FRATE PETI
1. Scola · 2. Esplode · 3. Aresta · 4. Prison · 5. Paranoia · 6. Rede X · 7. Spleno-Porco · 8. Paradox · 9. Furgon · 10. Claves · 11. Slogan
12. Conserta · 13. Jornales · 14. Bitnic · 15. Enrolada · 16. Reportor · 17. Tuneli · 18. Juas · 19. Vampires · 20. Tortura · 21. Judi · Epiloga

12. Conserta

La surie de Sra Galvez ia es larga.

Ms Galvez’s smile was wide.

“Esce cualcun sabe de do acel veni?”

“Does anyone know what that comes from?”

Un coro de persones ia responde: “La Declara de Nondepende.”

A bunch of people chorused, “The Declaration of Independence.”

Me ia acorda con testa.

I nodded.

“Perce tu ia leje acel a nos, Marcus?”

“Why did you read that to us, Marcus?”

“Car lo pare a me ce la fundores de esta pais ia dise ce governas debe dura sola tan longa como nos crede ce los labora per nos, e ce si nos sesa fida los, nos ta debe suverti los. Lo dise acel, no?”

“Because it seems to me that the founders of this country said that governments should only last for so long as we believe that they’re working for us, and if we stop believing in them, we should overthrow them. That’s what it says, right?”

Carl ia nega con testa. “Acel ia es a sentos de anios pasada!” el ia dise. “La situa aora es diferente!”

Charles shook his head. “That was hundreds of years ago!” he said. “Things are different now!”

“Cua es diferente?”

“What’s different?”

“Bon, per un esemplo, nos ave no plu un re. Los ia parla sur un governa cual ia esiste car la cuatroavo de alga bobo vea ia crede ce Dio encarga el e ia mata cadun ci desacorda con el. Nos ave un governa democrata elejeda –”

“Well, for one thing, we don’t have a king anymore. They were talking about a government that existed because some old jerk’s great-great-great-grandfather believed that God put him in charge and killed everyone who disagreed with him. We have a democratically elected government –”

“Me no ia vota per los.” – me ia dise.

“I didn’t vote for them,” I said.

“Donce tu ave tal la direto de esplode un construida?”

“So that gives you the right to blow up a building?”

“Cua? Ma ci ia refere an a esplode un construida? La yipis e hipis e tota acel persones ia crede ce la governa no escuta plu los – regarda la modo en cual on ia trata los ci ia atenta enscrive votores en la Sude! Los ia es bateda, arestada —”

“What? Who said anything about blowing up a building? The Yippies and hippies and all those people believed that the government no longer listened to them – look at the way people who tried to sign up voters in the South were treated! They were beaten up, arrested –”

“Alga de los ia es matada.” – Sra Galvez ia dise. El ia leva sua manos e ia espeta asta cuando Carl e me senta nos. “Nos ia consuma cuasi nosa tempo per oji, ma me vole loda tota vos sur un de la lesones la plu interesante cual me ia ensenia de sempre. Esta ia es un discute eselente e me ia aprende multe de tota vos. Me espeta ce ance vos ia aprende de lunlotra. Grasias a tota per vosa contribuis.

“Some of them were killed,” Ms Galvez said. She held up her hands and waited for Charles and me to sit down. “We’re almost out of time for today, but I want to commend you all on one of the most interesting classes I’ve ever taught. This has been an excellent discussion and I’ve learned much from you all. I hope you’ve learned from each other, too. Thank you all for your contributions.

“Me ave un taxe ajuntada per los de vos ci desira un defia peti. Me vole ce vos scrive un esajo cual compara la responde political a la promoves contra gera e per diretos sivil en la Rejion Baia con la respondes presente sur diretos sivil a la Gera contra Teror. Minima tre pajes, ma scrive tan multe como vos desira. Me va es interesada par vide cua vos presenta.”

“I have an extra-credit assignment for those of you who want a little challenge. I’d like you to write up a paper comparing the political response to the anti-war and civil rights movements in the Bay Area to the present day civil rights responses to the War on Terror. Three pages minimum, but take as long as you’d like. I’m interested to see what you come up with.”

La campana ia sona pos un plu momento, e tota ia sorti en filo de la leson. Me ia espeta a retro asta cuando Sra Galvez ia vide me.

The bell rang a moment later and everyone filed out of the class. I hung back and waited for Ms Galvez to notice me.

“Si, Marcus?”

“Yes, Marcus?”

“Acel ia es stonante.” – me ia dise. “Me ia sabe nunca tota acel sur la desenio ’60.”

“That was amazing,” I said. “I never knew all that stuff about the sixties.”

“Ance la desenio ’70. Asi ia es sempre un loca stimulante per abita en tempos political ativa. Me ia gusta vera tua refere a la Declara – acel ia es multe astuta.”

“The seventies, too. This place has always been an exciting place to live in politically charged times. I really liked your reference to the Declaration – that was very clever.”

“Grasias.” – me ia dise. “Lo ia veni a me, simple. Me ia comprende vera nunca la sinifia de tota acel parolas ante oji.”

“Thanks,” I said. “It just came to me. I never really appreciated what those words all meant before today.”

“Bon, aceles es la parolas cual cada ensenior ama oia, Marcus.” – el ia dise, e ia presa manos con me. “Me espeta zelosa leje tua esajo.”

“Well, those are the words every teacher loves to hear, Marcus,” she said, and shook my hand. “I can’t wait to read your paper.”

Me ia compra la poster de Emma Goldman en via a casa, e ia fisa lo supra mea table, covrente un poster antica de lus negra. Me ia compra ance un camisa T de FIDA NUN cual ia ave un foto editada de Grover e Elmo ci puxa la adultes Gordon e Susan a via de Strada Sesamo. Lo ia fa ce me rie. Me ia descovre plu tarda ce on ia fa ja sirca ses concursos de imaje per la slogan en locas enlinia como Fark e Worth1000 e B3ta, e sentos de imajes ia es sirculinte, ja preparada per apare sur cualce ben cual algun ta produi.

I bought the Emma Goldman poster on the way home and stuck it up over my desk, tacked over a vintage black-light poster. I also bought a NEVER TRUST t-shirt that had a photoshop of Grover and Elmo kicking the grownups Gordon and Susan off Sesame Street. It made me laugh. I later found out that there had already been about six photoshop contests for the slogan online in places like Fark and Worth1000 and B3ta and there were hundreds of ready-made pics floating around to go on whatever merch someone churned out.

Mama ia leva un suprasil a la camisa, e Papa ia secute sua testa e ia arenga ce me debe evita atrae turba. Me ia senti pico justida par sua reata.

Mom raised an eyebrow at the shirt, and Dad shook his head and lectured me about not looking for trouble. I felt a little vindicated by his reaction.

Anj ia retrova me enlinia e nos ia flirta denova par mesajes instante asta la tarda de note. La furgon blanca con la antenas ia reveni, e me ia descomuta mea Xbox asta cuando lo ia pasa. Tota nos ia deveni abituada a fa esta.

Ange found me online again and we IM-flirted until late at night again. The white van with the antennas came back and I switched off my Xbox until it had passed. We’d all gotten used to doing that.

