NANCY was at the kitchen table, eating a dish of yogurt with Froot Loops. The TV was on full blast. A quiz show. Serena was lying on her side, sucking the corner of a blanket.
“Couldn’t you turn down the TV?” I demanded.
“Mr. Big Shot,” muttered Nancy, not taking her eyes off the screen. All the chairs had piles of laundry on them, so I flopped down on the floor next to Serena.
“What’s the matter, Nancy?”
“You,” she said. Her eyes were red and puffy. She’d been crying. Her head kept jerking the way it always did when she was really mad at me. “You gave all our money to your crazy friend, didn’t you? I wanted to go shopping, and the bank said we’ve got nothing left. Mr. Big Deal.”
She ripped open a package of Oreos and started eating the cookies two at a time. I could never understand where Nancy put all the food she ate. Someone on TV won a prize. The audience roared like a broken washing machine. Serena sucked on her blanket, staring blankly at the tube.
“I’m sorry, Nancy. You’re right, I gave our money to Harry. And I shouldn’t have. He’s not to be trusted. Did you hear the news yet? A giant lizard almost killed me on the Jersey Turnpike?”
Nancy stubbed her cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray, and lit another, chewing all the while. She tilted her head back to keep the smoke out of her eyes. “All I can say, Joseph, is that—is that . . .” Abruptly she burst into sobs.
I got up and put my arm around her. I took the cigarette out of her mouth and put my cheek against hers. My frail strawberry-blond darling. My southern belle. “I—I did it for you, Nancy! I want us to be rich and happy again.”
“No!” She pushed me away, knocking her ashtray off the table. It shattered on the floor. Ashes and broken glass. Serena scrambled over to investigate.
“Look out, Serena, there’s broken glass. Let Daddy clean it up.”
Nancy and Serena watched me clean up the mess. I used a paper towel and piece of the Froot Loops box. At the end I cut my finger, probably on purpose. “Damn. Oh damn, damn, damn.”
Sunday morning we went to church, the First Church of Scientific Mysticism. The religion, vaguely Christian, had grown out of the mystical teachings of Albert Einstein and Kurt Gödel, the two great Princeton sages. Nancy and I didn’t attend regularly, but today it seemed like the thing to do. According to the evening news, Godzilla had suddenly disappeared after digging a trench across the Jersey Turnpike. The news didn’t mention if Harry had escaped, but it stood to reason that he had. I guess I was glad.
The sun was out, and the three of us had a nice time walking over to church.
“I’m sorry I was so ugly to you yesterday, Joe.”
“And I’m sorry about the money, baby. Maybe we can drive up to New Brunswick today and see what Harry’s done with it.”
“No, thanks.” Nancy looked light and pretty in her Sunday dress. I took her hand. Serena skipped along ahead of us, light as dandelion fluff.
The church building was a remodeled bank, a massive granite building with big pillars and heavy bronze lamps. Inside, there were pews and a raised pulpit. In place of an altar was a large hologram of Albert Einstein. Einstein smiled kindly, occasionally blinking his eyes. Nancy and Serena and I took a pew halfway up the left side. The organist was playing a Bach prelude. I gave Nancy’s hand a squeeze. She squeezed back.
Today’s service was special. The minister, an elderly physicist named Alwin Bitter, was celebrating the installation of a new assistant, a woman named—Sondra Tupperware. I jumped when I heard her name, remembering that Harry had mentioned her yesterday. Was this another of his fantasies become real? Yet Ms. Tupperware looked solid enough: a skinny woman with red glasses-frames and a springer spaniel’s kinky brown hair.
Old Bitter was wearing a tuxedo with a thin pink necktie. The dark suit set off his halo of white hair to advantage. He passed out some bread and wine, and then he gave a sermon called “The Central Teachings of Mysticism.”
His teachings, as best I recall, were three in number: (1) All is One; (2) The One is Unknowable; and (3) The One is Right Here. Bitter delivered his truths with a light touch, and the congregation laughed a lot—happy, surprised laughter.
Nancy and I lingered after the service, chatting with some of the church members we knew. I was waiting for a chance to ask Alwin Bitter for some advice.
Finally everyone was gone except for Bitter and Sondra Tupperware. The party in honor of her installation was going to be later that afternoon.
“Is Tupperware your real name?” asked Nancy.
Sondra laughed and nodded her head. Her eyes were big and round behind the red glasses. “My parents were hippies. They changed the family name to Tupperware to get out from under some legal trouble. Dad was a close friend of Alwin’s.”
“That’s right,” said Bitter. “Sondra’s like a niece to me. Did you enjoy the sermon?”
“It was great,” I said. “Though I’d expected more science.”
“What’s your field?” asked Bitter.
“Well, I studied mathematics, but now I’m mainly in computers. I had my own business for a while. Fletcher & Company.”
“You’re Joe Fletcher?” exclaimed Sondra. “I know a friend of yours.”
“Harry Gerber, right? That’s what I wanted to ask Dr. Bitter about. Harry’s trying to build something that will turn him into God.”
