Alexander: [Alexander Trilogy Book Two]

by Stan I. S. Law

  “Like a new born baby,” Alec agreed.

  “Ah, ‘tis good to be young...” Doctor’s wise eyes drifted to some distant place Alec had never visited. And then he just said: “aaah...” And that was that. The next moment he was giving Alec instructions about their impending departure for Rio.

  Whatever the Professor’s age and memories, Dr. McBride lived in the present.

  To the fullest.

  ***

  5

  Family Reunion

  Finally, after three days in Rio de Janeiro, two in Buenos Aires, and two in Bogota, Alec collapsed on his own bed, in his own apartment. His back hurt as though he’d been playing tennis for hours on end. His shoulders and elbows were competing with his legs and hips for degrees of stiffness. By the time he got back to Montreal, the dull pain was beginning to affect his ability to concentrate. He was sure a short rest would be as good as a cure.

  His anger was rising.

  Four lectures do not a reputation make, but it was a start. According to Des, a good start. Alec thought otherwise. The upstarts dared to question his assumptions. Just who were they, the has-beens, the never-having-made-it critics?

  Next month he was booked at Harvard and the week after that he’d been invited to the Mecca of the daring, the think-tank Desmond called the Santa Fe Institute.

  “If you can make it there, you’ll make it anywhere,” the Professors assured him, which was enough to scare the living daylights out of Alec and his budding career.

  “Shouldn’t we wait then?” he asked wearily.

  “What, and get some upstart ham to steal your idea?”

  What idea, Alec mused, but tried hard not to show his frustration. Most of them didn’t even begin to understand it. Still, the professor must have been very serious because the rolled ‘rs’ were missing.

  Alec couldn’t really object to becoming Desmond McBride’s personal project. In truth he needed the advice and the expertise. Specifically, he was told, in no uncertain terms, to stay away from any mention of psychophysics, telepathic projections, or quantum-psychotics.

  “Apart from it sounding silly, it isn’t what you’re doing, in spite of the ravings of the popular press.” And the Professor threw before Alec a headline from the local rag:

  CANADIAN SCIENTIST

  TRAVELS THROUGH TIME

  A new Theory of Information

  The mention of “Theory of Information” was miniscule, almost illegible. The Sci-Fi angle sold the newspapers––it did nothing to help Alec. It could well have hindered his progress.

  He clenched, then grinded his teeth. He did his best to calm the storm was brewing inside him. Thankfully, Desmond had just given him two weeks off to collect his thoughts, and to spend some time with Suzy. God knows, he needed that. He flew to Canada by the first available seat.

  And what a reunion it was!

  Alec’s airplane was scheduled to arrive so late that he chose not to tell Suzy about his arrival in case she’d offer to pick him up at Dorval. It was a good half-hour drive to and from the airport, plus the usual waiting after an international flight—at three in the morning no fun at all. He took a cab, crept into the apartment and then, into the bed. He was sure he hadn’t wakened Suzy until... until she threw one arm over his chest and whispered in a drowsy, amorous voice.

  “You must hurry, darling, my husband might be home any minute.”

  He liked the ‘husband’ bit, but... He bit his lips.

  The next minute Suzy relaxed them with a prolonged, hungry kiss.

  “Gotcha!” she said. He could see her grin in the moonlight.

  For the next three days Alec had to continue reassuring her that he was actually never fooled. It wouldn’t do to admit that for a split second his heart did stop beating. Perhaps a little longer. After all, how could she have known that it was him? Anyway, he’d missed her ‘something awful’. He missed her touch, her look, her humour––even when he was on the receiving end of it. But most of all he missed that way she looked at him when he described the events of the past ten days. The way her eyes searched his face, he felt as though he was the most important person in the whole world. In the universe. It wasn’t something he’d earned, or deserved. It was a free gift that she bestowed on him. It was just one of the multitude of reasons why he loved her.

  And then, after three full days of dodging corny remarks, he asked her point blank.

