{"id":396,"date":"2020-02-04T12:48:46","date_gmt":"2020-02-04T17:48:46","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/josalas.com\/?page_id=396"},"modified":"2020-02-04T12:48:46","modified_gmt":"2020-02-04T17:48:46","slug":"the-very-large-array","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/josalas.com\/index.php\/fiction\/the-very-large-array\/","title":{"rendered":"The Very Large Array"},"content":{"rendered":"

\u00a0<\/strong>By Jo Salas<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

Published in\u00a0bosque magazine<\/em>,<\/a>\u00a0November 2013.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAre you doing anything really<\/em> exciting this January?\u201d asks the star-bordered ad in the paper.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d says Neil Granger aloud. \u201cDuh.\u201d It is a word he\u2019s learned from Melanie and her friends and he finds it expressive in its succinctness though would never use it in actual conversation.<\/p>\n

The ad goes on. \u201cExplore the universe with astronomer Owen James at his private observatory! View the night skies through a 12-inch telescope! No science background needed!\u201d The class is on Thursday nights. Neil is free on Thursdays, as he is every other night of the week.<\/p>\n

He scans the paper to see what else is going on. They are beating the drums for another war. Afghanistan and the \u201cwar on terror\u201d are not enough. It will be Iraq this time\u2014their real target all along, thinks Neil. \u201cPropaganda!\u201d he snorts, reading yet another story claiming that Saddam Hussein was Osama bin Laden\u2019s ally in the 9\/11 attacks. There are speculations about Saddam\u2019s evil intent and his hidden weapons of mass destruction. Neil suspects that most of the newspaper\u2019s political coverage is printed verbatim from White House press releases, full of lies to sell the war they are itching for. \u201cYour job is to tell the truth, morons!\u201d he shouts at the editors and reporters. Neil\u2019s one-sided invectives often grow heated to the point where he has to hurl the newspaper onto the floor, scaring Spinoza. He\u2019s given up watching television news altogether.<\/p>\n

He picks the paper up off the floor, cuts out the ad for the astronomy class, and puts the rest in the recycling bin. Not impulsive but decisive, he picks up the phone and tells the voice mail message that he wants to register.<\/p>\n

Neil turns on the radio to the classical music station and sits down in the living room with his bowl of rice and vegetables. Spinoza is determined to claim his lap. Neil has long accepted that Spinoza\u2019s will is stronger than his own. He holds the bowl awkwardly above the cat\u2019s head, eating slowly, listening to something bland played on strings. He thinks about the war against Iraq and the pointless, lasting misery it will unleash. Have we not learned a damn thing, he thinks to himself. He remembers the Vietnam years, when he had vigor and hope as well as a searing determination to bring his government to its senses and stop the slaughter. He leans his head back on the couch. If he were a weeping man he would weep. But he is tearless. The passion in him now is of the dry, incendiary kind. He puts the empty bowl on the coffee table and strokes Spinoza who responds with a squeak of pleasure without waking up.<\/p>\n

The phone rings and the machine answers. He recognizes the teasing voice of the caller. Earlier in the day she accosted him outside the caf\u00e9 where, since his retirement, he indulges in an occasional morning coffee. \u201cAlone and palely loitering, Neil?\u201d she said, her small hand resting on his arm. Neil does not let her know that he recognizes the quote since it would lead to further conversation about poetry and Keats, and he would like to get away from her as soon as he can. Roberta is a friend of his former wife. They\u2019re in a book club together, reading women writers. Whatever. That\u2019s another expression he\u2019s learned from Melanie. These young people may not know much but they do have a way with laconic utterances. Whatever.<\/p>\n

On the phone Roberta is leaving a message. \u201cSo, Neil, if you\u2019re free next Thursday please join us. Just a few friends, and I\u2019ll make my famous risotto.\u201d<\/p>\n

Neil grabs the phone. \u201cRoberta? I just came in and heard your voice,\u201d he lies. \u201cActually I\u2019m busy on Thursday.\u201d He cannot resist the opportunity to tell her he\u2019s busy. For once he has a bona fide excuse.<\/p>\n

Roberta is unperturbed. \u201cOK, another time. Ciao, bello.\u201d To his knowledge Roberta has never set foot in Italy.<\/p>\n

