Fragments

by James F. David

  “It’s an interesting theory. Intriguing. You think that a mind that has more tracks has more intelligence?”

  “Not in the sense most people think. If two people had the same ability to reason, but one could look at only two sides of an issue at a time, while the other person could look at four perspectives at the same time, then that person would make better decisions and would appear to be more intelligent. Take away those extra tracks and they would perform the same.”

  “I suppose you’ve been asked the ‘so what’ question before.”

  “I’ve asked myself that same question many times. There’s so many answers I could give. Let me give you one you might appreciate. When I was in college I took a World Religions class to fill an elective. We were supposedly studying different faiths and different cultures, but the professor was a Christian Jew who had his own agenda. One day he got to talking about Christian and Jewish perceptions of God. He said that Christians were always disturbed by the contradictions that belief in an omnipotent God created. Questions like how could bad things happen to good people? If God was all-powerful and the creator of the universe, then didn’t He create evil? If He did then isn’t He responsible for all the bad that happens in the world? Questions like these create a dilemma for Christians. To resolve these contradictions some argue that God doesn’t cause the bad, but allows it to happen. But if you accept that view you could also ask if God has the power to stop something and doesn’t, then is that really any different from causing it to happen?”

  “I’ve participated in these kinds of debates. My favorite is the question about whether God can create a rock so heavy he can’t lift it.”

  “Yes, that’s the kind of thing I mean. Anyway, this professor said these kinds of contradictions are anathema to Christians and they have spent centuries concocting twisted theological explanations to relieve self-induced stress. Jews, he argued, don’t have this problem. They accept God for what God is. God is the source of good and evil and those two thoughts don’t give them a moment’s pause. I’ve thought about what he said a lot since then, trying to resolve the contradictions that an omnipotent God poses.”

  “The easy resolution is there is no God.”

  Wes wondered if Elizabeth was baiting him, but she looked sincere.

  “Belief in a spiritual realm is nearly universal among peoples, Elizabeth. I prefer to think there is a spiritual world that in some way interacts with our world, and that all the different belief systems have come about because when we try to understand the spiritual realm we can only grasp a small aspect of it at a time.

  “God probably is good and evil, the creator of everything and the creator of nothing, active in our lives and inactive in our world, a part of nature and apart from nature. People probably do have only one soul and one life, and at the same time are reincarnated. God probably does care about each of us individually, yet lets the child in an abusive home be beaten to death. God is likely all of these things, and more, but we can’t understand God, or whatever you want to call the spiritual realm, because we can’t hold all these facts together at one time.”

  “Not enough tracks?”

  “Right. But Frankie might be able to make sense of it all.”

  “You spent years creating all this . . . this hardware, the software, and then pushed through your grant requests, and fought to get the savants, to create Frankie so you could ask it to explain God to you?”

  Wes didn’t like the way she framed the question. It wasn’t just for this, but he had to admit it was in the back of his mind from the first day he conceived of the Frankie project. He wanted to ask all the timeless philosophical questions about truth and the origin of knowledge. He also had questions in his own science to ask. He wanted to try and reconcile the psychodynamic psychologies with behaviorism and cognitive science. He wanted to understand the source of memories, and ultimately what learning was. He even had questions about the origins of the universe, the Big Bang theory, the nature of dark mass, and whether the speed of light was impassable. But when he was honest with himself, which he was now, he had to admit that the ultimate question was the one he would ask first. Is there a God? Wes realized that his eyes had drifted away from Elizabeth’s down to the table, and that he had been silent for a long moment. Elizabeth had respected the silence and now he looked her directly in the eyes and answered her question honestly.

  “Yes, I want to know if there is a God.”

  Now it was Elizabeth’s turn to be silent. He didn’t know what Elizabeth’s theological perspective was—she dragged him off to church regularly, but that was for the savants. All the social workers he had met were atheists. There was something about the professional training that drove theology out of people. It was likely that the need to be supportive of all others, no matter what the belief, made it difficult to sustain personal religious beliefs.

