First Contact (28 page)

The Professor is aware some observers might say he himself is guilty of confusing priorities. His attitude regarding the end of the universe could be characterized as indifferent, perhaps even callous. But it is a mistake to think that because he has calculated the end of time with exquisite precision he is indifferent to the facts. He has simply accepted, long ago, the futility of railing against unchangeable fates. This is in large part how he has managed to remain married for twenty-seven years to the most difficult woman on Rigel-Rigel, where divorce is uncomplicated and common but one loses certain parking privileges. By his own measure, the Professor has lived life to the fullest, which until that moment has meant thinking day and night about the most challenging problems in theoretical physics, but at this moment takes on a new meaning entirely.

The Professor looks outside again and appreciates the full splendor of the day. He sees it is not just nice out but sublime, and thinks he too might enjoy spending some time outside. He has not spent a day outside in a long time. He could go down to the lake and lie in the sun or take a swim. As a boy he enjoyed swimming and fishing, but it has been decades since he allowed himself time for these trivialities. Now the idea of swimming takes on a sense of urgency, as it never has before, and the formerly fanciful notion of spending the rest of the day outside becomes an irresistible imperative.

So to Todd’s surprise, the Professor does not reprimand Todd or chastise him. To the contrary, he gives the young man the warmest of smiles and says, “You’re right, Mr. Anat-Denarian, it is a beautiful day.” Then, with a liberating sweep of his arm, he says, “Class dismissed.”

H
ERE, WHERE
I
AM
,
it is also a beautiful day, perhaps not as nice as on Rigel-Rigel, but beautiful all the same. It is August and the sun is shining. It will be hot later, but now it is pleasant and not at all humid for this time of year. The sky is clear and a robust breeze keeps the air fresh and cool. I am sitting in my backyard. The lawn mowers were active earlier, but they have quieted now, and there is
only the sound of the occasional airplane, and nature. The crickets are chirping. A host of sparrows are sunning themselves on one of the holly trees that line my deck. A tiny one is exploring the bird feeder I maintain. After much deliberation he finds a seed to his liking, plucks it, then flies off happily to rejoin his friends and pass the time. I have been working for a long time, quite happily too, but seeing the sparrow reminds me of priorities, and this is the kind of day that demands to be enjoyed. So I am going to stop writing now and take a walk.

Y
OU SHOULD TOO
. I
T’S
later than you think.

a cognizant original v5 release october 06 2010

A
NYONE WHO DOES ANYTHING
creative knows that producing a work of art is in large part a matter of perseverance. The fate of the work, however, is in similar measure a matter of luck. It is mostly happen-stance whether one’s screenplay sits on a shelf or becomes a major film, pure chance whether a bust of Pallas sits in the attic or is displayed at the Louvre. I have been luckier than anyone I know.

My agent, Janet Reid, miraculously appeared in my life five years ago saying that she loved my book and would sell it for money. I scarcely believed it then, but since that day she has been my steadfast supporter and a caring friend. She sold that first novel and then the next. No writer could ask for a better champion. Somehow Janet got this book to Christopher Lehmann-Haupt. Somehow Christopher read it. Somehow he passed it along to Carl Lennertz. Somehow you are reading it today.

Anyone who is even cursorily involved in the publishing business will appreciate in reading these names how astonishingly lucky I have been. Christopher was the senior daily book reviewer at the
New York Times
for three decades and is a novelist in his own right. He is also a gentleman, a respected critic, and, not unimportantly, a fine poker player. Having his imprimatur on my book is almost certainly the reason you have read it.

Carl Lennertz is a legend in the publishing universe and is the author of a sweet and charming memoir of his childhood. He is also the best editor I have encountered in my writing career. He shared the sensibility of the book, and it is substantially improved for the attention of his careful eye. Carl’s fundamental decency and devotion
to his family are obvious to everyone with whom he works. It is an honor to have my books associated with him.

Meeting Janet, Christopher, and Carl were substantial strokes of luck, but the truth is my good fortune began long ago. At East Meadow High School in Long Island, I met three teachers who made impressions on me that last to this day. James Connolly, my English teacher and the advisor to our school newspaper, had an infectious joy for books, writing, and life that I carry with me still. Ralph Henderson, our revered social studies teacher, taught me to love history and find the humor in it. Finally, Roslyn Goldstein, my guidance counselor, shared with me her love of books and music and theater. She remains to this day my best example of comportment, intellectual engagement, and my very dear friend. My life has been infinitely enriched by knowing her and her wonderful husband, Sy.

Before Mr. Connolly, Mr. Henderson, and Mrs. Goldstein, I had my parents, both schoolteachers in their own right, who gave me the greatest gift any parent or teacher can give to a child: they made me believe I could be anything I wanted to be. My father has been my patron, friend, and role model, my mother my staunchest advocate. She is my first and best reader and my most enthusiastic fan. A wonderful lifelong actress, she understands the arbitrariness of success. On my best and worst days, she has said to me the most important thing that anyone could ever tell a writer: “Keep writing.”

My aunt and uncle Lynne and Michael Cohn have been consistent and gracious supporters of my career. Lynne and my father are my remaining connection to my grandmother Be and grandfather Matty. Matt’s jubilant, youthful spirit is the soul of this novel.

I am blessed with the very best of best friends, Ira J. Kaufman, whose own brilliant sense of humor suffuses this book (and who can indeed be found at the McDonald’s on seventy-first and Broadway most Sunday mornings, buying a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit).

Finally, my greatest luck of all has been to meet and marry the love of my life, Valli Rajah. I never dreamed that I would have such a fulfilling relationship. As if that were not enough, Valli has been generous enough to share with me Eamon Vanrajah, the kindest, sweetest, and funniest boy I have ever met, my favorite driving range partner and bunny searcher; Suria Vanrajah, whose indomitable spirit awes me each and every day; and most recently, the miraculous
Mattea Erin Rajah-Mandery, who rendered invaluable assistance editing the final version of this manuscript and who is the very best reason to get up in the morning (and the evening). My greatest hope is that Eamon, Suria, and Mattea will each read this book someday and think to themselves that their dad was out of his mind.

Cover design by Milan Bozic

Cover illustration by Jennifer Daniel