　Garth　proclaimed；　〃that　this　is　the　most　vile；　repugnant；　penocentric　wad　of　indefensible　swill　I've　ever　seen。〃
　　〃Me；　too；〃　she　agreed；　smiling。　〃Don'cha　just　love　it？〃
　　〃You　bet！〃　Garth　said。　He　felt　all　warm　and　fuzzy　inside。
　　〃Yeah；〃　Lydia　beamed；　gunning　the　Scuzzbug　down　South　George　Street；　〃if　this　don't　get　us　orphaned；　nothin'　will。〃
　　And；　of　course；　it　was　true。　Taken　together；　it　was　an　utterly　obscene　tableau；　calculated　to　outrage　and　horrify　even　the　most　open…minded　member　of　the　studio　audience。
　　That　in　itself；　though　gratifying；　was　simply　not　enough。　So　Garth　and　Lydia　had　found　it　necessary　to　go　that　extra　mile；　by　adding　that　little　personal　touch。
　　The　face　on　the　paunchy　baby…raper　belonged　to　Werner　Blake。
　　The　face　on　the　dickless　Jesus　was　Lydia's　father；　Frank。
　　It　was　their　special　〃Sins　of　the　Father's　Day　Salute！〃
　　And　it　was　just　their　little　way　of　saying　thanks。
　　
　　Because　Garth　and　Lydia　were　pissed；　no　question　about　it。　When　they　said　NO　FUTURE；　they　weren't　just　pulling　a　petulant　teenage　hissy…fit。　They　were　only　sixteen　years　old；　and　they　knew　that　their　civilization　wouldn't　last　out　the　century。　They　knew　that　they'd　been　fucked　out　of　their　birthrights　by　the　greedheads　who　ran　the　world　and；　worse；　the　cowards　who　watched　it　all　happen　without　lifting　a　finger　to　stop　it。
　　Which　was　where；　Garth　reminded　himself；　assholes　like　Lydia's　dad　came　in。
　　It　was　one　thing　to　hate　men　like　Werner　Blake。　They　were　wholly　transparent　scum；　and　they　certainly　didn't　deserve　to　live；　but　at　least　they'd　never　volunteered　the　pretense　of　brotherly　love　or　global　concern。
　　Guys　like　Frank　Vickers；　on　the　other　hand；　were　nothing　but　pretense：　a　bunch　of　pathetic　old　ex…hippie…turned…yuppie…turned…bitter…old…lecherous…drunken　liberal　shmucks　who；　if　anything；　Garth　and　Lydia　hated　even　more　than　Garth's　old　man；　because　at　least　Garth's　old　man　could　get　it　up　once　in　a　while。
　　If　there　was　one　thing　more　pathetic　than　listening　to　Frank　Vickers　drone　on　about　〃the　Sixties〃…when　people　really　cared；　unlike　today…Garth　couldn't　for　the　life　of　him　imagine　what　it　was。　These　days；　Frank's　idea　of　social　responsibility　was　to　form　an　〃environmental　action　group；〃　which　mostly　consisted　of　other　middle…aged　whining　pisspots　like　himself。　They　would　get　together　and　talk　about　political　action　and　drafting　resolutions　and　shit；　except　it　always　turned　into　an　argument　about　who　was　in　charge；　if　it　even　got　that　far。　They　they'd　break　for　refreshments　and　wind　up　trashed；　having　acplished　nothing；　playing　Trivial　Pursuit　and　talking　about　how　the　dope　was　better　in　the　good　old　days。
　　Chalk　another　one　up　for　peace；　love；　and　understanding。
　　Which　leaves　people　like　us　with　pretty　damn　little　to　work　with　in　the　role…model　department；　Garth　mused。　Not　that　this　is　a　big　surprise　or　anything。　I　mean；　we　would　have　liked　to　believe　you　guys；　but　you're　just　too　utterly　full　of　shit。
　　All　we　want　is　a　fucking　admission　of　guilt。　That's　all。　Just　to　hear　the　truth　spoken…just　once…in　our　lifetimes。　It　may　seem　like　a　lot　to　ask；　but　what　the　hell。
　　Everybody's　gotta　have　a　dream　。。。
　　
　　〃Hey；　careful　with　the　merchandise；〃　Lydia　cut　in；　bursting　the　bubble　of　rumination。　〃You　could　put　someone's　eye　out　with　that　thing！〃
　　〃Huh？〃　Garth　blurted；　then　looked　at　his　hands。　He　had　rolled　the　premiere　issue　of　NO　FUTURE　into　a　cylinder　tight　enough　to　train　puppies　with。　〃Oh；　sorry！〃　Garth　said　sheepishly。
　　〃Don't　worry　about　it；〃　Lydia　replied。　〃Here；　take　out　your　impulses　on　these。〃
　　She　handed　him　what　looked　like　a　roll　of　laminated　toilet　paper。　〃Oh　wow！〃　Garth　exclaimed；　unfurling　it：　piece　upon　piece　of　lovely；　adhesive…backed　sticker　paper；　each　square　throbbing　with　the　NO　FUTURE　logo。
　　〃No　shit。〃　He　turned　to　her；　pleased；　met　the　gleam　in　her　eye。　〃How　many　did　we　get？〃
　　〃A　thousand；　so　far。〃　They　just　couldn't　stop　smiling。　〃That's　why　I'm　so　late。　I've　been　sticking　'em　on　pay　phones　all　morning　。。。　〃
　　〃Without　ME？〃　he　hollered；　horrified。
