The mocking smile on his lips disappeared. He became serious, pensive.
The signal tower from Sterling, Colorado barely registered with him. The fantastic—at least up until a few minutes ago it had been fantastic—thought of eternal youth, the secret of staying young could actually be realized through speed.
“Why not? If I can get a plane fast enough I could do it. How fast?” he wondered. “As fast as I can get. And each year I can get a faster one. Yes, of course”.
The signal from Tonopah, Nevada hardly penetrated his fiercely calculating thought mechanism. He was close to his destination.
Time: 07:40 hours, PST, he marked on his log.
“I could get the plane I need built in Dad’s New Hampshire plant … perhaps 2000 miles an hour to start, yes, 2000. That would do it”.
The city of Oakland spread out under him like a patch work quilt, greens, and blues, and the reds of brick buildings, the black seams of streets. Just below was the criss-crossed pattern of the air strip.
He called in to the control tower for landing clearance, banked the plane, and was gliding in to a landing. The tires screamed of violation as they hit the run way. All of this was just a hazy dream-like thing now, now that his mind was furiously running through all the opportunities, and possibilities eternal youth would offer him. A band was playing in his honor as he alighted from the plane, but his thoughts were elsewhere. People slapped him on the back, shouting congratulations over the din of the music. He turned from well wisher to well wisher, grinning contrivedly, thanking them. As he passed into the building of the operations office, he looked at the clock on the wall. 7:57 PST.
Time hung very lightly on Rod’s hands during the days and weeks that followed his historic flight across the country. He cared little for the time he wasted, or the careless, unimportant things he did. Not as before, when many times he reproached himself for wasting precious time. Life had been so short, and there were so many things he wanted to do … But now, now, there was plenty of time, … time until the end of the earth, … time for everything. His new plane was already under construction in New England, though no one knew it’s exact purpose. Just another wild idea of a playboy son. But Rod wasn’t fooling this time, this was something serious. He kept thinking of the fun that was in store for him, and of his constant youth.
This entire idea seems to be too ridiculously good to be true, and yet, it is true, eternal youth through speed. I’ve found the secret of youth. Time will never have a chance to catch up to me. I’ll never age. The secret of youth, he howled with joy inside himself. The very thought, the idea of staying young forever moved him considerably. He was completely absorbed in the wonder of it all. He kept repeating to himself, over and over, I can’t age, I’ve found the secret of youth, not only to help himself believe it, but also because he savored every syllable of those two phrases.
When the time came for him to depart from the Air Force, it was with some regret. After all, he was in no hurry to leave his newly made friends, he had plenty of time … But yet, he didn’t want to capture his youth too late. He wanted to capture his liveliness, his rugged handsomeness … no, he had to start now.
Rod made his way to New Hampshire, and stood before the great, sleek plane. His hand tingled as he felt the smooth surface of the ship’s skin. What bold adventures they would see together. What shall I call it?, he thought, something very appropriate, hmmm, … Venus, the goddess of youth, beauty, gaiety, liveliness. Yes, Venus, she will be my travelling companion.
The silver plane flew over the low, long buildings of the airport trailing a wisp of black exhaust. The powerful sound of the engine sprang over the airfield in its crescendo of percussion, and disappeared, leaving only the void of lesser sounds. As the plane circled into the wind for a landing, two mechanics near the small private hangar Rod rented, looked skyward, traces of pleased grins cracking across their faces. A few feet away, a beautiful young woman, dressed in the expensive clothes of a well-to-do Venezuelan family, stood looking skyward, mixtures of expectation and concern for the safety of her sky man marking her face. As the plane lowered toward the concrete runway, the furrow in her forehead deepened, and as the plane hopped after first touching down, her body started, and her mouth opened in a look of astonishment. Presently her face reclaimed the look of youthful beauty that it had before. The plane was taxiing toward the hangar. The two mechanics ran toward the plane. The beauty just stood where she was and waved vigorously, a happy smile covering her face.
