The Good Atheist (13 page)

“I don’t see how you can say that,” I said.

“It’s true. The dirty little secret that you will never hear from the media or politically correct eggheads running the social agenda of this once-great country is that science can be just as easily interpreted along theistic lines as well as atheistic. Both are equally compatible with the science. Take the arguments from design, for instance. Are you familiar with them?”

I chuckled. “We covered those in school. They’ve been refuted.”

“Refuted? Not at all, just brushed off and explained away as mere chance. But that’s not much of an argument for atheism, is it? We are still left with the basic theistic arguments soundly intact: that the overwhelming odds against our existence strongly suggest someone fiddled with the formulas at the beginning of the universe to make sure things came out just right for life. While we can imagine other reasons, dreaming up other reasons does not constitute a watertight argument, nor does it negate the other, equally logical possibility. You are still faced with two choices, blind chance or intentional creation. The chance argument is so vanishingly unlikely that many thinking people find the alternative more compelling: that we are not here by chance. So what about you, sport? Which way are you gambling? Chance or design?”

“I’ll go with chance,” I said.

“Me too. But is that more reasonable, given the odds? Or do we have other motives beyond reason for taking the less likely bet? Given the odds, a betting man would put his money on God. But we don’t. We prefer to take our chances with, well, the chance argument. Or multiverses. Or the power in the universe to create itself somehow. Why? Maybe it’s because we just simply don’t like the alternative, regardless of the science. I know I don’t.”

I found myself disturbed by his unorthodox, radical views, so I changed the subject. “I think it’s unlikely that someone would disappear so completely and not be in touch with anyone from his previous life. He knew a lot of people. Is there anyone you can think of that he was close to, that he might be in touch with?”

“Look, Jack. I think you need to face something here. If he’s not in touch with you, what makes you think he’s in touch with anyone else?”

“There may be reasons I’m not aware of.”

“Sure, but your father loved you. He talked about you all the time. I can’t imagine what would keep him from contacting you.”

“You think he’s dead, don’t you?” It came out more as an accusation than a question.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to – the look in his eyes said it all.

“You could be right,” I said. “But I have pretty good reasons to think he’s alive, and I’m not dropping this until I know for sure.”

He looked at me deep in thought, and an expression came over his face as if he had come to a decision. “I think it’s probably a waste of time, but I’m going to help you out the best I can.”

The waitress came by, plunked another beer in front him, and refilled my coffee. Lucius waited until she left before leaning forward slightly. “You can’t breathe a word of this to anyone, understand? Not your wife, or best friend, or your cat. If I ever find out you’re a blabbermouth, I’ll never talk to you again. Understand?”

“Understood.”

“There was a group of us that started meeting. We’d gather in homes and other places where we could go unnoticed. That’s how I got to know your dad and grandpa.”

“Who was in the group?”

“Are you going to shut up and let me talk? I’m getting to that. We were mostly college professors and scientists, and one or two lawyers. Most were theists, but there were also several atheists, including yours truly. We’d meet to talk about what was happening in the country, what we could do about it. We wrote papers, started a few websites, and wrote a few books.”

He nodded at the manuscript next to me. “As you can tell, we weren’t very successful. We weren’t expecting what happened next. The believers in our group were driven out of their colleges and went into hiding. Some of them were caught and committed to rehab – a fancy name for prison with a few mandatory re-education classes. Several moved up to Aylmer, including your father and grandfather, to lay low. Your dad disappeared about a year after that. I got a few letters from him through your grandfather. But I never saw him again. It was pretty confusing towards the end, but if anyone knows where your father is, it will be someone up in Aylmer.”

“Do you have any names?”

He spread his hands. “Sorry, that’s the best I can do.”

“Why weren’t you arrested?”

“I’m an atheist, remember. I passed their doctrinal orthodoxy tests. So they left me alone. For now, at least.”

“For now? You’re not thinking of converting, are you?” I asked.

“You know, you remind me a lot of your father,” he said.

