A Day for Damnation

FORTY-THREE

"ALL RIGHT. I'm going to activate the collar," Fletcher said. She turned to the monitor in the back of the jeep and typed something into the keyboard.

The collar around my neck beeped. Loudly. "How's the signal?" I asked.

"It's good," she said. "So's your heartbeat and your respiration. All right, I'm going to lock it on." She stepped over to me and did something under my chin, I couldn't see what.

When she stepped back, I tugged at the collar experimentally. It was locked and operating. There was no way I could get it off or turn it off. Not until I was retrieved.

I had the feeling that there was something she wanted to tell me, but when I looked at her she glanced quickly to her watch. "You'd better get going."

"Yeah," I said. I took a breath. I began pulling off my shoes and socks. The herd was already starting to form in the plaza. It was going to be a warm day.

I was wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Was that too much? I wondered if I should take the T-shirt off. I glanced to the herd again. There were far more naked bodies than I remembered. I decided to take my cue from the group; I pulled my shirt off and wondered if I should abandon my shorts now too.

I glanced at Fletcher. She looked pensive. "You okay?" I asked.

"Uh huh," she said.

"You don't look it."

She shrugged. "I was just thinking."

"About?"

"I wish we'd had more time."

I took her hands in mine. "I'll be all right," I said.

"I know you will. I guarantee it."

"No, I mean in here." I tapped my head with my forefinger. "I won't get lost. I promise."

She squeezed my hands and searched my face. "You'd better be right, because I'll break your leg if you're wrong."

"I'll remember that." I glanced over at the herd. Too much nudity. Modesty prevailed. I'd keep the shorts on. For now, anyway. "Well..." I said, "I guess I'd better. . ."

"Yeah," she agreed. Suddenly, she put her hands around my neck and pulled my face down to hers. Her lipstick tasted of roses and apricots and sunshine.

I broke away, embarrassed. Her kiss had been a little too intense. I turned away quickly to face the herd. If I didn't do it now, I never would.

The herd was a great milling mass of humanity. They were so dirty, I could smell them from here.

I started walking. The dry grass was scratchy under my feet. The sun was hot on my back. My mouth was dry.

I stopped just before the fringes of the herd. And studied.

I didn't know what I was looking for yet. Some clue. Some cue. Something that would tell me how to act.

A group of young bulls was posturing on the lawn. Two of them were casually wrestling. Some of them glanced over at me. There was a knot in my stomach.

I knew this feeling.

It was the first day of kindergarten all over again. The first time having to shower naked with the other boys. The first time with a girl. The first time I saw a worm.

It was the feeling of walking into a roomful of strangers and having them all look at you. Only, it was worse than that. I didn't know if these were animals or people.

They looked like people. They acted like animals.

Apes.

If I could act like an ape, the right kind of ape, they'd accept me.

So ... now I had to figure out how to act like an ape.

"The problem is," I said quietly, "that nobody around here is giving ape lessons."

And then I realized the joke. Nobody ever taught me how to be a human either.

You just are.

I circled around the young bulls wrestling and headed toward a clear space in the center of the plaza. There was a long wide wading pool there. It was the water hole. Some of the children were playing and splashing in one end of the pool. I moved away from them. I found a place away from everybody else and dropped to my hands and knees. I looked to see how the other apes were drinking. Did they cup their hands or did they just lower their faces?

No. I had to find it out for myself.

I lowered my face to the water and drank. The water tasted horrible. Chlorine? And what else? I couldn't tell. I was glad I had my shots.

How do you act like an ape anyway?

This was the same problem I always had with my own species. I never knew how to act.

Other people always seemed to know exactly who they were. I always knew that I was pretending to be who I was. I wanted to stop pretending. I wanted to just be a human being. Or an ape. Or whatever it was I had to be.

How did these apes feel about human beings anyway? Did they resent us studying them? Watching them? Or did they tolerate us? Did they appreciate us feeding them? Or did they even make that connection?

Did they want us to join them? Or did they just allow us to join them because they had no way to keep us from joining them? Or was it that there was nothing to join?

