2085 (7 page)

D
eparture time was close. Seating at the table, four merry diners were going through the last bites of a delicious pot roast.

As the dishes were empty
, the guest could not refrain himself anymore, and addressing the head of the family that had given him so much in exchange for nothing, he broke the silence. He needed to get an answer to the question that had haunted his mind lately:

“A few days ago
I stood for the first time in front of you,” he began. “Setting eyes on me was enough for you to understand my situation, and you sheltered me without hesitation. You didn’t mind the danger or the troubles that I carry along and which now I’ve made yours as well. Instead, I have received from you without being asked anything in return. You have harbored me and fed me. You have hidden me at the risk of your own safety. You have washed and cleaned after me. You have put up with my presence in the privacy of your family. I have received endless hours of advice from you. You have not accepted any compensation from me or even asked me to help in domestic chores. Your kindness falls beyond my understanding. People like you do not exist in the place I come from. I find it hard to understand the trust you have given me to share your space with no restrictions, allowing me to stay for long hours alone among everything you own, and even more when you do not show the slightest suspicion of fearing any evil from me. Who are you? What are you made of? Is everybody in this side of the world like you?”

A
burst of laughter from the farmer interrupted his speech. Both women in the room joined the man to laugh along with him. It was such an explosion of hilarity that even the guest got swept into it and ended up laughing at par to the point that tears welled in his eyes. When calmness finally came back, the farmer answered wiping his tears with his shirt’s sleeve:

“Consider it paid with this. We had
n’t laughed like this in a long time. However, you deserve an explanation.”

He leane
d against the back of the chair, took his cup and sipped some coffee. Then, putting the cup back on the table he asked:

“In that place where you come from
, by any chance, do people remember that God exists? It is said around here that you have replaced the Creator with your technology, that you have lost your fear of death because you deceive yourselves believing to be immortal, and that you have forgotten that inside your bodies dwells a soul that is animated by the very spirit. Fortunately, we are God-fearing people, just as most of this community’s members. Our religion compels us to help others, and in spite that it seems to be that you bear recycled souls, we see you as fellow human beings. I have found it easy to see that you are an honest person, and I rather think that in recent years you have been deceived by the rules that have been governing your way of life, which after all, in some way are your own religion. The mere fact that you are fleeing your world tells me that you are a seeker of truth and that you have given up your tech version of immortality, and this is just why it is my duty to help you. We still believe that we wear mortal bodies with immortal souls. We believe in eternal life and the glory of God. We are happy to be a part of your new beginning and you will be in our prayers forever. It is we who thank heaven for your arrival.”

The room went silent
for a while, until the guest resumed the conversation:

“
I hadn’t thought of such things as God, soul, or eternal life since I was first replicated; until then, those concepts that my parents instilled in me when I was still a child still came to my mind regularly.”

He paused. Then he continued:

“First, my wife got replicated, getting rid of 23 years of her aging. It scared me to think that I could lose her now that she was young and I was not, so shortly after I underwent the same procedure. The first time I was feeling great apprehension. The fear of losing consciousness of being myself got me invaded. Although I had been assured that this would not happen, deep inside I suspected that the replica wouldn’t really be me, and that I would lose the feeling of having lived continuously. Moreover, there was the matter of the soul, which nowadays has been resolved stating categorically that it does not exist, and as we all feel good about such a solution, we have taken it as a truth. Thus, we can shoot ourselves into eternity within our body in turn without suffering remorse or challenging the morality of the act of replication. However, I can feel the immense force that drives me from the very core of my being. It is precisely this force what has made me give up everything in exchange of the promise of inner peace, and what has me sitting here at this time. This has not been a meditated act. Rather, it seems that I have obeyed an unquestionable order issued from the depths of myself and against which I could not oppose. I have dared, under its influence, to leave behind the only thing that I truly love, the only thing that for many years has given a meaning and a vindication to my existence. And yet I don’t get to understand where it has come from. While I was locked in the darkness of the underground shelter I spent long time trying to find within myself the origin of this irresistible force, the one that has governed over me in recent weeks, turning my endeavors from the foolish urges of the beginning into the conviction that I have taken the right path, into the certainty that I have finally started the quest for my destiny as I have understood that it is towards our own death that we walk for a lifetime, regardless of the route chosen to get to that point. Now I just can find one explanation for the origin of this uncontrollable force, and it is that it comes from my soul that has broken the chains that had kept it bound for many years just to force me to accept its existence. Finally, I have reached the start point.”

The darkness of the moonless night was only illumined by the glow of the Milky Way, this night coming thorough through the unusually clear sky and the air so dry that it let the horizon draw sharp. It was midnight and he had walked for more than two hours, but he had just put four miles between him and the door of the house that had sheltered him the previous days.

The emotional farewell that he received was fresh
in his memory. His three benefactors hugged him, one by one, and then followed his depart with their gazes. The words of that wise man still were spinning in his mind. The hardships of this night’s way would seem less each time that he revived the events of the evening.

