Hours passed, and Charlie had almost reached a large rock. This was his current milestone. His next was an ornery looking thistle and beyond that a hillock. The line was moving with the slow, inexorable progress of a bank line that stretched for miles. It continued as well, to lengthen, this in spite of it now being nine o'clock at night. The rural road had no lights, and the intermittent flashes of lightning provided only moments of high contrast and stark relief. The moon was utterly obscured by the cloud cover, cloaking the land in featureless black. The only other lights on the road were a few kerosene lanterns and the dancing rectangles of cellphone screens. There was no service here. The woman in front of Charlie was playing Scrabble on her iPhone. The woman was stumped. She failed to notice that, with six of her letters, she could complete the word 'teleology' and earn a triple word score to boot.
Charlie noticed none of this. He was immersed past his eyes and ears in a pool of his own misery. He was anxious to make a decision, yet unable to decide what it was he wanted to do. Consequently, he jumped when someone tapped his shoulder.
"I'm sorry," said the man in an unplaceable accent, "I didn't mean to startle you."
"It's fine," said Charlie. He was as surprised by the man's appearance as his presence. He instantly recognized the robes, shaved head and question mark tattoos of a Pō Light.
"May I have your name?" asked the Pō Light.
"Um... why?"
"For the record. I assure you, it won't be used for marketing purposes."
"Oh, okay. It's Charlie, Charles Draper."
"American?"
"Yes."
The acolyte carefully wrote this down on a pad of paper. Peering over the top, Charlie could see that it was indeed, a long list of names and other information. "Religion?"
"Presbyterian, I guess. Not now, but that's what I was raised."
"What are you now?"
"Not sure, really. Does it matter?"
"It could be the most important thing in the universe, but probably not."
"Can I ask what this is for?"
"It's a census."
"For Mrs. MacGuffin?"
"No, but she said we could do it. May I ask when and where you're going?"
"I don't know that either."
"Undecided, again. Right then." The Pō Light turned to the next person in line.
"Listen, why are you doing this? It's the end of the world. Surely compiling some big list of who's here and where we're going doesn't matter."
The acolyte stopped and stared at him as if Charlie had just started meowing like a cat. For the first time, Charlie had a good look at the man. The Pō Light had a baby face and wide eyes that made his age ambiguous. Charlie suddenly felt very stupid, and to make matters worse, he didn't know why. Of course, at the heart of it, Charlie didn't really care. What this man said and thought was of no consequence given the monumental decisions Charlie was trying to make. His thought process there, however, was at an impasse. Charlie simply didn't know what to do about Alex versus Lisa and Faith. It was pathetic. Finally, he had been given a choice about his life and he couldn't make it. So he continued numbly on with the conversation, exactly as he had with the people at the funeral. "So why does it matter?"
"Do you know what the tenets of my faith are?"
Charlie had absolutely zero interest in Pō Light doctrine. It was considered, even by religious standards, an extremely silly faith. Not as silly as Scientology, perhaps, but still, quite silly. It was said that there are three types of people you never invite into your house, Jehovah's Witnesses, vampires, and Pō Lights—in that order. The first will try to save you, the second will try to kill you and the last will bore you. "Don't know, don't care," said Charlie emphatically.
"Our great prophet, Ed Platzberg of Winnipeg, Manitoba, had an epiphany we refer to as The Deselection." Charlie turned away. He had neither the inclination nor emotional state of mind to listen to some cult member's sanctimonious blather. The Pō Light, however, was used to indifference and continued undeterred. "Ed's great revelation was to realize that among all the many religions and peoples of the world, Christians, Jews, Muslims, Mormons, Scientologists, Snake Handlers, Hindus, Americans, Russians, the Swiss, Wall Street Investment Bankers, Vegans, Cross Trainers, Baby Boomers and so on, was one common universal belief. This was the belief that, in all the cosmos, there was one special group, a chosen people."
