Paul Theroux - O-Zone

She was at times so impressed with these details of life in New York City that he suspected that she did not understand them. And then he felt safer, knowing she needed him.

She was astonished by the lights at night — the skylights especially, and the blips and flashes of air traffic, small private planes and rotors, in their clockwise progress around the city; the streaks of their high-level landings and vertical take-offs. Hooper knew from the monitor that the light sometimes kept her awake (Bligh slept naked, with the blanket over her head). But the light also reassured her. Whenever she saw darkness she said, "What's in there?"

She was eager to know more: Hooper had not imagined that New York was so interesting. Bligh's curiosity made the city special. Hooper, seeing it with her eyes, realized that it was fantastic — the heights of the residential towers, the indoor parks and glassed-in gardens, the quack of rotors and the hiss of expresses aboveground — trams and rail cars; the complex rules of entry, the roadblocks, the security checks, and the surrounding darkness.

"I live over there, don't I?" she said, tossing her head at the wall of black beyond the west side. She still believed that O-Zone, her quarter of it, lay across the river, just beyond New Jersey.

Leaving Coldharbor that night, Hooper took Bligh past the checkpoint, so that she could see Jennix and his wall of monitors. He showed her that they did not simply record what was happening in the towers and grounds, but also monitored different parts of the city.

"That's Upper West, that's Lower East, there's the bridges," Captain Jennix said helpfully. "There was an incident at a tunnel entrance earlier on — Lower West. Might have been Skells. And we were getting reports of an alien alert right next door, at the Lansdown Tower. I think they nailed someone. There was an all-clear. Going out?"

"We were thinking about it," Hooper said crossly.

"Taking your car?"

Hooper faced the man and said, "I hate questions!"

But Jennix was not put off. He said, "It's just that with these incidents tonight, and the way the world's going, I thought you might be interested in some literature."

"Not today," Hooper said.

"The young lady might be interested," Jennix said, turning his smile on Bligh. Jennix wore a long-visored cap and earphones, and a high-powered particle beam was strapped to his waist. He approached Hooper and said, "Time is running out, you know. A fellow like you, with your net worth, could have a swell place on a station. You could do yourself proud — be totally self-sufficient. You could upgrade yourself at any time. You could be in orbit, Mr. Allbright."

Hooper said, "It's so kind of you to think about my future," and started away, taking Bligh by the arm.

But Jennix left his station with a leaflet in his hand.

"You don't have to accept this planet," he said. "Millions are rejecting it for a better life in space. The day is coming when you'll need it."

The leaflet said, Reserve Your Space.

"And we're looking for recruits for White Girls," Jennix said, glancing again at Bligh. But he had strayed too far from his station. As Hooper walked on, Jennix said, "If you weren't hurrying away she'd listen to me. I can tell she's interested. She'd sign up for the program."

On the plaza outside Coldharbor, Bligh asked who Jennix was, and what had he been saying?

"He's a Rocketman, a Pilgrim. He lives in a workers' development in Queens with his wife and reads science-fiction novels. He's got an entry pass to New York and a work permit. He brings his lunch in a paper bag. All his savings go to the Pilgrims. It's a space cult — Survivors, Starlings, they have different names. The Federal government actually encourages them. They've made a sort of scientific religion out of the space program — they're rocket people."

"They actually ride in rockets?"

"So they claim. Along with the scientists, the Astronauts, the politicians, freeloaders, and millionaires, you'll find a Pilgrim or two on most missions. They're pathetic — it's just a publicity stunt. I think it's a trick to get their money."

They walked for nearly a block before Bligh spoke again, but she did so in a marveling tone. "I'd love to go up in a rocket. I've only heard about them," she said. "I was so cut off in our quarter. The world is such a wonderful place!"

"This isn't the world," Hooper said.

They had reached the rail-car station. A red Circle Line car hissed to a stop, and many of the passengers were wearing helmets and suits — some with masks in the high style that had recently become popular, with faces and phones and breathing options. Above the station were rotors and skylights, and all the towers were lit. A canyon of light led downtown. The city was best at night, Hooper thought. It was certainly safest: the security patrols were at their strongest at night, and the checkpoints and scanners were all in operation. And it was at night, surrounded by darkness, that the city seemed complete — an entire world, castle and moat.

Bligh said, "What else is there?"

She seemed overwhelmed by it and Hooper guessed that she had already begun to trust in it.

"Dark and desperate places," Hooper said.

But she was smiling.

"Not very far from here," he said.

She was still smiling; she believed she knew those places.

"And all over the States."

"I'd like to see!"

She looked so eager because she didn't know.

"And Asia, South America," he said. "Africa — God, Africa."

"I wouldn't be afraid."

Her upturned face was bright in her faceplate. Hooper held her. She was trembling, and he thought how small she was, how thin, for someone so strong.

"Take me there," she said.

"First you have to see New York."

She had said, "I want to go as far as I can possibly go in this city," and Hooper took her by taxi to South Ferry.

He said, "We could have come here in my own car."

"This is probably quicker." Her gaze was intent upon some men in masks strolling on the promenade.

She had not understood him. He said, "No. I actually have a car at Coldharbor. I keep it on the ramp. I hardly ever use it. It's a new one."

Bligh said, "This is fine" — missing the point.

Hooper paid the driver, and they got out and headed down the steps to the promenade. Hooper said, "I mean I have a real car — that I drive myself."

"We found cars in our quarter, in those ghost towns," Bligh said. "I used to sit behind the wheel when I was small, going brm-brm. Mr. B drove one. But it was no good, and there was nowhere to go. You should see those roads! We heard that some people out there lived in them — too lazy to put up houses."

Hooper said, ''Listen, do you know how few private cars there are in this city?"

But saying it, he realized that it was a pointless boast: it really didn't matter.

Bligh said, "Why is this called South Ferry?"

"There used to be a boat here that went across to Staten Island. The ferry was much bigger than those patrol boats. I don't think you'd want to go there now… or there,"

His sweeping gesture took in Staten Island, New Jersey, and the Brooklyn shore. They were like the dark edges of distant countries, all shadows and tiny lights, as if they were slowly drifting away. Gunships and rotors patrolled the bay as if engaged in battle maneuvers in a silent war.

"Are they really dangerous?"

"Not really," Hooper said. "Just bleak and boring. And unhealthy. They're full of housing blocks and workers' towers — too many people. Only about half the people have entry passes to come over here."

"Have you been there?" She was pointing at Brooklyn.

"Sure. And not just flown over it — I've driven through it.

The road's pretty well fortified. You don't see much. That's probably a good thing. It stinks. It's full of the worst kind of aliens."