The Good Atheist

by Michael Manto

  I rang the college again and was put through to Singh’s office. I listened to the phone ring until the voice message system picked it up. Singh did not answer. I disconnected without leaving a message, but there was little doubt I’d located the right Singh.

  I was contemplating my next move and eating my burger when my phone rang.

  The same gravelly voice blurted, “Who are you? You’re not an Inquisitor, that’s for sure.”

  “How do you know I’m not an Inquisitor?” I asked.

  “Because that’s not their M-O, that’s why. Inquisitors don’t make polite inquiries over the phone. They just show up at your door in the night and drag you away.”

  “You got me. I’m not an Inquisitor,” I said.

  “Which leaves me with my original question. Who are you?” Lucius asked.

  “How did you get my number?” I asked.

  “I’ve got call display, you idiot. You’re number is not exactly unlisted. Now you’ve got five seconds to give me a reason not to hang up and never talk to you again.”

  “You called me, remember?”

  “Don’t quibble with me, son,” he said.

  “I’ve got the manuscript you gave to my father.”

  “I don’t know anything about a manuscript. Who’s your father?”

  “My father is Marcus K. Callaghan. And you signed the manuscript yourself.”

  “You’re Callaghan’s boy?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a pause before he finally said, “If I thought it would do any blasted good, I’d hang up. But obviously you already know where to locate me.”

  “Your name is not exactly an unlisted secret.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I’d like to locate my father,” I said. “He’s missing.”

  “What makes you think I can help?”

  “You signed the manuscript as ‘good friend’. Sometimes good friends stay in touch.”

  “Not in our case,” he said.

  “When was the last time you spoke with my father?”

  “Never. It never happened.”

  “It’s interesting that you did not express any surprise that he was missing. Makes me think you already know he’s disappeared.”

  “They all disappear eventually.”

  “Is there anything you can tell me that might help me find him?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t help.” He hung up and for the second time I found myself listening to the dead air of a disconnected circuit.

  I could be certain of one thing, at least. He was afraid. And he lied to me about never being in contact with my father. The manuscript was proof of that. It was a good bet he knew more than he was letting on.

  I didn’t think he’d call back, but I knew where to find him. I finished my burger, left half the fries, and hurried back to work. The first thing I did was walk into my boss’s office to ask for a week off. She peered back at me over the top of her reading glasses. I happened to know that her eyesight was perfect, like most of the population. Very few people couldn’t afford corrective laser surgery. But eyeglasses were currently all the rage. They seldom contained corrective lenses, just plain or tinted glass. I didn’t own a pair. I made it my duty to resist fashion trends like eyeglasses, along with holographic hats and laser boots.

  She slowly pulled the glasses off her nose and twirled them in her hand. “I don’t know, Jack my dear. This isn’t a good time, you know.”

  “It’s never a good time.”

  “Yes, but we’ve got that new network code rollout next week.”

  “You know as well as I do that it’s going to be late.”

  She pursed her botoxed lips. I wondered if she thought that was supposed to be sexy. “True.”

  “And I’ve got the time coming to me. I didn’t use up all my vacation last year, and I’ve got all the en lieu time for overtime worked.”

  “What’s the urgency?”

  “What makes you think it’s urgent?”

  “Well, normally we would submit a request on the human resources website, and the request is routed to the appropriate manager. In your case that would be me. But sometimes it can take time for busy and overworked managers, such as myself, to get around to approving such requests. But here you are in person. Hence my assumption that it’s urgent.” She raised an eyebrow at me.

  “I’d like to take it beginning tomorrow.”

  “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the Inquisitor visit, would it?”

  One of the reasons, I’m sure, that I wasn’t rising faster in the corporate ranks was my uncanny ability to irritate those above me with wise-aleck responses. “Vacation is personal time. Maybe I want to go to Wichita to watch hummingbirds. Do I really need to explain what I do with it?”

  She stared at me and I knew I’d gone too far, so I went into damage control. “Look, sorry. I didn’t mean that. I know this is sudden, but if you help me out here I will work weekends and nights on Marcy’s project as well, to get it done on time.”

  “What makes you think I need the extra help there?”

  “She’s your prime on that project, but she’s going on mat leave in a couple of weeks. And then your schedule will start to slip. You know what a workhorse she is.”

  She paused and I could see she was thinking about it. I almost had her. To clinch the deal I threw in, “And I won’t submit a request to the union for overtime, for anything I work in the next six months. That will help keep your budget in line.” Managers’ bonuses were largely based on how much they delivered under budget.

  “Six months?”

  I nodded.

  “Deal,” she said and returned to her data pad, dismissing me.

  It was going to be harder to sell to Selene.

  • • •

  She was sitting at her desk working when I got home. She also had the holovision turned on, and all the wall screens were turned to different channels. “Have you told Ellie what to make for dinner?” I asked.

  Selene did not take her eyes of her datapad. “I don’t see why I have to do all the work around here.”

