Zig Zag

by Jose Carlos Somoza

  "Now, I know this is absurd, so please don't laugh," Clissot began, "but... thinking about Sergio's idea, I'm wondering... Isn't it possible that there is somehow some form of communication between past and present? What I mean is ... Well, why couldn't that woman have somehow sensed our presence?" Elisa was horrified at the possibility. "I know you've explained it several times already, but I still don't understand the exact physics behind opening time strings. If what you're doing is making a hole to be able to see back in time, why couldn't the people from back then see forward through it, too?"

  Silence. Blanes and Marini exchanged a quick glance, as if deciding who should tackle the question. Or how to tackle it.

  "Anything is possible, Jacqueline," Blanes said, finally. "The 'exact physics behind opening time strings,' to use your expression, is a mystery to us all. We're moving in such a tiny field that the laws governing it are, to a large degree, unknown. In quantum physics, there's a phenomenon known as entanglement, by which two particles, even if they're billions of kilometers apart, have a mysterious connection, and what happens to one of them affects the other immediately. That's known as nonlocal behavior. And in the case of time strings, we think that without the temporal distance there would be a higher chance of quantum entanglement. That's why we don't want to do any experiments on the recent past."

  "Guess I skipped physics class that day," Clissot said, smiling.

  Blanes made as if to stand up, but Marini beat him to it.

  "I've got the dry-erase, maestro." He strode to the whiteboard on the wall and drew a horizontal line with his left hand—Marini was quite elegant for a southpaw. "Imagine that this is a time line, Jacqueline. The right end represents the present, and the left one is an event that occurred, say, a thousand years ago. When we open their time strings, we create a sort of passageway called a 'wormhole,' which is a tunnel of particles that connects the past to the present, at least for the instant that the opening takes place. The same thing would happen if we opened strings from five hundred years ago, although in this case the bridge would be much shorter. See?"

  Clissot nodded. Elisa judged his explanation so far as superb.

  "But, what would happen if we opened strings from, say, seventy years ago? If you look at our diagram, the tunnel would be tiny. And if we tried it with a period like ten years, five years, one year..." Marini drew other lines representing these time frames. The last one was just a fat vertical line. The illustration left no room for doubt.

  "I see. There would be no tunnel. The two events would merge."

  "Exactly. An entanglement." Marini pointed to the vertical line. "The shorter the temporal distance, the greater the possibility of interacting with our present. This is a crude illustration, because the real proof is mathematical, but I think it might help you understand..."

  "Perfectly."

  Ric Valente left his post at the window and walked into the kitchen. He and Rosalyn began a heated discussion. Elisa couldn't hear what they were saying.

  "That's why we're not concerned about experimenting with events that took place five hundred or a thousand years ago, but we don't want to repeat what happened with the Unbroken Glass," said Blanes.

  There was a brief silence.

  "Did something we don't know about happen with the Unbroken Glass?" Clissot asked.

  "No, no," he said quickly. "All I mean is that we don't want to take any risks."

  There was a slight commotion coming from the kitchen. When everyone turned to look, Valente smiled at them from the next room, and Rosalyn, her face red as a beet, stared angrily.

  "Just a friendly disagreement," Valente said, holding up his palms in a sign of peace.

  The dining-room door opened. Elisa expected to see Nadja, or maybe Ross, walk in, but it was neither of them. A voice she hadn't heard for many days boomed across the room.

  "Can I have a word with all of you?" asked Carter.

  "HOW do you feel?"

  "Better."

  Nadja Petrova's room was almost dark. One small, battery-powered lamp on her nightstand cast a faint glow. Elisa guessed that Mrs. Ross, who was bustling around in the bathroom, must have brought it. She was glad to see that her friend did, indeed, look better, and she was obviously happy that Elisa had come to see her (Nadja was not one to hide her emotions). She sat on the edge of the bed and smiled at her friend.

