The Attempt (21 page)

EPILOGUE

I
WAIT BENEATH THE SICKLY TREE
the protesters call “sacred.” It's stopped raining and the General Assembly at the upper end of the square is going on indefinitely. That direct democracy of theirs works slowly. Somewhere in the crowd are Marius and Mia, and Daniel, too, who came over from England to support his young friends and ended up staying.

The five minutes that Marius promised have long since passed, but I stay where I am. There's nowhere for me to go anyway.

I'm sure they'll ask me about Ilana. She finished her Ph.D. and left New York six months after I did. I saw her once. She came to visit me in Prague from Berlin, where she'd landed a job as a research assistant at the university. Her son and her ex-husband lived in Hamburg. That was the main reason she'd moved to Germany.

We talked mostly about New York and how much we missed it. And also about my book. I still hadn't finished it. I had to earn a living when I returned to Prague, so I went back to teaching and writing for newspapers, which didn't leave me any time to devote to Josef's notebook. We made love once. I didn't hear from her again until a few months later. She invited me to friend her on Facebook, but I declined. It's too frustrating to communicate that way. I couldn't imagine getting any satisfaction out of reading Ilana's mass posts.

Marius still hasn't turned up, but I don't feel like texting him again. I gather up a few more pieces of cardboard that aren't drenched yet and pull my sleeping bag from my backpack. The sky is totally clear now. I've always liked the way the weather changes so fast in New York. Heat or rain, either way, it never lasts more than two days.

It's almost silent except for the distant sound of chanting. Every now and then a siren whoops, a horn honks, then peace and quiet settle back in. Manhattan opens up like a palm extended to the stars.

When I first heard about the encampment, I wasn't optimistic. I didn't believe the young protesters had enough courage and determination to stick it out through the first cold night. But I was wrong. Their numbers increased with each cold night and with every police crackdown. I had to see it for myself!

The police cordon isn't here for nothing. That much is clear. Sooner or later, they'll shut down the camp. Lock up the more hardened protesters, dump the tents on a trash heap. The police are well aware that the movement is lost without a base. It isn't strong enough yet to expand elsewhere without losing its foothold.

Space is key. A place where people can stay, day after day, night after night, sleeping, thinking, eating, creating something. A place that can't be erased with a click of the mouse, that can last as a source of irritation even after it's all over, after the police empty out and seal off the square and its current inhabitants, once again homeless, revert back from being inspiring bearers of change to a ragtag bunch of misfits trying in vain to make people listen.

Even I get annoyed by the nonstop warriors for justice, with their vehement attitudes and furrowed brows. I understand what they want, but I don't see how they plan to achieve it. If I remember correctly, Daniel didn't talk about anything that could be influenced by elections or votes of Congress.

“There is no way to live in accordance with our conscience,” Josef had scrawled on the cover of his blue notebook. That was his message to me, the letter he left behind.

The people in the camp here were trying to prove the opposite.

How naïve, I think, this hope for the inner transformation of man. Destined to failure every time.

And yet I feel it, too.

The soggy cardboard digs into my back. How long has it been since I slept under the stars? Ten years, twenty?

B
ELLEVUE
L
ITERARY
P
RESS
has been publishing prize-winning books since 2007 and is the first and only nonprofit press dedicated to literary fiction and nonfiction at the intersection of the arts and sciences. We believe that science and literature are natural companions for understanding the human experience. Our ultimate goal is to promote science literacy in unaccustomed ways and offer new tools for thinking about our world.

To support our press and its mission, and for our full catalogue of published titles, please visit us at
blpress.org
.

B
ELLEVUE
L
ITERARY
P
RESS

New York