The Problem With Immortality Ch. 22

Chapter 22: The End of the Road

"Are you alive?" a soft voice inquired.

"I don't know," said Anson. "Am I?"

"Try opening your eyes."

Anson took this advice. He found himself staring into a face of a man. An old man, with straight white hair.

An old man? No one kept their cosmetic age looking this old. Could this man not be on the regeneration serum?

The old man smiled at him. "I think you are alive."

"And very lucky to be so," said a woman, coming into view. She was old too.

"Can you sit up?" the old man asked.

Anson tried, and winced as he did.

"Careful, Anson Ford," said the man. "I just set your broken leg a few moments ago with a portable bone regenerator."

"You did that?" said Anson. "Thank you."

"Thank the Survey Service," said the old man, bowing theatrically. "Captain Taylor always told me that I was the best field medic he had ever seen."

"You're a retired Survey Service officer?" said Anson. His head was pounding. He touched it. It hurt.

"Careful! You had a nasty concussion when you were ejected from your air car. It's lucky you were alive at all. If it hadn't been that ledge your car landed on, you'd be dead. The rocks and chasms below the Trachsellauenen would have sliced you up like sharp teeth."

"Who... are you? Where am I?"

"My name is Heycom, Anson Ford."

"Heycom....?" said Anson.

"Just Heycom, for now," said Heycom. He gestured to the old lady to his side. "And this is my lovely wife, Abba."

"I always know when I'm about to turn 70," said Abba. "That's when Heycom starts calling me lovely in every sentence." She put a glass of water by his side. "Drink, Mr. Ford."

Anson drank. It hurt when he drank. Everything hurt.

"You... you're both 70 years old?"

"Of course not," said Abba, yanking the glass of water from him. "Heycom is, let me see, 473, and I'm, I must be... 464."

"But you don't look a day over 300, my dear," said Heycom.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Heycom," said Abba, grinning. "I'll have dinner ready in a few minutes, if you're up for it, Mr. Ford."

"How do you know..."

"We found your identification on you," said Heycom.

"Do you know who I am?" said Anson, looking for some sign of recognition.

"You're Anson Ford. Should that mean something to me?" Heycom said.

Anson was a world famous Fixer. He was used to having everyone recognize his name. But here, in an isolated place like this, maybe it wasn't surprising.

"Where am I?"

"I told you. You're at the Trachsellauenen."

"Trachsellauenen?"

"The beginning of the truly mountainous area at the foot of the Alps just outside of Stechelberg. I and a handful of others choose to live in the wilderness. You were quite lucky, Mr. Ford. What were you doing driving up the Trachsellauenen at speeds like this? Didn't you know that the road ended here?"

"No," said Anson. "I had no idea where I was going."

Heycom gave him an odd look.

"Dinner is ready," said Abba.

Heycom helped Anson get up. He gave him a wooden cane to help him hobble around. "Go easy on the leg for a few days."

Anson looked around the house as he made his way to the dining room. It had shelves which were filled with carvings. All kinds of wood carvings.

"Yours?" he asked.

Heycom smiled. "My pride and joy."

"So you're a retired Survey Service officer who makes wood carvings?"

"I was never actually in the Survey Service for that long. Only about 20 years," said Heycom.

"So what was your main career?" said Anson.

"Time to eat!" said Abba. She ladled out some beef stew over pasta. Anson found he was very hungry. It was delicious.

After he ate, he suddenly found himself sleepy. "I... I have to contact..."

"You have to get some rest, Mr. Ford."

Heycom practically helped him into bed. He was asleep even before Heycom turned away.

*********

The sun was bright the next morning. Anson got up, and using the wooden cane Heycom had given him, hobbled into the backyard. It was as Heycom said; the house was in the middle of nowhere. The backyard led directly to a heavily forested hill that led up into the mountains.

Anson, feeling weary, sank into a reclining lounge chair. His mind went away for a little while.

"Ah, there you are," said Heycom, some time later. He came bearing a tray of cheese, and bread and grapes, and a glass of water. "Breakfast is served."

"Really, Heycom, you don't have to-"

"You're so right, Mr. Ford. It's my house. I choose to," said Heycom. "Humor me, please. It's not often we have guests here."

"I won't be a burden for long," said Anson, as he ate. "Did you recover my comm? If I can make a call-"

"There was no comm. It's probably somewhere down in the bottom of the Trachsellauenen," said Heycom.