I started giggling. Wouldn't it be funny if everybody here were trying to act like an ape, just like me? Wouldn't it be funny if we were all pretending?

I wished I could stop thinking. My mind was chattering like a machine. "Chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter.. ." I said. "My mind chatters. Chatters. Chatters. Lumpty lumpty lump."

Nobody even looked at me. None of the apes noticed. Cared. The words were all meaningless. All words were meaningless. And who made up the meanings for the words in the first place? I had. Who else? All the words and all the meanings in my head were connected with connections I had made. They could all be false. Or worse-just some of them might be false connections. But how could I tell which was which?

Where did it all start anyway? "Ma, ma, ma, ma, ma..." I said. A baby makes noises and gets a warm tit shoved in its face. That's such a powerful lesson that we spend the rest of our lives trying to find the right noises to make so we can keep getting warm tits to suck on. We spend years shrieking and yammering at each other, looking for the right control phrases. Humans have more control phrases than robots. Say, "I love you," and you can get laid. Say, "Fuck you," and you can have a fight. It's as simple as any other machine

-it clicked.

We treat each other like machines. We manipulate.

When the apes gave up language, the control phrases didn't work any more. You could push the buttons all you wanted, but the machinery was broken. "Blabber ... blabber ... blabber... ." I felt the grin spreading across my face. This was very interesting.

If you said a word over and over and over, and did it long enough, it lost all its meaning. But how do you lose a whole language? How do you detach all the meanings from all the words, the sounds, when you've spent a whole lifetime putting them together? How do you lose even the capacity for language?

"Blabber... blabber... blabber.. . . "

I had the feeling I was doing it wrong. I was sitting here trying to figure it out.

Maybe this wasn't something you figured out. You just... did it. That didn't make sense, but then-figuring it out wasn't making any sense either. I just didn't know enough. Maybe if I

No. Stop figuring it out.

I was a part of the herd now. Because I said so.

I was the part that was sitting here in red shorts trying to figure out how to be a part of the herd. I was the stupid part. I was trying to figure out how to be what I already was.

I could let go now. I was here.

A teenage boy squatted down in front of me. Uncomfortably close. He was dirty and naked. He had stringy black hair and a large narrow nose. His eyes were extraordinarily wide; they were a startling shade of liquid blue. He stared at me curiously.

"Hi," I said, and smiled. Almost immediately, I knew it was the wrong thing to do. There was too much meaning in the words, and not enough of that other quality.

The boy blinked and kept staring at me.

I felt as if I were being tested. As if the herd were some kind of macro-organism looking to see if I had been assimilated yet. The boy scratched himself absentmindedly. His nails were long and dirty. Ape hands. That's what his hands reminded me of. He was skinny, like an ape, too. He squatted on his haunches, studying me. I studied back. I stopped trying to figure him out and just focused on him like a camera, watching him. His eyes were remarkably interesting. Too blue to be real. He had thick dark lashes that shadowed his expression with mystery.

But why was he so interested in me? I couldn't tell what he was thinking by looking at his face. He was there-and he was unreadable. His soul was home, I could sense that-somehow-but there was nothing else going on. No ... thoughts. No ... identity. It was compelling, just to sit there and look at him looking at me. It wasn't a staring contest. It was a ... a being with.

Fletcher had had me practice this. Being with. Intensely. I couldn't look away. I didn't want to look away. It was a strangely reassuring encounter.

I realized what it was about his eyes that disconcerted me-they were too feminine. If a woman had eyes like that, she would be a model or a movie star. On a boy... they were simply overwhelming.

There was a strange kind of peace here. I could drown in it.

The boy reached out and touched my face. Like an ape, exploring a strange object. He touched my hair, patted it. His hand moved cautiously, drew back quickly. He smelled of dust.

And then he dropped his hand again. And waited.

I don't know how I knew what he was waiting for, but I knew that it was an invitation.

I touched his face as he had touched mine. I touched his hair; I let my fingers drift across his cheek. A smile spread across his face. He reached up and took my fingers in his hand and looked at them. I could see how clean my hand was in his. He sniffed my fingers. His pink tongue flicked out in a tentative, delicate movement and tasted my fingertips. He smiled at me again. He liked the way I tasted. He let go of my hand. And waited again.

