Genesis Again

by Brian Dae

  Standing outside the door he knew she would be there waiting for him after these past few years. Something so undeniably strong existed within her that he could never understand why she decided to marry him with all the faults he possessed. Sometimes he forgot attraction went both ways. Guilt welled up inside him for trapping her in this matrimonial bond to someone who deserved nothingness. All this time she tried convincing him to believe otherwise but he wanted it to be because the world made a lot more sense if he did. Life would have been much easier for her if she left him already. Right now he wanted to go inside before being seen by housemakers and retirees lounging around watching their television sets. He must have been the subject of endless gossip and rumor, embarrassing his family with his absence. For someone who had lived there for twenty years his face remained recognizable and aside from a little lost weight he otherwise appeared as if he stepped in a cab and returned the next day.

  It was his son that he could not put down into feelings or words. Teenagers were always hard to understand but even more so when abandoned. Watching them grow from outgoing kids to reclusive young adults made one wonder if they did something wrong, but in his case he already knew that he did him wrong. His own father had never been there consistently but his presence was there the entire time, as if he were some ancient spirit guarding the family home. Cassidy was a true ghost however, and as his son grew older, he grew fainter and less important with every passing day. From the beginning he already regretted all the time he did not spend with his son and now there was a gulf between them. Elena would not blame him for it and this too put guilt on him.

  She watched him from the doorway. Even before he had crossed the long winding footpath to the porch, she was there waiting for him, her smile faint and tired. Raising their son must have been tough on her and he wanted to thank her for it but it was not in him to say so. The second he laid his eyes on her, he already walked out the other life and back into his old one, carrying on where he left everything.

  “Welcome home, Cassidy.”

  “I’m home.”

  Cassidy held her briefly and let go, staring inside the house.

  “Peter is away at, he should be home soon. We should have a seat in the living room.”

  She brought him over like an invalid, guiding him with one arm. The leather couch did not collect dust during this time and reflected the light from the ceiling. He fell back into the chair and the heaviness sank. It possessed the same smell of leather that he remembered it did and felt the small piece of luxury he lacked in the rundown apartment he owned in The City. It seemed such a waste to throw things away.

  “I knew it was going to happen eventually, I received the notice in the mail,” Cassidy said.

  She leaned against him.

  “What do they need from you now Cassidy, isn’t the war you fought already over?”

  “I don’t know, Elena, I really don’t know.”

  They held each other in quiet. Cassidy wanted to ask her so many things and there was no way to communicate the feeling in words. He learned through touch about the time they had spent apart, the nights of separation they shared, and the impossible gap to bridge in the time they were together now. Heat from her body felt unreal to him and he forgot then that he had not touched another person in years and exactly what that meant to humans.

  “Do you want to see Peter, should I call him?”

  “That’s alright, I don’t really know what to say to him.”

  “He looks so much like my father, it’s uncanny. I wonder if he would say the same thing if he saw him now.”

  “I’m sure he would, Elena, he really loved his grandson.”

  “If you leave before Peter comes home, should I tell him anything?”

  “I’m sorry to repeat myself but I really don’t know Elena. I really don’t know.”

  Elena leaned over him and observed his face, caressing it in her hands.

  “Can’t you refuse their request? Can they really force you to go?”

  “There are other men who will be serving with me, fathers and husbands, sons and brothers. These people don’t care about that. The world they see is so much wider than what we see and just as narrow and closed as ours. I can’t escape it Elena, not when they’re signing my checks.”

  “Try to be safe Cassidy, I don’t know how, but try.”

  Cassidy could not help but cry. “I came back last time. I want to come back again and start over with the war finally over. Will you let me?”

  “You don’t need a war to return home Cassidy.”

  “If I’ve ruined your life, I should have never returned from that war.”

  “Whoever made that decision, I’ll thank them Cassidy; I would thank them.”

  They embraced one another. It was pointless to think about the lost time when they could spend it now, in each other’s arms. Cassidy was afraid of being too warm when he had been absent but she was fierce, a fiery spirit who burned at the seams. She grabbed his face and kissed him on the side of his mouth, a sharp kiss that grabbed at his skin. They were clumsy, unpracticed after the stretch of time and awkward in their movements but the passion in their intentions smoothed over the rest, they were experts in loving one another after all. He decided to be more upfront and he guided her off the seat, careful to keep away from it because the leather would crease under their bodies. She smiled and let out a snort, pulling him by the collar as he wrapped his arms around her waist. This dance carried over to the bedroom where they lied together on the bed, just holding onto each other.

  “I’m so embarrassed Elena, I really am. Why was I so stupid to run away and die somewhere?”

  “You just thought they would be a lot more competent, Cassidy. The men you knew wouldn’t have needed to take three years to start another war.”

