第18章

　　书农小说网友上传整理刘慈欣作品未来镜像全文在线阅读，希望您喜欢，一秒钟记住本站，书农的拼音（shunong.com）记住本站加入收藏下次阅读。

The sky is finally dark.I stack crackers and cheese，press down，and heat it in the oven.Then I open a bottle of beer and have myself a simple dinner.The cheese gives me heartburn.I can’t suppress the pounding of my heart.In my hoodie，I pace in the living room.The TV shows some guy with too much time carrying a massive sign in front of the city hall.The protestor is surrounded by a sizable audience，but no one seems to be joining him.I think I see a few people in black hoodies in the crowd.Is it them？I toss down the remote and pull up my hood，determined to go take a look.

There aren’t many people on the subway.A number of them pretend to be watching the commercials on the display screens while secretly sizing me up.

Two teenagers with fashionable mushroom-shaped hair discuss me quietly.“Who’s the guy on that old geezer’s sweatshirt？”

“Some religious leader，probably.Like Luc Jouret or something.”

“Uh，who’s that？”

You’re half right，ignorant kids.I pull my hood lower.In my time，Steve Jobs was as good as a religious leader，until the Internet degenerated into senselessness and everyone tossed aside their complicated smartphones for basic phones that could only make calls.

I arrive at the city square half an hour later.The protestor stands in the middle of the brightly-lit lawn.His sign is ridiculously huge，covered with several rows of garishly colored writing.I can’t see what it says with my deteriorating vision.Is this a side effect of overdrinking，like the tinnitus？My mother says that my father is blind as a mole now.I can’t imagine what he looks like，what remains of his bushy beard，red face，brawny arms，his massive beer belly，and I don’t care to find out.

A crowd has gathered to watch him afar.A few cops are leaning against the side of their police car，chewing gum.Skater kids are showing off their tricks on the steps.In front of a TV van，a reporter and a camera man are chatting.In contrast，the protestor seems all alone.I walk closer，squinting at the sign.The red text on the top reads，“Wood-burning fireplaces are the leading cause of global warming.”Below it，“For every traditional fireplace you tear down，Mother Earth lives another day”is written in blue.

I wrinkle my brow.The First Amendment wasn’t made for idle crap like this.Where are the incisive opinions from the finger-talking gathering？I approach the crowd，trying to find the people in black hoodies，but at this time the police come up and ask the protestor to leave for the sake of the grass，and the crowd disperses too.I can’t find anyone I recognize.Two cops turn their gazes on me questioningly.One of them points at the portrait on my hoodie，and the other guffaws in realization.I quickly turn and leave.

Without thinking，I ride the subway eastward and get off at the terminal station.I hail a taxi，telling the driver，“289 Eden Road.”

“Eden Road？”the driver grumbles.“I hope you’re planning to tip well.”

The car turns onto a side road.The city around us grows more and more run-down，and the streetlights dwindle.When the taxi stops in the middle of the darkened Eden Road，my anxiety and hope rise as one.“Thinking of going elsewhere，pal？I know some good hotels.”The taxi driver takes my fee and opens the door for me.

“No，it’s fine.I like quiet.”I get off，shut the car door，and wave.The taxi’s taillights brighten，then quickly diminish and disappear into the distance.It’s nine o’clock right now，but Eden Road is already silent as a grave.I walk toward the front door of 289 Eden Road with its missing glass panel.After some thought，I open the door and enter.

I know I’ve arrived too early，but I thought that the anticipation would add to tonight’s gathering.Like yesterday，my heart is thumping，but this time it’s out of excitement rather than fear.I find the door at the back of the stairs by the light of the wobbly incandescent lamp and turn the brass doorknob.The dark，narrow forty steps appear before me.I’ve lost my cell phone，and neither do I have a flashlight.I adjust my hood，close my eyes，and walk into the deepening darkness.One，two，three，four，five...thirty-nine，forty.There’s a wall in front of me now.The stairs double back here.I grope around，exploring with my right foot until I find the next stair.One，two，three...thirty-nine，forty.Both my feet are on flat ground.The green door with the brass letter S should be in front of me.Filled with hope，I reach out.

