Spontaneous

by Aaron Starmer

  “Yes, but it’s not like we’re all on the same clock. It’s like milk going sour or bread going moldy. Buy a bunch of loaves of bread and cartons of milk and leave them in the refrigerator or on the counter or out in the sun and they’ll all go bad on different timelines. Like us. Since we’ve had different experiences, diets, and so on, our bodies have aged differently. The Daltons were born the same time and had as similar an upbringing as two people could possibly have. Therefore, they exploded at essentially the same moment. As for the rest of us, like milk or bread, it’s only a matter of time, but it’s different times.”

  “It hasn’t happened for months. Don’t you think it’s possible they did something back in the tents to fix us.”

  “If they fixed us, they’d let us know. Trust me. It’s possible that they accidentally did something to slow things down, but I guarantee this thing isn’t over.”

  “And there’s no way to check our sell-by date? Assuming Doc Ramirez and that gang were on the up-and-up, why didn’t they see this in our platelets and whatnot?”

  “Because they didn’t know what to look for. And that’s what I’ve been working on. Finding a specialist, possibly a geneticist, who does know what to look for.”

  “Any leads?”

  “Actually, I heard someone else might have already beaten me to the punch.”

  “Who?”

  Tess pointed across the cafeteria to a circle of kids who had their phones poised on, you guessed it, Jane Rolling.

  “Christ,” I said. “What’d she do now?”

  “It’s not what she did,” Tess said as she pulled up a Wikipedia entry on her phone. “It’s who she brought.”

  Tess raised the screen. There was a portrait of a woman with a deeply tan and round face, sparkling eyes, and a popped collar. Below the image was one word:

  Krook.

  a stranger comes to town

  Dr. Rolanda Krook arrived on Wednesday morning adorned in khaki and sporting mirrored aviators. I first noticed her standing at the door to Room the First, her face framed in the little window. When Mr. Spiros spotted her, he opened the door and asked, “May I help you?”

  “Don’t let me be a bother. Go on with your class, go on,” Krook said in a soft but indeterminate accent, the type that revealed she either came from money or wanted us to think she did.

  “And who might you be?” Spiros asked.

  Jane Rolling stepped out from behind Krook, slipped into the room, and announced, “This is Dr. Krook of the Farthing Institute. She flew in on a red-eye this morning and she wanted to come immediately and observe our class.”

  “Well, that is some dedication,” Spiros said. “Welcome, Doctor. Have a seat in the back if you like. We were just discussing Cartesian philosophy and the ontological argument. Are you a fan of Descartes, Dr. Krook?”

  “I am a fan of all who question the nature of the world,” Krook said as she floated between the rows of desks. She was not a small woman, but she moved like a dancer. She slid into one of the few available chairs and sat in the corner with her legs crossed. Jane sat next to her, sporting a grin boisterous enough to be kicked out of church.

  “Okay then,” Spiros said. “Where were we? Oh yes, perfect islands. What constitutes perfection in an island? If God is omnipotent, as Descartes says, then he could create a perfect island, right? But an island has certain restrictions, does it not? It needs to have a body of water around it. Would a perfect island be infinitely large? If so, then how could it have water around it?”

  “You could say that about anything,” Claire remarked. “Everything has restrictions.”

  “Exactly,” Spiros said. “Descartes believed that if you can imagine a perfect God, then that God had to exist, because existence is part of perfection. But you are courting contradictions when you argue perfection.”

  “There’s no arguing with this perfection,” Clint Jessup said, flexing his muscles and pointing at himself with his thumbs. It elicited a respectable number of laughs.

  “True enough, Clint,” Spiros said. “You are the one thing philosophers can all agree on.”

  “I happen to know that Dr. Krook has some theories on perfection,” Jane added.

  Spiros’s eyes widened. “I’m intrigued. Enlighten us, Dr. Krook.”

  Krook chuckled—a real belly rumbler—and uncrossed and recrossed her legs. “Miss Rolling has undoubtedly read some of my work on cellular perfection.”

  “So you’re a biologist?” Spiros asked.