Was I supposed to taste his fingers now?

I took his hand in mine. And sniffed it. And tasted. Dirt. I smiled at him.

He smiled back. It was good. Complete.

The boy stood up then and walked away. Didn't look back to see if I was following. I didn't know why; I followed. Realized I wasn't used to going barefoot. The dry grass hurt my feet.

My body felt... held back. Not free. I knew what it was. I stopped and dropped my shorts, stepped out of them. Felt myself begin to disappear. Into the crowd. The herd. All bodies. Had to let go of bodies first. Be naked. Free. Vulnerable.

Accessible. Available.

Beginning to feel enveloped. Like sunshine. Bathe in it. Withhold nothing. Let it go. Giggling. Feeling. Silly.

Crazy. Mind-noise. Wondering what patterns. Meaning. Applying. Here. Confusing. Concepts. Silly. Feeling

Shook my head. Puzzled. Startled myself back to reality-turned around slowly in confusion. Looking for?

I wandered in a daze, I wasn't sure how long. I remember stopping to drink at the wading pool again, and I remember emptying my bladder in a sodden ditch at the east end of the park.

I remember getting hungry and finding my way over to the trucks when they rolled into the park. I pulled off a piece of the loaf and found a place to sit and eat.

Blinking. What was-happened?

Moment after moment after moment, but none of them bound together-so none of them are remembered. All lost as soon as they occur. A roller coaster.

No control.

I'd thought I'd understood. I'd thought that I could get a sense of it. I was mistaken.

I had to get out.

I stood up and headed toward the Jeep. Toward where the Jeep had been parked. And Fletcher. "I'm coming out," I said. I touched the collar. "This isn't going to work. Fletcher, are you listening? I'm coming out. This is Jim." I touched the collar like an icon. My life depended on it. "Fletcher?"

There was no reply.

Was the collar still working?

It didn't matter. I'd just go straight to the Jeep.

I realized I was naked. Where had I dropped my shorts? I should look for them. I moved through the milling bodies with a purposefulness they lacked. Some of them turned to look at me. Then they turned back to their own concerns. Their food. Their mates. Their games. Most of them were naked. Turning.

I didn't see my shorts. I gave up looking. There'd be a blanket at the Jeep anyway, or a coat. I stopped and turned around slowly, scanning the edges of the plaza. Now, where-?

-am I?

No, don't panic. It's all right. She's probably monitoring from a distance. That's all. She said it herself, it wouldn't be a good idea for her to stay too close to the herd.

A note in the air. I turned to look.

Children, humming. A tuneless hum, but

-and the females humming too. Chorusing. An odd atonal wail. All vowels.

Oh, no. No. That wasn't supposed to happen until tomorrow. Oh, God. The gathering. The tuning. It's accelerated again. Two days in a row now!

Others picking up the hum. Discordance. Babbling. Trying to find the note

I have to get out of here. Now. I turned around in panic.

It was building rapidly. Much too fast. Remember what happened to me last time. I have to get out of here while I still remember.

And now, the males-the voices deep growling at the bottom end of the scale. And the females are unearthly, an almost heavenly chorus. The cubs' voices are high and sweet... and curiously musical.

And ... I could hear what they were trying to do. All of them. It was a resonance in the air, and each one of us was trying to fit his or her own particular note into that resonance.

I turned around and around, looking for the way out, feeling like I was about to dissolve. Turning

I could feel my own body vibrating in response. I wanted to add my own note. It was in my throat. It came welling up, rumbling like two heterodyning engines. "Mmmmhhhmmmmhhhm mmm.. . .

And I found it. It clicked into the chorus and I disappeared into the sound. The sound was larger than the universe. There was no me any more. Only the sound. The incredible sound. All the voices. All together. And. All of us. Echoes of me. I put my note out and it echoed in all those other throats, all those other bodies.

All the bodies,

all the hands,

all the bodies turning, not

not lost at all, not

and

turning

found

home

here

cry

happ

ing