First Contact (27 page)

“You don’t worry about it?” Ralph asked incredulously.

“It would be pretty funny,” the Ambassador said. “Imagine these people, we’ll call them missionaries, were reaching out to a new alien species whose planet was in jeopardy. To impress upon them the error—or danger—of their ways, they bring a substance—in the form of a cake—that can alter the aliens’ state of mind. Only at the last minute one of the missionaries takes the wrong cake and the right one ends up going to his wife’s Mah-Jongg game.” The Ambassador howled. “That is rich,” he said. “One can’t make that stuff up.”

“Vonnegut could—or Woody Allen.”

“Yes,” the Ambassador said, pointing to Ralph in a gesture of affirmation. “Perhaps Mr. Allen is God. If he is, I hope it’s the younger, funny Woody Allen and not, you know, the
Interiors
guy.”

The Ambassador continued laughing for a while before he wound down, finally saying, “That’s a good one.”

“How can you laugh?” Ralph asked. “Doesn’t any of this worry you?”

The Ambassador composed himself. “No,” he said. “It’s best to just try and find the humor in it.”

“So if it’s all coincidence, that’s fine,” Ralph said. “And if it is all preordained, and we’re just objects, then that’s fine too.”

“Yes,” the Ambassador said soothingly. “Like I said, you cannot take yourself too seriously. You need to be able, every so often, to step outside of the situation and appreciate it from an objective standpoint without fixating on your place in the whole thing. Otherwise, life is misery.”

“Besides,” the Ambassador said, “we’re probably not objects or characters in a story. The coincidences aren’t that remarkable. You must remember each of us ultimately comes from the same place. In the end, we are all just made of stars.”

R
ALPH SAT FOR A
good while considering the Ambassador’s words, watching as the Ambassador schmeared his bagel, now with verve. Finally, he turned to Ned and asked, “What happened at the Mah-Jongg game where they served the other Bundt cake?”

“Nothing too unusual,” Ned replied. “Although my wife did report greater than normal enthusiasm for the new cards.”

“How is she? Has she recovered from the car accident?”

“She is fine,” Ned said. “And you are kind to ask. It turns out the man she struck was a charlatan. He would set up situations in which people would rear-end him. Then he would collect on their insurance policies.”

“That’s terrible. Jessica was just in a car accident too. She rear-ended someone,” Ralph said, looking toward the Ambassador in challenge. “Isn’t that a strange coincidence?”

“I don’t know,” Ned said. “There are lots of car accidents.”

“Still, it is always a very upsetting experience.”

“To say the least,” Ned said. “But in this instance some good came out of it. My wife had extra time and worked through some things with our son. I have restructured my professional life so I can spend more time at home. I am no longer with the First Contact division. I do follow-up work now. This is the first time I have been on the road in the past several months.”

“That is good to hear,” Ralph said.

“Enough about me. We’re worried about you. Are you going to be okay?”

“I don’t know,” Ralph said. “My brain tells me everything that happens in Washington matters. My heart tells me that Jessica is the only thing that matters. I guess we’ll have to see which one wins out.”

“I sympathize,” Ned said. “Looking back on it, I’m not sure what enabled me to muster up the courage to change my own situation.”

“But you did,” Ralph said, “and that’s all that matters.”

Ned smiled. “You’ll do whatever is right for you.”

“I’m not so sure,” Ralph said.

“Well, we are,” said Ned. “You’re a good person. The Ambassador and I meet all kinds. You are one of our favorites.”

The Ambassador nodded in agreement

“F’shizzle,” he said.

R
ALPH PICKED UP THE
check and the party rose to say farewell.

“Mr. President,” the Ambassador said, “you have our lasting pledge of assistance whenever you require it. We are sorry things got off on the wrong foot and hopeful that someday our planets can start a relationship anew. We believe we will be great friends, when the time is right.”

Ralph said, “I believe that will be very, very soon.”

“It would be our pleasure,” said the Ambassador.

“Tell me something before you go, Mr. Ambassador. What should I take from this conversation? Do you have any advice for me?”

The Ambassador rubbed his chin.

“I have one tidbit to offer,” he said. “It won’t sound like much, maybe even trite, but it really is profound if you think about it.”

“Please,” Ralph said.

“It’s this,” the Ambassador said. “You should eat more slowly.”

A
S THEY WALKED DOWN
K Street, Ralph believed this advice would be the Ambassador’s peculiar epitomb, but the Ambassador was a man of surprises. He extended a small package toward Ralph. “We got you something for your birthday,” he said.

