Nonentity (21 page)

“That’s fine in theory. But how can a perceptual bus carrying perceptual people transform into something material?”

“A challenge indeed,” said Manchester. “The human body is approximately seventy percent water. Our scientists developed a special suit for the passengers. This suit is designed to reconstruct the chemical compounds of the human form, with particular emphasis on water. The scientists have also engineered a device that will reformat the bus into physical form. Material reacquisition should occur simultaneously with reentry.”

“You can’t guarantee that it will occur.”

“Well, nothing in this existence – or any other – is guaranteed. Didn’t we already have this conversation? I concede that our mission courts serious risk. I remind you, however, that you have already taken many risks; they brought you here. As I stated earlier, your courage caught my attention. You are undeniably fit for this project.”

The traveler paused, trying to submerge his doubt. “Who else is going?”

“That is confidential. I believe you can be trusted. Otherwise, I would not have extended this invitation. Your father and your brother Hagen have committed to the mission. So has your friend Cranston Gage. Most importantly, Lorna is part of the team.”

“Lorna?”

“She was one of the first people we recruited. She agreed without hesitance.”

There was a longer pause. “Then I’m in.”

Manchester smiled. “Thank you.” He shook hands with the traveler. “Now I must make a couple more requests, Sebastian.”

“What else?”

“I beg of you not to inform Lorna of your participation in Project Unveiling Earth.”

“Why not? One way or another, she’ll find out.”

“Yes, but at the right time,” said Manchester. “Your involvement may unsettle her. It’s a subject we must approach delicately.”

“That doesn’t make sense. If she’s on board herself, she shouldn’t object to my participation. Besides, I don’t care to keep a secret from her. She is my wife.”

“Please, Sebastian. Give me a chance to determine how to best present it to her.”

The traveler frowned. “Okay. I reluctantly defer. Anything else?”

“Yes. Some of our mission’s members are writing memoirs about their lives on Earth. Their stories will help us deliver our message to those in shackles. I am aware of your past exploits as a writer. Will you please write a book?”

“I could do that. What would I write?”

“Anything you want,” Manchester said. “I suggest that you focus some of it on the motivations and actions that led to your doom, which ultimately led you here, of course. You can write about Lorna too. I know that she was instrumental in what happened to you. But it’s your book. Do whatever you like with it.”

“What would I call it?”

“Well, since it will be about your life on Earth, you could name it
Something Here
. How does that sound? Will you write it?”

“I haven’t turned you down yet, Gabe. I’ll get started immediately.”

“Marvelous. I’ll look forward to reading it. Keep in mind that Project Unveiling Earth is scheduled for liftoff in 103 days. We will stay in touch until then.”

The meeting ended. The traveler was transported to a beach of pearly white sands. Lying on the ground, he glanced up at a placid full moon. Lorna came into view, looming before him in a slinky red dress.

She kissed him and said, “Is this setting fair enough for you?”

“With you in it – yes.”

Their bodies entwined. The lovemaking that ensued was as intense as ever. However, the traveler did not enjoy it, distanced from his wife by the secret he now hid from her.

Writing had never been so hard. The traveler searched his memories, discovering little worth including in a book. His literary skills were lost to another universe.

Did he need those skills? “Your wish is your perception’s command.” He visualized himself clasping a book he had penned about his human life; that book instantly formed in his hand. The object felt unimpeachably real, testament to the power of the nonentity world.
Anything was possible.
Imagination alone set the boundaries. The traveler was consequently less apprehensive about Project Unveiling Earth.

“‘It had been years since Lorna was evaporated,’” said Gabriel Manchester, reading aloud the opening line of the traveler’s memoir. “I like that. Captures the reader’s interest from the get-go. How did you come up with it?”

The traveler was embarrassed. “I didn’t come up with it. I didn’t come up with anything in the book. I just perceived the thing into existence.”

“Hey, that’s efficient.”

“But then is it truly my book? I mean, how can I take credit for something that required no effort?”

Manchester placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “If these pages tell your story, then the book is unequivocally yours. The effort was not in writing it; the effort was in living it.”

“Thanks. I’m still living it. Much of my current effort is spent deceiving my wife.”

“You’re not deceiving her. You’re withholding information. There is a difference. You haven’t lied to her outright, have you?”

“It feels like I’m lying,” said the traveler. “Due to my secrecy, she doesn’t know about my role in Project Unveiling Earth. We can finesse that semantically to avoid calling it deception, but that doesn’t change the scenario. It feels wrong.”

“Stay quiet about it. I will tell her.”

“When?”

“At the appropriate juncture.”

The traveler shook his head. “Am I missing something? Lorna is my wife. I should be the one to tell her. This sneakiness is driving a wedge in our marriage.”

