The Oracle Year(22)

Eddie was still getting ready, so Leigh looked out into the crowd, trying to get a sense of what was happening, trying to remember what she’d read about the demonstration.

At the far end of Union Square, a strident, amplified voice rang out over the crowd. She couldn’t make out the words, but every so often everyone would react—boos and cheers in equal number.

The signs waving above the crowd were finally visible—a schizophrenic assortment of pro-and anti-Oracle views. save us from ourselves, oracle! oracle = hope.

the oracle lies for the devil! was a popular one, printed in vibrant red ink, with horns and a spiked tail added to the O in Oracle.

Mounted police were stationed at the edges of the park, and more officers patrolled through the crowd in groups of two or three, watching carefully for . . . what? From what Leigh could remember, the rally was part of a mass call to the Oracle to reveal himself, one of a number of similar assemblies happening at the same time in cities across the world. But she hadn’t ever thought it would be this big—ten thousand people had crammed into the park, if not more.

“You know Reimer won’t run this, either, no matter what we get,” Eddie said, hoisting the camera to his shoulder. “You aren’t on the news beat. He couldn’t have been clearer about that. It’s a principle thing for him.”

“I know that,” Leigh snapped. “This isn’t about Johannes Reimer, and it’s not about Urbanity dot fucking com, for God’s sake. We’re reporters. This is news. We should document it.”

Eddie pointed at live broadcast antennas poking out into the air above the crowd at various points around the square.

“You don’t think those guys have things squared away? I don’t like the vibe in here.”

Leigh looked away from the crowd. She gave Eddie the sweetest smile she could muster.

“Just ten minutes, Eddie, for me. One or two interviews, and we can go. Maybe we’ll find something amazing, and even if it never runs, we can leak it to the net, put it on our résumés and get out of this shitty gig.”

“Your shitty gig is my fifteen-year career, kid. I’m perfectly happy.”

God help me if I ever get that happy, Leigh thought.

She put her hand on his arm. She looked into his eyes, giving him an intentionally oversincere smile.

“Please,” she said.

Eddie looked back at her for a moment, then rolled his eyes.

“Fine, ten minutes,” Eddie said. “Pulitzers all around, I’m sure.”

Leigh circled the outskirts of the crowd, Eddie following, looking for someone to put on camera. The demonstrators were a mixed bunch—age, gender, apparent walks of life . . . all over the map. The only consistency was a seriousness of expression. This wasn’t a fun day out in the park, not for any of them.

Two men, hands in their pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold, stood on the sidewalk on the north end of the park near the entrance to the W hotel. They were watching the demonstration, just staring, fascinated. Neither held a picket sign. Leigh pointed them out to Eddie.

“How about those two?” she said.

“Whatever,” Eddie said.

Leigh approached the two men. One was Caucasian, the other looked South Asian, maybe Indian, and both appeared to be in their mid-to late twenties.

“Excuse me, my name’s Leigh Shore, from Urbanity.com,” Leigh said. “I was wondering if either of you would like to do a short interview about what’s happening here today.”

“No, thank you,” the Indian man said. “We’re just browsing.”

“How about you?” Leigh asked the other man.

He hesitated before responding.

“All right,” he said.

“Hey,” the Indian guy said to his friend.

“It’s fine,” the second man said.

“Great!” Leigh said. “What’s your name?”

Another brief pause, then, “John Bianco.”

“All right, John, would you mind letting your friend here hold your bag? It’s got a logo on it, and rather than blurring that in post it’d be easier just to keep it out of the shot.”

John Bianco removed his shoulder bag and handed it to his friend. Said friend appeared to be having some sort of quiet, mostly internal seizure.

“Fantastic. Now, if you could just stand here.” She pulled John by his sleeve, positioning him so the demonstration was at his back. “And when you answer my questions, talk to me, not the camera. Okay?”

“No problem,” John answered.

“Eddie, you good?” Leigh said.

Eddie nodded.

“All right, set. Go ahead,” Leigh said.

“Taping in five, four, three,” Eddie said, counting down on his fingers at the same time, indicating the last two numbers silently, pointing at Leigh as he hit zero.

“I’m Leigh Shore,” Leigh began, “and I’m here in Union Square, at the site of New York City’s Oracle demonstration. These events have been staged today in major cities across the globe, with the intent being to coax the mysterious prophet into revealing his identity. I’m talking to John Bianco to get his thoughts on what’s happening here today.” Turning to face him, she continued, “John, have you been here all day?”

“Since this started, yes.”