The Babel Tower

by J. B. Simmons

  “Why?”

  “You know what happens after a caterpillar tastes its first leaf?”

  “Um, no?”

  “He eats another one, then another. Ain’t nothing that can satisfy a caterpillar until he’s stuffed himself. Then he piles up inside a cocoon, then boom—you know what’s next.”

  “A butterfly.”

  He nodded. “I reckon your old man was like that. What ever happened to him?”

  “He became an architect. He designed some impressive buildings. When I was sixteen, he jumped off one of them.”

  Everyone around the table was still. The mother put her arm on Annie’s. “Let’s go clean up.”

  “Why?”

  “Come on now,” her mother said.

  The two of them slipped away, to the kitchen. Liz took her last bite of peas. The grandfather waited until they were gone, then spoke again. His voice had the low rumble of desperate lungs. “Our soil is stable and fertile. Your dad grew a little here, but then he drifted off. Maybe he sprouted too soon. His parents—your grandparents—weren’t easy people. I won’t talk to you much about suicide, but I’ll say this: just like the land’s part of us, that death is part of you, and it’s poisoned soil. It can run in the family.”

  Liz’s whole body was stiff, resistant. “I’m over it.”

  The old man smiled. “That makes it curious that you’d build your tower here, don’t you think?”

  “It’s in his honor, that’s all.”

  “A noble goal.” The grandfather pointed to Jake, who had been sitting quietly, watching Liz. “My boy here wants the same thing. It’s his decision about this land, just as much as it’s your decision where to build the tower.”

  “I don’t mind the neighbors,” Jake said. “We’re not moving.”

  “I know, Jake, I know. And she’s not going anywhere.” The grandfather stood slowly, then stepped behind his wife’s wheelchair. “I’d better get Betty to bed.”

  41

  Jake’s mom returned soon after Pops left. She insisted that Liz stay the night. She said she had made up the bed in the guest room.

  Liz started to object but stopped. Why not? She was trying to rest, to stay away from technology for a while. And it could be interesting to sleep in the same home where her father had been as a kid. So she agreed, and after saying goodnight to Jake, she followed his mother to the guest room.

  Pops waited by the room’s door. A small package bound in brown paper was in his hands. “This is for you.”

  She gazed down at the package. It felt like a book. “What is it?”

  “Something your father loved. He read it many times here as a boy. I thought you should have it.”

  She gripped it tighter. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” The old man paused. “You know, I was thinking about what you said, about building the tower in honor of your father. Do you remember that you’ve been here before?”

  “In this farmhouse?”

  “That’s right,” Pops said. “Your family lived nearby, and one time your dad visited and brought you with him. I’d never seen a girl with such energy.”

  Liz felt like she was wading into a dream. She didn’t remember any of that. She’d been five when they’d moved away.

  “You even played with Jake,” Pops continued. “I remember you two sitting on opposite ends of a seesaw in a small park not far from here.”

  “That’s…hard to believe.”

  He nodded. “I remember it like yesterday. It was one of those perfect summer afternoons, with corn tassels rustling gently, golden in the late day sun. Jake bounced up and down like he had something to prove. Your blonde hair could have made the corn silk jealous.”

  “You paint quite an image.”

  “So do you.” He smiled. “Well, listen to this. You shouted to Jake, I can go higher than you! Then his skinny legs pumped harder. The faster you went, the wilder you laughed. It was like the sound spilled out of the park, over the prairie, and into the world, while the two of you stared each other down. Not so different than now, eh?”

  “I guess not.”

  “I bet it would have gone on forever if Betty hadn’t called Jake for dinner. He’s always been obedient. He jumped right off the seat, making you fall to the ground. You bounced up again but quickly dropped. You couldn’t stay up without him, you see.”

  That’s how seesaws work, Liz wanted to say, but she couldn’t bring herself to answer. She tried to ignore the image created in her mind of Jake sitting across from her as a little girl. She tried to ignore the impossible serendipity that they’d met again.

  “So that package,” Pops said, pointing down to the wrapped book in Liz’s hands, “maybe it’ll help you remember something. Well, goodnight.”

  Liz said goodnight, stepped into the guest room, and closed the door. The little twin bed had a red-and-white patchwork quilt. An old fashioned lamp gave the room a pale orange light. She sat on the edge of the bed and began to open the package.

  It was a worn paperback with a picture of a marlin and a fishing hook—The Old Man And The Sea. Seeing it put her back beside her father, reading at night.

  She pulled it open and flipped through the pages. A picture fell out, then a note. She looked at the open page where the note had been held. A line was underlined: “But man is not made for defeat,” he said. “A man can be destroyed but not defeated.”

  The picture was of two parents and a little boy. It must have been her father as a child. He looked maybe eight. He looked happy.

  She looked at the note next. The crisp paper had only a short message, likely in her father’s boyhood handwriting. It said: Come, let us build ourselves a city and a tower with its top in the heavens, and let us make a name for ourselves, lest we be dispersed over the face of the whole earth. Genesis 11:4.

