The World of the End

by Ofir Touché Gafla

  “You, Ben, you. You look like a modern day Job, pawing uselessly at your wounds.”

  “You’re starting to sound like some kind of mad preacher.”

  “Cynicism isn’t going to save you here. Maybe it’s just hard for you to handle the awful fact that you committed suicide in vain.”

  “The fact that I can’t find her does not mean that she feels differently about me.”

  “I think you have blind faith in the love of a woman who’s left you.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Pricking and prying, trying to pull the rug out from under me.”

  “Because you mean so much to me.”

  “If I mean so much to you, I’d expect you to show some support. Not that it matters much anyway.”

  “That’s insulting.”

  “I didn’t say a thing.”

  “But you were going to.”

  “True. I was going to say that when one’s been through the trials of abandonment as many times as you have, one might find it rather enjoyable to project their own emotional baggage on the man who first hexed one’s relationship karma.”

  “Now you’re just being a kid, trying on words for size.”

  “Aren’t the parallels you keep reaching for a bit childish? Might it not feel a little too good to learn that the wife of the man you first loved left him and then you met him and showed him the light? I guess for you it would be the perfect closure for the story that had never come full circle.”

  “God, you’ve grown so arrogant with age if you think I’m using this to further my own agenda.”

  “Keren, do us both a favor and give the saint routine a rest. It doesn’t take superhuman insight to see that you’re pretty damn pleased with the way things have played themselves out.”

  “Understanding your current predicament, I’ll ignore your insults for now and just ask you a question: Why do you think we met?”

  “Because we thought we’d be bettered by a higher education, I guess.”

  “Not back then. Why do you think we met again in the Other World, and why in a manner so similar…?”

  “Come on, Keren, you know contrived symbolism makes me sick.”

  “Contrived?”

  “It might work for a Hollywood flick, but thankfully reality is more independent and low budget. Only the really far-gone cling to coincidence and assign meaning to whatever suits their needs at the time. That’s why they’re called coincidences, don’t you think? As far as I’m concerned, the fact that you and I crossed paths is exactly as significant as the fact that Marian and I haven’t.”

  “But if the two of you were just walking down the street and happened to bump into each other and then got back together, you’d have a good time telling everyone that fate brought you back into each other’s arms.”

  “Not fate, but the unavoidable necessity of being together.”

  “I won’t split hairs with you. It’s abundantly clear to both of us that you’re in a state of deep denial.”

  “That’s it! This is too weird for me. I’m arguing with my ex about my chances of finding my wife in tones that are already doing a pretty good job of reminding me why we broke up in the first place.…”

  “I apologize if I got carried away, Ben. I guess I just had a lot to get off my chest. You have no idea how truly happy I am to see you.”

  “And I to see you.”

  * * *

  Looking around, Ben realized they’d covered a lot of ground while arguing and that he had no idea where he was.

  Keren pointed at the skyscraper to his left. “Come.”

  “Not sure that’s a good idea…,” he said, holding his tongue at the touch of her soft finger on his lips and the sight of her still-beautiful face.

  “Don’t worry,” she said.

  The string quartet welcomed them with a smile and, as the elevator doors closed, the slow pour of music began. Ben tried to tame the thoughts that came to his mind, but the years truly had been kind to his first real girlfriend, and he found himself unable to keep his eyes off her smooth body, rounded and shaped by time. Watching her graceful movements, he tried to push back the creeping calculations about when last he had been with a woman, while, at the same time, scenes from his university days flashed through his mind and he recollected how they had gotten wrapped up in the distinct joys of sexual discovery, and that, he reminded himself glumly, was back when the body by his side was angular and inexperienced. He contemplated the peaks of pleasure she was capable of now that she had matured into full-fledged womanhood. A dangerous tiredness descended on him, threatening to eat away all that remained of the tenacious resistance he had exhibited hours earlier. He exchanged a limp half smile with Keren’s bothersome reflection.

  Ben hesitated before stepping out of the elevator, surprised to find that they had come to a stop on the expansive rooftop and not at Keren’s apartment. He smiled questioningly, and she nodded in understanding, ambling over to the edge.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  She held out her hand for him and waited patiently while he gathered the courage, taking her hand lightly, their fingertips grazing each other. Standing next to her on the edge, he felt his head start to swim and he tightened his grip. At the sight of the city spread beneath his feet, Ben locked his knees and asked to retreat.

  Keren held his hand tightly and brought her warm lips to his ear. “Don’t be afraid, my darling,” she whispered. But Ben’s fear had advanced from near paralysis to organ-shaking shudders. She brought him in close. Ben shut his eyes and inhaled the sweet warmth of her body, rubbing her back as the rise and fall of his chest merged with the swell of her breasts, burying his head in her fragrant neck, traveling up and down the artery of life, pausing by her locked lips, glancing against them and reveling as they opened, revealing a gleaming cavern, her thirsty tongue flitting against his lips, a serpentine seduction, teasing his tongue into a lover’s game, which, when answered, was cut short as his excitement mounted. He pulled away from the comforting body, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Keren, I can’t…”

  Keren, looking like she’d been awakened from an enchanted dream, looked at him crossly and moaned, “Can’t you be untrue to her just this once?”