Anj ia es vera stimulada par esta selebra. Lo ia pare ce lo va es jigante. On ia ave tan multe bandes enscriveda ce on ia parla sur crea un stadio B per la presentas minor.

Ange was really excited by this party. It looked like it was going to be monster. There were so many bands signed up they were talking about setting up a B-stage for the secondary acts.

> Como on ia reseta un lisensa per ruidi sona tra la note intera en acel parce? Lo es ensircada par casas

> How’d they get a permit to blast sound all night in that park? There’s houses all around there

> Li-sen-sa? Cua es “li-sen-sa”? Esplica plu sur vosa li-sen-sa u-ma-na.

> Per-mit? What is “per-mit”? Tell me more of your hu-man per-mit.

> He, lo es nonlegal?

> Woah, it’s illegal?

> Em, alo? TU es ajitada par rompe la lege?

> Um, hello? *You’re* worried about breaking the law?

> Bon comenta

> Fair point

> rie

> LOL

Me ia presensa un pico de nervosia, an tal. Sabe, me ia invita esta xica perfeta merveliosa per un cortea a acel finisemana – bon, el ia invita me, plu esata – a un rev nonlegal cual va aveni a media de un distrito densa abitada.

I felt a little premonition of nervousness though. I mean, I was taking this perfectly awesome girl out on a date that weekend – well, she was taking me, technically – to an illegal rave being held in the middle of a busy neighborhood.

Lo va es serta interesante, a la min.

It was bound to be interesting at least.

Interesante.

Interesting.

Persones ia comensa vaga a Parce Dolores tra la posmedia longa de saturdi, aparente entre la juores de frisbi e la paseores de can. Alga de los ia jua con frisbis o ia pasea con canes. Lo no ia es vera clar como la conserta va opera, ma on ia ave multe polisiores e desembladas pigrinte asi e ala. On ia pote reconose la desembladas car, como Pustula e Muco, los ia ave capeles de Castro e corpos de Nebraska: omes nonmagra con capeles corta e mustaxes nonordinada. Los ia vaga de loca a loca, aspetante torpe e noncomfortosa en sua pantalas jigante e camisas laxe cual ia pende a su, sin duta per covre la candelabro de aparatos suspendeda sirca sua adomenes.

People started to drift into Dolores Park through the long Saturday afternoon, showing up among the ultimate frisbee players and the dog-walkers. Some of them played frisbee or walked dogs. It wasn’t really clear how the concert was going to work, but there were a lot of cops and undercovers hanging around. You could tell the undercovers because, like Zit and Booger, they had Castro haircuts and Nebraska physiques: tubby guys with short hair and untidy mustaches. They drifted around, looking awkward and uncomfortable in their giant shorts and loose-fitting shirts that no-doubt hung down to cover the chandelier of gear hung around their midriffs.

Parce Dolores es bela e solosa, con palmas, campos de tenis, e multe colinas e otra arbores do on pote core o reposa. Persones sin casa dormi ala a note, ma esta es vera per tota locas en San Francisco.

Dolores Park is pretty and sunny, with palm trees, tennis courts, and lots of hills and regular trees to run around on, or hang out on. Homeless people sleep there at night, but that’s true everywhere in San Francisco.

Me ia encontra Anj sur un strada visina, a la libreria anarciste. Esta ia es mea sujesta. En retrospeta, lo ia es un move tota transparente per pare fresca e vangarda a esta xica, ma a acel tempo me ia ta jura ce me ia eleje lo car lo es un loca oportun per reuni. El ia leje un libro nomida Sta contra la mur, fodemadre cuando me ia ariva ala.

I met Ange down the street, at the anarchist bookstore. That had been my suggestion. In hindsight, it was a totally transparent move to seem cool and edgy to this girl, but at the time I would have sworn that I picked it because it was a convenient place to meet up. She was reading a book called Up Against the Wall Motherf_r when I got there.

“Bela.” – me ia dise. “Tu besa tua madre con acel boca?”

“Nice,” I said. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Tua mama no cexa.” – el ia dise. “En fato, lo es un istoria de un grupo de persones como la yipis, ma de York Nova. Tota los ia usa acel parola como sua nom familial, per esemplo ‘Ben Fodemadre’. La idea ia es ce on ta ave publica un grupo reportada en la novas, ma con un nom completa nonprimable. Mera per disturba la jornales. Multe comica, vera.” El ia repone la libro sur la scafal, e aora me ia demanda a me esce me ta debe abrasa el. Lo es comun ce persones en California abrasa per dise alo e txau. E a veses los besa a la jena. Tota esta es multe confusante.

“Your mama don’t complain,” she said. “Actually, it’s a history of a group of people like the Yippies, but from New York. They all used that word as their last names, like ‘Ben M-F.’ The idea was to have a group out there, making news, but with a totally unprintable name. Just to screw around with the news-media. Pretty funny, really.” She put the book back on the shelf and now I wondered if I should hug her. People in California hug to say hello and goodbye all the time. Except when they don’t. And sometimes they kiss on the cheek. It’s all very confusing.

El ia solve lo per me par saisi me en un abrasa e tira mea testa a su a se, donante un besa forte a mea jena e un sona de peta a mea colo a pos. Me ia rie e ia puia el a via.

She settled it for me by grabbing me in a hug and tugging my head down to her, kissing me hard on the cheek, then blowing a fart on my neck. I laughed and pushed her away.

“Tu desira un burito?” me ia demanda.

“You want a burrito?” I asked.

“Esce tu fa un demanda o afirma un cosa evidente?”

“Is that a question or a statement of the obvious?”

“No la un, no la otra. Me comanda.”

“Neither. It’s an order.”

Me ia compra alga aderentes comica con la testo ESTA TELEFON ES SPIADA cual ia ave la bon grandia per es poneda sur la manicos de la telefones publica cual ia esiste ancora longo la stradas de la Mision, car lo ia es un distrito de la tipo con persones ci no pote sempre tolera la custa de un telefoneta.

I bought some funny stickers that said THIS PHONE IS TAPPED which were the right size to put on the receivers on the pay phones that still lined the streets of the Mission, it being the kind of neighborhood where you got people who couldn’t necessarily afford a cellphone.

Nos ia sorti a la aira de note. Me ia raconta a Anj sur la sena a la parce cuando me ia parti.

We walked out into the night air. I told Ange about the scene at the park when I left.

“Me aposta ce los ave un sentuple de acel camiones parcida a retro de la bloco,” – el ia dise – “per fa plu bon la arestas.”

“I bet they have a hundred of those trucks parked around the block,” she said. “The better to bust you with.”

“Em,” – me ia regarda a sirca – “me ia espera plu o min ce tu va dise alga cosa como: ‘Ma on ave no posible ce los va reata a lo.’”

“Um.” I looked around. “I sort of hoped that you would say something like, ‘Aw, there’s no chance they’ll do anything about it.’”

“Me no pensa ce acel es vera la intende. La intende es ce on pone multe sitadanes en un situa do la polisiores debe deside: esce nos va trata esta persones comun como teroristes? Lo es alga simil a la interferes, ma par musica en loca de aparatos. Tu fa interferes, si?”

