by J. J. Harkin
Maria made her connection to the international flight to Samoa smoothly. They did not even examine her bags; she was an internationally renowned artist at this point. Today Maria had donned a little blue-green dress that gave her the retro look of a World War II serviceman’s gal-pal, perhaps eagerly awaiting the long-anticipated arrival of the manly object of her affections on some hot summer afternoon at port. Maybe the look would tug Den’s heartstrings in the right direction, she hoped, causing him to sweep her off her feet, his most coveted possession once more.
At Samoa her journey became simpler, yet no less refined. The inside of the next jet was far smaller, though paneled perfectly in rich rosewood, conveying a tactile sense of British propriety with its confident flair. A well-armed servant had been sent along to serve as her bodyguard, but Maria kept him busy serving sushi and all of her favorite foods during the journey. Not even her father’s highly trained assassins could bear to disappoint so beautiful a woman, so that every man she met was willingly reduced to the role of butler, if she wished it. The plane dropped altitude as it jetted southeast. It would not be long now, certainly. She was glad the show could occasionally be put into reruns when she travelled, as filming it from inside a plane had never before yielded desirable results.
Den was the first to see her. Something had called him from the oily workshop onto the grassy carpet which extended down the hill behind the house. There is was again: the far-off buzzing of a plane engine. Rachel could not have returned from the mainland with supplies yet, could she? She had only been gone a day. No, this had to be someone else, he thought. At last Den saw the plane coming in for a landing in the distance, and hurried to meet the visitors, whomever they might be.
Maria made sure to step from the plane as though she might be the answer to the cosmos’ grandest query. Her languid grace met Den abruptly, so that he stood dumbfounded before her on the indefensible sod. “Den Ulrik!” shouted Maria, stomping forward, delivering a sharp smack to his expectant face. “What is going on?! Why have you been gone for the last ten days? I honestly can’t imagine how finding you here, hiding from me, could mean anything good!”
“Maria…” Den began.
“I had to find out from my father where you are! I was actually starting to get worried! What have you been doing all this time?”
“Seriously, Maria,” continued Den, “you’re taking this all wrong. We only got here to the island two days ago, and truthfully speaking, I just hadn’t had time to decide what I wanted to do yet.”
“Then Daddy’s right,” snapped Maria.
“What do you mean?”
“Father’s always said I’d never be able to hold onto a boyfriend with new money.”
Den smiled morosely. “Did he? Well, I suppose we all eventually believe what we want to in the end, now, don’t we? But what do you think, Maria?”
“I believe you’re shielding my feelings because you think you may not care for me anymore.” Maria did her best to appear small and fragile at this rehearsed revelation, but Den was not fooled. She had never been an actress; she was too genuine a being to act. Maria’s skill was in honesty, and the lies served her badly.
“You know full well that I care for you, Maria. The questions which haunt me concern whether or not that justifies the continuation of our present relationship.”
“So you are rethinking your living situation, then?! It’s like I said: you’ve finally got your own pad, so it’s difficult to see why you need me!” Maria did not see why either of them should labor under the delusion that this was not true.
“No, Maria,” replied Den seriously, “all this means is that I just hadn’t decided yet what to do about us. You said it yourself: it’s only been ten days!”
“Then what needs deciding about us?”
“I just needed time to think about whether or not we’re too close.”
“And what the hell does that mean?!”
“It means that without you I’m nothing!” shouted Den, surprising even himself at the strength of his reaction. “It means that if I don’t get out on my own, I’ll never be anything more than your sick little love slave!” He had finished the sentence very quickly, uncertainty tainting his voice.
Maria thought she might explode in response to the thinking inherent to his statement. “Let me get this straight,” she said, placing her hands on her hips firmly. “You’re telling me that your role in our relationship is that of the downtrodden harlot?” She gave him no time to answer. “Yeah, that’s right,” she said, much louder now, feigning a spiritual revelation for the second time, “despite the fact that I’m the one who daily gets stark-naked on television to pay the bills we rack up, you’re the victim! And you even have the nerve to make it sound as though you’re somehow sexually victimized by all this?!” She had never heard anything so ridiculous.
“Maria, we both know that neither your father nor I have ever succeeded in dissuading you from continuing your daily performances, though we’ve both tried repeatedly. I’m not claiming to be a victim. I am just saying that I’ve grown unhappy with my role in the relationship, knowing that my entire life revolves around your awareness and approval of it. It felt nice to be away from America, to be someplace where I thought you’d never find me.”
“I get it,” Maria was saying. “You’re liking your space all of a sudden. I won’t argue.” Den knew there was no more unlikely prediction, as Maria was precisely the kind of woman to argue profusely. “All I’m saying is that it’s ridiculous the way you leave my feelings aside in all this!” she shouted, throwing feminine poise to the dogs at last. “You have no idea what I’ve been through this week, wondering if you’d ever turn up again! You have no right to wander off without explanation like this!”
Den was unsure what to do. The more Maria spoke, the less capable he felt of hearing any more of what she had to say. It mattered very little what she said; she was just trying to lure him back into her sphere of influence, and that was not where he wanted to be. “Do it as gently as possible,” he thought sadly to himself.
