Roadside Picnic

"But why?” he jumped in quickly. “Forgive my indiscretion, but what's keeping you here?"

"What do you mean? Fond memories of childhood. My first kiss in the municipal park. Mommy and daddy. My first time drunk, right here in this bar. The police station so dear to my heart … ” I took a heavily used handkerchief from my pocket and dabbed my eyes. “No, I can't leave for any amount!"

He laughed, took a tiny sip of bourbon, and spoke in a thoughtful way.

"I just can't understand you Harmonites. Life is tough in the city. There's military control. Few amenities. The Zone right next to you—it's like sitting on a volcano. An epidemic could break out any day. Or something worse. I can understand the old people. It's hard for them to leave. But you, how old are you? Twenty-two, twenty-three? Can't you understand that the bureau is a charitable organization, we don't profit by this in any way. We just want people to leave this hellhole and get back into the mainstream of life. We underwrite the move, find you work. For young people like you, we pay for an education. No, I just don't understand!"

"Do you mean nobody wants to leave?"

"Not nobody. Some are leaving, particularly the ones with families. But the young folk and the old people—what do you people want in this place? It's a hick town, a hole."

I let him have it.

"Mr. Aloysius Macnaught! You're absolutely right. Our little town is a hole. It always has been and still is. But now it is a hole into the future. We're going to dump so much through this hole into your lousy world that everything will change in it. Life will be different. It'll be fair. Everyone will have everything that he needs. Some hole, huh? Knowledge comes through this hole. And when we have the knowledge, we'll make everyone rich, and we'll fly to the stars, and go anywhere we want. That's the kind of hole we have here."

I broke off here, because I noticed Ernest watching me in amazement. I felt uncomfortable. I don't usually like using other people's words, even when I agree with them. Besides, it was coming out kind of funny. When Kirill speaks, you listen and forget to close your mouth. And even though I seem to be saying the same things, it doesn't come out the same. Maybe it's because Kirill never slipped Ernest any loot under the counter …

Ernie snapped to attention and hurriedly poured me six fingers of booze at once, as if to bring me back to my senses. The sharp-nosed Mr. Macnaught took another sip of his bourbon.

"Yes, of course. Eternal batteries, the blue panacea. But do you really believe things will be the way you described them?"

"It's none of your business what I really believe. I was speaking for the city. As for myself, what do you have in Europe that I haven't seen? I know about your boredom. You knock yourself out all day, and watch TV all night."

"It doesn't necessarily have to be Europe."

"It's all the same, except that it's cold in Antarctica."

The amazing part was that I believed it in my guts as I said it to him. Our Zone, the bitch, the killer, was a hundred times dearer to me at that second than all of their Europes and Africas. And I wasn't drunk yet, I had just pictured for a minute how I would drag myself home in a herd of cretins just like myself, how I would be pushed and squeezed in the subway, and how I was sick and tired of everything.

"And what about you?” he asked Ernest.

"I have a business,” he replied self-importantly. “I'm no punk. I've invested all my money in this business. The base commander himself comes in once in a while, a general, you understand? Why should I leave here?"

Mr. Aloysius Macnaught tried to make some point, quoting a lot of figures. But I wasn't listening. I took a good long gulp, pulled out a lot of change from my pocket, got off the stool and pumped the jukebox. There's a song on there: “Don't Come Back If You're Not Sure.” It has a good effect on me after a trip to the Zone. The jukebox was howling and rocking. I had taken my glass into the corner where I was hoping to even old scores with the one-armed bandit. And time flew like a bird. I was putting in my last nickel when Richard Noonan and Gutalin crashed into the hospitable arms of the bar. Gutalin was blotto, rolling his eyes and looking for a place to rest his fist. Richard Noonan was tenderly holding him by the elbow and distracting him with jokes. A pretty pair! Gutalin is a huge black ape with knuckles down to his knees, and Dick is a small round pink creature that all but glows.

"Hey!” shouted Dick. “There's Red! Come over and join us!"

"R-r-right!” roared Gutalin. “There are only two real men in this whole city—Red and me! All the rest are pigs or Satan's children. Red, you also serve the devil, but you're still human."

I came over with my glass. Gutalin peeled off my jacket and seated me at the table.

"Sit down, Red! Sit down, Satan's servant. I like you. Let's have a cry over the sins of mankind. A good long bitter wail."

"Let's wail,” I said. “Let's drink the tears of sin."