“I don’t think that’s really the idea. The idea is to put a lot of civilians in a position where the cops have to decide, are we going to treat these ordinary people like terrorists? It’s a little like the jamming, but with music instead of gadgets. You jam, right?”

A veses me oblida ce no tota mea amis sabe ce Marcus e M1k3y es la mesma person. “Si, pico.” – me ia dise.

Sometimes I forget that all my friends don’t know that Marcus and M1k3y are the same person. “Yeah, a little,” I said.

“Esta es simil a interfere, con un colie de bandes briliante.”

“This is like jamming with a bunch of awesome bands.”

“Me comprende.”

“I see.”

Buritos de la Mision es alta respetada. Los es barata, jigante e deletosa. Imajina un tubo con grandia de un cartux de bazuca, plenida con carne spisosa grilida, guacamole, salsa, tomates, favas refritada, ris, oniones e coriandro. Lo ave la mesma relata con Taco Bell cual un Lamborghini ave con un miniatur de automobil.

Mission burritos are an institution. They are cheap, giant and delicious. Imagine a tube the size of a bazooka shell, filled with spicy grilled meat, guacamole, salsa, tomatoes, refried beans, rice, onions and cilantro. It has the same relationship to Taco Bell that a Lamborghini has to a Hot Wheels car.

La Mision ave sirca dusento botecas de burito. Tota los es lejendin fea, con sejas noncomfortosa, decora minima – posteres palida de la ofisia mexican de turisme e moldures con ologrames eletrical de Jesus e Maria – e musica mariatxi forte. La cosa xef cual distingui los es la spesie de carne esotica con cual los pleni sua benes. La locas vera autentica ave serebros e linguas, cual me comanda nunca, ma lo es bon ce on conose la dispone.

There are about two hundred Mission burrito joints. They’re all heroically ugly, with uncomfortable seats, minimal decor – faded Mexican tourist office posters and electrified framed Jesus and Mary holograms – and loud mariachi music. The thing that distinguishes them, mostly, is what kind of exotic meat they fill their wares with. The really authentic places have brains and tongue, which I never order, but it’s nice to know it’s there.

La restorante a cual nos ia vade ia ave e serebros e linguas, cual nos no ia comanda. Me ia prende carne asada e el ia prende trinxadas de gal e cada de nos ia prende un tas grande de ortxata.

The place we went to had both brains and tongue, which we didn’t order. I got carne asada and she got shredded chicken and we each got a big cup of horchata.

Direta cuando nos ia senta nos, el ia desenrola sua burito e ia estrae un botela peti de sua bolsa. Lo ia es un silindre peti de airosol en aser nonosidinte cual ia aspeta tota como un util de gas de peper per autodefende. El ia punta lo a la internas esposada de sua burito e ia jeta a los un nebleta roja de particulas oliosa. Me ia enspira un pico de la odor, e mea garga ia clui e mea oios ia larma.

As soon as we sat down, she unrolled her burrito and took a little bottle out of her purse. It was a little stainless-steel aerosol canister that looked for all the world like a pepper-spray self-defense unit. She aimed it at her burrito’s exposed guts and misted them with a fine red oily spray. I caught a whiff of it and my throat closed and my eyes watered.

“Cua de enferno tu fa a acel burito povre sin defende?”

“What the hell are you doing to that poor, defenseless burrito?”

El ia mostra a me un surie nonvirtuosa. “Me es manica per comedas spisosa.” – el ia dise. – “Esta es olio de capsaisina en un neblador.”

She gave me a wicked smile. “I’m a spicy food addict,” she said. “This is capsaicin oil in a mister.”

“Capsaisina —”

“Capsaicin –”

“Si, la sustantia en airosoles de peper. Esta es como un airosol de peper ma pico plu diluida. E multe plu deletosa. Imajina lo como un colirio de spise cadjen, si lo aida.”

“Yeah, the stuff in pepper spray. This is like pepper spray but slightly more dilute. And way more delicious. Think of it as Spicy Cajun Visine if it helps.”

Mea oios ia arde a mera la pensa.

My eyes burned just thinking of it.

“Tu broma.” – me ia dise. “Tu vera no va come lo.”

“You’re kidding,” I said. “You are so not going to eat that.”

Sua suprasiles ia asende rapida. “Acel sona como un defia, xic’. Ta ce tu regarda me.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “That sounds like a challenge, sonny. You just watch me.”

El ia enrola la burito, tan atendosa como un canabor ci enrola un sigareta, pliante la finis a en, e reenvolvente lo en paper de aluminio. El ia descasci un fini e ia leva lo a sua boca, espetante con lo direta ante sua labios.

She rolled the burrito up as carefully as a stoner rolling up a joint, tucking the ends in, then re-wrapping it in tinfoil. She peeled off one end and brought it up to her mouth, poised with it just before her lips.

Ancora asta cuando el ia morde lo, me no ia pote crede ce el va fa esta. Per dise: lo con cual el ia veni de covre sua comeda ia es fundal un arma militar.

Right up to the time she bit into it, I couldn’t believe that she was going to do it. I mean, that was basically an anti-personnel weapon she’d just slathered on her dinner.

El ia morde lo. Masticante. Engolinte. Impresante en tota maneras ce el joia un come deletosa.

She bit into it. Chewed. Swallowed. Gave every impression of having a delicious dinner.

“Tu desira un morde?” – el ia dise, inosente.

“Want a bite?” she said, innocently.

“Si.” – me ia dise. Me gusta comedas spisosa. Me comanda sempre la caris indicada con cuatro txilis en la menus de restorantes pacistani.

“Yeah,” I said. I like spicy food. I always order the curries with four chilies next to them on the menu at the Pakistani places.

Me ia desenrola plu de la aluminio e ia fa un morde grande.

I peeled back more foil and took a big bite.

Un era grande.

Big mistake.

Tu conose acel sensa cuando on fa un morde grande de rabano forte o uasabi o simil, e lo pare ce tua sinuses clui a la mesma tempo como tua tracea, pleninte tua testa con aira trapida e nucleal calda cual atenta emerje batente tra tua narinas e oios larmante? Acel sensa como si vapor es a punto de versa de tua oreas como en un anima comica?

You know that feeling you get when you take a big bite of horseradish or wasabi or whatever, and it feels like your sinuses are closing at the same time as your windpipe, filling your head with trapped, nuclear-hot air that tries to batter its way out through your watering eyes and nostrils? That feeling like steam is about to pour out of your ears like a cartoon character?

Esta ia es multe plu mal.

This was a lot worse.

Esta ia es simil a pone un mano sur un stufa calda, ma on pone no la mano, ma la interna intera de sua testa, e tota sua esofago asta la stomaco. Mea corpo intera ia emete un suo subita, e me ia sofoca tosente.

This was like putting your hand on a hot stove, only it’s not your hand, it’s the entire inside of your head, and your esophagus all the way down to your stomach. My entire body sprang out in a sweat and I choked and choked.

Sin parla, el ia pasa a me mea ortxata, e me ia susede pone la palieta en mea boca e suca forte a lo, engolinte un dui de lo en un turno.

