Here & There (66 page)

We were enjoying some wine, laughing, telling stories. My father was in the middle of telling an animated tale, when behind him, outside the French door, I saw a figure. A silhouette of a man. Neither you nor mon père noticed as he opened the door. At first I was more curious than frightened, until he leaned into the light, and I saw that the man outside was my father.

The apparition simply stood there for several minutes, staring at himself in the flesh. Finally, he beckoned to my father sitting in the chair, held out his hand and gestured for my father to follow him down to the river. I looked to the two of you, and you both kept on in your conversation, completely unaware.

When I looked back the scene repeated itself. The silhouette outside, the opening of the door, the beckoning to my father, who this time nodded at the apparition and waved him on. Then the man was gone, but the door was still open. I ran to the door and saw the ghost of my father heading down the garden path. I was furious, full of rage at this phantom for trying to lure my father away from me. I ran after him, but by the time I made it down the path, the ghost was already on the other side of the river, glimpsing through the trees. I yelled after him, screaming, cursing . . .

I woke up shouting in our empty bed.

I need to not be here for a bit.

I am taking the boys to New York for a few days. We will be back Sunday.

~Moi

ECCO III

Reality is obscured by the clutter of the world.

~Heidegger?

Ring

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Ring

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Ring

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Ring

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Voice mail—

“Hi. It’s me. I, uh, I hope it’s ok that I’m calling. I know you wanted some space. For you and the boys. How are the boys? Any problems? I know it’s irrational, I’m sure everything is fine. Just worried about them. And you.

“Are you all still coming home today? It’s ok, if not. Just wondering. I’m roasting a chicken, some baked potatoes and salad for dinner. If you guys make it back in time, great. If not, a little delicious
leftovers never hurt anyone. So just let me know. Hope New York was, great. Love you all.

“It’s Sunday, just about five fifteen.”

. . .

Ring

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Ring

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Ring

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Ring

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“Hey, me again. Not trying to, I mean it’s not a problem if you don’t want to answer. I hope my calls aren’t, well. Ok, so just checking in again. I painted a mural down in the basement. Well, copied one. Clyde helped me. It’s Picasso’s bullfighter. Really livens up the lower level.

(Long sigh.)

“Assuming today is a no go. Either that, or you hit some really horrible traffic in Connecticut. When it’s not the traffic, it’s the construction in that state. You can’t win, really. Well, in case you’re headed home right now, there are plenty of leftovers in the fridge. If you’re still taking more time, then I guess whatever you need.

“Hope the boys are behaving. My love to you and them.”

. . .

Ring

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Ring

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“Eve, I respect your need for space. And take as much time as you need. Honestly. But if you could, please, text me. Let me know when—that you’re all ok. I’d really appreciate it. I’m worried.

“It’s Monday. 7:42. I love you.”

. . .

Ring

. . .

“Eve, whatever it is you need, however much space, the way you’re going about it, is completely uncool. And irresponsible. Go wherever you want, for however long you want. Don’t talk to me. Whatever, that’s fine. But fucking check in. Whatever you might think, I at least deserve an update on the boys’ well-being! I mean, how hard is it to send a goddamn text or e-mail? Seriously. Enough. Whatever punishment you think you’re doling out, it’s . . . you’re not keeping the high ground. I went to see Spencer. Don’t make me get the police involved. Or the Department.

“Tuesday. One thirty.”

. . .

“Hi, it’s me. I haven’t, I couldn’t sleep. Can’t do much of anything, really. I painted over the—Ecco’s, I painted the wall. Sun’s coming up. Please call me. I’m uh, I love you so much. At least just text me that everything’s ok with you, Otto . . . Ecco.”

. . .

Ring—

“Hello?”

“Monsieur Reidier?” asked the aristocratic voice.

“Yes.”

“It’s your old friend from the Fontainebleau, do you recognize my voice?”

You need two things for your work: funding and autonomy.