"Yeah, themselves," a voice said unto them. The voice spoke in a thick Cockney accent. It belonged to Sam, the next person in line. Sam was a scrap dealer from London who had been listening in. "What an amazing co-incidence!" said Sam with an exaggerated eye roll. Sam had been hauling scrap along the road to Cockwaddle when he'd spotted the long queue. Once he'd heard what it was for, he'd joined in, right behind Charlie. Up until then he'd been joking that it must be the line for the new iPhone.
"That's true," agreed the acolyte. "Still, this idea that there are a 'chosen people' who will be saved is, in itself, universal."
"If you say so," said Sam. Charlie was trying not to listen. He thought of Alex possibly lost and alone in some unknown time and space, or worse. He felt as if he'd wandered onto the stage of a play by Sartre and now couldn't find the exit.
"What is not universal, as you point out, sir," said the Pō Light, "is the idea of who the chosen people are. There's basically no agreement on that point whatsoever."
"Now that is true."
"Which means every religion, group, nation, but one, is wrong."
"You're right!" said Sam, eyes wide.
"Ed was right," said the Pō Light, with humility. "Ed saw no reason to think that he was a chosen person. He soon found others who felt the same; people who realized that they too were utterly unremarkable or, as Ed put it, extraordinarily ordinary."
"That's a paradox."
"And yet it is not."
"I see," said Sam though, in truth, he didn't see at all.
"Anyway, that was the foundation of our religion. He gathered together those who shared his belief in their own insignificance and gave us a quest. That quest was to discover the true 'chosen people' and their messiah."
"Really?"
"Well, the messiah bit is optional. In the meantime, since we don't know who the real chosen people are, we go around being as civil as possible to everyone. We start on the assumption that everyone we meet is better than us, rather than the other way around, as most people do."
"That's nice."
"And, once we find the true chosen ones, we will recognize and serve them."
"Oh."
"We also plan to ingratiate ourselves in the hope that we too might be saved. Ed called that 'collateral salvation'."
"Ah, well that makes more sense." Sam thought about this for a moment, then said, "Sort of like hedging your bets, in a way?"
"In a way."
Charlie thought about Lisa and Faith. He thought about seeing them again. He thought about reliving those lost moments, albeit from afar. He imagined the photographs come to life, Lisa holding Faith, while he took the picture. He even fantasized about ignoring Mrs. MacGuffin's warning and trying to speak with them. He imagined hanging outside Faith's school and watching her in the playground. He'd have to be careful not to be spotted by them or anyone else. If someone saw him watching, they might report him to the police. "So," said Sam, trying to appear disinterested "the 'chosen people', any luck with, you know... finding them?"
"Why yes," said the Pō Light with surprise.
"Oh! Oh, well, um, out of curiosity, who might they be?" As he said this, Sam leaned in while casting about furtive glances in case 'they' might be somewhere nearby.
"They're you."
"Me?"
"Yes, and everyone else here in line. At least those who make it through in time."
"Me? I'm a chosen people?"
"Chosen person, and yes. Of all the billions of people on Earth, you and those around you, are the only ones who will be saved. Unless, of course, there's another t
ime portal we're not aware of." Now it was the Pō Light's turn to glance about on the off chance that there was another time portal nearby and he'd simply failed to notice it.
Charlie, unable to think with the inane conversation taking place beside him, turned with a burst of real anger. "Can you shut the Hell up and take your ridiculous religion elsewhere? The people in line here aren't 'chosen', they're just here by random chance. They're people who live in the area, are related to Mrs. MacGuffin, or just happened to pass by. It's not because of their religion, race, nationality or their local God damn sports team. There's nothing special about you, me, or anyone else here in line!"
"Mmm, yes," said the Pō Light, glancing down at his list, "that does seem to be the case."
"And we're not in line to be 'saved'. We're in line to go back in time to take one last ride on the merry-go-round. None of it matters because the world's going to end and everyone's going to die, sooner or later."
"Ah, well, that's where you're wrong."
"Really? You're telling me the world's not going to end?"
"Oh, no. No, no, no, goodness no, which is to say, yes, of course it is. I meant about it not mattering. You see, that was the second epiphany of our prophet."