"Well, if I could just borrow yours, then."

"I have no comm," said Heycom.

"No comm? How do you... communicate?"

"I have everything I need here. Who would I want to communicate with?"

"Can you take me into town in your air car?"

Heycom slowly smiled, shaking his head.

"No air car?"

"There is a friend of mine, named Mikki, who comes every ten days or so with supplies. You just missed him, a day before you arrived."

"Ten days?"

"More like eight, now. Why, are you in some kind of hurry, Mr. Ford?"

That was an excellent question. Jennifer, the only person he ever truly cared about or loved, was gone, her mind totally erased. Nothing else mattered.

"No... there's nothing at all. Nothing," said Ford.

"Then stay with us for a few days. Abba and I would be glad for the company."

Ford nodded dumbly.

He spent the day like that, just sitting in the lounge chair, facing the hill behind the backyard. He didn't move. He didn't say anything.

In the house, Heycom and Abba talked in the kitchen. "Something ails that boy, and it's not just a car crash," said Abba.

"That's very obvious," said Heycom, as he started to wipe down a countertop.

"You know who he is, of course," said Abba.

"I'm old, Abba. Not senile," said Heycom. "In fact, we actually met once."

"Does he know?"

"No," said Heycom."There's no reason he would."

"We have to help him," said Abba.

"Why?"

She grabbed his arm. "That man out there is Anson Ford. He's the greatest Fixer of modern times. He's taken hundreds of the most difficult cases that no one else could solve, and helped incurable people in the depth of despair. The world owes him a tremendous debt."

"I am not the world," said Heycom, wiping down another countertop.

"You have to help him, Heycom."

"I'm retired," said Heycom.

"That didn't stop you from helping that man at Anders' wedding."

Two weeks ago, Anders had gotten married to Melanthia Odour. For the first time in a very long time, Heycom and Abba had left the Lauterbrunnen Valley to attend the wedding. It was a joyous event for all, especially for the two lovers, who had waited eight years to be together. Finally, they could start a family, and Anders could return to the field he loved, mathematics.

But at the wedding, Heycom had met an obviously depressed man, who had lost his wife in an air car accident. Despite immortality, death still occurred. Heycom had spent some time with the man, and helped him find new perspective.

"I didn't really help that man. I just talked with him for a few minutes."

"All right, Heycom Karlsen. Don't help Anson, one of your fellow Fixers, one of the greatest Fixers of all time. In fact, I have a better idea. Let's call Interlaken General Hospital. I know they'll send an ambulance out here to pick him up. They even have a Soylent Green wing, I hear. In the emotional state this young man is in, I'm sure he'll submit himself to it willingly. Then this problem will be off our hands, and we can all get on with our lives," said Abba. "In fact, I like this idea so much, that I'm going to do it right now. She opened a cabinet, and took out her comm. "Get me Interlaken General-"

Heycom took the comm from her hand, and put it back in the cabinet.

"What?" she inquired.

"Let's not be hasty," said Heycom.

********

For three days and three nights Anson lay on the recliner. The summer nights were warm and he could sleep outside. He derived some comfort sleeping under stars, just like he and... he and... he started to cry again.

He was doing that a lot. He was sure that Heycom and Abba must have noticed, but they never said anything about it.

Anson didn't see much of Abba, except at meals. She worked a lot in their expansive garden, on one side of the house. Anson had taken a look at it on the first day. It was not a tidy, domestic garden; it was wild, with all kinds of beautiful flowers growing all over the place, in a quite unruly fashion. Bees swarmed everywhere. It was wild and chaotic. He decided he liked it.

But most of the time he spent on the reclining lounge chair. Heycom came over to talk with him, from time to time. He never asked questions. He never asked why Anson was driving so dangerously. He never asked where Anson was going. He never asked why Anson was so obviously emotionally disturbed.

Instead, he just sat there, from time to time, as if he were watching, and waiting. Anson, who was so incredibly self-absorbed, found himself opening up, just a little, and wondering what kind of home he had stumbled into.

"So... if you're 473 years old, you're one of the oldest people on the planet."

"I suppose so, yes," said Heycom. He wore a wide brimmed hat, to shield him from the sun. Anson was seated partially in shade, which helped protect him.

"So... you must have been one of the very first to take the rejuvenation serum."