He is aware that Roberta and other women feel that he should make himself available for dating. He knows that he is lucky, if luck it is, to have become neither fat nor bald in middle age. His features are inoffensive. He is moderately youthful in his body. \u201cAn accident of nature,\u201d he acknowledges to his image in the mirror.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Melanie had responded to his notice on the pet store bulletin board seeking a cat-sitter for a three-day absence–the last conference he\u2019d have to attend before retiring. It was not long after 9\/11. Life felt contingent, insecure, and he was uneasy about leaving Spinoza alone, supplied with food and water, as he might otherwise have done. When she came to meet him and the cat, Spinoza crept onto her lap within seconds and remained there purring. Neil had never seen him so smitten. The girl was about fourteen, he guessed, tall for her age, with a pleasant though not pretty face. A bright girl, quiet in her speech and comfortable with herself.<\/p>\n

\u201cSure,\u201d she said when he explained that a half hour visit each day would suffice. \u201cI can walk here after school. We\u2019ll have fun, won\u2019t we, Spinoza?\u201d<\/p>\n

Spinoza was in fine shape when Neil returned from the conference. Melanie came to the house the next day to pick up her pay. The cat materialized immediately to greet her. Melanie sat on the floor, caressing him.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you think I could visit him sometimes?\u201d she asked, looking up. \u201cI can\u2019t have a cat at home because my brother\u2019s allergic.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCertainly you may,\u201d he said. \u201cIf it\u2019s OK with your parents.\u201d Neil had not met them. He assumed they were conventional people who would not see the world as he did\u2014most people were. But they had produced a nice child, caring and responsible.<\/p>\n

Neil looked at her, neatly cross-legged on the floor, the ecstatic cat enclosed by her thin jeans-clad legs. He would be pleased if she came to visit. But the girl would surely forget about Spinoza soon enough.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The moonless sky is dark by the time Neil leaves on Thursday. He feels a growing excitement as he drives to the observatory. He turns onto a small road that climbs toward the mountain, a darker presence against the starlit sky. Neil has the palpable and thrilling sense that he is driving upwards into the realm of the stars themselves. He parks and follows a path through trees toward the observatory. Owen James is standing on his deck, bundled up, greeting people. Neil recognizes him from newspaper photos, forty-ish, tall and authoritative. He gestures to a roofless enclosure on the deck in which Neil can see a large telescope. \u201cWe\u2019ll come out here a bit later.\u201d They follow him into the house and upstairs into a low-ceilinged, dimly lit room. Dreamlike electronic music is playing softly. Neil settles himself on a low couch. Owen tells them about the night sky: about the relationship of light and time, about Copernicus and Galileo and Kepler, about the infinitesimally tiny scale of our planet in the universe. Some of this Neil already knows but he receives it like a balm, feeling his mind stretch in directions that have been quiescent for years. Owen leads everyone outside and they take turns climbing up to the eyepiece of the telescope. By now the night is freezing but Neil is warm with excitement. They look at M13, a brilliant ball of suns more than a hundred light-years across.<\/p>\n

He walks back to the road, stars wheeling above him. Another class member catches up with him, an older man who had asked a number of questions, not unintelligent. Neil tries to remember his name.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou live in Mount Laurel too, don\u2019t you?\u201d the man says. \u201cDo you want to drive together next week?\u201d<\/p>\n

Neil demurs. He would prefer to drive alone, to recapture the extraordinary sense of ascending into the sky. He takes the man\u2019s phone number, says he\u2019ll call if he can arrange to ride together, knowing he will not.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

His euphoria lasts until the next morning when he listens to the news on NPR. He can\u2019t bear to hear those familiar, formerly trusted voices repeating lies with such credulous solemnity. No one in the media is pointing out the logical holes in the official argument. \u201cIf you really believe Saddam\u2019s got chemical and nuclear arsenals,\u201d Neil hisses at the radio, \u201cthen you must believe he\u2019d use them against American troops.\u201d Conscienceless though Bush and Co are, he can\u2019t imagine they\u2019d send young soldiers to certain death in a nuclear holocaust. Therefore, they know the weapons don\u2019t exist. It just serves their imperialist goals to pretend otherwise.<\/p>\n

He despairs to see how so many people swallow and regurgitate the lies. The prospect of war seduces them: suddenly there is a focus, an urgent and clear direction, the laying out of age-old roles of heroism and sacrifice. All bullshit. The yellow-ribbon syndrome, he calls it. He can\u2019t bring himself to argue with people face to face but he signs petitions, sends checks, calls his representatives, writes letters to the paper.<\/p>\n