Ralph accepted it. “Thanks,” he said.

“Tell me, Ralph, what do you have in your pocket?” the Ambassador asked.

Ralph produced a key chain from the Chinese restaurant Eat Here Now, where he had gone with Jessica on their second date.

“Funny,” said the Ambassador as he produced from his pocket an identical key chain. “Quite good food,” he said. “Excellent egg roll.”

Then the Ambassador turned and waved and uttered his true epitomb, at least with respect to his relationship with Ralph: “Peace out.”

B
ACK AT THE
W
HITE
House, the package was put through security despite Ralph’s protestations that such measures were unneces
sary. The package was tested for explosive materials, viruses and other biological threats, illegal plant and animal content, narcotics, forbidden Chinese exports, and finally determined to be safe. Then it was placed on the Resolute with the daily collection of catalogs and credit card offers.

Ralph thereafter opened the box and found it contained a small slice of Bundt cake, preserved in plastic wrap. The package also contained a greeting card, on the cover of which was a pencil sketch of a parrot. Inside the card was a note, in what Ralph knew to be Ned’s handwriting. It contained a simple message. It said,

Ralph began eating immediately, slowly, savoring every bite.

J
UMPING AHEAD A BIT
,
in the moments before the universe collapses, a buffet dinner is held where people from all over the universe come together and find they are connected in random ways. For example, Sting and Gordon Lightfoot discover they have each spent a fair amount of time thinking about their names and the influence they have had upon their respective careers.

Over shrimp cocktails, I and the insouciant two-year-old who eviscerated my work meet and discover we both enjoy a card game called Oh Hell! We put aside our differences and sit down for a match. The game is tense. The boy trumps me at an inopportune moment and I consider banishing him to another recursion. He is spared only by the timely arrival of Kurt Vonnegut, carrying a miniature spanakopita. Vonnegut enjoys Oh Hell!, we learn, and asks if he can join us. We are only too happy.

“Here is a man who knows how to write,” the boy says.

I wholeheartedly agree.

Vonnegut crushes us.

The President reconnects with his father. Each has been existing for some time as spiritual energy in a domain of the universe referred to as Boca. The rabbit creatures had it right, as it turns out. Souls exist before birth and after death and are, with the exception of telemarketers, all worthy of being treated with respect. Boca is one of several repositories of disembodied souls. It is a big place, though, with no public transportation to speak of, and until this moment the President and his father have not met in the afterlife. Over hot hors d’oeuvres, they discover they share many interests, including fly-fishing and tennis and a taste for egg rolls. The father says he is sorry for not having been more loving and attentive. The son accepts his apology.

Together they meet their god, who has elbowed his way toward the spicy mustard, into which he dips his cocktail wiener. He is “retired” too and also living in Boca, though in the swankier Jewish section, which explains why none of them have crossed paths before. They chat for a while. The former god, who goes by the name of Howie, finds it ironic that they have been worshiping him. He does not consider himself special, as he has something of a self-esteem problem, which comes from being an only child with an absent mother and an authoritarian father.

Many people from many different parts of the universe meet their gods and have similar experiences, experiences that might, under different circumstances, be characterized as disillusioning.

Nelson Munt-Zoldarian, placed for adoption as a young child, discovers he has a brother who is an executive for an insurance company, in charge of the fraud abatement division. The siblings share a taste for the onion tart, of which I too am fond.

Professor Fendle-Frinkle meets Albert Einstein over a tray of miniature quiches. Neither is interested in talking about physics. Instead they spend most of the time talking about baseball. They agree this could finally be the Cubs’ year.

Helen Argo-Lipschutzian and Clarabella Moleman meet at the crudités and compare notes about PTAs. Each agrees that, as institutions go, they could stand improvement.

David Prince meets Millard Fillmore at the sushi station. He is everything David had imagined, and more.

Hanukapi Puli offers Joe Quimble a Chocodile. Taking a bite, Quimble wonders to himself, “How did I miss these?”

Everyone enjoys the macaroni and cheese, pleasing Stanley Smithers of the Kraft Corporation to no end. Lucian Trundle is gratified most of all to see the food is being eaten off the Eisenhower base plates. Eisenhower, clad in running shorts and a singlet, pauses from his jog to look at an empty plate in Trundle’s hands.

“Excellent likeness,” he says, and then is off, faster than light.

At the bar, Armando Tanzarian meets Claude Eatherly, who is getting himself a Dr Pepper, and they compare notes about launching atomic weapons.

