Your Fathers, Where Are They? And the Prophets, Do They Live Forever?

BUILDING 48

— I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Sara. I wish I didn’t have to bring you here this way. But you forced my hand.

— What is this?

— You look pretty out of it. I should have used less on you.

— Are you the guy from the beach? Where am I?

— Not far.

— Where’s my dog?

— He’s fine. I have him next door. I fed him.

— My head. I’m so dizzy.

— I’m really sorry. I should have used less on you for sure, given your size. That seems so obvious to me now. I’m so sorry. But again, I didn’t want to do this at all.

— What is this?

— It’s a shackle. It’s loose. Don’t pull on it.

— Why am I here?

— Just to talk.

— I don’t understand.

— It’s easier this way. I won’t harm you. That’s why I’m sitting all the way over here. It’s not because I’m standoffish or anything.

— And what do you want from me?

— Do you remember when I held your hand?

— On the beach?

— Yes. Do you remember what you did?

— I didn’t want to hold your hand.

— Right. And it got strange. So now I want to start over. I realize now that I was too forward down there. You had a right to pull away. It was too much too soon, and now I think we can slow down and talk this through.

— Talk what through?

— I have a proposal for you.

— Is this what you were talking about on the beach? The thing with the boat?

— It is, but I want to explain it better.

— I’m not going off in some boat with you.

— Let me explain.

— Please. Just let me go.

— Sara. Calm down. I’m calm. You should be calm. This is a normal enough situation. We’re talking. I’ve stopped time so we can just talk. I won’t harm you. I even gave you my pillow and sleeping bag. You can lie down if you want.

— I don’t want to. I want to get out. I want to go home.

— Then just tell me why you wouldn’t hold my hand.

— Hold your hand?

— When I tried you flinched and your eyes went cold.

— I didn’t know you. You’re some stranger on the beach and suddenly you take my hand and stare into my eyes like that? What did you want me to do?

— Well, this is where the proposal comes in. If you’ll let me explain. Can I?

— I don’t know.

— Okay. Thank you. First, I want to say that I like you a great deal. I think you’re beautiful, and you’re in many ways the manifestation of the ideals I’ve held for what a woman can be. Is it acceptable that I say that?

— Fine.

— You seem like an independent person. You’re self-possessed. You can be alone. When I saw you from a distance even, I thought that you were someone like me. That you could walk alone on the shore and you sought out that kind of solitude. Is that accurate?

— Sure.

— And when we first met a few days ago, when I saw your face and heard your voice, your candor and your humor, the way you would smile while looking down, drawing arcs in the sand with your toe, I found you to be so charming and humble and warm. And do you remember when you asked me about the scar near my eye?

— Yes.

— No one’s asked me about that in years. I can’t remember the last time anyone cared. And that’s when I took your hand. And I realize it was too sudden. It was too sudden to tell you about my plan, and the boat. I realize that. But I hope you can forgive me for being impetuous. It comes just from a sense of knowing what’s right, and what should happen, and wanting to get started.

— And where are we going again?

— I can’t tell you yet. Not until you agree. But I can guarantee you’ll be safe, and I really know we’ll be happy. I believe in the fulfillment of promises. And all this week there has been a confluence of forces that have brought me many truths and a semblance of progress and completion. Everything was making sense, and many things were coming together, and I thought the manifestation of all that was meeting you. I thought, and still think, that we were placed on that beach at the same time by a divine hand that intended us together.

— So we get on this boat and never come back?

— I don’t know if we’ll come back.

— And if I don’t come?

— Then you don’t come.

— You won’t harm me.

— I would never harm you. I haven’t harmed any of the others.

— There are others here like this? Chained up?

— Just six.

— Oh no.

— No one’s hurt.

— Everyone’s alive?