  “I have a PhD in molecular biology, as well as an MD with a residency in oncology and hematology,” Krook said. “But that’s neither here nor there. It has been my studies with the Wooli tribe of Papua New Guinea that has been most vital to my work.”

  “Even more intrigued,” Spiros said. “Go on. Who are the Wooli?”

  “The Wooli are the world’s last group of endocannibals,” Krook said with a smug smile. “Meaning that when someone in their tribe dies, they consume the ashes. In a beverage, usually. Sometimes in a stew. They call this ‘drinking the dead.’ What few people know, however, is that this practice has its origins in the phenomenon of spontaneous combustion.”

  Spiros folded his arms, thumbed his chin, and said, “News to me. And I’ve actually read a bit on New Guinea.”

  “Then you know that the diversity of languages and tribes there is astounding,” Krook said. “And the Wooli is probably one of the least known, but most fascinating, among those tribes. Spontaneous combustion is actually common in their villages. Their bodies burn rather than explode, but I suspect what happens to them is not that dissimilar to what is happening here.”

  “And yet have any of us heard of this?” Spiros said to the class.

  Jane’s hand shot up. Tess started to raise her hand, but reconsidered.

  “Okay, one remarkably studious young woman has heard of it,” Spiros said with a nod to Jane that surely made Tess a little jealous. “And yet you’d think this would be international news. You’ve seen the circus we’ve had to endure.”

  “I hardly think the same reporters would be willing to take the treacherous ten-day journey into the jungle to find the Wooli,” Krook said. “And when they got there, they’d hardly be welcomed as guests.”

  “But you have made this journey?” Spiros asked.

  “Many times. I have been there for the last six months. I only learned about your town’s predicament when I made a provisions trip to Port Moresby and saw a video clip some local children were sharing. It featured young Jane here. She’s quite popular in the capital.”

  Jane was absolutely beaming. I know “Big in Japan” is a thing, but I guess so too is “Big in Papua New Guinea.” I turned to Dylan to see his reaction and he was as enthralled as the rest of the room, clinging to every word.

  “Surely you brought a camera with you to document this phenomenon?” Spiros asked Krook.

  Krook shook her head. “We are all aware that camera footage can be manipulated and the Wooli would never agree to being filmed in the first place. That is all besides the point.”

  “What’s the point then?” Spiros asked.

  “The point is that I have seen this happen,” Krook said, and she finally removed her shades to reveal a pair of brilliant green eyes that popped from her olive skin. “It seems inexplicable, but there is an explanation. This is evolution in progress. In a quest for cellular perfection, the cells are self-destructing.”

  “Cellular perfection?” Spiros said with a cocked eyebrow. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard of that, either.”

  “Ah, but, Mr. Spiros,” Krook said with a finger wag. “I have no doubt you have also never heard of my mother, and yet she exists. I am proof of that. As educated as you are, sir, I’m sure you will admit there are some things that are out of your purview.”

  “Guilty as charged,” Spiros said with a sly smile.
“I have yet to uncover the secrets of a woman’s heart.”

  I turned to Tess, who was shifting in her seat and trying to hide her face behind her bangs. I mouthed, Bullshit? She shrugged, and then slowly raised her hand. Man oh man, I was hoping she’d blow the lid off this sucker.

  But Jane stole the spotlight again, blurting out, “Tell him about the snooze button, Dr. Krook.”

  “Ah,” Krook said. “Thank you, Miss Rolling, for reminding me of my reason for being here. Assuming they don’t die from other causes first, spontaneous combustion is an inevitability in the Wooli tribe. But it can be delayed. I have created a treatment that my husband has given the delightful moniker ‘snooze button.’”

  You couldn’t hear much over the din of questions that were suddenly shouted. Though I’m pretty sure I could hear Tess sigh as she lowered her hand. Well played, Krook’s husband. Well played.