My fingers touch cold concrete.

Had I misremembered？I summon last night’s experiences to my mind.There was only this door at the end of the stairs.This door，and nothing else.I’m sure of it.I clearly recall the gleam of the brass S.I shuffle to the left and right，but touch only concrete wall on either side.The place directly in front of the stairs，where the door should have been，is also rough wall.The stairs have taken me to a dead end.

I can feel the blood pounding in my head.My ears feel hot，and the headache is returning.Calm，I tell myself.I need to calm down.Breathe deeply.Breathe deeply.I take off my hood and suck in a slow breath.The cold，damp basement air fills my lungs，and my overheated brain cools down a little.

Once I’ve taken a few minutes to calm down，I start to look for the vanished door again，but there are no signs that there had ever been a door here.The rough wall scrapes my fingertips raw.I sit down，despairing.

Where are your friends now？My father’s face appears in the darkness，sneering carelessly.

Shut up！I yell.I bury my head in the crook of my arm and cover my ears.

I told you，don’t make trouble.My father wipes a trickle of beer from the corner of his mouth.His breath is hot and foul.His arm is around my sister，whose blue eyes glisten with tears.My mother is to the side，crying.

Shut up！I scream.

You’re eighteen now.Get the hell out of my house.Get a job，or go to your goddamn university，but I don’t have to let you live under my roof anymore，my father roared，throwing the suitcase at my feet.My sister hides herself in the kitchen，tears running down her face as she looks at me.My mother is holding a pot；her face is expressionless.

Shut up！I scream hysterically.

I don’t know how much time passed.You can’t tell time accurately in the dark.It might have been a nightmare，or maybe I’d never fallen asleep in the first place.I stand up slowly，letting the wall take some of my weight.I’ve been curled up too long；every joint cries out in protest.All I want to do is go back to my little apartment，down a big glass of whiskey，no ice，and turn on the TV.Forget my absurd dream from last night.Forget the lingering sensation on my palm.Forget that there ever was such a thing as the ridiculously named finger-talking gathering.

I stride forward.My left foot strikes something.It rolls，then glows to life，a spot of white light illuminating the narrow space.It was the cell phone I lost at the door last night，my ridiculed，one-of-a-kind old fashioned smartphone.

It wasn’t a dream.Strength surges into me instantly.I pick up the phone；the battery is almost depleted，but it’s enough to let me properly examine the wall in front of me.Yes.This portion of the wall is brand-new，troweled together in a hurry with fast-setting concrete.Where the wall meets the floor，I see a wooden doorframe buried in the depths of the crack.The door is there，just hidden by people trying to keep it secret.

I knock on the wall and find that the cement is too thick for me to break through.The people in black hoodies weren’t some hallucination.They’d simply changed their meeting place and forgot to tell me.I comfort myself with that.

I wait there until two in the morning，but no one comes.I climb back up the stairs，walk to the subway station two kilometers away，and hail a taxi back to my apartment from there.Step by step，I climb up the squeaking stairs.My thoughts are in a muddle，but I still need to work Wednesday morning.As I open the door to my apartment，I plan to drink a glass，take a shower，and get some proper sleep.

I freeze at the doorway.Someone in a black hoodie is sitting on my couch.

8

I pick up the e-seal and stamp the social welfare petition on my display：a newly immigrated family with six children.The green indicator light on the e-seal turns red，telling me that I’ve used up today’s approval quota.I relax into my chair and work the cramp out of my wrist.There’s still half an hour until my shift ends.

The pretty blonde girl who shares my cubicle stands up to invites everyone to her birthday party.“We’d...welcome you too，if you have the time，”she says belatedly to me，out of what I know is forced courtesy.

“Sorry，I have an important date the next day.But happy birthday！”I reply.She visibly gives a sigh of relief and puts her hand to her chest.“Thanks.That’s a pity.I hope the date goes well.”

To a girl her age，I’m from another generation，and I understand an out-of-place old man at a party can be a disaster.But the date wasn’t an empty excuse.I can still feel her message on my right palm：Tomorrow in the city square at 6 AM.

