The Dead Man's Burden(8)

 

Things are so much simpler now. I love it.The converts don’t have a government. They don’thave taxes. They don’t have jobs. They don’t have public transit.They don’t worry about gas, or money, or lust, or popularity, oreven faith. They’re above all of that. They just adore the world,and I adore it along with them. They still worship me, to an extent. My latestcarrier, a slim, shady-looking fellow, takes me wherever I want. Whenhe loses his arms, I have no doubt that someone else will happilypick me up. And when I go for walks to look at the world I’vehelped create, everyone bows. They all love me. The Balancing Point,leader of the new order.But that’s all. There are no parades. No hugeceremonies. No widespread messages that touch the hearts and minds ofevery convert. I don’t need any of that, and my converts understandas much. Those things were reserved for unequal savages. I’m justan honoured elder now, and once I’m out of sight the converts goback to doing absolutely nothing. It’s a wonderful world. Though I still wish itwas my girl carrying me around, not this stranger. He barely speaks.That is one of the privileges of our kind, I suppose, but someconversation here and there wouldn’t kill him, would it?I’ve more or less set down roots in a city tothe west of my old home. There’s no need to go back there. Myformer apartment’s no better than any of the others in this city.It looks the same as every urban burg: stripped of colour andsubstance, deathly quiet and filled with loitering converts. Some ontheir feet, some on the ground, some draped over trash bins andstreet signs and abandoned cars. That’s the nice thing about beinga convert: you don’t care where you flop down. Everything isequally worthy of a good staring contest.My carrier usually stops on a street corner infront of an old theatre. I’m fine with that. It’s as good a placeas any.

 

Yet... I break out of my gazing reverie and wriggle mytongue. I need to limber up before I speak. “I want to go somewhereelse.”I have to repeat the message twice before mycarrier responds. “Huh? Wha?”“I said, I want to go somewhere else.”“Unh. Where?”“The park, if you don’t mind.”He shakes his head. I think. It’s hard to seewith one eye and a boxing helmet blocking off most of your peripheralvision. “Unh. Forever bliss to you.” And we’re off.I don’t know why I want a change of venue. Mycarrier probably doesn’t, either, but he doesn’t think about thattoo much. He doesn’t care where he is, and his feet never gettired. He’ll go where I ask, even if I tell him to carry me to theArctic Circle. We’ll never get there, but he’ll try.It occurred to me a few weeks ago that I’m notas content as I would like, not as content as everyone else. I guessthat’s symptomatic of thinking for so long. I haven’t given mybrain the chance it needs to lapse into happy oblivion. I still havesome niggling urges. I shouldn’t give in to them, because allthings should be equal in my eye.Yet... We arrive at the park. I order my carrier to placeme on a park bench so I can watch the trees. He almost drops meface-first on the concrete instead, and offers a fumbling apology ashe struggles to set me upright. I think I need a new carrier...  butwill any of them be any better than this guy? Probably not.

 

Once I’m in place I revel in the loveliness ofnature. I adore parks. They remind me of the cottage, of theall-encompassing greenery that fills my favourite place in the world.I especially like parks now because they draw in wildlife, and notjust the usual stuff like butterflies and birds.Why, look, there’s a wolf. Fancy that. Wonderhow he got away from his pack. Maybe it’s a coyote? I’m not sure.My eyesight’s horrible.It’s the animals that tell me we were right toendure this worldwide campaign. Animals, in general, feared mankindas it was. Now? They tromp through the cities without a care. Naturehas embraced us converts as its own children. We’re part of theworld again, and in a few years that will be literally true. We’reall slowly turning to dust. A happy fate for those who love the worldso much.In retrospect, I guess that’s why I’ve neverfelt any urge to attack animals. To an extent, they alreadyunderstand. True, they don’t quite appreciate existence in the waywe do, but they don’t take it for granted, either. Animals are ofthe world. They are the world. They didn’t need to be converted,because they never strayed from their path. Hell, maybe we learnedsomething from animals. We obviously learned how to bite likeanimals.Yeah. That sounds properly symbolic of our cause.We strayed from nature, and nature brought us back. Through me. Ithink through me, anyway. I’m pretty sure I was the first convert.I watch the wolf as it sniffs at a fallen convert.It doesn’t look too interested. As far as the wolf’s concerned,the woman draped over the birdbath is just another part of thescenery. Not an appetizing part, either, as it slinks off to find newprey without a taste of the woman’s arms. I wish it luck in itssearch, and hope it finds its pack. Canines are social animals. Theyneed their family.

