帝国大厦的幽灵 Ghosts of the Imperial
By Samuel Marzioli
Translate By NOC
2015-04
彗星科幻
Come see the ghosts, Modern Tech’s online review said, holographic representations of the people who perished six years ago in the tragedy of the Imperial. They may be a trick of light and techno-wizardry, but when you leave, you will believe in life after death.
Gener went on the first day the Imperial Memorial opened, dressed in a black suit, his hair shaved down to a centimeter the way his parents always liked it. Hours before the doors opened, he stood in line among thousands cramming the sidewalks of Central Avenue. A light rain pumped petrichor into the air, mixing with the scent of hotdogs and burgers from fast food vendors who’d seized the opportunity to make an easy buck. From the conversations he overheard, the sullen faces and tears of the crowd, most of them were only there because they were friends and relatives of the dead. But not him.
While he came to honor the memory of his parents--who’d died in an unrelated accident--he was also there for the Imperial itself. Ever since a well-placed explosive tore through its subterranean foundation, not a day went by where he failed to cast an eye toward the eastern blocks, staring at the wreckage and then the absence that had taken the Imperial’s place. It seemed odd to feel anguish over an inanimate object, but he’d lived sixteen years within the shadow of its former glory. Now that it was gone, a bristled core had formed inside him, a constant ache that throbbed to the rhythm of his heartbeat.
He only wished he had thought to bring a token of his affection. Everyone else had something that symbolized the life of their departed loved ones, whether photos or flowers, jewelry or cufflinks, a lock of hair, or even an old push-button TV remote. He’d only brought himself, a small pocket-sized holo-projector and his memories. Ghosts of a different kind or quality than what the memorial promised, but ghosts all the same.
#
The Imperial was finished a few months before Gener was born. Dubbed a wonder of the world, it was a dazzling skypenetrator, the first of its kind. It towered 25,000 feet above the city, a goethite-infused truss system climbing like spider webs up its façade, casting a shadow across the Bandaras Peninsula like some monster sundial. To some, it was an eyesore. To others, it was an act of blasphemy, an affront to God and His creation. But many saw it as a sign of progress and achievement, a declaration to the world that whatever humanity could imagine it could also build.
Gener’s parents were of the latter mind. After his mother recovered a few weeks from the strain of childbirth, they took him to Mount Denin on the southern edge of the peninsula. While a few cirrus clouds stretched woolen tendrils across the sky, the sun shined warm and bright above them--unusual for a city that had flourished beneath the sullen gray of countless overcast days.
“It’s beautiful,” his father said, holding Gener up to the view of the cityscape, just as the long arm of the Imperial’s shadow pointed at them.
“Do you see it?” his mother asked, gently touching his cheek to steer his gaze in the right direction. “It’s like a bridge between the earth and heavens.”
Gener couldn’t remember that day, but his parents shared the story of it often enough while he was growing up. They said they stayed up there until the sun went down, absorbing the glory of that awesome sight, watching as the Imperial’s shadow drifted counter-clockwise across the great expanse of the city. While baby Gener didn’t seem to share in their excitement, they said he didn’t cry once. For someone only two weeks old, it was proof enough for them that he was truly a child after their own hearts.
#
When the memorial finally began to admit visitors, Gener and the crowd passed through one of a dozen rotating doors, pouring through a maze of stanchions and velvet ropes. An image of the many floors of the original Imperial was projected against the ceiling. Each floor was made transparent so that one could visually scale up the building along its buttressed core, until they reached the pinpoint center that was its highest level.
It made Gener dizzy to look at. He’d never felt a hint of vertigo in his life, but standing beneath that optical illusion made him feel as if he were traveling up a tunnel to infinity, at the speed of his sight. He turned away and rooted his vision to the marble tiles of the lobby, to keep himself from falling over.
“Welcome to the Imperial Memorial,” he heard a tour guide say. “Inside you’ll hear recorded accounts from the survivors, the brave firemen and officers who aided in the evacuation, and the engineers who designed the skylifts necessary to free the men and women trapped on the higher floors. You’ll also have a chance to visit the original offices of MetaCo where we’ve set up holographic representations of employees, weeks before the fatal event that took their lives.”
Despite himself, Gener felt his eyes water. He remembered that day as if it were yesterday: the explosion that rocked the city; the sight of a slumped Imperial, collapsing into its bottom floors; the smoke and flame that spewed from its base like the gates of hell had opened up beneath it. It meant more than just the loss of life and property; a legacy of the world had been destroyed.
Years had passed before they managed to strip its remnants down to nothing, whitewashing the sight of devastation. But they couldn’t take away its memory. It was as if a mountain had been plucked from the horizon and thrown into the sea and--regardless of the reasons why--the world was made a little uglier because of it.
#
Once Gener had learned of the Imperial Memorial’s construction, he combed through the family storage cloud, looking for footage of his parents that would be suitable for a 3D imaging conversion. He didn’t have much to work with. Ever since he was born, they’d spent the majority of their attention on him, cataloguing his days, his growth, his accomplishments. Never their own.
He also started building the holo-projector. While his knowledge of mechanical systems was hardly suitable for the task, he learned as he went, consulting books, websites, and sometimes his professors whenever the need arose. He labored without rest, skipping classes, missing work, forgetting to eat. Because the device couldn’t just function, it had to be worthy enough for what he had planned.