“How’s that?”

“You’re a smart-mouth just like he was.”

“So what’s to worry about?”

“Everyone in the scientific establishment is sniffing each others’ underwear for any hint of intellectual unorthodoxy. It’s only a matter of time before someone decides I’m not orthodox enough and has me drummed out of my teaching career,” he said.

He looked at his wristwatch. “I hate to cut this short, but I need to get going,” he said.

The manuscript was still on the table next to me. I pushed it towards him. “I guess I’ve used up my time, and then some. Thanks for meeting me here.”

He shoved the manuscript back across the table to me. “Why don’t you hang on to this?”

“I thought you wanted the manuscript back,” I said.

“I changed my mind. I’d like you to keep it. It covers everything we’ve been talking about.”

I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted it, but it would have been rude to refuse his gesture. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help. Why did you change your mind about helping me?”

“You mean, aside from trying to blackmail me with the manuscript?”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t answer right away, just stared out the window again as if lost in long-forgotten memories. “I guess because you remind me of your father.”

“Thanks,” I said.

He stood up. “Just don’t do or say anything that will get us into trouble, okay?” Then he said goodbye and left.

I remained in the booth for a few minutes after he left, watching the rain fall from the sky, mulling over what he had said. I found his words unsettling. I didn’t care at all for what he’d said about God and science. I’d grown up with the settled belief that science had disproven God and there was no longer any question about it. But I wasn’t here to argue with him. I came here to learn what I could about my father. I picked up the manuscript and left the diner.

Drizzle fell from a flat grey sky, and I wished I had a hat. I stood on the sidewalk thinking about my next move, while the cold rain fell on my head. My close-cropped hair offered little protection and I felt the rain hitting my scalp.

Lucius seemed to think that my best chance was Aylmer. I still had a week of vacation left, and I decided to go find out. Maybe someone up there would know something useful. It was a long shot, but it seemed like the only shot I had left.

7

I called Selene to tell her my plans. When she didn’t answer I left a message. Then I got in my car and bid farewell to Iowa. Around midnight I was somewhere in Ohio and I still had a long drive ahead of me to northern Vermont. I told my car to locate some nearby motels and it directed me to take an exit ten minutes down the highway. There was a collection of hotels just off the ramp and I pulled into one that looked like the cockroaches wouldn’t be too big. I was on the road again early the next morning.

It was dark when I reached the cottage. I unlocked the front door and reached for the light switch. Nothing happened when I flipped it. I toggled it a couple more times. Nothing. The power was out again.

Grandpa kept a flashlight by the front door for such contingencies, and I found it after a brief search along the floor with my hands in the dark. I turned on the flashlight and closed the door behind me.

It felt strange to be making my way through such a dark and silent house, a house that didn’t respond to my presence or answer verbal commands. I didn’t bother turning on any of the kerosene lamps but kept the flashlight with me while I got ready for bed. I used the hand pump in the bathroom to get a little water to wash my face and brush my teeth. Then I cracked open the window in the bedroom to let in some of the cool night air and stripped down to my boxers and crawled into bed. On our last trip we had replaced the bedding with new sheets and blankets.

Just before drifting off to sleep, I recalled Jorge’s invitation to breakfast, totally forgotten until now. Someone among Grandpa’s friends might know something. Somewhere in this village I hoped to find the rest of the missing pieces. Jorge had said that they met most mornings at, what was it – Rosie’s? I decided to take him up on the offer. That would be as good a place as any to start.

I found Jorge at the restaurant with three other men early the next morning. He saw me come through the front door and waved me over. I slid into the booth across from him, next to a professorial-looking man. They introduced themselves as we shook hands around the table.

The professorial type was Clive. He had a long narrow face and bushy eyebrows. Rashmir was heavyset and graying but exuded a youthful energy. His face looked familiar but I couldn’t place him, but I guessed I’d seen him at the funeral. He owned a small grocery store in town. Collin had large ears and dirt under his fingernails. The strength of his grip as we shook surprised me. He ran a hardware store in town that stocked everything a farmer or cottager could want, from nuts and bolts to tractors and wind turbines. I recalled seeing it on Main Street on my way through town.