“Were you ever able to make sense of it all?” Tanzarian asks.

“No,” says Eatherly, looking out the window at the abundant sunshine. “But it looks like it is going to be a very fine day tomorrow.”

“Very fine indeed,” Tanzarian agrees.

In the background, the Heavy Shtetl Klezmer Band performs. For the final set, Chaim Muscovitz calls the President to sit in. The President protests, saying he does not know how to play the accordion, but Muscovitz is reassuring. “It’s inside you,” he says. When the band gets going, the President finds, to his amazement, that he is more than able to keep up. Chaim Muscovitz nods enthusiastically. “See,” he says. “You can really swing.” Later Sting joins in on the clarinet. Then Andy Summers takes up the
groyse fidl,
Stewart Copeland the
poyk,
and Lennon the hammer dulcimer. Paul McCartney sings in the strong and sweet voice of his youth. It is a jam session for the ages, and everyone, sharing the love of the music, dances in jubilation, reveling in their connectedness. There are many, many connections—more connections than the mind can conceive—more connections than there are stars in the sky or all of the money in the universe taken in pennies.

Many of these connections make no sense at all.

Some are ironic.

Some are sad.

Some are funny.

Some manifest evidence of universal justice.

Most do not.

B
ACK IN THE PRESENT
,
or the then-present, the buffet to end all buffets is still in the future. At the moment, President Bailey is onboard Air
Force One en route to Tibet. With him are Vice President Clarabella Moleman and His Eminence the Dalai Lama. The staff is on edge. President Bailey has not told them why they are going to Tibet. Only Vice President Moleman knows. He has not told his chief of staff or the Dalai Lama or even Jessica. She has heard on Voice of America that the president of the United States is flying to Tibet. She is excited, of course, but also nervous something is wrong, and rushes to the airport.

Everyone around the president is fretful, but Ralph is at peace. He is staring out the window of the plane at the Himalayas, piercing the clouds. At this height the air is richly blue and crystal clear. Virginal snow covers the soaring peaks. It is the most magnificent sight Ralph has ever seen. He calls the cockpit and asks the pilot to circle the mountains again. In the adjacent seat, the Dalai Lama smiles.

“It is enough to make one believe in God,” the Lama says. “He does so many horrible things, but then he also does this.”

Ralph nods.

After its second orbit, the plane descends into Lhasa Airport and lands. Though this is not an official state visit, the vice premier of China and the governor of Tibet are on hand, together with an honor guard of hundreds. They have gifts for President Bailey, which have been arrayed in an elaborate and colorful display. Ralph ignores them. He descends the stairs, walks directly to Jessica, and gives her a long and passionate kiss.

He gestures for the Dalai Lama to step out of the plane. The Chinese gasp. The Dalai Lama has not set foot on the soil of his home in forty years. He slowly walks down from Air Force One, setting foot on the tarmac, which is not soil, but rather a composite of tar, concrete, and resin. All the same, the Dalai Lama begins to weep quietly. The Chinese are visibly uncomfortable.

President Bailey speaks without a microphone, but everyone hears. “I am resigning the presidency of the United States as of this moment. My intention is to live here in Tibet for the foreseeable future. I am very grateful that you have made me and my good friend the Dalai Lama so welcome. I am sure he looks very much forward, as do I, to living here in peace and with freedom.”

Ralph turns then and offers a handshake and a hug to the new president. In the excitement of the moment no one notices the his
tory being made in that transfer of power from the first president to break one barrier to the first president to break another.

“Good luck, Madame President,” he says.

“Good luck, Mr. President,” she says.

“Please make sure to implement my last executive order.”

“Of course I shall.” She says the words warmly and Ralph knows it will be done.

R
ALPH PUTS HIS ARM
around Jessica. “So which way to that orphanage of yours?”

They walk slowly out of the airport and through the dusty streets of Lhasa. It is a long walk to the orphanage, but they have nothing but time.

“Will you miss it?” Jessica asks.

“Not at all,” Ralph said.

“Nothing?”

“I got to meet Sting,” he says. “That was pretty cool. And I played golf with Arnold Palmer. I think that was the highlight.”

“But you don’t play golf.”

“We played mini golf and went for hot dogs. He’s a great guy.”

Jessica smiled.

“So what was that last executive order you mentioned?”

“We’re giving a stuffed animal to every child in the world—that and two hot meals a day for every hungry man, woman, and child.”

“Can you do that?”

“What are they going to do—kick me out of office?”

