Zaid and al-Qasiri left the house in a cloud of self-importance. (They left the island itself that same day.) I had never seen Rangley sweat before. He came over to Nadya and me, a look of mixed distress and relief on his face.

"If Zaid backs out of the negotiations because of this, Leon, your ass is grass. You know that, dont you?"

"Yeah, I know it."

"In that case then-shake."

I did. Nadya too.

"Jesus," said Rangley, "but you were cool. How did you know youd pull it off?"

"It was easy, Dick. Zaid had one too few stones on the board."

Rangley didnt get it.

But Nadya smiled.

Ive mentioned elsewhere that "concretizing or reifying a metaphor" is a prime sfnal technique. Or maybe we should say, a surreal or satirical technique, since Im not sure theres much scientific rigidity or genuine extrapolation involved in this mode. Stilly the technique can often engender a vivid tale, even as a kind of "five-finger exercise which I suspect this following story might be.

Stilly in a day and age where mind control is a threat and the expression of certain taboo thoughts is verboten, perhaps the story of a man who comes to an accommodation with his "bad beliefs" is not without merit.

And one final quirk: for some reason, whenever I re-read this story, I think of a comic strip from the old National Lampoon, wherein the advertising icon Mr. Peanut goes on a mad crime spree.

Thats probably just a meme at work in me.

BAD BELIEFS.

I had kept putting off my quarterly mandatory visit to the local branch of the Department of Memes, and now I couldnt leave the house because of all the Bad Beliefs hanging around on my doorstep.

Dont ask me why I had neglected my checkup and inoculations, because I cant tell you. I know its every citizens civic duty to keep his antimeme vaccinations up to date. But some perverse streak inside me (possibly, now that I think about it, an anti-antimeme meme) made me keep postponing my appointment until it was just too late.

Maybe it was the way the nurse had treated me the last time I went to the DOM clinic. She was very pretty, and I wanted to like her. But she regarded me as if I were a leper, just because I was diagnosed as having a mild case of Yuppie Flu. With a look of absolute distaste, as if she had swallowed a fly, she boosted the volume on her white noise earphones and clicked down heavy filters on her protective goggles. I felt like a criminal.

Or maybe it was the supercilious way the doctor talked to me as he hefted the heavy needle whose tip dripped with antimeme juice. He was the kind of doctor who wore his degrees like a thousand-dollar suit.

"Im afraid youve got a very bad complex this time, son. On top of the Yuppie Flu, the tests show definite traces of Someone Else Will Pick Up My Litter, Bodybuilders Are Godlike, and Elvis Lives."

"But Elvis does live!" I said.

The doctor just clucked his tongue chidingly while the buzzing, shortsighted nurse swabbed down my right ass cheek with antiseptic. Then he jabbed the needle in, and it really hurt.

For a whole day afterwards I was very disoriented. As the serum surged through my brain, driving out all the bad memes inside, I experienced frequent hallucinations. Most of these involved a pumped-up Elvis driving a pink BMW while throwing empty soda-cans out the window.

After twenty-four hours, I was back to normal. Or at least what I had to assume was normal. It was so hard to tell these days. I felt a weird compulsion to pay my taxes early, and that kind of pissed me off. The government isnt supposed to put any proactive memes of their own into our shots, but you cant tell me that they dont. Ive had several pacifist friends who have just upped and joined the Armed Forces without even saying goodbye.

Anyhow, for whatever reason-whether out of sheer stubbornness or actual meme infection-I delayed my next shot until the last possible minute and well beyond. And now I was paying the price.

Besides the antimeme components specific to a patients unique illness, each tailored shot contained a general-purpose booster that protected you from a wide range of memes. Mine had run out. That was why all the Bad Beliefs were now camped on my doorstep.

They seemed to be able to sense when a person was vulnerable, and tended to congregate around a victims house. Generally, what with every responsible citizen being well and frequently inoculated, you didnt see many Bad Beliefs in the good neighborhoods. Oh, sure, you might spot Dont Mow the Lawn or Thumbsucking Is Cute hanging around, but that was about as bad as it got out in the burbs where I lived. In the quarantined inner-city ghettos though, where people disdained DOM and their shots-man, that was another story. You tried to avoid those places if you could. The streets were full of Bad Beliefs of every conceivable variety, and there was no telling what you could pick up.