— Of course everyone’s alive. I’m a moral man. Sara, you have to understand that this has been a certain week when I stopped time and asked questions. I’m just a normal man but I was able to do this and you have to admit that means some other force was at work, right? The first person I brought here was an astronaut. That means something’s happening, right? Doesn’t it mean that I’m touched in some way? That there’s something like destiny at work?

— I have no idea.

— I would never believe in this kind of thing, either. Believe me. There’s no way. But too many things have happened this week, and now I have to submit to all this.

— Submit to what?

— This design. This order of events. I think all of these opportunities were presented to me, in this order, so I could answer the questions I needed to answer, settle all that needed settling, and then start anew.

— I don’t know what you’re talking about.

— I know it’s a lot. And there’ll be plenty of time to explain later. But the thing is, I think this is the end. Time’s running out.

— The helicopters. I knew something was up. They were looking for you.

— Maybe. Someone’s coming soon, sure. With the congressman here it was only a matter of time. And once it gets dark, I figure this is it. We have just tonight to make it out of here. I have a way to get to the water, and I have a strong boat that will take us to the next place. And once we get there, we’ll be free.

— But I don’t want to go away somewhere.

— I know. I know you have a life here. And you don’t know me very well. All I’m asking is that you take this small leap of faith. That you acknowledge the presence of something extraordinary here.

— This isn’t extraordinary. It’s debased. It’s ugly.

— I told you: I didn’t want it this way. I wanted to leave from the beach and that’s why I took your hand. But that didn’t happen, so this did. This is just a means, just a temporary thing. You can see my side of things, I hope. How else would I have a chance to tell you all this?

— I think you’ll have to leave me behind.

— No. I don’t think it’s supposed to be that way. I think the way it’s supposed to end is that you and I go together, away from here. I can’t see how it could be any other way. I mean, I hadn’t planned it this way; I thought I’d leave here alone. But then you were there, on the shore, alone every day, this ray of light. And I knew it couldn’t be a coincidence. For once in my life there was logic, and an orderly procession of events, one leading to the next, every time I had an idea it worked out. I wanted the astronaut and found him. I wanted the congressman and I found him. And the cop— I mean, it couldn’t be chance. It couldn’t be random, especially given at the end of it all I found you. I didn’t even seek you out. I didn’t know I wanted you, but it’s all so obvious now that it was all leading up to this, to us. Now we just have to complete it.

— Not we.

— Yes we.

— I think you’re right that you have to leave soon. Otherwise you’ll be caught, or more likely killed. But you have to leave without me. If you get away, write me a letter. We can start over that way.

— No. I don’t want that.

— Please.

— No. I don’t know how to convince you, but this has to be. It has to be now. Everything depends on it.

— Or what?

— Or I don’t know.

— See, now you’re scaring me.

— I thought you would understand.

— I don’t understand. I’m not some part of your bizarre plan.

— It’s not my plan. It’s the plan.

— No. No. It’s your plan. You did all this. Yourself. This is criminal behavior.

— You know that’s not true. I’m a criminal because I held your hand?

— You’re a criminal because you kidnapped me and brought me here and have me chained to whatever this is.

— It’s a holdback for a cannon, I think. Every one of these buildings has one. They’re incredibly strong.

— I don’t care!

— But you stopped and you talked to me. You smiled a certain way.

— That beach is empty. It always is. You’re the only person for miles. And I talked to you. Anything beyond that was your imagination.

— But why couldn’t I expect that you would be interested in me?

— I don’t know. I just wasn’t. Now look at you. I would venture that I’ve shown pretty good judgment.

— But why else would I be there? Why would you be there? For a second it all made sense. This is the edge of the continent and we’re there alone.

— Right. And even that first day, I saw something sharp and desperate in your eyes, and the fact that you currently have me chained up in an Army barracks answers your own question, doesn’t it?

— There’s no way you knew all that the first day.

— Did I know you were kidnapping people? No. You’re right, it was beyond my imagining. But it seemed very much that your head had been screwed on one turn too tight.

— Wait. You’re the second person to say that. The congressman said it, too.