It is only when Neil summons the energy to join one of the anti-war protests that he feels the slightest stirring of hope, striding along the frigid Washington streets surrounded by legions of others who feel as he does, chanting with them, slightly self-conscious but also inspired: \u201cThis is what democracy looks like!\u201d<\/em> And then, the enraged disappointment to realize that there has been no media coverage, it was as though he and tens of thousands of others have not traveled for hours in stuffy buses to get to DC, have not stood and walked all day until their feet and noses are frozen, have not sung and shouted and held up their passionate, witty handmade placards. Except for those who were there, no one knew it had happened. Again he remembers the Vietnam War, the way each protest was amplified in the press, building a movement that forced the war to end. He remembers himself, long-haired, laughing, fearless, holding up a huge peace sign made of dandelions.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When Melanie comes to visit he is careful not to express his frustrations, knowing it\u2019s not fair and would probably backfire if she were to report back to her parents. He has no idea of their politics but he assumes that they would prefer not to expose their young daughter to the rantings of an angry activist. By now he\u2019s met them once or twice; polite, reasonable-seeming people.<\/p>\n

Neil would like to have company in his point of view. But his attempts to link with like-minded souls have not been successful. He finds many of them tediously predictable, repeating the mantras of their youth or spouting sentiments as na\u00efve as those of the flag-wavers. And he suspects they find him at best a puzzle: a conservatively-dressed man amongst all the jeans and droopy sweaters, who says little and smiles less. He amuses himself with speculations that perhaps they think he\u2019s a CIA spy. On the five-hour ride to DC he sits next to a woman who tries for the first hour and a half to engage him in conversation, then gives up and spends the remaining time talking with the couple across the aisle.<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe she liked you,\u201d suggests Melanie. She\u2019s on the couch with her legs tucked under her, Spinoza as usual snuggled beside her. Neil has disobeyed his own rule and is telling her about the trip. \u201cWhat did she look like?\u201d Melanie is at an age where relationships are by default suspected of having romantic connotations.<\/p>\n

Neil considers. \u201cI don\u2019t think so, Melanie,\u201d he says. \u201cShe was a grandmotherly type. I think she was just trying to entertain herself. It was a very long ride.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat did she look like?\u201d says Melanie, persistent.<\/p>\n

But he can\u2019t summon her face. \u201cAll I remember is her bottomless feedbag. She had to munch about every twenty minutes.\u201d<\/p>\n

Melanie grins. \u201cSo, did she share her goodies with you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe offered. I declined.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I think it\u2019s great that she went. Don\u2019t you think? I mean, an old lady, going all that way, and it was so cold. She must be very worried.\u201d<\/p>\n

Melanie hasn\u2019t so far expressed any point of view about the threat of war.<\/p>\n

\u201cMany of us are worried,\u201d says Neil. \u201cWar is terrible. There\u2019s no point, absolutely no point.\u201d He stops himself.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know, crazy. Me and Matt wrote a letter to the president. If there\u2019s a war, it\u2019ll be kids like us who end up going.\u201d<\/p>\n

Neil is surprised and pleased to hear about this action. He overlooks the grammar mistake. \u201cI hope very much that the president reads it.\u201d He remembers his zeal at Melanie\u2019s age when he first became aware of the great wrongs in the world and the heady possibility of standing up against them. The excitement of this realization had propelled his teenage years. Optimism was in his bloodstream then, as it is now in hers.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

In the astronomy class Owen is talking about extraterrestrials. He\u2019s dispassionate and scientific about it, to Neil\u2019s relief. It would be very disappointing if Owen turned out to be a UFO nut.<\/p>\n

\u201cThink about it. There are 400 billion suns in this galaxy alone. If just a tiny percentage of them have planetary systems, that\u2019s a lot of planets. Multiply that by all the suns in the other galaxies. Do you think it\u2019s remotely <\/em>possible that our planet is the only one that\u2019s developed intelligent life?\u201d<\/p>\n

He pauses. The class has learned not to reply to Owen\u2019s rhetorical questions.<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course it\u2019s not. The question is, how would we ever know? We\u2019re all so far away from each other. There\u2019s a whole field of study called SETI, the search for extraterrestrial intelligence. Useless, probably, not because there isn\u2019t any extraterrestrial intelligence, but because the chances of contact are virtually nil. But they keep trying.\u201d<\/p>\n

On the screen appears a vast field of tall, ungainly contraptions reaching up toward the sky. \u201cThat\u2019s the VLA, the Very Large Array. Those giants are movable radio telescopes spread out over twelve miles in the Southwest. It\u2019s like an enormous ear, listening. They\u2019ve been listening for years. If a signal comes in\u2014they\u2019ll hear it.\u201d<\/p>\n