"Ed Platzberg," Sam interjected, to show that he'd been paying attention.
"Yes," said the Pō Light. "You see, Ed's daughter contracted a brain tumour." Charlie, who had been opening his mouth to yell some more, closed it. Suddenly the zealot's dissonant rambling had struck a chord. "At first he was lost... wandering in the desert, "the Pō Light continued. "Outside of Albuquerque, I believe. They have a cancer treatment centre there. Anyway, the prognosis was grim. They realized they couldn't help her and that she was going to die. Of course, Ed couldn't rail against God, as a chosen person might. After all, who was he? A nobody. Likewise, he'd raised his daughter a Pō Light, so she was a nobody too. They were both nobodies. Well, to God, anyway."
Charlie was speechless. He turned away to hide his face. He felt as though the life marrow had been sucked from his bones. "So what did he do?" asked Charlie, feeling unsteady on his feet.
"He had that epiphany, I mentioned. He asked himself if his daughter had an immortal soul. Chosen people believe they do. They think that's what really counts. Ed, however, realized something very important. He realized that it didn't matter."
"It didn't matter?" asked Charlie incredulously. He'd often found himself wondering if Faith was somehow still there. Sometimes he felt her. Other times he felt he was fooling himself. He'd reach down to touch her shoulder, only to touch air.
"Ed asked himself then, what is the difference between immortal existence and mortal existence?"
Charlie began to feel annoyed again. He wasn't interested in some sophomoric theological debate. "And?"
"And what?"
"And what is the difference between immortal and mortal existence?"
"Oh right. Um, length."
"What?"
"Or 'duration' if you prefer. Basically, one is around forever and the other for, well, less."
"That's it?" It was, Charlie decided, the stupidest thing the Pō Light had said so far.
"Yes. That's it. He then realized that length doesn't matter."
"Well, sometimes it does," Sam snickered.
"I mean, er, Ed meant, length doesn't define value."
"What does then?" asked Sam.
"We do. Even if we aren't 'chosen'. People over complicate things, by which I mean existence."
Charlie stared at him, trying to decide if this was all nonsense. "What about going back in time?" he asked.
"The merry-go-round? What's it matter when you live? The past will become your present. Just because the world will end someday, doesn't make it pointless. Pō Lights believe in living. We love life. 'Live for as long as you can, because existence is the best thing there is!' Ed said that. He also said, 'we are all imperfect clones of our former selves', but people think he may have been drunk at the time."
Charlie nodded, trying to absorb the thoughts swirling in his head. The Pō Light turned to leave. "Wait," said Charlie anxiously, "what happened to Ed's daughter?"
"In conventional terms? She died." said the Pō Light. "Of course, Ed would never say it that way when people asked him that."
"How did he say it?"
"He'd say, she lived."
Chapter 30
"I believe in moral relativism" – Cain
Charlie watched Faith work. The seven-year-old diligently scooped wet sand into the bucket with the yellow plastic shovel, patted in down, and levelled it off, just as he had taught her. His daughter then lugged the now-heavy container to a corner of the castle and flipped it over. She gave the bottom of the bucket exactly two whacks and pulled it away, leaving a squat sand tower in its place. Finally, she poked narrow windows in the side with a stick. Arrow slits, he'd told her. She sat back to admire her work. She then turned and smiled at her father, squinting in the morning sun.
"Is it finished?" Charlie asked.
Faith nodded and looked once more at the sprawling palace she'd created. Five walls, five towers, and a keep in the center, with a twig for a citadel. "Can you help me make the moat?" she asked.
"Of course." Charlie put down his book and crawled over to her side. "You dig over there and we'll meet up by the water."
