Note: Excerpts from the King James Bible, Genesis 1: 25-31.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Al pushed off of the wall and floated towards the cupboard at the back of the cabin. He unloaded the camera that would broadcast their Christmas Eve message across the world. Clem was changing a carbon dioxide filter, and Jim had the Bible out. They would take it in turns to read the Creation story, and then each of them would have a minute to give Christmas greetings to their families before their orbit took them behind the moon and into radio blackout.
Except that Al didn't have any family: just an estranged wife who was waiting in the wings to divorce him like the nozzle he was. And Beth, out there somewhere with her new husband and maybe kids… Beth, who had forgotten about him and moved on, but who would always be the woman he loved with all his miserable heart.
Luckily, Yardley had provided materials to compensate for the lack of inspiration. He had had the boys at Public Relations draw up a few choice suggestions for things he could say. They read like a bad recruitment speech, but with nobody he knew listening Al might as well go through with the last phase of their little drama.
He didn't mind. This was worth it. The second the launch sequence had begun he knew it was worth the humiliations, the compromises, the endless physicals, the torment of psychotherapy. There wasn't a sacrifice he had made or an indignity he had suffered that he wasn't amply rewarded for by the glory of spaceflight. The sundering fury of tearing free of the bonds of the planet, then the panicked exhilaration of seizing control of this metal monster and forcing it to obey. The memory of that moment brought a defiant grin to his lips. He'd done it. Nobody else had thought it could be done. On the ground they had been shouting at him to abort. On board, Jim and Clem had been staring at him in disbelief, as if they wished they could trust him to get them through this safely, but weren't quite ready to make that leap of faith. But he'd done it. Al Calavicci had come through, proving that he brought more to the mission than good press and publicity gimmicks. Thanks to his fancy flying they were still en route to the moon, instead of facing brigades of reporters wanting to grill them on the failure of the last Apollo mission.
He floated to the porthole overlooking the lunar surface. Tomorrow he and Jim would be walking on that cratered landscape, the fifteenth and sixteenth Americans to do so. Tomorrow, Al would be the last man to stand on the moon.
If someone had told him that three years ago, he would have laughed bitterly in their face. Two years before that, he probably would have broken down in tears, more at the idea of actually being free than at the idea of doing anything so impossible. Further back still, in the old days of the Mercury program before the war had come and destroyed all of his dreams, Bingo had bragged he was going to get up here someday. Funny how the world worked. Here he was!
It was easy to forget up here. Al had known it would be. One look out that little window, and worries vanished. Apprehension about the impeding divorce proceedings melted away. He didn't even have to remember that he was married! There was no jungle on that tiny marble out the other porthole, filled with heat and suffering and hatred. There were no scars under his immaculate white flight suit. No memories of poverty and misery and loneliness. No orphanage. No overcrowded hospital ward where his father lay emaciated and feeble in a stark white bed. No empty tenement, with Momma gone forever. Nothing but the stars and the blackness of space, and the pearl-colored moon beneath him.
And Beth. Even here, at the edge of eternity, there was the memory of Beth.
If only he could see her once more. Touch her soft skin. Caress the silk of her hair. Feel her sweet lips. Speak to her. Tell her how much she meant to him. If he had only had the chance to tell her, once more, how much he loved her and how much he wanted to hold her one last time…
But she was gone. She was gone, and nothing would ever bring her back.
He turned away from the window, brandishing the camera like a gun. "You fellas ready?" he asked. "It's showtime!"
"Yes, sir!" Jim Taggert exclaimed enthusiastically.
MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM"And God made the beast of the earth after his kind," Jim read somberly. "And cattle after their kind, and every thing that creepeth upon the earth after his kind: and God saw that it was good."
He passed the Bible off to Al and took the camera from Clem. Al swallowed decisively and looked into the lens, the old thespian pride igniting as his voice started out strong and crisp and clear.
"And God said," he read; "Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth."
The creeping things that creepeth on the earth… he'd met a few of those in his time—both six-legged and two-legged. He blinked deliberately and kept going.
"So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female created he them."
Male and female. Oh, Beth. Beth, honey…
"And God blessed them, and God said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and…"
So God had blessed them, had he? The world must have missed the memo about that one. Oh, Beth…
Al couldn't go on. He was supposed to finish the chapter, but his throat was closing and the tears were burning in his eyes. On national television, he couldn't even control his heart long enough to read from a book full of lies that he was no longer naïve enough to believe.
"B-be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth," he repeated, handing off to Clem, who took the volume with a little frown of surprise. The Texan looked at the page for a minute, his eyes finding the place where Al had left off.
"And subdue it: and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth," he read. Al floated over to relieve Jim of the camera.
