Paul Theroux - O-Zone

He was outdoors at last. It was not the New York sense of safety he had, that came from being imprisoned on the island-city; it was a looser, easier feeling of well-being — and it helped to be away from the troopers and their obsessions. He was glad in Guthrie that such places existed, where you could breathe without a mask.

He hoped that Fizzy had come here and had time to experience the same feeling.

All this while he had been walking along side streets, to test his impressions. Then he heard a harmless commotion, and following the sound to a sloping road, he came to a brick-and-glass building. Just behind it, enclosed by a high fence, a group of people on a set of bleachers cheered a baseball game. He had thought the whole town had turned up at the courthouse to describe the invasion of aliens, but here were fifty people who hardly seemed to care.

He took off his helmet and boots, unzipped his flying suit and stepped out of it. He made his equipment into a bundle, which he tucked under his arm, and in his street clothes he entered the ballpark.

He had never been interested in baseball, but this previous lack of interest made him especially attentive now. A man stepped to the plate and after several swings hit the ball into the outfield. Hardy was inspired to clap with the spectators. This happened again — another hit. Hardy stood up with the rest of the people. Then a young man hit the ball over the far fence and Hardy heard himself yelling with pleasure.

It seemed to him that these people in Guthrie knew a secret that he was still learning. He wondered how many other towns there were like this in America. Few of the people were Owners, probably, but that did not seem to matter here. Most of them were visibly hard-up, yet had their lives changed? It was not that the town was poor or bankrupt and that there was no one in the watchtowers; but rather that it went on surviving in a dignified and tidy way. They still cut the grass, and weeded the flowers, and put up the flag: that didn't cost anything. Guthrie was like a memory — not his own, but a recollection of stories he had been told. It tormented him to know that after seeing the white frame house surrounded by the green lawn and the clipped hedge, he would have to go away.

That was what "indescribable" meant: what he had not told Moura. The simple truth had not struck him then. He wanted to call her back and say This is the past.

And that was why the town had most likely suffered a greater violation from Godseye than from those aliens. He thought: They don't want us here, they don't need us here. The aliens had swept through, reminding them of the old world. But Godseye was still there, hovering and murmuring, like the intimation of a new kind of terror — frightening everyone with its masks, and demanding information, and filling the citizens with dread.

"Evidently one of them got into the high school," Murdick said. "We've got a witness."

Murdick had seen Hardy on the porch of the courthouse, leaning against a column, and while Hardy waited he went inside and found the witness, a boy of nine. He had a bristly head and a broken front tooth and he wore a T-shirt lettered Obee's Apple Farm. He seemed particularly afraid of Murdick, who was still in his Godseye battle gear — black flying suit, black helmet and opaque mask; and he was gesturing with his explosive baton.

"It was over there," Murdick said, pointing the weapon in the direction of the school. "In the basement or something. Speak up, sonny."

"The cafeteria," the boy said, clearing his throat.

Hardy said, "Can you describe him?"

"Kind of old. Kind of strange."

"So it couldn't have been your kid," Murdick said.

"We'll be right back, Willis," Hardy said, and walked over to the school with the boy. He easily gained entrance. He remarked that nothing seemed to be locked around here. He had simply strolled into the ballpark and now they were in the school. The boy did not seem to understand, which Hardy took as a sign that he did not find it remarkable. It really was the past.

"He came out of that door," the boy said.

The cafeteria smelled of bread crusts and stale milk and fried food and ammonia.

"Where did he go?"

"He saw me in here, eating my lunch. It was just before the game. The rest of the players left. But all I do is help with the Scoreboard, so I had some extra time."

"Did he say anything to you?"

"He made a funny noise. Then he picked up my sandwiches and smelled them."

The boy straightened his shoulders — he was afraid, remembering, and his fear stiffened his posture.

"He took one of the sandwiches. He ate the whole thing. I didn't care, as long as he didn't hurt me. He kept making these noises."

The boy took a deep breath, but did not exhale.

"It was my jelly sandwich. Then he called me Herbert. I was afraid to tell him my real name's Glenn. I didn't even know he was an alien. I thought he might have been one of the welders from the garage. Was he going to kill me, mister?"

"No," Hardy said, and was greatly relieved. "But what's in that room?"

"Computers?" Nervousness had turned his answer into a question.

At the farmhouse near Winslow, Hooper had first regretted that he was being forced to stay behind — and he hated the humiliation of being threatened. But then he realized that the Godseye troopers were lost and that Hardy was merely a passenger, so what did it matter if he spent the night there with Bligh? They slept in the rotor and when the sunrise warmed the windows they woke and made love, and slept some more.

"Such long grass," she said later, and left the rotor and ran into it.

Hooper, seeing her disappear ahead of him, felt he was in danger of losing her — the feeling was very distinct after they made love.

"I'll never be able to please you," Hooper said.

"I'm pleased here," she said.

She was very bright. She had the ability of the young to bounce back. Her memory seldom seemed to trouble her. She laughed easily, and became passionate quickly, and when it passed she was talking about the watchtowers and were there rats in that house?

Hooper had made love to her in an urgent and subduing way and yet afterward felt like a victim of it. She made an attempt to reassure him; but she did not understand. It was another paradox of her being fifteen that she was practically unconscious of her body, and yet he could hardly take his eyes off her. She was always half-smiling and saying, What are you looking at? She didn't know!

He wanted her to desire something that only he could provide. He needed her to tell him what she wanted. And his motive was not only to make her happy, but to make himself happy that way. But she was happy with nothing, so he was left out.

"I hated those men," she said. She was so young her teeth still seemed a bit oversize and her neck very thin. Her breasts were small, yet they were still growing! "I think they're dangerous. Not your brother, but the others."

"My brother's afraid — and he's given up on me."

And Hardy had not heard the worst of it. Sluter had hissed at Hooper, "If you follow us we'll shoot you down."

And they had flown the Godseye gunship into the darkness, their rotor blades whanging the low branches.

But, after all, staying behind had given Hooper and Bligh the advantage. On their return from the walk they had heard a signal from the rotor. The receiver was taking a directed message from a town three hundred clicks east of here— Guthrie. It was Fizzy, driving a transmitter in the high-school computer room — he had started calling himself "commander" again — and aiming at the dish in this ruined garden.

He had probably just walked into the room and walked out, for Hooper's message was returned to him with the code comment: Not receiving.