  Cassidy laid on the bed thinking about what he would do next. Just a few kilometers separated his life in The City and the suburbs. All the difficulty existed in this short distance. Reintegrating himself back home, for however brief that period might be, seemed an insurmountable task. Elena may have accepted him but could he really look into his son’s eyes and still expect to be his father? The lack of responsibility he exhibited was tremendous and he wondered if by just being there in The City, his son was unwilling to go there in fear of seeing each other. To cause such an embarrassment burned away at him. What he experienced was something he had forgotten in The City, the pains of being human. Any animal could feel trapped inside a cage. The emotions welling inside him were repressed for those three years and it struck him all at once and with a fury which rendered him immobile, hit by the strongest shock of his life. He stopped worrying about how things would turn out. He would just live it and be there for once.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Disgusted looks crept over their lips as they watched the crowd outside. Protestors bearing signs and chanting slogans inaudible to those sitting inside formed rings around the Deiderot. These demonstrators called themselves anti-war activists; the ones who appeared before every war but never quite managed to stop the wars from happening. Now that they knew their ministers sat inside scheming of war, their response was to intimidate these same men separated by thirty meters of concrete and behind a centimeter of light-blue glass. Mothers hanging around the edges held their children tightly and surveyed the crowd beneath wide-brimmed hats, thinking of their husbands while young men jostled at the front to shout at riot officers with their fists raised in defiance. Five meters and a fence demarcated the two sides. Its members ebbing and flowing, this delicate resistance attracted little interest from onlookers and media three days in when everyone prejudged the outcome to be pointless. As if knowing the futility of struggling, this civilized protest parted around the entrance to allow vehicles access in and out of the Deiderot, maintaining the free exchange of peoples and ideas. Powerless to force change, only their conscience could be preserved. The ministers watching above swiveled on their chairs to face the veterans lined up against the w
all instead.

  “As the minority, all protests are illegitimate you know. It’s never the majority who are represented in the streets because they’re not the ones opposed to what the government has decided. If we succumb to this loud mob we cease being a democracy. That’s a fact.”

  “There’s no point saying these things in front of soldiers, Minister Smith. They’re not civilians.”

  “That may be the case but I’m only able to speak my mind behind the quiet walls of the Deiderot. In that sense it was well-worth the money to construct,” Minister Smith said.

  They laughed. Cassidy and the other veterans stood at attention unwilling to take a seat in case additional cabinet members or officials might be expected to arrive. As the ministers did not offer them the luxury of sitting down there was no reason to take initiative themselves though, some twenty-odd minutes had passed since they were called in and the less fit among them started to lean their shoulders against the wall. Ministers Smith and Jones stopped their merriment and resumed reading the five page document they held in their hands, taking all their concentration not to put their feet on the table. What stood out about the ministers was the lack of aides whose entire purpose it seemed meant fetching objects of their desire or to be captured audiences they could bounce off wry statements. The nature of ministers demanded they have the attention of those around them and the stiff obedience of middle-aged veterans made poor substitutes for the children of the well-connected. An almost infantile disregard for the guests standing before them contrasted itself with the seriousness of their work and the electioneering personalities they prided themselves on, disconnecting the two images inside Cassidy’s mind. One could hardly imagine what tasks those in government fulfilled daily but the disregard they expressed gave off airs of importance and whatever forced them to work today looked most important. Minister Smith raised one of the documents in the air and read it as if the light from the fixtures could help decipher the text. He held it horizontally in jest and tossed it to the side before grabbing it back. His coworker paused in reading and humored his friend.

  “These are top secret documents for which our country would do anything to defend. It’s surprising how lax our security is. We should probably do something about that.”

  “I’m too old to learn new protocols Jones, wait until I’m retired and then go ahead.”

  “Yes, well if any of the soldiers standing across the table were spies, they would have had the perfect opportunity to catch a glimpse and report it to the enemy. That’s the kind of carelessness which precipitated the failures in the Peninsular Wars. There’s no reason the soldiers have to wait in the room while we finish reading as it only gives us more pressure to read through these documents quickly and that helps no one if we’ve gotten the details wrong.”

  “That’s what happens when they try to involve Civilian government too much in military operations, it just doesn’t work,” Smith replied.

  Whatever training compelled them to give their full attention to these two ministers had been drilled into them deeply without establishing any requirement for respect. Absent reward or punishment this behavior became habit. Unable to turn their heads left or right they started to wonder if the others already left the room. Suddenly the ministers shuffled their papers and laid them face down.

  “Some military officer will explain the specifics of the operation I’m sure, but I don’t know which one,” Minister Jones said.

  “General Adder will,” Minister Smith said.

  “Oh good, he’s well-prepared for that role. Didn’t he give us a brief rundown last month?”

  “Something like that. Say, I think the soldiers should probably take a seat right about now.”

  Sitting across the table the veterans occupied it from one side to another while the ministers sat next to each other at center. Those placed at the edges had to lean closer to try and become part of the conversation as the ministers refused to raise their voices and even lowered them to emphasize secrecy. Able to stare straight into the whites of the minister’s eyes, Cassidy listened intently to judge the words coming out of their mouths. Hundreds of meetings between clients prepared him for the role. Only now the other side tried selling something that could not be refused.

