Blind.Faith 2.0.50. Tomasz Tatum

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СКАЧАТЬ In keeping with his usual manner, he would simply wait until a more opportune time presented itself to make it readily apparent how pissed off he was at his wife for her embarrassingly inane display of rejection just as they were on the verge of being released into their brand-new lives.

      The city of Libertyville@Esperantia looked, at least superficially, pretty similar to most of the modest number of other towns and cities that Charles had visited up to now. There was traffic everywhere, busses, trams, cars. There were old buildings and new buildings. The family certainly wasn’t expecting any kind of Amish-style frugality, horse-drawn buggies or coarse hand-woven garments in their new home but they were surprised at how unexceptional it appeared to them upon their first encounter, an uneven and oddly modern mix of both dynamism and decay that was arguably the true face of globalization.bliss.

      There were grocery stores and laundromats and garages specializing in shock absorber installation. There were fast food places and discount furniture stores everywhere. If anything seemed remarkable to them, it was perhaps only that they were somewhat baffled at the sheer number of both churches and adult entertainment facilities that dotted the main thoroughfare into the city. Judging by this, there was obviously a lot of competition out there for patrons and for the souls thereof.

      SCANDAL: LIBERALS SPEND BUCKETLOADS OF BILLIONS ON BOOKS! an oversize gazillion-pixel NewsBoard blared brightly as they whizzed by.

      There seemed to be electronic NewsBoards and AdBoards everywhere. The top subject, so they deduced after catching successive glimpses of the running text, was some unsettling news about water tables, about flooding somewhere and a few outskirt areas elsewhere suffering water shortages. As the minivan hummed along, whisking them to their new home, they saw finished concrete foundations at numerous abandoned construction site from which rows of drainage pipes protruded two or three meters into the air. To Ch.ase, the sight of the pipes reminded him of upturned brontosaurus skeletons whose ribs poked mutely skyward. Supplying these buildings with water was proving too difficult a task and way too expensive now, the driver–he had introduced himself as JoJoBa–had explained to them.

      “And, besides that,” he added, “… I hear that there aren’t as many immigrants arriving here anymore to fill up all of these grand projects they were planning. So I guess, like, the investment probably just went tits up.”

      “Oops! Excuse me!” JoJoBa said as he ruefully glanced at Jacqueline in the rear view mirror. He was hoping for an adequate tip today and had thus worked hard at being as talkative as he could without saying terribly much.

      The radio blared a song through a single rather tinny-sounding speaker mounted in the dashboard. The rattling noises of the bus effectively drowned out most of the music and left the occasional cheerful banter of the host largely unintelligible.

      “And you know, there’s also all kinds of discussion right now about the subject of diversity going on …” JoJoBa tried his luck again a few moments later.

      “It’s kind of a mantra here, you know? But it’s odd: we’re constantly celebrating diversity here but, if you talk to anyone here, they all tell you that they cherish conformity. So it’s like a place whose highest ideal is to fully integrate all these newcomers it keeps trying to get to come in from abroad but it’s also doing everything it can to jealously defend what people think makes up its own very unique identity. So, you know, while one portion of the population is claiming that they’re working at making immigrants resemble themselves as closely as possible–because they consider themselves to be representative of the indigenous population–the majority is shitting bricks that, like, if they become like us, then this kind of conversely means that everyone else is increasingly becoming like them, the immigrants. It’s all really kind of crazy, isn’t it?”

      “I think it’s a good place,” Nik.Vee grumbled in response, somehow not exactly amused at what he was seeing and hearing.

      “Yeah,” he continued as they drove, “… but don’t worry. It’s all controlled pretty well here. In fact, the level of control here is, well, maybe a bit more than you’re used to or maybe even expected. But it’s all how ya look at it, I guess.”

      After having received no satisfactory response from Nik.Vee, JoJoBa–still working valiantly at earning his tip for this ride–prudently elected to change the subject.

      “Hey! You folks ever heard of the architect Frank Lloyd Wright? I don’t have any idea what, er, what he built but I heard he once tore out the rear view mirror of a car he was riding in and just, ya know, chucked it out the window. Kind of psycho, you know? And ya know why he did it? Said he was only interested in seeing where he’s going to, not where he’s already been. Pretty neat, huh? I’m kind of like that, too …”

      As he chattered, Jacqueline noticed a small truck-like vehicle passing them smartly in the adjoining lane. To her amazement, she saw that it was a mobile confession booth.

      “Get Moto.Absolution!” proclaimed the bold red lettering on the side of the vehicle. “For Absolution on the Go, Get Your Session with mobi.Fession, the Good Conscience Specialists!”

      Ch.ase noticed that the Moto.Absolution van was equipped with an impressive array of red and blue emergency lights mounted on its roof. Upon seeing this, his youthful curiosity quickly got the better of him.

      “Excuse me!” he called at the top of his voice from the rear bench of the bus to get JoJoBa’s attention. “But, like, can he always just keep on going or does he need to stop at stoplights?” he asked JoJoBa, pointing as the vehicle smoothly changed lanes ahead of them and quickly disappeared into the thick stream of traffic.

ZABULON KLEISTERMAUL

      The man standing at the pulpit before them was a hallowed teacher working to uphold the loftiest of principles. Just looking at him, one instinctively appreciated that he was endowed with the inner tranquility and security necessary for his calling, derived from the firm knowledge that his God has chosen him, of all people, to stand before the flock and to proclaim the truth, to articulate the message of faith and love in His name, in a voice clear and keen.

      It was his calling to impart the message and the knowledge to anyone who was wise enough and also willing to open their hearts, to listen and to learn.

      To those seated in the rows before him on this evening.

      Ch.ase, however, was likely not, if anyone had bothered to ask him, really interested in fathoming the man standing before the congregation, next to the altar at the front of the church, nor his motives. Aside from his observing fleetingly that the Reverend reminded him of a more or less successful crossbreeding experiment involving a back-bench theology nerd and a toothpaste commercial, Ch.ase had little option except to sit still and allow the man’s lecture to go where it might. He was not here on his own volition and he therefore resolved to politely ignore him for as long as his MP3 player still had a sufficient charge.

      He glanced up momentarily from his player, where he been intently adjusting the equalizer settings, and glanced toward the front section of the church. For no particular reason, it occurred to Ch.ase that the Reverend appeared to be significantly older than Fulton, his father, would have been.

      He decided that he definitely needed more bass today.

      The Reverend had something about him that somehow compelled Ch.ase to think of a Saint Bernhard. He was a big fellow, but not huge, and possessed a stocky but not quite athletic build upon which was situated an oddly cylindrical-looking head. What struck Ch.ase were his distinct baggy, hanging cheeks and dark brown eyes that seemed to signal that a kind of down on the farm, lazing by the fireplace type of good nature likely resided within him. СКАЧАТЬ