  Without a clear picture of Elizabeth’s beliefs he had no idea how she would react to his admission. Unfortunately, she never got a chance to answer. As she opened her mouth to speak the back door opened and Gil came in. He was flushed and breathing hard.

  “Are you all right?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Yeah, sure, fine. I stepped in a mud puddle, that’s all.”

  It was a peculiar answer, Wes thought, since it would only explain why his pants were wet, not why he was red-faced and out of breath. Wes offered Gil a cup of coffee, but he excused himself and a moment later they heard him thumping up the stairs. Elizabeth showed no signs of reacting to Wes’s admission about his interest in God, so Wes decided to probe. This time the sirens interrupted him.

  Sounding faint at first, soon they grew louder. Wes’s anxiety grew as the sirens sounded as if they were coming up the block. Suddenly Wes wondered where Ralph was. When his eyes came up and met Elizabeth’s it was as if she had read his mind.

  “I’ll check on Ralph,” she said.

  As Elizabeth and Wes jumped up, the siren sound abruptly died to a mournful whine and then faded out. The police car was down the block. Still, it didn’t relieve their anxiety, since Ralph was a wanderer. Elizabeth started into the next room and nearly ran into Ralph, who was coming through the doorway in his pajamas at full stride.

  “There’s a ambulance down the street. Let’s go see.”

  Ralph walked away without waiting for a response. Elizabeth and Wes followed, trying to keep up. Len and Karon were on the sidewalk staring down the street and Ralph passed them in two long strides. Ralph wore the kind of pajamas that pinch at the ankle and at the wrist and he made a peculiar spectacle with his V-frame muscular body, his leaning-back posture, and his long strides. It was cold outside and Wes worried about Ralph in only his pajamas, but as they exerted themselves to keep up their bodies warmed.

  The ambulance and a police car were only a few houses down the next block. Wes recognized it as one of the sororities. There was a small crowd gathered and Wes and Elizabeth joined in trying to see what had happened. Mrs. Clayton was there—Wes had never seen her without a garden hose in her hand. Ralph sidled right up to her and asked what was going on.

  “Oh, hello, Ralph. You shouldn’t be out this late.”

  “It’s OK. They’re done sperimenting on us for the day. Besides, Elizabeth and Wes are with me.” Ralph turned and pointed when he said it. Elizabeth waved at Mrs. Clayton but Wes just smiled vacantly, embarrassed again by Ralph’s candor.

  “What’s going on, Mrs. Clayton?” Ralph asked loudly. “Someone robbed or killed or something?”

  Mrs. Clayton responded in a quiet voice. “Someone was hurt when they fell off a roof.”

  “I fell off a porch once. Broke my arm. Had to wear a cast. It itched. I had a special scratch-back I used to itch inside the cast.”

  “A backscratcher?” Mrs. Clayton corrected gently.

  Ralph stared blankly for a second and then thumped himself on the side of the head and said loudly, “How could I be so stupid? A backscratcher. Yeah, that’s what it was. It was a yell
ow one from Chuck E. Cheese. I won seventy-seven tickets playing Skee-Ball and I got the scratch-back for seventy-five. I had two tickets left over but they didn’t have nothing for two. I don’t know what happened to the tickets or I would give them to you if you ever went to Chuck E. Cheese.”

  Another siren announced the arrival of a second police car with a single officer. Wes used the interruption to leave Ralph in the middle of his backscratcher story and follow the police officer into the yard of the sorority. There were no police keeping back the crowd that had formed on the sidewalk. Wes followed the police officer toward a group of sorority sisters in bathrobes standing in a rose garden. Several of the girls were crying. The rest of the group were college boys with somber faces. When the group parted to let the police officer in, Wes stepped into the space, Elizabeth squeezing in next to him. Three police officers and two EMTs were crouched around a boy lying on his back in the rosebushes. The boy was unconscious, but his chest was rising and falling. The boy was partially obscured by the roses, but Wes realized a wooden stake was protruding from his abdomen. It was covered with blood from its tip to where it disappeared into the boy’s stomach. A small amount of steam was forming at the opening, and white pulpy tissue bulged from the hole where it protruded. Wes felt sick. Then the boy woke up screaming.