  Two memories hit her at once. She remembered Daddy mentioning that story as he first told her about the tower, while he worked over the design in his study. But she also remembered her last visit to that study, and the worn Bible she’d found there. Why would Daddy have left it in the safe with those last letters of his life? She hadn’t cracked the book open then, but now she wanted to check inside. She felt sure there was some clue to be found, and maybe that Daddy wanted her to find it.

  Liz carefully placed the picture and the note back in the book and closed it. Tomorrow she would go back to San Francisco and look inside the Bible. In a few days she would fly to London to meet a prince. But tonight she would sleep in this newfound home, under the red and white comforter, and down the hall from Jake Conrad.

  42

  The instructions came through the device in the shooter’s ear. The next car. The driver. You get one shot.

  The shooter waded through the corn stalks and checked the road. No headlights were in sight. He’d wait as long as it took. He stretched his legs, steadied his breathing. The key to a good shot was a stable base. If his legs wobbled, if his body shook in the slightest, he wouldn’t be hitting anything. At least the wind was calm. Mornings were a good time for a hit. In an hour the sun would rise.

  He brought the rifle up, leveling it just above the horizon. At this distance, he could put the crosshairs on the target and pull the trigger. No adjustment for distance needed. It was as easy as it came, except for the motion. Hitting a moving object never came easy. And a human head in a car called for a top-notch marksman. It called for Russia’s best.

  43

  Jake bolted upright in his bed. Quilt thrown off, drenched in sweat, he shook his head violently, trying to make memories of the dream fall out. She had been there…immodestly. He’d never seen such a thing. He’d never wanted such a thing, and it was the wanting that terrified him.

  He couldn’t believe Liz was actually here, asleep in the house. He had to get some fresh air.

  He swung his feet over the bed. He didn’t bother putting on his jeans, coat, or shoes. The floorboards creaked in protest, but nothing stirred in the farmhouse. He
stopped by the guest room door. It was closed. Liz was in there. It had only been a dream.

  He slipped down the stairs and out the front door. The night air was soft but Jake was hard, every muscle tense as the dream hounded him. No rooster crows yet. Maybe an hour before dawn. Not long before he’d usually wake up. But he’d usually wake up eager for the day, not dreading the day. Images of Liz paraded across his mind.

  He exhaled, threw his shoulders back. He focused his mind, eyes closed. Work, purity, diligence. Keep your heart with all diligence, for out of it spring the issues of life. He sucked in air, cleaner air, and envisioned rushing rapids washing away Liz’s stained impression. He craved to be clean.

  He walked to the river by the orchard. He stepped to the bank, a few feet above the river’s deepest pool.

  Straight as a board, he tilted his head back. The moon and the million stars swam above him. The enormity of it—the sky, the universe, the infinite folds within his soul—unraveled the tension. His jaw unclenched and fell open. He could not fight this. It had come from too deep inside. Could he be condemned for dreams he couldn’t control? Why would God incite him with this woman? Or was it the devil’s game?

  His head lowered, a final deep breath. He sprang off the river bank and into the water. The shock of cold cleared his mind. He let himself sink to the muddy, sandy bottom. He found darkness and quiet there. It was a place he could hide, a confessional.

  I’m sorry.

  It was silent. The water numbed his skin, surrounding him, cleansing him.

  His lungs thirsted for air. He blew out bubbles and tensed his legs. Then he surged up through the river’s surface.

  Moonlight danced on the ripples around him. He felt reborn. His dream spawned from sin, his own desire. That would be forgiven. He would keep this woman out of his mind. He would start this day fresh.

  It wasn’t until he turned to the shore that he saw the figure watching him.

  Shock turned to shame as he recognized his grandfather, leaning on his cane on the river bank.

  “How’s the water?” Pops asked.

  “Cold,” Jake said. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Age brings many losses. One of them is sleep. I was praying when I heard footsteps.” Pops held out his cane, pointing it at Jake as he climbed out of the water. “It’s been a while since you’ve done this. What was it this time?”

  “A dream.”

  Pops nodded and handed Jake a thick overcoat. “They afflict the righteous and evil alike. You can’t run from them, and sometimes they show things you would never let yourself admit. Sometimes, they’re God’s way of talking to us.”

  Jake was shivering as he wrapped the coat tight. “I didn’t like this one.”

  “I can see that.” Pops waited, as if giving Jake a chance to tell him more. Jake didn’t. “You’re already baptized, you know.”

  “The water helped me wake up,” Jake said. “Thought I’d get an early start to the day.”

  Pops smiled. He didn’t pry. His wrinkled face gazed up at the stars. “Our days are numbered, especially at my age. You ever wonder when He’ll return?”

  “Not really. Better to focus on today.”

  “That’s right,” Pops said. “But I look forward to that day. Down here, we’ve got our desires mixed up. We want what we shouldn’t. We don’t want what we should. Worst of all, I reckon, we run away from our heart’s longings. We can even mistake them for sins.”

  Pops met Jake’s eyes. Jake thought through Pops’ words carefully. Something about it sounded right, confusing longings and sins.

  “I know it’s good to have a wife,” Jake said.

  “Sure is, especially for men like us. We’re workers, Jake. We need a woman to make us remember those important things. Work’s just the baseline. God offers us far more.”

