The stubborn life

The four of them were talking all at once and gesturing wildly in the basement of the palace: the professor of history and art, and the other three – not quite humans, one of whom was currently blaming another for a leak in a massive vintage water heater.

“Pip, you sure you’re an engineer?” The Captain lowered her thick-rimmed glasses to stare at the slim man in front of her. “How could you miss a leak in something that hasn’t seen a drop of water for a hundred years?”

The man ran his hand through his shiny black hair and eyed the puddle near the heater.

“I’m telling you, it’s not from the portal,” he said, knocking on the heater which responded with a hollow metal sound. “And for the thousandth time, don’t call me that. I’m Mr. Piper to you.”

The Captain chuckled. “Save the titles for your girlfriends,” she said. “And if you want to be Piper, locate the pipe that’s leaking.” The Captain squealed with laughter at her own joke.

The professor groaned to get everyone’s attention.

“How will I explain this leak?” he asked. “I told the mayor it was an artifact of the Royal Family. He thinks I need more time to study it. This is the only reason the palace is still closed to the public.” He bent to check under the heater. “You used it as a portal. You broke something. Now fix it.”

A voice both quiet and heavy carried from the dark corner, “Who cares about the leak?” And everyone looked at the Dean. “Have you not heard what I just said?” The Dean turned away and paced toward a tiny window, the bottom of his ivory robe collecting basement dust. The light caught in his white beard as if in clouds. He sighed, watching the world outside.

“This sun is beautiful,” he said. Somehow he didn’t even wince while staring at the glowing sphere above the tranquil sea. “And it will be switched off tomorrow.”

He turned to them, studied their faces, and pulled a scroll from his robe. Rolling it open, he read, “The energy spent on the Solar System is declared no longer justifiable.”

Nobody spoke for a while, and only lonely drops of water splashed somewhere behind the heater. The Captain walked up to the Dean.

“Don’t blame yourself,” she said and halted for a moment. Would it be all right to put her hand on his shoulder? She raised her hand, but then dropped it. “You did everything right for life to flourish here. It’s not your fault they choose self-destruction every time. They’re stubborn. It’s their free will, remember?”

Pip cleared his throat. “We still have one whole day, don’t we?” he asked. “Mr. Dean, you can create a lot in just one day, can’t you?”

The Dean’s beard twitched. He might have smiled or bitten his lip – there was no way to tell.

“Creating something from nothing,” he said, “is not the same as correcting things that have been malfunctioning for millennia.” He went to pick up his bulky bag and slung it over his shoulder.

“Come on,” he said, nodding toward the sea. “Let’s collect the final specimens.” He sighed. “Maybe future generations will recreate my experiment with better results.”

The professor slapped the heater. The sound reverberated throughout the basement, and everyone jumped. “Excuse me,” he said. “I’m standing right here. And you are talking about my demise and the disappearance of everything I know as if it’s just a holiday gone wrong.”

The Captain’s lips curved in a smile. “Hours away from perishing but still so self-centered,” she said.

“What would you focus on,” the professor asked, “if it were you hours away from perishing?”

The Captain tilted her head toward the Dean and mouthed: “Extremely stubborn.”

They left the basement, crossing the overgrown palace garden where the weeds poked through the paved path. At the edge of the garden, the professor unlocked the heavy chain on the iron gate, and they stepped through onto the crowded promenade.

Outside the noise almost knocked them off their feet. The sea was a screaming, splashing soup. Bicycles rushed along the shore. Popcorn machines were buzzing. Someone wanted more ice-cream. Someone complained the water was too cold.

As the gate clanked shut behind them, a tiny voice said, “Mommy, look, someone’s in the old palace. Shall we go?”

“We should have been more discreet,” said the Captain under her breath.

“There’s hardly any need now,” said the Dean. “Let’s split up. I’ll call you when it’s time.”

As everyone went their own way, the professor stayed at the gates and watched the crowd. A wild idea came to him. What if he just ran along the promenade screaming: The Apocalypse is coming! This is your last day. Spend it meaningfully.

He chuckled, but then stopped abruptly. What would he himself do on his final day? He scanned the promenade. There was an ice-cream stall at the corner. And that was what he chose.

The line was long, but the professor waited patiently, enjoying it. Such a safe and mundane annoyance – to simply wait in line. He wished he had more lines left in his life. Just people-watch, breathe air, anticipate your ice cream, and be certain of the next sunrise.

The sun would never rise again because the four of them failed to collect the proof to keep the Sun on. It’s not like they hadn’t tried. Look, humanity learned how to live longer (and how to end a life). They created art, architecture, wrote their books (and then burned them on a whim). The pinnacle of creation chose self-destruction; each loop of history has proved just that. The experiment had failed and didn’t deserve its Sun.

The professor watched the Captain hop on the rocks near the beach. She seemed to be hunting for crabs. She got so good at it that she accumulated a following of kids who were now pointing out more crabs to her, eager to see an older woman zoom after crabs as if she was a giant, crafty cat.

“Which flavor?”