  “Just how did you know that it was me, climbing into your bed?”

  “Oh, that? Dr. McBride called me. Apparently you were in such a state when he left you in Rio that he wanted to make sure you’d given him the right telephone number.”

  “So you knew all along...”

  “The Prof sounds like a really nice man. But he does speak with a funny accent.”

  “Only when he wants to,” Alec murmured, his mind trying to connive a way to get even with her. And then he gave up. After all, he could have asked her the same question three days ago, couldn’t he?

  “Dare say you’re right. He’s probably the nicest man I’ve ever met. In the scientific community, anyway,” he agreed.

  “Second nicest,” and suddenly she was in his arms, all demure. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

  “Not during the last ten minutes. Anyway, I expect no less what... with eighty K flowing into our bank account?”

  “Eighty thousand dollars US,” she corrected.

  “Whatever,” he said. He had more important things to do than to argue, when she was in his arms. Much more important.

  As for Suzy, her routine was a lot less exciting. She taught, she went to see her parents, once dropped in on his. His father was ill—something to do with lungs. They, the physicians, weren’t sure but apparently emphysema had set in. There was a time when dad had smoked quite a lot. He quit more than twelve years ago, but living downtown in Montreal didn’t help either—a city proliferated with open fireplaces and barbecues.

  She asked Alec if she could invite them all to a family reunion; she’s asked him not to solicit his permission, but rather to find out if he felt up to it, so soon after his trip. She thought they had so much to celebrate. Although they shared about a dozen friends, as is so often with avid sailors, none of them lived within an easy travelling distance. They had many acquaintances, but she wanted to share their good news just with the family. Alec, of course, agreed. It would have been the wrong time to tell her about his lingering aches and pains. At times, he felt as though something was eating him on the inside. Anyway, he expected them, the pains, to go away, any time now.

  They set a date for next Saturday. Suzy had Friday off, and together they would take time to do the shopping and prepare a sumptuous meal. Alec also made sure that there was a Magnum of Champagne. Well, of brut bubbly, anyway. Made in Spain.

  “Let’s do this properly,” she agreed. “Do you realize that we never celebrated your Ph.D.? We’re way behind in drinking to your health.”

  “A punishable offence,” he agreed once again.

  And then, quite out of the blue, she asked him, “Have you been peek-a-booing lately?”

  In the tumult of the last week he’d completely forgotten about his reputed little peccadilloes. Also, he still had some reservations if his purported space-shifting was not part of Suzy’s overactive imagination.

  “Why, no... I suppose not. No one has said anything. Why, have I?”

  She looked at him carefully. “I am not sure.”

  “Then, why do you ask?”

  This time the pause was longer. She sat down on the settee and pulled him down next to her. After a while she seemed to have made up her mind.

  “I’ve been thinking.”

  This was enough to make Alec nervous. Usually, virtually always, Suzy was as direct as anyone he’d ever met. This sudden hesitation was not like her.

  “Promise you won’t be angry?” she prodded.

  “Why on earth should I be angry? I don’t hold monopoly on thinking...” he trie
d to be flippant, but luckily Suzy ignored that.

  “It has to do with Sandra.”

  “What?” He half rose to his feet.

  “Relax, darling. It’s nothing sinister. And it’s not jealously. I’ve had lots of time to think while you were gallivanting all over romantic South America. Some thoughts came to me, and I would like to share them with you. OK?”

  “Of course, go right ahead.”

  But he was still nervous. Admittedly he’d spent altogether too much time recently thinking about Sandra. He hadn’t meant to, but, well, there was Machu Picchu, the recurring memory of the Home Planet... One way or another, it all had to do with Sandra. But his thinking had to do with getting rid of Sandra from his memories, with freeing himself from childish distractions.

  “You realize that all I know––I know from you. My understanding could be going off on a tangent. But I’ve been watching you. Most of the time you are relaxed, almost boisterous, and then your eyes seem to drift away as if your thoughts, your very soul were elsewhere. Are you aware of that?”