  “He’s awake again,” one of the EMTs yelled. “Help us hold him down.”

  The boy’s eyes burst open at the same time as his scream and his hands came up to claw at the stake piercing his stomach. The other EMT grabbed one arm and two of the police pushed down on his legs. Another police officer grabbed the other arm, but the boy broke free and grabbed the stake, pulling on it, his hand unable to grip the stake, slippery with his own blood. The police officer pried the boy’s hand loose and pulled it away. The struggle with the boy’s arms continued, but the officers holding the legs soon relaxed—his legs weren’t moving. The boy’s screams were constant and more of the coeds began to cry. Talking to their friend, trying to calm him, the fraternity brothers’ words were barely audible over the screams. Then suddenly he collapsed again, unconscious.

  Wes agonized for the boy on the ground and was frustrated with the police and the EMTs. Why weren’t they doing something? Why didn’t they put the boy in the ambulance and get him to a hospital? Then a sorority sister came running up to the group carrying a long-handled pair of clippers. She handed it to one of the EMTs, who took it and worked the handles to see how wide the jaws opened.

  “This should do it. It might take a couple of cuts. Roll him over a bit, but be careful.”

  The others did as he said but couldn’t move the boy because of the rosebushes. The EMT used the clippers to clip away the growth on one side. Pricked by the thorns, the EMT cursed as he moved pieces of rosebush aside. When the roses were clear they gently lifted the boy and the EMT lay flat, reaching under and working the handle of the clippers. After a dozen tries he pulled the clippers out.

  “I think he’s free. Let’s get the stretcher in here.”

  The stretcher was moved from the side of the house into the garden and the boy was gently lifted. They tried covering the boy with a sheet but the protruding stake kept the cover at waist level. When he was gone Wes realized there was a large pool of blood on the ground.

  Wes followed the crowd out and listened to their talk, Elizabeth standing beside him. After a few minutes they left, pulling Ralph out of a conversation about Slurpees with another neighbor—the old man he was talking to looking relieved. When Ralph was well ahead of them, Elizabeth spoke to Wes.

  “Did you hear what happened? The boy was on the roof of the sorority—it was a panty raid or something. Then all of a sudden he just turned and stepped off the roof.”

  “That’s too bad, but he shouldn’t have been up there at all. Roofs are dangerous enough in the daylight.”

  “I guess,” she said. “Accidents do happen, but not like that. They said he just suddenly turned and walked off the roof.”

  Wes didn’t know how to respond. From his perspective it was an accident caused by a combination of beer and stupidity, but once again Elizabeth saw things in a different way. “Am I missing something, Elizabeth?” he said.

  “It’s just peculiar. Remember what happened to my assistant Marshall? He was hit by a car. I remember what his wife said about it. They were walking down the street with their daughter, and suddenly Marshall just turned and stepped into the street in front of a truck. He didn’t say anything, they weren’t at a corner, there was no reason for him to do it. It was almost like suicide.”

  “It sounds peculiar, but strange things happen all the time. Stranger than this.”

  “Maybe, but it’s a peculiar coincidence.”

  Wes could tell that Elizabeth wasn’t going to set it aside easily.

  “Maybe when you get Frankie up to speed you can ask her about God, and I’ll ask her about coincidental accidents.”

  “You mean him,” Wes countered.

  “We’ll see,” Elizabeth said.

