js&cs.thebridge-第13章

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had　an　innate　sense　about　tools　and　technology。　Mechanical；　electrical；　digital；　if　it　got　up　and　ran；　Gary　Taylor　could　figure　out　what　made　it　tick。
　　He　was　bench　engineer　for　WPAL。　Mostly；　he　did　equipment　repairs；　transformer　maintenance；　a　monthly　checkup　of　the　broadcast　tower　and　the　microwave　uplink；　but　he　was　pretty　much　qualified　to　handle　any　broadcast　situation。
　　It　was　a　good　gig；　as　gigs　go。　But　it　was　still　just　a　job。
　　Gary　worked　to　live；　and　not　vice　versa。
　　He'd　grown　up　on　farms；　the　son　of　migrant　workers；　which　was　a　romantic　way　to　say　he'd　grown　up　hard。　A　lot　of　drifting；　a　lot　of　backbreaking；　monotonous　scrabbling　in　the　dirt；　with　very　little　return　to　speak　of。　On　more　than　one　occasion　he'd　had　to　lend　a　hand　in　birthing　cattle　and　then　drown　a　batch　of　kittens　in　the　very　same　day。　He'd　known　hunger…not　the　what's　for　supper　not　hamburger　again　kind　but　the　real　thing；　the　bottomless　dull…knife　gnawing　in　your　belly　that's　the　last　thing　you　feel　at　night　and　the　first　thing　that　greets　you　in　the　morning。　He'd　known　hardship　and　hopelessness　and　despair；　and　by　his　own　bootstraps　he'd　hauled　himself　out　of　all　of　it。
　　The　experience　had；　if　nothing　else；　given　him　a　useful　perspective。　When　life　deals　you　shit；　make　fertilizer。　If　the　nukes　hit　tomorrow；　and　they　survived；　he'd　raise　mutant　cows　with　Gwen　and　be　just　as　happy。
　　Gary　reached　under　the　block　and　freed　the　crankcase　bolt；　nudging　the　catch　pan　under　the　engine　block　with　his　knee。　On　the　outside　the　softtail　looked　bone…stock；　but　he'd　tweaked　and　cranked　it　until　it　was　two…hundred　and　forty　horses　of　flat…out　drag　bike；　street　legal　but　just　barely。　It　could　do　a　buck　and　a　half　without　even　breaking　a　sweat；　though　Gary'd　never　really　cranked　it　past　one…twenty；　and　not　much　over　ninety　since　Gwen　put　the　bun　in　the　oven。
　　Oh　well　。。。　；　he　thought。　Must　be　gettin'　conservative　in　my　old　age。
　　Little　Feat　was　on　the　radio。　Let　It　Roll。　The　garage　door　was　open；　and　bright　streamers　of　light　filtered　in。　The　day　had　turned　Indian　summer…warm；　and　Gary　was　looking　forward　to　one　last　ride　before　the　cold：　burning　down　some　back　roads；　heading　nowhere　and　loving　every　minute　of　it。
　　〃Hey；　Dad；〃　Gwen　said；　appearing　behind　him；　a　steaming　mug　already　in　her　hands。　〃Want　some　coffee？〃
　　〃Thanks；　Mom。〃　Gary　stood　and　turned　toward　her；　accepting　the　Java　and　a　kiss。
　　〃Ick；　you're　all　slimy；〃　she　said；　pulling　away。
　　〃Thought　you　liked　slimy；〃　he　said；　nuzzling　her。
　　〃Not　like　that；〃　she　said；　pushing　away　and　moseying　over　to　the　door。　〃Better　get　cleaned　up；　babe。　We　gotta　be　at　the　airport　by　eleven　。。。　〃
　　〃Blech！〃　Gary　cut　in。　He　made　a　sour　face　and　stared　at　his　cup。　〃What's　with　this　coffee？〃
