(01-06) Golden WIndows

“Solid Gold?” A-Bomb asked.
“Hell no; you couldn’t see through solid gold windows; they’re like a fine mesh screen made out of gold, so fine you can see through it, but conductive.”
A-Bomb had discovered that Louis liked answering questions. He was surprised at first but then he figured it must feel good to have the information and flash it like a roll of bills.

“What does it conduct?”

They were sitting at a sidewalk Starbucks with two cups of brewed coffee and a New York Times. A-Bomb’s question hung there like ripe fruit, while Lewis appraised it, took his time, enjoying his dominance. “It conducts purity,” he said, looking across the street at the American Futures Building. Not all the windows were covered with the golden mesh, just the one’s where the children were sleeping beyond the reach of matter’s life or death incarnation. They were vials of sperm programmed with DNA computers. One of these computers, the size of a teardrop, is more powerful than all the silicon computers in existence, combined.

“You know what these assholes say?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “They say the vibrations of the sun are magnified by the gold, and that all these sperms are vibrating at a particular rate that will produce superior people.”

“That’s a good thing, ain’t it?” A-Bomb asked. “But … who is they?”

“If there’s room in the boat,” Louis said, “They is us. But if there’s no room in the boat, they is somebody else.”

“So,” A-Bomb hesitated to ask, “Are they us or not?”

“Not at the moment,” Louis said. “But things change.”

A-Bomb studied the building while Louis read the Times. He’d told A-Bomb that reading the Times is good cover for thieves casing a job. “It’s because there’s no comics,” he said. A-Bomb watched the sun glittering on the golden windows and he wondered how they would steal the American Future right out of the American Futures building.

“Will it be in a bag or something?” he asked. “I’d rather not get it on my hands if I don’t have to.”

Louis looked at him over the top of the Business section. “Will what be in a bag?”

“The sperm. We don’t have to touch it do we?”

“You sick fuck, what do you think is behind the golden light? A toilet stall? This is the best and brightest, the future potency. It’s light in matter, and whoever is impregnated with it is going to give birth to a god. I know it’s an old story, but here we are again. What you’re looking at across the street, behind the golden windows, A-Bomb, is more valuable than all the rest of the accumulated wealth on the planet.”

“If that’s so,” A-Bomb said, squinting and frowning, “how will we sell it for what it’s worth?”

“Stolen goods sell at a discount. But you imagine what’s going to happen when the future suddenly disappears; they just don’t have it anymore. They’re going to want it back, and when they do, they have to deal with us, my giant friend. They’re going to have to share the wealth with the little people." He caught the anxiety in A-Bomb’s glance. “And their allies of course. When you work for us you’re one of us.”

When Louis had finished scanning the newspaper they strolled on through the financial district toward the embarcadero. “What’s the matter?” Louis snapped.


“You keep starting to ask me something and then you stop.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“No, but you look up and then you look down and you open your mouth and then you don’t say anything, so what is it you’re afraid to say?”

“I was wondering what would happen if you and Paris had a baby, you being cousins. Does that make the baby retarded?”

“I apologize my friend, for thinking you were too much of a rube to know about such things. The child of cousins in the same patrilineal line might be an unfortunate choice. Paris is the daughter of my mother’s brother, which is relatively safe in that regard. It’s kind of you to be concerned about us, but I don't think we'll be having children together anyway."

“Paris said in the book that her parents are cousins, but she’s not retarded, so was her mother ... I forgot ..."

“Her parents were not cousins. They're my aunt and uncle, so I’d know if they were, wouldn't I? What you’ve got to understand, A-Bomb is that what she wrote is a novel, so you don’t know what’s historical and what’s psychological. I said I didn’t read it but you know I did, because I wanted to see what she said about me. She said the taboo of relatedness charged the air when we were alone together, and that she seduced me with a yardstick. That much was true.

She put it in front of me and it came to just below my lips. “Exactly the same,” she said, and she moved close in to my face to show me we were just the same height. She touched the top of the stick and said, “From here up, we’re unmeasured.”

“I knew what she meant. What's unmeasured has all possibilities still open. It's pure spirit. By the way, you do know I have to take two steps for every one of yours don’t you? Sometimes you’re like a person who ties the dog to the bumper and drives around the block to give him exercise.”

“I wasn't thinking. You want to ride on my shoulders?”

“Yea. I’m the brains of the outfit so I ought to be on top.” A-Bomb scooped him up and dropped him in place. “I could walk if you didn’t race along like a horse going to the barn.”

“It’s okay. You’re so light that if you didn’t talk I’d forget you’re there.”

Posted: Wed - February 20, 2008 at 10:59 PM