A Naked Singularity: A Novel

by Sergio De La Pava

  Causing fresh blood from her neck’s wound to shed,

  Forming rivulets of liquid crimson that fell

  Downward and across her debased killer’s chest

  Exposing his sin and inducing his brother’s knell.

  And at skin and flesh the brothers tore without rest

  Their bodies mingled then forever fused

  As twain fell into the porous cloud then past;

  Wherefore the wretch his spoilt meal swallowed

  Ingested whole but in an utmost violent way.

  Mother’s voided head left to lie on the cloud’s floor . . . abandoned.

  Where it remains to this day

  In the centralmost cloud

  Of our modern sky.

  But when Mother’s pain becomes too great to be borne

  Witness how her aggrieved blood will resume its flow

  To flood the earth awash in dull arrows of rain

  And set to swim and tread our doleful land of woe.

  THE END

  “Why’d you want me to read that?”

  “Because it’s a story.”

  chapter 26

  Now comes the mystery.

  —Henry Ward Beecher’s last words.

  “I see you employed vacation time all week only to come in on Friday, not sure I see the logic in that.”

  “You kidding? Doing so was a stroke of genius on my part if I may be so bold.”

  “You may, but how so?”

  “Well you’ll agree, I assume, that Friday has the best feel of any day, certainly of any weekday.”

  “I suppose.”

  “So by effectively reducing the week to this one day I have successfully, albeit temporarily, combated the enduring agony that is my every waking minute.”

  “Agony?”

  “Augh.”

  “So how bad is the kid’s impairment in your opinion?”

  “What do I know? Kid is exactly right. It’s like talking to someone who’s a lot younger than they look. The eyes are the way they are in the picture and the way he talks gives it away a bit too.”

  “Well that psychiatrist we retained just faxed us this. It seems he wants some sort of assurance of payment before he’ll go out and see Kingg.”

  “Like what? What assurances are there in this world Toom?”

  “I guess he’ll settle for someone signing this.”

  “Give,” I said. I took the paper and signed it without reading it. We were in a conference room and, like every Friday afternoon in that place, it was eerily desolate. I looked at him when he took the paper back. “I have to save this kid’s life,” I said.

  “I know.”

  “No I mean have to like life-depending-on-it-type shit, my life.”

  “Okay.”

  “What a mess I’ve made.”

  “I’m optimistic about this supreme court thing quite frankly.”

  “I mean saving someone’s life is an indisputably good thing right?”

  “I believe so, yes. Especially in this case.”

  “A poor little sap who sees the world through those eyes, who got laughed at in school, and who lives in a tiny cinderblock square no one ever visits.”

  “Saving him would be good I agree.”

  “An unequivocally good act. And by extension someone creating such an unambiguous good would therefore be a good person.”

  “I’m not sure about that.”

  “And that would of course be true regardless of what had come before the good act. Using the term before of course only in its common sense since I believe I have already expressed to you my belief in the nonlinearity of actual true time; which nonlinearity, incidentally, I just recently confirmed through direct observation.”

  “When exactly did you express this belief of yours to me?”

  “Before, so to speak.”

  “I don’t recall that.”

  “So you see my problem.”

  “Not really.”

  “Leaving open only the question of how we can achieve this unproblematic good, the achievement of which I have just demonstrated is critically necessary else I forfeit my continued viability as a being.”

  “As I said, I believe there are many good signs, and other close observers agree, in the court’s latest actions, although we’ll know more on Wednesday of course. And I think these signs, if they bear fruit, will hold the key to saving Jalen’s life.”

  “I wish I could share your belief in that group of people but I can’t. I simply can’t bring myself to expect anything non-toxic to emerge from them or anyone similar to them. On the other hand there are still things I can control.”

  “Such as?”

  “I can control what comes out of me. I can write something. I can write something so compelling and persuasive that even the scum that read these things for a living will, upon reading it, do what I need them to do. What do you think of that?”

  “I think that’s certainly the correct approach.”

  “Toomie. Young, large-brained yet fundamentally naive Toomie. You don’t have to humor me in an effort to get me to hand in the best possible product. Haven’t you been listening? I’m determined to create a document so achingly beautiful and effective and important that should I drop dead as the final draft is being printed it would matter not the least. And I have already begun this process incidentally. All I do is work on this thing. I’m writing all the time. If you see me staring out a window, I’m writing. As I speak with you now, I’m writing. It’s as simple as that. Nothing else matters to me the way this thing I’m writing does. This job for example is nothing more than a distraction. I should come in on Monday and quit so I can spend my every waking moment and some sleeping ones writing the thing, honing it and perfecting it until it cannot properly be said to have come from me at all.”

  “Speaking of distractions, I understand that with respect to your pending contempt charge they will be conducting, what, some form of hearing in a couple of weeks?”