On the way home Neil yearns to savor the idea of distant beings in the black reaches of space who may wonder about us as we wonder about them but who are far beyond the possibility of contact. He regrets succumbing to carpooling with Wes, the man who lives in Mount Laurel. But Wes is as struck as Neil by this vision.<\/p>\n

\u201cThank god, you know,\u201d Wes says, steering cautiously down the dark winding road. \u201cThank god we can\u2019t get to them, or them to us.\u201d Neil looks at him with appreciation, having been thinking the same thing. \u201cIt\u2019s enough just to know they\u2019re out there. They have to be, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d says Neil. \u201cThey have to be.\u201d The class is ending next week, to his regret.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Neil has become used to Melanie appearing at the back door every week or so to visit Spinoza. He\u2019s learned that she likes corn chips with salsa and he makes sure that he keeps them in supply. She has taken to bringing homework questions to him, once she finds out that he\u2019d been the director of the historical society and is knowledgeable about topics she has to study. He feels some pride when she gets an excellent grade in her history class at the end of the year.<\/p>\n

Neil catches himself feeling mildly uncomfortable at the idea of this growing friendship–that\u2019s what it feels like–with a 15-year-old girl. Not the friendship itself, which feels easy and pleasant, but the thought of how it might look to someone else, her parents, for example. Do they worry that he\u2019s a predator? But he puts aside such qualms. It is so long since he\u2019s had a friend of any age. He feels something loosen and flex within himself, the ability to talk, listen, even make a joke on occasion. Once he knows she is interested and engaged he talks to her more about the political situation. He tries to soften the degree of his rage about it but it relieves him considerably to scoff at Bush and Cheney and their ilk. Is he indoctrinating her? She is so open to his opinions, so receptive, so ready to come back with a gratifying \u201cDuh!\u201d and roll of the eyes at Bush\u2019s latest idiotic pronouncement.<\/p>\n

On occasion Melanie brings friends with her, Matt and Caitlin. Neil is struck by their androgynous sameness and their gentleness, the three of them fussing over Spinoza, who adores the attention, chatting to each other in soft voices. Sometimes Neil joins them; sometimes he sits with his book enjoying their murmuring presence. It is easier than he expected to find topics of conversation: the Internet, cats, the war. All three of them, he has learned, are vehemently opposed to Bush\u2019s warmongering, full of scorn for Bush himself.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When she comes alone Melanie is in the habit of picking up a book or an artefact, or standing in front of a painting, and asking him about it. He enjoys her curiosity and the opportunity to talk about the objects that his life is furnished with. She picks up a small wooden carving of a fat, jolly man stretching his arms above his head. \u201cWhat\u2019s this?\u201d<\/p>\n

He tells her about the Laughing Buddha\u2014\u201cNot the real Buddha, but a Chinese monk from much later. He\u2019s supposed to bring good luck. It was given to me by a Chinese historian from Shanghai. Mr Huang.\u201d He explains, briefly, about Buddhism. Again Neil feels the need for caution. He is not sure of Melanie\u2019s family\u2019s beliefs: they could be fundamentalist Christians for all he knows. So many people are, these days. He does not mention that he was for several years part of a local sangha until exasperated by a new member who too quickly acquired the formal robes and accoutrements, pressing fawning attentions on the sensei. Neil couldn\u2019t stand this oversized altar boy and recognized that his own intolerance was a serious failing in Buddhist terms, so he stopped attending.<\/p>\n

They are looking at the Laughing Buddha when Spinoza, who uncharacteristically has not yet appeared to greet Melanie, staggers into the room, his legs collapsing under him. Melanie and Neil run to him. Neil is terrified. Spinoza\u2019s head is crooked and his eyes are zigzagging from side to side. Melanie is in tears. \u201cWhat\u2019s wrong? What\u2019s happening to him?\u201d But Neil has no idea. He\u2019s never seen anything like this. \u201cI have to take him to the vet.\u201d He\u2019s thinking it\u2019s a stroke. Do cats have strokes? There\u2019s no time to look in his cat books, or go online, or even call the vet.<\/p>\n

\u201cNeil\u2014I can drive,\u201d says Melanie. \u201cI don\u2019t have my license yet but I know how, let me drive and you can sit in the back with him.\u201d<\/p>\n

Neil looks at his beloved cat, whose life might be in danger and is clearly suffering. \u201cOK, yes, let\u2019s go.\u201d<\/p>\n

