Job: A Comedy of Justice (11 page)

She turned her head toward me, smiled and looked about sixteen and utterly heavenly.
(“
—
like two young roes that are twins. Thou art all fair, my love; there is no spot in thee.”)
“Good morning, beautiful.”

She giggled. “Good morning, Prince Charming. Did you sleep well?”

“Matter of fact, Margrethe, I haven’t slept so well in a month. Odd. All I want now is breakfast in bed.”

“Right away, sir. I’ll hurry!”

“Go along with you. I should not have mentioned food. I’ll settle for a kiss. Think we can manage a kiss without falling into the water?”

“Yes. But let’s be careful. Just turn your face this way; don’t roll over.”

It was a kiss mostly symbolic rather than one of Margrethe’s all-out specials. We were both quite careful not to disturb the precarious stability of our make-do life raft. We were worried about something more important than being dumped into the ocean—at least I was.

I decided to broach it, take it out where we could worry about it together. “Margrethe, by the map just outside the dining room we should have the coast of Mexico near Mazatlán just east of us. What time did the ship sink? If it sank. I mean, what time was the collision?”

“I don’t know.”

“Nor do I. After midnight, I’m sure of that. The
Konge Knut
was scheduled to arrive at eight a.m. So that coast line could be over a hundred miles east of us. Or it could be almost on top of us. Mountains over there, we may be able to see them when this overcast clears away. As it did yesterday, so it probably will today. Sweetheart, how are you on long-distance swimming? If we can see mountains, do you want to try for it?”

She was slow in answering. “Alec, if you wish, we will try it.”

“That wasn’t quite what I asked.”

“That is true. In warm sea water I think I can swim as long as necessary. I did once swim the Great Belt, in water colder than this. But, Alec, in the Belt are no sharks. Here there are sharks. I have seen.”

I let out a sigh. “I’m glad you said it; I didn’t want to have to say it. Hon, I think we must stay right here and hold still. Not call attention to ourselves. I can skip breakfast—especially a shark’s breakfast.”

“One does not starve quickly.”

“We won’t starve. If you had your druthers, which would you pick? Starvation? Or death by sunburn? Sharks? Or dying of thirst? In all the lifeboat and Robinson Crusoe stories I’ve ever read our hero had something to work with. I don’t have even a toothpick. Correction: I have you; that changes the odds. Margrethe, what do you think we ought to do?”

“I think we will be picked up.”

I thought so, too, but for a reason I did not want to discuss with Margrethe. “I’m glad to hear you say that. But why do you think so?”

“Alec, have you been to Mazatlán before?”

“No.”

“It is an important fishing port, both commercial fishing and sport fishing. Since dawn hundreds of boats have put out to sea. The largest and fastest go many kilometers out. If we wait, they will find us.”

“May find us, you mean. There is a lot of ocean out here. But you’re right; swimming for it is suicide; our best bet is to stay here and hold tight.”

“They will be looking for us, Alec.”

“They will? Why?”

“If
Konge Knut
did not sink, then the Captain knows when and where we were lost overboard; when he reaches port—about now—he will ask for a daylight search. But if she did sink, then they will be scouring the whole area for survivors.”

“Sounds logical.” (I had another idea, not at all logical.)

“Our problem is to stay alive till they find us, avoiding sharks and thirst and sunburn as best we can—and all of that means holding still. Quite still and all the time. Except that I think we should turn over now and then, after the sun is out, to spread the burn.”

“And pray for cloudy weather. Yes, all of that. And maybe we should not talk. Not get quite so thirsty—eh?”

She kept silent so long that I thought she had started the discipline I had suggested. Then she said, “Beloved, we may not live.”

“I know.”

“If we are to die, I would choose to hear your voice, and I would not wish to be deprived of telling you that I love you—now that I may!—in a futile attempt to live a few minutes longer.”

“Yes, my sweetheart. Yes.”

Despite that decision we talked very little. For me it was enough to touch her hand; it appeared to be enough for her, too.

A long time later—three hours at a guess—I heard Margrethe gasp.

“Trouble?”

“Alec! Look there!” She pointed. I looked.

