Gas prices were now holding under two dollars, Cotton, on foot, observed. He couldn't remember when they'd been there last. But he could remember what he father would have said. At $1.99 and the ninety-nine half-pennies, it would have still meant two for him. Cotton prefered optimism. The half-pennies did not, in the end, add up enough. Maybe if he did the math they would, but they were still half-pennies. Still, he'd seen a couple of films, one about a hero and one about office politics, both comedic, where all those half-pennies had in fact added up, significantly. Maybe he should care. But he didn't. The price was $1.99. Not that it mattered to him. He and Balthazar did not have a car. Traverse was condusive to this, however, this alternate, if unpopular, form of transportation. The only people who walked were those who had to. It had been this way for a long time. No one actually wanted to. They could expend their energies training for a marathon, but they couldn't be bothered to take the time to walk. It was just a waste of time. Just not for Cotton.
"I think I'm getting used to this," Balthazar said, "walking. I would call it therapeutic."
"Which is good," Cotton said. "You need the slower pace, the time to think, I'd say. No offense, of course."
"None taken," Balthazar said. "I've been so charged, so busy, so distracted, it would never have occurred to me. The time to think, mind you, not the walking. It can't be too good, though, to think all the time."
"It is and it isn't," Cotton said. "It's good for you, probably not so good for others. They can't keep up, which is the paradox of it. You're moving slower and they can't keep up. Of course, they think it's your problem, that you're the one who can't keep up. But that's the way it always is. The advantage is always in the eye of the beholder, where it rests with a toxic blend of pride and prejudice. Which, byt the way, is a good read."
"And a popular story for film, too," Balthazar said. "They just made a new one. The soccor girl stars in it."
"Who? Oh, you mean the pirate girl," Cotton said. "Lincoln Mather enjoyed her as the warrior Guinevere. I've heard him talk about it."
"Now it's my turn," Balthazar said. "Who?"
"Random Red," Cotton said. "The boy we're on our way to see. You'll understand that there's good reason to. He's been trying to tell you about me for months. If you'd listened, you might have saved yourself some trouble."
"I'm always getting myself into trouble," Balthazar said.
"Which is unfortunate," Cotton said. "I suppose you could say that my new philosophy is that you shouldn't create unnecessary messes. They're a waste of time. If you can take the care to do something right the first time, why do anything else? Because most people could care less. They don't understand that there are consequences, every time they ignore their responsibility. It's not enough to say you'll clean up that mess later, or expect someone else to do it for you."
"Aren't you doing that yourself?" Balthazar said. "Letting others clean up your messes? You've as much as said so."
"To a certain extent," Cotton said. "Like I said, you have to put thought into your actions, so you don't waste time, create unnecessary consequences. Some things take time. More people should learn that. You don't always have to do everything right away, unless you really have to, unless failing to act leads to suffering that cannot be contained for another, more suitable day. My enemy, he waits for me, and he does not wait idlely. I have to understand that, have to accept that."
"It seems to me that you don't," Balthazar said, "that you would only do that because you're afraid."
"Maybe that's how it seems," Cotton said, "and maybe that's how it is. But I don't want to get it wrong again."
"You're only giving him more time to prepare," Balthazar said. "And aiding him. Every moment you spend thinking that you're going to fail, if you 'don't get it right' again, you're letting him win."
"Terrible, I know," Cotton said. "I have to be ready. It's the only way. Events are unfolding that are only going to help me. You know what I'm talking about."
"The coming war," Balthazar said. "But he's above that."
"No one is," Cotton said, "and no one understands that. You didn't. It's the one factor that guarantees the ending will be in my favor."
"This Mather kid," Balthazar said, "why are you indebted to him? Why would he have been trying to bring me to you?"
"I used him," Cotton said. "He was a pawn in the endgame, the one that ended the career of the Eidolon."
"The ongoing career," Balthazar suggested.
"That's still to be seen," Cotton said. "I've broken my commitment to the Eidolon. I no longer believe in him."
"This kid believes in you," Balthazar said.
"So it seems," Cotton said.
"You shouldn't think of it like that," Balthazar said. "With regret. You did the kid a favor, right?"
"No, I didn't," Cotton said. "I thought I was, at the time, but I hurt him. I don't know how much. He hasn't dealt with it very well, and the worst is yet to come, but meeting him will be beneficial, for you, I think."
"I don't really follow you," Balthazar said.