　　〃I　just　made　it；〃　Gwen　said；　perplexed。　〃What's　wrong？〃
　　〃It　tastes　like　shit。　That's　all。〃　He　held　out　the　cup　to　Gwen；　she　sniffed　it。　There　was　an　ugly；　bitter　taint。
　　Gwen　shrugged；　hurt。　〃I　don't　know；　I　got　it　at　a　little　shop　at　the　Galleria。　It's　expensive　enough。〃
　　〃Yeah；　well；〃　Gary　said。　〃It　tastes　like　they　got　it　from　the　wrong　Valdez。〃　He　hoisted　the　steaming　mug　sarcastically。　〃Coffee　by　Exxon；　the　richest　kind　of　coffee。〃
　　She　didn't　laugh。　He　sniffed　the　coffee　again。　〃Yech；〃　he　said；　recoiling。　The　milk　had　curdled　into　a　mottled　curlicue　shape　like　a　question　mark；　spinning　slowly　in　the　center　of　the　cup。　〃Fuck　it；〃　he　muttered；　pouring　the　remainder　into　the　waste…oil　pan。　Then　he　held　the　empty　cup　up　to　Gwen。　〃Thanks　anyway；　babe。〃
　　She　took　it　and　shrugged。　〃Make　it　yourself　next　time。〃
　　〃Shit；　babe；　I　didn't　mean　nothing　by　it；〃　he　said；　but　she　had　already　turned　away。
　　〃Better　get　ready；〃　she　called　over　her　shoulder；　and　shut　the　door　just　a　little　too　hard。
　　Gary　winced。　〃I'M　SOR…REEE　。。。　！〃　he　wailed。
　　The　thud　of　cupboard　doors　slammed　in　response。　〃Shit；〃　Gary　sighed；　scooping　up　a　glob　of　GoJo　from　the　can　at　the　utility　sink　to　wash　up。　〃You　can't　win。〃
　　Pregnant　women　go　of　on　the　weirdest　things；　he　thought　miserably。　Fucking　hormones；　it　seemed　like　every　time　he　turned　around　he　was　stepping　on　another　emotional　punji　stick。　In　the　shithouse　for　insulting　her　stupid　special…occasion　fifteen…dollar…a…pound　yuppie　coffee；　for　christ　sakes。　God　I'll　be　glad　when　this　is　over。
　　In　the　meantime；　there　was　not　much　to　do　but　practice　his　eggshell　softshoe　and　hope　nothing　else　went　wrong。
　　The　phone　rang。
　　〃Oh；　no；〃　he　gasped；　eyeing　the　Cobra　cordless　on　the　workbench。　There　was　only　one　reason　why　the　phone　would　ring　this　early　on　a　Sunday；　and　it　wasn't　to　wish　him　a　nice　day　off。　He　rinsed　his　hands；　wiped　them　off　on　his　pants；　and　finger…bed　his　hair；　giving　the　caller　time　to　give　up。
　　It　was　no　use。　He　picked　up　on　the　fourth　ring。
　　〃What　is　it；　Bob　。。。〃　he　sighed。
　　〃How'd　you　know　it　was　me？〃　Bob　Dobberman　asked；　genuinely　incredulous。
　　〃Experience；〃　Gary　said。　〃Cut　to　the　chase；　Bob。〃
　　Bob　〃The　Knob〃　Dobberman　was　Gary's　boss；　a　rotund　and　genial　technogeek；　right　down　to　his　pocket　protector　and　basementful　of　ham　radios。　He　was　'PAL's　head　engineer；　and　he　did　live　for　his　job：　Sigma　Delta　Theta；　Society　of　Broadcast　Engineers；　the　works。　〃We　got　a　little　emergency　down　at　the　station；〃　he　said。　〃Something　screwy　with　the　news　department's　edit　deck。　Can　you　do　it？〃
　　〃Bob；〃　Gary　groaned；　drawing　his　name　out　into　two　exasperated　syllables：　Bah…ahb。　〃Jeezus。　I　just　worked　two　shifts；　back　to　back；　and　I've　got　to　pick　up　Gwen's　friend　at　the　airport　in　less　than　an　hour。