  "I don't like this one bit; look at these lights." Mrs. Ross, ever cheerful, emerged from the bathroom carrying a stepladder. "Not only have the bulbs burned out, the whole light fixture is singed. When did you say it happened, Nadja? Last night? Odd. The same thing happened in Rosalyn's room the other day. They must be faulty connections. I'm sorry it's not something I can fix right now."

  "Don't worry, this lamp will be fine for now. Thank you."

  "You're very welcome, darling. I'll talk to Mr. Carter. I bet he knows something about sockets and such."

  After Mrs. Ross closed the door, Nadja turned to Elisa and stroked her arm affectionately.

  "Thank you for coming."

  "I wanted to see you before I went to bed. And to give you the latest gossip." Nadja arched an almost-white eyebrow and pricked up her ears. "Carter just came to inform us that he received some news via satellite. There's a serious storm headed for New Nelson, a typhoon. It should hit us by midweek, but the worst of it will be Saturday and Sunday. This rain is just the buildup. The good news is that we have a compulsory vacation. We won't be allowed to use SUSAN or receive any new telemetric images, and on the weekend we won't even be allowed to boot up our computers, in case the generator fails and we have to switch onto emergency power." Her friend looked alarmed. "Don't worry, silly. Carter is sure we won't lose power..."

  Nadja's expression wiped the smile off her face. When she spoke, her voice was unrecognizable, as though someone was forcing her to repeat the words against her will.

  "That... woman ... was ... watching us, Elisa."

  "No, hon, she wasn't..."

  "And her face ... It was like someone had filed it down and then scraped off all her features..."

  "Nadja, come on now..." Overcome by compassion, she hugged her friend. They remained like that for a while in the poorly lit room, protecting each other from something they couldn't comprehend.

  Then Nadja pulled away. The redness of her eyes was all the more obvious against her snow-white skin.

  "I'm a Christian, Elisa. When I responded to the questionnaire, I said I'd give anything to be able to ... to see him ... But now I'm not so sure ... I don't know if I want to!"

  "Nadja." Elisa grasped her shoulders and wiped the hair out of her face. "A lot of what you're feeling is a result of the Impact. That suffocating feeling, the feeling you can't breathe, the panic, the idea that it's all somehow related to you ... I felt the same thing with the dinosaurs. It took everything I had to overcome it. Silberg says we'll have to study the Impact's effects more, to find out why it happens to some of us with some images and not others. But regardless, you have to understand that it's a psychological side effect. You mustn't think that..."

  Nadja was crying into Elisa's shoulder, but her sobs slowly subsided. After a while, all that could be heard was the humming of the air conditioners and the drumming of the rain.

  Part of Elisa couldn't help but share Nadja's horror. With or without the Impact, the image of that faceless woman was sickening. Just recalling it, the room seemed suddenly colder, the darkness denser.

  "Didn't you like the dinos?" she joked.

  "Yeah ... Well, not entirely. That shiny skin. Why did you think that was so beautiful? It was disgusting..."

  "Here we go. You like the bones, not the packaging."

  "That's right, I do. I'm a paleo..." Nadja struggled to pronounce it in Spanish.

  "Paleontologa. You got it. A paleontologist."

  They both smiled. Elisa smoothed her white hair and kissed her forehead. Nadja's doll-like hair fascinated her.

  "Now you should try to get some rest
."

  "I don't think I'll be able to sleep." Fear distorted her face. Her features weren't especially beautiful, but with that look, she reminded Elisa of a damsel in distress out of some old painting. "I'm going to hear more noises. Don't you hear them anymore? Those footsteps?"

  "I told you, that's Mrs. Ross..."

  "Not always."

  "What do you mean?"

  Nadja didn't reply. She seemed to be thinking about something else.

  "Last night I heard them again," she said. "I got up and looked in Ric and Rosalyn's doors, but they were in their beds. Didn't you hear anything?"

  "I slept the sleep of the dead last night. But it was probably Carter. Or Mrs. Ross in the pantry. She does a weekly inspection. I asked her. She told me."

  Nadja shook her head.

  "No. It wasn't her. And it wasn't a soldier."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because I saw."

  "Saw who?"

  Nadja was pale as a sheet.

