The Good Atheist

by Michael Manto

  I waited at the door, my hand still on the handle, sensing a bomb about to drop.

  “While we could technically convict you of failure to report an intellectual crime, which carries a sentence of up to a month in rehab, we don’t think that will be necessary in your case. Your adherence to the values of atheism appears to be quite sincere.”

  I nodded in acknowledgment of the compliment. “Thank you, Inquisitor.”

  “However, we’ve decided to assign you to a Counselor. You will be required to attend personal counseling. The purpose of this is not punishment, you understand, but prevention and rehabilitation. We want to help you grasp the importance of working towards the intellectual purity of the country. It’s every citizen’s duty.”

  There was nothing for me to say. Counseling assigned by the Tolerance Bureau is mandatory, and I was getting off easy as it was, so I wasn’t about to object. I nodded and left the room.

  I found Miriam still working at her desk, a lone pool of light on the dark floor, when I went back to my cubicle. “What are you still doing here? It’s late,” I said.

  “It’s the only time of day I can get any work done.” She tapped away at her keyboard. “Blythe was here looking for you.”

  “Who?”

  “Blythe. The ground- floor receptionist.”

  “What did she want?”

  “You had a visitor.”

  “Did she say who?”

  “Some lawyer from Virginia.”

  I thought for a moment, and remembered the call from earlier. “Do you mean Vermont?”

  “Oh, yes, that’s it. Apparently he was still downstairs waiting, at least an hour ago. Blythe was looking pretty irritated, I have to say. I told her you were otherwise indisposed.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How’d it go?”

  I just grunted.

  She stopped typing and looked at me. “Come on, big guy, throw me a bone. I’ve been sitting here all evening doing real work, holding down the fort, et cetera, et cetera, and missing out on all the excitement.”

  “You have a strange idea of fun and excitement.”

  “So did you tell them anything? Any pay dirt for our brave defenders of intellectual orthodoxy?”

  There was no point denying it. “Only what I knew.”

  She grinned mischievously. “You knew something about Nathan?”

  When I didn’t answer right away, she knew she had me. “You knew something all this time, and didn’t report it to the Inquisitors?”

  “I told them today,” I said a bit defensively.

  She learned forward in her chair. “So, are the rumors true? Was Nathan a believer?”

  I nodded.

  “And he actually talked to you about it?”

  “Uh huh.”

  She cocked an eye brow at me. “If you had the goods on him, why did you remain silent until today?”

  “It was only once, and at the time it didn’t seem all that important. I didn’t think it was worth turning him in over one conversation. I still don’t, but that doesn’t matter now.”

  “You could get arrested just for saying that, Jack dear,” Miriam pointed out. “You should be more careful, and show more vigilance in your civic duty.”

  “Are you going to have me arrested?”

  She tapped the side of her face with an index finger while making an exaggerated expression of concentration. “Hmm, it is a dilemma. You’re too pig-headed to respond well to rehab, but then again you’d look awfully cute in those pin-striped pajamas the prisoners wear.”

  “Guests, not prisoners,” I corrected.

  “Well, I don’t suppose there’s a reward out for you yet, so I don’t think I’ll bother.”

  “You’re too kind.”

  Miriam laughed, but then lowered her voice. “Seriously, Jack. You need to be more careful. People are talking.”

  “About what?”

  “Well, that you’re a Shirker. You don’t take the Citizen’s Duty seriously enough – not doing your part.”

  “Nonsense.”

  She shrugged. “Jack, I like you. I’m just telling you what I’m hearing. So be careful, okay?”

  “Thanks. I’ll add that to my ‘To Do’ list.”

  “I’m serious. It’s not something to joke about.”

  “Okay, thanks. Look, I need to run. It’s getting late.” I unplugged my data pad and slipped it into a carry case, and grabbed the coat off the back of my chair. It’d been cold in the morning when I had left for work, despite being June.

  “Some of us are getting together at Donovan’s after work. Are you coming?” Miriam asked.

  I shook my head. “I can’t. I should get home. Selene will be waiting and wondering where I am.”

  “Selene’s a lucky girl,” she said.

  “I like to think so.”

  She glanced up at me, her eyes dancing playfully. “If I didn’t think you were so devoted to your wife, I’d cast my hooks out for you. You’d be a nice catch.”

  “Well, you’re out of luck, because I’m very devoted,” I said.

  “And talking about the lucky girl, how is she doing?”

  I still found it painful to talk about the accident. “Much better, thanks. She couldn’t go back to modeling after the accident, of course, but she’s found a new line of work.”

  “What’s she doing?”

  “Developing virtual personalities for artificial intelligence apps and on-line avatars. It’s a big change for her, but she’s discovered a hidden talent and is loving it.”

  “Good for her. Is she getting out much yet?”

  I shook my head. “Not much, I’m afraid.”

  “I haven’t seen her since she got out of the hospital. She’s declined all my invites. Won’t even meet me for coffee.”

  “Don’t take it personally. She’s avoiding everyone. There is still a lot of reconstructive surgery needed.”

  “I don’t care about that,” she said.