He wraps Spinoza in a towel\u2014he has a cat carrier but he can\u2019t thrust the poor creature into a cage at this moment. He cradles the cat in his arms, calling out directions to Melanie, who is driving with care. Spinoza is trembling and claws at his neck in panic. Neil whispers to him, trying to sooth him. His own heart is pounding with fear.<\/p>\n

The vet\u2019s office is only ten minutes away. The receptionist listens to Neil\u2019s hurried explanation and shows them into an examining room. Neil and Melanie wait, silent except for their murmurs of comfort to Spinoza.<\/p>\n

Dr Waters examines the cat, her skilful hands imparting a degree of calm.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not a stroke,\u201d she says at last. \u201cI think it\u2019s vestibular disease.\u201d She explains: it\u2019s probably caused by an undetected ear infection, and in spite of the alarming symptoms, it\u2019s not life threatening. They\u2019ll give him antibiotics and it will probably resolve in a day or two. \u201cI do think we should keep him here overnight just to watch him. You and your daughter can go home. You should be able to come and get him in the morning.\u201d<\/p>\n

Neither Melanie nor Neil corrects her assumption about their relationship. Neil is overwhelmed with relief. He\u2019s never heard of vestibular disease but he knows a little about inner ear function and it seems plausible. He looks at Melanie, who is trying not to cry. He pats her shoulder. \u201cLet\u2019s say goodbye to him, then.\u201d<\/p>\n

She leans down to Spinoza. \u201cSee you tomorrow, little guy. Don\u2019t be scared. You\u2019ll be OK.\u201d<\/p>\n

Neil strokes the cat\u2019s back with a light finger. He has an absurd impulse to kiss him but does not. He thanks the vet and they leave.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Neil drives on the way home, collecting himself. Melanie continues to dab her eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m OK,\u201d she says when Neil looks at her. \u201cI just feel so bad for him. You think she\u2019s right? That it\u2019s not serious?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe knows what she\u2019s talking about,\u201d says Neil, though he himself finds it hard to reconcile the cat\u2019s extreme state with the vet\u2019s reassuring diagnosis. \u201cThey\u2019ll take good care of him. Melanie\u2014thank you so much for helping. I do appreciate it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI liked that part of it,\u201d says Melanie. \u201cThe driving part.\u201d<\/p>\n

He brings her to her house. The situation seems to call for more than the usual goodbye, so he leans across to give her a quick peck on the cheek. She hugs him, her tears flowing again. \u201cPoor Spinoza! I hope he\u2019s OK.\u201d<\/p>\n

He reassures her as best he can. \u201cI\u2019ll let you know what they say tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

That evening is the roll-call vote in the Senate on the resolution to authorize Bush\u2019s war. The House has already voted yes, though with a sizable number of dissenters. Neil knows the vote is likely to pass, with war\u2019s inexorable momentum. But by now the voices of the anti-war activists seem so loud. A strong \u201cno\u201d vote in the Senate could at least be a brake on the rush to catastrophe.<\/p>\n

Neil turns on the television, bracing himself.<\/p>\n

One by one the senators stand up and deliver their vote. Yes. Yes, Mr President, by all means. Drop bombs. Send in thousands of troops to massacre and be massacred. It\u2019s OK by me. Yes. Yes. Often the actual vote is preceded by a reiteration of the familiar specious arguments.<\/p>\n

Neil has a tiny residual hope that his own senators will stand up for a higher principle, since that is the desire of most of their New York constituents. Hillary Clinton appears, dressed in somber gray. He listens to her grating voice denouncing Saddam Hussein\u2019s crimes and his intent to re-arm. But, unlike the others, she also criticizes the US\u2019s support for him in the past and warns sternly against preemptive war. \u201cHistory has at times proved dissenters to be right,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n

Oh Hillary, thinks Neil. Oh Hillary. Is it possible that in spite of everything you are a dissenter?<\/p>\n

Her long speech builds to a conclusion. Neil leans forward.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf we were to attack Iraq now, alone or with few allies, it would set a precedent that could come back to haunt us,\u201d she says. \u201cSo, Mr. President, for all its appeal, a unilateral attack is not a good option.\u201d<\/p>\n

Yes! Exactly! He can\u2019t believe she has summoned the courage to go against the murderous flow.<\/p>\n