— What congressman?

— The one I have a few buildings over.

— Please don’t kill me.

— I won’t. I haven’t harmed anyone. Jesus, Sara, I didn’t hurt the astronaut and I won’t hurt you. The only one who says she’s hurt is my mom but she’s always bitching about something.

— I can’t believe I’m here.

— Like I said, it could have been different. And it’s not too late.

— Not too late for what? For you and me to fall in love?

— It doesn’t have to be right away.

— No.

— You think my head’s on too tight. What does that mean?

— Forget it.

— Please. You should just talk to me. I’m getting sort of desperate now. I don’t want to threaten you but I had to do that with the others and I’m tired of the threats.

— You’re tired of the threats.

— Just assume I can threaten you and it’s better if you answer my questions. Why do you think my head’s on one turn too tight? What does that mean?

— It means that they put a capable brain in your skull, and then when they put the cap on, they turned it one turn too tight. It makes for bad outcomes. I think of graduate students stuffing their colleagues into crevices, shooting professors, that kind of thing. People like you. Smart but nuts. One turn too tight.

— How is that my fault?

— How is it not your fault?

— You have no idea what they did to me.

— I really don’t care what they did to you. I care what you did to me. What you’ve done to all the others.

— I haven’t harmed anyone. The congressman’s been here days and he’s fine. He’s great actually. He’s the only one who ever came close to keeping a promise to me. I thought you’d be the one who would really do it, would do something real and pure. And just looking at you now I still think you could. I’ve learned so much that I know I would treat you well. You’d live an honorable life with me. I’d be true to you always.

— What the fuck are you talking about? You’d keep me in some dungeon probably.

— No. No. I wouldn’t. That isn’t something I would do.

— But is this something you would do?

— No. Not normally.

— So this behavior is anomalous.

— Sara. I was pushed to a certain point, so I picked up the astronaut. We talked for a while, and that went well, and it helped me a lot. I think it helped him, too. And that led to the congressman. And that led to my mom and Mr. Hansen and a couple of others and now you. And all these means are justified, because I met you.

— You said you had your mom out here?

— I do.

— So you’re a family man.

— See, I like you so much. Someone so pretty with a sense of humor like that, with the ability to be alone. You must have gotten beautiful far past adolescence.

—

— Ah. I’m right. I know you. You know me. You were too tall too young. Or your hair wasn’t blond. Your shoulders were too broad, you grew into your nose. Something like that. You found yourself alone a lot and you enjoyed it. You know I’m right. And you know I know you. We’re not different. It’s not too late to change your mind. I really think you’ll like me.

— You know what? I think what you’re heading for is one of those romances where the women write to the prisoners. I think you’ll be going to prison, and some nice lonely lady will write to you. That’s the destiny that I think is more logical here.

— Don’t you think it’s just inherently wrong that we could find ourselves alone on a beach, and we’re the same age, and not so far apart in terms of body type and overall attractiveness, and still we don’t end up together? That just seems wrong to me. We’re in the middle of nowhere, at the edge of the continent, and still you won’t have me.

— I’m sorry.

— Okay. I can see how you see all this. How you see me. But this is just the transitional stage. The pupal stage.

— And then what? You become a butterfly.

— No. Maybe. You know what I mean. We’re trapped right now, both of us, but we can be free. Hold on. Hear that? It sounded like voices.

— You have to know you’ll be caught. I don’t want you dead.

— What’s that supposed to mean?

— There’s a part of me that thinks that’s the proper and right result of all this. Somehow it seems the only way this can end. But maybe that’s just because I read a lot of westerns.

— Why would a woman who walks the beach with a Labradoodle read westerns?

— For one thing, my people have been living out here since 1812. So when I read westerns, I feel like they’re talking about me. The stories tell me how to live. And in those stories, people like you either get hanged or get shot. I’ve come to feel some comfort and satisfaction when that happens. I don’t know if that’s right, or if I’d feel right if that happened to you. But I’m pretty sure it will.