  15

  ENCOUNTER

  Daphne stared out the window at the street below. Her head was held high, her ears and eyes wide open, yet there was little of the buzz. Mornings were often like that for her, and that’s why Daphne was usually awake before the sun came up. In the morning, things happened one at a time. A door would open, a man would come out, get in his car, and drive off. Then minutes would pass before another person left in the same way. Cars might drive by, but only one at a time. An occasional jogger would pass, but seldom more than one at a time. When the sun rose, it did so like the hands of a clock, too slow to notice. The orange glow of the morning sun lit the neighborhood with a single deep hue, unlike the myriad colors of daylight. Daphne enjoyed the slow change from discrete sensations to complex combinations—she could handle it. As the day wore on, activity picked up and Daphne found it difficult to keep confusion away. It crept in from the sides like a curtain at the end of a show and soon the buzz kept her from the world. Usually by the time Mrs. Clayton came out to water her plants, Daphne would be retreating inward away from the buzz—but today was different. Mrs. Clayton was watering now and Daphne’s world was still clear.

  It had been this way since the experiment the night before. She was experiencing the world as others must, able to savor multiple sights and sounds at once. The richness of the world tantalized her—she’d had only fleeting tastes of it before. Sounds from the world didn’t reverberate through her head endlessly, blurring with the shadows in her room. This morning noises sounded and faded away as they must for normal people, and light and shadows stayed distinct.

  Only the presence of the black hole in her mind kept her from complete joy, but even as she thought of it, it began to open, calling to her. Daphne focused on Mrs. Clayton but still the hole widened, threatening to disgorge its terrible content. The sensations around its edges began to blur, running together. Mrs. Clayton blurred, and soon was indistinguishable from her running hose, and her flowers. Then Mrs. Clayton dissolved into lines, curves, and colors, which were picked up and tossed like leaves in a whirlwind. Around the black hole they swirled, picking up sounds, and smells—any sensation. Soon a roaring tornado of thought surrounded the black hole, preventing Daphne from seeing its contents.

  Daphne ran to the hidey-hole in her mind, waiting for the storm to subside. When she felt safe she brought her hands up and began to play, letting the rhythm and melody partition her mind, the storm on one side, order on the other. When the imaginary music could do no more she went downstairs and played long and loud, driving the storm into a corner and hemming it in.

  Luis and Archie came down and listened, Archie working puzzles as he did. Ralph turned on Sesame Street and Luis and Archie joined him on the floor in front of the TV. After breakfast they watched Wheel of Fortune. Luis solved the puzzles before the contestants when only a few letters were in place. Then it was time for classes, and Elizabeth and Gil took them through their lessons, reviewing first
reading and basic math, then working on social skills, and especially eye contact. Daphne tried hard, but could look Elizabeth in the eye for only a second.

  Luis refused lunch when he saw the Spaghetti-Os and Gil ended up cooking him a toasted cheese sandwich instead. Everyone else was busy after lunch with the experimental equipment, so Elizabeth took the savants to the park. Ralph led the way, stopping to talk with everyone they met. Archie was the slowest and Elizabeth hung back and walked with him. Daphne tried to keep up with Ralph but as usual ended up trailing behind with Luis.

  At the park they swung on the swings until a mother complained they were hogging them and were “too big for them anyway.” Even through the fog of confusion Daphne was hurt, and left the swings to sit by herself. Ralph sat with her, trying to comfort her.

  “She didn’t mean nothing, Daphne. We should take turns. I like swinging, don’t you? Sure you do. Want some gum? I got some from Wes. He keeps a bunch of it now in his room. I think it’s ‘cause I ask for it all the time.”

  Daphne refused the gum, but Ralph’s prattle soothed her, taking away some of the hurt and soon she could glance around, seeing the way people were looking at them—she didn’t like it. People always stared, especially children. She didn’t mind the children as much, except sometimes they made faces when adults weren’t looking. The adults weren’t as obvious, but gave them the same looks.

  The musical bells of an ice-cream truck brought Ralph to his feet.

  “I’m gonna ask Elizabeth for some money.”

  He was off, cornering Elizabeth and talking rapidly. Soon he came striding back.

  “She said yes. You want something? I think they got the kind with the nuts on top.”

  Daphne asked him to bring her one, but stayed on the bench as the others went to the street to wait for their ice cream. The thought of the treat made her feel a little better, but still she kept her eyes on the ground, fighting to stay in touch with the world. Then she was surrounded by legs. She didn’t look up, but she recognized the voice.