First Contact (12 page)

“All the same,” the President said, “traveling long distances can be brutal even under the best of conditions.”

“It is not so bad,” the Ambassador said. “If we had to fly the entire way it would be tough. But there are wormholes scattered
around the universe, which cut down the trip. Fortunately, there is one near my home planet and another on the far side of your sun.”

The Ambassador smiled.

“If you time things right,” he said, “it is possible to arrive before you leave.”

The President nodded politely.

D
URING A LULL IN
the awkward small talk, a waiter collected the Eisenhower base plates and set down the FDR china in their place.

“Why did they do that?” the Ambassador asked. “We haven’t yet had our first course.”

“We don’t eat off of those plates,” the President explained.

“Why not?”

“They’re just placeholders.”

“But you do eat off of
these
plates?”

“Actually, they’ll take these plates away when the soup comes.”

“So these are just placeholders too?”

“Yes.”

“I have visited almost two hundred different planets in fifteen different galaxies,” the Ambassador said, “but this is the oddest dining ritual I have ever seen.”

Shortly thereafter, the waiters presented a tureen of soup to the table and ladled its contents into bowls. The chicken broth contained
lokshen
, which is the Jewish word for noodles,
kreplekh
, which are Jewish dumplings not dissimilar from the wonton, and
kneydlekh
, which are unleavened balls.

When the Ambassador inquired as to the contents of the soup, the President was surprised but he nevertheless endeavored to explain. He had rehearsed the names of all of the dishes to be served that evening. Nevertheless, he mangled the words badly. He called the noodles “lotion,” and the dumplings “crap lock,” as in a thing to secure waste matter. David Prince, the only Jew within earshot, cringed. The Ambassador did not cringe because he had never heard these words before. He did not know whether they had been pronounced elegantly or tortured.

The President said, “But I don’t need to tell you. I am sure you have had Jewish soup many times before.”

“No,” said the Ambassador. “Why would you think that?”

“We presumed you were Jewish.”

The Ambassador laughed heartily, again to the point of not being able to breathe.

When he caught his breath, he asked, “Is it because of the beard?”

“In part,” the President said, nonplussed again.

At this point, the Ambassador removed the beard and his
peyes
and slipped out of his black overcoat to reveal a white Brooks Brothers oxford shirt. Without the beard and the earlocks, the ambassador looked like a WASP.

“I told you it would work,” the Ambassador said, smiling and pointing in the direction of Ned, as he began to howl again in glee.

“I don’t understand,” the President said.

“You know the Woody Allen movie
Bananas
. You have seen it, yes?”

“No,” said the President.

“It’s brilliant. This consumer-products tester named Fielding Mellish becomes infatuated with a beautiful political activist. To win her love he travels to the fictitious country of San Marcos, joins the rebels, and eventually becomes president of the country. There’s this great scene where Mellish calls for foreign aid. A plane lands and out comes this stream of Hasidic rabbis in
peyes
and tallises. Mellish says, ‘I said call the UN not the UJA.’”

The Ambassador yet again worked himself into a state of hysteria.

“I just love the idea of these rabbis coming out of the plane to assist with the war,” he said, wiping his forehead with a napkin, “and I thought, wouldn’t it be great to re-create that scene, only this time it is alien rabbis coming to render assistance to the planet Earth. What do you think? Isn’t that great?”

Ned, seated next to Ralph at the dinner table, leaned over and said, “I told him no one would get it.”

I
T WAS AT THIS
point the President of the United States formed the operative hypothesis that the Ambassador was a pain in the ass. The President didn’t get the jokes. This was part of it. More, though, it was the President’s rapidly developing impression that the Ambassador was not someone with whom he could be friends. Most of the President’s friends liked to golf or hunt or fish, or golf and hunt, or hunt and fish, or golf and fish. None liked Woody Allen movies and definitely none liked staging elaborate practical jokes that involved
dressing up as Orthodox Jews. The President suspected, correctly, that the Ambassador liked neither golfing nor hunting nor fishing nor any combination thereof.