After months of struggling, he collapsed to his bed in frustration and exhaustion. When his aunt passed by and saw him lying there, she stepped into his room and leaned against the wall beside the doorway. Gener faced his computer display as it scrolled through home videos at twenty times the average speed and stopped occasionally to play out various segments he had tagged.
“What do you hope to accomplish with all this?” his aunt asked, crossing her arms.
He shook his head and turned in her direction. “I don’t know.”
“Then why do it?”
He thought about her question for a while, biting the loose skin at the tip of his thumb. Then he rose to a sitting position and said, “Aunt Rebecca, do you believe in God?”
His aunt laughed as if taken aback by the question. “I haven’t thought about it much. Not since high school at least.”
“But even if you don’t, you feel something when you’re standing on the beach and staring at the vastness of the ocean, don’t you? Or when the clouds and winds rile up and a funnel lowers from the sky to touch the ground. Or when you gaze into space at night and see the stars, billions of miles separating a billion points of light.”
“Maybe.”
“That’s how I used to feel when I looked at the Imperial. Now it’s gone. A part of what connected me to something greater than myself, whatever that may be, is missing. Not just out there,” he said, motioning to the eastern blocks, “But inside.”
His aunt pressed a hand up to her cheek, and her eyebrows dipped. “It means that much to you?”
“Not just to me. Before they died, my parents wanted to see the Imperial from the inside. We had planned to go together, but it was destroyed before we ever had the chance. And now, if I can only get this right--” he leaned toward his desk and scattered the pieces of the half assembled holo-projector--“I can make their wish come true.”
#
It took several more hours before a tour guide finally ushered Gener into the darkness of the memorial’s central display floor. There he saw hundreds of holographic people filling up two story’s worth of simulated office space, so real he felt as if he could reach out and touch them. They sat at holographic work desks, typed on holographic computers, took holographic phone calls and had meetings in rooms where the chairs, tables and notebooks were all holograms themselves.
He marveled to watch a man filling up a cup with coffee. He thrilled to see a woman mark-up digital paperwork for her boss or project team to review. And when two men in suits met in front of an office door and traveled up an escalator to the second floor--beside dozens of living people--his skin flared up with goose bumps.
It wasn’t the holograms that made him so ecstatic, but what they meant to him. They were pieces of a whole that he and his parents had always dreamed of seeing for themselves. A slice of time from when the Imperial stood in all its monolithic splendor.
It was also the center of the shadow that had covered every precious moment of his life. Gener knew that shadow well. He was in it when he was born and when he took his first steps. He was in it when his parents taught him to ride a bicycle, and when they taught him how to drive. He was in it when he started high school, and in his second year when he stood out front of St. Alonso High and had his first kiss with Olivia--the first girl he ever loved. He was also in it when his parents died in a car crash while traveling the bridge across the bay. And when he was sent to live with his Aunt Rebecca, they’d sat on the couch, holding each other close as they gazed out the window into the gloom of the Imperial’s artificial dusk.
All those moments tied to a single location. Each one lost to time, but never ending in his memories.
He wandered through the memorial, searching for the perfect spot to put his plan in action. He found it in a cubicle, far from the brunt of milling crowds. Its desk wasn’t simply vacant, it was empty of equipment. Since others were already placing the tokens they had brought in the work space of their loved ones, he thought nothing of slipping the holo-projector from his pocket and fixing it to the floor.
He turned it on with a swipe of his finger. At once, an image of his mother and father filled the dark with their holographic light.
“Look, Gener,” his mother said, pointing to some distant corner of the memorial’s ceiling. “What nature took billions of years to form, humankind conquered in the better part of two hundred-thousand years. And now, you’re a part of that.”
Then his father added, “Whatever you want to do, whatever you want to be, you can do it. Because you’re standing on the shoulders of the giants that came before you and now you can reach out farther than anyone has done before.”
They were of a lesser quality than the memorial’s holograms. Faded, slightly blurred, stationary, a blue tint filling up their cracks and borders. But Gener took pride in it nonetheless. He didn’t know how long it would be until a tour guide spotted the device and took it away, or a sweeper bot passed and collected it for the lost and found, or trash. Maybe a minute, an hour, a day, but maybe longer. In the end, the only thing that mattered was that he’d fulfilled his parents’ dream, and the three things that had meant so much to him were joined together at last.
He allowed himself to leave by late afternoon. When he walked outside the Imperial Memorial, he stopped at the border of its shadow and gazed up at its meager height. He took in its sleek edges and somber colors, its name splashed across its face like words on a tombstone.
“Take care of them,” he said, smiling. “Keep them safe for me. As long as you want or forever if you can.”
With that, he turned in the direction of his aunt’s house and stepped into the harsh and blinding light of day.