“Patience, Sebastian, please. Give me some time to figure this out.”

“How much time?”

“I’ll get back to you within a few days.”

The conversation soon ended, to the traveler’s discontent. On Earth Manchester had been an unwavering force for truth. Now he excelled at equivocations. The traveler wondered if the realm of pure perception was as disingenuous as his former world. And he didn’t hear back from the Grand Premier candidate “within a few days.” There was no communication between the two for several weeks.

Guilt festered. The traveler could not look Lorna in the eyes during sex. Their lovemaking became listless and perfunctory, even painful. He believed she was giving him something he did not deserve.

“What’s going on with you?” she said to him, following a spiritless outing between the sheets. “You used to make love to me with such passion. I haven’t gotten that lately.”

“I fear I may be losing my sexual appetite.”

“What? How can you lose it?”

The traveler shrugged. “I can’t pinpoint the underlying problem. My desire seems to have disappeared to a large degree, for whatever reason.”

“Well wish for it back.”

“It’s that easy, huh? Any problem one has can simply be perceived away and forgotten as if it never existed. There need be no struggles, inadequacies, longings, or unsatisfying circumstances. What kind of life is that? And what about the idea that one should be careful what he wishes for?”

“Those concerns belong to a lesser dimension. Struggle and frustration are essential only to an inferior life that we have stopped living. Focus on this existence. You can have whatever you prefer, including an active libido.”

But the traveler could not wish for his passion back. His mental block was insurmountable. The problem worsened days later when Lorna informed him of her own involvement in Project Unveiling Earth. Her plan to abandon him should have jilted him. He reacted with numbness. Unbeknownst to her, he would be on the mission as well; she would not abandon him. His participation should have brought them closer. Instead, their gulf widened.

The nonentity world was supposed to be a place of dreams. It had turned into a nightmare. When could he wake up?

****

“Sorry. I’m busy. The upcoming mission requires my undivided attention.” That was the reply whenever the traveler attempted to contact Gabriel Manchester. Days turned into weeks and months. Even when Lorna was dead on Earth the traveler had felt closer to her (thanks to parallel universalism).

Three weeks before liftoff of Project Unveiling Earth, Lorna threw a party for some of the operation’s members. She imagined their house festooned with flowers, balloons, and other bells and whistles. The decorations materialized by virtue of her wish. No cleanup would be necessary following the party. She would effortlessly perceive the special items out of existence. This ease of transformation had grown tiresome to the traveler. During his human life, he had dreaded the work that even simple tasks often required. He had overlooked the intangible benefits of labor. The absence of challenge in the nonentity dimension left a vacuum. No wonder people referred to the place as “the void.”

Among the party’s guests were the traveler’s father, mother, and brother. Lorna’s parents, Mayor White Hair, Gabriel Manchester, and Cranston Gage were also there. It was awkward. The traveler did not know who was aware or unaware of his involvement in the project. Assuming nothing, he aimed to keep quiet.

“You haven’t said much tonight, son. Is something bothering you?” Sebastian R. Flemming the Second asked the traveler after a predictably fabulous dinner. Father and son were seated alone together at a living room table.

The traveler ran a hand along the table’s surface. “Why is everything in this home made of gold? Does that resemble any meaningful reality?”

“I don’t know, son. Lorna must have picked it all out. Is that why you’re agitated?”

“I’m not agitated.”

“Then why are you giving everyone the cold shoulder?” said Flemming the Second.

“What are you talking about?”

The traveler’s mother sat down next to them and said, “It’s a vibe that he senses. Everyone feels it. Are you unwell, Sebastian?”

“I’m fine.”

“You are not fine,” Hagen Flemming butted in. “Your disturbance is readily apparent.”

The traveler turned to his brother. “What the hell is this?”

Hagen smiled. “Sorry. We’re not ambushing you. It’s just, well, isn’t it natural for folks to be concerned when a member of their family exhibits the heartache you are clearly experiencing? We’re not used to seeing this type of trouble here.”

“Where? You mean in the world of immateriality where there are no unpleasant emotions, regardless of how perfectly human those emotions are?”

Hagen’s face contorted into confusion.

Their father said, “That wasn’t what he meant.”

“He might as well have meant that,” the traveler said, exasperated. “You and he and Lorna and a bunch of other people plan to travel back to Earth soon. I doubt that any of you are fit for the journey.”

The traveler’s mother said, “Surely you don’t think that, son. The project’s participants were very carefully selected.”

“Selected among the nonentities – the people who are no longer people. Do they recall what authentic humanity entails?”

“Of course we do,” said Flemming the Second.