It should have been my turn to gasp, but I was somewhat braced for it: high up, a cruciform shape, somewhat like a bird gliding, but much larger and clearly artificial. A flying machine—

I knew that flying machines were impossible; in engineering school I had studied Professor Simon Newcomb’s well-known mathematical proof that the efforts of Professor Langley and others to build an aerodyne capable of carrying a man were doomed, useless, because scale theory proved that no such contraption large enough to carry a man could carry a heat-energy plant large enough to lift it off the ground—much less a passenger.

That was science’s final word on a folly and it put a stop to wasting public monies on a will-o’-the-wisp. Research and development money went into airships, where it belonged, with enormous success.

However, in the past few days I had gained a new angle on the idea of “impossible.” When a veritable flying machine showed up in our sky, I was not greatly surprised.

I think Margrethe held her breath until it passed over us and was far toward the horizon. I started to, then forced myself to breathe calmly—it was such a beautiful thing, silvery and sleek and fast. I could not judge its size, but, if those dark spots in its side were windows, then it was enormous.

I could not see what pushed it along.

“Alec…is that an airship?”

“No. At least it is not what I meant when I told you about airships. This I would call a ‘flying machine.’ That’s all I can say; I’ve never seen one before. But I can tell you one thing, now—something very important.”

“Yes?”

“We are not going to die…and I now know why the ship was sunk.”

“Why, Alec?”

“To keep me from checking a thumbprint.”

“Or, to put it more nearly exactly, the iceberg was there and the collision took place to keep me from checking my thumbprint against the thumbprint on Graham’s driver’s license. The ship may not have sunk; that may not have been necessary to the scheme.”

Margrethe did not say anything.

So I added gently, “Go ahead, dear; say it. Get it off your chest; I won’t mind. I’m crazy. Paranoid.”

“Alec, I did not say that. I did not think it. I would not.”

“No, you did not say it. But this time my aberration cannot be explained away as ‘loss of memory.’ That is, if we saw the same thing. What did you see?”

“I saw something strange in the sky. I heard it, too. You told me that it was a flying machine.”

“Well, I think that is what it should be called—but you can call it a, uh, a ‘gumpersaggle’ for all of me. Something new and strange. What is this gumpersaggle? Describe it.”

“It was something moving in the sky. It came from back that way, then passed almost over us, and disappeared there.” (She pointed, a direction I had decided was north.) “It was shaped something like a cross, a crucifix. The crosspiece had bumps on it, four I think. The front end had eyes like a whale and the back end had flukes like a whale. A whale with wings—that’s what it looked like, Alec; a whale flying through the sky!”

“You thought it was alive?”

“Uh, I don’t know. I don’t think so. I don’t know what to think.”

“I don’t think it was alive; I think it was a machine. A flying machine. A boat with wings on it. But, either way—a machine or a flying whale—have you ever in your life seen anything like it?”

“Alec, it was so strange that I have trouble believing that I saw it.”

“I know. But you saw it first and pointed it out to me—so I didn’t trick you into thinking that you saw it.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“No, I would not. But I’m glad you saw it first, dearest girl; that means it’s real—not something dreamed up in my fevered brain. That thing did not come from the world you are used to…and I can promise you that it is not one of the airships I talked about; it is not from the world I grew up in. So we’re now in still a third world.” I sighed. “The first time it took a twenty-thousand-ton ocean liner to prove to me that I had changed worlds. This time just one sight of something that simply could not exist in my world is all I need to know that they are at it again. They shifted worlds when I was knocked out—I think that’s when they did it. As may be, I think they did it to keep me from checking that thumbprint. Paranoia. The delusion that the whole world is a conspiracy. Only it’s not a delusion.”

I watched her eyes. “Well?”

“Alec…could it possibly be that both of us imagined it? Delirious, perhaps? We’ve both had a rough experience—you hit your head; I may have hit mine when the iceberg struck.”