来看看幽灵吧,《现代科技》的在线评论写道,六年前在帝国大厦悲剧中殒命之人的全息影像。也许它们不过是光影的诡计、科技的魔法,但当你离开时,你会相信死后世界确实存在。
杰勒在帝国大厦纪念馆揭幕的日子去了那里。他穿着一身黑西装,头发剪短到只有一厘米,以前他父母总喜欢让他剪成这样。他排着队,和上万人一起沿着中央大道的人行道缓慢前进。离开门还剩好几小时。天下着蒙蒙细雨,湿漉漉的尘土气味跟热狗与汉堡的味道混合在一起——那些快餐商贩们可谓抓住了轻松赚钱的时机。从偶尔听到的对话、还有人群中那一张张忧郁的、满是泪水的面孔,他知道,大多数人来这里,只是因为他们是死者的亲朋好友。但他不是。
他来是为了纪念他父母的记忆——他们死于一场无关的车祸——但同时也是为了帝国大厦本身。自一场精心策划的爆炸撕裂了大厦的地基之后,每天,他都会在经过时朝东面的大楼望上一眼,凝视那些废墟,还有原本该是大厦所在的空缺。为无生命的物体悲痛似乎很奇怪,但他已在大厦过往荣耀的影子里生活了十六年。而今它不在了,他内心好像生出了一颗满是刺的核,随着心跳的节奏不断抽痛。
他真希望自己带了能象征他情感的纪念品。其他人都带了——这些纪念品象征着他们所爱的逝者的人生,不管是照片还是鲜花,宝石还是链扣,还是一缕头发,甚至是一只老式的、按钮式的电视遥控器。他只带了他自己,还有一台袖珍全息投影仪和他的回忆。他的幽灵,类型和质感都跟纪念馆呈现的那些幽灵不同,但仍然是幽灵。
#
帝国大厦建成于杰勒出生前几个月。它是一座让人目眩神迷的摩天大楼,是这类建筑中的首例,被称为世界奇迹。大厦的顶端高耸在城市上方两万五千英尺处,注入了针铁矿的 桁架结构如蛛网般沿着外墙层层缠绕,投下的影子横跨班德拉斯半岛,就像一座巨大的日晷。对有些人来说,它是眼中钉。对另一些人来说,它是一种亵渎,是对上帝和他的造物的侮辱。不过仍有许多人视它为发展和成就的标志,一份对全世界的声明:人类能想象什么,就能建造什么。
那也是杰勒的父母的想法。当杰勒的母亲休息了几星期,从分娩的疲劳中恢复之后,他们带着他去了半岛南端的狄宁山。几片卷云斜斜挂在空中,伸展着羊毛般的细须 ,太阳照着他们,既温暖又明亮——对于一座度过了数不尽的阴天、在晦暗中繁荣兴旺的城市来说,这很不寻常。
“真美,”父亲说。他把杰勒举起来,让他看城市的风景。帝国大厦的影子仿若长臂,正指着他们。
“你瞧见了吗?”母亲问。她轻轻扶着他的脸颊,把他的视线引到正确的方向。“那是座连接大地与天堂的桥梁。”
杰勒对那天没什么印象,不过父母在他的成长过程中没少提这事。他们说,他们在那儿一直待到太阳下山,欣赏着那片壮丽的美景,望着帝国大厦的影子以逆时针方向漫过广阔的城市。小杰勒似乎并没有像他们一样兴奋,但他们说,他那时连哭都没哭一声。要知道他才两周大,在他们看来,这足以证明杰勒跟他们心意相通。
#
纪念馆终于开放了,杰勒和其他人穿过一扇扇旋转的门扉 ,涌进一座由立柱和丝绒绳索构成的迷宫。天花板上有一幅层楼叠嶂 的原帝国大厦的投影。楼层都被做成了透明的样子,顺着以扶壁支撑的核心支柱朝上看,可以一直望到最高层的中心点。
这景象让杰勒头晕目眩。以前他丝毫没有过眩晕的感觉,可站在那视觉幻象下方,他觉得自己仿佛正以光速 穿越一条通往永恒的隧道。他转向别处,紧盯着大厅的大理石瓷砖,以防自己跌倒。
“欢迎来到帝国大厦纪念馆,”他听见一位导游说。“在馆内,你们会听到生还者的叙述记录,这些人包括勇敢的消防员和参与援救的职员,还有那些设计出了空中电梯的工程师——为了解救处于高层的被困者,空中电梯是不可或缺的。你们还能到梅塔公司 的原办公室游览一番,那儿有我们设置的员工们的全息影像,设置时间是灾难——就是夺走他们生命的那场灾难——发生的几周前。”
杰勒的双眼不由自主地湿润了。他对那天记忆犹新,仿如昨日:爆炸震撼了整座城市;帝国大厦崩塌解体,沉沉倒下,直到最底下的那几层;烟尘和火光从大厦底部喷薄而出,仿佛下面打开了地狱的大门。那并不仅仅意味着生命和财产的损失——一项世界遗产被摧毁了。
人们花了好几年才把大厦的残躯清理干净,把破坏造成的痕迹粉刷掉。但回忆是无法清除的。这感觉,就像是地平线上的一座大山被连根拔起扔进了海里——不管理由是什么 ——整个世界由此变得更丑陋了一点。
#
杰勒一听说帝国大厦纪念馆动工的消息,便连上家族的云存储空间,搜索父母的影像,想找到适合做3D对话影像的片段。工作量并不多。自他出生后,父母把大部分注意力都放在了他身上,为他的纪念日、他的成长和成就制作记录。从没留下他们自己的影像。
与此同时,他开始制作全息投影仪。尽管他对机械系统的知识并不适合这项任务,但他边学边做,从书籍、网站获得信息,有时也向教授们请教——只要他有需求。他废寝忘食地干着,课也不上,作业也不交。因为他的装置不能仅仅是“能用”,它必须配得上他理想中的标准。
几个月的艰苦奋斗之后,他身心俱疲地瘫倒在床上。这时他姑妈经过房门,看到他躺在那儿,她走进房间,靠在门边的墙壁上。杰勒面对着电脑显示屏,屏幕画面正以二十倍速滚动放映家庭影像,偶尔停下来,播放他加过标签的形形色色的片段。
“你想用这些做什么?”姑妈抱着双臂问道。
他摇摇头,转向她。“我不知道。”
“那你是在干嘛呢? ”
他思索了一会儿,咬着拇指末端那层松松的皮肤。然后他坐起来说,“丽贝卡姑妈,你相信上帝吗?”
