Hellgoing Read Free

how you’re ruining your health, how you’re a drain on society. It’s up to us to throw it all back in their faces, to say, What are you talking about, look at me, I’m fine. I earn money. I pay my rent or my mortgage or whatever. I have friends, I’m successful in what I do. Who are you to judge me, and on what possible basis?”
    Ned’s not saying anything. She looks over. He’s still got the cigarette between his lips, the lighter poised, his hands cupped against the wind. But he’s no longer flicking away.
    â€œWhat?” she says.
    â€œWho’re you calling a drunk?” says Ned.
    â€œDenial,” she lectures, “is even worse. Denial gives them all the ammunition they could possibly need. Allows for feelings of superiority. Don’t give them the satisfaction, Ned.”
    Ned stands, gestures at the bald rock on every side — smoke in one hand, lighter in the other. “Who’s them?” He says. “Where they all at?”
    â€œEveryone,” she insists, flapping her hands in the wind. A particularly violent gust rocks her, for a moment, takes Ned’s smoke. He doesn’t bother to chase it.
    She wishes he would go because she’d like to be by herself when she first sees them. Once she and Ned clear the bend, beyond the harbour, the bergs stand in full view, dazzling white against two different, dazzling shades of blue. She wonders which whimsical, goofball description will work best for the article. We rounded the bend and experienced our first breathtaking view. Like massive clouds had hardened in the heavens and fallen to the sea. Awful. Jane’s mind keeps lingering on the tooth analogy — but what kind of description would that make? Like really, really big teeth .
    Then she realizes why she’s having so much trouble. It’s blasphemy, what she’s doing — her deep-mind is rebelling. She has almost fooled herself, along with everyone else, into believing the article is what she’s here for. She doesn’t want to describe them, it would be wrong to describe them. She won’t do it. This is part of the self-control she was advocating to Ned only a moment ago. Who’s them? asks Ned. Them as in: Never let them see you sweat. Never let them see you drunk. Never let them know you look at icebergs.
    She jogs a bit ahead on the narrow path. Ned calling, “Don’t fall!” as she disappears behind a dip of rock. Stands by herself gazing seaward for the time it takes him to catch up. “Jeez, Ned,” she says when he does, pretending to have been bored, unoccupied.
    They get to the top after an hour of this. Ned has no interest in going into the tower and neither does Jane, but she supposes she has to in order to make obligatory mention of it in the article.
    â€œNah,” says Ned. “It’s just a gift shop and stuff about Marconi.” Jane has wandered over to the pay-telescope or whatever it’s called as Ned settles on a bench and lights his fourth smoke of the hike. She digs around in her pack for a dollar.   “Of course, you’ll get a better view from the tower,” he remarks before she can place it in the slot.
    â€œOh. There’s a scope up there?”
    â€œUp the top,” he says.“You can see the gulls landing on the bergs.”
    â€œYou know what,” remembers Jane, “I didn’t even think to buy souvenirs yet.”
    â€œDo you need any money?” he calls as she darts away. The man is one exotic bird.
    Marconi is a serene-looking man, sitting in front of his wire-thing — it really is just a bundle of wires, wires for a so-called “wireless” transmission. He’s in a desolate room but a dapper hat and suit, dressed for the occasion, to change the world. Head turned slightly to glance at the camera as if to say, Oh, this? No big deal. She tries to read about him and his world-changing wire-thing. Marconi, she