"Yes," said Heycom. "Abba and I were lucky enough to get it before we died of natural causes."

Anson laughed.

"Did I say something funny?"

"Immortality. It's one of the worst scourges of the human race," said Anson.

"I don't know about that," said Heycom.

"You're not bored? Or restless?"

"Bored? No. Restless? No."

Anson grew interested, despite himself. "Just what have you done with your life? You were a Survey Service officer for many years, and then retired to... this?"

"I was not actually in the Survey Service all that long," said Heycom.

"What did you do after that?"

"Different things," said Heycom, shrugging his shoulders. "But eventually, yes, I came to retire here."

"How long have you been here?"

"Let me see.... I think nearly 190 years."

"190 years? What have you been doing for 190 years?"

"Carving, mostly."

"Carving? What kind of carving?"

"Animals. Lions, tigers, wolves. I give them to children."

"Children in this day and age are interested in wooden carvings?"

"Oh, yes. It's quite a novelty for them. Most have never even seen one, much less held one."

"And what do you get out of this?"

"Nothing," said Heycom. "Just the look on their faces."

"So you've been carving animals for 190 years?"

"No... not always. At one time I did objects, like cars. For many years I did spaceships. Sometimes I did buildings. For a few decades I even made furniture."

"And your wife, Abba?"

"Abba tends her garden."

"And she's been planting the same flowers for 190 years?"

"The same flowers? No... not always the same. Different flowers, at different times."

"But by now you've seen all the kinds of flowers she's ever planted, many times over, right?"

"I suppose so, when you say it like that. But it's always a surprise when she takes me into the garden, and shows me her latest pride and joy, and I share the experience with her. I never know what I'm going to see."

"And the carvings. You've done the same animal carvings for years, right? Over and over, all the same?"

"No... not always," said Heycom. "When I give a carving to a child, each time I see a different expression on each of their faces. A different kind of amazement. A different kind of gratitude."

"And you've lived for hundreds of years... both of you at the age of 70?"

"I am 70, cosmetically. Abba is 68. We have a special arrangement with our geneticist. Our cosmetic age is not arrested, as with most other people. It is allowed to increase naturally, until I reach 72,and Abba reaches 70, then we are rewound, so to speak, to 24 and 22 again."

"Why? Why would you ever want to be middle aged or old?"

Heycom shrugged. "It's a different stage of life, like the seasons. When life is entirely one season, eternally young, you lose your appreciation for it. When it becomes briefer, fleeting, you enjoy it more. And there is something to be said for being older, however briefly. Abba says it makes me look dignified."

"And that's your entire life? She tends her garden, you do your carvings?"

"No... not my entire life. We go into town, sometimes. We watch the young people play soccer. We eat at a marvelous outdoor restaurant in Stechelberg which allows us to see the snow capped Jungfrau. We walk along the path and look at the cows, and the babbling brooks. Sometimes we go in and play cards with the villagers. And sometimes our friends or our son visits us."

"You have a son?"

"Oh yes. He just got married." To the daughter of your client, Francisco Odour, Heycom wanted to say. But he didn't.

"Congratulations."

"Thank you."

"And you've been perfectly satisfied here, alone with your wife, for... nearly 200 years?"

"Longer than that, Mr. Ford. But it has been almost 200 years in this valley, correct. I live in the most beautiful place in the world, Mr. Ford. When the weather modification net was put into place, moderating the winters here, the Lauterbrunnen Valley became ideal year around."

"But it's just the two of you?"

"I love Abba more than life itself. What else could I possibly want? You understand that, don't you Mr. Ford?"

Anson slowly laughed.

"What's so amusing, Mr. Ford?"

Anson had travelled the world looking for the answer to Francisco's Odour's problem. He had let himself be turned into a fish. He had let a monastery abuse him. He had tried a dozen other things, all wild and unusual. And the answer, the answer he was looking for, was here, all along, in a tiny Swiss hamlet, in the home of unassuming, ordinary man. And by totally random chance Anson had found himself here, listening to a man who had found the solution to the problem of immortality. The answer being love. Loving someone, and having them love you. Really love you. And loving whatever you do.

But what use was the answer? It wouldn't help Francisco Odour. And the answer had come too late for Anson. Way too late.

Jennifer!

His face spasmed in pain.

"Are you all right, Mr. Ford? Is your leg hurting you?"