Wordlessly, she passed me my horchata and I managed to get the straw into my mouth and suck hard on it, gulping down half of it in one go.

“Bon, on ave un scala, la scala de Scoville, cual nos txilimanicas usa per descrive la spisosia de peperones. Capsaisina pur ave sirca 15 milion scoviles. Salsa Tabasco ave sirca 50 000. Airosol de peper ave la bon cuantia de tre milion. Esta sustantia ave mera 200 000, sirca tan agu como un peper Xapeta Scotes. Acel es vera enfernin agu. A un tal temperatur de scoviles, la serebro es inondada par endorfinas. Lo es un plu bon estasia corpal ca haxix. E lo boni la sania.”

“So there’s a scale, the Scoville scale, that we chili-fanciers use to talk about how spicy a pepper is. Pure capsaicin is about 15 million Scovilles. Tabasco is about 50,000. Pepper spray is a healthy three million. This stuff is a puny 200,000, about as hot as a mild Scotch Bonnet Pepper. I worked up to it in about a year. Some of the real hardcore can get up to a million or so, twenty times hotter than Tabasco. That’s pretty freaking hot. At Scoville temperatures like that, your brain gets totally awash in endorphins. It’s a better body-stone than hash. And it’s good for you.”

Me ia es aora reganiante mea sinuses, capas de respira sin sanglota.

I was getting my sinuses back now, able to breathe without gasping.

“Natural, on esperia un anelo de foco ferose cuando on visita la vason.” – el ia dise, giniante un oio a me.

“Of course, you get a ferocious ring of fire when you go to the john,” she said, winking at me.

Au.

Yowch.

“Tu es demente.” – me ia dise.

“You are insane,” I said.

“Un dise bela de un om con pasatempo de construi e frati computadores.” – el ia dise.

“Fine talk from a man whose hobby is building and smashing laptops,” she said.

“Tocada.” – me ia dise e ia tape mea fronte.

“Touche,” I said and touched my forehead.

“Tu vole ajunta alga?” El ia ofre sua neblador.

“Want some?” She held out her mister.

“No.” – me ia dise, tan rapida ce ambos nos ia rie.

“Pass,” I said, quickly enough that we both laughed.

Cuando nos ia sorti de la restorante e ia vade en dirije a Parce Dolores, el ia pone sua braso sirca mea taie, e me ia trova ce el ave esata la altia cual permete ce me pone mea braso sirca sua spalas. Esta ia es nova. Me ia es nunca alta, e tota la xicas cual me ia cortea ia es de mea altia – xicas adolesente crese plu rapida ca xicos, par un broma cruel de natur. Lo ia es bela. La senti ia es bela.

When we left the restaurant and headed for Dolores park, she put her arm around my waist and I found that she was just the right height for me to put my arm around her shoulders. That was new. I’d never been a tall guy, and the girls I’d dated had all been my height – teenaged girls grow faster than guys, which is a cruel trick of nature. It was nice. It felt nice.

Nos ia turna a la canto de Strada 20 e ia asende en dirije a Dolores. Ante fa an la paso prima, nos ia pote sensa la stimuladia. Lo ia sembla la zumbi de milion abeas. Multe persones ia flue en dirije a la parce, e cuando me ia regarda lo, me ia vide ce lo es sirca sentuple plu folida ca lo ia es cuando me ia vade per encontra Anj.

We turned the corner on 20th Street and walked up toward Dolores. Before we’d taken a single step, we could feel the buzz. It was like the hum of a million bees. There were lots of people streaming toward the park, and when I looked toward it, I saw that it was about a hundred times more crowded than it had been when I went to meet Ange.

Acel vista ia caldi mea sangue. La note ia es bela e fresca e nos ia es a punto de selebra, selebra vera, selebra como si on va ave no doman. “Come, bevi e joia, car doman nos va mori.”

That sight made my blood run hot. It was a beautiful cool night and we were about to party, really party, party like there was no tomorrow. “Eat drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die.”

Sin dise alga cosa, ambos nos ia comensa core lenta. On ia ave multe polisiores, con fases tensada, ma cua de enferno los ia pote fa? On ia ave multe persones en la parce. Mea capasia per conta folas no es bon. A pos, la paperes ia sita la dise de organizores ce 20 000 persones ia es presente; la polisia ia dise 5000. Cisa esta sinifia ce on ia ave 12 500.

Without saying anything we both broke into a trot. There were lots of cops, with tense faces, but what the hell were they going to do? There were a lot of people in the park. I’m not so good at counting crowds. The papers later quoted organizers as saying there were 20,000 people; the cops said 5,000. Maybe that means there were 12,500.

Par cualce conta, la persones ia es plu ca los entre ci me ia sta a cualce ves, per un aveni nonanunsiada, nonlisensada, nonlegal.

Whatever. It was more people than I’d ever stood among, as part of an unscheduled, unsanctioned, illegal event.

Instante nos ia es entre los. Me no pote jura lo, ma me pensa ce on ia ave no persones con plu ca 25 anios en acel presa de corpos. Cadun ia surie. Alga enfantes joven ia es ala, con 10 o 12 anios, e esta ia dona a me un senti plu bon. Nun va fa alga cosa tro stupida con enfantes tan peti en la fola. Nun ia desira vide enfantes ferida. Esta va es simple un note gloriosa de selebra en primavera.

We were among them in an instant. I can’t swear to it, but I don’t think there was anyone over 25 in that press of bodies. Everyone was smiling. Some young kids were there, 10 or 12, and that made me feel better. No one would do anything too stupid with kids that little in the crowd. No one wanted to see little kids get hurt. This was just going to be a glorious spring night of celebration.

Me ia deside ce la idea la plu bon es puia nos en dirije a la campos de tenis. Nos ia xerca un via tra la fola, e per resta juntada, nos ia teni la mano de lunlotra. Ma la resta juntada no ia nesesa ce nos entretexe nosa ditos. Nos ia fa esta sola per plaser. Lo ia es multe plaserosa.

I figured the thing to do was push in towards the tennis courts. We threaded our way through the crowd, and to stay together we took each other’s hands. Only staying together didn’t require us to intertwine fingers. That was strictly for pleasure. It was very pleasurable.

Tota la bandes ia es sur la campos de tenis, con sua gitares e miscadores e tecladores e an un colie de tambures. Plu tarda, en Rede X, me ia trova un flue de Flickr mostrante como los ia contrabanda tota esta cosas, par pesos, en sacos de sporte e su sua jacones. A lado de tota ia es parladores jigante, de la tipo cual on vide en benerias de partes per autos, e entre los, un monton de … pilas de auto. Me ia rie. Injeniosa! Tal los va eletrici sua parladores. De do me ia sta, me ia pote vide ce los es selulas de un auto ibride, un Prius. Algun ia desmembri un ecoauto per funsiona la divertis de la note. La pilas ia continua estra la campos, en montones contra la serca, liada a la monton xef par cables pasada tra la malie. Me ia conta – 200 pilas! Cristo! Aceles ave un ton de pesa, ance.

