While Major S’pense lay dreaming of Wanda Ases, the Earth was turning on its axis. Turning with it, was the tide of public opinion; turning with the earth, and progress, turning against the kind of government that made Buena Salida such a miserable place to live. All over the Americas, people were turning off their television sets, so as to further avoid coming to grips with their indignation about the place.
While deep within Salidan culture, deep within the music that is the only real essence of any people; the fundamental vibration that gives sense form, and makes organic matter to live, there was another kind of turning.
Speck heard it through the transistors of his radio as he tied two striped wires to the terminals of a battery and compared a digital timer against his own Gruen wristwatch. Whistling quietly, the decidedly tribal progression, Speck was reminded of Bach’s Anthem, and he felt suddenly giddy. He toyed for a moment with the idea of pushing the red button, actually fingered it. Then he armed the incendiary device and exited the embassy.
As he hurried down the street, carefully pretending to be a loyal supporter of El Vallejo, Speck wondered who the victims would be. Someone really responsible for the poverty and despair, or just an unfortunate custodial worker?
The simple truth was that it did not matter. It was not important who the victims were. It only mattered that there were victims. It only mattered that there would continue to be bombings until all men learned to live as brothers.
Speck pondered on those and other words spoken to him by the gray American. He still wasn’t sure that he believed the logic described to him. He still wondered how much of his own bile and spleen he brought to this unholy mission. How much his political zeal depended on his desperate quest for vengeance.
He was still wondering as he turned into a streetside cafe and still wondering two minutes later when the windowpanes blew in from the blast at the end of the block. Emergency sirens went off and the customers in the luncheonette all turned back to their brunches. Speck sat down at the counter and turned up the volume on his radio.
Photo courtesy Pikrepo: https://www.pikrepo.com/neacr/black-and-silver-motorcycle-wheel