The light of dawn revealed to him the
shape of a minor railway station. Beyond it, the pens where cattle awaited to be shipped extended. He had been told that the convoy would stop there around nine o’clock, the freighter that once a week moved herds from that region to the city’s slaughterhouses, about 70 miles away.

He
had to find a way to board one of the freight wagons and travel as a stowaway. He had been advised not to appear openly in the area. It could be that they were still looking for him.

He
walked to the ramshackle shed next to the tracks, once used as tool storage. He pushed the door, which screeched in a high pitch before allowing entry. He sought shelter in the back, behind a pile of boxes, and settled down to rest. Slumbering, he waited for the moment to get again in action.

A few hours later the
ground shook, announcing the arrival of the iron giant to the station. Propulsion based on cold fusion produced almost no sound; however, the heavy rolling of the train made everything in its path shake.

The
beast stopped amid a concert of squeaks. Until then peaceful, the station suddenly became a whirlwind of activity. The clanking of heavy metal doors opening and closing could be heard over the bellowing of the cattle as the herds, raising a cloud of dust that blocked the view, approached the wagons.

Taking advantage of the commotion
, he ran and climbed with a jump to the penultimate wagon, which was empty. Soon he had settled in a corner where it would be hard to be spotted from outside.

So far everything was going well. The railroad was
starting to move and for the first time since the beginning of his long journey he was traveling sitting. The next stop would be in the city. Finally he would come to a place where he could hide by mingling with the crowd. Things should be easier thereafter.

It was eleven o’clock when the train slowed down to enter the terminal, located on the outskirts of the city. The stowaway was getting up in preparation to get off the wagon, when with no warning the door was opened from the outside. He froze for a second, and still in this condition he saw two security officers crossing the door. They were wearing the same uniform as those who had sought him on the farm, but he could tell a hint of sloppiness in their grooming. He stood still as they approached. He was having a hard time deciding between trying to escape and peacefully putting himself in their hands. It was impossible for him to guess who they were serving, but something inside was telling him that he wasn’t really in danger. Finally, he decided to wait as he was.

The
ir mocking tone puzzled him.

“
Look what we have here! This cow is riding the wrong wagon! You’ll have to come with us. We’ll give you a tour of our headquarters.”

He joined them quietly
. While traveling at full speed in the patrol car he was trying to keep his calm. He had been taken by surprise and he couldn’t decide what to do. Again, his uncertain fate was in the hands of others.

Inside the small interrogation room
time kept passing. He was sitting alone, and it would still be quite a while for the officer in charge to show. The man who finally came in wore his uniform with untidiness. His face reflected the light of the lamp hanging from the ceiling. He also was giving off a slight odor of alcohol. He carefully observed the prisoner. Then, deep from his throat, his guttural voice produced some words.

“
Must be my lucky day. Falling out from the blue I’ve got a valuable prisoner,” he started. “Do you know that a small fortune is offered for your capture? You must have done something terrible back in your world, because they are willing to pay for you ten times the typical fare. Will you tell me why you’re so important?”

“I’
m just a dissident who has not committed more crime than getting tired of living a lie,” he said trying to look calm.

“Had you p
erhaps an important position?”

“
Yes, a very important one. So important that I came across many of the best kept secrets of those who now are chasing me. However, all I know is worth nothing to those who do not belong to the corporation. In fact, the most zealously concealed information is the one that has to do with your existence. Where I come from there is the belief that people on this side of reality is on the verge of extinction. At least, that’s what people get told.”

“I
have never sympathized with your leaders and do not see why I should serve them; however, I feel tempted to send you over. I could buy a new car with such an amount. What do you offer to help me make my mind?”

“I o
nly have what I carry along,” he answered showing his empty palms.

“
I think it’s a good deal.”

“A s
urprised face poked in the prisoner.”

“You will give me all your belongings and I will
deliver them to my contact. He will surely pay me the reward after I tell him how I gave you death. I will provide you new clothes; those you are wearing make you look odd among the others. Then I’ll take you downtown and set you free. You will never tell anybody what has happened in this room; otherwise I will really chase you to death. Besides, you will owe me a favor, which I may or may not ask you to payback in the future. Do we have an agreement?”

“
Fair enough,” he answered relieved. “Thank you. A thousand times thank you.”

The officer left the room swaying to the rhythm of the melody
he had begun to hum. As he watched him leaving, he felt as if having gotten rid of a heavy burden.

He had been lucky. Not only
had he regained freedom, but the persecution in which he was the catch would finally cease as he would be reported dead. He wouldn’t have wished for more at this time.

While the car driven by the obese officer pushed through the heavy Friday afternoon traffic bound downtown, the passenger in the back seat was devouring with his eyes the scenery he was shown for the first time.

