Chapter 25

I will not be Hugo. I will be another name with many parts, Linda says. She tells me I must learn this name and some other things as well.

When she explains I am not pleased. I do not wish to pretend to be another person. But she says it must be this way in order for me to have the ID that is so important.

In this place—in this time, I think again—it seems there are many people whose work it is to know each person from the time the person is born. She says that all this knowledge is recorded by symbols so that all who understand the symbols may share it.

Because I was not born in a time when that was recorded I cannot be myself, I must take the name of one whose birth is known. And because there can be only one of each name, the person whose name I take must be dead but his death must not be known to those who keep the records. The man whose name she tells me is such a one, she says, Danny has found this name.

I think of all the people I saw on the day Linda took me to what she calls store, where we obtain the clothing that I wear and the food. It is beyond what I can understand that each one of these people is known to all in this way.

Well, I was named Ougo at my birth. Now I am Hugo. I suppose I can be another name yet if that is what is needed.

But “Hugo” has much meaning to me, it is what Linda says. I ask can she still call me by that name.

“Yes, if you like,” she says, smiling. “It can be our name, just between us. But you’ll have to be Jim, or Jimmy, to other people, it’s going to get too complicated and too suspicious otherwise.”

I do not care what name others speak if I can be Hugo with her.

Linda spends much time in the next two days before what she says is computer on her table. I see her take up a drawing stylus that makes marks on paper of itself and move her hand rapidly to make the same marks many times. Finally she is satisfied.

Then she goes back to computer and says “shit!” loudly. I understand that she is displeased. She shows me the image before her and tries to explain.

“The goddamn signature, the end of it, runs right across the state seal,” she says. I do not understand, but she shows me what she tries to do. “If I replace it, it’ll show,” she says, and I see that if she uses the image of the drawing she has done instead of the image that is already there, a part of what is behind will be hidden.

“It’s not much more than the flourish,” she says. “Thank God my handwriting’s so lousy. But I’ll have to use the same flourish for you, so you’re getting a new signature.”

I understand nothing of this at all, but she begins making a different kind of drawing with the stylus, and takes long before she is satisfied. She works long past the time when we usually eat, and then again the next day. We do not mate in the night, she is tired and goes almost immediately to sleep.

It is late in the second day when she is at last finished. “There it is, Hugo,” she says to me. She shows me drawing that is very like the ID that she has herself and has shown me before, but larger. It has my own image on it. I look at her with surprise.

“Yup, that’s you,” she says.

“Is this ID?” I ask.

“Oh, no,” she says, “not yet. It’s what we’re going to use to get you an ID.”

Again I understand nothing, but it is not needed that I understand so long as she does. I merely nod. In that evening we mate again—we make love, I must use her words—and there is special happiness in that mating for both of us.

Today she says she must go for a time in the car. I ask will I go with her.

“I’m sorry, Hugo, not this time,” she tells me. “It’s too risky. If anybody saw us together they might remember about the carjacker and that could get nasty. You have to stay here.” I understand this much, she does not wish for others to remember what happened with the bad man and perhaps ask us for ID. “I’ll show you how to work the teevee, maybe you can watch a little.”

I tell her I will use the time when she is gone to work my body. I am healed now, and I have been idle too long and have lost strength. For each day I have been idle I must work three days to bring back strength, and I have done little. Today is a day I may use for that purpose, and I will do so.

As she leaves she does another kiss with me. I find that I like this kissing very much. “Wish me luck,” she says, and then she goes to car.