　　〃What　about　Brian？〃　Gary　offered。　〃He　ought　to　be　able　to　fix　a　fucking　jammed　deck。〃
　　〃Yeah；　sure；〃　Bob　scoffed。　〃Brian　couldn't　find　his　own　ass　with　both　hands　and　a　map。〃
　　〃How　'bout　you？〃
　　〃I　would　if　I　could；〃　Bob　said。　〃But　Penny's　sick；　and　who's　gonna　take　care　of　the　kids？　They　can't　finish　editing　without　it。　They　won't　be　able　to　do　the　news　。。。　〃　He　laid　it　on　with　a　trowel；　delivering　the　last　bit　with　an　air　of　genuine　dread。
　　Gary　smiled　despite　himself；　God　knows；　where　would　we　be　without　the　eleven　o'clock　news。
　　〃Alright；〃　he　conceded。　〃But　that's　it！　Fix　the　deck　and　I'm　gone。　No　bullshit。〃
　　〃You　got　it！〃　Bob　said；　relieved。　〃Thanks；　Gar；　you're　a　pal。〃
　　〃Yeah；　yeah；〃　Gary　groused。　〃You　owe　me；　motherfucker。〃
　　He　clicked　off　and　walked　into　the　kitchen　to　break　the　news。　Gwen　was　quietly　banging　things　around；　taking　the　dishes　out　of　the　drying　rack；　clicking　cups　and　plates　with　a　deliberate　intensity。
　　〃Uh；　babe　。。。　〃
　　〃I　heard；〃　she　said。　〃Mr。　Dedicated。〃　She　swished　soapy　water　in　the　now…emptied　coffee　carafe；　rinsed　and　racked　it。　She　said　everything　in　those　two　words　that　he　needed　to　know。　Eggshell　City。
　　〃It's　just　a　jammed　deck；〃　he　offered　apologetically。　〃I'll　be　back　in　plenty　of　time　to　make　it　to　the　airport。〃
　　〃It's　okay；〃　she　said；　meaning　it　isn't。　〃I'll　get　her　myself。〃
　　〃I　don't　want　you　driving；〃　he　blurted；　instantly　regretting　it。
　　She　grabbed　a　glass；　went　swish　swish　swish。　Meaning　I　don't　care　what　you　want。
　　Gary　took　a　step　toward　her；　Gwen　racked　the　glass　almost　hard　enough　to　chip　it。　The　translation　was　the　aloha　of　unspoken　marriage…speak；　and　its　meaning　was　crystal…clear。
　　Touch　me；　you　die。
　　Gary　backed　off。　There　was　nothing　else　for　him　to　do；　or　say。　This　was　one　storm　front　that　had　to　blow　off　of　its　own　hormonal　accord。
　　〃I'll　be　back　in　a　flash；　darlin'；〃　he　said。　〃Promise。〃
　　Gary　grabbed　his　leather　jacket　off　the　peg　by　the　garage　door　entrance　and　closed　the　door　quietly　behind　him。　Gwen　was　still　washing　and　rinsing；　but　her　shoulders　were　shaking　ever　so　slightly。　She　cried　silently；　covered　it　with　dishwashing　clatter。
　　Gary　refilled　the　oil　and　readied　the　bike；　heart　aching。　Poor　baby；　he　thought。　Sure　gonna　be　a　better　world　when　Spike　finally　pops。　The　homestretch　was　the　hardest；　for　both　of　them。
　　He　donned　his　leather　and　riding　gloves。　His　helmet　sat　on　the　passenger　hump　of　the　seat。　It　was　a　ninja…black　road…warrior　style　fiberglass　monstrosity；　a　precautionary　pie…Father's　Day　gift　from　Gwen。　It　encased　his　whole　head　and　face；　with　just　a　little　snap…on　plate　for　his　eyes；　the　kind　of　helmet　only　rice…burner　riders　thought　was　cool。　He　hated　it；　but　loved　her　for　giving　it　to　him。