  After all, what teenager doesn’t love a snooze button?

  the benefits of cyberstalking, part 2

  That evening, Tess, Dylan, and I gathered on my back deck, fired up the laptop, and easily located some scholarly articles Krook had written. There were lots of charts and diagrams and it looked sciency enough, but even Tess couldn’t understand half the vocabulary. A much better introduction to the good doctor appeared at a seemingly legit site called FieldWorkHeroes.com, which had photo-heavy profiles of globetrotting scientists and was endorsed by none other than Neil deGrasse Tyson, who compared it to “Vanity Fair, but with hadron colliders.”

  Krook’s profile included a few shots of the scientist with her children (of which she had eight—four biologically and four by adoption), but most of the images came from her expeditions into the jungle. They showed her on a raft, at the edge of a cliff, pointing to a snake—always in khaki. There wasn’t, of course, any evidence of the Wooli other than some artist’s interpretation: a charcoal sketch of a tribesman in flames.

  “‘All humans are wired to spontaneously combust,’” Tess read aloud, which was a direct quotation from Krook. “‘It’s part of their cells’ natural evolution into cellular perfection.’”

  “Cellular perfection?” I said. “Is that sort of like the genetic switch you were talking about? Did you hear about this before Krook showed up?”

  “Inklings, but I was skeptical,” she admitted. “From what I can gather, cellular perfection has to do with cells freeing themselves from the organisms they are bound to, then quickly returning to a subatomic state similar to what was found shortly after the Big Bang. Purely theoretical and usually not observable in humans, because the process is supposed to take thousands of years.”

  “What does that have to do with some tribe in the middle of some jungle?” I asked.

  “Well,” Tess said. “According to Krook, the difference with the Wooli is that many generations ago some environmental factor mutated their genes and sped this process up. So they were reaching cellular perfection and spontaneously combusting after twenty to thirty years of life. The whole cannibalism thing was their solution to delay the process. Krook says the Wooli discovered that consuming the ashes of the dead put the spontaneous combustion off for a few decades.”

  “O. M. Gag me,” I said. “This lady better not be suggesting that we lick up the remains of our classmates to live a long and fruitful life.”

  Dylan, who had been digesting all the talk, snagged the laptop from the table. “Let’s not forget about the snooze button,” he said as he clicked the image of an alarm clock featured on a banner ad at the top of the page. It launched a pop-up with a screen-busting pic of a green pill bottle. Below it, the text read:

  Dr. Krook and her husband, chemist G. W. Barlow, developed SnoozeButton™ by naturally re-creating the genetic sequences found in the ashes of deceased members of the Wooli tribe. For the Wooli tribe, it means an extended life expectancy without having to resort to the unpleasantness of endocannibalism. For the rest of the world, it may be the antiaging therapy we’ve sought for millennia.

  I didn’t need to see anymore. “So Krook is a crook, right?” I asked as I leaned back in my chair.

  “There’s some solid science here, and it’s not far off from some other theories, but there are holes,” Tess replied. “Many, many holes. And the timing of her arrival does raise some concerns.”

  “Some?” I said. “One. She’s here to sell pills. That’s it and that’s all. That article is clearly sponsored content. Because, really, the Wooli tribe? Why didn’t she go entirely racist and xenophobic and call them the Unga Bungas or something?”

  “Jane believes her,” Dylan said. “And Jane isn’t stupid.”

  “Krook has a litter of kids and terrible fashion sense,” I said. “Jane sees her as a mentor.”

  Dylan rolled his eyes, which, I’ll admit, my comment deserved. “She’s the mother of my nephews and a good person,” he said. “Maybe taking it will at least provide her with some hope.”

  “Wait,” Tess said. “What’s happening?”

  “Well, maybe you two aren’t quite Rosetti-level detectives,” he said as his fingers raced over the keyboard, “but I figured you at least checked social media.”

  He turned the laptop and showed us a picture of Krook, Jane, and the triplets, who were holding a cardboard sign that read:

  SHARE THIS IF YOU WANT OUR MOMMY TO BE THE FIRST ONE TO TAKE SNOOZEBUTTON™.