 

We have a family. We have everything we need.We’ve created a world that’s slowly turning back to the way itshould be. We are complete, us converts.So why do I feel so unsettled? Why haven’t Ifound where I belong yet? Is it because I know that there are stillsavages beyond the seas? I know there are, as the itching in my mouthcame back a couple days ago. I guess my sense for detecting savageshas expanded to a global scale. Very irritating.But I don’t think that’s it. I know thesavages will be brought into the light sooner or later. No, thisyearning is...  it’s something from before. A feeling of joy that Ihaven’t embraced in an eternity.A return to that place I always loved. TheBalancing Point needs to be balanced. And I know exactly how to doit. How could I be so blind, even with only one eye?I grunt, wriggle my tongue to get it working, andspeak to my carrier. “Wake up.”He doesn’t respond. Typical.“Wake up!” I insist, my hoarse voice littlemore than a whisper. I can’t force much energy into my commandsanymore.  “Wake up, dammit! I need to go somewhere!”He shifts. “Unh?”“Pick me up! We’re going!” I don’t reallywant to leave the park, but there’s somewhere better, so muchbetter, that I should be instead. I shouldn’t want to go there, butI do.My carrier grunts again, and, after some hopelessgroping, manages to gather me into his arms. “Forever bliss to you.Where?”

 

I pause. I’ve lost my sense of direction. I knowI’m to the west of my old stomping grounds, but...  that’s notvery helpful. But I can’t be deterred, and I at least remember thename of the place: El Verde. Generic, but it should be enough...  ifI can just find some maps.I ask for directions as we wander the streets, anddozens of converts come to my aid, pointing out where to go. Most ofthem follow my carrier, some even offering to take his place. Herefuses to give me up. He’s like a kid with a new toy he won’tshare. Greedy, but I don’t care. That’s not my concern.After hours of stiff-legged wandering we make ourway to an abandoned bus depot. None of the original staff are amongthe converts on hand, so I order my followers to blindly search formaps, maps, any and all maps that show a detailed layout of thecountry. I wish I was back in my dad’s apartment, as it probablyhas exactly what I’m looking for.Dad. I wonder if you’re there? I’d like to seeyou again.Shortly after we enter the depot, my carriercollapses. His legs, stretched to breaking point, have crumbled. I gotumbling across the room and come to a rest against a dusty kiosk.“Unh!” my carrier yells, and I’m dimly awarethat he’s trying to find me. “My lordship! The Balancing Point!Forgive me!”Another convert, younger and better maintained,eventually reaches down and picks me up. I haven’t sustained anyhurt, thanks to my boxing helmet, so I order her to take me to my oldcarrier. He’s floundering on the ground, unaware that I’mhovering over him. I think he’s lost his eyeballs in the fall.“Be still,” I soothe. “You’ve done goodwork.”

 

He stops struggling. He tries to look up, but Ihear something snap in his neck. He grunts instead. “Can I notcarry you anymore?”“No. Your time is done. Rest there, andappreciate the world.”He sounds ready to cry, but he doesn’t. Poorfellow. I know how much hauling my head around means to them, and I’mtouched by his pain. “Forever bliss to you. Thank you for settingme free.”I offer him a half-skeletal smile. “You deserverest. Goodbye. Thank you for your services. You were a good carrier.”My converts continue searching through the busdepot, and I wait anxiously in my new carrier’s arms. Eventually,they bring me what I want, and I whisper new orders. My converts obeywithout pause.We leave the bus depot. My old carrier whimpersonce as my new carrier passes. Though I no longer have a body, I feelthe first stirrings of regret in my belly. El Verde.Chapter 10I’ve been walking for a long, long time.Okay, so maybe I haven’t been walking. A guywithout a body can’t get too far on his own. I’ve been carriedby, oh, dozens of people. I don’t have much choice, because none ofus can operate vehicles anymore. It’s not safe to hop in a car or abus, not unless you just want to sit there and rust.I’ve worn out so many carriers. It’s not likethe old days. Our bodies are falling apart, and rapidly. A lot ofconverts simply don’t move anymore. I lost the ability to talkshortly after I started on my pilgrimage, as my jaw is sitting loosein the boxing helmet. My tongue is flopped out on the grimy padding.Gross, but I don’t mind.