Be Good Be Real Be Crazy (19 page)

WHEN THE DOOR SWUNG SHUT,
they were left in total darkness. The air smelled like sawdust and stale coffee and the floor was cold stone with a layer of grit that scratched and scuttled under the many pairs of shifting feet.

“Hello?” Sid's whisper echoed like they were in a cave instead of a barn.

“What brings you to this place?” The robotic voice was loud enough to make dust sprinkle from above.

No one answered. The only sounds were those of grit grinding beneath shoes and dust pinging against the floor.

“I said, what brings you to this place?” This time there was a short chime that sounded like a computer being turned on, and then a giant green face appeared on the wall behind them as smoke crept around their feet like a herd of friendly cats. The air smelled like chemicals, something dry and vinegary, and the giant face, which looked like a Halloween mask altered
and angled to appear futuristic—the eyes were just slits, the cheekbones triangles—hovered a few feet in the air. Homer had to think deliberately about unclenching his hands before his fingers obeyed, and when he looked at the others, their faces tinted green by the light coming off that face, he saw reflections of his own confusion. Mia was biting her lip. Sid looked stunned. Einstein's face was a mixture of awe and terror. The guy in the lab coat had disappeared. And suddenly, Homer was angry. Really, really, really angry.

“What brings—”

“Look,” Homer yelled. “We've driven more miles than I want to count. We've been bossed around by strangers, lost, bored, hungry, freezing, boiling, and . . . sad.” Homer took a breath and kept going. “We've survived crazy people, mean people, and leaving places we wanted to stay, so if you could just cut the bullshit, I would appreciate it.”

“Oh.” The huge mouth in the huge face formed a circle, and then the face disappeared. A moment later, the barn was flooded with light.

“Awesome!” Einstein shouted, and when Homer could fully open his eyes, he had to agree.

The inside of the barn could just as well have been the interior of a spacecraft. Except for the door leading to a dark hall, the space was open. To their immediate right was a shiny, sterile-looking area with things made of stainless steel, glass beakers, test tubes, and other lab apparatus dotting its countertops. A
large modern table surrounded by clear plastic chairs was set up in the far corner, and the rest of the floor was taken up by desks overflowing with books, papers, and a bunch of other stuff.

“My apologies. I didn't mean to frighten you.” A short man with deep-brown skin and a gray beard streaked with black and dark orange appeared in the doorway, his arms firmly behind him. “Usually, visitors are amused. We start every tour this way. A hologram expert from M.I.T. once praised its intricacies. As far as green faces go, it seems this one is distinctive.” He sighed. “But I digress. Welcome to I-9.”

His voice, Homer noticed, had a particular cadence to it, a rhythm that made each sentence sound like he was reading poetry.

“I'm Dr. Az. Please come in.” He gestured toward the area in the corner closest to the doorway and next to the lab. “Take a seat.”

The four of them moved like stunned zombies to the various stools and chairs Dr. Az had indicated.

“I have a question,” Sid said. He was perched on the edge of the chair next to Einstein's. “What's with the hologram?”

“Why do I use it?” Dr. Az smiled. “Part of the reason is laziness, pure and simple. Dr. Fischer put it up three years ago as a practical joke, and week after week we neglect to take it down. It's a bit like brown Christmas wreaths in spring or a lawn ornament half buried in snow.” Dr. Az sighed. “But mostly, I keep it up for the visitors. More leave upset than elated, and I believe
the hologram gives even the most disappointed ones a story to tell.”

“Why are so many upset?” Mia asked softly, looking up from her lap.

“Because they arrive expecting a wizard, and I am just a man. They want a cathedral to the future and find an old barn instead. They come hoping for answers and only leave with more questions.”

“But why would they leave with more? Einstein says you're the smartest guy in the world.” Mia's voice was stronger now.

“Because they say they're here to learn the fate of the world, how it will end and when. But I can't give them an answer—not for those questions, not for the many others that also brought them here.”

“Why—” Einstein started to say.

“That's how many of the questions start: ‘Why.' What a terrible, wonderful word.”

Dr. Az stepped to a dented globe, walked his fingers from Canada to Australia, and then around and around again. “We could have remained a bunch of atoms darting about in the darkness like cosmic bumper cars. But we didn't. You'd think ‘Why are we here at all?' would be the most popular question. But in my nearly thirty years with I-9, I have heard so many more.”

He stuck his hands behind his back again and started pacing. “Why are there hangovers, death, frizzy hair, and speeding
tickets? Why do pets die and best friends move away? Why does milk spoil and why do species go extinct? Why do people use faith to justify terrible things and why is righteousness so often offered as a reason instead of what's right?”

When Dr. Az's back was to them. Homer tried to catch Einstein's eye, but his brother's gaze was pinned to Dr. Az, who was now weaving through the large room, picking things up, inspecting them, then setting them down.