— I have a different plan.

— I bet you do. But I doubt it’s such a good plan.

— No, it’s a very good plan.

— You plan to kill yourself.

— No. But I am dying.

— You’re not dying.

— Of course I’m dying.

— You didn’t say anything about dying. What are you dying of?

— I’m dying. Leave it at that.

— Well, I’m sorry.

— It’s okay.

— That explains a lot.

— Now you understand.

— If I had a limited time to live, I might do something radical.

— We can be together till I go.

— No.

— I find that heartless.

— It’s not heartless.

— Especially given you’re dying, too.

— I’m not dying.

— Of course you are. We all are.

— Oh Jesus. So you’re not sick.

— We’re declining, don’t you see that? The second we reach adulthood we begin dying. There’s nothing more obvious than that. You might live on and on till you’re some doddering ghost but I’m thirty-four and Don’s dead, and my father was forty-one when he left this world. This is my last chance.

— And what if it isn’t?

— That would be horrific.

— Existing beyond thirty-four would be horrific.

— Existing, period — this is what drives men to irrational acts. You know this? I used to worry about something happening to me. That I’d be killed in my sleep by some intruder. That I’d be mugged, maimed, drafted, killed. And then the years went by and none of that happened, and what filled that void was far worse.

— I don’t understand that.

— You don’t know what it’s like to be a man over thirty who’s never had anything happen to him. You spend so many years trying to stay safe, stay alive, to avoid some unknown horror. Then you realize the horror is existence itself. The nothing-happening.

— You were bored.

— I wasn’t bored. I was dying. I am dying. But this week was different. There was alignment and order and a coming-to.

— I don’t know what to say to that.

— You know this land we’re on? Twenty-eight thousand acres of buildings like this. Everything crumbling. They’ve left a thousand of these buildings rotting in the wind. No one has a clue what to do next. This vast military base and it’s just decaying on the edge of the country. There’s no plan for all this. No plan for anything. I found a yearbook for this place — it must have been from the late fifties. Company D, Third Battalion, Third Brigade. And on the cover of this yearbook is a picture of a soldier in a foxhole, watching something explode. They got right to the point: Young men, come and blow things up. It felt right. I felt at home.

— So join the Army.

— Sara, do you ride horses?

— When?

— Anytime.

— Yes.

— On the beach?

— Have I ridden a horse on the beach? Yes.

— Did they let you gallop?

— Did who let me gallop?

— Whoever makes the rules. I don’t know.

— Sure. I gallop.

— You gallop on a horse on the beach?

— Sure.

— Was it good?

— Yes, it’s good.

— It always looked good. Is it hard?

— It takes some practice.

— You learned it yourself?

— I took lessons when I was a kid.

— And they let you gallop then?

— When I was young?

— When you were young.

— Yes.

— I’ve been on horses but we always have to walk around. It’s so meaningless. The horse hates it, and it’s so slow, and we just walk around and everyone sweats. And each time I asked if we could gallop and they always said no, no. Insurance liability, you’ll get hurt, blah blah. But there’s no point in walking around on top of a horse. It gives no pleasure to anyone. The only point is galloping.

— But it takes a while. A lot of practice.

— How long?

— Till they let you gallop? A while.

— See, no one told me that. If someone had explained the steps, I would have had a chance.

— No offense, Thomas, but my guess is you’re inclined toward shortcuts.

— Because I want to get on a horse and gallop?

— Yes. You see something and you want it. But you don’t want to do any of the steps to get there.

— And whose fault is that?

— I’m guessing someone else’s?

— No one told me the steps.

— The steps? No one told you to work hard?

— I had no role models.

— Oh Jesus Christ. Stop.

— So you’re saying it’s about hard work and follow-through and patience and all that shit.

— I guess that’s what I’m saying.

