Skeletons (58 page)

Eddie and Willie were circling the hull of the beached ship, throwing sand. The wolves had sat themselves down to watch these antics. Behind me other launches containing the television equipment, a huge dish for transmission to an overhead satellite, cameras, lights, were being unloaded along with an army of technicians to man them.

"This promises to be quite a day," I said.

"Yes, it does, Mr. President,"
Kral
Kishkin
said. "May I show you our home?”

We walked up the beach. He showed me the charming bungalow he and Claire had built, nestled in a cove, surrounded by waterfalls, springs and lush spring vegetation. The air was filled with the cries of animals. As we entered the bungalow, I saw a huge, hairy form in a chair, watching a television screen. A video machine ran from a portable generator. As we approached, the form straightened itself and stood, a great ape. It regarded me solemnly.

“I do believe I've found my brother at last,” I said, laughing, remembering what they had called me during my campaigns.

To my surprise, the ape trod forward and took my hand.

I threw my head back and laughed even harder.
 
“I think he knows what we have for him.”

I turned and spoke to one of the Secret Service men. He nodded and returned to the ship.

“This certainly is a cozy spot,” I said.

“Thank you,”
Kral
Kishkin
said.

I regarded the young lady. She was very much as I had dreamed her, though in person her aura was even stronger. Though she didn't speak, I felt as though she were saying volumes.

“Remarkable,” I said.

The Secret Service man returned with his surprise. The great ape had returned to his chair and his video movie. In it a young woman in a princess's outfit was firing some sort of space gun.

When the Secret Service agent came in trailing a female ape, my friend in the chair looked up, looked back at his television screen, then jumped up, knocking the television over and chattering like mad.

The female took this for foolishness, naturally. But the ape fellow recovered quickly. Soon the two of them were chattering away together in a corner of the bungalow, as if nothing else in the world existed.

"Shall we go outside?" I offered. I checked my watch, seeing that we had plenty of time before four o'clock and resolving to enjoy it.

We toured the island. We left Stanton, Mr. Garber, the television people, the admiral, and his men behind on the beach. It was like being in another world. Early spring had bloomed all over, and huge, nearly tropical plants were throwing their lush flowerings at the sky. The air was fragrant with oxygen. It reminded me of certain springs in my youth, when the world was still ahead of me.

We sat on a flat rock near the bottom of the island's tallest waterfall and spread out a lunch. Eddie and Willie, their pants still rolled up, splashed in the water.

"Mr.
Kishkin
," I said to the young man, "I was briefed about your work. I must say I approve mightily. I'd now like to explain to you, if I may, why I have taken the actions I've taken the last months."

"Mr. President," the young man replied, "I understand. There were times in the past weeks and months when I didn't understand, and I hated all of you for what you were doing. But I know you did what you thought was right. I now know that there was no malice in it."

"It's very good of you to say that, Mr.
Kishkin
."

"It's true."

I nodded. "It's the slaughter that's always weighed heavily on me."

"But now we know its meaning, don't we, Mr. President?"

I gave him a slow smile. "Yes, we do. I take it we've both had the same dream. May I tell you what I have in mind?"

"Please, Mr. President."

We ate our lunch, and I told him my plan. At the end of it I told him of my difficulty with the speech I had written.

"It's rather inappropriate now," I said.

"Perhaps I can help you, Mr. President."

He drew a much-folded piece of paper from deep out of his pocket and handed it to me. “These are words I wrote a long time ago based on your own words."

I unfolded the paper and read it. At its creases it had been so worn through that the words were nearly illegible.

"I would be proud to use these words, Mr.
Kishkin
," I said, and felt tears rise into my eyes.

Through them I saw
Kral
Kishkin
and the young woman smiling.

It was time to walk back. Once more I admired the lushness of this place, the green budding, the cries of the animals. As we broke through the foliage onto the beach I saw one of the television technicians bending over a live goose as if to harm it. I shooed him away.

"I've met so many marvelous people!" I said to no one in particular.

I turned to
Kral
Kishkin
and Claire St. Eve. "Are you ready?"

The young woman nodded.
Kral
Kishkin
said, "Yes.”

“All right, then."

We walked forward, onto the beach, toward the tall gallows that had been erected there.

The television lights went on. For a moment they blinded me, taking away the beautiful day, the blue sky, the waving tops of tress. I fumbled for my hat, took it off, fumbled around for the piece of paper in there, found it, and put my hat back on. Then my eyes adjusted to the glare, and I looked out into the cameras, as I had been taught, and made believe they were my old cronies back in Springfield.

"Friends," I began. On the gallows platforms behind me
Kral
Kishkin
and Claire St. Eve stood waiting, nooses knotted around their necks. The television cameras swiveled to take their picture, then came back to me.

"On this momentous day," I said, "I welcome you.

"Many days and weeks have passed since the prosecution of our cause. These have been long and difficult times, with much hardship for us, and for our human brethren.

"Now these hard days are past. The war is over."

I looked down at Mr.
Kishkin's
piece of paper, and spoke slowly.

"In each man war and peace are joined. Each man is a battlefield. It is the sum of these battlefields that makes a nation, a world, great or bankrupt. If a man, if many men, opt for war within themselves, then war, surely, will follow in the world. But if men fight the battle within and choose peace, then there is surely hope for this, or any, world.