“Yes. I do.”

“
Bon
. Of course you do. Well, we received your e-mail to our health spa and have some wonderful packages to offer you.”

Reidier sighs. “Great. Where should I—?”

“I’m actually having trouble hearing you. Cell interference perhaps.”

“Oh, I’m in the CCV,
*
is this any better?”

*
Center for Computation and Visualization, part of Brown’s CS (computer science) department. It provides both virtual and physical hosting of Linux servers. The physical hosting is located in CCV’s machine room and allows for individual maintainence.

“Alas, no. Perhaps if you went outside?”

It was the same driver as before. The same taxi. And the same intimation that it was in his and his family’s best interest that he take a ride. The same subtle, dull pulse, like a deep bass beat, washing over him when the door closed behind him. It was not the same destination though. No strip club. No crowd. This time it was in one of the old abandoned factories off of Route 10.
*

*
“You boys going to do the honor for us?” the voice asks, practically an accusation of excitement.

Hilary’s CD-RW apparently had an .mp3 on it. One of the Department’s myriad of NB audio recordings. The Lexus’s Bose surround-sound system put me right in the center of the conversation while I sped my way through the residential streets of Providence’s East Side, like a bat out of hell, a homing pigeon on meth and Angel Dust streaking its way to roost at Butler Hospital.

The aggressively boisterous voice continues, “How’s that, Eve, not only does your family get to watch your husband make a miracle, your boys get to be a part of it and start it all off?”

“It’s quite compelling, Pierce,” a woman’s voice responds.

Eve’s voice. For months I had lived with this demigoddess, and this was the first time I had heard her voice.

“I had to pull quite a few strings to get all of you in here.” Pierce waits for a response of gratitude. There isn’t one. He continues unfazed, “A momentous day indeed! Not just the final frontier, beyond
the frontier. No. It’s the destruction of frontiers altogether. The finale of frontiers.”

The words clicked into place like the numbers on a flip clock. I knew this exchange. It was from Hilary’s first chapter. It was the final exchange between Pierce and the Reidiers right before
The Reidier Test
went off. This was the audio file. Why would Hilary go to such lengths to stow away an audio recording of such a long-ago documented segment? It’s a chapter I’m almost sure she had already shown the Department.

“Nothing is ever created or destroyed,” another male voice cuts in.

That would be Reidier.

Pierce starts to say something, but Reidier cuts in and announces, “We’re ready.”

“It will work?” Pierce isn’t so much asking as ordering.

“Is your floating battery out there going to give me the
BEEP
watts of power I need?”

The beep was clearly Department censorship. This wasn’t even a raw recording. It was Department edited and approved.

“Absolutely.” Pierce responds with a laugh and what sounds like a slap on Reidier’s back.

“Then my physics will work.”

Beat.

“You’ve definitely earned yourself a vacation,” Pierce says with overdone good spirits. “Let’s change the world. Wait till I’m back in the observation deck.”

Sounds of Pierce walking out of the room, opening the security door, and it closing behind him.

Sounds of some shuffling around. If I remember correctly, Reidier was putting on his tweed sport coat, upon which QuAI, disguised as a pin, perched with a watchful eye on his lapel.

Sounds of Reidier walking over to Otto? and opening the Plexiglas cover over the activation button.

“Wait until I tell you,” Reidier says softly.

Sounds of Eve moving to stand behind Otto.

Sounds of Reidier walking over to Ecco and opening the other Plexiglas safety cover.

“Wait until I tell you,” Reidier instructs Ecco. “On ‘go,’ boys. Three, two, one, go.”

Reidier says something to himself, but interference seeps in and garbles the audio into guttural gibberish. “Ach itch er keen three-welts im inner stern-zoos-ham and halt, showallthework, incraftandsalmon . . . nd thoo niche meh inwartcrammin.”

That was it. The whole .mp3. I listened to it on repeat for the whole drive. It was a nice aural aid, but I didn’t get it.

