by Ulf Wolf
Ruth drew breath to answer or comment, but Federico held up his hand. “Now, you’ve gone one better in your paper.”
“What do you mean?”
The he laughed, “I mean seriously: the Buddha?”
“What do you mean?”
“Perhaps I’m reading between the lines, but I don’t think so. That’s what you say at the end of the paper. That you are awake. And that those who are awake are Buddhas. That’s how you end your paper: ‘I am awake.’ A point you’re stressing.
Ruth shifted again, and again swung her hair back with her splayed fingers. “What if it were true?”
“What? That you’re Jesus? That you’re a lunatic?”
“That I’m a Buddha.”
Federico looked up and out over the audience, “Is there a doctor in the house?”
Some laughed outright—small explosions, some laughed politely, some laughed with embarrassment because they were expected to, or felt they were, some laughed not at all.
Finally, Federico thought, finally I’ve made a dent in her. And pressed his advantage. “We’ve already established that you’re a smart girl. So, by definition, you’re not stupid. But, apparently, that doesn’t disqualify you as a lunatic. I mean, come on Ruth, the Buddha?”
“A Buddha,” she said.
“The Buddha. A Buddha. What’s the difference? The Jesus, a Jesus. The lunatic, a lunatic. It escapes me.”
Ruth straightened in her chair and asked, “Have you actually read the paper, Mr. Alvarez?”
“Of course. Several times.”
“I take it you don’t give it much credence.”
“I find bits of it hard to swallow, that’s true.”
“What bits?”
“The nothing’s there bit. Unless we look.”
“Hard to swallow or not, the results bore out in four independent labs.”
“I don’t think that’s been impartially verified.”
“You don’t trust MIT, or UCLA?”
“Unfortunately, I’ve been around long enough to know that you can buy pretty much anything these days.”
“Meaning?”
Before Federico had a chance to reply the producer cut in in his earpiece, “Fifteen seconds to commercial. Segue, please.”
“Meaning,” said Federico, now facing the camera. “Meaning that it’s time to offer up some more things to buy. But stay right where you are, we’ll be right back after these words from our sponsors.”
During the sixty seconds that followed, Federico did not look at Ruth, but busied himself with his notes. Ruth looked over at Kristina and Melissa, and also caught Julian’s eye. He tried to tell her something, but she could not make it out. Ananda was looking at Federico, slowly shaking his head. Not in an I-told-you-so way, but sadly.
The producer returned to Federico’s earpiece, “Ten seconds, nine, eight.”
Federico stacked his papers again his lap, and looked into the camera, “And we’re back.” Then over to Ruth, “You were saying?”
“You were actually saying,” said Ruth.
“I was saying what?”
“You were saying ‘Meaning’ and were about to imply that we had bought the test results from MIT, UCLA, QUT, and KTH?”
“Is it so far-fetched?”
“Of course it’s so far-fetched?”
“Research takes money,” said Federico.
“Yes it does.”
“And every little bit helps, no?”
“Have you ever heard of honesty, Mr. Alvarez?”
“Of course…”
“None of these research facilities would sell out, no matter what the enticement. None would violate the researcher’s integrity.”
“That’s your opinion?”
“That’s my opinion. And I believe that if you personally called the heads of these institutions, they would gladly come on the show and state as much in person.”
Federico looked down at his notes again, flipped to the second, then third page. “Johnston 1976. Frost 2011. Blackburn 2012. Tindler 2021.”
Ruth shook her head. “Never heard of them.”
“Each one investigated for, and found guilty of, fraud. Each expelled from UCLA, MIT, QUT, and KTH respectively for the very thing we’re discussing right now, for accepting money to influence a result.”
“I have not,” began Ruth.
“So, it is not so absolutely unheard of as you want us to believe, is it, Ms. Marten?”
“What were the circumstances?”
“My producer will be happy to supply you the particulars after the show,” he said. “My point is that not only is your experiment and the results you claim so far removed from reason as to be ludicrous, but you also—and carefully, from what I can make out—selected institutions known for fraudulent research to verify your findings.”
“I’d like the particulars now,” said Ruth.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
“Can you tell me what they were, in each instance.”
“We don’t have the time for that.”
“That strikes me as rather convenient,” said Ruth.
A few in the audience giggled.
“Trust me,” said Federico, “the particulars bear out, and tend to support that you selected institutions you could manipulate to verify your results.”
After a brief and pregnant silence, Ruth said:
“I have a question.”
“All right.”
“I know that you are aware—since this is very much by design—that you convey the impression to the audience and to the viewer that these four institutions are the only labs to ever, in the entire history of research, have employed individuals who ended up selling out. Have you investigated any other institutions so as to verify that each and every one of those are utterly clean and free of such instances of fraud or questionable behavior?”
“You have to understand, we did not have the time.”
“Again, rather convenient. And, by the way, one of the reasons I agreed to this interview was your—or your station’s—very generous monetary offer. Frankly, we could do with the money.”
