by Gene Brewer
“Only once, if it comes at the right time.”
No response.
“Walter?”
No Walter.
Flower came out to greet me and sniffed around as if someone else had been there. Did Walter have an odor? I looked into the woods and the hills on the other side of the house. The leaves were almost gone, and the world looked dead or dying. With that unpleasant thought we went into the house.
Karen had the usual beverage waiting for me — she must have seen Flower run out and assumed I would be coming in. As we munched on some nuts, she told me that my grandchildren had called again. I reminded her that there were only two days left and we would spend as much time with them as they wanted after that. I took a long drink and told her also about the trip back to our old house in 1979 and ‘89 (or thereabouts), the one that Will and Dawn and their children, two of my grandchildren, live in now. She gave me the same look that she had before — half believing, half not believing me. I understood what she was thinking; if she were me, I would be skeptical, too. What could I tell her? I wished I could have brought back a souvenir to show her, but I explained to her why it didn’t work that way. She wondered whether I had told Dr. Schultz. I promised to do so next time I saw him, which would probably be tomorrow.
“I’ll tell you what. After dinner we’ll go for a jaunt in space or in time together. You choose.”
She stared at me as if I were crazy, or at least joking. “Can we do that?”
“I don’t know. If we hug each other and don’t get separated, it might work. Let’s try it.”
She thought about that. “If it does, maybe you could link arms with everyone in the Security Council! If you could take them on one of your ‘rides,’ they would surely be convinced that you were speaking the truth.”
“I’m hoping Walter might do something along those lines.”
She broke down crying, something that was happening with more and more frequency. “Oh, I wish this whole thing were over!”
I got up and put my arm around her. “It will be soon, honey. In the meantime will you go with me tonight after dinner? It won’t take any time at all, I promise.”
“I’m scared. What if we don’t come back?”
“That’s never happened. For all I know it can’t for some reason.”
“We’ll see.”
Another nice dinner — Italian, with a nice chianti. I reflected again on how well government officials eat. Afterward, I let her read my copy of the latest draft of the speech. “Not very poetic, is it?” she remarked.
“No, it’s pretty straightforward. Want to hear me deliver it later on? I’m practicing.”
“Of course.”
After coffee I asked her if she were ready to go to the past. She tensed again, but agreed to try it “this one time.” We came together as if we were going to dance. I thought hard about the last trip and how I got there. Nothing happened. We stood in the living room for several minutes, but went nowhere, notime. “I don’t know what happened,” I confessed. “I guess I don’t really know how it works. Walter never gave me any instructions. It just seemed to happen.”
She looked relieved, but put on a game face. “When you figure out how to do it, we’ll try it again.” As soon as I backed off from her, though, I suddenly found myself back on K-PAX (there is no mistaking the ambience of that planet) even though I had expressed no conscious desire, to myself or anyone else, to go there again. This had to be Walter’s doing. But why? “Walter?”
No response.
“Why, Walter, why?”
Although the position of the sun and a couple of moons were about where they were last time, I was in a somewhat different place — perhaps thousands of miles from where I had been before. I hovered there for a while, trying to figure out which way to go to find Abby, or anyone else. I wandered for a while in what I thought might be a westerly direction when I suddenly realized (I almost slapped my head): why am I creeping along when I could move at any speed I chose? Suddenly I was flying like a low-level jet. I probably zoomed halfway around the huge planet in less than an hour. It was like watching a movie on ultra-fast speed. I passed over countless human-like beings (dremers?) and even more ape-like creatures and all the rest of the fauna of this nearly waterless world, which was sparsely covered with all kinds of low vegetation of many hues — reds, yellows, oranges and blues. Few trees, though, so I could see far, far into the distance in all directions except for where a high purple mountain range dominated the horizon. Even at this incredible speed I realized that it would take me a very long time to find a particular K-PAXian (or human, for that matter), but I realized I had all the time I would need to find Abby, and/or prot and/or fled and all the MPI patients who had come to this world to escape their dismal lives on Earth.
I tried a different direction and was immediately rewarded by spotting my namesake, Robert and Giselle’s son Gene, who was conversing with an individual I didn’t recognize, somewhere between human and ape in appearance (could that be fled’s child?). My godson was a handsome boy, a late teenager by now, who strongly resembled Robert in physical appearance, and Giselle in his bubbling vivaciousness. They were juggling some kind of plum-like fruit from one to other, and when one dropped to the ground, they stopped and ate it. I wished I could have joined them. For that matter, I wished I could ask Gene where my daughter was, though it was unlikely he would know. I watched for a little longer before making my departure.
Much of the surface of this world was the same as every other part, and I realized that it must be hard to meet someone at a particular place. But, of course, K-PAXians were different from us in most ways, and perhaps they never met anyone, but merely ran into someone accidentally. If Abby or any of the others ever came back to Earth, I would ask them about this and a million other things.