姑妈大笑起来,像是被这问题惊到了。“没怎么想过。至少高中以后没想过。”
“可就算你不信上帝,当你站在沙滩凝视无边无际的大海时,你还是会有点感触的,不是吗?或者,当你看到云团和疾风形成的龙卷从空中压向地面。或是当你在夜晚望向天穹和群星,看到亿万光点之间隔着遥不可及的距离。”
“也许吧。”
“这就是以前我看着帝国大厦时的感受。如今它不在了。联系着我和比我更伟大的东西的纽带——不管那是什么——现在缺失了一部分。不止是缺失在外面那块地方,”他朝着东面的大楼打了个手势,“更是在内心。”
姑妈托着腮,低垂着眉。“对你来说,这事那么重要?”
“不止是对我。我父母去世之前想去帝国大厦内部参观的。我们计划好了一起去,但没等我们去成,大厦就被毁了。而现在,只要我能把这东西搞定——”他靠向桌子,把装到一半的全息投影仪部件拆开——“我就能实现他们的愿望。”
#
几小时后,导游终于带着杰勒来到纪念馆黑乎乎的中央展示层里。在大小相当于两层楼高的模拟办公室中,他看见几百个人的全息影像充斥其间,这些影像是如此逼真,仿佛伸手就能触到实体。他们坐在全息办公桌前,在全息电脑上打字,用全息电话通话,在办公室里开会——里面的椅子、桌子和笔记本都是全息的。
他惊奇地看着一个男人在杯子里倒满咖啡。他激动地看到一个女人给数字文件标上价格,好拿给老板或是项目组审议。当两个身着制服的人在办公室门口相遇,一起乘电梯前往第二层的时候——旁边就是几十个活生生的人——杰勒起了一身鸡皮疙瘩。
让他欣喜若狂的并不是那些全息影像本身,而是他们对他实在是意义重大。他们是整体的一部分——那个他和父母一直都梦想亲眼见证的整体。是时光的片段——那时的帝国大厦庞大,完整,巍峨耸立。
这个整体也是覆盖了他生命中每个珍贵时刻的影子的核心。杰勒太了解那片影子了。出生的时候,蹒跚学步的时候,他在其中。父母教他骑自行车的时候,教他驾驶的时候,他在其中。进入中学时,还有二年级时,他站在圣阿隆索高中前和奥利维亚的初吻——那是他爱上的第一个女孩,他在其中。父母驾车驶过海湾上的大桥,结果死于车祸的时候,他也在其中。当他被送去跟着丽贝卡姑妈住的时候,他们坐在沙发上紧紧相拥,望着窗外——帝国大厦遮住了阳光,将白日变成了黄昏 。
所有这些瞬间都和那个独一无二的地方联系在一起。每个瞬间都消逝在时光之中,但从未在他的记忆里终结。
他在纪念馆里徘徊,寻找着把计划付诸实施的完美地点。他找到了——一间远离滚滚人流的小房间。房间里的桌子不但没人占着,而且上面也没放东西。有些桌子上早就摆上了纪念品——那是其他人带来放在他们所爱之人的办公室里的。机会难得,他不假思索地从口袋里摸出全息投影仪,把它固定在地板上。
他用手指轻滑了一下,打开投影仪。父母的全息影像瞬间出现,照亮了房间。
“看,杰勒,”母亲指着远处纪念馆的天顶说。“自然花上亿万年才能形成的东西,人类花了二十万年就做到了,而且做得更好。现在,你也成了其中的一部分。”
接着,父亲说,“无论你想干什么,无论你想成为什么人,你都能做到。因为你站在那些先贤巨人的肩膀上,而现在,你将能比任何人走得都远。”
比起馆内的全息影像,他们的质量要稍差一些。颜色黯淡,图像有些模糊,而且是静止的,边缘和裂隙闪着蓝光。尽管如此,杰勒还是对它感到自豪。也许某个导游会发现这一装置并把它拿走,或是某个路过的扫地机器人会把它归到失物招领处,或扔进垃圾桶,他不知道在那之前它能存在多久。可能是一分钟,一小时,一天,可能更久。说到底,他在意的只有一件事——他已经完成了父母的梦想,对他意义如此重大的这三样东西,终于汇聚在了一起。
他到将近黄昏的时候才离开。走出纪念馆时,他在大厦影子的边界处停下脚步,凝视着那幢低得可怜的建筑。他仔细看着那光滑的边缘、晦暗的颜色,外墙上“帝国大厦纪念馆”这几个字相当醒目,就像墓碑上的墓志铭。
“帮我好好照顾他们,”他微笑着说。“让他们平平安安的。多久都行,如果你能,请永远照顾他们。”
说完,他转向姑妈家的方向,踏进了白天刺目的阳光里。
「完」
—————————————————————————--
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By Samuel Marzioli
Translate By NOC
2015-04
彗星科幻
Come see the ghosts, Modern Tech’s online review said, holographic representations of the people who perished six years ago in the tragedy of the Imperial. They may be a trick of light and techno-wizardry, but when you leave, you will believe in life after death.