Butler Hospital felt like a little campus right out of the ’50s: acres of woods, tidy paths connecting collections of gothic brick buildings that were themselves a throwback to nineteenth-century institutional architecture, directory signs along the road to point you toward the right department.

“Achitcherkeenthreeweltsiminnersternzooshamandhalt, showallthework, incraftandsalmon . . . ndthoonichemehinwartcramming.”

I followed the signs to the Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder Ward. It also happened to be the Inpatient Psychiatric Ward.

“Ach itch erkeen three welts im inner stern zoo sham and halt, show all the work, in craft and salmon . . . nd thoo niche meh in wart cramming.”

There was something about that garbled guttural gibberish. I sat in the Lexus, parked out in front of the OCD/Psychiatric asylum blasting gibberish on repeat, half expecting the men in white coats to come and collect me.

“Ach itch erkeen ‘as ze welts im innerstern zoosamandhalt, show all workincraft and salmon . . . nd thoo niche mere in Wharton cramin.”

It was garbled too uniformly. Static interference would be more random. This had a pattern to it. And there was something about the breaks.

“D’ach itch erkeen ‘as ze welts/ im innerstern zoosamandhalt,/ show all workincraft and salmon/ nd thoo niche mere in Wharton cramin.”

Once again the flip clock of insight fluttered into place. I unfurled my coat in the passenger seat, and the two Goethes tumbled out. I grabbed one and flipped to page 130 while the CD track repeated.

“Dach itch erkeen ‘as ze welts

im innerstern zoosamandhalt,

show all workincraft and salmon

nd thoo niche mere in Wharton cramin.”

Everything clicked into place. The interference wasn’t garbling the audio . . . it was German. I read along with one last play of the CD.

“Daß ich erkenne, was die Welt

Im Innersten zusammenhält,

Schau’ alle Wirkenskraft und Samen,

Und thu’ nicht mehr in Worten kramen.”

Reidier was quoting Goethe.
That I may detect the inmost force which binds the world, and guides its course; its germs, productive powers explore, and rummage in empty words no more!
Reidier knew what he was doing.

Neither incident, nor accident, but rather pure, unadulterated intent.

I turned the Lexus off, grabbed my coat off the seat and Dr. Rasmussen’s taped-together business card off the dash.

Curzwell waited for him toward the back, in front of a large window that almost covered the entire wall. Several of the panes were missing glass. Several others were darkened with decades of soot and dust. Curzwell smoked a cigarette. He turned toward Reidier’s approaching footsteps.

“Ah,
bon
.” Curzwell held up his hands, palms open perhaps as a gesture of peace or vague attempt at urging serenity. “Your wife and sons are home, no worse for the wear.”

Reidier stopped dead in his tracks. A moment later, anger twisted his features. “You!”

“No, no. Not I. You reached out to us for help. Why would we—?”

“Leverage.”

Curzwell nods. “No, quite the opposite, actually. Your family was collected by Homeland Security at JFK International Airport trying to board a flight for Nice Côte d’Azur International Airport. They were then transferred off-site to an official holding facility, one of many immigration tanks. Within a day, they were transferred again to another, less official, holding facility. That’s when we retrieved them.”

His words disappeared into the vastness of the space.

“At the unofficial holding facility?” Reidier asked.

“En route.”

“You’re telling me you confronted Homeland Security.”

“Beimini did. Yes. And, at the time we interceded, they were no longer in the custody of Homeland Security.”

“The Department?”

“In a manner of speaking. To be more specific, an unaffiliated taxi service.”

“Like your taxi service?”

Curzwell snorted. “No. Much less subtle, and much more formal, than ours.”

“How did you retrieve my family from them?”

“Force.” The word fell out of his mouth and onto the floor between them.

Reidier stared down at it.

“Please understand, your wife and children’s welfare were always our highest priority. Our envoys are highly skilled at this sort of thing.”