Paul Theroux - O-Zone

Hooper was sorry for the boy, but he was so uncertain about what to say that he felt that if he said anything he would giggle. And something in him made him glad to see Fizzy squirm. He was growing up at last. He saw his weaknesses — so that was an approach to adulthood. When, years from now, he saw he was ineffectual, he would be a man.

In a hopeless voice Fisher said, "I wanted to go to O-Zone."

"We'll go!" Hooper said, glad that he was able to shout it. It meant everything to him now.

"I can't," Fisher said. "And it's their fault. Moura's especially. She went to some stupid clinic and got stuffed with some defective implant. I could kill her for that!"

Hooper said, "There are two of us, Fizzy. We'll get the best gunship, the best gear, the best weapons. You've got all the navigation. We'll bring back some brilliant descriptive data—"

All the time he was speaking he was thinking of the girl's face. It was a good humorous face. And her pale eyes and slender legs. If I don't take her I'll never have her. He had always imagined that she would leave willingly, but there was something in Fizzy's fussing that made Hooper think that he might have to capture her.

"If we're to find anything new we'll have to get onto the ground. Otherwise they can use satellite pictures and spy planes."

"Eye level," Hooper said. "I'll be right beside you."

"It's dangerous. We'll die."

"No — it'll be fabulous. We'll look at those blind big-headed mutants!"

"They weren't blind. They were anophthalmic. Their skulls were normal-sized. But they had exencephaly."

"Whatever you say, Fizz."

"They were dead before they hit the beam. Someone threw them at us — to scare us."

"So what?"

"It worked — I'm scared! Hooper, you don't know me. I'm serious. I'm not strong enough. I haven't got—"

But Hooper had known for years what Fizzy had just discovered. That weakness, which Fizzy thought was a revelation, was all that Hooper had ever known about the boy. And the boy did not know that admitting the weakness was a strength, and knowing what it was would help the boy survive in the wilderness — that kind of anxiety was a greater advantage in O-Zone than a feeling of power.

Fizzy had discovered that he was not perfect! So there was hope for him. He had taken off his heavy gloves. His hands were hot and flushed pink — very soft, almost delicate hands.

He said, still pleading, "There's something missing."

"You might find it in O-Zone," Hooper said.

When the Allbright brothers, Hooper and Hardy, were together they felt much younger, usually like boys, and at times ageless. But they were sensitive to slights and could easily be wounded, so they were very guarded about what they said. They were wise and infantile at the same time.

Hooper had thought: I won't go to O-Zone for his reasons — only for my own reasons. Then he remembered the Access Pass: it was being handed to him on a plate, and it seemed to him as if there was no way he could refuse. It was a brilliant gift, and what was best about it was that the giver had no idea of its great value. Hooper knew in advance that he would accept. His fear was that in seeming to equivocate he would appear too reluctant, and the offer would be withdrawn, and he would never see that girl again.

Make me give in, he thought when he saw Hardy. He found it hard to accept a gift from anyone, least of all from Hardy. This dislike of gifts was a domineering trait in him, he knew. He was always somewhat surprised to see what people would do when they were given some small token, and he distrusted the vanity of anyone who solicited favors. It was another strength of Fizzy's that he mocked all such offers of presents.

They had met in a restaurant in West Harlem, a bulldozed and newly colonized part of the city, and a compromise location for the brothers — Hooper had come from Coldharbor, which was off York Avenue in Upper East, and Hardy had been looking for office space in Washington Heights, where he hoped to locate what he now thought of as his Storm Center.

"I just saw the Eubanks downstairs," Hardy said. "I haven't seen them since our party in O-Zone."

This was his cue — Hooper was sure of it — but he resisted it, and let it pass, and only said, "They smoke, did you know that?"

"They were actually going into the Smoking Room," Hardy said. "They seemed a little sniffy with me. I'm sure they expected something else in O-Zone."

"They didn't smoke in O-Zone — probably scared they'd catch fire," Hooper said. "They drink, too. It makes me gag to think of a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other—"

It was a false note. Hardy could have said: You inject yourself, you swallow nappies, you photograph women. But Hardy was a tactful brother, and he responded in the same way, talking about the sickening habits of the Eubanks. And now both brothers knew they were stalling. They had no secrets from each other. Guile only worked because they allowed it. Hardy wondered why Hooper did not have a woman; and Hooper wondered whether Hardy was really impotent — and what was at the bottom of his weather research? But this was all. It was not very much. As brothers they understood the delicate nature of each other's pride. And they had real admiration for each other's achievements — Hardy's status as a weathermaker, Hooper's as a mail-order tycoon. There were no confrontations, they never talked about the family or the fortune; there were no hard words — that would have been the end.

They studied the menu and then ordered by keying the numbered combinations into the selector at the edge of their table — the steak dinner for Hardy, the fish for Hooper. Any mention of food these days provoked talk about Murdick's meal at Fire hills:

"Meat butter,"

"Crab strings."

"It was designed for the space program!"

It was another way of stalling, though. The subject, so far evaded, was Hooper's willingness to take Fisher to O-Zone. It was a conspicuous evasion for a number of reasons, but brotherhood came into it again.

Each brother to be polite had to give the impression that the other was doing him a favor. But each believed the opposite at the same time — that he was doing the other a favor. And secretly, at the faintest level of awareness, each had a dim sense of satisfaction that he could not put into words, that he was doing exactly what he wanted.

Hardy said abruptly, "We're very worried about Fizzy. I think the proposed mission to O-Zone would be good for him, frankly. I sometimes feel he's cracking up. This might pull him together."

Ah, so we can discuss this tricky thing by discussing Fizzy, Hooper thought. That was tactful — so tactful as to be a bit spineless. But in this way they could spare their own feelings. They proceeded very tentatively like two fat acrobats balancing on wobbly chairs.

"He's not cracking up. He's a little awkward, maybe. But he's normal, for his number."

"He never goes out. That's not normal."

"He went out once, a few weeks ago."

"Only once is weirder than never."

"He doesn't have any reason to go out."

"That's crazy too, because he doesn't have any reason to stay in."

"His computer. His mainframe. His studies."

"He calls the thing 'Pap'!" Hardy said. "Listen, this is the safest city in the world!"

Hooper said nothing. That statement gave him a glimpse of the Godseye gunship.

Hardy said, "He's getting strange indoors. In his room. He's developing a wacky eye-blink. He chomps his teeth. He's weak. He sleeps irregularly. And that yawn."

Hooper knew the yawn. "He'll grow out of it," he said. "He's only fifteen!"

Their food was brought by a man with a trolley. He wore a face mask — it was catching on! Hooper wondered whether the thing served a practical purpose. He slid the sealed trays in front of them, and made a little bow and pushed the trolley to another table.