  He didn’t answer other than clearing his throat. Her observations may have had something to do with his attempts to cover his overall physical stiffness.

  “Well, from what you told me, way back, there are a number of characteristics that Sandra exhibited on different occasions. Briefly, she said that she was always with you, yet you did not always see or detect her presence. Then, she seems to have an incredibly wide knowledge not only about your own activities, but also about just about anything you cared to mention. She was, I hesitate to say, omniscient?”

  She looked at Alec seeking confirmation. He nodded slowly. His memories of Sandra flooded his mind in successive waves. Even as Suzy talked, his imaginary Princess was taking shape as though the years since he was fourteen melted into oblivion. It was hard to believe that his time with Sandra, real or imaginary, had taken place more than ten years ago. And that it had lasted for less than a year. How come it had left such an indelible mark on his memory? He tried to push the memories back where they belonged. Way back.

  “Then, we have her ability to travel through time, or, what is more fascinating, she seemed well-aware of your travels even when you thought you were on your own.”

  As Suzy persisted with the subject, Alec withdrew his resistance and allowed memories of Sandra to fill his awareness. Almost immediately he felt better. Even the stiffness in his joints seemed to recede, if only slightly. All within seconds. Apparently hysteria is not limited to women, he thought.

  “She did say she was always with me,” he interrupted for the first time.

  “Exactly. Invisible, often not manifesting her presence in any way, virtually omnipresent, omniscient... does this remind you of anything?”

  Alec remained silent. Sandra had been very, very real. On the Home Planet, as real and as solid as he was. He said as much.

  “And yet...” Suzy looked down at her hands playing with his own. “And yet, she was equally as invisible as the air, when she chose to be.”

  “That’s true.”

  This time Suzy’s eyes seemed to drift away and rest on something far away. “And yet, from the moment you and she became one, from the moment you merged, she lost her will.”

  He, himself, was beginning to shine, as though all the galaxies within him emitted their own heretofore-constrained radiance. For an ephemeral instance he saw himself, as though, from outside. He saw a brightness of a thousand stars, ney... a billion points of light dancing a dance of celestial harmony.

  “What do you mean by that?” He was startled. He was also fighting back memories with all his might. It was a losing battle. He wanted to shout at Suzy to stop. Yet his throat was dry.

  In the essence of this brightness that burned his eyes he saw Sandra.... made up exclusively of light. Purest of all light. In the next instance he merged with this radiant phantom. They fused into a single entity. An entity of light.

  “Up to the time of, let us call it, merging, she was the one who’d chosen whether you’d see her or not. She was the master, mistress—might be a better word—of her ‘life’ so to speak. And now? Can she still do all she wants? Or is she limited by... well, by your limitations.”

  “I love you, my Prince,” he detected the very last emotive thought as if coming from the outside of his own being. And as he consolidated his oneness with the glorious body of light he whispered with the same ardour: “I love you for ever more, my Princess. You are my life.”

  In the next segment of eternity they become one.

  ‘One doesn’t limit a Princess,’ was his first conscious thought. It felt as though a great load was lifted from him only to return with an even greater weight. Or was it commitment? A greater duty? Responsibility?

  “Why are you saying all that...?” he said in a halftone, his mind slowly returning to the present.

  “Because I think Sandra is asking for a fair shake.”

  What a strange way of putting it, he thought. Why does it sound so right?

  Then he shrugged. I’m a scientist, he told himself. But at some level of perception, he was beginning to feel himself slipping into a groove. Brilliant ideas of his immediate past remained just there––in the past. He felt himself being drawn into the entrenched mentality of The Establishment. Scientifically, I’m an old man, he mused. I’ve done it all. There is nothing new for me to do. Even my bones tell me that. And it’s all Sandra’s fault. I’m sure of it!

  Was Sandra asking to play a greater part in his life? Was she demanding that he fulfill his allegiance, his sworn promise of eternal love? How does one love a part of oneself? Isn’t that a form of exalted egocentricity? A form of Narcissism gone wild?

