The Infinite Tides (45 page)

“Astronaut Keith Corcoran!” Peter called to him.

He looked again toward the water, not moving now, frozen in his borrowed black-and-white trunks, barefoot on the multicolored beach blanket. In his imagination he could see the white shining stripes of pure blazing light where they came raining through that same blue dome of the distant atmosphere, the tiny shards of ice and dust and rock flashing to the infinite trembling moment that is this one and is already gone, and he could see where that blinding arc would become the flash of impact against the distant non-horizon of the ocean and the sky as the sea vaporized around the burning mass and then Peter and Luda and the children and the others along the beach, and everyone on Earth in their cars on the road and in parking lots, and looking through the windows of the megastores, and at Starbucks, and even the workers tenting his empty house, and those building a new empty house at the end of the cul-de-sac, and Jennifer and Nicole and Walter Jensen, and yes even Barb: all looking briefly and finally toward the sea, toward that still soundless flash, and wondering. He could feel another set of eyes too, staring from some other place he could neither
see nor recognize and he said her name but of course she did not answer him and never would. And then the flat slap of the explosion.

Before him the incoming surf had filled the children’s sand hole and they screamed and began digging in earnest. He walked toward the water and when he reached the children he squatted next to them, turning briefly to look back up the beach, back to the umbrellas and chairs above the high-tide line and then returning his attention to the hole they had dug in the sand, its basin filled with chocolate brown water as Marko and Nadia dragged their plastic pails through it, babbling incoherently in a language Keith would never understand.

The driftwood paddles they had used to begin the pit were still there in the sand and he reached for one and began to build up a wall on the ocean side of the pit and the children watched him for a moment and then turned their attention to the same task.

I tell you now: There are no epiphanies. The place where you sit reading these words is the same place you have always been, your life ever-arrowing to the moment that is this moment and this one. And this. An infinite set spiraling in brightness, without magnitude, cardinality, sum, or number.

The water hissed up the beach.

“Here comes the tide,” he said. And so it came.

Many fine and patient individuals contributed valuable information during the research phase of this novel, amongst them Anthony Barcellos, Ph.D.; Scott Bonnel, MFT; Kristine and Major Scott Dunning, USAF; Kim Failor, Ph.D.; NASA Astronaut Ron Garan; J. Matthew Gerken; Dale Hayashida, PharmD.; Shane Lipscomb; and Shi-Wen Young, Ph.D. Any and all inaccuracies or misrepresentations herein are mine alone. Warm thanks to those who read and commented, sometimes on many different drafts: Lois Ann Abraham, Katie Henderson Adams, Michael Angelone, Kate Johnson, Jason Sinclair Long, Jefferson Pitcher, Jason Roberts, Harold Schneider, Nat Sobel, Karin Stevens, and especially to Michael Spurgeon, without whom I likely would not have begun writing this novel at all.

Eleanor Jackson was instrumental in many, many ways, offering a sympathetic and critical read and being the book’s champion when it needed championing. Thanks to the book’s copy editor Miranda Ottewell, and warm appreciation to everyone at Bloomsbury, in
particular Nate Knaebel, Rachel Mannheimer, and especially the book’s editor, Anton Mueller, who helped me put it in its final form. To all: my gratitude.

But most of all, I would like to thank my family for their continuous patience and understanding and my wife for her help in shaping this character and this novel.

Christian Kiefer earned his Ph.D. in American literature from the University of California, Davis, and is on the English faculty of American River College in Sacramento. His poetry has appeared in various national journals, including
Antioch Review
and
Santa Monica Review
. He is an accomplished songwriter and recording artist and lives in the hill country northeast of Sacramento with his wife and five sons.

Copyright © 2012 by Christian Kiefer

This electronic edition published in July 2012.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
For information address Bloomsbury USA,
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Published by Bloomsbury USA, New York

The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:

Kiefer, Christian, 1971–
     The infinite tides : a novel / Christian Kiefer.—First U.S. edition.
         pages cm
      ISBN 978-1-60819-810-8
   1. Astronauts—Fiction. 2. Immigrants—Fiction. 3. Ukrainians—United States—Fiction. 4. Male friendship—Fiction. 5. Suburban life—Fiction. I. Title.
      PS3611.I443I54 2012
      813'.6—dc23

2011045534

ISBN: 978-1-60819-815-3

www.bloomsburyusa.com