Orphans

3

3 I walk out toward the lake, my board and kite tucked under my arm. No one comes out this way anymore. The spotless streets give way to rubble, empty buildings, dirt and decay, though let’s call it what it is, neglect. No one cares about the outer rings of Baidu, not beyond ensuring stability, control and calm. Always calm. The homeless have been banned from the central city and have taken to building an extended camp that stretches along the beach, which is where I find myself now, walking out onto the beach and toward the waves. I dodge the occasional bonfire, generator and shopping cart, weaving between the shacks and tents covering nearly any and all open space. Here and there is movement and shadowing figures flitting about, drifting from one hovel to the next, a child or dog picking through the mounds of garbage that dot the landscape. But mostly it’s quiet—the real action at night, when the people who live out here feel safe enough to come outside, search for whatever they need and interact with one another. I work my way to the last row of shelters and knock on the door of a windowless hut—half plastic, half driftwood held together by duct tape and bungee cords. “What? Go away. Fuck off,” a voice says happily from inside. “Hey,” I say, “it’s me Norrin.” The door opens and out walks Lebowski, long-haired and grizzled, drink in hand. Lebowksi, real name unknown , and unnecessary out here, is the unofficial mayor and gatekeeper for the beach. Nothing happens here, not B E N TA N Z E R 11 even kite-surfing, without his permission. “Norrin Radd, how you doing?” Lebowski says, “you haven’t been around much brother.” “I’m working now,” I say. “What? How? You win the lottery?” Lebowski asks laughing. “Sort of,” I say, “I submitted an application when they said they were hiring for the real estate team. I don’t know how I got picked, and I didn’t ask.” “And there is no reason to ask,” Lebowski replies, “you just might get an answer you don’t want to hear.” I’m not sure how to respond to this, not sure if there is more to his statement. It doesn’t matter how long I’ve known Lebowski, I still don’t know anything about him. He’s in charge and I come here to pay my respects, because that’s how it works. “Anyway, work is a cause for celebration, hold on a moment,” Lebowski says walking back into the hut. He re-emerges with two chairs and a bag full of SynthKhat, which has all of the benefits of khat, but none of the need to actually grow it. It is all synthetic. It is all lab made. And it is beautiful. “Nice,” I say. “Well, all sorts of things wash-up on the shore,” Lebowski says, “go ahead take some.” We sit down and start chewing on the SynthKhat. At first I feel nothing, but soon enough I am twitchy and euphoric watching the helicopters swoop in and out like large black gnats as the vast expanse of grey sky endlessly spins around them. “Hey, by the way,” I say to Lebowski before I head out to the surf, “I saw one of your guys out by the diner near my place this morning.” O R P H A N S 12 “Yeah,” Lebowski says with a slight grimace, “that’s not cool, did he bother you?” “No,” I say, “it was nothing, he just wanted some money .” “And you say he was one of my guys?” Lebowski asks. “I think so,” I respond, “he looked homeless, didn’t smell good, you know, the usual.” “I don’t think he’s one of ours yet,” Lebowski says, “and I don’t know how we missed him, but he should know better.” Lebowski snaps his fingers and this hulking dude with a large, furry beard, wearing a leather vest emerges from behind the hut. Lebowski whispers in his ear and he takes off with a grunt. “Hey,” I say, “you’re not going to do anything to him are you? He’s just desperate and hungry and maybe he really doesn’t know better? Who sees this kind of shit coming, right?” “Don’t worry so much,” Lebowski says smiling...