  "I told you I got up and went to look. Well, I looked in Ric and Rosalyn's rooms, but I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. So I turned around to go to your room ... and I saw a man." She squeezed Elisa's arm tightly. "He was standing by your door, with his back to me so I couldn't see his face. At first, I thought it was Ric, so I called out, but then I realized that it was someone else ... someone I'd never seen."

  "How could you know that?" Elisa whispered, terrified. "The hall is always so dark... and you say he had his back to you..."

  "But..."—Nadja's lips were quivering, her voice a petrified whimper—"... when I got closer I realized that he was ... he was facing me..."

  "What?"

  "I saw his eyes. They were white. But his face was empty, blank. He had no face, Elisa. I swear it. Please believe me!"

  "Nadja, you're being affected by the image of the Jerusalem Woman."

  "No, I saw her for the first time today. This happened yesterday."

  "Have you told anyone?" Nadja shook her head. "Why not?" When her friend made no reply, she continued. "I'll tell you why. Because deep down, you know it was a dream. Right now you can't see that, because of the Impact..."

  Her explanation seemed to calm the young paleontologist down. They looked at each other for a moment.

  "Maybe you're right... But it was such an awful dream."

  "Do you remember anything else?"

  "No ... He came to me and ... I think I fainted when I drew near ... Then I woke up in my bed..."

  "See?" Elisa said. Nadja squeezed her arm again.

  "Don't you think there could be someone else here, besides Carter, the soldiers, and us?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "On the island ... Someone else on the island."

  "That's impossible," Elisa said, shivering.

  "But what if there were someone else, Elisa?" Nadja insisted, clutching her arm so hard it hurt. "Someone we were never told was here."

  18

  SERGIO Marini liked to do magic tricks. He could pull a dollar out of your ear, rip it in half, and put it back together, all with his right hand, as though he reserved the left for more serious tasks. Colin Craig had copies of Manchester United's greatest matches stored on his laptop, and he and Marini used to watch the international games when they were broadcast. Jacqueline Clissot liked to show everyone pictures of her son Michel, who was five, and send him funny e-mails; then she'd sit down with Craig, who was going to be a first-time father next year, and give him practical advice. Cheryl Ross had been a grandmother for two years, but she didn't knit or bake cookies; instead, she discussed politics and took great delight in criticizing "the bloody buffoon," Tony Blair. Reinhard Silberg had recently lost his brother to cancer and he collected pipes, though he rarely smoked. Rosalyn Reiter read John Le Carre and Robert Ludlum novels, though during the month of August her favorite pastime was named Ric Valente. Ric Valente worked and worked, all the time and everywhere; he'd stopped spending time with Rosalyn, and even taking walks with Craig and Marini, and all he did was work. Nadja Petrova chatted and smiled: what she liked best was not being alone. David Blanes wanted to be alone so he could play Bach's labyrinths. Paul Carter worked out (free weights and sit-ups) by the garrison.

  That they had in common, though she preferred running on the beach and swimming, rain and wind permitting. Bergetti played cards with Marini and Stevenson, and his fellow Brit, York, watched soccer with Craig. Mendez was a comedian and liked to make Elisa laugh by telling stories that, had anyone else told them, would have come across as moronic. Lee was into New Age music and electronic gadgets.

  That's what they were like. That's what the only seventeen inhabitants on New Nelson between July and October 2005 used to be like.

  She'd never forget the banal hobbies that defined them, that gave them history and identity.

  She'd never forget. For many reasons.

  ON the morning of Tuesday, September 27, Elisa got some very exciting news. Mrs. Ross (who according to Marini was "like the tax man" because she knew everything about everyone) told her at lunch. Elisa spent the rest of the meal debating whether she should do it, and imagining all the possible outcomes.

  In the end, she opted for long pants. It might seem silly ("childish," her mother would say), but she didn't want to go see him in shorts.

  When she got to his office that afternoon, she could hear the pecking of two little birds skipping across the keys. She cleared her throat. She knocked on the door. And when she opened it, she swore to herself that she'd never forget the image of the scientist sitting there at his electric keyboard, his face reflecting some form of private ecstasy in which even physics had no place. She stood in the doorway, listening, until he stopped.