“Because you had spent what you had on these bribes?”
“Now, that’s truly ridiculous.”
“I agree. The whole thing is ridiculous.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“But what I don’t understand,” said Federico, and he actually meant this, “is what’s in it for you? Really.”
“Nothing’s in it for me.”
“So why did you do it?”
“Why did we do what?”
“Put on this over-the-top elaborate spoof? What would you possibly hope to gain by fake results? Did you truthfully think you were going to get away with it?”
“Mr. Alvarez, do you honestly believe that we faked the results?”
“Of course I do. You did.”
“And you have verified this, how?”
Ah, walking right into it. “For one, I think we have established here that the institutions you so carefully picked to verify your results are prone to fraudulent research, or selling out as you put it. We also know that you avoided labs that could disprove your experiment, like Fermilab and CERN. We also possess a fair amount of common sense. You’re saying that things only exist because we look. If we don’t look there is no-thing there.”
“That is precisely what we are saying.”
“And then you top this lunacy off by calling yourself Buddha. Who put you up to this craziness? Your mom? I know she’s had her mental health issues in the past.”
“What?”
Federico consulted his notes again, “Not long after you were born, she was committed to psychiatric care for delusional behavior—having long, rambling conversations with you, before you could even talk, believing that you talked back. At least according to her ex-husband’s very illuminating account.”
Ruth Marten’s very blue eyes turned very cold. In fact, they turned frightenin
g. Federico wondered whether he had gone too far here, but done was done. He had planned to use his Charles Marten interview only if needed, but it had been, and now he had.
“Have you no shame?” said Ruth, one word at a time.
“Truth, my dear,” said Federico, and quite condescendingly, “will always out.”
“How much did you pay Charles Marten for his illuminating account?”
“Pay? We didn’t have to pay him anything. I think his only concern was for the truth, and perhaps for your safety.”
“My safety?”
“An unstable mother who most likely put you up to this.”
Ruth looked long and hard at Federico, but said nothing in return. Federico tried to hold her gaze, but found he could not.
Then the young girl leaned back and closed her eyes.
At that point someone in the audience, said “No.” And quite loudly. Then once more, “No.” Federico strained to see who was speaking. Then saw him. It was the old man sitting beside Melissa Marten. Ananda Wolf, if he wasn’t mistaken. And then he said for a third time, and as loudly, “No.”
Who was addressed, and concerning what, he could not tell. But the “No” was definitely an appeal, if not an injunction.
What happened next, however, he certainly could tell. Even though he did not believe it, even though he had no grounds to believe it, he could not help but tell for it was actually happening.
Ever so gently his chair, with him in it, stirred, then began to rise. Had he not been leaning back he would have fallen off. But he was leaning back, and as his feet softly parted with the floor, his surprise was so great that he let go a brief, hysterical laugh—more like a giggle.
The chair continued its slow rise, a foot, two, then three. At about four feet off the studio floor, it stopped. And here it hovered in absolute stillness for a dozen or so of his now violent heartbeats, then began a slow descent.
Someone in the audience screamed. The rest were dead silent.
And equally gently, first his feet and then the chair touched down.
This is when Federico Alvarez discovered that he had wet himself. Warm and moist down there. He crossed his legs to conceal the condition. He looked around, no one seemed to have noticed. The he caught Ruth’s gaze. Steady and cold and knowing. She was something out of some terrible movie, not real at all. He was trying to wake up, trying so very hard to wake up, but there was nowhere to wake up into, for he was already there. And Ruth Marten would not stop looking at him like that.
“Go to commercial,” yelled the producer in his ear, probably for the third or fourth time. But Federico Alvarez did not register, nor was he entirely in control of his tongue right then, so the producer skipped the segue and went to commercial anyway.
The next few minutes can best be described as chaos. Utter.
:
Yes, I did something miraculously dumb. And I could hear, both internally and externally, Ananda trying to warn me, for he saw what was coming.
I was prepared for, and could easily have withstood and responded to any kind of verbal abuse or trick, but I had not counted on this snake of a man going after Melissa. I wanted those words coaxed back into his throat inch by rising inch, and—yes, I should have considered the consequences—set out to do precisely that.
And then I put him back just as gently.
Many of us can do this, it’s easy. But it is also much frowned upon for it really does no one any good. Quite the opposite. Whomever sees a feat like this will normally either consider himself crazy, and that he, in fact, never did see what he thought he saw; or he will accept what he saw, but make a god out of you, which doesn’t help either. Miracles like these (and they always think of them as miracles) are rocks thrown on the path, and I knew that. Obstacles. I knew that. Of course I knew that.
But no one speaks about Melissa that way in my presence.
And, what is done is done. I cannot undo it.
I hear the word “trick” being handed to the audience, and many of them hand it on in turn as they are ushered out of the studio. That must be the official explanation.
But as for those who know this was no trick, well that is another story.
Mr. Alvarez, for one. His producer for two. The television crew, for three. And then, of course, Julian, Melissa, and Ananda.