I don’t know how she found me，how she got in my apartment，or how long she waited there.After a moment of surprise，I walked over and took her hand.The neon lights of the strip club flashed through the window，splashing her black hoodie with radiant colors.I still couldn’t see her face properly.“Sorry，we changed the meeting place.We couldn’t contact you in time，”she wrote.

“Did I cause trouble for you？”I ask.

“No.The situation’s complicated.Only a few core members went to the finger-talking gathering just now.We’ve had some internal disagreements.”At the end of the sentence，her finger tapped out a few hesitant ellipses.

“About what？”

“About whether to do something stupid.”She drew two wavy lines under“stupid.”

“I don’t understand，”I write honestly.

“If you’re willing to listen，I can tell you how the finger-talking gathering came to be，how we’re organized，the struggles between the factions，and our ultimate goal.”She wrote it in one long sentence.

“I don’t want to know，”I reply.“I don’t want to turn these interesting conversations into politics.”

“You don’t understand.”She draws a greater than sign，a sigh.I’m realizing that she expresses even the most basic emotions through writing.“You must have noticed how the Internet，TV，books have lost any semblance of intelligence.”

“Yes！”I feel a rush of excitement.“I don’t know why，but every topic worth arguing over has disappeared.All that’s left is pointless bullshit.I’ve tried tossing provocative topics out in discussion more than once，but no one would reply.Everyone’s more interested in sashimi and earthworms.I noticed it years ago，but no one believed me.The doctor gave me pills to get rid of the hallucination.But I know this isn’t a hallucination！”

“It’s not just these.Conversations with friends and the things you see on the street are becoming as bland as the Internet and the media.”

“How do you know？”I nearly stood.

“It’s all a conspiracy.”She pressed hard writing this，hard enough to hurt.

“A conspiracy？Like the moon landing thing？”

“Like Watergate.”Her writing grew agitated，harder to decipher.

“I think you need to tell me everything.”

“Then we’ll start with politics.”

“Hold on...when’s the next gathering？Can I join？”

“This is what we’re arguing about.Those in support of action think we should hold our next gathering in a public place，like the city square.We shouldn’t keep running and hiding.We should show what we believe in，no compromises”she tells me.

“I’m guessing that the police don’t like you guys very much.”I once again recalled the first time I saw her，chased by two panting cops.

“They don’t have anything on the organization as a whole.It’s just some individual members who have criminal records，especially the activists，”she answers frankly.

“You have a criminal record？”I ask，curious.

“It’s a long story.”She was unwilling to say anything more.

I work up my courage and ask the question at last.“What’s your name？”

Her finger stilled.I tried to scrutinize her face under the hood，but the hood concealed her face entirely.It even hid any sex characteristics.I suddenly realized that my only evidence that she was female was her slender fingers.She could just as easily be a young man，I thought，though my heart utterly rejected the idea.I wanted her to be a woman like my big sister，flaxen-haired and soft-voiced and a little mischievous，freckles scattered over the bridge of her nose.The sort of woman I’d been seeking all my life.

“You’ll know it in time，”she said eventually，avoiding my question.

“Actually，I’m more curious about—”the exquisite sensation of my left finger on her right palm was interrupted by the sudden howl of a police siren approaching rapidly.She straightened，alert，and pulled her hood lower.“I’m leaving now，”she wrote rapidly.“If you want，be there tomorrow in the city square at 6 AM.Remember，this is your choice.This is your chance to change the world，or more likely，regret it to the end of your days.Either way，don’t blame anyone else，especially not me，for your own decision.And I might as well add，I think bald men are sexier.”

She squeezed my right hand with her delicate but strong fingers，got off the sofa，and vaulted out of the living room window.I hurried over to look down.She’d already climbed down nimbly from the fire escape and disappeared around the corner.I touched my balding head，somewhat dazed.

9

For a variety of reasons，I sank into a deep depression the year I was thirty-seven.The landlady persuaded me to go to her shrink，threatening that if I didn’t get treatment，she’d kick my ass out of the apartment.I knew that she just didn’t want me to overdose and leave my corpse in one of her rooms，but I’m grateful to her all the same after the fact.