W
HILE THE
A
MBASSADOR HAD
not gotten off on the right foot with the President, the reaction in the rest of the room was more favorable. Ralph could take Woody Allen or leave him, but he was impressed with the Ambassador’s spirit and enthusiasm, which was infectious. David Prince, the former history professor, was a huge fan of Woody Allen. He found the idea of Orthodox aliens hilarious and expected the great director himself would have approved. Joe Quimble was disappointed from a political standpoint that contact with the aliens could not be used to bolster the President’s standing in the Jewish community, but he liked the Ambassador nevertheless. In the Ambassador’s position, the temptation would be nearly irresistible to demonstrate the superiority of one’s power. Quimble felt the Ambassador’s efforts at good humor sent a very positive alternative message: We want to be friends.

Len Carlson, on the other hand, was right with the President. He thought the Ambassador was a pain in the ass.

“S
O YOU’RE NOT
J
EWISH
,”
the President said.

“No,” said the Ambassador. “We are not particularly invested in the belief in a God or supreme being either one way or the other.”

“Do you keep kosher?”

“No.”

The President nodded.

“So you’ve never had crap lock soup before,” he said.

“No,” said the Ambassador with a smile that suggested a large appetite. “But I’m sure it’s wonderful.”

H
ERE, THE
P
RESIDENT SUMMONED
over the chief butler. “Tell the chef to bring me up a plate of macaroni and cheese,” he said, “and not that gemelli-pancetta crap either—just the Kraft straight out of the box.” As Lucian Trundle started to turn away, the President added, “And tell the band they can go home.”

Thus the historic occasion of first contact between humans and extraterrestrials ended in great disappointment for Chaim Muscovitz and the Heavy Shtetl Klezmer Band.

T
HE
A
MBASSADOR’S STATEMENT THAT
he was not particularly invested in the belief in God was no trivial matter for the President. The President believed in God, very much. He had been raised a Baptist, which is a sect of Christianity with more than forty million followers in the United States. Christianity has a host of different denominations, including Lutheran, Presbyterian, Anglican, Assyrian, Baptist, Anabaptist, Pentecostal, Mennonite, Fundamentalist, Scandinavian Pietist, and Christian Scientist—just to name a few. These are pretty much like the restaurants on H Street in Chinatown; they serve more or less the same thing. The Baptists’ major innovation is drinking nonalcoholic grape juice instead of wine to represent the blood of their Savior, a practice they adopted in the 1920s in deference to Prohibition. They believe wholeheartedly in baptism and communion, which are the duck sauce and noodles of Christianity.

N
EEDLESS TO SAY, THE
President would not have appreciated the irreverent manner in which I have presented his belief system. Even though Baptists do not adhere to the doctrine of transubstantiation, the President would have resented the suggestion that Chinese noodles could substitute for the body of Christ.

R
ELIGION HAD BEEN AN
integral part of the President’s life since his childhood. He had served as a choirboy, played in the church little league, and participated to acclaim in various roles in the Christmas Nativity. Religion was one of the few vehicles through which he bonded with his father, a quiet man of few words. On Sundays, when he returned with his mother from church, he would find his father sitting on the couch watching football or baseball, depending on the season.

His father would say, “How was church?”

The President would say, “Fine.”

This was their way of staying in touch.

(It may be obvious, though it merits mention, that during his childhood the President’s parents did not refer to him as “the president.”)

Religion continued to play a role in the President’s adult life. He still attended church religiously, and counted several ministers among his closest golf, hunting, and fishing partners. He often turned to prayer during national crises. The President considered himself
born again
, which meant he had undertaken to be baptized as an adult when he could volitionally accept the teachings of Christ. Though he had been trained to say otherwise in public life, the President privately believed he was going to heaven and that many, many people, including the Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Confucians, and Scientologists with whom he conducted affairs of state on a regular basis, were going to hell.

The Ambassador’s lack of belief was strike two against him.

“S
O YOU’RE AN ATHEIST
?”
the President asked.

“Well,” the Ambassador said, “my mother was an atheist and my father agnostic, so they didn’t know what religion not to raise me.”

The President nodded.

“That’s another Woody Allen line,” the Ambassador said.

The President smiled weakly.

“I suppose I would be more of an agnostic,” the Ambassador confessed.

“I’ve never really understood the difference.”

“It isn’t so much that we believe God does not exist as we believe that God’s existence has not been proven.”

“Do you expect such proof to be found?”

“At this point, it does not seem likely.”

