by Terry Bisson
“Cleverly disguised as a fireman?” said the Imam with a smile.
“NYFD Chaplain. I’m on a kind of a ceremonial mission here today. That accounts for the full dress get-up.”
“Watch the closing doors,” said the operator.
The elevator started up.
The two young men at the back held hands silently. The Marine stood beside them stiffly, as if at attention. The lawyer in the Italian suit stared curiously at the elevator operator.
The little girl covered her ears.
“My ears hurt!” she said.
“That’s because we’re going up very fast,” said the operator. “Almost a thousand feet so far. We’ll stop at the 78th floor and you will change elevators. That one will take you to—”
The elevator stopped with a sickening bump. The lights went out.
“Mommy, it’s dark!”
“What happened?” her mother asked, alarmed.
“Not to worry,” said the operator, with a thick New York accent. She got on the phone. “It’s a power failure, temporary. They say it’ll be ten minutes.”
“It’s dark, Mommy!”
“Don’t worry, little girl,” said the priest disguised as a fireman. He found her shoulder with his hand. “Perhaps we should introduce ourselves, to pass these few minutes till we are moving again. Have you ever made friends in the dark before?”
There was no answer.
“I am Father Mychal Judge, but you can call me Father Mike.”
“Imam Habib,” said the Imam. “Visiting your beautiful city from Baghdad.”
“Another beautiful city,” said Father Mike. “And an ancient one. The cradle of civilization.”
“You are welcome in the cradle at any time,” said the Imam. “It’s a World Heritage site now, you know.”
“I been there,” said a rich black voice from the back of the car. “I was assigned to the UN Friendship Force sent to help in the Restoration.”
“An exemplary mission,” said the Imam, finding the Marine’s hand in the dark and shaking it. “Especially since so many here, as well as there, were so eager to loose the Dogs of War. And your name, young man?”
“Washington, Caleb, Master Sergeant, USMC. Proud native of Harlem, USA.”
“My brother’s a Marine,” said the little girl’s mother. “I’d be proud to shake your hand, if I could find it.”
“A pleasure, ma’am.”
“Ouch!”
“Sorry ma’am. Guess I’m a little nervous. Don’t mind choppers but don’t much like elevators.”
The elevator operator made another call. “They’re working on it,” she said. “Thank you for your patience.”
It was very dark. In the distance, they could hear an alarm bell.
“I’m not afraid,” said the little girl. “I’m five.”
“I was five once,” said Father Mike. “Long long ago.”
They all laughed. It made a nervous sound in the crowded elevator.
“I believe you mentioned a ceremonial mission,” said the Imam, restarting the conversation.
“Yes, yes, of course,” said Father Mike. “I come here once a year to bring a few flowers. And to say a prayer from the highest point in our city. It’s a personal ceremony, to honor the firefighters that we lost in the past year.”
“That’s lovely,” said the mother.
“Not so lovely this year, I’m afraid,” said Father Mike. “We lost eight this year. That’s a lot.”
“I’m sorry,” said the Imam. “But why September?”
“I come every year on September eleventh. Nine eleven, nine-one-one. It’s sort of symbolic. Emergency number. I knew these boys.”
There was a long silence. The operator made another call. “They’re working on it,” she said.
“Thank you for not thanking us for our patience again,” said Father Mike, trying to lighten the mood.
No one laughed.
It was awfully dark.
“You two are awfully quiet,” said the Imam, speaking into the darkness. “Where are you from?”
“Beirut, Imam,” answered a shy voice. “But we’re not Lebanese. I’m Ali, I’m Palestinian. Ben here is Israeli.”
“Romeo and Julio,” said Ben with a laugh. “And we’re here on a sort of ceremonial mission too. Nine eleven is also our special day.”
“Oh, really,” said Father Mike. He was hoping for more, but there was just a long dark silence.
It was broken by the elevator operator.
“I believe we have a lawyer with us,” she said. “Perhaps he’d like to testify.”
Another voice came from the darkness, with a slight Spanish accent: “She is right, I’m that dread creature, a lawyer. The name is Al. I’m from Texas, in New York working with the Human Rights Commission of the UN.”
“The new anti-torture protocols,” said the operator. “That’s good work, and about time.”
“How did you know about that? And how did you know I’m a lawyer?”
She laughed. “Your shoes. I’m a lawyer too.”
“Operating an elevator? Not that…”
“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” quipped Father Mike.
“It’s sort of a special assignment. About a dozen years ago, some misguided souls tried to blow up this very building, and I defended them. A little too vigorously, perhaps.”
“Lynne Stewart!” the lawyer said. “I thought you looked familiar. I signed the petition in your case. It was very unfair, trying to disbar you. But …”
“I’m doing community service. It’s a penalty, but a rather enjoyable one.”
“I admire your work,” said the lawyer. “The General Amnesty especially. That got a lot of people out of prison.”
“We met in prison,” said Ali from the darkness. “Romeo here was a guard.”
“And Julio was a prisoner,” said Ben. “That was before the Peace Accords of course.”