“Maria, I think we should spend some time apart.” He had put it quite plainly, challenging her tendency toward bluntness to a duel.
“Some time apart?” asked Maria in disbelief. No man had ever said anything like this to her, not in her entire life. Was he breaking up with her?
“Yes, Maria. I think that – admittedly through no fault of your own – I am losing too much of my personal sovereignty within this relationship.”
“Oh? And how legally exact of you to put it so.” Maria thought she might be having an out-of-body experience. Had she just flown halfway around the world to be whimsically turned down by some emotionally enfeebled, third-rate, shut-in of a scientist?! She was Maria Archangeline, most eligible woman in all the Western Hemisphere! Den might have just refused marriage to the queen of everything, had such an office existed. Conveniently, the fact that she had already turned down several of his marriage proposals did not occur to her at the moment.
“Yes,” replied Den, responding to a question he only barely remembered at the moment.
Maria’s mind had run dry of responses. She felt completely scattered. As she had no idea what to say next, she found herself turning back toward the plane dejectedly.
“Maria, wait!” persisted Den, heading off her escape spryly. “Maria, listen. Understand that I’m not sure any of this is your fault. I’m just feeling a little cooped-up right now – that’s all. I need time to think – alone.”
She returned his gaze one last time. “Denny, all I know is this: If I can’t satisfy you, no woman can!” It had to be true. She was the world’s foremost representative of womankind, and had the numbers to prove it. Regardless, it was time for her to leave; Maria knew that much at least. If she stayed any longer she would end up attacking him again, and she did not want to regret that later on.
Recognizing this as well, Den allowed her emotional dash back to the airplane, sadly eyeing her retreat wi
th resignation. He could not think of anything else he could do. She would own him if he failed to reestablish himself independently. The plane’s doors were clicking shut, and then it was turning for another run across the smooth ground. Den stood there, a pillar monument to his own liberty, amidst the vast expanse of turf which further and further separated him from Maria. He followed the plane with his eyes until it reached the horizon, finally evading his sight. Realization washed over him. He had turned down the greatest girl in the world, yet somehow felt the lighter for it. This would make him a better person – he knew it to be true, though he knew not how.
Maria, on the other hand, had very little on her mind. She was stunned, staring starkly through the wooden barrier which shielded her from the gaze of the pilot. She gave the order to return to Archangeline Tower by the swiftest way, and soon fell asleep. She was alone. What would she do now?
An Early Passover
On a morning in early September, Sémeion awoke to strange news. Only the night before, the Israeli voting process had finally come to a close, the resultant decision being that all plans for the Arab Union would proceed without delay. Every citizen who had interest in participating had by that time scanned themselves into the system, either from Talman’s statue in the Court of the Gentiles, or from one of the various other, similar yet dressed-down, terminals located in government offices all across the land. An emblem consisting of a red cube within an orange cube within a yellow cube had been approved as the symbol of the new Israeli/Iraqi alliance. New funds and supplies were spilling into every part of Israel through Talman’s innumerable conduits of commerce, and the people were well pleased.
Sémeion Shosheqets, on the other hand, was alarmed by what he heard the morning after the voting ended, as many inexplicable deaths had occurred overnight. Reports of the deaths streamed into Sémeion’s office from all across the land for several days, until no one involved could ignore the truth: that every case was as similar to the others as it seemed physiologically premature. Heart failure was invariably the root cause of death, though many victims had been further injured by consequent falls. By the end of the week the death totals had reached nearly fifty thousand.
Though baffled, Sémeion advised his aides to proceed with the removal of the deceased from their online systems, yet this produced a highly unexpected result. As it turned out, next to none of the dead had ever even been scanned in. Checking and rechecking the facts did not improve them. Indeed, the deceased proved to be none other than the few Israelis that had refused to participate from the very start, most of whom were either Muslim or Christian. Now they were dead.
Though Sémeion did not know why, he could not help but feel somehow responsible. His advisors pointed out that the deaths served to benefit him politically, as the deceased had all opposed Israel’s new direction. The one-sided group which remained were absolutely supportive of the Arab Union’s rising significance, but this gave no comfort to Sémeion. Was it all some sort of punishment from Jehovah? Had they been slain for their refusal to support the man whom all thought to be the Messiah? None of the questions which crossed Sémeion’s mind were good, and their answers were even worse.
Chapter XIV
METAPHYSICS & ROMANCE
The next few weeks were a lively time for the islanders. Den wasted no time setting up his communications center, which allowed them all the opportunity to invite as many friends as they thought might prove helpful. After that, Den spent most of his time surfing the Internet or talking on the phone, doing his best to better align the efforts of the countless wholesalers, shippers, translators, governors, and magistrates whom had quickly become involved in the business affairs of the island. Before long, regularly scheduled shipments of lighter supplies were landing on the makeshift runway beyond the villa, while the larger and more cumbersome items arrived by boat. Steel-framed outbuildings, air compressors, engines, tools, wiring, and every other sort of industrial contraption were rapidly being arranged into place by a host of workers whose numbers increased by the day.