“Then I really do not see the difference,” the President said.

“I suppose it is an academic point.”

“It is strange to me,” said the President, “you believe as you do given your occupation.”

“How do you mean?”

“I would presume in your profession you travel extensively and see many things.”

“I do,” said the Ambassador. “I have been to hundreds of planets in dozens of galaxies. I have seen supernovas, black holes, and nebulae of unimaginable splendor. I have seen life in every imaginable form, from telepathic snails to peanut-butter-and-jelly fish, from turtles that age backward to chipmunks that shift in time when they are being chased. I have seen soaring birds of such magnificence they would make your hawks and eagles seem mundane. I have seen nature in all of its glory, and it is glorious indeed.”

“In all of this,” said the President, “you must find evidence of a higher power. Surely all of this could not have arisen by chance.”

“Life is miraculous, Mr. President, but there are no miracles.”

“Well,” the President said, “I have not seen as much as you have seen, but I have seen far too much to dismiss it all as the product of chance. I draw the opposite conclusion as you do.”

“I know,” said the Ambassador. “That is, in large part, what my associate and I have come to speak with you about.”

After this statement, all conversation around the dinner table stopped. The dialogue between the Ambassador and the President had been the focus of everyone around the table, but there had also been some small talk and side conversations. These all ended. Needless to say, this was the subject everyone was most eager to hear discussed.

A
T THIS POINT, THE
gefilte fish arrived. Gefilte fish is ground, deboned, rolled into small balls, and served with a sauce of horseradish and
vinegar. The fish used is generally carp, which is a prolific freshwater fish closely related to the common goldfish. Whitefish or pike is sometimes used as a substitute. Gefilte fish has a bland, vaguely bilious flavor, and the consistency of organ meat. The Ambassador may not believe in such things, but it is surely a miracle that anybody eats it.

“T
HIS IS WHAT WE
are all curious about,” said the President. “Why are you here? And why are you here now?”

“To warn you about the consequences of your choices,” said the Ambassador, addressing everyone at the table. “You see, Mr. President, Ned and I are sociologists by training. Our organization has studied and continues to study tens of thousands of planets throughout the universe. Most of the time we make no contact and the inhabitants are blissfully unaware of our presence, as you humans have been for thousands of years. Some of the planets have primitive life with which we could not possibly interact. Others are hopelessly bellicose. But sometimes we are compelled to intervene, as we are now.”

“And the reason for this has something to do with religion?” the President asked skeptically.

“You are a strikingly theistic people. You have a great deal of belief and great diversity among your beliefs.”

“The United States has a proud history of religious tolerance.”

“I don’t mean Americans,” the Ambassador said. “I mean humans. Human beings are strikingly theistic.”

“And I suppose you go around the galaxy preaching atheism.”

“An intergalactic anti-Crusade,” Len Carlson chimed in.

The Ambassador waved his hand. “No,” he said. “We do not care at all about what you believe. Like the United States, my planet also has a proud history of religious tolerance. We are deeply respectful of people’s personal beliefs.”

“Then what is the cause for concern?” asked the President.

The Ambassador paused for a moment, searching for the right words. Finally, he said, “You understand we are scientists, yes? To a scientist, belief in religion is not good or bad, right or wrong, it is simply a fact. A field researcher examining a species simply checks a box, ‘Believes in God,’ just as he might, as appropriate, check a box that says ‘Bipedal’ or ‘Endothermic.’ He does not care about his
subject’s religious beliefs any more than he cares whether it is cold-blooded or warm-blooded. Do you understand this?”

“Somewhat,” said the President.

“We have effectively checked these boxes for all of the tens of thousands of planets we have visited around the universe. In other words, we have a lot of data. One consequence, or benefit if you will, of having all of this data is we can make certain predictions about the ramifications of particular choices for the long-term health of a species or a planet. Of course, that’s not to say we can predict anything with certainty. Only God can do that.”

The Ambassador broke into a big toothy grin. “That’s a good one,” he said softly. This time the President did not muster even a thin smile.

“Anyway,” the Ambassador continued, “it turns out religious belief, generally speaking, is a significant risk factor. Belief in religion isn’t itself problematic, but it is closely tied to other factors that are: likelihood of war or genocide, an inability to respond open-mindedly to new threats, things such as this.”

