“Okay,” he conceded at last, holding the cup firm, “You’re not
going anywhere.” Roy drew his mouth close to the cup. “You seem to
know everything about me,” he whispered, “What’s my problem?
What am I doing wrong?”
“You’re not anything wrong. You’re just not doing much of
anything.”
“I’m not?”
“You haven’t produced anything of real value. That’s the
problem. The ark is empty.”
“The ark is empty?”
“Empty. The holy of holies is not there.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You want to make Undergrounds a vessel of the good true and
beautiful. At the moment it’s just that: a vessel, an empty ark. You
can’t beat your enemy with a weapon he already controls. What are
you offering the world that it doesn’t have already?”
“An idea. A place to…”
“Ha! A box. A shell. A coffin. A temple waiting to fall.”
“But what else can I fill it with? All I know is coffee.”
“What you know is only a pale shadow.”
Roy wiped his damp forehead. “What, there’s something better?”
“Sprout put it best,” the cup replied, “The romance with the bean
always fades. One becomes accustomed to the rush. But you too have
dreamt of a better bean, one that could make love endure. Everyone
has.”
“Of course I’ve wondered, but…”
“The original coffee. The essence of life. The fruit we were tricked
out of eating. There were two trees in the Garden of Eden. Where’s
the other one?”
Roy spat in outrage, “Come on! That was just a story, a pothead
pipedream. You don’t really believe that shit, do you?”
“Of course I do. I entertain the outrageous. I am your soul. That’s
why I’m here. I sip the stratosphere. You are earthbound, I am
elsewhere.”
Roy was flabbergasted. “Shit,” he said finally, “No wonder I’m so
conflicted.”
A young black girl interrupted him. She had not sampled the
coffee and was therefore unaffected. She drank a Coca-Cola, the
industrial sealing methods of which protected her from the demons
he now grappled with.
ABYSSINIA
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