Now, though, I was the source of contagion.

Why, oh why, hadnt I just gone in for my shot ...?

With a start, I realized that I was falling prey to Crying Over Spilt Milk Will Help. That meme had been one of the first to arrive, and was surely still out there now. Or was it? Maybe they had all gone ....

I crossed my living room carpet and timidly pulled back the corner of one thick drape, hoping that somehow all the Bad Beliefs would have just vanished.

But of course they hadnt.

In fact, there were more of them-many more-than the last time I had dared to look.

They were all shapes and sizes and degrees of solidity. They were big as an elephant or small as a mouse. They were human-shaped, animal-shaped or shapes in between. You could see right through some, but others looked as substantial as your reflection.

The Bad Beliefs were insouciantly draped over my shrubs and steps. They sat atop my car and on my lawn. They walked up and down or squatted stolid as Indian chiefs. A group of four were playing poker, and some others were performing a kind of frenzied cannibal dance. A clatter from the roof indicated they were up there too.

The ones nearest the window spotted me, and shouts went up.

"Hey, Jimmy, come out and play!" "We wont bite!" "We just want to be friends!"

I dropped the curtain as if it were aflame, and faded back into the room.

They knew my name. I hadnt realized they would know my name. All my previous bouts with bad memes had been low-grade infections, nipped in the bud. But I guessed when things went this far, the memes apparently got more powerful, more tangible and active.

How active I could not at that moment have guessed.

I wished for the prophylactic glasses and headphones that the nurse had worn. They might have helped me to escape. But such devices were permitted only to medical personnel. It was felt that such mechanical contrivances were subject to failure, and could cause a person to neglect their shots ....

My neighbors must be going nuts right now. My deliberate inattention to my own mental welfare had succeeded in lowering their property values immensely. Even yesterday, things hadnt been this bad. It was only a matter of time before one or more of my fellow homeowners called the DOM and a truck was dispatched to get me. In fact, I thought I could hear the distant wail of sirens even now.

Irrationally, I suddenly wished that I could have been born during a simpler time. I knew that life was supposed to be so much better nowadays, with all these shots to protect us from Bad Beliefs. But on the other hand, it was these same shots that had made the Bad Beliefs assume these potent and visible forms. Until they were expelled en masse from the human mind, Bad Beliefs had been strictly internal, invisible, a private matter. They had spread invisibly too, unlike this assault today on my house. But once they had been banished from their ancient lodgings in the human skull-banished, not exterminated, for that seemed impossible-they were free to roam at will.

And today I seemed to be the sole object of their attention.

I was feeling like one of those besieged humans in an old zombie movie when from behind me came a scuffling noise and a human grunting that made me jump almost out of my skin.

I whirled around, heart pounding like a lawnmower piston.

Coming out of the fireplace was-Santa Claus.

"Santa," I said. "Santa, I havent thought of you since I was four years old."

Santa brushed the soot off his outfit. "Im surprised you held on to me that long, son. Old Santas a Bad Belief nowadays. Santa Is Real is something you just cant say anymore."

"Santa? A Bad Belief?"

"Sure. They say I cause too much heartbreak when its revealed Im imaginary. But I ask you, do I look imaginary to you?"

"Oh, no, Santa. I still remember when I sat on your lap at the mall ...."

Santa advanced on me. I let him put his arm around my shoulder. He smelled like plum pudding.

"Well then, youll trust old Santa when he says that you should go outside and meet all your new friends. Theyll help you get on with your life, Jimmy. Youve been stagnating."

Was it true, what Santa was saying? I knew I didnt particularly like my job, or have any lovers or friends or interests or passions. But "stagnating" was an awfully harsh word ....

"Gee, Santa, I dont know-"

Suddenly, the sirens I had heard grew louder, and Santa said, "You dont want DOM to get you, Jimmy. Havent you heard what they do to people who skip their shots? They implant a permanent antimeme pump in you. Its set for such a high dose of drugs that youll have trouble holding on to a Its Time To Tie Your Shoe meme. Youll end up a ward of the state, living in a meme-free rest home. No, your only hope now is to flee to the ghetto, where DOM has no power."

The sirens sounded about a block away, and I knew I didnt have any more time to hesitate. I had to make up my mind, and fast. Should I wait for DOM and take my medicine, or throw my lot in with the Bad Beliefs?