Ananda’s view, and I can’t say I blame him: “That was an amazingly dumb thing to do. I thought you incapable of such stupidity.”
Now what can you say to that? He is right. It was an unbearably stupid thing to do.
Julian, on the other hand, on the way back to the house, is more interested in how, exactly, had I gone about this—circumventing gravity, as he put it. And Melissa, in two minds: glad, I think, even a little proud, that I had so drastically come to her defense, but plainly worried that I may have bit off a lot more than I can chew. A lot more.
So is Ananda.
Time will tell.
:: 93 :: (Pasadena)
The easiest and most effective way to contain the fire storm that now swept the country and threatened emotional damage would have been to clearly and unequivocally establish “the rising” (as the incident was quickly labeled) as a hoax.
The only problem with that solution was that too many people knew that it was not a hoax, and too many of those people spoke up about it, gladly giving interviews—some even seeking them out, and not only for money but to share what they saw as an incredible event, a miracle even—disregarding KCAA’s moratorium on anyone involved in the Federico Alvarez program as much as whispering to the media.
As a result, much of the media frenzy of the days following the rising speculated not on the nature of the rising—it was a miracle, confirmed by many who were present, and one that most of the country had observed on live television—but on the true nature of Ruth Marten.
Was she a God? Was she a Witch? Was Satan involved? The prevailing Bible Belt view was that God, somehow, did have a finger in this, and the openly asked question was whether this young girl heralded the imminent return of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior. This view soon found broad sustenance and could now be heard over many a small rural radio station.
Some outlets, especially in the less gullible (which is how both New York and Los Angeles media portrayed themselves) metropolitan areas, refused to accept the miracle version of the rising, no matter how many voices offered or supplied confirmation. The laws of physics were still alive and well around the country they repeatedly pointed out, all was still as it should be with gravity. Their conclusion: the rising was a hoax. Elaborate and technically astute, to be sure, but a hoax nonetheless. And also unforgivable.
Judging by the media, nothing else occurred in the country for the few days following the rising. There was only the rising and its fallout.
During the night following the rising, a crowd of reporters, primarily from television but quite a few from the print media as well, gathered outside Melissa’s Pasadena home. The street was crammed with brightly colored vans donning satellite transmission dishes on their roofs; some even double-parked, to the escalating outrage of her neighbors.
Melissa, noticing the growing media horde, called the police requesting protection and they arrived in force at daybreak, cordoning off the entire house on all sides, and keeping the clamoring reporters at bay.
Ananda had not slept much. Not that he slept much anyway these days, but the interview, and Ruth’s rash antics, prevented even a wink of sleep. Also, it seemed that the Melissa, Ruth, and Julian (who was staying the night) had followed the television coverage most of the night, perhaps in shifts. In fact, as he made his way for the kitchen, the television set was still on. He could hear some excited reporter or another holding forth to an empty living room, for they were all gathered at the breakfast table as he entered. None of them looked like they’d slept much either.
Melissa served him up his customary orange, nicely sliced. “We’ve got company,” she said, nodding in the direction of the stre
et outside.
“I saw,” he said, pouring himself some tea, then giving Ruth a pointed glance as he replaced the teapot on the coaster. “They have been gathering all night.”
“It was a stupid thing to do,” said Ruth. “I know.”
“Yes it was,” confirmed Ananda.
“Yes it was,” confirmed Melissa.
“Amazing, though,” said Julian, helping himself to another slice of toast.
“The question is,” said Ananda. “What do we do now?”
“Wait it out,” suggested Ruth. “What else can we do?”
“I don’t think this, or any of the reporters outside, will go away anytime soon,” said Ananda, shaking his head. “You’ve painted us into a very uncomfortable corner.”
“I know,” said Ruth.
“It really did happen, didn’t it?” said Julian, who was not tracking with the damage-control mode of the others; and not for the first time, “You really did it, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” admitted Ruth. “I really did.”
“No one can really predict,” said Ananda, “what happens when a human being sees something that by any stretch of logic is impossible. He simply is not equipped to handle it. He cannot compute, nor can he reconcile. He knows he’s seen it—first his eyes, then his memory tells him so—but it’s not possible that he could have, not within his framework of logic. There are usually only two ways out of this dilemma, for it is a dilemma for him, and always has been: go crazy—simply throw up your mental hands and give up, or turn everything you have and are over to God, seeing the impossible as proof of his existence.”
“That’s a bit grim,” suggested Julian.
“But nonetheless true,” said Ananda, Ruth nodding her agreement, yes Ananda’s right.
“Well, in that case,” said Julian very matter-of-factly. “We’ll have to tell them it was a hoax. Some stations, especially here in LA and in New York believe that already. Several Chicago stations as well.”
Ananda looked at Ruth and then at Julian. “Will they believe us? Or, Ruth, rather.”
Ruth shrugged, “I don’t know.”
Julian said, “Many of the KCAA crew have already told reporters that it was no hoax, that it actually did happen. That’s the problem.”
