he’d been a math prodigy, breezing through an elite private school like a Masters titleist playing a mini-golf course; home, he was just Jase, and we had been careful to keep it that way.
It was still that way. But he was casting a bigger shadow now. He didn’t spend his days impressing calculus instructors at Rice. He spent his days positioning himself to influence the course of human history.
He added, “If it happens, yes, I’ll have some warning.
We’ll
have some warning. But I don’t want Diane worrying about it. Or Simon, of course.”
“Great. I’ll just put it out of my mind. The end of the world.”
“It’s no such thing. Nothing’s happened yet. Calm down, Tyler. Pour drinks if you need something to do.”
As nonchalant as he was trying to sound, his hand trembled as he took four tumblers out of the kitchen cupboard.
I could have left. I could have walked out the door, hustled into my Hyundai and been a long way down the road before I was missed. I thought about Diane and Simon in the front parlor practicing hippie Christianity and Jase in the kitchen taking doomsday bulletins on his cell phone: did I really want to spend my last night on Earth with these people?
Thinking at the same time: but who else? Who else?
“We met in Atlanta,” Diane said. “Georgia State hosted a seminar on alternative spirituality. Simon was there to hear C. R. Ratel’s lecture. I just sort of found him in the campus cafeteria. He was sitting by himself reading a copy of
Second Coming
, and I was alone, so I put down my tray and we started talking.”
Diane and Simon shared a plush yellow dust-scented sofa by the window. Diane slouched against the armrest. Simon sat alertly upright. His smile had begun to worry me. It never went away.
The four of us sipped drinks while the curtains wafted in the breeze and a horsefly mumbled at the window screen. It was hard to sustain a conversation when there was so much we weren’t supposed to talk about. I made an effort to duplicate Simon’s smile. “So you’re a student?”
“Was a student,” he said.
“What are you doing lately?”
“Traveling. Mostly.”
“Simon can afford to travel,” Jase said. “He’s an heir.”
“Don’t be rude,” Diane said, the edge in her voice signifying a real warning. “This once, please, Jase?”
But Simon shrugged it off. “No, it’s true enough. I have some money set aside. Diane and I are taking the opportunity to see a little bit of the country.”
“Simon’s grandfather,” Jason said, “was Augustus Townsend, the Georgia pipe cleaner king.”
Diane rolled her eyes. Simon, still imperturbable—he was beginning to seem almost saintly—said, “That was in the old days. We aren’t even supposed to call them pipe cleaners anymore. They’re ‘chenille stems.’” He laughed. “And here I sit, heir to a chenille stem fortune.” Actually it was a gifts-and-notions fortune, Diane explained later. Augustus Townsend had started in pipe cleaners but made his money distributing tin-press toys, charm bracelets, and plastic combs to five-and-dime stores throughout the South. In the 1940s the family had been a big presence in Atlanta social circles.
Jason pressed on: “Simon himself doesn’t have what you’d call a career. He’s a free spirit.”
“I don’t suppose any of us is truly a free spirit,” Simon said, “but no, I don’t have or want a career. I guess that makes me sound lazy. Well, I
am
lazy. It’s my besetting vice. But I wonder how useful any career will be in the long run. Considering the state of things. No offense.” He turned to me. “You’re in medicine, Tyler?”
“Just out of school,” I said. “As careers go—”
“No, I think that’s wonderful. Probably the most valuable occupation on the planet.”
Jason had accused Simon of being, in effect, useless. Simon had replied that careers in general were useless… except careers like mine. Thrust and parry. It was like
It was still that way. But he was casting a bigger shadow now. He didn’t spend his days impressing calculus instructors at Rice. He spent his days positioning himself to influence the course of human history.
He added, “If it happens, yes, I’ll have some warning.
We’ll
have some warning. But I don’t want Diane worrying about it. Or Simon, of course.”
“Great. I’ll just put it out of my mind. The end of the world.”
“It’s no such thing. Nothing’s happened yet. Calm down, Tyler. Pour drinks if you need something to do.”
As nonchalant as he was trying to sound, his hand trembled as he took four tumblers out of the kitchen cupboard.
I could have left. I could have walked out the door, hustled into my Hyundai and been a long way down the road before I was missed. I thought about Diane and Simon in the front parlor practicing hippie Christianity and Jase in the kitchen taking doomsday bulletins on his cell phone: did I really want to spend my last night on Earth with these people?
Thinking at the same time: but who else? Who else?
“We met in Atlanta,” Diane said. “Georgia State hosted a seminar on alternative spirituality. Simon was there to hear C. R. Ratel’s lecture. I just sort of found him in the campus cafeteria. He was sitting by himself reading a copy of
Second Coming
, and I was alone, so I put down my tray and we started talking.”
Diane and Simon shared a plush yellow dust-scented sofa by the window. Diane slouched against the armrest. Simon sat alertly upright. His smile had begun to worry me. It never went away.
The four of us sipped drinks while the curtains wafted in the breeze and a horsefly mumbled at the window screen. It was hard to sustain a conversation when there was so much we weren’t supposed to talk about. I made an effort to duplicate Simon’s smile. “So you’re a student?”
“Was a student,” he said.
“What are you doing lately?”
“Traveling. Mostly.”
“Simon can afford to travel,” Jase said. “He’s an heir.”
“Don’t be rude,” Diane said, the edge in her voice signifying a real warning. “This once, please, Jase?”
But Simon shrugged it off. “No, it’s true enough. I have some money set aside. Diane and I are taking the opportunity to see a little bit of the country.”
“Simon’s grandfather,” Jason said, “was Augustus Townsend, the Georgia pipe cleaner king.”
Diane rolled her eyes. Simon, still imperturbable—he was beginning to seem almost saintly—said, “That was in the old days. We aren’t even supposed to call them pipe cleaners anymore. They’re ‘chenille stems.’” He laughed. “And here I sit, heir to a chenille stem fortune.” Actually it was a gifts-and-notions fortune, Diane explained later. Augustus Townsend had started in pipe cleaners but made his money distributing tin-press toys, charm bracelets, and plastic combs to five-and-dime stores throughout the South. In the 1940s the family had been a big presence in Atlanta social circles.
Jason pressed on: “Simon himself doesn’t have what you’d call a career. He’s a free spirit.”
“I don’t suppose any of us is truly a free spirit,” Simon said, “but no, I don’t have or want a career. I guess that makes me sound lazy. Well, I
am
lazy. It’s my besetting vice. But I wonder how useful any career will be in the long run. Considering the state of things. No offense.” He turned to me. “You’re in medicine, Tyler?”
“Just out of school,” I said. “As careers go—”
“No, I think that’s wonderful. Probably the most valuable occupation on the planet.”
Jason had accused Simon of being, in effect, useless. Simon had replied that careers in general were useless… except careers like mine. Thrust and parry. It was like
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