The question caught him off-guard. He didn’t know which flavor his last ice cream should be, so he just picked a chocolate one. Then he spotted the Dean near the lighthouse.

“Make it two, please,” he said.

By the time he reached the Dean, the chocolate dripped down his fingers.

“Can’t you maybe,” he said, offering the cone to the Dean and laughing, “make our ice cream melt more slowly?”

The Dean smiled, accepting the ice cream.

“I’m not a wizard, professor,” he said. “Never was. Not really almighty either, as we can all now see.” He gestured with the ice cream at the Sun. “This is probably one of the greatest misunderstandings between humanity and me.”

They sat down, leaning against the lighthouse. Seagulls were flying by, keeping their beady eyes on the dripping cones. Their screams sounded like they were laughing at the two grown men all covered in chocolate syrup.

The professor licked his ice cream thoughtfully.

“Will it hurt?” he asked.

The Dean stopped mid-bite, cast him a look and hurled his ice cream into the sea to the excitement of the seagulls.

The professor let out a breath, turned away and continued eating his ice cream.

A heavy sigh followed from the Dean, sending a breeze over the water. The professor watched him for a moment, then bumped the Dean’s leg with his knee. The Dean raised one of his snow-white eyebrows.

“You look dramatic like a thundercloud,” the professor said. “Won’t you collect some specimens today? The final keepsakes, so to speak?” He grinned.

“I can’t believe you’re teasing me about it,” the Dean said, shaking his head. “No, I won’t collect any more keepsakes. I know every inch of this world. At least, I feel like I do.”

“So why are we here, then?” the professor asked.

The Dean huffed and scratched his beard.

“Your lot always ask this question, don’t they?” he asked.

The professor shrugged and bit into the waffle cone.

“Just be,” the Dean said. “Enjoy the ice cream while the sun shines.”

And so the professor did, as the Sun traveled across the blue dome, from the mountain peaks toward the horizon where the sky met the sea. From his bag, the Dean pulled out a weathered, twisted horn.

“Already?” the professor asked. The Dean just looked at him and blew into the horn.

The sound scattered the seagulls. The professor could no longer hear people through the buzzing in his ears, but he saw them jump from their beach chairs, twisting and spinning and looking for the culprit. Some spotted the Dean, some made rude gestures, but everyone soon settled back down onto their towels. Beaches were never quiet places. So as the Dean walked toward the palace, stepping over belongings and sandcastles, nobody paid attention to him, or to his horn, or to the bespectacled man who followed him, rubbing his ears.

The Captain was waiting at the gates. She raised her bag to demonstrate the catch. The Dean glanced at the crabs and nodded.

“Where’s Pip?” he asked.

The Captain huffed. “With his girlfriend, of course,” she said, nodding toward the beach.

“What girlfriend?” the Dean asked, raising his eyebrow.

On the beach, stripped to his underwear and building a tall tower of pebbles, Pip was chatting with a blonde girl in a bikini who laughed at every word he said.

“He’s spent every visit here with her,” the Captain said. “I get that you’re not all-knowing, but didn’t you see this one coming?”

The Dean scratched his beard, thought a moment and raised the horn to his lips. The professor caught his arm.

“Please, don’t,” he said and turned toward the beach. “Hey! Pip!” He caught himself. “Mr. Piper! Over here. C’mon,” he waved at the engineer.

A minute later, Pip was dressed and hurrying across the promenade. He was not alone.

“What’s he doing?” The Dean asked. “Why is he bringing her along?”

The professor didn’t want to attract attention by standing at the gate, so he unlocked it, let everyone in, and locked the gate behind them.

As soon as they entered the garden, the girl gasped. “Just look at this,” she said, gaping at the giant trees and overgrown bushes. She had thrown on a dress with floral patterns before Pip rushed her to that gate, so now she looked like she belonged among these flowers.

“Pip?” the Dean asked, the question clear in his eyes.

Pip grinned, opened his mouth to speak but then just giggled. “Guess her name,” he said. The girl beamed at the Dean, but then her eyes wandered off to the plants.

“Mr. Piper,” the Dean repeated, lowering his voice.

“Right,” Pip ran his hand through his hair and tried to stop smiling. “Mr. Dean, Captain, Professor, meet Eve.”

“You’re kidding me,” the Captain said.

The professor laughed.

“Hi,” the girl waved her hand.

“Eve, meet Mr. Dean and Captain–”

“I’m sorry,” the Dean said to Eve. “I need a word with my colleague.”

“Sure, go ahead. Don’t mind me,” the girl said, already walking away, “I always wanted to see this garden. It has been locked for so long.”

The Dean stared at Pip, unblinking. Pip could swear he saw a lightning bolt in the Dean’s eyes. Pip’s hand went for his hair but he managed to stop himself and put his hand down.

“So, Mr. Dean,” he said. “You know how you say they have free will and everything–”

“What are you trying to do, Pip?” the Captain asked.

Pip turned his back to her and leaned toward the Dean. “So, I was thinking…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “If I explain to her about us, and the Sun, and everything, and she chooses to go with us, can she?”