  “The right woman?”

  Pops laughed, then coughed heavily. “There’s the vanity of youth! Ain’t no man who can know the woman before God’s put her in his path.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Same way you know anything,” Pops said. “You ask, you listen, you wait. But after a while, you just know.”

  Jake nodded. The two of them began walking back toward the farmhouse. When his mind drifted to Liz, Jake didn’t force it away. She’d be there, in the house, and she’d be waking up soon.

  * * *

  Liz joined the Conrad family for breakfast—blueberry pancakes. Her eyes were puffy and red. The pancakes and butter helped. Jake even seemed a little talkative. He told her about his plans for the day. How the corn would be planted soon.

  His mom got Liz to agree to come back to try her apple pie. Pops didn’t say anything about the note. Liz didn’t ask.

  They walked out to the front porch together. Liz had to get back to San Francisco for a meeting. Then she had a meeting in London, and only a few weeks after that, before Babel would go public. And there were a hundred decisions every day about the tower.

  But on the porch of the pretty white farmhouse, those decisions were far away. Liz hardly missed them. Annie and Jake walked with her down the steps, but Annie stopped at the bottom.

  “Look!” she said. “It’s a bird. He’s hurt.”

  Jake knelt down beside it. The bird was small and dirty. Liz wouldn’t have noticed it. It was flapping around a little, but not flying.

  “Let’s bring it in,” Annie said, “take care of it.”

  Jake studied it, then met Liz’s eyes. He was quiet a moment, as if conflicted. But eventually he nodded and reached down for the bird. He cradled it gently in his calloused hands, then carried it inside, with Annie and Liz following. They went to the kitchen sink, and Jake began running water over the bird’s body. It protested at first but then fell limp, resigned to its fate. When Jake turned, he held the still bird in his open palms. “It’s a dove,” he said.

  “It’s beautiful!” Annie looked down at the white feathers and beady black eyes.

  “One of its wings is broken. It’s young, though, might heal.” Jake met Liz’s eyes. “Care and rest might do it.”

  “It was good being here,” Liz said.

  “You’ll come back, right?” Annie asked.

  Liz said she would and made her way out. She thought about her dad and the bird and the tower as she drove away in her car. She thought about the farmer, too, as she glanced at the white farmhouse in the rearview mirror.

  44

  Owen didn’t usually check his phone on the road, but he was in the middle of nowhere, a straight and empty dirt road through empty fields in Nebraska. He was getting tired of this drive. Next time he’d take the helicopter to the new pad by the building site. But at least this gave him more time to think.

  The first public trade of Babel’s stock would be soon. He and Liz planned to field calls and talk to investors and reporters from the makeshift office near the rising tower. The early reports were not good. The stock price futures had plummeted yesterday. Investors cited concerns about leveraging the little devices for more profit. They cited concerns about government regulation of the data collection. They cited concerns about Liz.

  Everyone but the Dubai Wealth Fund seemed to be turning away. It had bought another million stock options. International investment made sense—translation company, universal application, universal need—but no one had predicted such targeted interest from Dubai. Owen did the quick math again in his head. This wealth fund had been a pre-purchaser—among the select few groups who could buy shares just as the trading opened, before others had a chance. It was how investment banks made their millions. It was how companies gave favors. But with the wealth fund’s early stock purchases, added to this late acquisition…it could give Dubai something close to a controlling majority interest in Babel.

  He needed to tell Liz. He had been working an idea into the IPO documents. It could be a way to keep control over the company.

  The car suddenly shook, one wheel slipping off the groomed dirt road. Owen dro
pped the phone and put both hands on the wheel. He focused his eyes ahead as he straightened back on the road. No more using the phone.

  He checked the rear-view mirror. A cloud of dust trailed him. It looked ominous in the morning light, like some vaporous monster chasing him, ready to consume him. But no one was anywhere in sight.

  He heard a gunshot.

  He didn’t get a chance to react.

  As Owen slumped, lifeless, the car careened off the road and carved a path through the cornfield, not stopping until it hit an irrigation ditch half a mile away. It was over a day before a farmer found the body.

  PART THREE

  The Lord said… “Come, let us go down there and confuse their language, so that they may not understand one another’s speech.” So the Lord dispersed them from there over the face of all the earth, and they left off building the city. Therefore its name was called Babel, because there the Lord confused the language of all the earth. And from there the Lord dispersed them over the face of all the earth. Genesis 11:7-9

  45

  Five feet of water separated Katarina from Dylan. Five feet, or a million gallons, if you counted the depths under their kayaks to the bottom of the San Francisco Bay. The sun was out. Katarina’s bare shoulders had a golden glow. Dylan wore a black wetsuit. His skin did not take kindly to the afternoon sun. But Katarina had requested this. She’d said it was the kind of thing that dating couples did.

  “We’re far enough,” Dylan said, continuing to slice through the water. “What do you want to talk about?” His Babel was stuffed into a ziplock bag in the front of the kayak, recording nothing.

  “Any guesses?”

  “The IPO?”

  She smiled and swept her oar through the water, long arms tense, surprisingly strong. She was stunning.