  "The prelude to the first suite in B-flat major," Blanes said.

  "It's lovely. I didn't want to interrupt."

  "Oh, don't be silly. Come on in."

  Though she'd been in his office several times before, she felt very tense. She always felt tense when she went there. The size of the room (it was tiny) was partially to blame, and the huge number of objects piled up (including a plastic whiteboard teeming with equations, a desk with his computer and electric keyboard on it, and a bookshelf) didn't help.

  "I wanted to congratulate you, Professor Blanes," she murmured, still standing with her back against the door. "I was very happy to hear the news." She saw him frown, squinting his eyes as if she were invisible and he was making every effort to figure out what kind of incorporeal creature was addressing him. "Mr. Carter told Mrs. Ross..." She wiped her lips and was suddenly struck by a thought. Oh, shit. He doesn't know yet. I'm going to have to be the one to tell him. "An unofficial source at the Swiss Academy leaked the news this morning..."

  Blanes looked away. He seemed to have lost all interest in the conversation.

  "I'm just a 'strong candidate,' as they call it. Happens every year." And he banged out a chord to end the conversation, as if to say he'd rather go back to his music than keep talking drivel.

  "You'll get it, Professor Blanes. If not this year, then next."

  "Sure. I'll get it."

  Elisa didn't know what else to say.

  "You deserve it. The sequoia theory is an astounding breakthrough."

  "An unknown breakthrough," he corrected, his face to the wall. "One of the defining features of our generation is that everyone knows the meaningless breakthroughs, a few people know the important ones, and no one knows the astounding ones."

  "Well, they're going to find out about this," she replied sincerely. "I'm sure there are ways to reduce the Impact, or control it. And I have no doubt that in the end, everyone will find out what you've achieved, Professor Blanes."

  "Enough 'Professor Blanes' already. Me: David; you: Elisa."

  "OK." Elisa smiled, despite the fact that she felt a little uncomfortable with the fuss she had unwittingly caused. All she'd wanted was to congratulate him and leave; she wasn't even looking for any thanks. But it seemed obvious that Bl
anes didn't give a damn either way. "Take a seat, if you can find one."

  "Oh, I just wanted to... to congratulate you, that's all..."

  "Just sit down, for Christ's sake."

  Elisa found a place to perch on the table, by the computer. It was quite narrow, though, and the edge was sticking into her butt. Good thing she was wearing long pants. Blanes was still staring at the wall. Elisa suspected he was about to launch into a tirade about the injustices that a poor Spanish physicist like himself suffered in the face of society. But instead, what he said made her stomach tingle.

  "Do you know why I never let you respond in class, Elisa? Because I knew you knew the answers. When I lecture, I don't want to hear answers; I want to teach. And with Valente, I was never sure."

  "I see," she said, swallowing hard.

  "Then, that day when you so foolishly answered without being called on, I changed my opinion about you."

  "Yeah."

  "No. It's not what you're thinking. Let me tell you something." Blanes rubbed his eyes and then stretched. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you have one of the biggest damn flaws anyone in the world can have: you seem flawless. That was what I least liked about you, right from the start. Remember this: it's always better—much better—to have people make fun of you than it is to have them envy you. But then that day when you burst forth with your injured pride, I thought, Aha, that's it! She might be gorgeous, intelligent, and hardworking, but at least she's an arrogant little fucker.' At last I'd found a flaw."

  They sat there staring intently at each other, and then suddenly they both smiled.

  Friendship isn't as hard as people often think. We tend to believe that the things that really matter don't happen overnight, but sometimes friendships or love just emerge, like the sun from behind the clouds: one second it was all gray, and the next, there's blinding light.

  In that one second, Elisa became David Blanes's friend.

  "So I'm going to tell you something, to help you hold onto that defect," he added. "In addition to being an arrogant little fucker, you're also a fabulous coworker, the best I've ever had. And that excuses you from having come to congratulate me."