I must have stayed there a couple of weeks or more — I lost track of time — and I did finally find fled once, as well as Robert and Giselle and their other child, a girl, and many of the former patients I knew — separately, not together — sometimes more than once as I crisscrossed the globe at a brisk speed. But I couldn’t find Abby. It finally occurred to me that perhaps she had already left K-PAX, and was on her way back home!
I wanted to go home, too, but I still didn’t know how. If I thought about the date and time… That didn’t work. But I remembered where I was and what I was doing when I left for K-PAX, and focused on that, pictured that scene, and voila! I was back in the dining room with my wife. Even though I had been on K-PAX for what I was sure were several days or weeks, no time had passed in the house at all.
I told Karen about the trip. She listened carefully as I described in detail where I had been and what I had seen there, including my godson, and when she heard his name I could see that she suddenly understood that I wasn’t crazy, but that there were things that were beyond human conception and we simply had to accept them. When I told her I believed that Abby had to be on her way home, she grew excited. “It will be so nice to see her!”
“She’s been gone a long time,” I agreed.
We went to my study, where I read aloud the “final” draft of my speech to the UN. Karen suggested I put more emphasis on certain things, but otherwise thought it sounded pretty convincing, especially if Walter were to give another demonstration. “But will that be enough?” I said. “The Russians and the Chinese veto everything that’s put up for a vote.”
“They would vote for more killing even if it meant no humans would be left on Earth? Including themselves?”
“It’s not that they wouldn’t want to survive. It’s that they will probably doubt that this would happen.”
“Then it’s your job to convince them otherwise.”
“That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”
“What about the Eiffel Tower and all the rest?”
“They may think all that was
faked by Hollywood or something.”
“But there are interviews with people who were — ”
“There are countless interviews with people who have been taken aboard alien spacecraft, too.”
“Oh. Yes, I see what you mean.” She thought a moment. “Then your speech doesn’t really mean much, does it?”
“Probably not, unless the Bullocks perform something else during the Security Council meeting. Something that everyone in that chamber can see with their own eyes.”
“Why wouldn’t they be willing to do that?”
“They think they’ve done enough of those to convince ‘reasonable’ people.”
“Who says people are reasonable?”
“Yeah. I know.”
“So what is the speech for?”
“I don’t know. To make their demands official, I suppose. But they said it has to come from me.”
She nodded. “I think you should do the best you can with it in case they don’t show up with more ‘proof.’ Want to read it again?”
I read it through another couple of times, and on the last try I was beginning to stumble on every other word. “Let’s try again in the morning,” my understanding wife suggested.
As we were lying in bed, I did a little experiment. I thought about the scene, just minutes before, where I was stumbling on the phrase, “We must try to make — ” and there I was, watching it happen again. I thought about being back in bed with Karen and there I was. That must be how it works. There are no two situations in a lifetime that are exactly alike. If you can picture the furniture, the people who are present, what is being said, and so on, there is only one such scene in all of time, and that’s where you end up. Could anyone do it? Probably, with a little experience and a lot of practice.
“Well done, Gene.”
“Walter?”
“Were you expecting someone else?”
“No. Where have you been?”
“There are less than two days before your United Nations debut. We visited the Security Council chamber to get a sense of the dimensions.”
“Are you planning something, Walter?”
I could almost see their dead eyes twinkling. “It’s going to be a surprise.”
“Oh, how nice. I love surprises. Especially when the survival of the human race is at stake.”
“Good night, Dr. B. Pleasant dreams.”
They weren’t, but at least I was able to get some sleep knowing that Walter was covering my back, and with thoughts of our daughter Abby’s return dancing in my head.
DAY SEVEN
I’ve had many patients with severe anxiety or depression who woke up one morning and felt none of their usual symptoms. This happens only rarely, but it is a wonderful sight to behold. A patient who shuffles around the hospital is suddenly bright-eyed, smiling, even laughing at almost everything. The other patients gather around them as if trying to catch the “infection.” It usually lasts only temporarily, a few hours or sometimes days, but it is a beautiful thing to see, if only for a short time. Those who experience this sudden “remission” usually report that the fear and sadness “just left me.” There is no known explanation for this temporary “cure,” but it is quite uplifting both for the patient in question and for everyone else who knows him or her.
It was with such a feeling that I awoke on the seventh day of the Bullocks’ visit. I felt happy, buoyed, ready, even eager, to go. Karen and I had a very nice breakfast (I wish prot could have been there to share the large bowl of various ripe fruits), I dressed in one of my nicest casual outfits, kissed her good-bye, gave Flower a good head scratch, and bounded out the door.
There were still a few leaves coloring the woods, the sun was shining, and birds and squirrels were everywhere, fattening themselves for travel or winter. Even the government men seemed to be smiling, if ever so slightly, and both of them nodded to me as I approached. One even said, “Good morning, Dr. Brewer!” A breach of the rules of conduct? With the future of the entire population in jeopardy, of course, I suppose no one would have cared except for the toughest-minded military man. I certainly didn’t. By now I knew the guy, having seen him several times, and I murmured a good morning. That broke the bubble, and his blank demeanor reappeared immediately. For some it’s business as usual even when Armageddon comes.