"Yeah, my leg," said Anson, grimacing.

Heycom asked a question of his own, for the first time. "If you don't mind my saying so, you seem troubled, Mr. Ford."

Anson couldn't talk to him about the real reason. It was simply too painful. Instead, he said, "I... I have a puzzle I've been trying so hard to solve for the past year and a half."

"And have you solved it?" Heycom asked.

"I thought it was unsolvable," said Anson. He looked past Heycom, at the distant figure of Abba, who was working in the garden, wearing a wide brimmed hat.

"And now?"

"And now I don't know. Now it really doesn't matter," said Anson. He turned his attention to Heycom and looked at him, really looked at him. "Have we met before?"

"It's certainly possible," said Heycom. "We both have led long lives. Why do you ask?"

"I don't know. There's just something about you... your manner... something I find, vaguely familiar."

Heycom put an arm on his shoulder as he got up. "I'm just a friendly ear in the wilderness. Nothing more. Rest up, Mr. Ford. Mikki will be here to take you home in another five days."

"Five days. Five hundred days. None of it matters," Anson muttered, as Heycom walked away.

********

For the next three days, Anson sat in that chair, only leaving for meals and bathroom breaks. From time to time he could hear himself moaning, "Jennifer", as if someone else were doing it. For a while he wondered if Heycom and Abba could hear him. Then he stopped caring.

He had lost the love of his life. What was left? What was left to live for?

The past.

Anson thought of Jennifer. Starting the morning of the fourth day, he went into an almost self-hypnotic state, thinking of nothing but Jennifer.

There was the time when they were sitting in comfortable chairs, staring out the bay window of their mountaintop cabin in Colorado Springs. There was a storm outside. Anson and Jennifer sat next to each other. His leg brushed her legs, and her eyes turned to look at him. She smiled at him. She reached out and took his hand with hers. It meant so much to him. Just the smile, the gesture, the touching. It wasn't wild, intimate, passionate sex. It was just being together, knowing she was there, knowing she enjoyed sharing this experience with him, knowing she loved him.

As they sat there, watching the rain pour down, Anson enjoyed being dry, and warm, and next to the one he loved. There was nothing remarkable, or special, about their time together; it was simply one of many, many times they spent together, in silence, enjoying each other's presence. And after that, whenever it rained really hard, he thought of Jennifer.

Then there was the time when they were out shopping for dresses. It was so hard to buy clothes for Jennifer because she was so particular, and never thought she looked good in anything. Anson, on the other hand, loved nearly everything she tried on. She was always so happy when Anson complimented whatever she was trying on, because she knew that he was really complimenting her. But she still was rarely satisfied enough to buy anything. That often led to mock fights which ended in kisses and laughter, and Anson accompanying her to the dressing room to convince her that yes, in fact, the low cut red dress really was attractive to him.

There was the time they went to the doctor with Judy when she was 12 because they thought Judy might have contracted Mars Plague (she didn't). Jennifer's face was etched in stone. She was seriously worried, and looked like she was about to cry. And then Anson reached out, and grabbed her hand, tightly, and she turned to look at him, with those deep, blue eyes, and something in her melted, and he could see her shoulders relax, if only fractionally.

There was the time when Anson had just gotten an award for... for something. It didn't matter what. What was important was Jennifer's reaction. She was so proud of him. She stared at him, from across the living room, and then she started walking to him, her hips moving sinuously, one leg crossed in front of the other. The way she walked like that was so incredibly erotic. He loved the way her tight pants grabbed her thighs and her groin with every step. And then she sat down on his lap, and he felt the warmth of her on his thighs, and she put her arms around him, and she stared at him, with those brilliant blue eyes, and smiled at him, just smiled at him, for the longest moment, and Anson felt like the luckiest man in the world.

For three days and three nights Anson lay on the reclining chair, thinking of Jennifer. During the day he day dreamed of Jennifer. During the night he simply dreamed of her. His night dreams were more erotic. She was kissing him, making love to him, tenderly touching him, arousing him. And he was doing the same, making love to her, making her groan with pleasure, making her back arch and her head tilt backwards as she cried out his name. He remembered touching her arms, her legs, her thighs, her knees, her feet, her face, her head, her hair, her lips, her back, everything about her. Everything was so perfect.

Abba watched him worriedly. "That boy is sick," she said again.