  Even worse if Sandra was in fact a figment of a boyish imagination...

  And then a strange thought shot through his mind––the next instant it was gone. The thought didn’t make sense. It was neither deductive nor inductive; it was as fleeting as a wisp of smoke on a windy day...

  What if I am a figment of her imagination?

  Am I a butterfly dreaming I’m a man, or am I a man dreaming I’m a butterfly, was his last thought before finally falling asleep.

  The next moment he felt wide-awake. He was paralyzed from the neck down. He couldn’t move. What’s happening to me? He saw himself lying in a double coffin next to his father. Am I dead? Is this what being dead feels like?

  And then something kind, very kind and loving seemed to caress his tired nerves. He felt the comfort a baby feels in his mother’s womb. It was dark and cozy and warm. And restful. And very, very safe.

  I must still be asleep, he thought. Please God. Let me be asleep.

  When Alec awoke, breakfast was ready. It was nice to be spoiled. It didn’t happen that often, if ever. As Suzy was working, he prepared her breakfast more often than she did his. He smiled at the thought. He wondered if Suzy, now that he’d become the official breadwinner, would continue to work.

  “Sue,” he asked, over the second cup of coffee. “Do you think you’d find time to take a trip or two with me? I mean on my lecture tours. We could afford it, you know?”

  “And what would happen to my poor Anglophones starving for the word of Molière?”

  “Dare I say no one is indispensable?” he prodded.

  “It’s nice to think one is, at least sometimes.” Her tone was almost hurt.

  “You are to me, Sue. I miss you when I’m away...”

  He watched her from the corner of his eye. Would she see through his charade and laugh?

  “You are striking just the right chords, my lord. But I can see through your game. You want to make me into a kept woman so that I’ll have to marry you.”

  “The thought never crossed my mind!” he protested.

  Only later, well after breakfast, did Alec realize that the stiffness in his joints had receded into some murky past. The dull pain felt like a distant memory. He also had a strange feeling that he’d been forgiven. Only he had no idea for what...<
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  Mom and mom, dad and dad, all four, gave a good impersonation of a coop of agitated peacocks for whom, or for which, the walls of the apartment were too constricting. John Norman walked in holding cuttings from at least two dozens articles mentioning Alec’s name. He appeared to have bought out the Peruvian, Brazilian, Argentinean and Colombian presses in addition to anything he could get a hold of from Canada and the US. Judging by his tone and demeanor, he considered himself solely responsible for Alec’s meteoric rise to fame.

  “I knew it,” he rambled, “I always knew it!” he proclaimed, his voice filled with pride and authority.

  He wielded the evidence before everyone’s eyes, translating, rather badly, the Spanish and Portuguese words immediately preceding, and those following, Alec’s name. The subject itself seemed of lesser importance. The value lay in the number of times Alec’s name and title appeared in every article. The old man was as proud as Punch. His own dad brought double the number of computer printouts, and proffered them as indisputable evidence that he’d sired, all by himself, an irrefutable genius. The two moms danced around Alec as if he was a Hollywood celebrity, only much more important. They both laid claim to having foretold his magnificent future, present at present, yet undeniably even brighter future.

  There may have been just a grain of truth, in this spontaneous adulation. Taking time off from his work, sequestered in Suzy’s arms, Alec had no idea what effect his lectures had had on the world outside his apartment.

  His dad was the first to propose a toast.

  “I am sure I speak for all of us...” he began, knowing full well that John would much rather speak for himself, as would probably the two ladies. He spoke of Alec’s youth, the cups he’d won at tennis, the medals bestowed on Alec’s chest for swimming, the top marks he boasted at school.

  “May he live long and prosper!” Dad said, even as a frog seemed caught in his throat. There was no time for him to delve into his son’s academic achievements, because John Norman rose, raised his own flute and said in his deep, sonorous voice, “Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Dr. Alexander Baldwin, Ph.D.”