“And before the anti-torture protocols for sure,” added Ali.
Fumbling in the darkness, they all shook hands, clumsily. “You’ll have to excuse my left,” Ben said. “Ali and I are holding hands all the way up. It’s an essential part of our private ceremony.”
“Oh, really?” said Father Mike. This time he was rewarded with an answer:
“Yes, five years ago, exactly, on nine-eleven, two thousand and one, we …”
“We’re moving again!” squealed the little girl.
And indeed they were.
The lights came on. They all looked around at one another shyly, as if they had just met, which indeed they had.
The door opened onto the 78th floor skylobby.
“We’re all one party now,” said the lawyer, hesitating in the elevator door. “I wish you could join us at the top.”
“We all have our work to do,” said the operator with a smile. “The Up elevator is over there. This one’s going down.”
The top of the building was flooded with sunlight. The little girl ran and looked over the east side, at the tower’s giant twin. Her mother and the Marine followed close behind.
The lawyer stood alone in the center. “I don’t really care for heights,” he said.
Father Mike walked to the north parapet, looking overthe city. He crossed himself and wiped away a tear. The Imam stood at his side. “Mind if I join you in a prayer?” he asked.
He didn’t, and he did.
After a moment they joined Ali and Ben, who were looking out over the Hudson toward New Jersey to the west.
“You mentioned a ceremony,” Father Mike said.
They were arm in arm, no longer holding hands.
“Five years ago today,” said Ali, “we were in despair. We had run away to NY to be together but we couldn’t forget our families, our people, all that strife and sorrow.”
Ben looked around to make sure the little girl wasn’t near. “We chose nine-eleven for the same reason you did. A call for help. We were going to end it all. We came up
here to jump, and die hand in hand.”
“God have mercy!” said Father Mike.
“He did,” said Ali. “Just as we were about to step off a plane passed over. A 767. A most beautiful craft.”
“Ali’s an aeronautical engineer,” explained Ben. “But even to me, it looked like an angel of mercy, reflecting the light. An angel of peace and world unity.”
The Imam nudged him. The little girl was approaching.
“And you know the rest,” finished Ali. “We decided to go home to the Middle East and work for peace.”
“Courageous work,” said the Imam. “Especially when so many there, as well as here, were so eager to loose the Dogs of War.”
“Aren’t you repeating yourself?” asked Father Mike. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
The Imam shrugged extravagantly. “Religion is all about repetition.”
“So is love,” said Ben.
“Here.” The little girl held out the daisy. “Mother said you were gay!”
Her mother, behind her, blushed.
“Daisies are gay too!”
“So they are,” said Ali, taking the flower. He kissed her on the forehead and handed the daisy to Ben.
“Thank you,” said Ben. “You never told us your name.”
“It’s Veronica. I’m five.”
“You’re the hope of the world, Veronica. Now let’s give this daisy to the wind.”
And he did.
“There’s a lovely Irish bar on Chambers St,” said Father Mike, pressing the down button. “I don’t indulge these days, but I’d love to stand a round.”
“I’m not a drinker,” said the Imam. “But I’ll come along and have a lemonade with the ladies.”
“I like white wine,” said the little girl’s mother.
“I could stand a cold Harp,” said the Marine.
“Ditto,” said Ben and Ali, together.
“I picked up some cigars on my way through Havana last month,” said the lawyer. He reached into his Italian suit and handed one to each of the men. “We can smoke in the bar, right?”
Father Mike rolled his eyes. “This is New York City!” he said.
“Here’s the elevator!” said the little girl, whose name was Veronica.
Ali and Ben held hands all the way down.
BYOB FAQ
Where do you get your BOBs?
From you! Each and every BOB is unique, custom designed to order for each individual BYOB client. Your personal BOB, neurally mapped to your specs from an approved and tested BYOB blank, will be unique and like no other.
Are they really volunteers?
We wouldn’t have it any other way. BYOB’s program begins and ends with free choice, yours and his. BYOB’s blanks are Asian and African males, ages 28-36, who have freely chosen to have their personalities erased and remapped (not just overwritten) in order to have a chance at a new life in the U.S. or Europe.
How are they selected?
With special care. BYOB accepts only healthy mature male blanks, HIV and STD clean, which are cosmetically and medically reconditioned before being neurally reconfigured to make a satisfactory boyfriend, life-partner or husband if you so desire.
How do you know what kind of guy I’m looking for?
You tell us. Simply ENTER your own needs, desires, likes, dislikes and preferences into our proprietary matching database. That’s all there is to it! Unlike older programs, which matched people imperfectly, based on guesswork andapproximations, Build-Your-Own-Boyfriend lets you choose exactly the qualities you want in a life-partner. And then delivers it.
What if I don’t speak computer-ese?
No problem. Our Personal Profile Mentor (PPP) prompts you through each of the twelve major neural networks seamlessly. You just list your own preferences, in your own words: Sense of humor? Does he like cats? Camping? Movies? Bob Dylan or Yanni? Is he the kind of guy who likes to cuddle on Sunday mornings? Your call. You tell BYOB exactly what you want, in plain English, then leave the rest to us.
