‘Hey!’ I told them ‘Separate. I’m on business.’
Silence hung. Pincher slid out of Neolani and flopped on the sofa. She stretched out nearby, brazenly staring at me through bleary, half-drunk eyes.
‘Killjoy,’ Pincher muttered.
‘I’m leaving,’ I said, trying not to look at Neolani. ‘Altogether.’
‘Where?’ Pincher asked yawning. ‘Come on, dude, what happened, happened. There is no past, you forgot? If it is because of Neo, she wanted it. She has the right.’
‘Jo-o-osh!’ Neolani drawled. ‘Are you jealous, you little fool? Well, I simply… I just wanted, but you weren’t near, understand? We drank some whiskey with Tina and I…’
‘I’m leaving for good,’ I interrupted. ‘The Garage has turned into garbage. And into a whorehouse. I don’t fit in here.’
There was dead silence. Neolani pursed her lips.
‘Well get out, you rat!’ Pincher exploded. He went deep red, jumped up and began to hastily yank his jeans on. ‘Get out of here, sucker, neatnik, nerd, shitass!’
‘Neo, will you come with me?’ I had to ask this question though I already knew the answer.
‘Jo-o-osh… Well why are you so-o complica-ated?’ Neolani sang, rolling up her eyes.
I turned and spat on the floor. I don’t know why. I never spit, even on the street when nobody’s looking, but here I spat. Perhaps, in my subconscious the words of Mr. Jenkins emerged, well, about the Baseball player, about the spat world. Or I was just pissed off.
Pincher rose up at once:
‘Stop, asshole! Wipe this fucking spittle with your fucking muzzle!’
I looked at him already absolutely quiet. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Neolani was wrapped in that same red tarp that she had once caught up with me in.
Pincher rushed at me, swinging his hands. He was certainly much more skilled in such affairs, In fact I’d never fought, except as a little child, in the sandbox, in the Galaxy Star cargo space ship with the Makflinov brothers.
But Pincher was furious, and I – no, Lao Tzu – said knowingly: ‘You are controlled by someone who makes you angry.’
So I quietly waited for the moment when he ran up to me and punched him in the bare stomach. He gasped and fell to his knees, his eyes bulging, his face becoming even redder. Neolani screamed, huddled on a corner of the sofa.
There was a clatter in the Control Room. Bach and Frisbee fell in.
‘What happened?’
‘Grab him…!’ Pincher croaked, jabbing his thumb at me. ‘Quickly… if he runs away!’
Bach immediately grabbed me by the elbow.
‘Back off.’ I told him. ‘Back off, or else…’
‘Or else what?’ Bach said between narrowing his eyes and wringing my hand.
I hit him in the face with my free hand, somewhere on his thick cheek, but it really hurt my hand.
Bach jumped away from me, snarled and, raising his fists, advanced to attack. Frisbee stupidly jumped aside and shouted something. Neolani screamed. Pincher tried to rise from his knees.
I tried to dodge but Bach struck my jaw, and then my chest, knocking all the air from my lungs. It became clear that it was time to get out, and reeling, I staggered to the door, feebly waving away the punches of my former friends. But Pincher finally got up and decided a different approach. He launched himself on my back and clung to me like a tick, pulling me to the floor. Then Frisbee kicked me in the face…
Maybe they would have killed me if Sparky hadn’t appeared – for the not-locked door played a dirty trick on the garagers. With a wild bark, the dog flew into the Control Room and began to bite all and sundry, probably maddened by hallucinogens again. Guys were rushing in every direction, beating off the enraged dog, and in the chaos I managed to get out of the Garage.
With a broken face dripping with blood, I went down the street past the neat American lodges of respectable American families with American values who would reject all we created in the Garage.
You could call what occurred that day a fight for these values. I had battled for the Homeland against people who ate its garbage and tried to spoil everything they could reach.
They identified rats all around, and actually they were rats themselves – pathetic, greedy, stupid rats whose whole life revolved around satisfying their desire to have a good time by all available methods.
They lived at the expense of society – and spoiled society.
They spat on everything: on morals, on tradition, on the country which had given them the chance to do things, which had brought them up and presented them with the chance to live as they wanted.
They were asked little – to become worthy citizens of this country. Instead they preferred to live as animals – to guzzle drugs, copulate and crawl in their own sewage, feebly forgetting in the morning, according to the hollow ‘there is no past’ doctrine, their yesterday’s shame.
You remember, I spoke about rats at the beginning? In the Garage I nearly became one of them…
I didn’t win, but I also didn’t lose. Now I had no friends, no girlfriend, but there was my Homeland…
‘Hey, guy!’ some man called to me. ‘Is everything all right? Do you need any help?’
My heart warmed at once. If the garagers had seen a guy on the street with a bloodstained face, at best they would have mocked the poor fellow.
I wanted to scream with delight ‘Do I need help, of course. I do!’ I was so made up I wanted to cry – to ask a stranger on the street if he needs help – that is our, real, primordial America, we are strong with it, we are strong with the fact that we are together…
And for this reason I turned to him slow and dignified, and saw the elderly lieutenant with his veteran stripes and medals, and shook my head:
‘No, sir, I’m ok. Everything is all right. I just squabbled a little with some scum.’
‘What was the dispute?’ he asked without a suggestion of a smile.
‘They don’t love our country,’ I answered honestly.
‘Then, sir, you protected the United States. What is your name, and how old are you?’
I answered. He gave me his hand.
‘Joshua Kold, I have the honour to invite you into the armed forces of the USA! Such guys as you are very necessary to us. Here is my business card, the address of the recruiting point in Arnold is specified there. Have a good time!’
I saluted him and started wandering further, and the one and only thought which seemed to solve everything sat down firmly in my head: Army!.
…So I had lost what always attracted me to the Garage. More precisely, I had lost the one – Neolani. And without her the entire purpose of going into that hell-hole had gone. Maybe I could reconcile with Bach, Frisbee and even with that douchebag Pincher, but with Neolani there could be no reconciliation. This became the grain of sand that started an avalanche.
I had passed the Rubicon and wasn’t going to change my decision. The Army was exactly the place for me to forget about everything. And if someone has to protect our country, why shouldn’t this someone be me?
When I declared at home that I was going to go to serve, and in the marines, Pa sat down silently for a long time. When he started talking, his voice trembled strangely.
‘You know,’ he said. ‘As a man I will shake your hand. But as a father…’
Mr. Jenkins met me once again, just approaching me as I sat on a bench in the park, looking through the papers they gave me at the recruiting point.
‘It’s a small world!’ he said with such sincere joy that for a moment I truly believed we were meeting accidentally.
I asked him to sit down out of, well, elementary politeness, no more, and he took seat, crossed his legs and began to talk about baseball. The Baltimore Orioles had lost their last game. Everything was down to the fact that they had to ‘pull’ their rivals, but the Orioles messed up, and now they’ve lost the champion’s title.’