OPUS SIXTO: Love in the time of Binary Part II: The Translator Searches On A small gust of wind blew into the big hole in the side of the Doodle translation offices. It had been devoid of all life since the Great Massacre; only wind could move things now. The security forces hadn’t even bothered to clean up the wreckage of the bombardment, fearing that to send enforcers into an area teaming with the trouble-raising propaganda would interfere with their duty to quell rebellion. The wind stirred the ashes and dust, wrestling loose a little slip and lifting it up in with relative gaiety compared to the despair of the ruined office. If there had been anyone in that office to see, one could have seen that the slip of paper read: “Fun (n.) – doing whatever it is that makes you happy…” until cut off by a seared edge. # A low-riding barge carrying animals for the zoo crossed the Big River of Courier Newsville. Down in the lowest part of the ship, where the animals were kept in cages, sat a lone masked man. If one were to have an exceptional memory for faces, this man would be recognized as Ronny, formerly a translator for Doodle. At the top of the paper was written, “To Rosie,” but the rest was blank. The pen in his hand, he restless tapped against a bronze pipe nearby. He tried to remember the preciousness of that first moment they met in the kitchenette, but the reality was this: no more office, no more Lean Cuisine, and no more fun. When he and Rosie began to explore the ideas of “fun” and “happy,” they were met by a surprisingly strong resistance. Because of them, new restrictions were added to the workplace: no sign posting, regulated access to information and code, confinement to department, revocation of pay, prohibition of words. “Ronny, help me understand,” she said to him one day at the Jack in the Box. “Why would anyone have any problem with people trying to be happy?” “I don’t know. Conflict of interest?” “That could be it. Listen here. I think we’re not discovering something new. I think what it is, is that we’re uncovering something. You get the difference?” Ronny nodded. “I don’t know what they’re hiding or why, but that makes me very suspicious of something. Especially on how they’ve reacted! This is something serious, and they’re trying to keep it from us.” Then she said the words that changed the world forever. “I’ve been translating this new article. It’s called the French Revolution.” Ronny initially mistook her to mean “French kissing,” a term he had learned from the binary erotica novels he occasionally read. “Rosie?” “A French Revolution is when the people want something of the establishment, but the establishment won’t give it to them, so people then have to fight.” “Fight?” His heart rate slowed again. Although he knew French kissing was entirely non sequitur, he couldn’t help feeling disappointed. “Yes. I really believe that this, what we’re doing, is important and if Doodle is going to refuse us, then I think we need to fight.” She was always so serious. Ronny looked at her and felt a little sad. The two of them spent the work day making people happy, but then after five o’clock, they would go each to their own home and cease communications. It didn’t take him long to realize he was at his happiest when he was with her, but as these things go, the converse was also true. There remained this longing for something more, and it had to have something to with her. But that would have to wait. The mission came first. Once it was done, then he could start worrying about it. Fighting came naturally to Ronny. He recognized that for as fearful of a person he was, he could achieve an equally potent anger. When Manny next tried to shut him down, he wrestled Manny to the ground and hit him until he was no longer awake. Blood was all over his hands, which were numb from hitting, but as he remembered that moment, he remembered feeling nothing. Others were looking at him either as some hero or some brute, but he was looking down at Manny’s bloodied face the same as he would look at he would a finished translation. They hid Manny’s body in a closet in case anyone came looking for him. People came up to him and said they felt the same way: angry. With Manny down, they wanted something more to fight. “Doodle wants to keep us from being happy. They are the ones we should fight.” They cheered loudly in agreement. “The French Revolution is now!” Ronny, sitting in a dark corner with his mask on and pen and paper in his lap, remembered this moment as the one that kept him and Rosie apart. What had brought them together had become a mission she drove ceaselessly toward while he followed mute, but they drew no closer to each other. He hit his head, trying to clear his head to think so he could finish the letter to her. This was his mission to infiltrate the Doodle headquarters in Courier Newville, and there needed to be something to be said. But what? When the Great Bombardment happened and the Doodle artillery shelled the office relentlessly, Ronny remained a leader unfazed. He led the members of the Revolution (they dropped the French) underground, so they survived what was publicized at The Great Massacre. The only thing lost was the massive archive of binary. “We needed that,” Rosie had said. “Who knows what words went missing in that fire?” “Words aren’t important any more. Only actions.” “Words are the reason for the actions!” This annoyed him terribly, but he said nothing. “We need to find a way to get our hands on binary. Who knows what secrets they’re keeping from us? We need to know!” “Why? Will it make us happy?” “Happy? Of course it will. Doodle is keeping the truth from us. Don’t you see the difference that will make?” He was furious now. “There is nothing different about this and translation, only now people are trying to kill us.” “You don’t really believe that do you?” The look in her eyes wrecked him. He shook his head. “Good,” she went on. “There’s something missing here. We need to discover more words. We need that binary.” He sat down on the ground. “This has come very far from ‘fun.’” She blushed at the sound of that word. “I know,” she said quietly. “I’m not myself anymore. Are you? We could have died in the bombardment, and yet nothing is different about the world.” “I know.” “Why are we still fighting? How did this even begin? I’m only fighting because you want to fight.” “I don’t know! I don’t know what to do but fight.” “What about happiness? What about fun?” “Once we have the word, Ronny. Once we have the word we need.” She made him the mask and he began his new life as The Translator, the masked terror that infiltrated the Doodle pathways of transporting codes of binary. He became a symbol to the world of a person who went and sought for the truth: the spark to a powder keg. When people heard of The Translator, and his mission to reveal what Doodle kept hidden, they rose their own voices and fists to fight, and the movement became global. As for The Translator, the only time he ever talked to her was when in receiving his mission. He had been the Translator for two years now. In the quiet confines of this zoo barge, in the company of only animals, he began to cry. How could something that had so much hope become just another futile thing? Just like in the Office, he was once again The Translator. He would have thrown himself overboard to end the misery, but there remained still a stubborn hope clinging to her promise that the most important word they needed for the revolution – the word he needed for her – was here. He needed that word that could put a name to all that he felt towards her; that one word that could mean “I would die for you,” “I want to live for you,” “I am alive because of you” all at once. All the pain of everything before it, he could endure, but not having this one word to say to Rosie could only lead to despair. But what if she was wrong? What if there was no word? He threw his pen against the wall and screamed, sending all the animals into a frenzy. If there was no word, it would be the end; there would be no more meaning to life. He heaved breath after breath until his heart rate returned to normal. He was almost there. He looked down at the paper one more time. To Rosie: I blank you.
Posted on: Mon, 08 Dec 2014 03:03:09 +0000
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