  I didn’t feel like trying to talk to Selene with the holovision on. There were many times I grew weary of competing with it, and this was one of them. So I busied myself in the kitchen. I found some vegetables and potatoes and a piece of lamb and decided some kind of roast was in order. I set my data pad on the counter and searched the internet for recipes and found one that would only take an hour to cook, including prep time. I turned the oven on, manually without using the vocal interface to the AI systems. It felt deliciously primitive.

  I began chopping. Selene must have heard the noise I was making and came in.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Cooking.”

  “I can see that. Why?”

  “I think we need to learn to do more things for ourselves. We are too dependent on automated systems.”

  “That’s what we have house systems for. The automated systems free up our time to do more important things.”

  “Like watch TV.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, I don’t see too many people using their free time to create great works of art, write literature, or anything of lasting worth.”

  Selene crossed her arms. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Most people use the time liberated by automated systems to sit in front of the holo-tv, then go to the gym to work out because they’re going to flab.”

  “What’s gotten into you?”

  In an abrupt change of subject I told her about the visit I received from the Inquisitor and what he had said. “It means they’re looking for him too. They don’t know where he is. He must be in hiding.”

  Selene’s eyes widened. “Can you be sure?”

  I nodded. “It’s a pretty safe bet.”

  “Oh, Jack, I’m sorry. What do we do now?”

  I placed the chopped vegetables and potatoes in a baking dish and sprinkled seasoning
liberally over it all. Then it went into the oven. I closed the oven door and said, “I’m going to Iowa for a couple of days. I’m taking a week’s vacation.”

  That’s when the argument started.

  “What do you hope to accomplish up there?” she blurted.

  I told her about the manuscript. “There’s a chance Lucius Singh might know something that will help me locate Dad. He may even know where he is.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Because he wrote that manuscript and gave a copy to my dad with a personal note. He knew Dad. The autograph said they were good friends. He’s as good a place to start as any.”

  “Jack, we can’t go on a wild-goose chase looking for your father. I’m sorry, but we have to be practical and realistic about this.”

  “I guess being practical was never one of my strong points.”

  “Well, make the effort. We need to be thinking about what to do with that cottage.”

  I hadn’t thought about doing anything with the cottage. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean we have some big decisions to make. We can’t just keep it.”

  “I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

  “Well, we need to. The bill came for the property taxes. It’s only a matter of time before the government sends us the bill for the inheritance taxes.”

  “Selene, I really don’t want to talk about it right now. Can’t this wait? This isn’t a good time for me.”

  “It’s worth a fortune. Do you have any idea what that cottage could do for us. Not only could we pay off all our debts, we could buy a larger apartment or even a townhome and still have lots left over.”

  “I’m not sure I want to do that.”

  “We can’t just sit on it. We don’t have the cash flow to keep it. Instead of spending your vacation time looking for your father, we need that time to clean the cottage and put it up for sale.”

  I put the lamb in a roasting pan with a bit of water and lemon juice. “I can’t believe you said that.”

  “Jack, I think it’s time you faced some hard facts. He hasn’t contacted you – ever. Your father clearly doesn’t want to be found – by you or anyone. If he wanted to find you, he could have easily contacted you any time over the last seventeen years. We don’t have the time or the money to go looking for someone who doesn’t want to be found. In case you hadn’t noticed, we are not independently wealthy.”

  I knew she had a point, but the best I could manage was, “I will muddle through somehow.”

  “What makes you think you can find him if the Inquisitors can’t?”

  “I don’t know, but I know a few things the Inquisitors don’t. They don’t know about the manuscript, or about the cottage. So I’ve got some leads they don’t know about. But it’s difficult to believe that a man could so completely disappear that he wouldn’t have at least some contact with someone he knows. The professor is a logical place to start. I will try my grandfather’s friends in the village next.”

  “I can’t come with you, you know. I’ve got a life here. I’ve got clients who depend on me. I can’t just take off for a week and help you on this wild-goose chase.”

  “I wasn’t expecting you to.” And in truth I didn’t want her to. This was better done alone.

  After dinner, as I made plans for my trip to Iowa, Lucius’s words rang in my ear.

  They all disappear eventually.

  5

  Iowa is one of those places that have a faraway sound to it, like Oz or Wyoming. But Wilbright College was only six hours away from where I lived in Chicago. I wanted to get there early, while the day’ classes were still in session. I left before four the next morning and pulled into the parking lot of the college by ten.

  I sat in the parking lot and made a phone call to Administration, hoping to make an appointment. I was informed politely but firmly that the professor only made appointments with students.

  “What about journalists?” I asked.

  “Are you a journalist?” she asked.