　　Gary　straddled　the　softtail；　keyed　it　on；　and　kicked　it　over；　the　engine　roared　to　life。　It　thrummed　between　his　legs；　Gary　felt　instantly　better；　his　head　clear。
　　Fuck　it；　he　shrugged。　Into　each　life；　and　all　that　shit。　If　the　gods　of　expectant　fatherhood　were　with　him；　the　sun　would　be　shining　when　he　got　back。
　　Gary　gunned　the　engine；　eased　out　of　the　garage；　and　rode。
　　Right　into　the　thick　of　it。
　　
　　
　　　Twelve
　　　
　　The　muter　flight　from　Philly　to　Paradise　sucked；　and　by　ten　thirty…five；　despite　her　best　efforts　to　remain　in　good　cheer；　Micki　Bridges　had　pretty　much　exhausted　her　options。　She　was　too　tired　to　read；　too　wired　to　sleep；　and　way　too　close　to　blowing　chunks　for　her　to　sit　back　and　enjoy　the　ride。
　　The　turbulence；　of　course；　was　at　the　root　of　her　distress。　Every　sledgehammer　thud　against　the　little　plane's　fuselage　helped　inch　her　stomach　a　little　higher　up　into　her　lungs。　She　groaned　as　the　plane　lurched　abruptly　toward　sea　level；　caught　itself　hard。
　　Soft　laughter　emanated　from　the　curtained…off　cockpit：　the　pilot　and　copilot；　yocking　it　up。　She　could　barely　hear　it　over　the　drone　of　the　engines；　but　it　dragged　a　nervous；　involuntary　smile　to　her　lips。　〃Glad　somebody's　enjoying　this；〃　she　muttered　to　herself。
　　〃Sorry　about　that　folks。〃　The　tiny　inter　buzzed　to　life　with　the　pilot's　voice。　〃We're　just　passing　through　some　rough　air　here；　there's　a　little　storm　front　moving　by　overhead。　Not　to　worry；　though；　estimated　E。T。A。　in　Paradise　is　approximately　twenty…seven　minutes。　So　hang　in　there；　and　thank　you　for　flying　US　Air。〃
　　Another　thud　rocked　the　plane。
　　〃Oh；　great；〃　Micki　moaned；　trying　to　keep　her　digestive　system　moored。　Her　long　ebony　hair；　laced　with　premature　gray；　spilled　over　her　face；　she　brushed　it　back　and　groaned　some　more。
　　Micki　Bridges　was　a　handsome　woman；　agelessly　attractive；　youthful　and　mature　by　turns；　one　could　guess　ten　years　to　either　side　of　her　thirty…three　years　and　not　seem　too　far　off　the　mark。　But　now　her　riveting；　deep…set　eyes　were　etched　with　the　shadow　of　fatigue；　and　nausea　had　leeched　off　some　of　the　healthier　tones　from　her　naturally　olive　skin；　leaving　her　a　tad　on　the　greenish　side。
　　She　was　ing　down　from　Amherst；　straight　off　the　New　World　Symposium　on　EcoHarmony；　with　no　breakfast　and　very　little　sleep　under　her　belt。　All　in　all；　she　was　glad　she'd　gone。　It　was　a　chance　to　throw　support　behind　a　worthy　cause；　get　together　with　handfuls　of　people　she　admired；　meet　her　public；　promote　her　books；　and　network　like　crazy。　All　expenses　paid。
　　For　four　days；　she　had　done　just　that。　The　organizers　had　outdone　themselves；　securing　everyone　from　John　Denver　to　Jean　Houston；　Carl　Sagan　to　Stewart　Brand；　with　a　sobering　keynote　speech　by　Bill　〃The　End　of　Nature〃　McKibben。
　　The　speakers　were　passionate。　The　cause　was　just。
　　And；　in　the　end；　very　little　h