The bands were all inside the tennis courts, with their guitars and mixers and keyboards and even a drum kit. Later, on Xnet, I found a Flickr stream of them smuggling all this stuff in, piece by piece, in gym bags and under their coats. Along with it all were huge speakers, the kind you see in automotive supply places, and among them, a stack of…car batteries. I laughed. Genius! That was how they were going to power their stacks. From where I stood, I could see that they were cells from a hybrid car, a Prius. Someone had gutted an eco-mobile to power the night’s entertainment. The batteries continued outside the courts, stacked up against the fence, tethered to the main stack by wires threaded through the chain-link. I counted – 200 batteries! Christ! Those things weighed a ton, too.

En no modo on ia organiza esta sin epostas e vicis e listas distribuinte. E en no modo persones tan astuta ia fa acel en la interede publica. Me ta aposta mea dolar final ce tota esta ia aveni en Rede X.

There’s no way they organized this without email and wikis and mailing lists. And there’s no way people this smart would have done that on the public Internet. This had all taken place on the Xnet, I’d bet my boots on it.

Nos ia fa apena plu ca vaga rebondinte tra la fola per un tempo en cuando la bandes ia ajusta sua strumentos e ia confere entre se. Me ia vide Trudy Doo, distante, sur la campos de tenis. El ia aspeta como si en un caje, como un lutor profesal. El ia porta un camiseta laserada, con capeles rastafari longa en ros fluoresente asta sua taie. El ia porta un pantalon de camufla militar e botas gotica jigante con aser covrente la orteos. En cuando me ia regarda, el ia prende un jaca pesosa de motosicliste, gastada como la ganto de un caturor de basebal, e ia apone lo como armur. Probable lo ia es armur, me ia reconose.

We just kind of bounced around in the crowd for a while as the bands tuned up and conferred with one another. I saw Trudy Doo from a distance, in the tennis courts. She looked like she was in a cage, like a pro wrestler. She was wearing a torn wife-beater and her hair was in long, fluorescent pink dreads down to her waist. She was wearing army camouflage pants and giant gothy boots with steel over-toes. As I watched, she picked up a heavy motorcycle jacket, worn as a catcher’s mitt, and put it on like armor. It probably was armor, I realized.

Me ia atenta saluta el con mano, per impresa Anj, me suposa, ma el no ia vide me, e me ia aspeta plu o min como un fol, donce me ia sesa. La enerjia en la fola ia es stonante. On oia referes a “vibras” e “enerjia” per grupos grande de persones, ma asta cuando on ia esperia lo, probable on pensa ce lo es sola un espresa retorical.

I tried to wave to her, to impress Ange I guess, but she didn’t see me and I kind of looked like a spazz so I stopped. The energy in the crowd was amazing. You hear people talk about “vibes” and “energy” for big groups of people, but until you’ve experienced it, you probably think it’s just a figure of speech.

Ma no. Lo es la suries, sperdente e grande como melones acuosa, sur cada fas. Cadun pico dansante a un ritmo nonoiada, con spalas osilante. Paseas ondin. Bromas e ries. La tono de cada vose tensada e stimulada, como un foco artal a punto de esplode. E on no pote evita deveni un parte de lo. Car on es un parte.

It’s not. It’s the smiles, infectious and big as watermelons, on every face. Everyone bopping a little to an unheard rhythm, shoulders rocking. Rolling walks. Jokes and laughs. The tone of every voice tight and excited, like a firework about to go off. And you can’t help but be a part of it. Because you are.

Ja cuando la bandes ia inisia, me ia es completa estasiada par la vibras de la fola. La presenta prima ia es alga spesie de turbofolclor serbsce, per cual me no ia pote comprende la modo de dansa. Me sabe como on dansa a esata du tipos de musica: transe (on pantofli de asi a ala, moveda par la musica) e punc (on moxa colidente asta deveni ferida o fatigada o ambos). La presenta seguente ia es hiphopores de Oakland, suportada par un bande de roc de bate, cual es plu bon ca lo sona. Pos acel, alga pop sucetin. Alora Sputaputas ia veni sur la stadio, e Trudy Doo ia pasea a la microfon.

By the time the bands kicked off, I was utterly stoned on crowd-vibe. The opening act was some kind of Serbian turbo-folk, which I couldn’t figure out how to dance to. I know how to dance to exactly two kinds of music: trance (shuffle around and let the music move you) and punk (bash around and mosh until you get hurt or exhausted or both). The next act was Oakland hip-hoppers, backed by a thrash metal band, which is better than it sounds. Then some bubble-gum pop. Then Speedwhores took the stage, and Trudy Doo stepped up to the mic.

“Mea nom es Trudy Doo e vos es stupida si vos fida me. Me ave tredes-du anios e lo es ja tro tarda per me. Me es perdeda. Me es fisada en la modo vea de pensa. Me ancora no valua mea libria e permete ce otra persones prende lo de me. Vos es la jenera prima ci crese en la Gulag SUA, e txa, vos sabe la valua de vosa libria an asta la sentim ultima!”

“My name is Trudy Doo and you’re an idiot if you trust me. I’m thirty two and it’s too late for me. I’m lost. I’m stuck in the old way of thinking. I still take my freedom for granted and let other people take it away from me. You’re the first generation to grow up in Gulag America, and you know what your freedom is worth to the last goddamned cent!”

La fola ia ruji. El ia jua peti acordas rapida, nervosa, ajitada par sua gitar, e sua basiste, un xica grande obesa, con capeles lesbianin e botas an plu grande e un surie par cual on ta pote abri botelas de bir, ia es ja emetente un musica rapida e enerjiosa. Me ia desira salta. Me ia salta. Anj ia salta con me. Nos ia sui libre en la sera, cual ia apesta de suo e fuma de canaba. Corpos calda ia presa nos a tota lados. Los ia salta ance.

The crowd roared. She was playing fast little skittery nervous chords on her guitar and her bass player, a huge fat girl with a dykey haircut and even bigger boots and a smile you could open beer bottles with was laying it down fast and hard already. I wanted to bounce. I bounced. Ange bounced with me. We were sweating freely in the evening, which reeked of perspiration and pot smoke. Warm bodies crushed in on all sides of us. They bounced too.

“Fida nun plu vea ca 25!” el ia cria.

“Don’t trust anyone over 25!” she shouted.

Nos ia ruji. Nos ia es un garga grande de animal, rujinte.

We roared. We were one big animal throat, roaring.

“Fida nun plu vea ca 25!”

“Don’t trust anyone over 25!”

“Fida nun plu vea ca 25!”

“Don’t trust anyone over 25!”

“Fida nun plu vea ca 25!”

“Don’t trust anyone over 25!”

“Fida nun plu vea ca 25!”

“Don’t trust anyone over 25!”

“Fida nun plu vea ca 25!”

“Don’t trust anyone over 25!”

“Fida nun plu vea ca 25!”

“Don’t trust anyone over 25!”

El ia colpa alga acordas forte sur sua gitar, e la otra gitariste, un peti xica elfin con joalas perforante abundante sur sua fas, ia fa un improvisa, altinte un ili-di-ili-di-di ultra la traste des-du.

She banged some hard chords on her guitar and the other guitarist, a little pixie of a girl whose face bristled with piercings, jammed in, going wheedle-dee-wheedle-dee-dee up high, past the twelfth fret.

