The Broadcast

by Liam Fialkov

  She looked at the Golden Gate Bridge, with its metal cables connecting its huge towers when something happened. Suddenly, a ray of light broke through, a clearing of the dark cloud that covered her world.

  The solution appeared, and at that moment it was so simple that she didn’t know why she hadn’t thought about it before.

  She knew what she had to do, and how she could solve all the problems at once, in her life and the whole world. She looked toward the bridge, an enormous mass of concrete and steel calling her in a seductive voice. Little white clouds were hovering far away, friendly, hanging in a blue sky. The sun was warm, and a gentle breeze cooled her face. The bridge called her, and she got up on her feet. Now she knew for certain: all she needed to do was to advance toward the bridge, walk on the pedestrian lane, and throw herself into the ocean below.

  At that moment the reality around her faded and the clear light coming from the bridge intensified and pulled her toward it. She walked in a straight line, seeing herself progressing as if she were looking at herself from an external point, outside her body. She arrived at the bridge, where a group of Japanese tourists stood and took photos of the famous attraction. The sound of camera clicks was unbearable for her. The tourists talked enthusiastically among themselves in their foreign language. She passed them and continued on her way.

  Once on the bridge, she took the lane reserved for pedestrians and bicycle riders, and made her way to the center of the bridge, between the south section that is close to San Francisco and the north section, leading to Marin County. She stopped. She took several deep breaths. Then she climbed on the banister and pulled herself upward.

  “Lady, what are you doing?” she heard someone calling, but she ignored him. She arrived at the top of the banister and came down on the other side. Now she stood on a strip of steel with nothing separating her from the complete liberation. Her toes were already above the blue water, far, far below. That’s it; it’s over. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  Chapter 34

  Michael

  Michael worried that his relationship with Melanie would have a negative effect on his warm connection with her parents, but his apprehension faded within a short time. It seemed that Walter and Monica were even glad that she chose him to be her boyfriend. Monica shared with Michael that she wasn’t always happy with her daughter’s choices and the guys she brought home. Monica even hinted that she’d be happy if he would turn into an official member of the family.

  His small apartment in Brooklyn became their love nest, and within a few months, Melanie moved in to live with him. Michael invited his landlady, Mrs. Rinaldi, for a cup of tea, and that’s when he introduced his lady friend to her. The old lady was happy to receive the attention of the young, sympathetic couple, and used the opportunity to rehash her problems, mostly about her husband who had died and left her by herself.

  Michael and Melanie built their relationship with extra care and caution, as if nurturing a tender seedling that needed extra attention, cultivation, and love. Their financial resources were limited, and they had to get by on a limited budget. Still, they were grateful for everything they had, and especially for their blooming love and for finding each other. They loved spending time together, to be outdoors when the weather allowed, and every once in a while they went out to movies, concerts, and Broadway productions.

  Michael’s supervisors at TXB were usually pleased with his performance, and the producer of Around the Clock told him that in the foreseeable future, he would get the job that he was expecting for quite some time: that of a reporter and an editor.

  In the meantime, he continued to work as a researcher. Around the Clock prepared a fact-finding exposé about a known criminal who claimed he was reformed after seeing the light and finding Jesus, and now he intended to enter the political arena. Michael was asked to go to San Francisco, to talk to the man’s ex-wife, as the editor of the item thought she could shed some light on the enigmatic and controversial figure.

  Michael welcomed the challenge. He called his friend Greg in San Francisco and asked if he could visit for a couple of days. Greg answered that he would be glad to have him as a guest. Michael had visited San Francisco in the past, but it had been a long time since his last visit, and he was glad to have a local host.

  The airplane landed at San Francisco airport at 1:00 p.m., after a long and exhausting six-hour flight. Greg was at work at the time, and nobody waited for Michael at the terminal. He took a bus to the city, had a light lunch at a restaurant, and took a taxi to the meeting that was set for him.

  The former criminal had strived to get elected to the Florida House of Representatives, and later, with the help of his substantial wealth, to make his way to the national political arena. His divorced wife, Mrs. Gloria Rice, had agreed to talk to the researcher at home, but she had yet to decide whether she would speak to the camera.

  Michael found a woman in her fifties, who lived with three cats in a large house with a beautiful view overlooking the bay. Her age had already left its marks on her, and Michael had the impression that she had undergone one or more plastic surgeries. He thought that when he returned, he would tell Melanie that she didn’t need to erase the signs of the passing time and that he was sure she would keep her beauty and vitality, even with a few wrinkles.

  Gloria Rice offered the handsome young researcher tea and homemade cookies, which he gladly accepted.

  “What do you want to know?” Mrs. Rice asked directly.

  “As you know,” Michael started, “your ex-husband, Mr. Charles Rice, is planning on entering Florida politics, and he is, of course, drawing the spotlight because of his problematic past, and the time he spent in jail for tax evasion. Do you believe that he changed his ways following his involvement with the Christian faith?”