Images of the sanctimonious doctor and the priggish nurse floated up before me. Then I looked straight into Santas twinkly blue eyes.

It was no contest.

I dont even remember opening the door and fleeing my house. But somehow I was standing out on the lawn, surrounded by the Bad Beliefs.

"Quick, lets go!" I yelled to no one in particular. "DOM will be here any minute!"

Santa came up alongside me. "No they wont, Jimmy. Nobodys even called them yet"

"But the sirens-"

Santa ho-ho-hoed. "That was just Paranoia Is The Real Story, Jimmy."

A skinny dude with the nervous look of a speed-freak stepped forward. He pursed his lips and out came a perfect siren noise.

"You-you tricked me!"

"It was for your own good, Jimmy, believe me," said Santa just before he vanished.

"Santa, come back!"

Another of the Bad Beliefs grabbed me by the shoulder and spun me around. I found myself facing a big burly male figure wearing the head of a German Shepherd.

"Its A Dog Eat Dog World out there, kid. Aint no one gonna help you but yourself. If I was you, Id get my ass on the road. Youre not gonna be safe until you get outta DOMs reach."

Dog Eat Dog was right. There was only one place for me to go, and that was the ghetto.

I jogged toward my car, the Bad Beliefs capering after me, whooping and hollering with delight. Their shapes were enticing and glamorous, and I had to fight to keep my focus.

My hand shot out to the handle of the drivers door, but one of the Bad Beliefs beat me to it.

"Ill fuckin take the wheel," slurred Dmnk Driving Is Safe. His shirt was covered with vomit stains, and a haze of alcohol fumes hovered around his head.

"Oh, no-" I began, but other Bad Beliefs interrupted me.

"Dont worry," said You Can Trust Me, a beautiful young girl. "We always let him drive."

"Theres never been an accident we couldnt walk away from," said Youll Never Die, a precocious ten-year-old.

"You dont want to hurt his feelings," said Youll Lose All Your Friends, a weenie of a teenager.

"Well, if you all think its okay ...."

"We do, we do!" they shouted, and hustled me into the back seat.

Drunk Driving slammed the car into reverse and peeled out, clipping my lamppost and dragging it halfway down the block before unhooking it when he climbed the curb and ran over an ornamental calf-high cast-iron fence.

"Does he know how to get there?" I asked with some trepidation.

Improbably, there seemed to be dozens of Bad Beliefs crammed into the car with me. Whats more, they seemed to be continually changing, new ones replacing the old. Right now a bluff, hearty salesman type of Bad Belief was sitting beside me.

"Know where hes going?" demanded Bluster Will Clinch The Sale. "He drew the map! Dont you worry, Jimmy. Well get you to safety all right."

"We might have to make a few stops first, though," said Short Attention Spans Are Postmodern.

"Stops? For what?"

"I need some more booze, for one thing!" said Drunk Driving, turning completely around. The car veered into the oncoming traffic, forcing several vehicles off the road, and I closed my eyes. Now I heard sirens again.

"Is that Paranoia?"

"No," said Indecision Is Charming. "I mean, yes."

Bluster had vanished. In his place was a scary-looking black man with a goatee.

"Fuck tha po-leece!" he said.

Having regained our own lane, Drunk Driving floored the accelerator and I was pressed back into the seat.

All the Bad Beliefs were cheering and screaming with glee. We took a curve, and I was pressed into the seemingly solid flesh of a girl beside me, who had replaced Fuck Tha Police. I looked at her, and was shocked to see the form of my thirteen-year-old sister, who was really now thirty-five and living a thousand miles from here.

My sister giggled and said, "Oh, Jimmy, lets make out." She began to unbutton her shirt.

I scuttled away until the door handle was digging into my back. "Who-who are you?"

"Im Incest Is Harmless. Lets screw."

Incest had her shirt off, and I couldnt take my eyes off her juvenile breasts. I have no idea what I would have done if I hadnt been interrupted. But luckily for me, at that moment Drunk Driving jumped another curb and slammed on the brakes. Even so, he still crunched into the side of a parked car.

In a daze, I asked, "Where are we? Are we at the ghetto?"

"Are you fuckin blind?" said Dont Tolerate Fools. "Its a packy. We need booze."

All the Bad Beliefs tumbled out, hustling me with them, and we blew into the package store like a hurricane of malevolent spirits.