Postcards to America by Patrick Ingle Page A

in casualty the patients parked on trolleys in the car park were returned to the corridors and business resumed as normal.
    God, he felt tired. He needed to lie down for an hour or two. Any bed would do. He called Catherine.
    ‘I’m going to find a bed in one of the closed wards,’ he heard himself say as he left casualty.
    An hour later Catherine found him stretched out on a bed in a ward closed to the public because of financial cutbacks. His snores reverberated off the bare walls. Catherine looked down at her sleeping lover. With a glance around to check if they were alone she undid the buttons on his white coat and played with his “stethoscope” for a while before finally throwing a blanket over him and closing the door behind her.

Chapter 9

The Internet
    The large sign over the door proclaimed: Computer Sales and Repairs: Cheap Internet rates available.
    “Corner” pushed the door open and stepped inside. Looking around he took in the bank of computers lined along one wall of the premises. A mix of male and female surfers occupied half of the computer places.
    “Corner” had decided to try this new mode of communication after his talk with Liam. After a long and illustrious history, the age of the postcard was ending. You could now send a message to a sheriff in Deadwood in the blink of an eye; or so he believed.
    ‘Can I help you, friend?’ The eager young man with pimples on his face and tattoos adorning both arms asked when “Corner” approached the counter.
    ‘I’d like to send emails to America,’ answered “Corner”.
    ‘No problem. That’s what we are here for.’ The young man smiled.
    ‘Pick any of the vacant computers.’
    “Corner” looked at the blank monitors, then back at the smiling assistant. ‘I have no experience of the Internet; I’m used to sending postcards. Can you show me how to send emails?’
    With no other customers looking for assistance, the young man decided to help “Corner”. He also wanted to show off his skills to this stranger.
    Guiding “Corner” to a swivel – chair in front of a monitor, the young man leant over the newcomer’s shoulder and started up the computer.
    ‘The first thing we have to do is to set up a user account for you,’ advised the young man.
    ‘What’s that?’ replied “Corner”.
    ‘It’s an account that gives you a unique name. It allows you to send and receive messages to any place in the world.
    ‘Even the next town?’
    ‘Even as far the next town.’
    The young man looks from the monitor to “Corner”. What have we here…?
    ‘No wonder the Red Indians stand no chance.’
    At the mention of “Red Indians”, the young man looks around to make sure that the two of them were not alone.
    ‘You have to answer a few simple questions about yourself before you choose a user name.’ The youth went through a list of questions and in each case, “Corner” gave him the first answer that popped into his head.
    ‘Now, what name do you want to use? All the familiar names will be long since gone. Try something different.’
    “Corner” thought for a few minutes before replying. ‘What about “Nighthawk”? It has a western flavour about it.’
    The youth tried the name and the system accepted it.
    ‘Now you need a password. Every time you log on, the system will prompt you to enter your password. The youth pointed to a box on the screen and said, ‘Enter your password here.’
    Again “Corner” spent a few minutes before typing “Pueblo”.
    With the account set up, the assistant showed “Corner” how to open an email application and type an email.
    ‘When you have typed your email,’ he explained patiently, ‘just click on the send button and your email would be sent to whatever addresses you type in the address box. They will receive your message in seconds if their computer is on at that time.’ ‘Marvelous,’ replied “Corner”.
    ‘As a matter of interest,’ asked the youth, wondering if he should