For all of these reasons, Dogie found himself in constant transit between the endless sights of activity springing up throughout the place, never knowing which direction to bark in first. With so much territory to patrol, the dog never slept through the night in the same place, perhaps due to his instinctive need to investigate the least of disturbances. Thus he could often be spotted napping at the oddest times, and in the strangest of places, as he tried desperately to get his sleep schedule back on track. Worried the frantic dog might die of heat exhaustion, David and Rachel found themselves putting out fresh bowls of water wherever they thought the dachshund might notice them. The watchful dog was thankful for such consideration, and tried to visit them more regularly after that, as slowly he made himself at home.
Within two weeks time the mansion was already half occupied. Rachel had called in several acquaintances from LA whom she described as “grease monkeys,” all of whom proved helpful during the vast process of assembly which was taking place everywhere. David called in an electrician, a carpenter, an expert machinist, and lastly – yet by far the best – Hayao Vidya, an illustrious graphic artist whom they had – after much difficult negotiation – convinced to render the new robotics’ aesthetics. Most of the newcomers arrived quite quickly, and set excitedly about their work at various points across the island. Though Den had sent for several of his own colleagues as well, these took a bit longer to arrive. He had already been in contact with numerous alternative energy experts across the globe, and now took the opportunity to use his new wealth to secure the services of the best of their number. An exploratory team would soon be unraveling the mysteries of hydrogen, whatever those might be.
All of these activities Den had directed from the comfort of his favorite of all the mansion’s rooms: a third floor library, replete with a balcony and every rare book he might ever hope to read. The refined air of the wood chamber, always attracting him during his moments of leisure, had quickly made the room his favorite hideaway refuge. So it was that Den found himself unpacking the last of his own books onto the shelves there one evening. The room was beginning to feel rather full as the last few empty shelves neared capacity.
The perfect comfort of a leather armchair surrounded Den as he sat opposite the large oak desk there, taking time to ponder the changes in his life. Already he had been smoking for hours, so that rings upon rings of it filled the room, until they interlinked and intermingled to form a drifting fog. It seemed high time to stretch his legs. Den stood to approach the sliding doors before the balcony, opening them softly to let in the brisk twilight breeze as he stepped out. Floors below him, at the robotics lab, David and Rachel had been hard at work all day, seeming quite unwilling to waste a second of their precious time. Now Den saw that the cool of evening was beginning to call them distractingly from their intellectual pursuits as well. Nights on the island were quiet and calm, as a rule. The nearby sea offered up a steady lullaby, and all was peaceful.
Though at first the friends had needed Rachel to scout nearby areas for supplies fairly regularly, the advent of scheduled deliveries soon left her free to assume the role of David’s over-late robotics assistant – a guy who never even showed up in the end – to which she offered no resistance whatever. Though David and Den had given her the option to invite anyone she wanted while staying with them, Rachel had called no close friends to the island. She had never felt less lonely in all her life, actually, being constantly found in the company of her two biggest fans: David and Dogie. Both of them seemed to prance about her respectively, waiting on her hand and foot in their own ways – when she would allow it – but otherwise generally attending to her every other unnoticed need. Before long Dogie came to regard the robotics workshop as his home, and though he roamed the island far and wide to police it for intruders, he never stayed away too long.
“David, come here!” whispered Rachel, pointing out the door of the workshop. “Look, they’re doing it again!
” She was pointing to Dogie and his latest acquisitions, as the full set proved a memorable sight.
At first, being unsure what kinds of wildlife might be living there, the friends had been concerned it might be unwise to let the dog wander the island freely. Within days they had relented, however, as they eventually realized they were nearly alone. Never was a bird, snake, faun, or even an insect to be seen there. As the island lacked a beach, being surrounded by so cliff-like a drop-off, there were no visible crustaceans, anemones, or fish either. Gulls could occasionally be seen in the far distance, but they did not appear to have found the island yet.
The only other inhabitants of Den’s island happened to be a rather variegated collection of wild rabbits, and it was because of these that Rachel so often found herself pointing out the antics of Dogie, for he got along famously with the long-eared natives. There Dogie lay – as David tiptoed into the doorway to have a look – completely tuckered out as usual, sprawled on his back, with his exhausted head resting heavily upon the velveteen back of one of his numerous bunny friends. The flock of furry animals had gathered near one of the water bowls outside the door of the robotics center. Apparently the afternoon nap of Dogie and his hopping mates had snowballed quickly into a full-on social event for the rabbits, all of whom eventually set to work gobbling up the plentiful grass. At first Dogie had attempted participation by nipping at the green stems as well, but had found little satisfaction in this, and dropped off to sleep amid the roving bunny herd.
David wondered at the sight. “Welcome to Easter Island…” he warbled odiously, wiggling his fingers in Rachel’s face like a hypnotist. “Woo-ooo-ooo-ooo!” The blatant simplicity of the joke amused them, so that Rachel snickered, and they smiled at one another in weird mirrored synchronicity.
“Thank you, sweetie!” said a warm voice unexpectedly, from a point just up the hill to their right.