The man was a Swede with a beard like Freud’s.“I’m not a psychologist，”he said，once we’d talked some.“I’m a psychiatrist.We don’t consult here.We fix problems.You’ll need to take medications if you don’t want to dream every night of your sister’s grave.”

“I’m not afraid of pills，doctor，”I reply.“As long as the insurance covers it.I’m not afraid of dreaming of the sister I love，either，even if she crawls out of the grave every time.I’m afraid of what’s happening around me.Do you feel it，doctor？Tick-tock，tick-tock，like the second hand on a clock.Here，there，endlessly.”

The psychiatrist leans over，full of interest.“Tell me what you feel.”

“Something’s dying，”I say in a low voice，glancing around me.“Can’t you smell it rotting？The commentary on the news，the newspaper columnists，the online forums，the spirit of freedom is dying.It’s dying en masse like mosquitoes sprayed with DDT.”

“All I see is the advancement of society and democracy.Have you thought whether some paranoia-inducing mental disorder may be causing this suspicion toward everything，including the harmonious cultural atmosphere？”The psychiatrist leaned back，fingers interlaced.

“You were young once too，doctor.You once had the courage to question everything.”My voice rose anxiously.“Back then，when we didn’t know who we’d become，but understood who we didn’t want to become.When there were battles and heroes all around us.”

I reminisce sometimes of my youth too.Everyone should.But we’re all grown people now，with responsibilities toward our family，our society，even our civilization and our descendants.I suggest you take these pills regularly when you go home to get rid of your unreasonable fantasies.Find an undemanding job，fish on the weekends，take a vacation once a year.Find a nice girl when the time is right—we haven’t discussed your sexual orientation yet，I realize，please don’t take that the wrong way—and start a family.The psychiatrist put on his glasses，flipped open his notebook，and cut my protests off with a hand before I could voice them.“Now，let’s discuss the problems relating to your father and sister.Your childhood traumas had significant influence on my choices of medication.Is that fine with you？”

The treatment was effective.I gradually grew used to the tepid TV programs and online forums.I grew used to society being peaceful，simple，nice，indifferent.I grew used to seeing the shade of my father，and tried not to argue over things past.Then this person in a black hoodie barges into the monotony of my bachelor’s life and hands me a choice，a choice whose meaning I don’t understand.But I do know that finger-talking has brought me a sense of groundedness I haven’t had in a long time，made the things I felt that had slowly died off eight years ago return from the grave like beetles bursting from their underground cocoons in spring.

I don’t know what“tomorrow in the city square at 6 AM”will signify.Normally，when I’m faced with a choice，I toss a coin.The answer naturally appears as the coin whirls through the air：which side do you hope will land face-up？But this time，I don’t toss a coin，because when I get off from work，leave the Social Welfare Building，I unthinkingly walk in the opposite direction from the subway station.Next to a spinning pole，I push open the glass door.I say to the fat man across from the mirror，“Hey.”

“Hey，long time no see.”The fat man waves me in.“Same as usual？”

“No.”I smile.“Shave me bald.The sexy kind of bald.”

10

I startle awake at 3：40 in the morning and can’t sleep after that.I take a hot bath，change into my Steve Jobs hoodie and khaki pants，put on my sneakers，put in my earphones，and listen to the metal bands of olden days.At 5：00 exactly，I leave Roy a message，drink a cup of coffee，and leave my apartment.The sun hasn’t risen yet.The early morning breeze caresses my freshly shaved scalp，cooling my feverish brain.I take the first subway that comes，unperturbed by the strange looks I get from the sparse fellow travelers.At 5：40，I arrive at the city square.I stand in the middle of the green.The streetlights are bright，and the morning mist is rising.

At 5：50，the streetlights go out.The first ray of dawn illuminates the thin mist.People are slowly gathering.Someone in a black hoodie takes my right hand，and I pick up the arm of the stranger next to me.“Good morning”spreads palm to palm.More and more people are appearing in the city square，silently forming themselves into a growing circle.

At 6：10，the ring stabilizes with more than a hundred people in it.The participants of the finger-talking gathering begin to rapidly transmit information.I close my eyes.A drop of dew falls from the brim of my hoodie.

