"Then there's the other thing. I
can't do any more about it. Not for a while. You might as well
take a look at it."
"What other thing?"
Like a drunkard at a bar, signaling for a particular brand, she
gestured to the corner of the room. "In there. In my pack. Get
it."
He opened a narrow cabinet door and pulled her blue knapsack from
the shelf. He held it to her. She smacked it with her hand. "Open
it yourself."
Inside he found several notebooks and pens.
"The disks, dick."
And he found a large stack of diskettes, bound together by rubber
bands.
"What is it?" he said.
Once more she turned her head on the pillow so that she was
facing away from him. "What's it say on the label?"
"ISLE."
"You can read."
"Ivy," he started, but then held his tongue. She had every right
to be treating him this way. But she was saying things he didn't
want to hear her say. She was heavily drugged and needed rest.
They could deal with all this in a few days. "Why don't we do all
this later?"
"There is no 'later.' I don't want to see you again. Not for a
long time, till I'm able to look at you without all this shit in
me and coming out of me."
"Then what? What is this? What do you want me to do with it?"
"That ride I told you about, from LA back up here with the idea
of somehow meeting you? I heard 'Teach the Children' on the radio
on the way up.
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