“Txa, lo es nosa site! Txa, lo es nosa pais. No teroriste pote prende lo de nos tra cuando nos resta libre. Cuando nos no es libre, la teroristes vinse! Reprende lo! Reprende lo! Vos es tan joven e stupida ce vos no sabe ce lo es nonposible ce vos va susede, donce vos es la solas ci pote gida nos a vinse! Reprende lo!”

“It’s our goddamned city! It’s our goddamned country. No terrorist can take it from us for so long as we’re free. Once we’re not free, the terrorists win! Take it back! Take it back! You’re young enough and stupid enough not to know that you can’t possibly win, so you’re the only ones who can lead us to victory! Take it back!”

“REPRENDE LO!” nos ia ruji. El ia ejeta un nota forte de sua gitar. Nos ia ruji lo en responde, e alora la ruido ia deveni vera multe FORTE.

“TAKE IT BACK!” we roared. She jammed down hard on her guitar. We roared the note back and then it got really really LOUD.

Me ia dansa asta deveni tan fatigada ce me no ia pote dansa par un plu paso. Anj ia dansa a lado de me. Tecnical, nos ia frota nosa corpos suosa contra lunlotra per alga oras, ma, crede lo o no, me tota no ia condui como un can libidosa. Nos ia dansa, perdeda en la ritmo divin e la roc de bate e la xilias – REPRENDE LO! REPRENDE LO!

I danced until I was so tired I couldn’t dance another step. Ange danced alongside of me. Technically, we were rubbing our sweaty bodies against each other for several hours, but believe it or not, I totally wasn’t being a horn-dog about it. We were dancing, lost in the godbeat and the thrash and the screaming – TAKE IT BACK! TAKE IT BACK!

Cuando me no ia pote dansa plu, me ia saisi sua mano e el ia teni la mea como si me preveni el de cade de sur un construida. El ia tira me en dirije a la borda de la fola, do lo ia deveni min densa e calda. Ala a estra, a la borda de Parce Dolores, nos ia es en la aira fresca, e la suo sur nosa corpos ia deveni instante jelin. Nos ia trema e el ia lansa sua brasos sirca mea taie. “Caldi me.” – el ia comanda. Me no ia nesesa la sujesta. Me ia resiproci sua abrasa. Sua cor ia es un eco de la pulsa rapida de la stadio – aora brecbit, rapida e furiosa e sin parolas.

When I couldn’t dance anymore, I grabbed her hand and she squeezed mine like I was keeping her from falling off a building. She dragged me toward the edge of the crowd, where it got thinner and cooler. Out there, on the edge of Dolores Park, we were in the cool air and the sweat on our bodies went instantly icy. We shivered and she threw her arms around my waist. “Warm me,” she commanded. I didn’t need a hint. I hugged her back. Her heart was an echo of the fast beats from the stage – breakbeats now, fast and furious and wordless.

El ia odori de suo, un sabor agu de bon odor. Me ia sabe ce ance me odori de suo. Mea nas ia es tocante la culmina de sua testa, e sua fas ia es presada a mea clavicula. El ia move sua manos a mea colo e ia tira.

She smelled of sweat, a sharp tang that smelled great. I knew I smelled of sweat too. My nose was pointed into the top of her head, and her face was right at my collarbone. She moved her hands to my neck and tugged.

“Veni a su, car me no ia trae un scalera.” – es lo cual el ia dise, e me ia atenta surie, ma suries es difisil cuando on besa.

“Get down here, I didn’t bring a stepladder,” is what she said and I tried to smile, but it’s hard to smile when you’re kissing.

Como me ia dise, me ia besa tre xicas en mea vive. Du de los ia besa nunca algun a ante. Un ia cortea ja de cuando el ia ave 12 anios. El ia es disturbada.

Like I said, I’d kissed three girls in my life. Two of them had never kissed anyone before. One had been dating since she was 12. She had issues.

Nun de los ia besa como Anj. El ia moli sua boca intera, como la interna de un fruta matur, e el no ia puxa sua lingua a mea boca, ma ia lisca lo a en, e ia suca mea labios a en sua boca a la mesma tempo, tal ce lo ia pare ce mea boca e la sua deveni fusada. Me ia oia ce me jemi, e me ia saisi el e ia presa plu forte el.

None of them kissed like Ange. She made her whole mouth soft, like the inside of a ripe piece of fruit, and she didn’t jam her tongue in my mouth, but slid it in there, and sucked my lips into her mouth at the same time, so it was like my mouth and hers were merging. I heard myself moan and I grabbed her and squeezed her harder.

Lenta, delicata, nos ia basi nos asta la erba. Nos ia reclina sur nosa lados e ia teni lunlotra, besante, besante. La mundo ia desapare, tal ce sola la besa ia resta.

Slowly, gently, we lowered ourselves to the grass. We lay on our sides and clutched each other, kissing and kissing. The world disappeared so there was only the kiss.

Mea manos ia trova sua culo, sua taie. La borda de sua camisa T. Sua ventre calda, sua ombilico suave. Los ia rampe plu alta. El ia jemi ance.

My hands found her butt, her waist. The edge of her t-shirt. Her warm tummy, her soft navel. They inched higher. She moaned too.

“No asi.” – el ia dise. “Ta ce nos vade ala.” El ia indica, ultra la strada, la grande eglesa blanca cual dona a Parce Mision Dolores e la Mision sua nomes. Teninte manos, rapida movente, nos ia traversa a la eglesa. Lo ia ave colonas grande ante se. El ia pone mea dorso contra un de los e ia tira denova mea fas a su a la sua. Mea manos ia revade rapida e corajosa a la fronte de sua camisa. Me ia lisca los a supra.

“Not here,” she said. “Let’s move over there.” She pointed across the street at the big white church that gives Mission Dolores Park and the Mission its name. Holding hands, moving quickly, we crossed to the church. It had big pillars in front of it. She put my back up against one of them and pulled my face down to hers again. My hands went quickly and boldly back to her shirt. I slipped them up her front.

“On desfisa lo a retro.” – el ia xuxa en mea boca. Mea pixon ia ta pote talia vitro. Me ia move mea manos sirca el a sua dorso, cual ia es forte e larga, e ia trova la onca con mea ditos, cual ia trema. Me ia palpa torpe per un tempo, pensante a tota la bromas ce omes es tan noncapas de abri portasenos. Me ia es noncapas de lo. E subita la onca ia libri. El ia enspireta en mea boca. Me ia lisca mea manos a sirca, sensante la umidia de sua axilas – cual ia es sesosa e tota no repulsante per alga razona – e alora ia tanje la lados de sua senos.

“It undoes in the back,” she whispered into my mouth. I had a boner that could cut glass. I moved my hands around to her back, which was strong and broad, and found the hook with my fingers, which were trembling. I fumbled for a while, thinking of all those jokes about how bad guys are at undoing bras. I was bad at it. Then the hook sprang free. She gasped into my mouth. I slipped my hands around, feeling the wetness of her armpits – which was sexy and not at all gross for some reason – and then brushed the sides of her breasts.

