Page 37 - The Myth and the Moment

Afternoon

speak, you don’t understand. But you can. And when you do, you will
see that I am right. You will join together in a mighty struggle to
break the bonds that hold you captive. No force in the world can
stop a dedicated group of men who know the truth and resolve to—”
Nothing here, either. If extraterrestrial ethnologists ever dig up
this crap, they’ll get a lot of evidence for our decline. A different sort
of eloquence than my testament. I can see the monograph: ‘Everyday
Life of the Swamp Dwellers in the Nuclear Age.’ Now what? It’s
even hotter in the park than out on the street. Looks like those cops
are finally going to move on. They probably were waiting for an FBI
check on me, the victim of the crime. Well, I’ve got to move on, too.
This nut is getting some reaction from the crowd. Not favorable.
“Hey, you old creep! Go back to Russia where you belong!”
“Pay no attention to this deluded young man! He cannot see for
himself the wisdom of my words. He has no—”
This looks like a put-up job. Now there are two of them
haranguing the demagogue, getting nasty. I’ll just fade—
“Get out of here, you dirty communist!”
Oops, they’re throwing things at him. Crowd is breaking up; I’ll
break with it. Watch out for low-flying objects. Now those two punks
are attacking that black guy with the video camera. Why does he look
familiar? Now I get it: they broke this up as a diversion. They’re after
his equipment. More goddamned thievery! Well, this ought to get
their attention—
“Hey! Watch out! Here come the cops!”
They stop long enough to look; and sure enough, at five miles per
hour, there go my friends from the L.A.P.D. Not looking down into
the crazy quilt of life in the park, but who can tell that in the frenzy?
“He’s right, Errol!”
“Come on!”
Exit hoodlums at brisk trot. I wonder if they broke into my place.
No mistaking my papers for electronic gear. No, it doesn’t make
sense, unless—
“Hey, man: thanks. You really put the freeze on those muggers.”
The voice! I do know this guy. Who? Bushy beard streaked with
gray, middle-age spread. Of course.
“Ham! It’s you, isn’t it?”
“Do I know you, man? Who are you?”

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