Gener went on the first day the Imperial Memorial opened, dressed in a black suit, his hair shaved down to a centimeter the way his parents always liked it. Hours before the doors opened, he stood in line among thousands cramming the sidewalks of Central Avenue. A light rain pumped petrichor into the air, mixing with the scent of hotdogs and burgers from fast food vendors who’d seized the opportunity to make an easy buck. From the conversations he overheard, the sullen faces and tears of the crowd, most of them were only there because they were friends and relatives of the dead. But not him.
While he came to honor the memory of his parents--who’d died in an unrelated accident--he was also there for the Imperial itself. Ever since a well-placed explosive tore through its subterranean foundation, not a day went by where he failed to cast an eye toward the eastern blocks, staring at the wreckage and then the absence that had taken the Imperial’s place. It seemed odd to feel anguish over an inanimate object, but he’d lived sixteen years within the shadow of its former glory. Now that it was gone, a bristled core had formed inside him, a constant ache that throbbed to the rhythm of his heartbeat.
He only wished he had thought to bring a token of his affection. Everyone else had something that symbolized the life of their departed loved ones, whether photos or flowers, jewelry or cufflinks, a lock of hair, or even an old push-button TV remote. He’d only brought himself, a small pocket-sized holo-projector and his memories. Ghosts of a different kind or quality than what the memorial promised, but ghosts all the same.
#
The Imperial was finished a few months before Gener was born. Dubbed a wonder of the world, it was a dazzling skypenetrator, the first of its kind. It towered 25,000 feet above the city, a goethite-infused truss system climbing like spider webs up its façade, casting a shadow across the Bandaras Peninsula like some monster sundial. To some, it was an eyesore. To others, it was an act of blasphemy, an affront to God and His creation. But many saw it as a sign of progress and achievement, a declaration to the world that whatever humanity could imagine it could also build.
Gener’s parents were of the latter mind. After his mother recovered a few weeks from the strain of childbirth, they took him to Mount Denin on the southern edge of the peninsula. While a few cirrus clouds stretched woolen tendrils across the sky, the sun shined warm and bright above them--unusual for a city that had flourished beneath the sullen gray of countless overcast days.
“It’s beautiful,” his father said, holding Gener up to the view of the cityscape, just as the long arm of the Imperial’s shadow pointed at them.
“Do you see it?” his mother asked, gently touching his cheek to steer his gaze in the right direction. “It’s like a bridge between the earth and heavens.”
Gener couldn’t remember that day, but his parents shared the story of it often enough while he was growing up. They said they stayed up there until the sun went down, absorbing the glory of that awesome sight, watching as the Imperial’s shadow drifted counter-clockwise across the great expanse of the city. While baby Gener didn’t seem to share in their excitement, they said he didn’t cry once. For someone only two weeks old, it was proof enough for them that he was truly a child after their own hearts.
#
When the memorial finally began to admit visitors, Gener and the crowd passed through one of a dozen rotating doors, pouring through a maze of stanchions and velvet ropes. An image of the many floors of the original Imperial was projected against the ceiling. Each floor was made transparent so that one could visually scale up the building along its buttressed core, until they reached the pinpoint center that was its highest level.
It made Gener dizzy to look at. He’d never felt a hint of vertigo in his life, but standing beneath that optical illusion made him feel as if he were traveling up a tunnel to infinity, at the speed of his sight. He turned away and rooted his vision to the marble tiles of the lobby, to keep himself from falling over.
“Welcome to the Imperial Memorial,” he heard a tour guide say. “Inside you’ll hear recorded accounts from the survivors, the brave firemen and officers who aided in the evacuation, and the engineers who designed the skylifts necessary to free the men and women trapped on the higher floors. You’ll also have a chance to visit the original offices of MetaCo where we’ve set up holographic representations of employees, weeks before the fatal event that took their lives.”
Despite himself, Gener felt his eyes water. He remembered that day as if it were yesterday: the explosion that rocked the city; the sight of a slumped Imperial, collapsing into its bottom floors; the smoke and flame that spewed from its base like the gates of hell had opened up beneath it. It meant more than just the loss of life and property; a legacy of the world had been destroyed.
Years had passed before they managed to strip its remnants down to nothing, whitewashing the sight of devastation. But they couldn’t take away its memory. It was as if a mountain had been plucked from the horizon and thrown into the sea and--regardless of the reasons why--the world was made a little uglier because of it.
#
Once Gener had learned of the Imperial Memorial’s construction, he combed through the family storage cloud, looking for footage of his parents that would be suitable for a 3D imaging conversion. He didn’t have much to work with. Ever since he was born, they’d spent the majority of their attention on him, cataloguing his days, his growth, his accomplishments. Never their own.
He also started building the holo-projector. While his knowledge of mechanical systems was hardly suitable for the task, he learned as he went, consulting books, websites, and sometimes his professors whenever the need arose. He labored without rest, skipping classes, missing work, forgetting to eat. Because the device couldn’t just function, it had to be worthy enough for what he had planned.