A acel momento la alarmas ia comensa.

That’s when the sirens started.

Los ia es plu forte ca cualce cosa cual me ia oia a ante. Un sona como un sensa fisical, como un cosa cual colpa on a tera. Un sona tan forte como la oreas pote prosede, e ancora plu forte.

They were louder than anything I’d ever heard. A sound like a physical sensation, like something blowing you off your feet. A sound as loud as your ears could process, and then louder.

“DESGRUPI INSTANTE.” – un vose ia dise, como Dio clacente en mea cranio.

“DISPERSE IMMEDIATELY,” a voice said, like God rattling in my skull.

“ESTA ES UN ASEMBLA NONLEGAL. DESGRUPI INSTANTE.”

“THIS IS AN ILLEGAL GATHERING. DISPERSE IMMEDIATELY.”

La bande ia sesa jua. La ruido de la fola ultra la strada ia cambia. Lo ia deveni asustada. Coler.

The band had stopped playing. The noise of the crowd across the street changed. It got scared. Angry.

Me ia oia un clica cuando la sistem anunsiante de parladores e pilas de auto sur la campos de tenis ia comuta.

I heard a click as the PA system of car-speakers and car-batteries in the tennis courts powered up.

“REPRENDE LO!”

“TAKE IT BACK!”

Lo ia es un ulula defiante, como un sona criada a la surfa o xiliada de sur un falesa.

It was a defiant yell, like a sound shouted into the surf or screamed off a cliff.

“REPRENDE LO!”

“TAKE IT BACK!”

La fola ia ronci, un sona cual ia erije la capeletas a mea nuca.

The crowd growled, a sound that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“REPRENDE LO!” los ia scande. “REPRENDE LO REPRENDE LO REPRENDE LO!”

“TAKE IT BACK!” they chanted. “TAKE IT BACK TAKE IT BACK TAKE IT BACK!”

La polisia ia avansa en filos, portante scermos, con elmos de Darth Vader cual ia covre sua fases. Cada ia ave un baston negra e un oculo infraroja. Los ia aspeta como soldatos en alga filma de gera futurin. Los ia fa simultan un paso a ante e cadun de los ia pumi sua baston contra sua scermo: un ruido cracinte como si la tera fende. Un plu paso, un plu crac. Los ia ensirca aora la parce intera e ia es prosiminte.

The police moved in in lines, carrying plastic shields, wearing Darth Vader helmets that covered their faces. Each one had a black truncheon and infra-red goggles. They looked like soldiers out of some futuristic war movie. They took a step forward in unison and every one of them banged his truncheon on his shield, a cracking noise like the earth splitting. Another step, another crack. They were all around the park and closing in now.

“DESGRUPI INSTANTE.” – la vose de Dio ia dise denova. Nos ia ave aora elicotores supra nos. No lus projetada, an tal. La oculos infraroja, si. Natural. Los ia ave aparatos infraroja ance en la sielo. Me ia retira Anj contra la porte de la eglesa, ascondente nos de la polisia e la elicotores.

“DISPERSE IMMEDIATELY,” the voice of God said again. There were helicopters overhead now. No floodlights, though. The infrared goggles, right. Of course. They’d have infrared scopes in the sky, too. I pulled Ange back against the doorway of the church, tucking us back from the cops and the choppers.

“REPRENDE LO!” la parladores ia ruji. Lo ia es la xilia rebelante de Trudy Doo, e me ia oia sua gitar batente alga acordas, e sua tamburiste juante a pos, e alora acel grande baso profonda.

“TAKE IT BACK!” the PA roared. It was Trudy Doo’s rebel yell and I heard her guitar thrash out some chords, then her drummer playing, then that big deep bass.

“REPRENDE LO!” la fola ia responde, e los ia boli de la parce contra la filos de polisia.

“TAKE IT BACK!” the crowd answered, and they boiled out of the park at the police lines.

Me ia es nunca en un gera, ma aora me crede ce me sabe como lo pare. Como lo pare cuando jovenes asustada core traversante un campo per ataca un forte oposada, sabente cua va aveni, corente an tal, criante, xiliante.

I’ve never been in a war, but now I think I know what it must be like. What it must be like when scared kids charge across a field at an opposing force, knowing what’s coming, running anyway, screaming, hollering.

“DESGRUPI INSTANTE.” – la vose de Dio ia dise. Lo ia veni de camiones parcida sirca tota la parce, camiones cual ia move a sua locas en la poca secondos pasada.

“DISPERSE IMMEDIATELY,” the voice of God said. It was coming from trucks parked all around the park, trucks that had swung into place in the last few seconds.

Alora la nebla ia cade. Lo ia veni de la elicotores, e nos ia esperia no plu ca la borda de lo. Lo ia fa ce la culmina de mea testa pare a punto de creve. Lo ia fa ce mea sinuses pare perforada par picajelos. Lo ia fa ce mea oios infla e larma, e ce mea garga clui.

That’s when the mist fell. It came out of the choppers, and we just caught the edge of it. It made the top of my head feel like it was going to come off. It made my sinuses feel like they were being punctured with ice-picks. It made my eyes swell and water, and my throat close.

Airosol de peper. No 200 000 scoviles. Milion e un dui. Los ia gasi la fola.

Pepper spray. Not 200 thousand Scovilles. A million and a half. They’d gassed the crowd.

Me no ia vide lo cual aveni seguente, ma me ia oia lo, tra la sona de e me e Anj sofocante e teninte lunlotra. Prima, la sonas de sofoca e vomiti. La gitar e tambures e baso ia colasa e sesa. Pos acel, toses.

I didn’t see what happened next, but I heard it, over the sound of both me and Ange choking and holding each other. First the choking, retching sounds. The guitar and drums and bass crashed to a halt. Then coughing.

Pos acel, xilias.

Then screaming.

La xilias ia continua tra un tempo longa. Cuando me ia pote vide denova, la polisiores ia leva ja sua oculos a sur sua frontes, e la elicotores ia inonda Parce Dolores con tan multe lus ce lo ia pare como la dia. Cadun ia regarda la parce, e esta ia es bon, car cuando la lus ia es tal comutada, nos ia es completa vidable.

The screaming went on for a long time. When I could see again, the cops had their scopes up on their foreheads and the choppers were flooding Dolores Park with so much light it looked like daylight. Everyone was looking at the Park, which was good news, because when the lights went up like that, we were totally visible.

“Cua nos va fa?” – Anj ia dise. Sua vose ia es tensada, asustada. Per un momento, me no ia fida mea capasia de parla. Me ia engoli a alga veses.

“What do we do?” Ange said. Her voice was tight, scared. I didn’t trust myself to speak for a moment. I swallowed a few times.

“Nos va pasea a via.” – me ia dise. “Nos pote fa no plu ca esta. Pasea a via. Como si nos ia es mera pasante. Asta Dolores e a sinistra e a supra en dirije a Strada 16. Como si nos es mera pasante. Como si esta no pertine a nos.”

“We walk away,” I said. “That’s all we can do. Walk away. Like we were just passing by. Down to Dolores and turn left and up towards 16th Street. Like we’re just passing by. Like this is none of our business.”

