FSF, October 2007 Read online

  As the sun fell below the horizon and the first stars came out, he remembered the taped interviews he had done with the crew of the ill-fated Columbia. He could still recall their bright, hopeful faces, their quick wit and ready smiles, some arrogant, some humble, all confident. It had been the same before the Challenger accident. He stared at the clouds, orange and pink with the setting sun—especially lovely that evening—and sorrowed for all those brave souls, gone forever from the earth.

  Even as he watched the gathering gloom, his own thoughts desolate, something inside him abruptly lifted. A weight seemed to rise from the center of his chest. He gasped, the breath pouring immeasurably sweet into his lungs. Forever after, he would associate the sensation with the beauty of the clouds.

  In that moment, he understood, though several days would pass before he could totally comprehend his understanding. A great oppression had departed from him, one he had carried unknowing all his life. He understood.

  All the pain borne of his fifty-odd years, the misunderstandings, hurt feelings, slights, griefs, disappointments, the little agonies of living, fell from him. A tremendous sense of forgiveness overwhelmed him, for himself and for others. A love for everyone and everything suffused him, the kind of love he must have had as a small child. He felt abruptly whole.

  The experience came with rocket speed, a hundred thoughts and sensations pouring through him. Before he even recognized what he was doing, he found himself weeping in the porch swing overlooking the little lake, gasping sobs, crying as he had not cried since he was ten years old.

  Eventually, he fell silent, and a part of him recognized that his brain no longer rattled away as it had done for so many years, chugging along like a broken steam engine fueled by a thousand useless, random thoughts. The silence of a sanctuary, of a cathedral. The silence of peace.

  Night fell, a glorious night, the darkening of the sky, the shifting of the shades, the beating of the stars seen through the haze of the street lights. He had always appreciated a good night sky, yet this time was different. Now, he truly saw its splendor.

  At last, when the songs of the cicadas filled the air, he staggered to his feet. He had to tell his wife what had happened. He had to tell everyone!

  Turning to his front door, he found all the lights in the house extinguished, as if no one had bothered to turn them on. He hurried inside, calling several times before finding his wife upstairs, seated in a wooden chair, looking out the window.

  She turned to him, her face lit by the dull glow of the street lamps. She had always been beautiful; now she looked holy, her eyes twin lamps, radiant with love. In wonder, he realized he must look the same.

  "Why didn't I ever see how incredible life is?” she asked.

  He took her in his arms, rejoicing.

  Out of a lifetime of habit, they turned on the TV to see if they were the only ones. Mindless entertainments played, stories without meaning. Most of the news stations were off the air. One had a camera rolling on a news desk empty except for a woman sitting and smiling at her hands, half her face outside the range of the lens.

  Greg and Michelle went outside, intending to knock on their neighbors’ doors, but people were already in the street, talking in soft, excited voices. When the couple joined the crowd, everyone greeted them with a hug. Introductions were made all around, as if this were the first time they had met their neighbors; despite having lived there many years, this was mostly true. People laughed and cried, but despite the festive air, Greg noticed how little anyone said, how little he said. There was too much going on in his mind.

  In their excitement, Greg and his wife stayed up late that night, falling asleep curled up together as they had when they were young.

  * * * *

  The next morning no one went to work. The world, as one, began a day of reflection. Greg spent the morning with Michelle.

  "I never appreciated you enough,” they told one another. They spoke of their early life together, the good and bad, and for the first time, looking at his wife, Greg truly understood what Yeats meant when he wrote But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, and loved the sorrows of your changing face.

  "Is it a dream?” Michelle asked. “Will we wake up tomorrow and be the way we were before? So ... limited?"

  "It's not that I feel any smarter,” Greg told her. “But I understand more. My thinking before was so ... disturbed. The things I worried about. It was all so ... so—"

  "Evil,” Michelle said.

  The word hung in the air between them.

  "An old, unused term,” Greg said. “Out of date, I would have called it before. Never would have applied it to myself. I mean, I thought I was basically a good person. But there was so much selfishness, so many times when I was petty or cruel."

  He called his daughter in California later that day.

  "I'm sorry I wasn't a better father,” he said.

  "I'm sorry I wasn't a better daughter,” she said.

  "It's all right,” they both said together. They laughed and fell silent.

  "It's like everything I ever blamed you for is gone,” she finally said. “Not that you were a bad dad or anything, but now I understand you did the best you could, for what we were then."

  They talked about moving closer, so they could see each other more often.

  Afterward, Greg had a similar conversation with his son in Wisconsin.

  Throughout the day, by mutual consent, every television station remained off the air until six o'clock that evening when the President gave a message. For the first time in years, every station carried it; for the first time in decades, everyone considered the business of the nation more important than The Home Shopping Network and reruns of Gilligan's Island. Nor was it the same beleaguered man who had faced the cameras dozens of times before. His usually penetrating eyes were calm; his face relaxed. He didn't read a speech; he just talked.