After months of struggling, he collapsed to his bed in frustration and exhaustion. When his aunt passed by and saw him lying there, she stepped into his room and leaned against the wall beside the doorway. Gener faced his computer display as it scrolled through home videos at twenty times the average speed and stopped occasionally to play out various segments he had tagged.
“What do you hope to accomplish with all this?” his aunt asked, crossing her arms.
He shook his head and turned in her direction. “I don’t know.”
“Then why do it?”
He thought about her question for a while, biting the loose skin at the tip of his thumb. Then he rose to a sitting position and said, “Aunt Rebecca, do you believe in God?”
His aunt laughed as if taken aback by the question. “I haven’t thought about it much. Not since high school at least.”
“But even if you don’t, you feel something when you’re standing on the beach and staring at the vastness of the ocean, don’t you? Or when the clouds and winds rile up and a funnel lowers from the sky to touch the ground. Or when you gaze into space at night and see the stars, billions of miles separating a billion points of light.”
“Maybe.”
“That’s how I used to feel when I looked at the Imperial. Now it’s gone. A part of what connected me to something greater than myself, whatever that may be, is missing. Not just out there,” he said, motioning to the eastern blocks, “But inside.”
His aunt pressed a hand up to her cheek, and her eyebrows dipped. “It means that much to you?”
“Not just to me. Before they died, my parents wanted to see the Imperial from the inside. We had planned to go together, but it was destroyed before we ever had the chance. And now, if I can only get this right--” he leaned toward his desk and scattered the pieces of the half assembled holo-projector--“I can make their wish come true.”
#
It took several more hours before a tour guide finally ushered Gener into the darkness of the memorial’s central display floor. There he saw hundreds of holographic people filling up two story’s worth of simulated office space, so real he felt as if he could reach out and touch them. They sat at holographic work desks, typed on holographic computers, took holographic phone calls and had meetings in rooms where the chairs, tables and notebooks were all holograms themselves.
He marveled to watch a man filling up a cup with coffee. He thrilled to see a woman mark-up digital paperwork for her boss or project team to review. And when two men in suits met in front of an office door and traveled up an escalator to the second floor--beside dozens of living people--his skin flared up with goose bumps.
It wasn’t the holograms that made him so ecstatic, but what they meant to him. They were pieces of a whole that he and his parents had always dreamed of seeing for themselves. A slice of time from when the Imperial stood in all its monolithic splendor.
It was also the center of the shadow that had covered every precious moment of his life. Gener knew that shadow well. He was in it when he was born and when he took his first steps. He was in it when his parents taught him to ride a bicycle, and when they taught him how to drive. He was in it when he started high school, and in his second year when he stood out front of St. Alonso High and had his first kiss with Olivia--the first girl he ever loved. He was also in it when his parents died in a car crash while traveling the bridge across the bay. And when he was sent to live with his Aunt Rebecca, they’d sat on the couch, holding each other close as they gazed out the window into the gloom of the Imperial’s artificial dusk.
All those moments tied to a single location. Each one lost to time, but never ending in his memories.
He wandered through the memorial, searching for the perfect spot to put his plan in action. He found it in a cubicle, far from the brunt of milling crowds. Its desk wasn’t simply vacant, it was empty of equipment. Since others were already placing the tokens they had brought in the work space of their loved ones, he thought nothing of slipping the holo-projector from his pocket and fixing it to the floor.
He turned it on with a swipe of his finger. At once, an image of his mother and father filled the dark with their holographic light.
“Look, Gener,” his mother said, pointing to some distant corner of the memorial’s ceiling. “What nature took billions of years to form, humankind conquered in the better part of two hundred-thousand years. And now, you’re a part of that.”
Then his father added, “Whatever you want to do, whatever you want to be, you can do it. Because you’re standing on the shoulders of the giants that came before you and now you can reach out farther than anyone has done before.”
They were of a lesser quality than the memorial’s holograms. Faded, slightly blurred, stationary, a blue tint filling up their cracks and borders. But Gener took pride in it nonetheless. He didn’t know how long it would be until a tour guide spotted the device and took it away, or a sweeper bot passed and collected it for the lost and found, or trash. Maybe a minute, an hour, a day, but maybe longer. In the end, the only thing that mattered was that he’d fulfilled his parents’ dream, and the three things that had meant so much to him were joined together at last.
He allowed himself to leave by late afternoon. When he walked outside the Imperial Memorial, he stopped at the border of its shadow and gazed up at its meager height. He took in its sleek edges and somber colors, its name splashed across its face like words on a tombstone.
“Take care of them,” he said, smiling. “Keep them safe for me. As long as you want or forever if you can.”
With that, he turned in the direction of his aunt’s house and stepped into the harsh and blinding light of day.
