Lethem - Amnesia moon

The incidents and situations depicted in the lives of the readers of Amnesia Moon, as well as in the life of its author, exist soley in the imaginations of the novels characters, and are not to be construed as real.

Copyright 1995 by Jonathan Lethem

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.

www.hmhco.com

The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Lethem, Jonathan

Amnesia Moon/Jonathan Lethem.1st ed.
p. cm
I. Title.

PS3562.E8544A8 1995
813'. 54dc20 95-4127
ISBN 0-15-100091-3

ISBN-13: 978-0-15-603154-7 (pbk.) ISBN-10: 0-15-603I54-X (pbk.)

e ISBN 978-0-547-53692-7
v1.0314

For Karl Rusnak
and Gian Bongiorno

Edge had the highway to himself. It was his trinket, all that paint and asphalt, thanks to Kelloggs new law about ownership. You merely have to decide its yours. Edge had a knack for recalling Kelloggs exact words. What you see is what you get, Edge. Adrenaline pumping, Edge leaned on the accelerator. The landscape sped past.

He drove through the left lane and crashed over the dead grass of the divider, into the lanes heading west. Im my own man, he thought. I drive on the wrong side of the highway. My highway. He teased his speed up, until the old car wobbled on its shocks. The signs faced the wrong way now, but he knew where he was going. Nobody went this way anymore, hardly, except Edge, because Edge was a messenger. Dont kill the messenger. Edges head was a mess of his thoughts and Kelloggs all mixed together, and often Kelloggs thoughts seemed stronger. They didnt leak away as fast.

Nobody went this way anymore because since the war Hatfork was a sick town. Full of mutants and sexual deviants. Kellogg sent his Food Rangers over with supplies sometimes, but he never went himself. He hated Hatfork, calling it a leech on my side, a thorn in my paw, and my abortion. To Edges way of thinking, Hatfork was a hairy town. Every woman from Hatfork hed seen undressedand hed seen a fewhad hair where she shouldnt. Every man in Hatfork wore a beard. Except Chaos.

Edge screeched past the exit and had to back up. Driving the onramp, curved the wrong way, turned out to be harder than hed expected, and he slid off the side a few times, but it didnt matter. The sand and dirt had blown over the low ramp, making it hard to tell where the highway ended and the desert began, and it was almost as easy to drive on the desert anyway.

The road to Hatfork was littered with abandoned cars. The Hatforkers, Edge thought, didnt know how to take care of their stuff. They were always letting it pile up, unrepaired. Cars dont grow on

Edge struggled for the phrase. Cars dont come out of the sky, he settled on finally. Kellogg would have said it better, but fuck that. Kellogg wasnt here.

The Hatforkers were visible as he drove through town, mostly lurking and staring from behind bedsheet-curtained windows, but if you wanted to spread news you were supposed to go to the Multiplex, where Chaos lived. That was Edges purpose here: spreading news. He sped through the middle of town, around the dried-up lake, and out to the mall with the Multiplex. Edge didnt envy the Hatforkers, with their seedy orgies and pathetic, mutated offspring, but he sometimes envied Chaos, who stayed to one side of things and had a cool place to live. The coolest, really. As he drove into the mall. Edge admired again the way Chaos had spelled out his name in red plastic letters on the Multiplex sign, over and over again, where the names of the movies used to go. Now playing in Cinema One: C H a O s. Cinema Two: c H A O s. Cinema Three: C h A o S. And so on.

Edge honked twice as he pulled up in front of the Multiplex, then got out and slammed his door for punctuation. He didnt see Chaoss car. He was alone. Schemes stirring in the murk of his head, he stepped up to the door and rattled the handle. Nope. Chaos was too smart to let anyone plunder his goodies.

Edge walked around the back of the vast building, to the alley that separated it from the devastated, plundered Variety store. Sitting there were three green dumpsters, dented and sprayed with paint. Sniffing at the motionless air, Edge thought he detected something good inside one of them. He clambered up on each in turn and peered inside, and in the third he found his prize. Buzzing blackflies wreathed a heap of birds bones, which had rotted green and purple in the sun.

Edge let himself slip back down onto the dusty ground. It just wasnt worth it. Stick to canned food. Kelloggs exact words. Dont waste calories pursuing scraps. Edge remembered Kellogg telling him about a food that took more calories to chew than it containedfood you could starve to death on. But in retrospect, Edge concluded that this was part of the small percentage of Kelloggs pronouncements that could safely be categorized as bullshit. Everything has calories, Edge told himself. Wood, paper, dirtit all has calories. I know that from personal experience. I know itwhat was Kelloggs word?empirically.

A big word, and Edge felt good about remembering it, knowing what it meant. Im not stupid, he decided. I just get nervous when Im trying to talk to someone and I forget what Im trying to say. People have to be patient when theyre talking to a nervous person.

The sun made a tentative foray through the morning haze, casting weak shadows across the pavement. Edge squinted up at the ribbons of smoky cloud. Christ, he thought, I hope it doesnt rain. Better to be indoors from the beginning of a rain, not climbing in and out of cars, getting wet. That goddamn stuff is cumulative. Builds up.

Digging absently in his pants, Edge meandered back out towards the highway, and was startled to find Chaoss car pulled up behind his. Chaos got out, a heavy plastic bag cradled in his arms, and glared at Edge.

Edge stepped up, almost dancing. Hey, Chaos, he said. Want me to get the door?

Youre supposed to park in the lot, Edge, said Chaos sourly. He hoisted his load higher and fished in his pocket for keys, then unlocked the door and stepped into the gloom. He went in through the staff entrance, a dark, low hallway which ran, like a rats route through a ship, inside the walls of the vast, carpeted Multiplex lobby, to the projection booth. Chaos seemed to shun the public parts of the building.

Looks like rain, said Edge, half in justification for his parking so close, half to change the subject. He followed the glumly silent Chaos in the dark, tracking the tiny reflective logos on the heels of Chaoss sneakers while his eyes adjusted. He felt a little indignant; the parking lot, a deserted acre of meaningless yellow arrows and lines, was a good quarter mile from Chaoss door.

The projection booth was an unshapely, split-level room with tiny windows looking out over six theaters. Chaos had removed the projectors, but splicing and rewinding equipment was still bolted to the walls. Edge stood near the door, waiting while Chaos lit candles. The booth reeked of artificial sweetness: air freshener, and the fruit-scented candles. It made Edge hungry. Wax had calories too.

Okay, Edge, said Chaos. Whats your secret? Spit it out. He sat on a ratty sofa and lit a cigarette.

Edge sat on a chair and leaned forward expectantly. Chaos pushed the pack of Luckys across the table between them, and Edge took a cigarette.