  "Something has happened,” his smooth, warm voice said. “Something wonderful. A New Reasoning. We don't know how or why, and it will take time to understand the ramifications. There is much to be done. This is a new beginning. A great work lies before us. We will do it together. All of us. A world of us.

  "I have been duplicitous; I will be duplicitous no more. I have been arrogant; I will be arrogant no more. I have catered to private interests for the sake of personal power. From now on, I will put the good of the country ahead of my own concerns.

  "There is one thing you should know,” he ended. “Not a single weapon has been fired anywhere in the world since yesterday evening."

  * * * *

  Even though he had the day off, Greg went to work on Saturday. He had a lot of ideas he wanted to share. When he arrived, he discovered nearly the entire staff had done the same. A big meeting was held and Greg's video crew recorded it for posterity.

  Abe Feinstein, the Director of NASA, addressed the audience.

  "Given the week's changes, I think there are three questions we should ask. Number one: Is our work important, or should we petition Congress to eliminate NASA? Two: If our work is important, have we been pursuing it in the best manner? Three: If not, how should we change? I want us to break into small groups, each no larger than ten, and discuss these questions."

  With his crew's hand-cams rolling, Greg walked among the participants, listening to them talk. Some were fellow workers he had once disliked; one was a woman he had loathed. Now, he wondered how he could have ever felt that way. It seemed so unreasonable.

  "Greg,” a man told him, pointing to a chair. “You should be in on this. Join our group."

  No one had ever asked Greg's opinion on the direction of NASA before, but he had ideas and took a seat.

  Everyone in the group spoke softly, taking turns, considerate of one another. Though many were passionate, no voices were raised, despite differing opinions. Gone were the needs for attention, the rivalries, the childishness. People said what they meant. No offense was given; none taken.

  They quickly agre
ed that the exploration of space was important. Curiosity, rather than being dulled by the New Reasoning, had been intensified. The old, child-like sense of wonder permeated the discussions, the thirst to see the marvels of the universe. It was decided that NASA must be managed in a new way, with greater freedom for input in all areas. Simple logic dictated the necessity to ask for increased funding.

  Greg drove home that night whistling.

  On Monday morning, several important announcements were made. The Grand Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan dissolved the organization. Forty-seven terrorist groups renounced violence. People who had committed crimes began turning themselves in to authorities, overwhelming the resources of the penal system. Four major hotel chains agreed to house the overflow for free until the courts could determine whether incarceration remained a social necessity.

  China recognized Taiwan as an independent nation. Israel and Palestine began serious peace talks. South American and Middle Eastern countries vowed to plow up their poppy fields.

  Major magazine publishers met with advertisers to determine whether the content of their periodicals was truly meaningful, resulting in a suspension of more than seventy-five percent of their offerings and a revamping of the remainder.

  With the drive for self-promotion extinguished, producers, directors, and actors walked away from movies made purely for profit. The studios agreed and tore up their contracts.

  The pharmaceutical, insurance, and healthcare industries began a series of talks with the World Health Organization, to discuss providing a standard of care for every citizen on Earth.

  Thousands of companies announced a restructuring of remuneration policies to provide more equitable salaries to their employees. Hundreds of CEOs voluntarily returned the bulk of their benefits.

  Bookstores noted a marked increase in the sale of poetry.

  A phrase appeared that would become the slogan of the world: Do no harm to others or yourself.

  * * * *

  On Tuesday, Greg realized the importance of silence. He had filled his life with the constant yammering of TV, movies, satellite radio, CDs, books on tape—anything to keep from thinking. Now he basked in the solitudes. No longer did he spend his time regretting the past or brooding over the future. The present surrounded him. He could finally appreciate happy moments without analyzing his own appreciation, without comparing it to the happy times of his childhood.

  To sit in a car and meditate became a joy. He drove slower, no longer in a hurry. So did everyone else, and the speed limit found its natural equilibrium at forty-five miles per hour on the freeway and twenty in the city. With the highways less dangerous, Greg contemplated riding a bicycle to work.

  On his way home that evening, he realized that though death and disease remained upon the Earth, he no longer feared either one. How strange that he ever had.

  The news that evening announced that every country in the Middle East had agreed to the joint Israeli/Palestinian peace plan. The United Nations voted unanimously to adopt democratic reforms and to abolish trade sanctions worldwide. Ending hunger by the end of the year became the international priority. A list was made of the key points of the treaties and resolutions, but no papers were signed. A country's word had become its bond.

  In India, the people voted to eliminate the caste system.

  The lotteries closed after giving away their last few millions to people who donated the money to the food relief effort.

  Across the world, street people and those placed in institutions because of mental rather than physical causes awoke to sanity. Millions of alcoholics and drug addicts turned themselves in to treatment centers.

  * * * *

  By the second week, all weapons of war were abolished.

  Ben Thomas, Greg and Michelle's next-door neighbor, appeared at their door at five that evening.

  "Greg, we're having a block party tonight, to celebrate. You coming?"