  “Yeah the fourth, I meant to ask you about that. Can they do that? I mean I’m a dangerous person I admit as much but it’s not like I’m posing an imminent threat to the stability or decorum of a particular courtroom, which is what contempt power of the kind being invoked here is purportedly designed to address. What justifies them in holding this kind of hearing weeks later, and adjudicated by the very aggrieved party no less? It seems like the most they could do in this after-the-fact manner is put me before some kind of disciplinary committee and I would like my chances in that setting a lot better because I could do something like fly the brother of one of the committee members in from Italy to sit next to me so they discern I mean business. I mean I’m no lawyer but I know my rights.”

  “Sounds right but that’s Cymbeline for you. I wouldn’t put it past her to have spoken to the committee and set up some special procedure just for you.”

  “Cymbeline? Who listens to her?”

  “Many, she is the administrative judge after all.”

  “She is?”

  “Of course, you didn’t know that?”

  “No.”

  “You may be the only person in our entire circle who didn’t know that.”

  “Fine, she’s the administrative judge but so what if she is?”

  “Well that means she wields a certain power, not to mention that in addition to holding that post she’s also very highly and politically connected.”

  “Stop, this sounds like a joke of some sort.”

  “Unfortunately I’m not joking.”

  “See you know these things, that’s exactly why I’m going to ask you what I’m about to ask you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I get to have an attorney at this thing. Apparently they don’t want to violate every single rule established through centuries of American jurisprudence. So what do you say?”

  “Sure.”

  “Of course some type of barteristic transaction will have to be worked out to satisfy your justifiably outla
ndish fee.”

  “Of course.”

  “But aside from that I’m a dream client for this reason. I will not bother you with any annoying protestations of innocence. Instead, I acknowledge my guilt. And not a technical, spurious guilt that comes with an explanation either. This is like a pure guilt-concentrate that courses through my very veins like substitute blood. All I ask is that you somehow make it so I can avoid the rightful consequences of this guilt. Fair is fair and I want unfair. I want to admit to wrongdoing, admit I do little else, yet have it lead to nothing punitive. Can you get me that counselor?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Thank you then, it’s settled”

  “I do feel compelled to insert something at this point.”

  “Insert away.”

  “You can’t joke your way out of this one young man.”

  “You haven’t seen me joking at my best.”

  “You also have the in-house charges remember?”

  “Still with the in-house?”

  “Yes and on the fourth as well if I heard correctly?”

  “On the fourth?”

  “Yes, and Deborah Podurk is heading the panel that will be questioning you.”

  “How do you know all this and shouldn’t I know this stuff?”

  “You certainly should, hence my reference to the advisability of you decreasing the mirth factor and maybe paying more attention to these two events that threaten to derail your career.”

  “No can do Toomster. I’m a writer now, nothing more. I have to save Kingg with my prose. The rest is meaningless. Did you say the fourth?”

  “That’s what I heard.”

  “So you’re talking basically a twi-night doubleheader of legal disciplinary proceedings.”

  “It seems, why?”

  “Well if you know your baseball you know it’s very difficult to sweep a doubleheader. The almost default result is a split, but a split on the fourth might do me little good.”

  “I see.”

  “Never mind, we’ll sweep”

  “I can’t help you on the in-house thing.”

  “Where’s Tom anyway? Can’t he just issue some hastily-worded executive fiat instantaneously clearing me of all charges. I mean, isn’t he in charge here?”

  “He’s still on vacation.”

  “What kind of vacation is this?”

  “Exactly, you may have hit on the problem. The vacation may be a euphemistic one.”

  “Good grief.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What’s it like being married anyway? You’re never really alone, not the way I am. Do you even remember being alone?”

  “Sure.”

  “If I were you I wouldn’t remember it, not for a minute. Anyway it’s all about the Kingg right now. All Kingg all the time, you think it would help if I took some kind of formal vow?”

  “Vow?”

  “Yeah you know, if I vowed to save Kingg’s life, don’t you think that might help? I mean a vow is a serious thing isn’t it? More serious than a pledge right? Has a vow ever been broken? Has one ever been disavowed?”

  “Sure otherwise we wouldn’t need the term.”

  “I’m not sure that’s true but I’m not going to be vowing anything anyway so it doesn’t matter. Thanks for representing me though.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I’m going home to work on Kingg.”

  “Okay but by the way, what are those marks on your neck? Are those bruises?”

  “Don’t be silly. What would I have to gain from having bruises on my neck? See you Monday Toom. And remember; it’s all about the Kingg!”

  “Elvis Presley? That king?”

  “No Conley, not the fucking king of rock and fucking roll.”

  “Who then? The king of pop? Of all media?”

  “No, the king of nothing, meaning not the king of anything. Kingg. Jalen Kingg. Of death row. My client.”

  “I see.”

  I turned, semi-waved, then walked away meaning the conversation was unequivocally over and I would not have to discuss anything odd or far-reaching. It meant I was alone, all the doors I passed closed but an incredibly open window somewhere excreting a plaintive whistle, walking but sensing that the air immediately behind me was being disturbed.