  “She does.”

  “We miss her. It’s been almost a year, Jack,” Miriam said softly. “You should try to get Selene out and see people. It will do her good – help with her recovery.”

  I knew Miriam was only trying to help, but her timing couldn’t have been worse. I was beat – physically, emotionally and mentally. My energy levels are highest in the morning – I’m what my wife calls an annoyingly perky morning person. The flip side of that is that my energy level is not very high later in the day, and this had been a particularly long and difficult one. I was feeling drained. I’d just endured a grueling interrogation by the Tolerance Bureau, and barely escaped sentencing to rehab for my failure to report Nathan sooner. I knew she meant well, and I even felt, deep down, that she had a point. Maybe if I hadn’t just spent two hours being grilled by Inquisitors I might have handled it better.

  But I didn’t. I didn’t handle it well at all. “Miriam, you have no idea what’s she’s been through,” I snapped. “What we’ve both been through. And I don’t need advice from you on how to run my personal life. Selene is recovering, physically and emotionally, very well. She’s found a new line of work, and she will get back out into circulation when she feels good and ready, in her own time.” I knew, even as the words spewed forth, that they reeked of self-pity and defensiveness. But I’d lost it and no longer cared.

  Miriam stiffened in her chair and her jaw dropped. I grabbed up my things, turned around and left before she had time to say something. I’d worry about apologizing tomorrow.

  • • •

  A frumpy old man was sitting in the ground-floor reception area as I left the building. He watched me as I crossed the lobby towards the front doors. I glanced his way, wondering who he was, and he quickly got up from the leather couch and moved towards me. I kept walking but he angled across the floor in a trajectory that would intercept me before I got to the revolving doors.

  There was no avoiding him and we met in the middle of the lobby. He was wearing a dark blue suit of
a style that went out with the last century, and a shock of unruly grey hair adorned the top of his otherwise bald scalp.

  “Jack Callaghan?”

  “Yes.”

  He stuck out his hand. “My name is Richard Abrams,” he said without smiling.

  I remembered the name and I shook his hand. “Yes, Blythe called me earlier.” I looked around. Blythe had left for the day and the night security guard now sat at her station. This Richard Abrams, whoever he was, had been waiting for me in the lobby for a long time.

  “What’s this about?” I asked.

  “I’m a lawyer from Vermont.”

  “In that case you have my deepest sympathies, but it’s late and I need to be getting home.”

  He didn’t seem to appreciate my humor. Without any change of expression or tone of voice, he motioned towards the waiting area off to our left where there were some couches and chairs. “Yes, I’m sorry to keep you. But I’ve been waiting all afternoon to speak with you. Do you mind if we sit down?”

  “Can you tell me what this is about first?”

  He regarded me solemnly and his expression turned dourer, which hardly seemed possible. “It’s about your grandfather.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m afraid he passed away over the weekend.”

  • • •

  I hadn’t seen Grandpa in years, but my childhood memories of him were fond. I was eight the last time I saw him, shortly after my father disappeared. He dropped in one Saturday afternoon and sat in our living room for a short visit. My mother was upset, and I could tell she didn’t really want him there. I asked him if he’d seen my Dad. He said yes. Then I asked where he was and if I could see him. Grandpa tried to answer, carefully choosing words to explain the inexplicable to a child. I remembered what he’d said like it was yesterday.

  “I can’t tell you where he is. Not just yet, anyway.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s in hiding. It would be too dangerous for you to see him now.”

  “Why is he hiding?”

  “He had to. It’s hard to explain.”

  “Who is he hiding from?” I asked.

  At this point my mother got very agitated and didn’t give him a chance to answer. She jumped up and said something about it being late and shouldn’t Grandfather be going soon? He left soon after that. A few days later we moved to another city, and I never heard from him or my father again. Not long after that, my mother told me Dad had died in a car accident.

  • • •

  Abrams brought me back to the present. “Would you like a few minutes before we continue?”

  “No, I’m fine.” I had been very fond of him, but the tears could wait. This wasn’t the time or place.

  I went over to the waiting area with him and I sat down in one of the couches. The lawyer took a chair across from me. There was a long glass coffee table between us, with imbedded controls for bringing up holographic magazines and newspapers.

  He took a small envelope out of his jacket and slid it across the table towards me. “He left everything to you. In his final will he asked that I find you and give you this.” I picked the envelope up. It was made of real paper, the old-fashioned type used before the internet, when people still had to snail-mail physical paper letters to each other. My name was neatly printed across the face of the envelope.

  “There’s some property up in Vermont. A cottage, with two acres of land, a modest bank account, a small truck.”

  I turned the envelope over in my hands without opening it. “When is the funeral?”

  “Well, there’s the rub. It’s tomorrow afternoon.” His tone was apologetic. “We’ve been trying to locate you since your grandfather passed away. Your mother refused any contact with your father’s side of the family and moved around a lot. You weren’t easy to find. ”

  “Where?”

  “Aylmer, in northern Vermont. Your grandfather lived there.”