  “The operation you are about to take part in is designated at the level of a “National Imperative.” Because of this classification, you are not to be told the specifics until the night before operations begin. Although we cannot give you any information in advance, we do not expect you all to be involved in any fighting so there is no need to worry about combat readiness. It’s a simple mission but its purpose is of great significance to us in the National Assembly.”

  Expecting worse, they felt relieved to hear the minister’s words and breathed sighs of relief. Minister Smith looked annoyed at their reaction as if he wanted to say something but restrained himself with great effort, constrained by duty while demons tempted his tongue. This ominous expression reignited a spark of fear in Cassidy who knew exactly what they were all valued. None of them could be marched on stage as heroic individuals bearing decorated chests, just people who escaped the battlefield and managed to survive in whatever way they could over the last two decades. If there were ever a time to ask questions it would be now though he knew not what he should ask. Feeling the moment slip away he said anything that came to mind.

  “Will we be recovering something?” Cassidy said.

  The minister looked delighted. A mischievous smile rolled up along his mouth that telegraphed an indelible enjoyment in the situation. His partner appeared less enthused, eyeing the situation with a degree of caution he had not shown before.

  “I am afraid you will have to wait for the general to answer your question,” Minister Jones said.

  Looking relieved at his own interruption, he picked up his papers and started to leave. In doing so, Minister Smith caught the chance to lean forward and spit out a question with an excited voice.

  “Have you ever heard of radio-isotope B512? I’m sure they mentioned it in the news at that time.”

  “Minister Smith, that’s saying quite too much already. I’d advise you to stop before you get an investigation started.”

  This admonishment kept Minister Smith from saying anything further. They retreated outside the room and instructed the veterans to remain until further notice. While everyone exhaled and fell back into their chairs, Cassidy pressed himself to recall anything about the unknown material. It was one of those small footnotes they brought up before the war. Buried deep into the paragraphs of a long-winded article never to be brought up again. Radio-isotope B512. One speculated it served as a code name for the Karkovian nuclear program, one of many floating in the media, but when the war began any need to use these names ceased. Likewise, no conspiracies floated about the Veteran’s Organization using these old terms. At this point it would be too late to investigate further, just another thing to worry about before deployment.

  Walking over to the glass he found it difficult to read the signs and all the training in the world would not improve his eyesight to do so. He surmised there must have been around twenty or thirty thousand people marching outside; a near constant stream remaining within the confines of the Deiderot’s open avenues. Only a few hundred guarded the periphery of the Deiderot itself. Uniformed policemen came out past the barricades and started corralling them away from what looked to be the minister’s motorcade, allowing the vehicle to merge onto the street and drive away. All their protesting must have delayed him five or ten minutes. Soon enough his black carriage faded away. While he watched the events unfolding below, the other veterans began carrying on with light conversation. Finding common ground proved easy for them despite being drawn from different regions throughout the country. Bridging the distance for Cassidy appeared less easy. These veterans served in rear positions and joined near the very end, having the same luck in life by drifting by without a care. Brimming with elitist scorn, he decided to dislike th
em during their introductions in stark contrast to the easygoing attitude he maintained at the Veteran’s Organization. For some reason he found them wanting.

  Another veteran stepped to his side, peering outside. One of the few injured badly enough to be recalled home before the final battle—a stout man sporting wide eyebrows and a peppered gray beard. Everything Cassidy needed to know about the man could be reduced to the badge on his chest. Regiment J. Elite infantry whose reputation had been earned through gruesome statistics. He might rightfully look upon Cassidy as he did the others but instead turned and shook his hand, reintroducing himself as Ralph.

  “It’s good to see someone asking them questions. That’s what I like in a commanding officer.”

  The words brushed off Cassidy’s face and sunk in a second later.

  “I’m basically a civilian now. I’m not going to be the CO,” Cassidy replied.

  “Haven’t seen anyone with a higher rank so far, figure I call it as I see it.”

  A shrill beep came from the intercom system on the table. Moments later the secretary peeled the door open accompanied by security staff. After removing the veterans from the room, they were led in groups of five to the elevators and back downstairs, much like they were summoned upstairs. Only this time it felt less intrusive as they all wanted to leave. Walking outside the front door they were not at all overwhelmed by the protestors outside. Reserving their disdain for politicians the crowd opened a path for the veterans dressed in full military attire to move through, flanked on each side. Complicity in moving lockstep with their hated targets seemed a nonissue to them. For Cassidy the matter felt more complicated. He would not mind a few calling him horrible names if it came from conviction. Instead they carried on by like the birds flying overhead or passing clouds obscuring the sun. An obtuse logic deprived him of personal responsibility when he would rather be feeling guilty. It stung more.