“Why are some souls crushed and some dreams never fulfilled? Why are some people born poor and some people born rich? Why are movie tickets so expensive and why is food that's bad for you so cheap? Why are animals neglected and children allowed to go hungry? Why do ballerinas fall and planes crash? Why do parents get old and grandparents get sick?”

Dr. Az stopped in front of a sculpture of a woman in a lab coat and started polishing the plaque on the base with his sleeve. “Who knows? I don't. Dr. Greenfield”—he pointed at the statue—“doesn't, I mean didn't.” He stared past the statue as though he had already forgotten it was there. “And she was the greatest biologist the world has ever seen.”

“I'm sorry,” Mia whispered. “For your loss.”

Dr. Az looked puzzled. “Thank you. That's kind of you to say.”

He kept pacing, but slower now. “Perhaps it's because we are the products of broken-down stars or it's that the world actually spins counterclockwise from the south and Pluto is a planet after
all.” He picked up a tennis ball that was more brown than yellow and tossed it back and forth between his hands.

“Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps, more often then not, suffering has no meaning and cannot be anticipated. Perhaps the future, the present, and the past are all full of unknowable unknowns. Perhaps this is not a problem we can solve.” Dr. Az sighed and set the tennis ball in a coffee mug. “It's a paradox we need to accept.”

Dr. Az used one of the stools to lift himself onto the lab table. He sat down, crossed his arms, and swung his legs. “Forgive me. I've always found this time of year to be melancholic. In a December, more years ago than I like to count, I left the country where I was born for a new life. I wasn't much older than you.” Dr. Az nodded at Homer, then at Mia. “And here I haven't told you anything about the Institute or let you ask any questions.” He shifted to face Sid. “Why don't
you
start? What brings you here today?”

“Oh, I didn't want to come here, I just wanted to get out of Delaware. Shoot.” Sid's face went from interested to stricken. “It's not that this isn't awesome, but, it's just, I was only along for the ride.”

Dr. Az smiled. “I'm not offended. Go on.”

“Uh, I don't have anything else. It's been great. I made friends. Home is going to seem incredibly boring after this. I probably won't do anything cool again until I turn eighty.”

“What's your name, young man?”

“Sid. It's short for Siddhartha.”

“Are you familiar with the Law of the Conservation of Matter?”

“Yes, sir. I'm advanced for my age.”

“Then you know that when matter changes from one form to another in a closed system—a vacuum, so to speak—that matter stays constant. Nothing lost. Nothing gained. However . . .” Dr. Az paused. “Life is far from a closed system, and thus a changed life cannot stay constant. It's forever altered. Understand?”

Sid's eyebrows were furrowed, but he nodded.

Dr. Az looked at Einstein expectantly.

“Hi. I'm Einstein.”

Dr. Az drummed his fingers on the metal table. “Good name.”

“Thanks. My brother chose it.” Einstein pointed at Homer.

“Good brother,” Dr. Az quipped.

“Thanks,” Homer said, staring down at his hands.

“I just need to say that I have wanted to visit I-9 since I decided to write my dissertation on existential risks,” Einstein said. “And it's more amazing than I could have dreamed and . . . and so awesome to meet you.”

“You drove—how did you put it?” Dr. Az glanced at Homer. “I think it was ‘more miles than can be counted.' You did this just to see an old man, an ancient prophet of doom and gloom?”

“You're the greatest physicist since, well, Einstein.” Einstein
flung his arms out to his sides, forgetting that he had a cast on his left wrist and that Sid was sitting next to him.

“Ow.”

“Sorry, Sid.”

“No worries,” Sid said, rubbing his shoulder.

“I see,” Dr. Az said, his voice steady and his gaze unnervingly even. “As flattered as I am, evidence suggests that meeting me is hardly the highlight of your undertaking.”

Einstein looked like he was thinking of protesting but then shrugged.

“Young lady.” Dr. Az crossed his arms again when he turned to Mia. “What brings you to the second annual I-9 Institute for the Study of Probable Doom, Existential Risks, and Apocalyptic Possibilities Conference on the Significant Dangers and Slim Rewards of the Giant Atom Accelerator?”

“Oh, I'm not supposed to be here,” Mia said apologetically. “I drove up to say ‘sorry' to Homer.” She pointed across the table at him. “Not for the conference. But,” she added, “your barn is very nice. I'm glad I got to see it. Very old meets new.”

Dr. Az clapped his hands. “This may be the easiest group I'll ever have.” He shifted, indicating that Homer's turn was next. “Though there's always room for a grand inquiry about the cosmos.”

“I think . . .” Homer looked up from the floor, letting his eyes meet Dr. Az's. “I think that I'm still coming up with questions.”

“But you'll get there?” Dr. Az said.

Homer half smiled. “Yeah. I think I will.”

“Good.” Dr. Az hopped off the lab table. “Now you young people will have to excuse me. I have a keynote speech to finalize and I believe you're already late for the party.” Dr. Az squinted at his watch. “Yes, six twenty-two. It's begun.”

