The Eden Express_ A Memoir of Insanity - Mark Vonnegut [61]
“We don’t know where Virginia is, Mark. Don’t think about her now.” This soured things some. Everyone else seemed to be here, where was she? Had she not made it through the shit-storm apocalypse? Was she a casualty? Were there others?
“What happened to Virginia?” I pleaded.
“We don’t know, Mark. It would probably be best if you didn’t think about Virginia right now.”
“There was so much I wanted to tell her.” I was crying.
“There’s nothing you can do about it, Mark. Try not to think about her.”
“And the war in Vietnam?” I asked, trying valiantly to change the subject and also out of genuine curiosity. I wanted to know how everything had turned out. “And the whole race thing, and pollution, the ecology?”
“Don’t worry about it, Mark. None of that stuff really matters now.” So all that is done and gone with, I reflected.
“Gee, you know I really took all that stuff seriously.”
“I know you did, Mark, but don’t worry about it, just relax and get some rest.”
I lay back and tried to figure out how to make the best of my situation. The first problem was that I didn’t really have a very clear idea of what my situation was, and since no one seemed to want to talk about it I didn’t see how I was going to figure it out.
“Mark, this is Stan.” I felt someone take my hand.
“Hi, Stan,” I said, still not opening my eyes.
“He’s been there too. Maybe he can help you,” someone said.
“Sure hope so,” I said. “I seem to be having trouble adjusting. Can I open my eyes?” Stan, Stan, I thought. Who the hell can Stan be? Stan Getz? If I was in some sort of eternity situation with Getz I might be able to adjust, but I would so much rather have had Coltrane around. But if Stan wanted to talk to me it was better than nothing.
“You can open your eyes if you want,” said Stan.
“Sure,” I said, trying to believe it as I opened my eyes slowly. I was ready to see almost anything. Angels and pearly gates wouldn’t have surprised me, but I was sort of half hoping to find myself in my bedroom in Barnstable. I looked around very cautiously, taking in as much as I could, like a little kid on Christmas morning. Everything was aglow with a soft light, but there was no new bicycle, no mommy, no daddy, not even Gary. Someone had lit a kerosene lamp and a few people were stirring around.
Stan I had never seen before. He had long reddish hair and a beard and was sitting on his haunches holding my hand, completely naked. “Stan understands,” I said to myself over and over again.
“What happened?” I asked, putting it as directly as possible.
“We don’t know what happened, Mark. All we know is that for a time at least we must try to use less energy, so just try to relax.”
I looked at Simon, who was beside me. He was dead. I had killed him. I had drained away all his energy.
“Don’t cry,” Stan said gently.
Crying was using up energy and if I wasn’t careful I would drain away all the energy. Everyone else was perfectly quiet. I looked at Stan pleadingly, sorry for what I had done and not being able to make it right. He quickly looked away from my eyes and I felt even worse, knowing that had our eyes met he might have been killed instantly.
“Don’t worry, everything’s going to be all right. Is there anything you want?”
“A cup of coffee?” I had no idea of what was possible or impossible, but a cup of hot coffee would sure taste good.
Coffee was something that wasn’t grown within several thousand miles of us. It would never be a “natural” part of our lives. Coffee was a product of our exploitive imperialist system. At least I hadn’t asked for Coke. It would have been more cool, more peaceful, more soulful to ask for mint tea but I wasn’t really interested in mint tea. It was coffee I wanted.
I watched another caveman violently and angrily smashing and splintering wood. I wondered what he was so pissed-off about. That I wanted coffee? That I had woken him up? That I was wasting