  “Where you headed?” Conley confirmed. I turned to face him, looking him in the eye but feeling detached.

  “Home to save Kingg,” I said.

  “I’ll walk with you, where do you live?”

  “Not sure,” I resumed walking. “You part of this committee I have to go before?”

  “No, I hate anything committee-like. I believe strongly in tyranny and capricious rulings.”

  “You know anything about it?”

  “Just that Debi’s heading it and she’s determined to take you down.”

  “Why?”

  “No idea but it’s definitely personal.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “What else could it be? Business? Aren’t those the only two choices?”

  “Personal how though? What have I done to her?”

  “Did you make her laugh?”

  “What?”

  “Did you make her laugh because she hates to laugh.”

  “Don’t think so, but I have tried.”

  “There you go.”

  “No, that can’t be it.”

  “Fine don’t benefit from my hard-earned wisdom.”

  “When did Debi get all this juice anyway? Where the hell’s Tom?”

  “Vacation.”

  “When’s he coming back?”

  “That’s classified.”

  “Classified what?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What’s it been classified, that’s what.”

  “I miss your meaning.”

  “Well you just said the information is classified, so classified what?

  What classification has it been given?”

  “No no no. Classified speaks for itself. It’s a res ipsa that loquiturs or I suppose more accurately a res that ipsa loquiturs. Bottom line is if something’s classified then no one can know it.”

  “That’s silly. Someone has to know it otherwise how could the determination have been made that it should be classified? Aside from that, just saying that something has been classified without more is almost senseless or at least highly unhelpful. Now if you tell me that something has been classified top secret, for example, now you’ve told me something meaningful, namely that only those with clearance to disseminate top secret material can be provided the information. Is that what you’re telling me? That the date of Tom’s return has been classified top secret?”

  “That’s classified as well.”

  “Never mind.”

  “Besides, what are you worried about that toothless committee for? What are they going to do to you regardless of Debi’s designs? Fire probably the best young attorney to come through here since me? The only part of your body you have to worry about is your wrist because that’s what’s going to get slapped. On the other wrist, what you should be concerned about is Cymbeline, since by all accounts her animus towards you is both personal and business and that’s the worst kind.”

  “How’s it business?”

  “How? You do know Cymbeline’s the administrative judge don’t you?”

  “Of course, everybody knows that. But how does that make it business?”

  “Poor Casi, don’t you know this thing stretches all the way to Albany?”

  “Albany? Stretches? What are you talking about?”

  “What Albany? Did I say Albany?”

  “Look, truth is I don’t give a fuck about either committee or whatever you want to call them. All I care about is writing. Writing this Kingg thing and saving his life with it. That’s all. The rest is bullshit and meaningless.”

  “Now you’re on to something unmitigatedly true. You’re right to peg all this stuff as meaningless and that includes by the way, and
forgive me for saying this, your deposed king on death row.”

  “Wrong.”

  “Actually the only thing that matters at this moment in time is Dark Energy.”

  “ . . .”

  “Did you hear me? Dark Energy.”

  “I heard you.”

  “You heard me, sure, but do you know what it means?”

  “What about the genome project? It no longer matters?”

  “That matters too of course but in a slightly different realm of human activity. You know about Dark Energy right?”

  “What about it?”

  “You know how Einstein when he checked his relativity math saw that it described a universe that was expanding and since he firmly believed it was not actually expanding he then created and threw in his cosmological constant to make the equations work and the universe they describe stable? You know how when it was later confirmed, by Hubble and others, that the universe was in fact expanding Einstein called the cosmological constant his biggest blunder? Well I guess it’s the mark of some people’s genius that even when they think they’re wrong they’re actually right as we now have Dark Energy, which certainly appears to exist and which functions very much like the constant.”

  “I know all this, now tell me why Dark Energy is the only thing that currently matters.”

  “You see we now know that the universe is not only expanding but it’s expanding at an accelerating rate. Think about that for a moment. The old picture was of a Big Bang followed by expansion until, impelled by gravity, all of the matter in the universe begins to attract itself at a rate greater than the rate of expansion causing the universe to contract and contract until it ends in the Big Crunch. Of course when cosmologists looked at the universe and took out their calculators they saw that there had to be a lot more mass and matter than they could account for, meaning the universe was full of not only what we could see but also an invisible Dark Matter that fills over ninety percent of it.”

  “I have to go Con.”

  “Okay let’s stay with Dark Energy then. Perhaps I have not adequately conveyed the sheer enormity of the accelerating expansion. The acceleration suggests there’s not going to be any big crunch after all. The universe will continue to expand infinitely! The universe is basically immortal and it is so thanks to Dark Energy which overcomes the attractive force of gravity with its own repellent force that drives the universe’s expansion. Do you follow me?”