— And what good does that do? You know the astronaut I have over there? Eighteen years of work and preparation and doing all the shit he’s supposed to do, and where is he?

— He’s shackled to a post, I’m guessing.

— Okay, but in general, where is he? He’s supposed to be on the Shuttle, but he’s still picking his ass, waiting to maybe ride on a Russian rocket to some hamster wheel in space. All the things he worked for no longer exist.

— But it would all be better if you could gallop.

— It could be.

— And where would you go?

— I don’t know.

— Thomas, we all get what we work for. Maybe there’s some variation, but still. I worked nine years to be a vet and wanted to work in Boulder. I’m a vet and I work in Monterey. You see what I’m saying? Your friend wanted to be an astronaut and he’s an astronaut. Maybe he’s going on a different spaceship. So what?

— If you knew anything about the Shuttle you wouldn’t say that. There’s a big difference between a reusable spacecraft that can land and maneuver, and a stupid fuck-all stationary space kite like the ISS. Sara, I just want to get something I want. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten any significant thing I wanted. You have no idea how weird it is to envision things and have them come to nothing. No vision has ever come true, no promise has ever been kept. But then there was you, and you were the promise that would obliterate all the disappointments of the past. Everything about you insisted on it. Your color, your hair, the way light projects from every part of you. You were the sun that would burn away all the putrid broken promises of the world.

— I wasn’t that.

— I know that now.

— The helicopters are getting louder. They found you.

— They found us. You know, I really don’t want to be caught.

— Thomas, please let me live.

— I’m not going to hurt you. Wow, they are really getting close.

— Okay. Let’s go.

— What? What do you mean?

— I’m ready. Let’s go. I want to go with you.

— No you don’t.

— I do. I’ve been sitting here thinking, and even while I was denying it to you I was realizing that you’re right. These can’t all be coincidences. An astronaut, a congressman, your mom, me. It all has to mean something.

— It does, right?

— It does. If I say I’ll go with you, you’ll unlock me?

— Of course. I’ll have to have us handcuffed together, though.

— And then what?

— We run to the shore and to the boat.

— What about the others?

— They’ll be fine.

— Are there really others?

— Of course. Six of them.

— Will you let me see them?

— No. Why?

— If I’m going off with you, I need to make sure you haven’t harmed anyone.

— You don’t trust me. And there’s no time.

— I do trust you.

— We don’t have time to go visiting everyone. And you don’t want to meet my mom. She wouldn’t believe we were together anyway.

— So we don’t visit your mom. Just let me see the astronaut.

— No. He’s a phony. I already said good-bye to him and everyone else. I’ll let you see the congressman.

— Okay. Let’s go.

— So I unlock you and we go and see the congressman and you come with me?

— If we get away.

— What do you mean, if we get away?

— They’re so close. We’ll have to hurry. And you’ll have to let me run free, too. If we’re handcuffed we’ll be too slow.

— But then we might get separated.

— No we won’t.

— Oh no. You’re trying to get away.

— No.

— From me!

— No, I just think we’ll be faster that way.

— I don’t think you believe in me.

— I do. Of course I do.

— I don’t think you believe in any of this.

— I do. I do. But we should go. I want to go together.

— Oh god.

— What?

— You’re trying to trick me.

— I’m not.

— All this time I’ve been so direct with you. I’ve told you what I believed should happen. I’ve told you what I want and what would be best for both of us. I’ve offered you the chance to be part of something like destiny, and you’re just trying to slither out of it.

— Thomas. I just think we should go.

— I’m not going with you. Oh shit, you just murdered me.

— No. Thomas.

— You’re just like Kev. You seem like these paragons of virtue and heroism but in the end you just want to stay alive. You don’t want to be part of anything extraordinary.

— Don’t hurt me now.

— I’m not going to hurt you.

— Promise me.

— Forget it. I’m leaving.

— And I’ll be safe?

— To what end?

— To keep living.

— That’s my point. That’s not enough.