“Dad, you believe that because you want to believe it. But the void has fundamentally changed us. We are like divine beings now, above and beyond the defects of that former world. What makes you confident that you can transfer utopia to such a place? What …”

Manchester interrupted. “Enough naysaying. Your father and brother possess too much conviction to be dragged into cynicism regarding the mission.”

The traveler sneered at Manchester. “Then why not let me speak it?”

“It is a waste of breath,” said Manchester.

“Maybe if you had shown greater consideration toward me, I would have a more charitable outlook. You’re the last person who should correct me.”

“Alright, friend. Let’s continue this in private.”

The traveler raised his voice. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Keeping things private is your M.O. I’d rather put things out in the open. I want to tell everybody …”

“Silence,” Mayor White Hair said.

The traveler’s words screeched to a halt. He became mute.

White Hair said, “We are here tonight for a celebration, not a brouhaha. Settle these differences at another time.  Please …”

An empty wine bottle smashed the mayor over the head. He collapsed in a daze. Standing behind him was Lawrence Alister, party crasher.

Inebriated (as always), Lawrence said, “He shouldn’t talk to you that way, Sebastian. You are a member of Project Unveiling Earth, an elaborate trap.”

“This man is obviously drunk and spouting nonsense,” said Manchester.

“Shut up, you two-faced politician,” said Lawrence in a tone that leveled the room. “Mr. Flemming no longer cares to collaborate in your lies.”

Manchester said, “What lies? Nobody is interested in your booze-riddled hearsay. You are a violent maniac …”

“Silence,” said Lawrence, rendering the Grand Premier candidate as mute as the traveler. “My alcoholic stupor is as much a façade as your self-righteousness. I have insight more vast than the furthest reaches of your imagination. You can only pretend to know what I know. You can only hope to grasp where this story is headed. You have enlisted Mr. Flemming in your foolish project and compounded that folly by demanding that he keep his enlistment secret from his loving wife. He deserves better. She deserves better.”

“All of us deserve better,” Mayor White Hair said.

White Hair regained his bearings and arose from the ground. He waved his arms in an exaggerated manner; Lawrence Alister dissolved into nothingness.

Vocal cords restored, Manchester said, “Okay, everybody. Let’s not overreact to what we’ve just witnessed.”

It was too late. Lorna approached Manchester with a frown. “That man made some damning claims. Are they true?”

“You know, uh, Lorna, that fellow was, uh, heavily intoxicated.”

She turned to her husband. “Sebastian, have you agreed to join Project Unveiling Earth?”

The traveler reluctantly recovered his own voice. “Yes.”

“So you’ve been hiding this from me. How long has it been?”

“Now Lorna, let me explain,” said Manchester.

“I don’t want to hear it from you. I want to hear it from him. How long have you hidden this from me, Sebastian?”

“An interesting question,” the traveler said. “Isn’t time dead and gone? Past and present are now as one. The future is with us everywhere. You know, all that jazz.”

“I won’t get a straight answer from you.”

Manchester said, “This is my fault. I’ll answer.”

She scowled at the Premier candidate. “What are you, his puppeteer? He was free to join the mission if that was his wish. Was that his wish? Or did you manipulate him into it?”

“I don’t believe I manipulated him.”

“Oh. You don’t believe? Doesn’t sound like you’re sure about that. I mean, might it be that you exercise a disproportionate influence on him?”

“Well, uh, that I don’t know. Ask him.”

“Good idea. Sebastian: Did you agree to join the mission because it was your wish to do so, or were you merely placating this man whom you respect tremendously?”

The traveler thought too long. “I wouldn’t use the word ‘placate.’”

“No, of course you wouldn’t. But you did end up placating him, by maintaining a confidentiality that violated the trust of me, your wife. You also unwittingly trashed the promise this world offers. Remember what I told you the day after our wedding? I said that this was a place where we could lose our masks. We could be our true selves. Then you went and fashioned a whole new mask not even of your own making. You thereby rejected the opportunity to choose your own reality. What am I to take from that?”

Guilt became something more penetrating: shame. The traveler looked away.

“Exactly,” Lorna said. “I can take nothing from this. My faith is broken. When I came here, I decided to wed my reality to yours. I made that choice despite fears that never quite leave any of us, even in immateriality. It was a gamble that I took probably too hastily. I counted on you to rise with me above the fear. I, uh …” Her voice trailed off into muffled tears. “I suppose I should blame myself.”

The traveler wrapped an arm around her. “Blame yourself? That’s crazy. I’m the one at fault. Please forgive me.”

She shrugged his arm away and quit sobbing. “Forgiveness takes time.”

“Skip over that time. Make a leap to the moment of reconciliation.”

“As you wish.” She disappeared.

The traveler was aghast. An agonizing hush filled the room. Nobody present had witnessed anything so startling – so human – in the nonentity world.