“Party?” Sid asked as he shook Dr. Az's hand.

“It'd be rude to meet the end of the world without one.” Dr Az replied. He clapped his hands twice and a light turned on over the now-open door. “Even ruder to not celebrate humanity's survival if that's the direction the night takes.”

Einstein followed Sid, then Mia followed, and finally Homer shook Dr. Az's hand and moved toward the door.

“Homer?”

Dr. Az's voice made Homer pause a few feet from the exit and the new night. “Yes, sir?”

“We're all just bunches of atoms, the same ones that were here at the beginning.”

Homer swallowed. “Right. I know. The Big Bang.”

“The atoms that make up you, the ones that make up me, they just as easily could have formed the rings of Jupiter, a comet, or one of the innumerable stars.”

“Oh, that's neat.” Homer wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond, and the awkward way he had turned was starting to make him wobble.

“A great poet led me to this understanding. Not Galileo,
Mitchell, or even your brother's namesake.” Dr. Az pressed two fingers to his temple as if he needed the pressure to remember. “The stars are watching, and they envy us,” Dr. Az said, lowering his hand. “Our atoms got lucky, Homer, yours and mine. They got to become human. To waste a moment of that cosmic blessing would be an insult to the not as fortunate stars.”

“I think I understand.”

Dr. Az nodded. “Good.”

IT TOOK YEARS FOR THE
Future Mad Physicist to get used to the wet cold of North America. It was so very different from the cold of the country where he was born, which was a dry desert cold that even at its January worst stayed above freezing. Perhaps the contrast wouldn't have seemed so drastic if the years that the Future Mad Physicist spent in the refugee camps hadn't been so hot.

The day of his final resettlement interview had been particularly brutal. The Future Mad Physicist had nearly fainted as he sat on a metal chair trying not to choke on the plastic-baked air in one of the imposing white tents just outside the camps. It could have been the heat or it could have been the fear: he was terrified of answering the uniformed man's questions incorrectly. If he did well, he would join his father's brother in America. If he failed, he would have to stay. A life in the camps. A life spent in neither
Here nor There, but somewhere In Between.

The Future Mad Physicist had always been a diligent student. He studied the interview questions for months, preparing two answers (one spoken, one silent) for each.

Do you believe you were persecuted for your religious beliefs in your country of origin?

            
Spoken:
Yes.

Silent:
Persecuted? It seems such a trivial word when death is the price so many have paid for having a faith that those in power don't share.

Should you return to your country of origin, do you think your life would be in danger?

            
Spoken:
Undoubtedly.

Silent:
The men who came for my father were neighbors—men he trusted. He went with them, thinking he was walking in the direction of negotiation and peace. I hope the moment that he realized he was moving toward his grave was only seconds before they killed him. These men know my face. Returning home would be a death sentence.

Do you find it difficult to procure necessities, such as food, water, and clothing, in the refugee camps?

            
Spoken:
Life in the camps isn't easy, sir. But I am grateful to be here. Many have not been as fortunate.

Silent:
I wish I were a poet. Then I could spin words in such a way that you would understand what it's like to run from one hell into another, more terrible and soul-crushing than the one before. In the camps, I have come to understand that hunger can hurt in your bones and that not being able to do anything, not even cry, to ease another's suffering is the cruelest torture on Earth.

I am only a young man, but in my twenty years of life, I have witnessed such pain and loss that my father's faith has been taken from me. I am no longer afraid of death. But I have much to do before it arrives.

If granted asylum in the United States, what will you do to become a contributing member of society?

            
Spoken:
I plan on enrolling in an American university as soon as possible after my arrival. I will become a scientist.

Silent:
I'll make it my life's work to find explanations where most think there are none. I'll try to do good and avoid doing harm. I'll become a man my father would have been proud to call his son.

The Future Mad Physicist was older than most of the other first-years at the American university where Amu, his uncle, taught literature and poetry. He seldom had a class outside the
science building and never took one of Amu's courses, but on the day his uncle was teaching Rumi, the Future Mad Physicist snuck into the literature auditorium to listen to his uncle read.

              
“A moment of happiness . . .”

The Future Mad Physicist closed his eyes and let the words wrap around him.

              
“We feel the flowing of life here, you and I. . . .”

For the span of the class, he let himself imagine that the voice reading his father's favorite poet was indeed his father and that the smells of the classroom (air freshener and new paper) were replaced by those of the city where he once lived (rose water and fine dust).

            
“The stars will be watching us,

              
. . .

              
In one form upon this Earth,

              
and in another form in a timeless sweet land.”

The Future Mad Physicist was so deep in his memories that he didn't realize that the class was over until he felt Amu's hand on his shoulder.

“Rahman Joon,” Amu said. “Are you well?”

“Yes,” he answered, even though he wasn't.

He would be.

Someday.

The future, he reasoned, was as good a thing as any to believe in.