"You will," Cotton said, and so he did. They continued on, as if Balthazar's journey through the passageway to Tekamthi's bunker had never ended, his search for his car, still happening, his ride with Hopper, infinite. Cotton said he could use the time to think, and he was doing just that. Was he really dead? He couldn't tell; he couldn't find any difference in his perception of the world, or himself. It was as if nothing at all had changed, and that disturbed him. There was a brief moment for which he had no memory, in between the time Lotus...killed him, and Cotton's arrival. There had been someone else, or at least some thing else present, like a facilitator, and some of that still lingered. He could feel another life, a fragment of it, within him, and it was filled with pathos, a deeper regret than the one Cotton expressed, or at least admitted to. He could see that these regrets were alike, and understand what they had to do with what Cotton had tried to explain about his new mission.
But he couldn't bring himself to accept Cotton's preaching. It was too much. How could all that be true? They descended deep into the heart of the urban slums, where you only lived if you had to. The life that resulted there reflected that, grim forebearance, and worse. Balthazar began to understand this Mather character immediately. He wanted to tell Cotton to go no further. Mather was an example of the kind of life he had never known, and had never wanted to know, because he had never understood it, not really. He couldn't fathom why someone would allow themselves to sink so low. Cotton suggested if wasn't their choice. How could he be right?
"Are you doing this as a warning?" he asked. "Because if you are, you don't have to. I already get the point. I don't need this."
"You say that," Cotton said. "I'm glad you can. But you have to see it. You have to."
"You have so many things to say," Balthazar said. "I want to believe in you. But you don't even believe in yourself."
"A terrible thing to learn," Cotton said. "I know. You will at least indulge me, though, right?"
"I have little other choice," Balthazar said. "You were meant to be my salvation. I thought I wanted it before. Now I need it. I need you."
"A terrible thing to learn," Cotton said.
"Yeah," Balthazar said. "Mather, so how's this going to work? How am I going to meet him?"
"See for yourself," Cotton said, indicating with his hand a basketball court, where a lone figure tried his luck, which he had none of. Every shot missed it mark, and Mather was obviously frustrated, even angry at himself. He was desperate, like he needed to be able to do this, and wouldn't quit until he proved to himself that he could. It was pathetic. He wore his red cap, which at his age no longer looked appropriate. He looked like he was simultaneously trying to hold onto his past and trying to fit someone else's version of his future.
"I didn't need to see this," Balthazar said.
"It isn't what I brought you here for," Cotton said. "But it's symbolic enough of the turmoil he persists in."
Mather must have become aware that he was being watched, because he shifted his attention, let another missed ball roll where it would as he looked away. "You," he said, calling out, his demeanor changing, his frustration and anger falling away, replaced by confusion. "I know you."
"Hello Lincoln," Cotton said.
"You work at the bar," Mather said.
"Used to," Cotton said.
"No, you still do," Mather said. "You won't listen to me, and suddenly you're here? What're you playing at? Why are you tormenting me? I told you where to find him. You didn't listen."
"You're confused, Lincoln," Cotton said.
"No!" Mather shouted, banging his hands against the fence surrounding the court, small and isolated amongst the grime of the neighborhood, filled with buildings that stood over it. "No, you're him."
"You don't know what you're talking about, Lincoln," Cotton said. "I can get you help."
"Help? I don't need help!" Mather insisted. "I don't need your pity or your denials. And I don't need help. It won't help! Nothing does! Nothing ever helped me! Nobody!"
"I think we should go," Balthazar said.
"You think it's that easy?" Cotton said.
"Nothing's easy, man!" Mather said. "You should, you should just accept that! Leave me alone! I don't need your help!"
Cotton hesitated as Mather stared at him, his hands gripping the chain-link, pleading silently. Should he give the boy what he wanted, or what he needed? He knew what was coming, where the boy was headed. Yet he also knew that the boy was right; he would not accept help, and trying to force the issue, at least in this case, would probably do more harm than good. Right?
"We should go," Cotton said, as he turned his back, Mather still staring at him, pleading, confused.
"I don't understand," Balthazar said as they left Mather behind. "I don't understand any of it. How was that good for me? Good for him? It didn't seem like it was, like it will be."
"The boy needs an outlet," Cotton said. "As soon as he finds one, he'll be better off."
"You could be that outlet," Balthazar said. "Be the one to help him."
"He wouldn't go for it," Cotton said.
"You say that," Balthazar said, "but why do you have to believe it? Make me understand."
"Because he's looking for someone to blame," Cotton said, "and the Eidolon, Cotton Colinaude, has already given him that someone."
"Then fix your own mess," Balthazar said. "Or do you not practice what you preach?"
"He already found his outlet," Cotton said. "Balthazar Romero. You're the one who won't give him the chance."
No comments:
Post a Comment