"As each man is a battlefield, so, too, is each nation. And if the many nations that are men choose peace, then so, too, will the world choose peace."

I folded
Kral
Kishkin's
paper and put it down. I checked my watch. It was two minutes to the hour of four.

"Those words are not mine. They are those of the young human behind me. He has sought to make his own world a better place."

I signaled to
Kral
Kishkin
and Claire St. Eve.

They removed the nooses from their necks, dismounted from the gallows, and came to stand beside me.

"Mr. President!" Stanton shouted.

"It's all right," I said, smiling at the Secretary of War.

I looked at my watch. It was one minute to four.

"Today," I said to the television cameras, "we have achieved our goal. For, my friends, our work upon this world is done. In less than sixty seconds the earth will leave behind the cloud that brought us here. All of us, all of our race, will be gone from this world.

"But we will not be gone! For this is a day of joy for both skeleton and human. This is not an apocalypse, but a birth.

"A long time ago, at the beginning of human time on earth, there was a man and a woman. And from them grew the human race, until by war and corruption a great flood was sent. Noah, in his Ark, made a new beginning.

"Once again, war and corruption have filled the earth. By whatever
 
Greater Power, physical or spiritual, it is time again for a new beginning. That is why we were sent back to earth; that was our task. We leave behind a new Adam and Eve, to make a new start on earth. The rest of the human race has moved on.

"Each man goes to his own next world. For those filled with corruption, it will not be the easiest of worlds, for an accounting must be made. But for the rest it will he . . ."

By my watch there were twenty seconds more. Eddie and Willie ran to me. I held them tight. Already I could feel the change coming on me, the breaking up of my essence in this world.

Eddie said, "I'm scared, Papa"

"Don't be, you rascal!"

There was a pull as of a receding tide. Around me those of us began to turn to powder.

My eyes suddenly could not focus on the distant waterfall, the bright blue sky. I saw another sky, another color, other vegetation waiting for me, growing more distinct and familiar.

Remembrance of this world flooded through me. "Mother!" Eddie shouted, pulling away from me to run ahead.

Roger Garber ran on, crying, "Carl! Is it really you? Can we talk? Jeez, it's hot in here."

"
Paradise
!" I shouted joyfully.

I saw
Kral
Kishkin
and Claire St. Eve standing before me. Then they faded until only their bones were visible to me. I looked down, and my own body was whole.

And there around me was my world . . .

"Good-bye, my friends!" I shouted to
Kral
Kishkin
and Claire St. Eve.

I saw their ghosts wave—and then they were gone, and I was home!

Winter is coming again.

It has been a good spring and summer. The land has provided for us here. Next spring we will plant even more than this year. The animals have bred plentifully, to the point where there is some meat. But still, we are careful of the stocks we must tend ourselves.

Chub has provided us with a surprise. During the summer he disappeared with his mate. Though we searched the island, we were unable to find him. Fearing his loss, I mourned. But soon other things filled my thoughts. His memory was a distant, pleasant one I always would keep.

Then early one morning
Kral
woke me to say he had sighted a ship.

I arose quickly and went with him to the beach. We watched with some trepidation as the yellow form of an inflatable dinghy approached.
Kral
, ever vigilant, bore a rifle.

The boat headed straight for us. Even before it had beached, I saw Chub's form gesturing to us from its bow. With him was his mate, whom we had named Leia. She was very much with child. They had gone off alone, as etiquette apparently called for in their culture. Now they had returned. As these things are reckoned, the baby should be born sometime after the new year.

Cold began to seep into this place in early October. By the end of the summer
Kral
and I had built a good cabin of heavy logs. There is plenty of wood already stacked for fires.
Kral
has cannibalized the
Arc
for oil-heating equipment, a stove, anything else we might possibly need. Chub and his bride continue to make use of the videotape collection.

Next spring
Kral
plans on repairing the
Arc
. He says that we will fill this island with game in a year or so, and that it will then be time to move on. Already the wolves are restless, and have taken their litter to the farthest part of Little Diomede Island to raise them.
Kral
goes to visit them often.

Lately,
Kral
has begun to brood. I know he is waiting. There is an understanding between us. He has begun to grow impatient. He wants to make a world overnight. It is hard for him, I know. When he gets like this, he works with his hands, and he has driven himself to distraction building more hutches than the rabbits will ever need, feeders for the birds, fences on the eastern part of the island for the lions' preserve. I watch him now from this field-topped hill between our home and the fertile valley where he is planting winter wheat. Occasionally he stops the strong oxen pulling the plow to look up at me and wave. Finally, as the sun is lowering toward sunset, he puts his tools down and makes the long climb up the hill across the late-flowered field toward me.

"Is something wrong?" he asks, concern etched in his face. His yellow skin has nearly browned from the sun and outdoor life. His muscles have grown hard and strong.

I shake my head no.

"Why are you here? Why are you looking at me like that?"

I am smiling. I can't stop. Something is welling inside me. Now, at this moment, I feel complete. The flower that is me is fully bloomed.

Gently, I take his callused hand and place it on my belly.

He is puzzled. But after a short moment realization grows on him. His smile becomes wide.