New Names

On my way to Touch Me, I drove through a little town by the name of Look At Me, and as I expected, there was nothing to look at. In Hear Me, there was nothing to listen to; in Smell Me, even the smell of the New Industrial Revolution was lacking; and in Taste Me, tastelessness was quite evident. What happened to the world? Did we become madder? These questions followed by a string of successors ached in my brain, and when the answers seemed to have acquired a central theme, the pain seemed to have receded as well.

I stopped for supper at the Meatless Meal, and decided to spend the night at the Pay First Use Later Motel. I was determined not to play their game. “I will use first and pay later,” I said to the key man. The man with the keys demanded the money up front, but I firmly refused. I took a key from the key rack, marched to Room 2B2, and locked the door. The room was clean, but the furniture was arranged senselessly. I rearranged it to my liking, and took a long bath. Lying in bed, I felt fairly peaceful and content, since the door remained locked, and the world stayed quiet, plain, nameless.

After a quick breakfast, I paid for the room and resumed my way. I felt uneasy, as if reality was banging on my brain. I kept it out. I reached my destination before noon. Touch Me had not changed. The atmosphere of gloominess, the ghost-like population, the red houses remained intact. At UB2 New Names Boulevard, a tall, large, middle-aged man opened the door and let me in. “Mr. Dreamless is expecting you, Mr. Nameless,” said Igor, a name that suited him better than Paun, his allocated name. As soon as Mr. Dreamless appeared, anxiety began to dominate my mind and overflow to the rest of my body. I was hoping that lunch would calm me, but prepared by Igor, it only increased the intensity of my restlessness. When Mr. Dreamless handed me a heart-shaped locket, I held it close to my chest, hoping that it contained what I had come for. He used to be my uncle, but following a bitter divorce from my Aunt Indrid, it was as if he had lost the title. I left before teatime, clinging to what my uncle had given me with the rest of my life.

Civility was running empty, so I stopped to recharge its battery. I also offered the food that Igor had given me to Mr. Wasteless, the owner of the charging station as a token of my appreciation. He took it with a false smile and put it where it belonged: the AlwaysHungry trash processor. The stars were bright and motionless, but darkness ruled the sky. I parked Civility and headed towards the motel entrance. I was too tired to pay any attention to its name. I had a quick supper, took a short bath, and went to bed. I fell asleep thinking about what my uncle may have given me. It was only while I was leaving the motel that I noticed its name: YouLoseIt WeKeepIt Motel. I quickly made sure that what my uncle had given me was still with me.

Civility was glad to be parked in her space, and I was relieved to close my door behind me. I ordered lunch. Motherless, the food processor, had it ready in no time. It was quite delicious. A feast for one. I showered and went to bed pressing what my uncle had given me against my thankful lips. I put it under my pillow and ordered New Vision, the television, to show me New Names, the weekly listing of new names. Last week, there were over one hundred new namings of people and places. However, due to the lack of new names, Mr. Pollful, the President of the New-Naming Committee, declared that this week would be considerably poorer, with only twenty-six new names. This process of new-naming had been going on for the past twenty-two years, since four winters after I was born.

New-naming became a necessity, a way of life, and a rewarding experience. A minority of so-called sages believed that a new, civilized, and humane society required a new identity in order to forget its appalling past. New-naming became a sought for profession, creating numerous jobs and paying high salaries. New-namers appeared everywhere. All of a sudden everyone became a troubadour. They dug the past for forgotten words, but adopted only those that lacked a sense of history. Names of people and places gained some kind of direct meaning, but for me, the world had become an absurd place. I ordered New Vision off and enjoyed a few hours’ sleep.

In the evening, Motherless had supper ready: another banquet for one. I took Civility for a short drive to the East end of the city. Nodnol was overpopulated. There were ten people for every rat. I stopped at the Pleasuredome Park and ordered a couple of orgasms. Despite the fact that the second one was unsuccessful, I still had to pay for both. I was almost wanton-free.

Now that I felt rested, I was ready to examine what my uncle had given me. My dear friend had the power to grant me my wish. My good-hearted uncle new-named me. My new name, however, was really an old one. I was bringing back the past and beginning a new future. I could see it in my mind: a neighbour called Shakespeare, a friend called Kafka, a daughter called Dickinson, a nephew called Byron, a Tolstoy, a Whitman, a Chaplin, a Darwin, a Nietzsche, a Twain, an Einstein, a Freud, a Readme. It was exciting to think of all these names, and I was the first to start it all; I was Keats.