And then I remembered Walter. They didn’t say anything, but of course I felt their presence. The feeling of elation evaporated, and I was back to the usual crush of anxiety and dread of speaking to some of the most important people in the world. Tomorrow!!! I almost turned around and went back home, but of course that would accomplish exactly nothing. It occurred to me that I could delay my appearance by delving into my past life, continue looking for my daughter, find out why she was never home. But it would just be a stalling tactic, and I would eventually have to return to now.
Or would I? I could be gone for a year, or a century, or even a millennium, and nothing in the present would change. Nor could it. But how long would I want to be without my family and friends, and especially my wonderful wife? Nevertheless, perhaps I could stay somewhere long enough to gather my wits, obtain some perspective, even discover how some people learned to deal with situations similar to the one I found myself embroiled in.
It occurred to me that the past emcompassed more than my own experiences. Could I actually visit ancient Egypt, for example, or watch Leonardo da Vinci paint the Mona Lisa? Witness the signing of the Magna Carta? Maybe even experience dinosaurs roaming the Earth? Could I go anywhere I wanted throughout the entire history of the planet, or was I limited to my own tiny past?
“Anyone can travel to times past, Gene. Go anywhere, visit any time period you like. If you survive the next year, this will some day become one of the chief forms of recreation for your species. You’ll find the instructions for this and so many other things on the cone.”
“But Walter, I don’t have the cone, and couldn’t read it anyway. You never showed me how to go to a specific place and time.”
I heard a grunt. “You’ve done it before, doctor.”
“Yes, but I don’t know how I did it!”
“How did you get back to your childhood?”
“I don’t know! I just sort of pictured it in my mind. But what would I picture in my mind for the time the pyramids were constructed? I don’t know exactly what to picture, and wouldn’t be able to conceptualize any particular person or scene there.”
“Try it. If you make a mistake, try again. You’ve got all the time in the world.”
“But — ” I sensed, however, that Walter was gone for now. I saw that the expressionlesss guards were still frozen in time. What would I like to visit most of all if I could? How about Beethoven conducting his Ninth? I closed my eyes and ran a few bars through my mind, and when I opened them, I recognized immediately the figure of Ludwig von Beethoven at the podium, hair flying, with the soloists and chorus coming to the climax of the final movement. Even though I couldn’t hear the music, the sight was so powerful that I literally gasped. I was a foot away from him! I watched for a minute before I turned and saw that some members of the audience were angrily yelling. Fortunately, the maestro couldn’t hear any of this (nor could I), and the expression on his face was so intensely beatific that I shouted (to no avail) to the audience to shut up. It frankly amazed me that people could be so dense as not to realize genius when they witnessed a new idea that transcended all other musical creation up to that time. I watched as his pudgy, though immensely graceful, hands conducted the musicians, his tails dancing in syncopation with the music.
The barbarism of the audience led me to the realization that violence and cruelty have always been characteristic of humanity. Why is it that people take such pleasure in killing not only anything with legs or wings or fins but even their own neighbors if the opportunity arises? Why do we get so much satisfaction from executions, wh
ich put us in the same category as the rapist or murderer? Why are we all so eager to go to war with another country — any country — under the illogical pretense of striving for peace? I wept for the hardworking Beethoven, who was able to rise above our base nature to ascend to the heights of human achievement. Perhaps that’s why we are so moved by great works of art: for a moment we understand that beauty is counter to our very being, and it suggests what we could be if we could break away from the meanness of our nature. If we could only evolve, and eliminate the stupidity, the cruelty and violence. How stupid we are. We really don’t deserve to survive the Bullocks!
The symphony was finished and poor Ludwig turned to face the snarling crowd. True, there were many who were applauding, but the ugly reaction of some forced him to quickly make his exit from the stage. I followed him into the backstage area, where he was hustled to a waiting coach by some of the concert’s organizers. I watched sadly as the driver urged the horses forward, leaving behind the great man’s top hat, which lay in the dust. For once I wanted to be corporeal so that I could at least touch the silky fabric, hold the brim for even a moment. Take it home to the present time! A few members of the audience chased the coach a little way, but gave up after a block or two. Would they have killed him? Perhaps not, but I knew they were capable of it. I found myself glaring at them with disgust because I knew that inside all of us…
“So you understand now why you have to be removed.”
“You’re here, Walter?”
“I’m always with you, doctor.”
“Did you send me here to tell me that we are all killers?”
“No, you found your way here yourself. Congratulations.”
“Thank you, I’m sure,” I said sarcastically, much as the Bullocks themselves might have responded to something I had said or done. I felt myself wishing I were one of them, having broken free at last from the shackles of our limited minds and bodies, our atavistic need to repeat and repeat and repeat the mistakes of the past with no awareness whatsoever of a bigger picture. “I suppose I should go back and tell the committee that I can’t do it. That our species — we — have always been killers and always will be.”