N
ow dressing as one more of the thousands who roamed the streets, he was trying to explain to himself the world he would join for the rest of his days. It was easy to assume that, unlike the four-day business week to which he was accustomed, here people worked five days. It had also been this way in his life during his young years, so it was easy for him to get the feeling of excitement that filled the air at work week’s completion.

It was to be noticed
the large number of small business which obviously were operated by their owners, many of whom were closing their doors at this time. Such establishments were part of a distant past back in his old town.

The
crowded stream of vehicles of which they were a part was composed by makings he had never seen before. Many of them couldn’t hide in their looks their many years of service. The clock on the dashboard read five minutes past seven. Bars and social centers were beginning to fill. Luminous signs were lit everywhere and lines of people formed at the entrances to cinemas and theaters. Suddenly he began to feel like part of one of many stories about the past that he had heard throughout his life. The city was vibrating with activity.

The patrol car stopped. The driver pointed to the entrance of
an unpretentious hotel. He had been advised to stay there for a few days, at least until having made contact with the dissident community in the locality. This would be the easiest way to channel his new life. The officer had provided him the money needed to cover his expenses for a week. In this place he would not be asked questions, which would help him keep his true identity concealed.

As the passenger
had climbed the short staircase to enter and had gone out of his sight, the officer nodded to the opposite side of the street, where two fellows were standing in a casual attitude. One of them answered to the signal. The vehicle got in motion and out of sight around the next corner.

The room
he got wasn’t in any way spacious. It barely had the furniture needed to carry out its functions. The size of the bathroom could have been that of a closet in a higher class place. He went to the window to lift it and let some fresh air in. The air was filled with a stench of mold.

He stayed
at this point for a good while, watching the activity that made the street alive, trying to take over the new milieu where he would live from that day. He noticed the two men sitting on a bench across the street, he guessed they were waiting for somebody and didn’t care about them.

His
state of relaxation was suddenly interrupted by a sharp pang in his stomach, which reminded him that he hadn’t eaten anything since this morning when he boarded the train.

From his position he could see a small restaurant. His response was mechanical.
He left the narrowness of the little room and got going.

He walked in unhurried and
cruised among the tables to settle in one corner. From there he had a sight of the whole place, while he could see to the street through the only window in the place.

On the table
there was a metal basket holding a variety of condiments, packaged in small paper envelopes of many colors. He took the worn out menu from its rusty wire base and carefully went through it. He explored it for a few minutes but couldn’t manage to understand most of the dishes listed on its pages. He read and reread, trying to figure out what could be each of the entries, not daring to choose any. The tempting smell coming from the kitchen was urging him to make a decision, but his reason, by contrast, compelled him to order wisely. He could not afford to misspend his short capital, but even less to take the risk of not sating his now raging hunger.

The voice of the waitress interrupted
his hopeless analysis of the menu:

“
Good evening. Are you ready to order?”

He looked up to find
her big blue eyes staring at him and with a nervous tone replied:

“
I have a big appetite tonight; can you recommend me some plentiful dish which is not too spicy? And if it comes with rice and vegetables, even better.

“
How’s the beef stew with potatoes? I can serve it with rice and bread. An hour ago I had the same thing for dinner and I found it very tasty.”

“Then m
ake it the stew. I will also take water at this time and coffee at the end.”

“
With pleasure,” said the girl as she left with mincing steps.

He could not help
following her with his eyes as she walked to the kitchen. She got out of his sight as soon as she crossed the door. Then he looked around and noticed that the two men who had been sitting on the bench outside his window now were entering the premises. He watched their eyes wander the place to finally sit at the table closest to the exit. Their arrival did not seem relevant to him. He better put his attention back to the condiment packets.

H
e took one of each and meticulously studied them until becoming familiar with each one. He could recognize the content of almost everyone, but some escaped his experience, so he opened those to taste them while awaiting the pleasant woman who would bring him dinner.

After having eaten
eagerly the contents of his dinner dish, he sipped what was left of his coffee and put the cup down. The bill was on the table already. He examined it carefully. At this time he realized that his ignorance of the uses of this place was so big that he didn’t know whether to leave a tip on the table, as he remembered it to be customary many years ago, when the world was still one.

He
peeped into the table next to his, from where the diners had risen just minutes before, and noted the coins on the small tray where the bill had been brought. He tried to guess the amount. He failed. Despite having spent some time in the police station to examine the cash with which they had endowed him a few hours before, he couldn’t recognize some of the denominations of the pieces he was seeing in the distance; however, it was clear to him that they were a tip. He reached for his wallet in the back pocket of his pants and searched inside to choose the due amount, which he placed on the tray. The waitress showed again to take the cash from the table and bring the change without delay.

While
picking back some of the coins he realized that he hadn’t resorted to cash as a mean of payment since many years ago. He was coming from a world where his credit and he were a single entity. Back there it would have been enough to be identified to have any goods or services charged to his personal assets.