“Welcome back, Senor Lancoval, nice to see you again”, said one of the mechanics.
“Hello Miguel, Jose, how’re things in Caracas, eh?”, he asked as he gave them a slight wink. He jumped off the wing and bounced into a trot, directly into the arms of the waiting girl. “Hello Margarita, how are you”, he asked enthusiastically.
“Oh Rod, Rod, it’s been so long since you’ve been here. How long will you stay?” They were in each others arms, hugging and grinning with joy.
“Well, let’s see”, he said looking at his watch. “It’s seven-thirty. I’ll stay until one-thirty, how’s that? Let’s have a crazy time, okay? I don’t know when I’ll be back again”.
“Let’s go then”, she said, taking his arm, turning toward a waiting car. Rod slipped his arm around her waist and gave her soft flesh a slight pinch. Her body squirmed away from him slightly, and she looked at him in feigned reproach, snuggling closer and smiling into his bright eyes.
The car chirped a bit as Rod drove away in his usual quick way. The two mechanics who were checking the plane, stopped their toil for a moment, and watched the speeding car vanish through the main gate.
“He’s one lucky guy, Senor Lancoval. Nice planes, plenty of money, nice girls. All he does is fly from place to place having a good time, … and the funny thing is, he never seems to change. I’ve been here for six years, and he looks the same today as when he flew in here the first time. That was almost six years ago, … never changes, … just keeps flying and having a good time”.
“Wish I had his secret of doing things. I wouldn’t mind a girl like Margarita Solina”, said the other mechanic. “I bet he has plenty of girls, too. Lucky guy”.
And Rod did have plenty of girls. In Hawaii, in Australia, India, France, Japan, … everywhere that Rod went, he had girls, and drinks, and fun, and it was true, he never did change. He kept the same appearance, the same smiling outlook on life, never tiring of the mad pace. He surely did have the secret of life.
The plane droned off and soon there was no sound except the solitary squeaking of the closing of the hangar door. Margarita slipped behind the wheel of the car and drove over the moon bathed driveway, out of the airport. Rod circled overhead and then headed his plane westward, a little southward, toward Sydney. He had an appointment there at 7 a.m. He leaned back against the soft cushioned headrest, and closed his eyes. The plane with its automatic guiding devices picked its way across the black sky and over the murky seas below. Rod was smiling to himself. The very thought of his entire life up to this moment from the time he first took off on his secret of youth mission was one, wonderful, happy lark. He had been travelling for six years, and he hadn’t aged a day. He was as straight and brisk, and looked the same as the day he started. But his life certainly was different. He had established businesses around the world, made a fortune, and had girls the globe over who loved him. The secret of youth, that’s what it was, … he had found the secret of youth. The only reason, he thought to himself, no one ever had found it before was they were never able to go as fast as I can now. His eyes flickered open and he looked at the speed indicator—2800 mph. Fantastic. And as time goes by, goes by for others that is, his planes would get faster and he would be able to spend more time in each place. His hand ran across his smoothly shaven cheek, and he felt the youthful vigor there. The secret of youth, he smiled. I’ve found it. I’ll never get old, not as long as I keep flying. I’ve found the secret of youth … the secret of youth. I’ll never grow old, never,
… neve, … nev.… His head slumped to the side with wonderful dreams of Sydney in his head. The plane soared on the wings of the air toward Australia.
It was many years later that Rod, while in London, went to a doctor, who had been recommended by a friend, for his semi-annual checkup. Rod actually enjoyed going to doctors’ offices; he waited in anticipation for the question he knew would come. “How old are you?” … “what, no, it couldn’t be”. These protestations of disbelief made Rod feel magnificent.
“Well, that completes the check-up, now if you wouldn’t mind answering a few questions …”
This was it, thought Rod, in gleeful expectation.
“Your legal address is New York, … your age is …?”
“Forty-five”, answered Rod readily.
The doctor looked up, “surely you’re joking?”, said the doctor.