“Are you insane?” The Captain barked and the professor shuddered.

“Mr. Dean?” Pip fixed his eyes on the Dean, not scared of lightning anymore. “Please?”

The Dean shook his head as if at a private joke, and looked at the Captain.

“You’re right,” he said to her, “I didn’t see that coming.”

The Captain rolled her eyes and pulled the professor by the sleeve. “Let’s take a walk,” she said.

“We can’t take her, Piper,” the Dean said, touching Pip’s arm.

“But–”

“We can’t,” the Dean almost cooed, “Even if she could adapt to our life – of which we can’t be sure – there’s simply no space for her in the portal. We barely squeeze ourselves in.”

Pip’s head jerked. “No,” he said, “I’m not leaving her here–”

“Piper–”

“Mr. Dean, I can’t. How can I leave her here, knowing what’s coming?”

“I’m leaving billions of them here, Pip, and I know what’s coming–”

Eve’s voice cut through the air. “Life is so stubborn on this planet, don’t you think?”

Everyone froze.

“What?” The Dean’s voice broke. “What did you say?”

Eve shrugged. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. It’s just, there’s this thistle here…” She pointed at something at the corner of the palace.

“What thistle?” the Captain said. Everyone walked to Eve.

The thorny plant, its purple head held high, grew thick and mighty directly from a bare rock.

“A pipe burst inside the wall,” the girl said, pointing at the crack in the wall from which a thin spray of water spurted. “See? It sprinkles mere drops onto the stone, but it was enough for the thistle.” She smiled. “Life is stubborn on this planet.”

What ensued was a mess. The professor asked whether the portal really couldn’t be enlarged. The Dean asked where the professor saw old water heaters that suddenly enlarged. The Captain offered to leave her crabs behind and everyone waved her off because look at the size of this rock and compare it to her bag of crabs.

“What’s going on?” Eve whispered into Pip’s ear.

Pip’s voice boomed above their heads.

“I’ll stay,” he said. And everyone stopped talking.

“I’ll stay, and you will take the rock instead of me.”

“Piper,” the Dean began, glancing at Eve before deciding to continue, “we can’t be sure the thistle will work –”

“It will.” Piper grinned.

“Piper…” The Dean’s voice dropped. “You’re not thinking clearly now. We can’t stake your life on a thistle.”

Piper leaned toward the Dean and held him by the shoulders.

“And this has been your mistake all along,” Piper said. “You’ve been searching in the wrong place. But life is life, Mr. Dean. The thistle is just as important.”

The Captain spoke up. “It might actually work,” she said. “He’s right. Life is life.”

“Now let’s haul that specimen into…” Pip froze mid-sentence, checking whether Eve had heard him. She seemed to have decided to let this whole circus run its course. “Let’s haul this rock into the water heater,” Pip said and winked at the others as if he’d just elegantly kept the disguise.

They had to lift the rock together, and even Eve helped. Careful not to drop it, they shuffled forward, stopping every few steps to rest. Eventually they reached the basement stairs. Night had fallen by the time they finished. The basement would have been pitch black if it hadn’t been for the Dean’s clothes reflecting the moonlight, which poured in through the tiny window, and so the Dean glowed.

“Well,” said Eve, brushing her palms against each other to shake the dust off, “no thistle ever felt so important.”

Pip laughed. Then his smile faded and silence fell. Eve watched them all for a moment, and said, “I’ll go search for more thistles, I guess.”

She was looking at the moon when its light began to grow brighter, until the whole garden swam in the pale light. Eve had to shut her eyes, and when she opened them, it was dark again. Pip and the professor were beside her.

“Where are the others?” she asked.

“Admiring the thistle,” Pip replied, “somewhere quite far away from here.”

The professor let Pip and Eve out through the gate, and went to sit on the steps of the palace. He watched the moon dip closer to the sea and grow red. He scanned the sky for any changes. There were none. The night was deadly quiet. He could hear the splashes from the beach. Eve was swimming.

“I just love swimming at night. Don’t you?” she squealed, and Pip said something, but the professor couldn’t hear what. “It’s like swimming with the stars,” Eve said.

The professor chuckled.

“Swimming with the stars,” he said and went toward the beach.

Pip and the professor sat side by side as Eve kept swimming and spinning in the water.

“I’m waiting for the sun,” she said, throwing the droplets into the air. “I love watching the sunrise from the sea.”

Pip sniffled and rubbed his nose on his shoulder. The professor patted him on the back and glanced at the sky. Still no change.

“Don’t you just love it?” Eve screamed from the water.

“What?” the professor asked.

“The way the mountains get outlined against the sky before sunrise? Look!”

Both Pip and the professor jumped to their feet and turned around. There it was, the pale green light above the mountain ridge.

Pip hugged the professor and held him tight. And the professor cried.

“You’re an awfully weird lot of people,” Eve said, swimming by.

She paddled out a bit, turned around and swam back. “Professor?”

“What?”

“Will you let me walk in the garden again someday?”

“Always, Eve,” the professor said, watching the glowing sky. “Always.”