Bitter looked doubtful. I kept talking. “I know it sounds crazy, but I’m really serious. Didn’t you hear about the giant lizard yesterday?”
“On the Jersey Turnpike,” said Nancy loyally. “It was on the news.”
“Yes, but I don’t quite see—”
“Harry made the lizard happen. The thing he built—it’s called a blunzer—is going to give him control over space and time, even the past. The weird thing is that it isn’t really even Harry. The blunzer is just using us to make things happen. It sent Harry to tell me to tell Harry to get me to—”
Bitter was looking at his watch. “If you have a specific question, Mr. Fletcher, I’d be happy to answer it. Otherwise . . .”
What was my question?
“My question. Okay, it’s this: What if a person becomes the same as the One? What if a person can control all of reality? What should he ask for? What changes should he make?”
Bitter stared at me in silence for almost a full minute. I seemed finally to have engaged his imagination. “You’re probably wondering why that question should boggle my mind,” he said at last. “I wish I could answer it. You ask me to suppose that some person becomes like God. Very well. Now we are wondering about God’s motives. Why is the universe the way it is? Could it be any different? What does God have in mind when He makes the world?” Bitter paused and rubbed his eyes. “Can the One really be said to have a mind at all? To have a mind—this means to want something. To have plans. But wants and plans are partial and relative. The One is absolute. As long as wishes and needs are present, an individual falls short of the final union.” Bitter patted my shoulder and gave me a kind look. “With all this said, I urge you to remember that individual existence is in fact identical with the very act of falling short of the final union. Treasure your humanity, it’s all you have.”
“But—”
Bitter raised his hand for silence. “A related point: There is no one you. An individual is a bundle of conflicting desires, a society in microcosm. Even if some limited individual were seemingly to take control of our universe, the world would remain as confusing as ever. If I were to create a world, for instance, I doubt if it would be any different from the one in which we find ourselves.” Bitter took my hand and shook it. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get home for Sunday dinner. Big family reunion today. My wife Sybil’s out at the airport picking up our oldest daughter. She’s been visiting her grandparents in Germany.”
Bitter shook hands with the others and took off, leaving the four of us on the church steps.
“What’d he say?” I asked Sondra.
Sondra shook her head quizzically. Her long, frizzed hair flew out to the sides. “The bottom line is that he wants to have lunch with his family. But tell me more about Harry’s project.”
“How well do you know Harry?” put in Nancy.
“We’ve been seeing each other off and on for about six months. He introduced himself to me at the Vienna Café. It’s a nice bar and grill in New Brunswick.”
“He’s no good,” said Nancy emphatically. “You should steer clear of him, Sondra. Do you know what he said when I told him about world hunger? He said, ‘There’s too damn many people anyway.’ Isn’t that horrible? And what was it he said at Serena’s christening, Joe? Something about dying?”
“’Born to die’ is what he said: ‘Fletcher, you’ve just made something else that has to die.’ I know it sounds bad, but there is a certain point to it. If there were no more people, there’d be no more suffering.” I was trying to sound as cool as Alwin Bitter. “We want to be alive. Fine. But that means we have to accept the suffering that comes along with living. Don’t you agree, Sondra?”
“I’m all for accepting reality,” said Sondra with a laugh. “Though I’m not sure that Harry is. Were you serious when you said that he was building a machine to give him control over the universe? Harry Gerber? I love Harry, Joe, but—”
For the first time I really let myself imagine the kind of world that Harry might design. The guy had no respect for the ordinary human things that make life worth living. Weirdness was all he cared about. Weirdness and sex and plenty to drink.
“I better go up to New Brunswick,” I said abruptly. “Before he gets carried away.”
“I didn’t mean, Is it a good idea?” said Sondra. “I meant, Do you seriously believe it’s possible? After all, Harry’s just a TV repairman. There’s a big step from that to—”
“Go, Joey,” Nancy urged. “Before it’s too late.”
“This is getting awfully hysterical,” said Sondra. For such a plain woman, she had extraordinary presence. “Maybe I better come along.”
“You’ve got your reception to go to,” I reminded her. “And by the way, welcome to our church.”
“Yes,” said Nancy, “we’ve been meaning to come more often. But are you going back to New Brunswick after the party, Sondra?”
“Yes.”
“Well, stop in at Harry’s shop then and make sure Joe’s on his way home. When he and Harry start working on something, they lose all track of time. Maybe there isn’t any big danger, but still—”
“I’ll check up on them, Nancy.”
“Thanks.”
Nancy and I strolled home together, each of us holding one of Serena’s hands. She liked us to swing her in the air. Nancy didn’t say much—I could tell she was doing some thinking.
“If it works,” she said after a while, “if it works, what are you going to ask for?”
“Five million dollars.”
“And for me?”
“What do you mean? The money’s for both of us.”
“I want more than money. I want you to make a wish for me.”
“All right. What do you want?”
“Make Harry eliminate world hunger. Make him come up with something that turns dirt into food.” Nancy smiled happily at the thought. “That’ll show him!”