“Margrethe, we would not each have the same delirium dream. If you wake up and find that I’m gone, that could be your answer. But I’m not gone; I’m right here. Besides, you would still have to account for an iceberg as far south as we are. Paranoia is a simpler explanation. But the conspiracy is aimed at me; you just had the misfortune to be caught in it. I’m sorry.” (I wasn’t really sorry. A raft in the middle of the ocean is no place to be alone. But with Margrethe it was “paradise enow.”)

“I still think that sharing the same dream is—
Alec, there it comes again!
” She pointed.

I didn’t see anything at first, then I did: A dot that grew into a cruciform shape, a shape that I now identified as “flying machine.” I watched it grow.

“Margrethe, it must have turned around. Maybe it saw us. Or they saw us. Or he saw us. Whatever.”

“Perhaps.”

As it came closer I saw that it was going to pass to our right rather than overhead. Margrethe said suddenly, “It’s not the same one.”

“And it’s not a flying whale—unless flying whales hereabouts have wide red stripes down their sides.”

“It’s not a whale. I mean ‘it’s not alive.’ You are right, Alec; it is a machine. Dear, do you really think it has people inside it? That scares me.”

“I think I would be more scared if it did not have people inside it.” (I remembered a fantastic story translated from the German about a world peopled by nothing but automatic machines—not a pleasant story.) “Actually, it’s good news. We both know now that our seeing the first one was not a dream, not an illusion. That nails down the fact that we are in another world. Therefore we are going to be rescued.”

She said hesitantly, “I don’t quite follow that.”

“That’s because you are still trying to avoid calling me paranoid—and thank you, dear, but my being paranoid is the simplest hypothesis. If the joker pulling the strings had intended to kill me, the easy time to do it would have been with the iceberg. Or earlier, with the fire pit. But he’s not out to kill me, at least not now. He’s playing with me, cat and mouse. So I’ll be rescued. So will you, because we’re together. You were with me when the iceberg hit—your bad luck. You’re still with me now, so you’ll be rescued—your good luck. Don’t fight it, dear. I’ve had some days to get used to it, and I find that it is all right once you relax. Paranoia is the only rational approach to a conspiracy world.”

“But, Alec, the world ought not to be that way.”

“There is no ‘ought’ to it, my love. The essence of philosophy is to accept the universe as it is, rather than try to force it into some preconceived shape.” I added, “Wups! Don’t roll off. You don’t want to be a snack for a shark just after we’ve had proof that we are going to be picked up!”

For the next hour or so nothing happened—unless you count sighting two regal sailfish. The overcast burned away and I began to be anxious for an early rescue; I figured they owed me that much! Not let me get a third-degree sunburn. Margrethe might be able to take a bit more sun than I; she was blonde but she was tanned a warm toast color all over—lovely! But I was raw frog-belly white except for my face and hands—a full day of tropic sun could put me into hospital. Or worse.

The eastern horizon now seemed to show a gray un-evenness that could be mountains—or so I kept telling myself, although there isn’t much you can see when your viewpoint is about seven inches above water line. If those were indeed mountains or hills, then land was not many miles away. Boats from Mazatlán should be in sight any time now…if Mazatlán was still there in this world. If—

Then another flying machine showed up.

It was only vaguely like the other two. They had been flying parallel to the coast, the first from the south, the second from the north. This machine came out from the direction of the coast, flying mostly west, although it zigzagged.

It passed north of us, then turned back and circled around us. It came low enough that I could see that it did indeed have men in it, two I thought.

Its shape is hard to explain. Imagine first a giant box kite, about forty feet long, four feet wide, and about three feet between two kite surfaces.

Imagine this box kite placed at right angles to a boat shape, somewhat like an Esquimau’s kayak but larger, much larger—about as large as the box kite.

Underneath all this are two more kayak shapes, smaller, parallel to the main shape.

At one end of this shape is an engine (as I saw later) and at the front end of that is an air propeller, like a ship’s water propeller—and this I saw later, also. When I first saw this unbelievable structure, the air screw was turning so extremely fast that one simply could not see it. But one could hear it! The noise made by this contraption was deafening and never stopped.

The machine turned toward us and tilted down so that it headed straight toward us—like nothing so much as a pelican gliding down to scoop up fish.