prepare and submit an expense voucher. This is known as finalizing the details of remuneration. Just so you don’t think it’s all so smooth, I might mention there are two distinct factions at Happy Valley. Certain amount of dissension. That’s one of the reasons the product ended up here. The one thing they agree on is your integrity. The true blue example of your life and work, ha ha. They refuse to come in direct contact with you. They consider it an infringement of the worst sort. They’re believe it or not very apologetic about involving you in this thing and only did it as a gesture of homage. They have a quaint sense of theater, like all barbarians.”
“Time being you just sit and wait, is that it?”
“I don’t speak till I’m spoken to,” she said. “I just sprawl out in bed and wait for events to take shape.”
“In other words you don’t initiate.”
“I maintain.”
“You maintain while others initiate.”
“The operative is the one who initiates.” “And eventually there’ll be a transaction.” “It depends on the operative. The operative is also the intermediary. Both of them get their instructions from the comptroller. I just sit here until somebody turns up at the door. A tall laconic man with a scar. No, a hip black business-type, that’s what I want. One of those purple Cadillac freaks. Stoned behind the wheel of a bulletproof limousine with silver and gold brocade upholstery. A slow-motion sprinter, that’s what I want, neatly spaced on your better-grade euphoriants. I want to carry a Mark Cross briefcase and travel in a purple Caddy.”
“Would Happy Valley have blacks working for them?”
“The boundaries are getting indistinct. You never know. Where you’ve got profit motive the possibilities are endless. But in other ways the lines are getting thicker and straighter. So you never know.”
“This business about privacy. What do you know about that?”
Opel took a long breath, obviously bored by the prospect of delivering an interpretation.
“Happy Valley thinks privacy is the essential freedom this nation, country or republic offered in the beginning. They think you exemplify some old idea of men alone with the land. You stepped out of your legend to pursue personal freedom. There is no freedom, according to them, without privacy. The return of the private man, according to them, is the only way to destroy the notion of mass man. Mass man ruined our freedoms for us. Turning inward will get them back. Revolutionary solitude. Turn inward one and all. Isolate yourself mentally, spiritually and physically, on and on, world without end. Sustain your privacy with aggressive self-defense.”
“Killer,” I said. “Killer ideas. Heavier than cotton candy. Puts me in the mood to read something. About time I read something. What do you have in the house that I can read?”
“What do you want to read about? People, places or things?”
“Things,” I said.
“Why not people, creepo?”
“I’m not very interested in human relationships.”
“Get behind some coke, Bucky. Shit, if you’re interested in reading about things, you might as well take a little sniffy now and again. In the long run that’s where thingness lies. I met a track star in Dakar. Australian. There to compete in the games. I don’t know what games he meant. He kept saying the games. Here for the games. Compete in the games. He gave me some nothing dope. Whatever athletes use. Zero effect. Stepped on about forty times. This is funny. Let me tell you this. I’m sitting in his room waiting and waiting. The games. Here for the games. Compete in the games. Outside the streets are full of lepers. I’m waiting and waiting and waiting.”
She went on with the story. It seemed to take hours. I sat in my chair and Fenig paced his floor. This was a perfectly acceptable sonic environment. It was as though tapes of remixed sounds had been run through a computer to extend their frequency range. There was a
“Time being you just sit and wait, is that it?”
“I don’t speak till I’m spoken to,” she said. “I just sprawl out in bed and wait for events to take shape.”
“In other words you don’t initiate.”
“I maintain.”
“You maintain while others initiate.”
“The operative is the one who initiates.” “And eventually there’ll be a transaction.” “It depends on the operative. The operative is also the intermediary. Both of them get their instructions from the comptroller. I just sit here until somebody turns up at the door. A tall laconic man with a scar. No, a hip black business-type, that’s what I want. One of those purple Cadillac freaks. Stoned behind the wheel of a bulletproof limousine with silver and gold brocade upholstery. A slow-motion sprinter, that’s what I want, neatly spaced on your better-grade euphoriants. I want to carry a Mark Cross briefcase and travel in a purple Caddy.”
“Would Happy Valley have blacks working for them?”
“The boundaries are getting indistinct. You never know. Where you’ve got profit motive the possibilities are endless. But in other ways the lines are getting thicker and straighter. So you never know.”
“This business about privacy. What do you know about that?”
Opel took a long breath, obviously bored by the prospect of delivering an interpretation.
“Happy Valley thinks privacy is the essential freedom this nation, country or republic offered in the beginning. They think you exemplify some old idea of men alone with the land. You stepped out of your legend to pursue personal freedom. There is no freedom, according to them, without privacy. The return of the private man, according to them, is the only way to destroy the notion of mass man. Mass man ruined our freedoms for us. Turning inward will get them back. Revolutionary solitude. Turn inward one and all. Isolate yourself mentally, spiritually and physically, on and on, world without end. Sustain your privacy with aggressive self-defense.”
“Killer,” I said. “Killer ideas. Heavier than cotton candy. Puts me in the mood to read something. About time I read something. What do you have in the house that I can read?”
“What do you want to read about? People, places or things?”
“Things,” I said.
“Why not people, creepo?”
“I’m not very interested in human relationships.”
“Get behind some coke, Bucky. Shit, if you’re interested in reading about things, you might as well take a little sniffy now and again. In the long run that’s where thingness lies. I met a track star in Dakar. Australian. There to compete in the games. I don’t know what games he meant. He kept saying the games. Here for the games. Compete in the games. He gave me some nothing dope. Whatever athletes use. Zero effect. Stepped on about forty times. This is funny. Let me tell you this. I’m sitting in his room waiting and waiting. The games. Here for the games. Compete in the games. Outside the streets are full of lepers. I’m waiting and waiting and waiting.”
She went on with the story. It seemed to take hours. I sat in my chair and Fenig paced his floor. This was a perfectly acceptable sonic environment. It was as though tapes of remixed sounds had been run through a computer to extend their frequency range. There was a
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