  “Not at all,” Mrs. Rice answered unequivocally. “I think that the whole religion thing is just a pretense. Listen to me, young man, I’m not so young anymore, and I know people, and in my experience, people don’t change, especially people like Charles Rice.”

  “It is quite a definite assertion,” Michael observed.

  “A criminal remains a criminal, and a crook remains a crook,” she said.

  Michael wrote her words in his notebook; per her request, he didn’t turn on a recording device. “Do you know that he contributed a lot of money to several charity organizations in the US as well as in Africa?”

  “He would do whatever is needed to advance his goal, and in fact, he actually is fit for politics,” she said with a bitter smile.

  “Did he pay alimony in a timely manner after your divorce?”

  “At first he said I wouldn’t get one cent from him, and indeed, for two years I had to manage by myself. Afterward, he started to pay, probably because he had planned the clearing of his name.”

  Michael said goodbye to Mrs. Rice and thanked her for her time. Some of her contentions disturbed him. Is it true that people can’t change? He asked himself. And are corrupt people really fit for politics?

  ***

  In the evening, Michael was glad to meet his friend Greg, who only finished working at 9:00 p.m. The easygoing and heavily built man worked at a local radio station, where he hosted his own talk show. His friendly, straightforward and casual style, as well as his proficiency in political affairs, had caused listeners to like him and within a short time, he became one of the most popular talk show hosts in the San Francisco Bay Area.

  They went to eat dinner at a restaurant that Greg frequented, where they knew him and listened to his show.

  “So, how is it going in New York?” Greg asked.

  “Pretty good,” Michael answered, “only the weather is lousy.”

  “Yeah, I’m glad I moved out of there,” Greg said. “It looks like things are working out for me over here.”

  “Is there already a lady in your life?” Michael was curious.

  “There is,” Greg answered and smiled. “What about you?”

  “Me as we
ll,” Michael said. “I’m not alone anymore.”

  “So, let’s have a toast,” Greg said, as he raised his glass of beer, and they toasted their glasses.

  “You know,” Greg said, “occasionally, the subject of the program The Broadcast comes up in my conversations with callers.”

  “And what do they say?” Michael was curious.

  “Most of them side with that reporter, McPherson, and think that TXB must reveal its sources.”

  “That’s how it is on the East Coast too,” Michael said.

  “And you don’t have any information, a scoop for me?” Greg urged him.

  “You know,” Michael responded, that if I knew something I wouldn’t reveal it; but the truth is that I’m not connected to that show. I work on Around the Clock.

  “OK,” Greg said. “Just remember me if the situation changes.”

  “I won’t forget,” Michael promised. It occurred to him that he was not completely accurate when he said that he had no connection to the show, because lately, he’d started to feel a personal affection toward the program of his friend Walter, the father of Melanie.

  Michael spent the night at his friend’s rented house. It turned out that Greg didn’t exaggerate when he said that things were working out for him. He had a spacious house with three bedrooms, a large living room, a well-equipped kitchen, and a yard. Greg was free until the following day at 3:00 p.m., when he had a staff meeting. His daily program started at 7:05 p.m., after the hour’s news.

  In the morning, the two of them went in Greg’s car to visit the city’s famous Fisherman’s Wharf. It was a sunny day with a cold breeze blowing from the ocean, and the two of them toured the place at a leisurely pace. Michael curiously looked around. He had once visited the place with his family, and enjoyed the colorful and lively environment; but this time, a strange feeling started to invade his mind. There was something different in there, out of the ordinary. Something that he couldn’t grasp and didn’t know what it was. It was in the air, or perhaps carried from the ocean. Maybe it was in the sirens of the ships or the sounds of the seabirds, or maybe one of the many people who filled the stores and restaurants. He watched in all directions, examined the men and women that walked by him or sat in restaurants, and couldn’t identify anything unusual.

  “What’s going on?” Greg asked, noticing that Michael was restless.

  “I don’t know,” Michael answered. I feel that there is something strange going on, and I can’t figure out what it is.”

  “You are not feeling well?” Greg inquired, “Maybe it is jetlag?”

  “I’m OK,” Michael responded, “I’m just trying to understand if there is anything weird going on here,” Michael knew his answer didn’t make much sense.

  “Maybe we should find a good restaurant,” Greg suggested, and that’s what they did. They found a fish restaurant overlooking the ocean and ordered a full-course meal.

  “Feeling better?” Greg inquired after some time.

  “I think so,” Michael answered, and still wondered about the odd feeling that overcame him. “Could we go to see the Golden Gate Bridge?” Michael asked in a moment’s decision.

  “We could,” Greg answered, wondering at the unexpected request. “But as far as I remember the bridge is not golden, but a rusty color.”

  After the meal, they drove the car to the Golden Gate Bridge.

  “You know,” Greg said, “that the bridge is a popular site for suicides?”

  “Really?” Michael was surprised.

  “Yes,” Greg answered. “They come from all over the country; perhaps they think that its name, the Golden Gate Bridge, will set them up with a pass to heaven, or something like that.”

