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.Atwisted steel awning covered the broken tables of what had once been asidewalk caf.Gabriel had seen cities like this in movies and magazines.Itresembled the provincial capital of a tropical country the sort of place wherepeople went to the beach during the day, then ate supper late in the evening.Now every window had been smashed, and most of the doors had been ripped offtheir hinges.Attached by a few bolts, an elaborate iron balcony clung to theside of a building like a living creature trying not to fall into the street.Every wall was covered with graffiti.Gabriel saw numbers, names, and wordswritten in block letters.Crudely drawn arrows pointed toward some unknowndestination.Pickering ducked inside a new building and began to move cautiously.A fewtimes he stopped and listened, not moving until he was certain they werealone.Gabriel followed his guide up a marble staircase and down a hallway toa room where a half-burned mattress was leaning against the wall.Pickeringpushed the mattress to one side, revealing a hidden doorway.They entered aroom where the two windows were covered with plywood boards.The only lightcame from a small gas flare burning from a copper pipe that had been rippedout of the wall.While Pickering pulled the burned mattress back across the doorway, Gabriellooked around the room.It was filled with trash that Pickering had collectedduring his explorations around the city.There were empty glass bottles, astack of moldy blankets, a green easy chair with only two legs, and severalcracked mirrors.Gabriel thought that the wallpaper was peeling; then herealized that Pickering had pinned up illustrations from a dress pattern book.The women in the faded drawings wore the floor-length skirts and high-neckedblouses from a hundred years ago. Is this where you live? Pickering gazed at his drawings on the wall and spoke without a hint ofirony. I hope you find it comfortable, sir.My home sweet home. Have you always lived in this building? Were you born here? What is your name, my friend? Can you tell me? Friends should use names witheach other. Gabriel. Sit down, Gabriel.You are my guest.Please sit down. Gabriel sat in the easy chair.The green fabric gave off a musty, stale odor.Pickering seemed both nervous and pleased that he had another person in hishome.Like a diligent housekeeper, he kept moving around the room, picking upPage 131 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlpieces of trash and arranging them in tidy little piles. No one was born on the Island.We all just woke up here one morning.We hadapartments and clothes and food in our refrigerators.When we pressed aswitch, the light went on.When we turned the tap, water came from the faucet.We had jobs, too.On my bedroom dresser, I had keys to a shop a few blocksaway from here. Pickering smiled blissfully, almost overcome by the memory. I wasMr.Pickering, a ladies dressmaker.There were bolts of expensivefabric in my store.I wasn t an ordinary tailor.That s clear. But didn t you wonder why you were here? That first morning was a magical time because for a few hours everyonethought that they were in a special place.People explored the whole Island,examining the different buildings and the destroyed bridge. For the firsttime, Gabriel glimpsed a hint of sensitivity and intelligence behind the fear. That was such a happy day, Gabriel.You can t believe how happy.Because allof us believed that we were in a wonderful place.Some even suggested that wehad been transported to heaven. But couldn t you remember your parents or your childhood? There are no personal memories earlier than that first day.A few dreams.That s all.Everyone here can write words and add numbers.We can use toolsand drive cars.But no one remembers being taught these skills. So the city wasn t destroyed that first day? Of course not. Pickering picked up some empty wine bottles and placed themagainst the wall. There was electric light.All the cars had gasoline.Thatafternoon people were talking about organizing a government and repairing thebridge.If you stood on a rooftop, you could see that the Island was in themiddle of an enormous river.Another shore was just a few miles away. And then what happened? The fighting started that evening a few men kicking and punching one anotherwhile the rest of us watched like children learning a new game.By dawn of thenext day, everyone began killing. Pickering looked almost proud of himself. Even I killed a man who was trying to break into my shop.I used myscissors [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.Atwisted steel awning covered the broken tables of what had once been asidewalk caf.Gabriel had seen cities like this in movies and magazines.Itresembled the provincial capital of a tropical country the sort of place wherepeople went to the beach during the day, then ate supper late in the evening.Now every window had been smashed, and most of the doors had been ripped offtheir hinges.Attached by a few bolts, an elaborate iron balcony clung to theside of a building like a living creature trying not to fall into the street.Every wall was covered with graffiti.Gabriel saw numbers, names, and wordswritten in block letters.Crudely drawn arrows pointed toward some unknowndestination.Pickering ducked inside a new building and began to move cautiously.A fewtimes he stopped and listened, not moving until he was certain they werealone.Gabriel followed his guide up a marble staircase and down a hallway toa room where a half-burned mattress was leaning against the wall.Pickeringpushed the mattress to one side, revealing a hidden doorway.They entered aroom where the two windows were covered with plywood boards.The only lightcame from a small gas flare burning from a copper pipe that had been rippedout of the wall.While Pickering pulled the burned mattress back across the doorway, Gabriellooked around the room.It was filled with trash that Pickering had collectedduring his explorations around the city.There were empty glass bottles, astack of moldy blankets, a green easy chair with only two legs, and severalcracked mirrors.Gabriel thought that the wallpaper was peeling; then herealized that Pickering had pinned up illustrations from a dress pattern book.The women in the faded drawings wore the floor-length skirts and high-neckedblouses from a hundred years ago. Is this where you live? Pickering gazed at his drawings on the wall and spoke without a hint ofirony. I hope you find it comfortable, sir.My home sweet home. Have you always lived in this building? Were you born here? What is your name, my friend? Can you tell me? Friends should use names witheach other. Gabriel. Sit down, Gabriel.You are my guest.Please sit down. Gabriel sat in the easy chair.The green fabric gave off a musty, stale odor.Pickering seemed both nervous and pleased that he had another person in hishome.Like a diligent housekeeper, he kept moving around the room, picking upPage 131 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlpieces of trash and arranging them in tidy little piles. No one was born on the Island.We all just woke up here one morning.We hadapartments and clothes and food in our refrigerators.When we pressed aswitch, the light went on.When we turned the tap, water came from the faucet.We had jobs, too.On my bedroom dresser, I had keys to a shop a few blocksaway from here. Pickering smiled blissfully, almost overcome by the memory. I wasMr.Pickering, a ladies dressmaker.There were bolts of expensivefabric in my store.I wasn t an ordinary tailor.That s clear. But didn t you wonder why you were here? That first morning was a magical time because for a few hours everyonethought that they were in a special place.People explored the whole Island,examining the different buildings and the destroyed bridge. For the firsttime, Gabriel glimpsed a hint of sensitivity and intelligence behind the fear. That was such a happy day, Gabriel.You can t believe how happy.Because allof us believed that we were in a wonderful place.Some even suggested that wehad been transported to heaven. But couldn t you remember your parents or your childhood? There are no personal memories earlier than that first day.A few dreams.That s all.Everyone here can write words and add numbers.We can use toolsand drive cars.But no one remembers being taught these skills. So the city wasn t destroyed that first day? Of course not. Pickering picked up some empty wine bottles and placed themagainst the wall. There was electric light.All the cars had gasoline.Thatafternoon people were talking about organizing a government and repairing thebridge.If you stood on a rooftop, you could see that the Island was in themiddle of an enormous river.Another shore was just a few miles away. And then what happened? The fighting started that evening a few men kicking and punching one anotherwhile the rest of us watched like children learning a new game.By dawn of thenext day, everyone began killing. Pickering looked almost proud of himself. Even I killed a man who was trying to break into my shop.I used myscissors [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]