  "Wouldn't miss it,” Greg replied.

  By seven o'clock, everyone in the neighborhood was in the streets. This was a different kind of party, a different type of revelry—quiet, joyous. Greg discovered he no longer needed a couple of beers to feel comfortable in a crowd. He could be himself. He said things that were meaningful, encouraging, or playful. He listened when others spoke. No one talked about the weather just for something to say.

  He noticed that people laughed more than they used to, but told fewer jokes. Humor itself had changed. The ironic or sarcastic didn't seem funny anymore. The idea of making light of others seemed ludicrous.

  Earlier that week, with safety no longer an issue and energy conservation a priority, the city council had voted to discontinue using street lights. As twilight fell, everyone in the neighborhood sat in lawn chairs or on blankets in front of Ben Thomas's place, to watch an event many hadn't witnessed in over twenty years, a tableau some had never seen.

  They watched the stars come out.

  One by one, the tiny, enormous suns appeared, and the children ooohed and ahhhed as if they watched fireworks.

  "There's one!” a little girl shouted.

  "I see another,” a little boy cried.

  "Awesome!” a teenager said.

  "Daddy,” another boy said, “tell me about the constellations."

  But no one knew the names of the constellations except Greg, so he pointed them out, one by one: the North Star, the Big and Little Dippers, the Teapot, Scorpio, the Swan, Hercules, the tiny Pleiades. He showed them the Milky Way and the planets; he told them the distances, and his listeners—who had never cared before—sat riveted by the telling.

  When he was done, Greg and his neighbors lit candles and stood in a circle, looking up at the millions of stars, the great wheel passing overhead.

  We shall overcome, they sang. We shall overcome someday.

  * * * *

  A time popularly called The Big Reshuffle began. With the Criminal Code abolished and everyone rethinking their lives, hundreds of job categories either changed or ceased to exist. Psychiatrists, prostitutes, professional models, district attorneys, security guards—thousands had to find other work. The word policeman was changed to helper. Most lawyers lost their clientele.

  Droves of people quit their jobs to find meaningful work, many moving from management to service industries—plumbers, electricians, carpenters. The Peace Corps and several other charity organizations soon had more volunteers than they could use.

  The economic restructuring was difficult at first, but many of those whose jobs had become obsolete joined either the World Hunger Organization or the World Housing Authority.

  "TV doesn't interest me much anymore,” Michelle said.

  "They're coming out with new programming,” Greg replied. “I read about it in the paper. Speculative series about what we might accomplish. History and Natural History. Game shows without prizes. Puzzle shows. And the camera shots are going to be a lot slower."

  * * * *

  With no concerns of bribery, blockades, or kickbacks, the World Hunger Organization, powered by farmers’ wheat donations from Kansas to the Ukraine, soon announced it had enough distribution centers in place to feed the world.

  Millions volunteered to give twenty percent of their income for the construction of basic housing. The standard of living in the developed countries dropped slightly, as its citizens rid themselves of things they had once considered necessities, the status symbols of neighborhood and nation.

  The automobile and petroleum industries retooled. Radical engine designs, uncovered in corporate vaults, were put into production. The car, no longer a symbol of prestige, became both more functional and more beautiful. The popularity of public transportation soared. With profits a secondary concern, measures were taken to protect the environment. A plan was implemented to end strip mining within three years.

  Socialism resurfaced, a system too idealistic for a selfish people. The European Union decided that people were responsible enough to use only the supplies, food, and clothing they
needed, and to work to support the public good with no thought of income. A referendum was passed to abolish currency. Within two months, the other nations followed suit, and the strange, abstract system of monetary compensation that had ruled the world for so long was finally laid to rest. A short ceremony was held as the New York Stock Exchange closed for the final time.

  * * * *

  At NASA, Greg began to see big changes. The world's resources, no longer required to wage war, were turned to research and public works. Materials poured into the space agency; countries shared knowledge indiscriminately.

  More importantly, people's minds were finally free. Greg no longer wasted time on company politics and personal animosities. The joy of his career filled him, the play of handling the NASA broadcasts. Mistakes were made, but easily forgiven, both by his bosses and his own conscience. There were no misgivings. Projects proceeded at astonishing speed.

  Given full range of their imaginations, NASA dreamed big. In an astounding breakthrough, a group of physicists in Zurich discovered a method to overcome Einstein's limits on space travel. The problems that had baffled scientists for half a century were suddenly solved—ships's weight, shielding, propulsion, the health of the crew. Plans were drawn to build an interstellar craft.

  * * * *

  Across the world, the AIDS epidemic began to abate, as concern for others overcame all other considerations. New vaccines appeared. Unwanted pregnancies dropped to zero, reason finally overcoming the drive for procreation. To reduce overpopulation, everyone agreed that couples should have no more than two children. Families that wanted more children adopted from the dwindling numbers in orphanages.

  The pace of life slowed, yet more was accomplished. Through no edict, the work day gradually diminished to six hours, with a one hour lunch. More people began to garden.