Faith nodded and scrambled to the far side. With that same diligence, she began to scoop out a six-inch-wide trench. Charlie did the same. He felt the sand beneath his nails. He breathed in the ocean breeze. The air smelled of salt and sun dried sea weed, but still tasted like the cleanest air on Earth. Further down the beach a man was yelling at his dog to come back in from the water. Soaking wet, frisbee in mouth, the dog would come when it felt like it. The dog wasn't being difficult, it was simply too happy to hear him. Charlie wondered for a moment where Lisa was. They'd come to the beach together, but Lisa had wandered off looking for something. She's probably collecting pebbles, he decided. Lisa often did this at the beach. She'd collect shiny stones, only to be disappointed when, later, they dried off dull.
A few minutes later, Charlie and Faith's trenches met as planned. "It needs to go all the way 'round, Daddy," said Faith, brushing the hair from her eyes.
"You're right." Charlie crawled back to quickly connect the top part of the ring, completing the moat. "Good?"
Faith nodded. "Can we do the peace resistance now?"
"Of course," said Charlie with a smile. She was asking for a trick he called the "pièce de résistance". It involved digging a connecting canal to the ocean, so that sea water would fill the moat. It completed the castle. Charlie and Faith together dug the tiny trench, making sure it and the moat were all lower than sea level. They carefully left a final dyke intact.
"Is it ready, Daddy?" she asked. Charlie marvelled, as he often did, at her perfect small face and bright green eyes. She was so small, in her little red bathing suit.
"Yup."
Faith broke into a grin and proceeded to smash the tiny dyke with her shovel. A gentle wave lapped over the sand and instantly flooded the moat with briny sea water. Charlie spotted a point where the water failed to fill. He leaned over and dug out some more sand. The water rushed in. The circle was complete.
He turned to look at Faith, who was admiring the castle they had built. She then turned to him and smiled. She nodded her approval. "It's perfect," she said.
At that moment a rogue wave rolled in. It rushed past their ankles and swamped the sandy structure. As the water rapidly receded it melted the castle turrets and walls, reclaiming the sand for the sea. Charlie looked at Faith with sympathy. He was surprised to see that his daughter seemed unconcerned. "You're not upset?" he asked.
Faith shrugged and smiled. "I had fun building it," she said.
Charlie nodded. "So did I."
Chapter 31
"I paint what I see" – H. Bosch
Once more, Charlie ran the length of the line, this time back towards the nuclear
cooling tower. In the night, it appeared as a black silhouette against the eigengrau sky. The clouds had parted, revealing a patch of stars. In the heavy dark of the Highlands, the stars appeared as pin pricks of light so brilliant that it astonished Charlie even as he ran. He was used to the ambient light of cities obscuring or hiding the universe altogether. You forget it's even there, thought Charlie.
As he ran past, the people in line regarded Charlie with looks of surprise, curiosity, and, occasionally, indignation. He wasn't the first to try to jump the queue, and they assumed he'd be sent back like the others. Charlie desperately needed to find Mrs. MacGuffin. He'd heard a rumour that she'd been spotted near the front of the line. Of course, since information was being passed along the queue in a massive game of 'broken telephone', there was no telling how accurate or recent it was. Still, he knew now what he had to do. Charlie had never expected the words of the crazy cultist to help him. He had little time for dime store philosophy. He'd heard enough of it at the funeral. Telling someone that 'everything happens for a reason' is about the worst thing you can say to someone who has just lost his family. He'd rather believe the universe was a cold empty place without purpose, than something that had caused that to happen. Even so, the Pō Light's words were cold comfort at the thought of what he was going to do or, more precisely, what he would give up in doing it.
The rumour was true. Charlie found Mrs. MacGuffin at the front of the line and waved to her. She look slightly disheveled and was clearly surprised to see him. Despite this, she smiled curiously and waved back. He vaguely noticed a black helicopter abandoned in a nearby field. Charlie was relieved to find her, but now felt fear at what she might tell him.
"Hello Mr. Draper!"
"Are you all right?"
"Oh aye. I've had quite the adventure!" she explained. She was clearly exhilarated by the experience and delighted to have someone to tell it to. "There was a disturbance at the end of the queue. Some Roosian billionaire and his entourage had flown in. A boonch a Cossack thugs if you ask me. Anyhoo, they were demanding that I take them to the front of the queue."
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