“So you’re here to tell us that religion is bad.”

“No, no, no. Not good or bad. That would be a value judgment. We’re scientists. We just talk about data. In any case, the concern here isn’t just about religion. We would never have come just over that. It’s really all of the various risk factors taken together. The reason we came is that on our aggregate scale humanity has passed a certain critical stage, a tipping point you might say.”

“And what is that?”

The Ambassador paused for effect.

“It is more likely than not humanity will destroy itself.”

P
RESENTLY, THE BRISKET ARRIVED
.
The meat had been marinated for two days in a cabernet reduction and was so tender it could dissolve on the tongue without chewing. The First Lady eyed it longingly. Even more than the brisket, she craved the potato latkes, which were being served as a side. To lose the weight she needed to lose, or felt she needed to lose, the First Lady had gone on a diet that tricked her body into thinking it was starving. She could eat all of the meat and fish she wanted, but no carbohydrates, and absolutely no potatoes. She knew if she ate just one of those delicious lightly fried latkes she would undo all of her hard work over the preceding week.
She would explode out of her dress right there in front of the Ambassador. She thought this would be embarrassing for her and the President. On the other hand, if the world was going to end, what could be the harm?

N
EITHER THE
P
RESIDENT NOR
the Ambassador touched his main course. The President did not eat because he found the kosher food repugnant and because he was saving room for macaroni and cheese. The Ambassador did not eat because he found the idea of killing and eating sentient creatures abhorrent. He was tempted to try to influence the President on this point, but as they say on Rigel-Rigel, “one fish at a time.” What they actually say on Rigel-Rigel is “one floshbecarran at a time,” but the idea is the same.

The President was having a hard enough time with the idea that humans were teetering on the verge of extinction without having to deal also with the argument that it is immoral to kill self-aware species for food. This would have been a particularly tough sell with the President since he liked nothing better after a day of hunting or golf than to tear into a juicy 22-ounce rib eye.

“So,” the President asked skeptically, “you believe that religion will cause the destruction of humanity?”

“No,” the Ambassador said. “It isn’t a causal thing. A high level of religious belief is just a risk factor. And, as I said, it is just one among many factors that humanity displays.”

“What are the others?”

“Well, destruction of the environment is a big one. For long-term survival, a species needs to reach equilibrium with its environment. Humanity is exhausting Earth’s natural resources. You have caused a massive extinction of species over the past hundred years. Deforestation and carbon dioxide emissions have set in motion planetary warming, which will be extremely difficult to reverse.”

“And this will be the end of life on the planet?”

“Not all life,” the Ambassador said. “Just human beings and most mammals. Plants and insects can adapt effectively to changes in the atmosphere. People are not so evolutionarily nimble.”

The President said, “Our scientists are studying global warming. Many have expressed skepticism about the phenomenon. Our approach has been to wait and see.”

The Ambassador smiled. “Wait and see is fine,” he said. “But we have an expression on my planet, Mr. President, that we often use whenever someone says that.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s later than you think.”

S
OME INTERESTING SYNERGIES PRESENT
themselves here. On Rigel-Rigel, the saying is as old as the hills. Like most sayings, it falls in and out of favor over time. The expression has also been around on Earth for some time. It was popularized in the 1950s by Guy Lombardo in a song by Carl Sigman and Herb Magidson called “Enjoy Yourself (It’s Later Than You Think).” It goes:

It has a catchy tune. In the 1990s, Woody Allen, seeing irony in the song, used it in his musical postcard to Paris,
Everyone Says I Love You
. The relevant scene in the movie takes place in a funeral parlor after the death of the grandfather of the main character Djuna, played by Natasha Lyonne. All of a sudden the corpses jump out of their coffins and start to sing, “Enjoy yourself, it’s later than you think.” It’s quite funny. The movie did not do especially well in the United States, but was enormously popular in France and on Rigel-Rigel, where it sparked a renaissance of the old expression.

Of course, the President had not seen the movie. Even if he liked Woody Allen he still would not have seen it since more than anything else, more than Ivy League graduates and fancy food, the President hated the French.

T
HE
A
MBASSADOR ASKED
, “W
HAT
if we could prove to you, Mr. President, that global warming is man-made and catastrophic to the future of the planet?”