　　〃Yeah；　well；〃　she　said；　as　the　Scuzzbug　rolled　straight　for　the　heart　of　Paradise。　〃That's　what　we　get　whole　lives　for；　they　tell　me。〃　And　Garth　just　laughed　and　laughed　and　laughed。
　　Their　day；　it　seemed；　had　at　long　last　e。
　　And　what　a　day　it　was。
　　
　　
　　　Thirty…Four
　　　
　　Sunday；　Nov。　23
　　FROM　THE　DESK　OF：　Bernard　S。　Kleigel
　　To　the　editor：
　　Am　I　the　only　one　who's　fed　up　with　all　the　〃parasites　and　leeches〃　on　the　Body　Politic？　Isn't　anyone　tired　of　supporting　lazy　〃Good…For…Nothings〃　who　get　fat　off　the　fat　of　the　land？　And　I'm　not　just　referring　to　〃Welfare　Cheats〃　and　the　Socialist　programs　that　make　it　possible　for　Mixed　Races　to　rage　Drug　Wars　in　America's　backyards。
　　No；　I'm　talking　about　the　very　〃Public　Servants〃　that　our　tax　dollars　are　supposed　to　be　SUPPORTING！！！　That's　right；　I'm　talking　about　the　people　who　〃Operate〃　our　911　numbers；　and　the
　　
　　There　was　somebody　at　the　door。
　　〃DAMMIT；　MILLIE！〃　Bernie　bellowed。　〃GET　THE　DOOR；　FERCRISSAKES！〃　He　couldn't　for　the　life　of　him　prehend　that　woman's　problem。　Here　he　was；　struggling　over　draft　seventeen　of　his　letter；　and　he　couldn't　even　concentrate　on　what　he　was　doing；　because　of　all　that
　　　hammering　on　the　damn　front　door。　For　God's　sake；　she　knew　how　important　it　was！　He'd　told　her　a　million　times：　if　you　plained　loudly　enough；　eventually　they　had　to　listen！
　　No　question　about　it。　It　had　to　be　kids。　From　his　perspective…stuck　in　the　paper…cluttered　corner　of　the　basement　he　called　his　office…it　was　a　distant；　persistent　tattoo　of　thudlike　sound。　He　had　half　a　mind　to　march　up　there　and　sue　their　parents；　but　God　did　he　ever　have　a　headache！　And　he　had　to　finish　this　letter。　Strike　while　the　iron　was　hot。
　　　our　911　numbers；　and　the　so…called　〃Peace　Officers〃　who　are　supposed　to　protect　us！
　　Today；　my　son　and　I　were　NEARLY　KILLED　by　teenage　hoodlums　（I　can　only　assume　they　were　involved　in　〃Illegal　Drug　Activity；〃　which　is　just　a　fancy　name　for　plain　old　dope　dealing！）。　That　in　itself　was　〃bad　enough〃！　But　it　was　nothing　pared　to　the　treatment　I　got　from　the　〃Friendly　People〃　（HAH！！！）　at　911
　　
　　〃GOD　DAMN　IT！〃
　　Now　they　were　stomping　around　up　there；　and　he　could　definitely　hear　laughter；　high…pitched　and　giddy。　Who　the　hell　were　these　kids？　They　sure　weren't　friends　of　Billy's；　so　far　as　he　knew；　Billy　didn't　have　any　friends。　It　just　didn't　make　any　sense　。。。
　　Then　Millie　screamed。
　　And　Billy　screamed。
　　And　Bernard　S。　Kleigel；　the　Conscience　of　a　Nation；　just　sat　there：　paralyzed；　sweating；　with　a　hammer　for　a　heart。
　　〃No；〃　he　whimpered；　as　the　footsteps　thundered　down　the　hallway：　Millie's　in　the　lead；　two　other　sets　in　hot　pursuit。　Billy's　persistent　screams　moved　with　her。　Bernie　could　picture　his　son　in　her　arms　as　she　ran；　crying　out　as　well。
　　Crying　out　for　him　。。。
　　But　there　was　nothing　he　could　do。　She　had　to　understand　that。　She　had　to　understand　that　he　was　helpless；　that　he　had　no　choice；　that　he　absolutely　could　not　move；　he　had　spent　his　whole　life　imagining　the　worst　and　now　that　it　was　here；　he　was　pletely　unprepared　for　it。
　　〃Please；〃　he　whined；　as　if　it　would　help。　As　if　he　were　tapped　into　some　cosmic　911　line；　relaying　his　message　directly　to　God　for　immediate　customer　satisfaction。　As　if　he　could　wish　his　cares　away。
　　As　if　God　were　actually　taking　his　calls　。。。
　　And　he　didn't　want　to　picture　it；　to　envision　in　his　mind　the　apocalyptic　WHOOMP　that　shook　the　house　to　its　foundation；　construct　a　visual　of　his　wife　as　she　hit　the　floorboards　above　his　head；　match　her　scream　with　the　face　he　knew　she　must　be　making。　He　didn't　want　to　see　the　sources　of　that　terrible　laughter；　was　unable　to　conjure　up　images　adequate　for　describing　the　sounds　being　torn　from　his　son。
　　But　when　the　meat　like　gravy　oozed　down　through　the　cracks；　he　no　longer　had　to　use　his　imagination。　It　spattered　the　floor　in　a　rich　red　rain；　drove　him　screaming　from　his　chair　and　his　sanity。　He　was　halfway　to　the　stairs　before　he　knew　he　was　moving；　halfway　up　the　stairs　before　he　saw　his　salvation。
　　It　was　his　old　pal；　Officer　Hal　Thoman。
　　911　had　e　through；　after　all。
　　〃NO！〃　Bernie　screamed　as　the　dead　cop　descended。　〃NO！〃　as　the　shadows　pulled　back　to　reveal　Hal's　full　green　open…skulled　glory。