Jessica felt pride and love in such abundance that she thought she might burst. She had only one question.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I wanted to be with you,” Ralph said.

“I mean why now?”

“I just thought the time was right.”

“What time is that?”

“Now.”

I
N
M
ANHATTAN
, K
ANSAS
, M
ARGARET
Stoopler puts down her book. She is obsessing about the passage describing the historic transfer of power. “I understand that Mrs. Moleman was the first woman president. But what was historic about Ralph’s presidency? I figured
it was just that he was the first president under thirty-five. But maybe he was black or Latino? Why did I even presume he was white in the first place? His physical appearance was never described. And, besides, the president’s attaché on
The West Wing
was black. It’s very upsetting. You’d think the author would have had the decency to say something earlier.”

She does not realize she has been speaking aloud.

Not looking up from his Sudoku puzzle, Allan Stoopler asks, “What are you reading?” He appears to have no recollection of ever having discussed the book before.

Margaret explains, “A book that is making a surprising commentary on race.”

“Is it
Tom Sawyer
?”

Margaret is momentarily confused. “I think perhaps you mean
Huckleberry Finn
.”

“Right. I have always wanted to read
Huckleberry Finn
. Do you like it? Is it good?”

Margaret thinks about this question long and hard.

“Yes,” she says. “It is quite good.”

O
N
R
IGEL
-R
IGEL
, T
ODD
A
NAT
-D
ENARIAN
is in physics class. As is often the case during physics, he is staring out the window and daydreaming. His inattentiveness is exacerbated by the presence of a dollowarrie on the sill and the beauty of the day. It is not merely a beautiful day, but a magnificent, splendiferous, refulgent, top-tenin-the-history-of-the-universe type day. If people knew what it was like, they would flock from all over the galaxy to bask in the abundant sunshine of this Rigelian springtime miracle.

It is rare to see a dollowarrie at this time of year and Todd thinks that he would like to sketch it. He could do this from his seat, of course, but he has gotten in trouble for this before, and in any event would like to draw it while sitting outside so he could enjoy the gorgeous weather. Achieving this, however, seems grossly impractical. Professor Fendle-Frinkle is lecturing about his new approach to solving multidimensional matrices, a revolutionary technique with applications to solving certain sticky problems in interdimensional matter transport and complex Sudoku puzzles. The Professor seems to be quite absorbed in the subject matter, as he often is. One doesn’t just blurt out that a teacher should end class, but Todd is gripped by
an irresistible sense of urgency: he must sketch this bird and enjoy this day.

He raises his hand. The Professor is surprised since Todd rarely participates in classroom discussions.

“Yes?”

Todd starts timidly. “I was wondering,” he says, “since it is such a beautiful day outside, really an extraordinary day, whether we might conduct the remainder of class outside or perhaps, though I hesitate to suggest this given the importance of the subject matter of this lecture, end class a few minutes early so we might enjoy a few hours of this precious, dare I say, once-in-a-lifetime type afternoon.”

As soon as he speaks, Todd regrets it. He wonders what has possessed him to say something so foolish and futile. It would be better just to pick up his books and walk out of the class—and the school—and to admit once and for all that he finds physics boring, math insufferable, history interminable, and that he cannot hold up his end of his bargain with his parents, not even for another day, and that all he wants to do with his life is to design greeting cards, draw cartoons, and sketch the occasional bird. This would surely be better than the humiliation that is certain to follow.

But Professor Fendle-Frinkle does not humiliate Todd. What he does is look outside and see for himself that it is indeed a beautiful day. Rather than become angry, the Professor wonders why students have not made similar requests of him before. At a regular school they would. At a regular school they would hound him incessantly to cancel class or attempt to distract him by asking him stories about himself so they might shave a few minutes off the start or end of the period. But the high achievers never do anything like this. They are too worried about scoring well on their standardized tests and advanced placement exams. Sometimes it seems as if they do not notice the weather at all.

With respect to the students in his own class, this strikes the Professor as particularly ironic given what he has taught them about the impending demise of the universe. Whether he is right or not—and, of course, he is quite sure he is right—just thinking about the concept of the universe ending should force these young men and women to think about the difficult question of how a life should be spent. It seems only natural to expect that, when forced to confront this reality, one would view time, and life itself, as more precious.
But the students fail to see things this way. By all appearances they continue to be fixated on grades and getting into the best university. Rather than supporting their classmate’s proposal for an early end to the day, they appear somewhat peeved by it. To the Professor, this is a gross confusion of priorities.