Read Online The Book of Strange New Things by Michel Faber - Free Book Online
Authors: Michel Faber
Ads: Link
catchy, though.)
I suppose, instead of waiting a whole day, I could use the Shoot that’s here on board, especially since I’m too wound up to sleep and it would be a good way of filling the time until we land. But it wouldn’t be private, and I need privacy for what I’m going to say next. The other men on this ship are – how can I put this? – not exactly models of discretion and sensitivity. If I wrote this on their machine, I can just imagine one of them retrieving my message and reading it out loud, to general hilarity.
Bea, forgive me for not being able to let this go, but I’m still upset about what happened in the car. I feel I let you down. I wish I could take you in my arms and make it right. It’s a silly thing to obsess about, I know. I suppose it just makes me confront how far away we are from each other now. Have any husband and wife ever been separated by so vast a distance? It seems like only yesterday I could reach out my arm and you’d be right there. On our last morning in bed together, you looked so satisfied and serene. But in the car you looked distraught.
As well as being shaken about that, I can’t say I’m feeling confident about my mission. It’s probably just physical and temporary, but I wonder if I’m up to it. The other men on the ship, raucous though they are, have been very nice to me, in a condescending sort of way. But I’m sure they’re wondering why USIC would pay a fortune to transport me to Oasis, and I must admit I’m confused myself. Each member of the team has a clearly defined role. Tuska (not sure of his Christian name) is the pilot, and on Oasis he works with computers. Billy Graham, nicknamed BG, is an engineer with huge experience in the oilmining industry. Arthur Severin is another sort of engineer, something to do with hydro-metallurgical processes; it’s way above my head. In conversation, these guys come across like construction workers (and I suppose they are!) but they’re a lot cleverer than they appear and, unlike me, they are supremely qualified for their assignments.
Well, I think that’s enough self-doubt for one day!
The part of this letter that I scribbled on the ship has now come to an end – I didn’t manage to achieve much with my pencil and paper, did I? Everything from here on is written (well, typed) on Oasis. Yes, I’ve arrived, I’m here! And the first thing I’m doing is writing to you.
It was a safe landing – weirdly smooth in fact, not even the shuddery bump you get when an aeroplane’s wheels hit the ground. More like a lift arriving at the correct floor. I would have preferred something more dramatic, or even frightening, to dispel the sense of unreality. Instead, you’re told that you’ve landed, the doors open, and you walk out into one of those tube-tunnel things just like at an airport, and then you’re in a big ugly building that looks like any other big ugly building you’ve ever been in. I expected something more exotic, something architecturally outlandish. But maybe the same people designed this place as designed USIC’s facilities in Florida.
Anyway, I’m in my quarters now. I’d assumed that upon arrival I would immediately have to be ferried somewhere else, a journey across some amazing terrain. But the airport – if you can call it that, it’s more like a huge car park – has several wings of accommodation facilities attached to it. I’ve been shunted from one box to another.
Not that my quarters are small. In fact the bedroom is bigger than our bedroom, there’s a proper bathroom/shower (which I’m too tired to use yet), a fridge (completely empty except for a plastic ice-cube tray, also empty), a table, two chairs and, of course, the Shoot that I’m typing this on. The ambience is very ‘hotel chain’; I could be in a conference centre in Watford. But I expect I’ll be asleep very soon. Severin told me that it’s quite common for people to experience insomnia for a couple of days after
I suppose, instead of waiting a whole day, I could use the Shoot that’s here on board, especially since I’m too wound up to sleep and it would be a good way of filling the time until we land. But it wouldn’t be private, and I need privacy for what I’m going to say next. The other men on this ship are – how can I put this? – not exactly models of discretion and sensitivity. If I wrote this on their machine, I can just imagine one of them retrieving my message and reading it out loud, to general hilarity.
Bea, forgive me for not being able to let this go, but I’m still upset about what happened in the car. I feel I let you down. I wish I could take you in my arms and make it right. It’s a silly thing to obsess about, I know. I suppose it just makes me confront how far away we are from each other now. Have any husband and wife ever been separated by so vast a distance? It seems like only yesterday I could reach out my arm and you’d be right there. On our last morning in bed together, you looked so satisfied and serene. But in the car you looked distraught.
As well as being shaken about that, I can’t say I’m feeling confident about my mission. It’s probably just physical and temporary, but I wonder if I’m up to it. The other men on the ship, raucous though they are, have been very nice to me, in a condescending sort of way. But I’m sure they’re wondering why USIC would pay a fortune to transport me to Oasis, and I must admit I’m confused myself. Each member of the team has a clearly defined role. Tuska (not sure of his Christian name) is the pilot, and on Oasis he works with computers. Billy Graham, nicknamed BG, is an engineer with huge experience in the oilmining industry. Arthur Severin is another sort of engineer, something to do with hydro-metallurgical processes; it’s way above my head. In conversation, these guys come across like construction workers (and I suppose they are!) but they’re a lot cleverer than they appear and, unlike me, they are supremely qualified for their assignments.
Well, I think that’s enough self-doubt for one day!
The part of this letter that I scribbled on the ship has now come to an end – I didn’t manage to achieve much with my pencil and paper, did I? Everything from here on is written (well, typed) on Oasis. Yes, I’ve arrived, I’m here! And the first thing I’m doing is writing to you.
It was a safe landing – weirdly smooth in fact, not even the shuddery bump you get when an aeroplane’s wheels hit the ground. More like a lift arriving at the correct floor. I would have preferred something more dramatic, or even frightening, to dispel the sense of unreality. Instead, you’re told that you’ve landed, the doors open, and you walk out into one of those tube-tunnel things just like at an airport, and then you’re in a big ugly building that looks like any other big ugly building you’ve ever been in. I expected something more exotic, something architecturally outlandish. But maybe the same people designed this place as designed USIC’s facilities in Florida.
Anyway, I’m in my quarters now. I’d assumed that upon arrival I would immediately have to be ferried somewhere else, a journey across some amazing terrain. But the airport – if you can call it that, it’s more like a huge car park – has several wings of accommodation facilities attached to it. I’ve been shunted from one box to another.
Not that my quarters are small. In fact the bedroom is bigger than our bedroom, there’s a proper bathroom/shower (which I’m too tired to use yet), a fridge (completely empty except for a plastic ice-cube tray, also empty), a table, two chairs and, of course, the Shoot that I’m typing this on. The ambience is very ‘hotel chain’; I could be in a conference centre in Watford. But I expect I’ll be asleep very soon. Severin told me that it’s quite common for people to experience insomnia for a couple of days after
Similar Books
