O l i v e r B e n j a m i n
You will be the man to man the machine
That makes our holy savior’s vision seen.
It was the story of every man’s life—except the electrocution part—
but then, all prophecy was. Maybe that was Dreamwalker’s final
lesson: We are all of us the same, in our dreams. Meanwhile the only
hope for mankind, the machine that promised to let us explore and
understand that inner space was gone. Perhaps mankind would find
another way in, perhaps not. He sipped his own ridiculous cocktail (a
Mai Titanic) and mused over what could have been, what might yet
be.
Spinoza ambled out of the kitchen with a tray of fresh drinks for the
Don and Shiva. He reached over and started to stroke Shiva’s knee,
but she shooed him away, so he meandered over to where Harvey
was sitting and handed him a beverage. Spinoza climbed up on the
wall next to him, and they both sat together quietly, sipping their
drinks and watching the sun set over the Pacific ocean.
Victoria came over to sit with them and watch the maddeningly
red sunset.
“They say its the pollution that makes all those pretty colors,” she
said.
Harvey nodded absently.
“Breaks up the light waves like a prism,” she continued, recalling
that old conversation she had with Jewel about subtractive and
additive colors.
“All these pretty things everywhere,” she said, “All the colors and
all this music—well, call me a sentimental old fool, but it seems to me
we’re seeing something we’ve already seen and heard somewhere
else.”
Harvey nodded again.
She stared at him for a moment. “You know, I love you, Harvey,”
she said.
She leaned over and kissed his cheek.
Spinoza, always wanting to get in on the action, kissed Harvey’s
other cheek, accidentally knocking his sunglasses off. Harvey smiled
a little. Then he started making weird gurgling noises.
“Are you okay, Sugar?” Victoria said, “Booze don’t agree with
you? Want me to get you some soda instead?”
Harvey nodded and belched. Victoria ran off to the kitchen. Then
241
 |
 |
 |
 |