来看看幽灵吧,《现代科技》的在线评论写道,六年前在帝国大厦悲剧中殒命之人的全息影像。也许它们不过是光影的诡计、科技的魔法,但当你离开时,你会相信死后世界确实存在。
杰勒在帝国大厦纪念馆揭幕的日子去了那里。他穿着一身黑西装,头发剪短到只有一厘米,以前他父母总喜欢让他剪成这样。他排着队,和上万人一起沿着中央大道的人行道缓慢前进。离开门还剩好几小时。天下着蒙蒙细雨,湿漉漉的尘土气味跟热狗与汉堡的味道混合在一起——那些快餐商贩们可谓抓住了轻松赚钱的时机。从偶尔听到的对话、还有人群中那一张张忧郁的、满是泪水的面孔,他知道,大多数人来这里,只是因为他们是死者的亲朋好友。但他不是。
他来是为了纪念他父母的记忆——他们死于一场无关的车祸——但同时也是为了帝国大厦本身。自一场精心策划的爆炸撕裂了大厦的地基之后,每天,他都会在经过时朝东面的大楼望上一眼,凝视那些废墟,还有原本该是大厦所在的空缺。为无生命的物体悲痛似乎很奇怪,但他已在大厦过往荣耀的影子里生活了十六年。而今它不在了,他内心好像生出了一颗满是刺的核,随着心跳的节奏不断抽痛。
他真希望自己带了能象征他情感的纪念品。其他人都带了——这些纪念品象征着他们所爱的逝者的人生,不管是照片还是鲜花,宝石还是链扣,还是一缕头发,甚至是一只老式的、按钮式的电视遥控器。他只带了他自己,还有一台袖珍全息投影仪和他的回忆。他的幽灵,类型和质感都跟纪念馆呈现的那些幽灵不同,但仍然是幽灵。
#
帝国大厦建成于杰勒出生前几个月。它是一座让人目眩神迷的摩天大楼,是这类建筑中的首例,被称为世界奇迹。大厦的顶端高耸在城市上方两万五千英尺处,注入了针铁矿的 桁架结构如蛛网般沿着外墙层层缠绕,投下的影子横跨班德拉斯半岛,就像一座巨大的日晷。对有些人来说,它是眼中钉。对另一些人来说,它是一种亵渎,是对上帝和他的造物的侮辱。不过仍有许多人视它为发展和成就的标志,一份对全世界的声明:人类能想象什么,就能建造什么。
那也是杰勒的父母的想法。当杰勒的母亲休息了几星期,从分娩的疲劳中恢复之后,他们带着他去了半岛南端的狄宁山。几片卷云斜斜挂在空中,伸展着羊毛般的细须 ,太阳照着他们,既温暖又明亮——对于一座度过了数不尽的阴天、在晦暗中繁荣兴旺的城市来说,这很不寻常。
“真美,”父亲说。他把杰勒举起来,让他看城市的风景。帝国大厦的影子仿若长臂,正指着他们。
“你瞧见了吗?”母亲问。她轻轻扶着他的脸颊,把他的视线引到正确的方向。“那是座连接大地与天堂的桥梁。”
杰勒对那天没什么印象,不过父母在他的成长过程中没少提这事。他们说,他们在那儿一直待到太阳下山,欣赏着那片壮丽的美景,望着帝国大厦的影子以逆时针方向漫过广阔的城市。小杰勒似乎并没有像他们一样兴奋,但他们说,他那时连哭都没哭一声。要知道他才两周大,在他们看来,这足以证明杰勒跟他们心意相通。
#
纪念馆终于开放了,杰勒和其他人穿过一扇扇旋转的门扉 ,涌进一座由立柱和丝绒绳索构成的迷宫。天花板上有一幅层楼叠嶂 的原帝国大厦的投影。楼层都被做成了透明的样子,顺着以扶壁支撑的核心支柱朝上看,可以一直望到最高层的中心点。
这景象让杰勒头晕目眩。以前他丝毫没有过眩晕的感觉,可站在那视觉幻象下方,他觉得自己仿佛正以光速 穿越一条通往永恒的隧道。他转向别处,紧盯着大厅的大理石瓷砖,以防自己跌倒。
“欢迎来到帝国大厦纪念馆,”他听见一位导游说。“在馆内,你们会听到生还者的叙述记录,这些人包括勇敢的消防员和参与援救的职员,还有那些设计出了空中电梯的工程师——为了解救处于高层的被困者,空中电梯是不可或缺的。你们还能到梅塔公司 的原办公室游览一番,那儿有我们设置的员工们的全息影像,设置时间是灾难——就是夺走他们生命的那场灾难——发生的几周前。”
杰勒的双眼不由自主地湿润了。他对那天记忆犹新,仿如昨日:爆炸震撼了整座城市;帝国大厦崩塌解体,沉沉倒下,直到最底下的那几层;烟尘和火光从大厦底部喷薄而出,仿佛下面打开了地狱的大门。那并不仅仅意味着生命和财产的损失——一项世界遗产被摧毁了。
人们花了好几年才把大厦的残躯清理干净,把破坏造成的痕迹粉刷掉。但回忆是无法清除的。这感觉,就像是地平线上的一座大山被连根拔起扔进了海里——不管理由是什么 ——整个世界由此变得更丑陋了一点。
#
杰勒一听说帝国大厦纪念馆动工的消息,便连上家族的云存储空间,搜索父母的影像,想找到适合做3D对话影像的片段。工作量并不多。自他出生后,父母把大部分注意力都放在了他身上,为他的纪念日、他的成长和成就制作记录。从没留下他们自己的影像。
与此同时,他开始制作全息投影仪。尽管他对机械系统的知识并不适合这项任务,但他边学边做,从书籍、网站获得信息,有时也向教授们请教——只要他有需求。他废寝忘食地干着,课也不上,作业也不交。因为他的装置不能仅仅是“能用”,它必须配得上他理想中的标准。
几个月的艰苦奋斗之后,他身心俱疲地瘫倒在床上。这时他姑妈经过房门,看到他躺在那儿,她走进房间,靠在门边的墙壁上。杰勒面对着电脑显示屏,屏幕画面正以二十倍速滚动放映家庭影像,偶尔停下来,播放他加过标签的形形色色的片段。
“你想用这些做什么?”姑妈抱着双臂问道。
他摇摇头,转向她。“我不知道。”
“那你是在干嘛呢? ”
他思索了一会儿,咬着拇指末端那层松松的皮肤。然后他坐起来说,“丽贝卡姑妈,你相信上帝吗?”