  “Well, no, not exactly,” I said. “But I have a real interest in his subject and hope to maybe write some day,” I told her. Maybe another man in my situation would have been tempted to tell a lie and pretend to be a journalist or something like that. But there were two problems with that, as I saw it. First, I hated to lie. The second problem was that my credentials as a journalist, or in my case lack thereof, could easily be checked. They would want to know which media publication I worked for, and then the jig would be up. A quick call would expose my lie.

  She directed me to his website. “Everything he has to say can be downloaded,” she tersely advised me, and hung up.

  I doubted I would be allowed to wander the halls of the college looking for him. I grabbed the manuscript and boldly walked into the main campus building with the package under my arm, looking for the office. I was wearing a sharp-looking dark suit, shiny dark shoes, and as an added touch I’d donned a pair of dark sunglasses. I looked like a very high-powered something or other.

  When I found the office I stormed up to the reception counter and asked for Professor Singh. They directed me to a smaller building across the wide lawn. Charming red-brick paths crossed the green lawn between buildings. The grass was covered with students sitting in groups, soaking up the warm sun. Other students bustled along the paths and cut across the lawns between buildings.

  I reached the other building, walked up the steps, and marched in the front doors like I owned the place. Act like you belong and people will assume you do.

  There was a small foyer with chairs, and a long white counter barred my way. Behind the counter several people busied themselves at their computer screens and data pads. I stood at the counter and announced my presence.

  “I’m here to see Lucius Rex Singh,” I said, clearly enunciating each syllable of all three of his names, like a lawyer speaking to a hostile witness in a courtroom.

  All heads snapped up to look at me. “Do you have an appointment?” one of them asked.

  “No,” I said in a tone that implied I didn’t need one. “There wasn’t time to make one. This is urgent.”

  One of the women got up from her desk and came over to the counter.

  “What is this about?”

  “I’m afraid I can only discuss this with Mister Singh.”

  She looked me up and down, taking in my power suit and sunglasses. “Are you some kind of lawyer?”

  “I have a package for him.”

  “You can leave that with me if you like.”

  I shook my head. “He has to sign for it.”

  “I’m afraid he is in class right now.”

  “I’ll wait. Can you let him know I’m here?”

  She cleared her throat. “Well, like I said, he’s in class. It might be a while.”

  I left the counter and sat down in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs and smiled. “No problem, ma’am. I’ll wait right here until after class. If you can just let him know I’m here with a package I need him to sign for, I’d really appreciate it.”

  “And who shall I say is waiting?”

  “Just tell him Bill’s here.” William is my middle name, so that was close enough. But I couldn’t give my full name. It was only yesterday when I called and he would likely remember the name Callaghan.

  She sat back down at her desk and tapped something on her keyboard. After a moment she smiled sweetly up at me. “He knows, Mister, um… Bill.”

  I settled down to wait. It was a good thing I had some good novels on my data pad. It was forty-five minutes before Singh showed up.

  The door flung open and a large, imposing figure barged in. He had thick grey hair and a deeply lined face and wore a rumpled suit and an old pair of cowboy boots.

  “What’s this all about?” he demanded loudly as he approached the counter. “I’ve only got five minutes before my next class.”

  The young woman behind the counter nodded in my direction. He spun around as I
stood up, and I held out my hand. “Hello, Mister Singh.”

  He looked me up and down with a scowl. “What’s this nonsense about me having to sign for a package? What is it?”

  I held the package up for him to see. It was wrapped in brown paper and secured with tape. But scrawled across the front of it, in black block letters, was the title of his book: The Rational Basis for Faith in an Intelligent Universe.

  He pointed a finger at my chest. “You’re the jerk on the phone yesterday.”

  I nodded slowly.

  “I don’t need this crap,” he said and turned to go.

  “You don’t want to do that, Lucius. You wouldn’t want this getting out into the wrong hands, would you? Or worse, published on the internet.”

  That stopped him cold. He turned around and stared at me. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Try me,” I said.

  A lady behind the counter stood up. “Is everything all right? Do you want me to call security, Mister Singh?” The others behind the counter had stopped what they were doing to watch the exchange.

  Singh held up a hand. “It’s okay, Mable. That won’t be necessary.”

  “All I want is half an hour of your time, Lucius,” I said.

  “And why should I do that?”

  “Maybe to help a good friend,” I said, quoting from his autograph. “Or do you not mean what you say?”

  “Is that the manuscript?” he asked, pointing at the package in my hand.

  “Yes.”

  He held up his index finger. “One condition. I get that manuscript back. Agreed?”

  I nodded. “Agreed.”

  “There’s a place downtown called Roxie’s. My last class ends at three. I’ll be there shortly after.” He walked out, leaving me alone with the wide-eyed clerks staring at me from behind the counter.

  6

  I didn’t know Kelona, but using GPS it was easy enough to find Roxie’s. It was a small dumpy place with a long bar, round tables in the middle and booths along the walls. There was little to commend it, but a look at the menu scrawled on the electronic whiteboard above the bar told me the food was cheap. I found a booth in the corner and sat down facing the door.