Page 26 - The Myth and the Moment

Morning

sorts of beings. The rest of the achievers keep banging against real or
imagined obstacles until they die. +
And back onto Olympic. Must be almost noon. Speedometer
accurate? How long since I’ve had a speeding ticket? Not long
enough. And Phil’s wife: what a handful! They must have married
each other for a reason. Or to each his or her own reason. I should
have asked him how long they’d been married, where they met, who
she is. But that would have justified him prying further into my
affairs. Give just a little, get even less: that’s the Evangelino formula
for success. Rah! Rah! Now they know where I live. Time to move,
no forwarding address. Going to move out to Barstow anyway as
soon as it cools down; another month at most. Nobody knows me
out there—I hope. Find my spot, do my business, and then what?
Depends on what’s left. Probably go on welfare. What a laugh if The
End came while I’m out positioning the capsule! Should I take a
portable radio with me, listen for the final sirens? ‘This is only a test.
Had this been an actual emergency, you would now be vaporized.’
Big joke. Wonder if sociologists ever compare public reaction to
the possibilities of a major earthquake to the probabilities of The
End. Same gallows humor, same lack of precautions. That’s the dark
side of faith: well, if it’s going to happen, then what the hell.
Sociologist: then you are a fatalist, sir? Do you not believe in free
will? Subject: now wait a minute, buster; I never said that. Blah blah
blah. That’s the kind of folk cunning that’s made America great:
sloppy logic masquerading as sincere homespun philosophy. Yes, of
course, the Almighty Forces are inexorable, and I am just a leaf in a
storm; but (and here’s the cagey bit) some people always come out
ahead, or untouched, so why not me? Go on, you nitwits, hedge your
bets, have it both ways: nothing to be done about impending
catastrophe, but I’ve got my own personal talisman against it. So I
can be one of the crowd passively, accepting my impotence, my
dependence on fate, while never letting go of the idea that I am in
control, that I can get a better deal for myself. And statistics can be
manipulated to prove it—or so they think.
Ah, stop grinding yourself with this crap. Gone over it a thousand
times. Remember your humanity, Nate. Everyone else has their
rationalizations, you have yours. You just get weary, sometimes, don’t
you, poor baby. So, what else could I do? Take my tiny nest egg and

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