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A.R.Yngve
PARRY'S PROTOCOL
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Chapter 12
Abram was sitting far back in the half-filled Greyhound bus.
Dusk was falling outside, and thousands of points of lights lit up across the darkening coastline. A TV screen above the driver's seat showed a live news broadcast from a foreign conflict. Abram followed the news with eyes half shut, until it broke for commercials.
He took up a small black device from the briefcase at his feet: a pocket secretary, the size and shape of a large cell-phone. It could take dictation, write his words down, and store them on a minidisc for his laptop computer -- on a bus ride, it was more comfortable than a laptop. There were buttons for the basic functions START, HOLD, NEW, ERASE, quotation mark, period, comma, paragraph, colon, and two scrolling buttons.
He switched it on, put it to his mouth and spoke softly into the microphone piece: "Early draft of introduction to 'Parry -- A Study in Persecution Mania', version two." Abram tapped a button and started the next paragraph. "In the past decade, a few studies have been made of paranoia as a social phenomenon, concentrating on the American postwar period."
He pressed HOLD for a moment, tugged at his beard, then went on.
"Bensonhurst and others have proposed the theory that the paranoid condition is normal for the late industrial society, and will only seek out new projections after the breakdown of Soviet Communism."
Pause.
"The case of Patrick Rymowicz, which occurred soon after the dissolution of Eastern Germany, may shed new light on how the delusions of the paranoid patient are affected by outer political processes -- though this does not apply in most cases."
Abram paused and looked away at the bus TV screen: a live broadcast was showing how gunfire, street riots, and fires were ruining the eastern parts of Los Angeles. Martial law had been proclaimed at night, and units of the National Guard were being transported into the afflicted area. Several bus passengers cursed the news out loud; an old lady walked up to the bus driver and talked to him.
Abram frowned and looked thoughtful for a few moments, then resumed his dictation: "In the near future, social engineering will probably be able to treat, perhaps even cure, the collective disturbances -- "
He pressed the ERASE button on the device's keypad, and a blinking cursor erased the words "collective disturbances" from the little green screen.
"...the mass psychological phenomena that may appear in the dynamic, post-industrial society," he corrected himself.
Pause.
"Parry's case is a step toward this goal. To quote Edmund Muskie, Hubert Humphrie's candidate for vice president in the 1968 election, as I remember hearing him... 'I think the great issue for America, as in the past, is whether Americans can trust each other... between people of different races and national origins... whether the American people will decide to trust each other. We will go towards a united country, or we will go towards a divided country, where people will fear each other.'"
Abram switched off his secretary and glanced at the digital watch in the far end of the bus ceiling. The red digits read 18:47 PM. With difficulty, he heaved himself up from the seat and walked through the aisle to a soft drink and sandwich machine. He bought a can and a sandwich with his American Express card.
As he picked up his purchases, a voice from behind him caused him to stiffen: "It's what I've been saying for a long time, it's all the Mexicans flooding the country! They might as well let it burn, till all those taco-eaters've been smoked out of California."
Abram turned around and began to protest: "What kind of racist drivel is --"
He ceased abruptly. The source of the outburst, a middle-aged black man in a dark suit, looked sourly up at him.
"Yes?"
"Excuse me," Abram muttered in a broken voice and headed back to his seat.