“Acel va susede nunca.” – el ia dise.

“That’ll never work,” she said.

“Me ave no otra idea.”

“It’s all I’ve got.”

“Tu no pensa ce nos debe atenta core a via?”

“You don’t think we should try to run for it?”

“No.” – me ia dise. “Si nos core, los va xasa nos. Cisa si nos pasea, los va pensa ce nos ia fa no cosa e va iniora nos. Los va debe fa multe arestas. Los va es ocupada tra un tempo longa.”

“No,” I said. “If we run, they’ll chase us. Maybe if we walk, they’ll figure we haven’t done anything and let us alone. They have a lot of arrests to make. They’ll be busy for a long time.”

La parce ia es plen de corpos rolante, enfantes e adultes garinte sua fases con respira difisil. La polisiores ia tira los par sua axilas, ante lia sua manos con securipolsos plastica e lansa los a en la camiones como pupas de trapo.

The park was rolling with bodies, people and adults clawing at their faces and gasping. The cops dragged them by the armpits, then lashed their wrists with plastic cuffs and tossed them into the trucks like rag-dolls.

“Oce?” – me ia dise.

“OK?” I said.

“Oce.” – el ia dise.

“OK,” she said.

E nos ia fa esata acel. Nos ia pasea, teninte manos, rapida e eficas, como du persones ci vole evita cualce turba causada par otras. La tipo de pasea cual on adota cuando on vole finje ce on no vide un mendicor o no vole deveni envolveda en un combate de strada.

And that’s just what we did. Walked, holding hands, quickly and business-like, like two people wanting to avoid whatever trouble someone else was making. The kind of walk you adopt when you want to pretend you can’t see a panhandler, or don’t want to get involved in a street-fight.

Lo ia susede.

It worked.

Nos ia ateni la canto e ia turna e ia continua. Nun de nos ia osa parla tra du blocos. Alora me ia relasa un boca de aira cual me no ia es consensa de reteni.

We reached the corner and turned and kept going. Neither of us dared to speak for two blocks. Then I let out a gasp of air I hadn’t known I’d been holding in.

Nos ia ariva a Strada 16 e ia turna en dirije a Strada Mision. Normal, esta es un distrito alga asustante a 02:00 en un note de saturdi. En esta note lo ia es un lejeri – la mesma drogamanicas e prostituidas e enebriadas como usual. No polisiores con bastones, no gas.

We came to 16th Street and turned down toward Mission Street. Normally that’s a pretty scary neighborhood at 2AM on a Saturday night. That night it was a relief – same old druggies and hookers and dealers and drunks. No cops with truncheons, no gas.

“Em,” – me ia dise entre nosa enspira de la aira de note – “cafe?”

“Um,” I said as we breathed in the night air. “Coffee?”

“Casa.” – el ia dise. “Me vole vade a casa aora. Cafe a pos.”

“Home,” she said. “I think home for now. Coffee later.”

“Si.” – me ia acorda. El ia abita plu norde, en Vale Hayes. Me ia vide un taxi cruser e ia clama lo. Esta ia es un miracle peti – on ave apena un taxi cuando on nesesa lo en San Francisco.

“Yeah,” I agreed. She lived up in Hayes Valley. I spotted a taxi rolling by and I hailed it. That was a small miracle – there are hardly any cabs when you need them in San Francisco.

“Esce tu ave la mone per viaja a casa?”

“Have you got cabfare home?”

“Si.” – el ia dise. La taxiste ia regarda nos tra sua fenetra. Me ia abri la porte retro per preveni ce el parti.

“Yeah,” she said. The cab-driver looked at us through his window. I opened the back door so he wouldn’t take off.

“Bon note.” – me ia dise.

“Good night,” I said.

El ia pone sua manos pos mea testa e ia tira mea fas a se.

She put her hands behind my head and pulled my face toward her. She kissed me hard on the mouth, nothing sexual in it, but somehow more intimate for that.

“Bon note.” – el ia xuxa en mea orea, e ia lisca a en la taxi.

“Good night,” she whispered in my ear, and slipped into the taxi.

Con testa mareante, oios larmante, e un vergonia ardente car me ia lasa tota acel usores de Rede X a la compatias delicata de la Departe de Securia Interna e la polisia de San Francisco, me ia comensa en via a mea casa.

Head swimming, eyes running, a burning shame for having left all those Xnetters to the tender mercies of the DHS and the SFPD, I set off for home.

A la matina de lundi, Fred Benson ia sta pos la table de Sra Galvez.

Monday morning, Fred Benson was standing behind Ms Galvez’s desk.

“Sra Galvez no va ensenia plu esta clase.” – el ia dise, cuando nos ia senta nos. El ia ave un tono autosasiada cual me ia reconose direta. Par intui, me ia regarda Carl. El ia surie como si lo es sua aniversario e on ia presenta a el la donada la plu bon de mundo.

“Ms Galvez will no longer be teaching this class,” he said, once we’d taken our seats. He had a self-satisfied note that I recognized immediately. On a hunch, I checked out Charles. He was smiling like it was his birthday and he’d been given the best present in the world.

Me ia leva mea mano.

I put my hand up.

“Perce no?”

“Why not?”

“Longo la politica de la Comite Educal, nos no discute pertinentes de emplea estra con la empleada e la comite disiplinal.” – el ia dise, sin an atenta asconde cuanto el saborea dise lo.

“It’s Board policy not to discuss employee matters with anyone except the employee and the disciplinary committee,” he said, without even bothering to hide how much he enjoyed saying it.

“Nos va comensa un unia nova oji, sur securia nasional. Vosa PortaScolas ave la testos nova. Per favore, abri los e vade a la scermo prima.”

“We’ll be beginning a new unit today, on national security. Your SchoolBooks have the new texts. Please open them and turn to the first screen.”

La scermo prima ia es ornada par un logo de la Departe de Securia Interna e la titulo: CUA CADA ESUAN DEBE SABE SUR SECURIA INTERNA.

The opening screen was emblazoned with a DHS logo and the title: WHAT EVERY AMERICAN SHOULD KNOW ABOUT HOMELAND SECURITY.

Me ia vole lansa mea PortaScola a la solo.

I wanted to throw my SchoolBook on the floor.

Me ia organiza ja reuni con Anj en un caferia en sua distrito pos scola. Me ia embarca un tren de metro e ia trova me en un seja pos du omes en vestones. Los ia regarda la Cronolojia de San Francisco, cual ia pleni un paje intera con un autopsia de la “tumulta de jovenes” en Parce Mision Dolores. Los ia tictaci desaprobante sur lo. E la un ia dise a la otra: “Lo es como si on ia lava sua serebros o simil. Txa, nos ia es nunca tan stupida, si?”

I’d made arrangements to meet Ange at a cafe in her neighborhood after school. I jumped on the BART and found myself sitting behind two guys in suits. They were looking at the San Francisco Chronicle, which featured a full-page post-mortem on the “youth riot” in Mission Dolores Park. They were tutting and clucking over it. Then one said to the other, “It’s like they’re brainwashed or something. Christ, were we ever that stupid?”

Me ia sta e ia move a un otra seja.

I got up and moved to another seat.