  I stared at the envelope, not sure I wanted to open it. Abrams filled the silence. “I know this is very short notice. You don’t have to attend the funeral if you can’t make it tomorrow. But you will want to come up soon to view the property and go through the cottage. You will need to make some decisions about what you want to do with it before too long.”

  He looked at his watch and stood up. “I’m sorry to have to run, but if I don’t leave now I’ll miss my flight.”

  I remembered my manners and stood up with him. “Thanks for coming down.”

  “Do you have near field communication enabled on your phone?”

  “Yes, I keep it on.”

  “Then my phone has already sent my contact information over to your device so you’ll know how to reach me. I hope to see you tomorrow. There are a lot of people looking forward to meeting you.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “How’s that?”

  “We’ve known Ben for many years. He wasn’t just a client, but a close personal friend as well and he talked often about you. I already felt as if I knew you before I came down.”

  Richard put on his coat and we shook hands. “Let me know when you’re coming up and I will take you out to see the cottage.”

  I thanked him for coming, we said a final goodbye, and he left. When he was gone through the front doors I tore the envelope open. There was a single folded sheet of paper inside and I slipped it out. Unfolding it, I found a short, hand-written paragraph in very neat, surprisingly legible cursive in the middle of the page. I sat down to read it.

  Jack, if you are reading this, then I’m no longer of this world. Your father and I never meant for things to happen the way they did, and I’m sorry that this letter found you before I could. I’ve left my cottage and everything in it to you. I believe you will find the answers you need inside the cottage.

  I wondered what he meant by ‘find the answers you need’. What questions did he imagine I had? I wiped the tears from my eyes and hurried to catch my bus home.

  • • •

  We have a studio apartment on the forty-second floor of a modern high rise, home to ten thousand other souls packed like sardines into the tower of steel and concrete. It wasn’t much, but at least we owned it, and we did our best to make it home. I even had a plot of land – a small planter hanging from the balcony railing in which I cultivated a tomato plant. Every now and then it managed to squeeze out some small round red fruit that I could harvest and slice up for sandwiches or salads.

  The living room was open with high ceilings and tall windows. A large lavender rug defined a living area in the middle, with a couch and chairs and glass coffee table next to the windows overlooking the city. On a clear day we could see glimmers of Lake Michigan beyond the downtown skyline. The kitchen was open to the rest of the apartment, with a counter and stools and everything I needed to cook, which I did as much as possible but not nearly as often as I’d like. Down the hall was a small bedroom with an en-suite bathroom.

  The house system recognized the chip in my finger and opened the front door as I approached. I stepped inside and a deep, throaty voice greeted me. “Good evening, darling. I’ve missed you.”

  “Ellie, is that you?”

  “Of course it is, hon. It’s so good to see you.”

  “You sound like a nightclub singer who’s been up smoking cigarettes and drinking scotch all night.” Last night her voice was high pitched and cowering.

  “Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment, honey.”

  “Has Selene been messing with your personality software again?”

  “Oh, yes. Isn’t it just delicious? I was so tired of being the cringing little maiden.”

  I looked across the room and saw my wife. She was facing the other way, towards the windows overlooking Chicago’s brilliant night skyline. She was working intently at her computer, with headphones on. I took a moment to watch her, something I never got tired of. I specially liked to look at her when she didn’t know I was watching.

  From this angle there was no hint of th
e terrible scarring that deformed her face. She had a sleek body, with long legs and slender arms. Today she’d left her long black hair loose around her shoulders.

  I looked up at the ceiling – why I don’t know, Ellie was not in the ceiling, or the walls, or in any particular spot in the house. As the house avatar, she was all-pervasive within the confines of my four walls. But I looked up at the ceiling out of habit, and held my finger up to my lips. “Shhh, don’t let her know I’m here.”

  A groan came from the wall close by. “Oh, please. Like I have time for foolish games.” I could almost see her rolling her eyes, had she possessed them. I took the letter out of my coat pocket, and tossed the coat over the back of a chair. Then I slipped off my shoes and quietly tip-toed across the floor, still holding the letter, and stood directly behind her.

  Selene was intense in everything she did, and when she was writing code she entered her own virtual world where everything else got blocked out. She called it her ‘zone’, and when she was in her zone she didn’t like to be interrupted. I stood behind her for a moment, watching what she typed on the halo-screen. It looked like gobbledygook to me, but I knew they were complex computer instructions that determined the behavior of one of her virtual creations.

  I counted to ten, then suddenly grabbed her shoulders. She jumped and twisted around in her chair to look at me. “Crap Jack, I hate it when you do that!”

  Selene had been stunning once, but now angry scars slashed across her face, twisting her nose and disfiguring her lips, and ending her career as a fashion model. She felt like the accident had robbed her of everything, but I didn’t see it that way. She had her life, we still had each other, and no amount of scarring could rob her of the beauty on the inside. And I reminded her of that every day. Eventually the message would get through.

  “Hiya babe,” I said, and leaned over to kiss her.

  She pulled back. “Don’t ‘hiya babe’ me. I almost had a coronary.”

  “You should be used to it by now,” I said, just before our lips met in a long and tender kiss.