  It was posted that afternoon and had already been shared 258,349 times.

  infotainment

  Thankfully, Spiros wasn’t buying into Dr. Krook either. While our peers and their parents were saying things like “How will it hurt?” he was replying, “How will it help? Putting poison in their bodies?” and they were countering, “At worst, it’s probably a sugar pill and what about the placebo effect?” and he was shooting back, “False hope is the provenance of politicians and every variety of con man and I won’t have my students led astray by some charlatan.”

  In short: Krook was not welcome in Livin’ 101 anymore.

  However, our Ashtanga yoga teacher, Mr. Harmsa, was more than willing to humor the woman. And he did. The very next night.

  “The secrets to health are not found in your corporate laboratories but in the oral histories and nearly forgotten medicinal practices of the world’s indigenous peoples,” he told us as he introduced Dr. Krook on the stage of our recently refurbished auditorium (now known as the Tinder Theater, thanks to a generous cash infusion from everybody’s favorite hookup site).

  Yes, Dr. Krook was there to administer the first dose of Snooze-Button™, and she was decked out in her formal khaki, all pleats and button-down. Of course, the democratically elected first recipient of the pill was there too. Jane Rolling was sitting in a plush, white armchair and weeping from happiness. The entire senior class, as well as many parents, filled the auditorium seats, eager to watch and record the historic moment.

  After Harmsa bowed to Krook approximately 168 times, he shuffled backward offstage, leaving Krook to run the show. Because that’s what it was, a show, an even better show than my reincarnation celebration at Laura Riggs’s house. It was a medicine show, as they say, with a hulking yet elegant woman pacing back and forth and holding a bottle of her wares aloft.

  “I do not promise a cure,” Krook said. “Anyone promising a cure is a liar. What I am promising is a treatment. I am promising that three little boys will have a bit more time with their mother. Thanks to SnoozeButton™.”

  Under the harsh stage lights, the tears on Jane’s face looked like pearls and even my dark heart ached for the girl. Boy oh boy, did she want this more than any of us.

  “You are not interested in my promises, though,” Krook continued. “My words are empty vessels unless they are filled with results. So I will be brief. I want it on record that Ms. Rolling has chosen this therapy under her own volition and I will be administering it free of charge. Is that so, Ms. Rolling?”


  “It is so,” Jane squeaked, her eyes squinting and tearing. Pearls, all over her ruddy face.

  “Excellent,” Krook said. “I will apologize to those who came here expecting a big production. There isn’t much pomp and circumstance to swallowing a pill. But make no mistake, this may be the most significant moment in this young woman’s life.”

  “Besides the birth of my boys,” Jane remarked.

  “Of course,” Krook said. “Who could forget your prides and joys?”

  Then Krook winked to the front row, where those sweet little guys were sitting. Goddamn their tiny blue suits. Like cutting onions.

  Jane blew a kiss to them and they each started clapping. Which was adorable, obviously. Then Krook nodded offstage and Harmsa returned with a glass of water. As he handed Krook the glass, Harmsa announced, “I will be meditating during the treatment and everyone is welcome to join me.”

  He sat cross-legged on the stage, made a temple of his hands, and closed his eyes. “Ommmm,” he chanted, and his chant was echoed by Becky Groves, and then by small pockets throughout the auditorium.

  Krook nodded respectfully and did not interrupt the chant with her voice. Instead, she handed Jane the glass, then took a pill from the green bottle and held it up to show the crowd. It wasn’t much bigger than a vitamin, but from my seat in the fifth row, I could still see its lime sheen.

  “Ommmm,” went Harmsa and the ever-growing chorus of yoga enthusiasts. Rosetti, who was standing by the emergency exit with her arms crossed, was clearly not among them. I hadn’t spoken to her since Krook’s arrival, but I had texted her the night before.

  Me: So what do you think of Krook?

  Her: False flag, phase four. Be ready.

  I didn’t know what that meant. All I knew was Rosetti meant business. She was watching the stage with the intensity of a predator. I want to say she was like a jackal, but I’m not sure what a jackal is. If it’s a stone-cold killer with eyes of fury and a hand close to its holster, then she was a jackal all right. Either that or a wolf with a concealed carry permit.