“Certainly not”, said Rod, “Why in God’s name should I joke. I have no time to waste. I have a date in forty-five minutes”.
Rod really was in a hurry. He had a date with Susan Nystad, the most glamorous model in all of England. Rod could still command the attention of the most glamorous girls in the world. Why shouldn’t he? Didn’t he look the same as ever. Wasn’t he rich, and famous, and of course, young. He had seen glamour blossom and disappear from so many others, and yet he remained untouched by the ravages of time. In appearance, in outlook, in physical stamina, yes he was the same as he had been twelve years before. Exactly the same.
“Pardon me, I didn’t hear that last thing you said”, Rod said to the doctor, shaking himself from his musing about the past, the future.
“I said, that it isn’t possible that a man of forty-five years could be in as good a physical condition as you are. Now, really, how old are you?”
“I am really forty five. You can check that anywhere you like. I am in business throughout the world. I’m sure anyone could confirm my age for you”.
“But how, how could this be possible? You have the physique of a young man, a man of say twenty-five, twenty-eight …”
“That’s right, you see, I have found the secret of youth, the secret of staying young, and have stayed young for a long time”.
“The secret of youth?”, the doctor asked incredulously. “Could you, or would you, explain this secret to me”.
“Certainly”, said Rod, “but I must hurry. As I’ve said, I have a date. Well it was back in the United States, when I was flying a non-stop continental hop for the Air Force. I was flying along, when suddenly I get this brainstorm …”
The doctor sat patiently and absorbedly listening to Rod tell of his flight ahead of the sun. He sat in his chair quietly, when Rod finished, and reflected. “You know Mr. Lancoval, that’s a very interesting theory you have”.
“And a very workable one, I might add, doctor”.
“No, I can’t see that it’s workable, but it is interesting. You see, as well as being a medical doctor, I’m an amateur physicist and astronomer. Interested in all sorts of things, and, well, this theory of yours won’t work. It’s just not a valid theory”. The doctor shook his head. “There is no reason in the world that your theory will work. You haven’t really found the secret of youth”.
Rod looked the doctor full in the face. The insanity of such a remark. Perhaps the years behind the opened books has dulled this fellow’s eyes, thought Rod. Here I am, not four feet away from him, and after twelve years haven’t aged a day, and he tells me I’m wrong. I haven’t found the secret of youth.
“But don’t you think that’s absurd”, said Rod. “I have stayed young for these past twelve years. How can you say I haven’t found the secret of youth. Mind you, not that I haven’t heard this before. If I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it a hundred times. In the beginning I was somewhat concerned, but now, after all these years, I am thoroughly convinced I’ve found the secret of youth. How can you explain my physical and mental state if I haven’t”.
“Although”, the doctor started, “I must say that your state of preservation is marvelous, … yes marvelous”, he repeated almost to himself, “there is no possible way, under the methods you’ve been using to beat time. I will admit there is a possibility of beating the earth in its flight around the sun, which is measured in celestial time, that is, time measured according to the interval between a point passing a particular spot in the orbit of another body and its recurrence. In other words, celestial time measures the rotations of the heavenly bodies, but by no means has any effect on physical time. Physical time governs your body, your heart, the mechanisms in your brain, in your stomach. These are made of matter, which will eventually wear out, and then, well the sun will still be in the heavens, and the earth revolving about it, but I doubt if you will still be flying your plane. Don’t you see, there are just so many ticks allotted to your heart to beat. The muscles have just so much energy, and then they become weaker and weaker and the last few beats are very slow in coming and then no more. Your body mechanisms are matter, governed by physics, and as such they wear out and you’ll die. So as I’ve said, your state of preservation is marvelous, and I really couldn’t say to what you owe that, but your body has definitely been using energy, or aging, all these years. Actually you have only beaten the flight of the earth. You may look young, but I’m sorry to say, you are not. When all the energy is used up, well, you will die as will everyone”.