  They drove through picturesque streets, and when they got close to the bridge, they passed by wide lawns where people seemed to be enjoying the outdoors. Greg parked his car at some distance from the bridge, and they continued on foot. Michael enjoyed walking in the serene environment and Greg, who was panting, tried not to be left behind.

  “Your girlfriend doesn’t want you to go on a diet?” Michael asked.

  “She knows that with me it’s a package deal.” Greg smiled.

  They arrived at the bridge.

  “Now what?” Greg asked.

  “When we were at the Fisherman’s Wharf, I suddenly felt a strange need to see the bridge,” Michael said.

  A frantic movement of people who were running toward the center of the bridge attracted their attention. “A woman jumped to her death,” an excited teenager said.

  “Too bad,” Greg jokingly said. “If we came a little earlier, we could have seen her jump.”

  But Michael didn’t think it was funny. He thought about the anonymous woman that he’d never met, and never would— their paths almost crossed, but for some unknown reason, she chose to leap to her death. A whole life ended. Was she in a state of depression? Did she have a broken heart? Maybe she hadn’t managed to fulfill her life’s goals?

  Michael thought of the transience of life. We all are going to end our lives in one way or another, sooner or later. We are so immersed in our daily routine that we don’t stop to ponder the fragility of our being and the possibility that at the next moment, it all could end. And that woman preferred to end her existence on earth; sorrow and suffering had overcome her. Michael told himself that life was precious, that he should know how to appreciate everything that was given to him, including hardships and difficulties, and he should try to make the most of every single moment.

  Chapter 35

  The Broadcast

  Stewart McPherson’s call for TXB to reveal the source of the films did not fall on deaf ears. Journalists and other notable media personalities joined the call of their esteemed colleague, and claimed that the network’s hiding behind the ‘confidentiality of sources’ excuse was hurting the decent basis in which the free press operates.

  In newspapers, as well as on Internet sites, there were letters from viewers who declared that they were going to stop watching the show because they agreed with McPherson and suspected that they were being deceived.

  The negative attention, however, didn’t hurt the overall popularity of the program and even contributed to a mild increase in ratings. But despite the popularity and profitability, there were members of the TXB management who started to express unease and were concerned that the serious and credible image of the network could be negatively affected. The managers’ worries increased when a few advertisers expressed apprehension of the unreliable representation that their products could get if it turned out that the program was based on misleading the public.

  In a program that was dedicated to the fifteenth century, The Broadcast examined the significant events of the time. The show hosted Professor Sebastian Mendoza, from Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México who spoke and showed memorable films of Columbus’s travels.

  Professor Mendoza said that Columbus explored a way to reach India by sea, and until his last day, he didn’t know he had arrived at a new continent. The professor said, “The Spaniards who followed Columbus devastated the local population with terrible brutality and cruelty. They ruined the natives’ culture and robbed their treasures. But if we look at Columbus himself, I can only admire him for his courage and perseverance when following his vision. We should remember that at that time, most people believed that the planet was flat, and in order to travel to India he had to trust the assumption that planet Earth is round, and that is not a simple matter.”

  In one of the films, the professor showed Columbus’ three ships anchored by the Cuban coast, in October of 1492.

  Producer Walter Lindsey enjoyed ample credit from his superiors. They thought that the risk he took in leaving the crime series and directing The Broadcast toward history programs had turned out to be a brilliant move. They saw that the change didn’t hurt ratings, and added a dimension of respectability to the program and the network. But under the prevailing climate, Lindsey too had started to feel the he
at. In a message he received from the CEO, he was asked to reconsider his confidentiality policy. The CEO, Colin Ingram, wrote that he understood that Walter was loyal to his sources, but he was concerned that over time, viewers’ perception that they watched films that originated from a new technology could get harmed.

  Walter Lindsey stood his ground and claimed that he had promised his sources not to expose them and he felt bound by that obligation. That was the condition he had to comply with in order to get the films. The producer made it clear that as far as he was concerned, he would rather cancel the show than disclose his sources, since he did not intend to betray the trust that was given to him.

  Lindsey gained unexpected support when the New York Times published an article by Japanese professor Takeshi Nishimura, in its weekend edition. The professor was a world-renowned scientist who taught physics at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), which is considered to be one of the best and most prestigious universities in the world.

  The title of Professor Nishimura’s article was “Scientific Points Regarding The Broadcast.”

  He wrote:

  Lately, I’ve followed an interesting debate on several forums regarding the TV program, The Broadcast, which is aired on the TXB network. I want to make it clear that I am a scientist and a physicist, and I don’t have any connection to the network or any of its people. Along with that, I must admit that the program raises my curiosity, and I enjoy watching it. I would like to examine a few scientific theories that could explain the origin of the films. I don’t know if the following ideas are indeed the way by which TXB gets its footage, and I’m aware of the fact that some of the theories that I bring might look too fantastic, as if taken from science fiction. Moreover, in order to apply these scientific hypotheses, a very advanced technology might be required, such as we, the scientists, are developing, but to the best of my knowledge, we are quite far from such a level of data transference.