The person to my right is an old gentleman，by his flabby skin and the refined construction of his sentences；the person on the left is a well-preserved lady with a plump，smooth palm and a large diamond ring on her finger.The topic arrives：“Compared to the gutless bands of today，what bands ought we to remember forever？”

“Metal.U2.And rock and roll，of course.”I immediately add my own opinion.

“The Velvet Underground.”

“Sex Pistols.”

“Green Day.Queen.Nirvana.”

“NOFX.”

“Rage Against the Machine.”

“Anti-Flag.”

“Joy Division.”

“The Clash.”

“The Cranberries，of course.”

“Massive Attack.”

“Hang on，does dance music count？Add Pussycat Dolls，then.”

I grin knowingly.The second topic appears，then the third.I’ve missed this sort of easy，organic discussion，even if it’s via a mode of information exchange out of a kids’game.The fourth and fifth topics appear.My fingertip and palm are hard at work，avoiding typos while trying to use as many abbreviations as possible.I think I’m slowly mastering the skill of finger-talking conversation.The sixth topic appears，followed by the seventh.This seems to be the bandwidth limit for finger-talking gatherings.The commentary appended to each topic would steadily grow until everyone interested has finished speaking.The creator of the topic has the right and responsibility to end its transmission at a suitable time to make room for a new topic.The first and third topics have disappeared.The second topic，on the First Amendment，is still gaining comments.The creators of the other topics independently choose to stop transmitting.Only the second topic is left in the circle，and the participants come to unspoken agreement to stop carrying the topic itself，transmitting the commentary only to save bandwidth.

It’s an inefficient use of the network to transmit only one data packet at a time.Someone realizes this and starts a new topic in the lull.The network is occupied once again，but soon the data clogs up at one of the nodes.

A memory from my distant college years suddenly surfaces.“Let’s look at a now-obsolete network topology structure，”the network systems professor had said behind the lectern，“the token ring network，invented by IBM in the seventies of the last century.”So the finger-talking gathering was really an unscientific token ring network reliant on the members’responsible behavior.I hurriedly finish sending the enormous data packet of the second topic and use the bit of free time to consider how the system might be improved.

A very brief message appears.It’s uneconomical，I think，but its contents make me gape.“To the sexy bald guy：my name is Daisy.”

I can feel the serotonin forming in every one of my hundred billion neurons，the ATP sending my heart pounding furiously.Every living bit of me is jumping and hollering in victory.In the place of this message，I send out：“Hello，Daisy.”

The size of the second topic has slowed down the network so that it takes me ten minutes to receive the data from upstream.It’s clear that someone’s stripped down the commentary to the second topic to the essentials.After the compressed file is my topic“Hello Daisy”and its legion comments.

“We love you，Daisy.”“Our daisy blossom.”“Pretty lady.”Then“hello，Uncle Baldy！”

I recall how I’d looked in the mirror before I let home：my skinny body，drooping cheeks，red nose and comical bald head，my outdated sweatshirt.I look like a clown.I smile.

I’m writing my reply when a commotion ripples through the network.I open my eyes.The sun has long since risen，and the mist has disappeared without a trace.Every blade of grass in the city green sparkles with dew.The members of the finger-talking gathering have formed an irregular circle，linked hand in hand into a silent wall.Many people watch from a distance：morning joggers，commuters on their way to work，reporters，policemen.They look perplexedly at us，because we have no signs，no slogans，none of the characteristics they expect of a protest.

　　如果觉得未来镜像小说不错，请推荐给朋友欣赏。更多阅读推荐：刘慈欣小说全集：未来镜像， 三体3死神永生， 三体2黑暗森林， 三体全集1-3， 虫子的世界， 球状闪电， 超新星纪元， 梦之海， 诗云， 欢乐颂， 地火， 流浪地球， 乡村教师， 微纪元， 全频段阻塞干扰， 中国太阳， 朝闻道， 魔鬼积木， 吞食者， 光荣与梦想， 地球大炮， 思想者， 圆圆的肥皂泡， 白垩纪往事， 镜子， 赡养上帝， 山， 中国2185， 点击左边的书名直接进入全文阅读。