Will he remember his previous life?
Your BOB comes with a full generic set of memories that is chemically dimmed, giving him a feeling of completeness without the specificity of individual recollection. You and your BOB will begin immediately making your own memories. That’s what relationships are all about!
What about criminal tendencies?
Relax. While it is true that many of our blanks come from penal or military points of origin (POOs), they have been completely erased, not just overwritten, before reconfiguration. There is no such thing as a “criminal type,” and even if there were, such tendencies would not survive BYOB’s “deep cleansing” process. You can order a BOB with the full confidence that he will be a good citizen as well as a good companion.
What if he doesn’t like me?
Unlikely, since your BOB is configured to like the same things you do—which includes yourself! And in the unlikely event that you are not satisfied (in every way) with your delivered BOB, you are free to return him at any time in the first six months after Reception, with only a nominal restocking fee and no questions asked. This happens in only a small percentage of cases.
What happens to rejected BOBs?
They are returned to inventory to be rewritten and reassigned. They have no memory of their reception. You have no responsibility for a returned blank.
Can I choose race or ethnicity?
Sorry. BYOB operates under strict non-discrimination laws. We guarantee only that your BOB will be healthy, pleasant looking with no disfigurements. Most are Asian or African, since EU restrictions prohibit European blanks at present.
Can I add Ls & Ds after delivery?
Of course! That’s what relationships are all about. You and your BOB may discover birdwatching together, dabble in drag racing or explore the mysteries of tantric sex. Up to you! Your BOBs learning curve is matched to your own by our proprietary Neural Acquisition Protocol (NAP).
What if BYOB goes out of business?
Unlikely! Build-You-Own-Boyfriend (BYOB) has been providing life partners to busy career women for almost twodecades, with a documented satisfaction rate of 92.54 percent. We stand behind our services.
What if I don’t want a long-term relationship?
Then our service is not for you. To adopt a metaphor from the stock market, we are not day traders, nor do we short-sell. BYOB is for the career woman willing to make an investment in a long-time partner. Have we mentioned that our BOBs have been reconditioned medically, and are covered by our Comprehensive Health Insurance policy (CHI)? You can and should look forward to a long and satisfying relationship.
Men only? What’s that about?
We do service select gay men, but our service is primarily for women seeking a long-time companion or partner. Current international sex-traffic ordinances prevent our acceptance or reconfiguration of female blanks.
Will I have to teach him English?
Not at all. Your Bob comes with mature language capabilities, which are independent of memory. He may be teaching you, since our Syntax module is based on the Webster-Chomsky proprietary syntax map. He will however be unable to read or write. Many clients regard this as a plus.
Why only English?
Most of our clients are from English speaking countries, for cultural and religious reasons. Language underlays for French, German, and Spanish are in currently in development and are expected to be available soon.
What about accents?
Because our blanks are fully developed Asian and African men, they will come with accents ranging from slight to severe. Since intonation (accent) is muscular as well as neural, it diminishes after activation but never disappears entirely. Many women find this charming, and few find it an impediment to a lasting relationship.
What about citizenship?
Each BOB is awarded conditional citizenship six months after reception. It is among the many things he will be thankful to you for! And while BOBs cannot vote
or own property, they have most of the rights of unconditional citizens. As an added attraction, Canadian or U.S. BYOB clients are granted an extra one-fifth vote. A similar concession is currently being negotiated with the British crown.
Will he long for his old life?
Certainly not. He will remember only that it was unpleasant and will be neurally incapable of remembering any specific incidents or people. His new life with you will be all that is of interest to him.
Will he know that he is a BOB?
Only if you tell him. He will know only that he has a past personality that he is disinclined (and indeed unable) to access. Many women find pleasure telling their BOBs that they have been especially designed to suit them. Many BOBs find comfort in the knowledge that they are “special” in this way. But again, it’s your call.
Will he seek out other BOBs?
Probably not. Our studies show that BOBs in general have little interest in one another. His main interest will be in you, and he is configured to be more than satisfied with that.
What if I grow tired of him?
Why would you? Remember, your BOB wasn’t just matched with you, he was made for you. But in the unlikely event that you wish to discard your BOB at any time after the initial BYOB warranty period, you can do so without legal prejudice by delivering him to Migration Control, since his citizenship is conditional and he is neurally mapped to go without resistance. Your responsibility then ends, and he free to become blanked again, or be returned to his Point of Origin (POO).
What if I have further questions?
They can be submitted in confidence to our BYOB website at www.Bob.bio; or if you wish to speak to a live operator, 1.919.456.8999. Now, may we ask you a question?
What are you waiting for?
Haven’t you been lonely long enough?
Share your life with a BOB who is designed to fit
your life-style and unique personality.
Send for our Profile Initiator today—
Captain Ordinary
“It’s a bird!” said a little boy.
“It’s a plane!” said a little girl.
A man on the street looked up. A perfectly ordinary man, in tights and a cape. It was indeed a plane, trailing white smoke over the city.