  “It’s myself I’d be cheating on,” Ben said.

  Keren nodded, her eyes welling up. “Have I already told you that you’re every woman’s dream?”

  A colossal tremor went through the building.

  “What was that? Don’t tell me they have earthquakes in this place, too.”

  “No, darling, what they’ve got are monstrous elevators that sometimes get stuck.”

  “The elevator’s stuck?” he asked.

  “I didn’t know you were in a hurry…?”

  “Well, when there’s no choice…,” Ben said, shrugging.

  She burst out laughing as he headed toward the door. “You’re not seriously thinking about walking down twenty-four flights of stairs,” she said.

  “Like I said, when there’s no choice…”

  “But there is a choice.”

  “I’m not…,” he said before he understood her meaning and then added, “You don’t mean…”

  “Trust me, you don’t know what you’re missing. I do it at least twice a week. The perfect catharsis for a miserable day.” Looking at his incredulous expression, she added, “And if that’s not enough, just think of it as an opportunity to relive Marian’s last moments, as much as possible.”

  “As much as possible?”

  “If you wanted the really authentic version of events, I guess you’d have to introduce terror into the equation.”

  “Oh, there’s plenty of terror.”

  “Well, that’s just because you’re newly dead. Believe me, as soon as you get used to this place you’ll forget what fear is. You have to learn to utilize the upside of death.”

  “Like jumping off a twenty-four-story building?”

&nbs
p; “Here, watch,” she said, pointing to three nearby buildings, each capped with a waving teenage boy about to take the plunge.

  Keren walked right up to the edge of the roof, spread her arms sideways like wings, and called into the wind, “Just don’t look down.”

  Ben approached the edge cautiously, Kolanski’s trembling stance on the cloud foremost in his mind. He took a step back, imagined Marian’s last moments, readdressed the edge, closed his eyes, and jumped a split second after Keren, her laugh still trailing behind her.

  The initial dread that seized him when he dared open his eyes turned hypnotically tranquil when he realized he was hovering between the sky and the ground. A silence enveloped him during his virgin flight, and he saw nothing through his slit eyes but the image of his missing wife, his body drifting down, weightless, an irrational smile plastered across his face, finally understanding what Keren meant when she said it was the ultimate catharsis. The events of the past few days receded into the spreading quiet. The freedom was incomparable. His soul was liberated of everything beyond the soothing thought that if man can fly, he is truly all-capable. Prompted by untethered optimism, he bellowed Marian’s name. Even when the call went unanswered, he persisted, certain that though they were flying through separate skies, one way or another their paths would cross. The free fall continued for an additional minute before the black blotches on the ground sprang to life, and Ben realized that the flight was about to end when he was able to discern male from female. As they made their way to and from their modern dens, they didn’t bother to look up at the man rocketing down among them till he shrieked, flailed with his arms and legs, and impacted with a dull thud in the midfield of a soccer pitch, much to the chagrin of both teams.

  Opening his eyes, Ben, encircled by kids, couldn’t understand why he heard a woman’s voice in his ear. “Ben? Ben Mendelssohn?”

  He remembered the telefinger when one of the kids pointed at the glowing red light on his godget. “Yes, that’s me.”

  “Of course it’s you,” the woman replied, “I called you. Listen, it’s Marilyn.”

  “Marilyn?” he said, scattering the kids with a brusque series of hand movements, “Oh, oh, Ms. Monroe?”

  “Yes, hon. I’m sorry to be so direct but I’m late for a show and there’s an old couple here holding me up. They’re looking for Maria.”

  “Marian?” he shouted.

  “Yeah, Marian. I can’t explain everything to them right now but they’re dying to see you.”

  “Wait a second, who?”

  “They say they’re her parents.”

  “Tell them I’ll meet them at my place in an hour … I live in June 2001, Circle twenty-one, Building M, Floor twenty-four, Apartment seven.”

  * * *

  Reinvigorated, Ben trotted off the field and headed toward the nearest multi-wheel. Then he suddenly stopped, looked up at the darkening sky and clapped himself on the forehead. He searched around for Keren. After a while he spotted a leg sticking out of a bush on the far periphery of the park. He ran toward her. She was flat on her back, eyes half open, full blown befuddlement all over her tired face, and a frail, hallucinative smile hanging from her lips.

  “Keren, you alright?” he asked, leaning over her.

  “One more time and I’m there,” she said in a drowsy voice.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked, bringing his head close to her moving lips.

  “There … it’s better … darling…”

  He noticed that she was clasping the godget in her hands. “Hey, you can’t do that!” he barked, prying her surprisingly strong fingers off the button that would send her to the kingdom of eternal sleep. Only when her hands went slack and rested daintily on his, did he relax. Just as he was sure she had sunk into a deep sleep, he felt her nails ripping at the back of his hand. He yelled and jumped back.

  “Good luck with what’s-her-name,” she said, pushing the button for the seventh time and closing her eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, kissing her smiling lips and carrying her in his arms, consoling himself with the knowledge that at least this time he had decided to stay and accompany her on this, her final journey.