They looked at me, smiling, like I was the guest of honor. The waitress bustled over, slapped a mug of coffee down in front of me, and cuffed me on the shoulder with a fist. “Hey there, Jack. Good to see you again.”

I didn’t remember her, but the funeral or Jorge’s reception was probably where we’d met. I nodded and said hi.

“So you’re having breakfast with these bums, huh? You must be getting pretty desperate for company.”

The other men guffawed. “You just blew any chances of a tip there, Lucy,” Collin said.

“The last time I saw a tip from you lugheads, they were still using paper for money. So what have I lost?” she said.

More chuckles, but somehow I had the feeling they tipped just fine. Lucy didn’t need to ask what the others were having. It was ‘the usual’ for all of them around the table. She took my order and moved on to the next booth where she carried on with the same good-natured insults.

We made small talk and got comfortable with each other until Lucy appeared with her arms loaded down with plates piled high with eggs, hashbrowns, bacon, sausage, and toast. She set the plates down in front of us and was back with the coffeepot to top up our cups.

She looked at me while refilling coffees. “Ya gonna keep it?” she asked around a thick wad of gum.

“I’m sorry?” I asked.

“The cottage – are you going to keep it?” she asked again.

“I haven’t decided yet,” I said.

“I hope you do. It’d be nice to have you and your wife around.”

“Thanks.”

“Look, I knew Ben real well, and one thing about Ben, God bless his soul, was that he was a lousy housekeeper. The dust in that place would choke a dinosaur.”

I nodded. It was true.

“Look, me and the girls are gonna come out later today and give that place a real good cleaning,” she announced.

“You don’t have to do that,” I objected.

She waved me off with a flip of her free hand. “Think nothin’ of it. That’s what neighbors are for.”

“Really, I can’t… I don’t even know if I will be there later.”

“No problem. I’ll let myself in,” she said, and then moved on to the next booth before I could say anything. Apparently the issue was settled.

The other men chuckled. “You’ll get to know Lucy soon enough,” Clive said. “You don’t stand a chance, once she has it in her mind to do you a favor.”

The rest laughed, and then he did something very odd. “Let’s pray,” he said, and the others bowed their heads in unison. I wasn’t sure what they were doing. At first I thought they were staring at their plates, until I noticed their eyes were closed. Then Clive started to talk, while his head was bowed and eyes closed, and addressed himself to ‘our heavenly Father.’ It was brief and lasted for maybe a minute, in which he thanked God for his goodness and asked him to bless their day and in particular their new friend, whom I realized after a moment was me.

I could not remember ever hearing someone pray before. It took a moment for the shock to wear off. I was sitting at a table with religious men, about to have breakfast with them. The stories from school came flooding back into my mind, long forgotten. The stories of religious fanatics strapping bombs to their chests and flying airplanes into buildings. Everyone knew that believers are irrational, which makes them a threat to society, prone to violent and unpredictable behavior. I started to feel nervous.

I watched them for a moment, wondering what to do. Praying in public was illegal and I was duty-bound to report them to the authorities. But something gave me pause. Maybe it was curiosity. I had never been this close to a group of believers, to my knowledge. I felt a certain morbid curiosity to find out what they were really like. And they had been friends of my grandfather, and they might be an important link to my father. And that was what I was here for, I reminded myself, so I set aside any thought of calling the Tolerance Bureau.  

I was bursting with questions for these men, and when I felt like we had exhausted the weather as a topic of conversation, I decided it was time to break the ice. There was no point in beating around the bush, so I jumped right in and asked them how long they’d known my grandfather. The answer from around the table was several years to decades.

“Did you also know my father?”

They all nodded slowly, deep in thought as if remembering. “He lived with your grandpa for a couple years at the cottage,” Rashmir said.