But now what\u2019s she saying? \u201cI will take the President at his word that he will try hard to pass a UN resolution and will seek to avoid war, if at all possible.\u201d This president\u2019s word? Is she kidding? \u201cAnd therefore, ladies and gentlemen,\u201d she continues, \u201cI have concluded that a vote for the resolution best serves the security of our nation. I cast it with conviction.\u201d She goes on, but Neil turns off the television and stares at the blank screen.<\/p>\n

Later he listens to the news on the radio. Seventy-seven out of a hundred senators, including his, have voted to authorize war.<\/p>\n

Neil is outraged. Furious at them, furious at himself for thinking for even a second that it could have turned out any other way.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

In the morning he finds out that Spinoza is doing better and can come home later in the day. He expects that Melanie will phone or appear. So far he has avoided calling her house if possible, feeling the slight awkwardness of it. But when he has not heard from her by four in the afternoon he telephones. Her mother answers.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou let my daughter drive your car.\u201d Her voice is icy.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh\u2014Melanie must have explained to you, about the emergency with my cat\u2014\u201d but she cuts him off.<\/p>\n

\u201cMelanie is fifteen years old. She\u2019s too young to drive. You were putting her in danger.\u201d The woman\u2019s voice rises. \u201cWe could have you arrested, do you realize?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMs\u2026\u201d he scrambles for the last name. \u201cMs Sherman. I\u2019m very sorry. It was an emergency. We thought the cat might die.\u201d<\/p>\n

Again she cuts him off. \u201cHer dad and I aren\u2019t happy with Melanie visiting you anyway. We don\u2019t think it\u2019s right.\u201d Neil shrinks from what she\u2019s about to say. \u201cFrom now on you won\u2019t be seeing her at all.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMs Sherman\u2014please, let me explain\u2014perhaps I could come by and speak with you and your husband.\u201d But the woman hangs up.<\/p>\n

Neil sinks into a chair. He tries to comprehend. He senses great sorrow hovering, not yet landed. And a compound humiliation: the implication that he is someone who preys on the young, and his own awareness that if he had friends among his peers he would not treasure Melanie\u2019s company so much.<\/p>\n

He thinks of Melanie, how frustrated and sad and worried she must be. He forces himself to dial again. He says, \u201cPlease just tell Melanie that the cat is OK,\u201d and hangs up before she can.<\/p>\n

He brings Spinoza home in the cat carrier with instructions to keep him in one room until he\u2019s steadier on his feet. Spinoza is better but not at all himself. Neil sits on the couch with the cat resting on his lap. He is alone again. His cat is ill. There will be no more young people in the house with their contagious assumption of a beneficent world. A war will start and people will die, and be injured, and become displaced. Young men will turn into rapists and torturers, youths who if they had not been sent to war would have lived more or less decent lives. The rest of the world will hate and despise the United States even more, with justification. Some will attack again.<\/p>\n

We have failed, thinks Neil. Greed, lies and fear have prevailed again.<\/p>\n

Darkness falls but Neil does not turn on the lights. The house is silent except for occasional creaking as it settles into the chilly night. Neil is not seeing the point of anything. Why exert oneself if all one\u2019s efforts are fruitless? Why hope? Why live, in fact?<\/p>\n

Neil dozes, then wakes, still upright on the couch. The aura of a dream is with him. He waits and the dream comes into focus. He sees the Very Large Array in the distance. He approaches and realizes that is not radio telescopes but Laughing Buddhas, dozens of them, each thirty or forty feet high, stretching its polished wooden arms to the sky. His dream self understands that this display is intended for his benefit.<\/p>\n

Spinoza hasn\u2019t moved, his steady breathing almost imperceptible. A quarter moon is low in the sky. Neil has adopted Owen James\u2019s faint scorn of the moon as an object whose closeness makes it unchallenging to observe, its brightness only obscuring more interesting phenomena. He stares it until it sinks below the window.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u00a0By Jo Salas \u00a0 Published in\u00a0bosque magazine,\u00a0November 2013.   \u201cAre you doing anything really exciting this January?\u201d asks the star-bordered ad in the paper. \u201cNo,\u201d says Neil Granger aloud. \u201cDuh.\u201d It is a word he\u2019s learned from Melanie and her friends and he finds it expressive in its succinctness though would never use it in […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":16,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-396","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry","post-preview"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/josalas.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/396","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/josalas.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/josalas.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/josalas.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/josalas.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=396"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/josalas.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/396\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":397,"href":"https:\/\/josalas.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/396\/revisions\/397"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/josalas.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/16"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/josalas.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=396"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}