“I need to be with my own people. I need that more than anything.” This is the day she arrived at the crux of why finding accord with Bono was essential based on the question of whether there’d been a Divine command that was somehow mutual, later developed for Courier #1 (you’ll find out what that is, don’t worry). It was not simply the question of the Injunction and if/whether it came from, it was the fact that they were both reacting based on an invisible externality of Higher Authority, i.e., they already believed and were acting on an external basis other than themselves.
“It’s the only way to come through, because it’s the only indication, veritably, of there being mutual consciousness, if he himself believes and is acting on an injunction.” They had a common belief about an external guiding force; therefore to address him about it did not constitute infringement on his own parameters of consciousness, and conversely it meant that unless she could establish a mutual connect in this context (unless it turned out they arrived at an understanding that the injunction possessed something in common with respects to the other), no other point of commonality could ever be established in terms of the entire spectrum of what was taking place that could place it over and above common synchronicity. It either made it or broke it, because of how she perceived it as having begun. If she couldn’t arrive at confirmation on this one count, nothing beyond it could be established either.
“Also it is my only choice; if this cannot be established by God, I don’t see the point in establishing it at all.”
That night she was going to try the movies again but was too late, knew that Damien would be there and so avoided it. Instead she happened upon Eoin (a painter who was half-Spanish, half Irish) and a friend of his named Ross at the Joy of Coffee; eventually they went out drinking together at The Globe on Georges Street. That evening another Bono mimic breezed in, even more uncanny perhaps, than the first, not because the physical similarity was more exacting; it was something else. The betrayer was that he was too beautiful and too young. She intuited he was Irish. It had more impact than she would have expected. To her mind he’d quite deliberately styled himself to the period when “In the Name of the Father” had been released, impeccably so. It made her distinctly uncomfortable to realize that 1) she’d not been forced to recognize physical attraction until it accosted her visually in the real world in the form of an aesthetically beatific version, bringing back that this had been when he was the most attractive, to her, 2), her own reaction to the mimic forced her to reckon that this mattered; she felt completely overwhelmed, and 3) it was a belated discovery that even just a visual echo invoking the memory in the real world set her off like a soundless set of chimes; the moment so pivotal she was totally keyed into the look without ever having known it.
What she found even more disturbing was that the mimic picked up on her as soon as he settled; it was as if he could sense her reaction. His attention was caught the instant they made eye contact; she knew he was scoping her even though she studiously avoided. That was just plain unfair, to have that accessed, to feel overwhelmed just by appearance. -Eyes to blow the mind. She didn’t want to enjoy contemplation because it was tempting, and swirled out in her full length grey denim long coat, feeling sure he absorbed her departure as she steadfastly concentrated her eyes on the way out.
Anything else would have just been too weird. There was no way she’d let him get his rocks off on her brand of supplication, not fair to grant on the basis of appearance. Predictably she dreamed of him that night, the real one. They were past introductions; he’d already intuited her nationality.