姑妈大笑起来,像是被这问题惊到了。“没怎么想过。至少高中以后没想过。”
“可就算你不信上帝,当你站在沙滩凝视无边无际的大海时,你还是会有点感触的,不是吗?或者,当你看到云团和疾风形成的龙卷从空中压向地面。或是当你在夜晚望向天穹和群星,看到亿万光点之间隔着遥不可及的距离。”
“也许吧。”
“这就是以前我看着帝国大厦时的感受。如今它不在了。联系着我和比我更伟大的东西的纽带——不管那是什么——现在缺失了一部分。不止是缺失在外面那块地方,”他朝着东面的大楼打了个手势,“更是在内心。”
姑妈托着腮,低垂着眉。“对你来说,这事那么重要?”
“不止是对我。我父母去世之前想去帝国大厦内部参观的。我们计划好了一起去,但没等我们去成,大厦就被毁了。而现在,只要我能把这东西搞定——”他靠向桌子,把装到一半的全息投影仪部件拆开——“我就能实现他们的愿望。”
#
几小时后,导游终于带着杰勒来到纪念馆黑乎乎的中央展示层里。在大小相当于两层楼高的模拟办公室中,他看见几百个人的全息影像充斥其间,这些影像是如此逼真,仿佛伸手就能触到实体。他们坐在全息办公桌前,在全息电脑上打字,用全息电话通话,在办公室里开会——里面的椅子、桌子和笔记本都是全息的。
他惊奇地看着一个男人在杯子里倒满咖啡。他激动地看到一个女人给数字文件标上价格,好拿给老板或是项目组审议。当两个身着制服的人在办公室门口相遇,一起乘电梯前往第二层的时候——旁边就是几十个活生生的人——杰勒起了一身鸡皮疙瘩。
让他欣喜若狂的并不是那些全息影像本身,而是他们对他实在是意义重大。他们是整体的一部分——那个他和父母一直都梦想亲眼见证的整体。是时光的片段——那时的帝国大厦庞大,完整,巍峨耸立。
这个整体也是覆盖了他生命中每个珍贵时刻的影子的核心。杰勒太了解那片影子了。出生的时候,蹒跚学步的时候,他在其中。父母教他骑自行车的时候,教他驾驶的时候,他在其中。进入中学时,还有二年级时,他站在圣阿隆索高中前和奥利维亚的初吻——那是他爱上的第一个女孩,他在其中。父母驾车驶过海湾上的大桥,结果死于车祸的时候,他也在其中。当他被送去跟着丽贝卡姑妈住的时候,他们坐在沙发上紧紧相拥,望着窗外——帝国大厦遮住了阳光,将白日变成了黄昏 。
所有这些瞬间都和那个独一无二的地方联系在一起。每个瞬间都消逝在时光之中,但从未在他的记忆里终结。
他在纪念馆里徘徊,寻找着把计划付诸实施的完美地点。他找到了——一间远离滚滚人流的小房间。房间里的桌子不但没人占着,而且上面也没放东西。有些桌子上早就摆上了纪念品——那是其他人带来放在他们所爱之人的办公室里的。机会难得,他不假思索地从口袋里摸出全息投影仪,把它固定在地板上。
他用手指轻滑了一下,打开投影仪。父母的全息影像瞬间出现,照亮了房间。
“看,杰勒,”母亲指着远处纪念馆的天顶说。“自然花上亿万年才能形成的东西,人类花了二十万年就做到了,而且做得更好。现在,你也成了其中的一部分。”
接着,父亲说,“无论你想干什么,无论你想成为什么人,你都能做到。因为你站在那些先贤巨人的肩膀上,而现在,你将能比任何人走得都远。”
比起馆内的全息影像,他们的质量要稍差一些。颜色黯淡,图像有些模糊,而且是静止的,边缘和裂隙闪着蓝光。尽管如此,杰勒还是对它感到自豪。也许某个导游会发现这一装置并把它拿走,或是某个路过的扫地机器人会把它归到失物招领处,或扔进垃圾桶,他不知道在那之前它能存在多久。可能是一分钟,一小时,一天,可能更久。说到底,他在意的只有一件事——他已经完成了父母的梦想,对他意义如此重大的这三样东西,终于汇聚在了一起。
他到将近黄昏的时候才离开。走出纪念馆时,他在大厦影子的边界处停下脚步,凝视着那幢低得可怜的建筑。他仔细看着那光滑的边缘、晦暗的颜色,外墙上“帝国大厦纪念馆”这几个字相当醒目,就像墓碑上的墓志铭。
“帮我好好照顾他们,”他微笑着说。“让他们平平安安的。多久都行,如果你能,请永远照顾他们。”
说完,他转向姑妈家的方向,踏进了白天刺目的阳光里。
「完」
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