Rod had finished dressing by this time, and was leaving. This old crackpot doesn’t know what he’s talking about, thought Rod. “Well thank you, doctor, your conversation was stimulating, but I’m afraid I think differently”.
“That’s your privilege, of course. Just think over what I said though. You’ll find it makes an awful lot of sense”, added the doctor.
And how well Rod knew this, … for underneath his calm composure he was thinking of the doctor’s words. He got into his car and chirped away from the curb, and lost himself in the city traffic. His mind was working furiously over the principle that the doctor had just expounded. And as he thought of it, his foot imperceptibly eased off the throttle. Presently his car slowed to a stop at the curb. Rod sat there numbed … no secret of youth … no secret of youth? I haven’t found the secret of youth? Rod was bent forward over the steering wheel, his head cradled in his hands. Presently, he started the car, and it slowly eased away from the curb, cautiously into traffic. His reflection in the windshield was still young and vigorous, and yet there was a slight bit of a droop to the shoulders, just a slight one.
“I’m getting old, … old, … can’t keep that crazy pace up any more … have to watch out for myself. I’m really not so young any more …”
WORTH OF A BEING
The ball bounced hollowly from the wall, lifting slowly into the air, then arched downward. Jose skipped backwards, placing himself directly under the ball; he reached his cupped hands upward, and as he stumbled over the curb stone behind him, caught the sphere.
“Yes sir, nice catch, Jose. Let’s show them who’s boss now”, cried Miguel, who was playing the infield on Jose’s team. The two teams changed positions, and Carlos, who was also on Jose’s team, stepped toward the wall for his turn to be up.
The boys were playing Home Ru, a game played by bouncing a rubber ball against a wall or the steps of a stoop, attempting to get it past their opponents. Each bounce the ball takes on the ground after clearing a measured line away from the wall counts as a base hit, four bounces a home run.
Carlos took a running skip to get more momentum as he approached the wall to throw the ball. He cocked his arm …
“Hold it up”, shouted a voice from the street which served as the infield, “car coming”.
Carlos followed through with his motions, but did not release the ball. He stopped and watched the car slowly pass through the spread-out players, the driver cursing.
“C’mon you little spic bastards, get the frig out of the street”.
“Okay, let’s go”, shouted the players in the infield, disregarding th
e remark, as the car passed them, disregarding it mainly because they did not understand or speak English very well.
“Whonk”, the ball hit the wall, then climbed toward the top of the overspreading canyons of disintegrating mortar with its multitude of grimy window-eyes in which appeared babies, unclothed save for a frayed pair of pants, or men, or women, old and young, with nothing to do except watch a ball reach up toward them and drop slowly down to a pair of waiting hands.
“That’s it. Game’s over”, exulted a voice from the team in the field, as the players, both joyful and sullen, made their way to the stoop on which they always passed the time of day. Each of the boys found a seat, and they sat there and talked about the game, about the girls, or the movies, or anything. People passing on the street, who felt a compelled indignation at the sight of “these” people, would glance toward them and pass on, affecting an air of annoyed consciousness. Little children, dirty and ill dressed, were sitting in the street playing a game with the metal caps from soda bottles that they sneaked out of the top catch-box on the soda cooler in the candy store. The object of the game was to propel the bottle top with a push of a thumb into little chalk drawn boxes on the street, each of which represented a certain amount of points.
Around the corner came Amelio Gonzalez, one of the gang, with a little canvas satchel bag in his hand. He had just come from the gym on Gordon Street where, four or five days a week, he trained to be a boxer. Everyone looked in his direction as he walked over to the stoop smiling. He put his bag down, and joined the conversations. Amelio was proud of his bag, or at least what was in it, his boxing equipment, such as it was a pair of ordinary gym sneakers, a cheap pair of cotton trunks that were white with black stripes on the sides, just like the pros—they made Amelio feel part of the pug game—and some tape that he sneaked out of the gym for the hands. His association with the ring made him a celebrity in his own block, made him feel important, because everyone looked up to the boxer as a man of strength, a man of bravery, an outstanding being.
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