  26

  Trunkation

  To: Halfabillion, Director of the Forest of Family Trees

  From: Abillionandaquarter

  I’d like to call your attention to the corpse atop my table at this moment. As you know, I try not to bother you with the autopsy reports of uprooted trees, unless, of course, there’s cause for suspicion. In this particular case I can categorically say that, based on my years of experience as a tree pathologist, I have never seen a more clear-cut case of arboreal abuse. The fact of the matter is that someone has, time and again, been committing a crime that must be answered for immediately. It goes without saying that I will stand by any decision you make, even though I am sure that once you see the evidence, you will share my opinion that those who perpetrated this murderous scandal must be relieved of their jobs and punished, as you see fit.

  Following are eight basic facts that have come to light during the autopsy of the Mendelssohn family tree, situated in plot 2,605,327 until 6/21/01 at 23:07.

  1) The tree’s roots are strong and stable, aside from some mild rot (nothing that a routine root canal couldn’t solve)—conclusively indicating that the tree had many fruitful years left and that it was uprooted before its time.

  2) The tree’s bark is new, fresh, and vibrantly brown in color. Scruff patches, caused by pointy-toed shoes, are visible at the eighty centimeter mark. The perpetrator kicked the trunk, leaving bruise marks all along its lower section. As opposed to truly aged trunks, which often exhibit “acne” all along their length, this specimen shows wounds only at the points cited above, additional proof of deliberate harm.

  3) Over the last ten years, the crown has shown no signs of foliar renewal. In essence the tree has suffered an imposed autumn. With your permission I’ll quote Sevenmillion’s seminal work On Leaves and Branches: “When a tree loses its leaves and they do not prove to be self-regenerating, it is a strong indication of severe autumnal trauma, hinting at the beginning of a gradual decline. If disease is not a factor (the usual culprit is tri-seasonal jaundice, presenting itself in the form of yellow, lackluster leaves) then one must conclude that the culprit is external influence—unusually fast balding is a means a tree uses to signal to its surroundings that it is in distress, induced by violence.”

  4) The sap marks alongside the origin of the last eight branches have faded and are almost illegible—a common sight among old growth hardwood. Radiometric dating indicates that the Mendelssohns had been around for 2,609 years, thereby discrediting the age theory. Therefore, the smudging of the sap marks must be the result of the other known factor, fear. The oversecretion of sap points to grave existential concern (see: When the Tree Trembles: The World Wars and Their Effect on Families with Boys). This is heightened during storms in the Family Tree Forest, storms that are both a hysterical and credible reflection of particularly violent periods. What did the tree fear? And why did it only start to fear during the last few years?

  5) The smooth hollow marks typical of natural branch stubs stop at 02.01.94 (Menachem Mendelssohn). From that point on, all eight branch stubs are fibrous and pointy. In other words, they were cruelly removed from their spots, and the perpetrator of this crime did not clean up after himself. Moreover, the angle at which the branches were severed is identical in all eight cases—a forty-five degree pull to the right, a thirty-five degree pull to the left, a twist and an intentional dismembering. There are also clear signs of struggle. A very weak branch readily succumbs to physical strength; in this case the perpetrator was forced to employ a twisting motion, indicating, to my dismay, the branch’s temporary resistance to this abhorrent attack. That is to say, there’s no reason to believe that the branch had been naturally weakened to the point of falling, which yet again indicates wrongdoing.

  6) Further thoughts on t
he dismembering—despite the similarities in the manner in which the branches were torn from the trunk, there are distinct signs of improvement in the technique of the assailant. The first two stubs show a clumsy method of attack, requiring nine counterclockwise twists to separate the branches from the trunk, but the next four show far more efficient form and the final two are downright expert (a mere three twists, executed while pulling).

  7) The murders were committed by hand, without the aid of tools or implements. Had the crimes been committed with some type of sawing tool, we’d see no evidence of this type of “sloppy” result, hinting at one of three scenarios: The murders were not premeditated; they were premeditated but the perpetrator has tried to stage it so that it looks otherwise; the perpetrator is a scatterbrained, illogical character.

  8) Once the outer layers of bark were peeled away, the heartwood was revealed—tall, smooth and robust. Heartwood that promises a tree many more fruitful years. Its crown is not intertwined, its branches are well spaced and symmetric, its trunk shows no unusual bulges or knots. In summation, it is one of the more aesthetic specimens I’ve seen.

  Fraternally,

  Abillionandaquarter

  PS: If you require any help at all drafting a psychological profile of the perpetrator, please don’t hesitate to get in touch. I recommend two primary courses of investigation—a mysterious hatred for said family (perhaps there’s a connection between the criminal alias and the Mendelssohn family, if you know what I mean) or a severe psychological disorder that prompted the perpetrator to act like a merciless psychopath each time he came near the tree, may it rest in peace.

  PPS: If I may, I’ll conclude on a personal note and congratulate you on your new love.

  Best of luck.

  Halfabillion folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope. Nodding, he began thinking of his next schnapps with Billion. He decided to call the two main suspects to his office the next day and demand answers. It was high time this episode was brought to an end.

  27