"Are you okay?" Jim mouthed soundlessly.
Al nodded and grinned, making the appropriate gesture with his thumb and forefinger. "A-okay," he mouthed back, in case there was any confusion.
Clem was still reading. "…said: Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed, which is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree, in which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed; to you it shall be for meat."
He passed off to Jim, trying to keep up a pretense of this actually being planned. Knowing he would have to finish off after all, Al started to school his features and control his damned emotions.
"And to every beast of the earth," said Jim; "and to every fowl of the air, and to every thing that creepeth upon the earth, wherein there is life, I have given every green herb for meat: and it was so."
Now Al had the Bible in his hands again. As if nothing was happened—that was the mark of a truly great actor—he continued.
"And God saw everything that he had made," he said with conviction. "And, behold, it was very good."
That was one Biblical allegation he didn't have trouble buying. The world was good. Look at it down there, a sapphire orb all alone in a vast black sky. Creation was full of beauty. If it wasn't his lot to be part of it, that didn't make it any less wondrous.
"And the evening and the morning were the sixth day," he concluded.
There was a pause.
"Amen!" said Jim.
"Amen!" echoed Clem.
"Amen," said Al, because that was obviously what was expected of him. He released his hold on the tome in his hands, and it floated gently upwards, its pages fluttering a little. The public would like that. They always got a kick out of zero-G, Yardley had reminded him. Anything you can do to remind them you're in zero-G.
He put on his best Charming Calavicci smile.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he crooned like an old-time radio announcer. "We've come to the part of our program where our gallant astronauts have an opportunity to send a few words home to their nearest and dearest." If only Beth were down there, watching for him… if only, if only… "We haven't got much time," he soldiered on; "because we're coming up on the dark side of the moon, where we enter a radio blackout. So without further ado, I'll turn it over to Command Module pilot Clem Jacobs!"
He slid behind the camera as Clem took center stage. "Merry Christmas, America!" he said. "I'd like to say hello to my wife, Ramona, and my son Paul, and my girls Winona and Daphne. I don't need to tell you I love you, because you already know that, but I've got to say that as glad as I am to be up here, I sure wish I could have Christmas at home too! Or better yet, that you four could be up here with me. Good night and God bless."
He paused, then introduced Jim and floated over to the left-hand seat, where he had to get on the radio to Houston before they vanished behind the moon and lost contact.
"Lauren, honey, we did it," Jim was saying. "I know it wasn't easy on you, darling, but you got me up here as sure as anything. Baby, I love you so much, and nothing I'm going to see up here could be half so beautiful as your smile."
Al had to grab the camera with both hands to keep it from shaking. Oh, Beth, Beth, Beth. How he missed her. The one hurt he couldn't leave behind, and it was the worst hurt of all. It wasn't fair.
"And Jeremy, I know we'll be celebrating your first Christmas a little late, but Santa's extra good to little boys who wait. I love you, kid, and I'm proud you'll be able to tell your friends that your daddy went to the moon." Jim blew a kiss at the camera and wiggled his fingers as if he could see his baby boy in front of him. "Now our Mission Commander, Albert Calavicci, one of the bravest and finest men I've ever known. Let me tell you, folks, if he hadn't taken control of this rocket we wouldn't be broadcasting from up here tonight!"
He took the camera from Al, who inhaled slowly through his nose and then started into his prepared speech.
"Unlike my crew, I haven't got kids to wish a Merry Christmas to," he said; "but I like to think of the boys and girls of America as my kids—everbody's kids. You guys and gals down there are America's future, and I want you to remember that. You're the future of the greatest country in the world. It's a country where people are free to do what they like, say what they like, and be who they want to be. It's a country that can put men in space, and can even send them to the moon. It's a country where nobody's left behind." Ooh, that was a lie. Was that ever a lie. Al's smile broadened, belying his loneliness. "You stand tall today and you remember, you've got a bright and beautiful future ahead of you."
That was it. The end of the monologue from P.R. Jim grinned and gave him a thumbs-up. Al's heart palpitated. America was watching. NASA had estimated that, what with the high-profile buildup and Al's cosmetic appeal and the near-disaster at the start of the mission, interest was riding so high that this would be the most-watched broadcast since Apollo 13's re-entry. Millions of people were out there, taking time out of their holidays to watch this, but Al didn't care. There was only one person on that little blue ball that he cared about, and she probably didn't even know that he was still alive.
Or maybe she did. Maybe… maybe…
It was a chance. It was a tiny, slim chance, but it was the only chance he had, and if he gave it up he would never forgive himself. He had to do it. He couldn't spend the rest of his life asking what if.
He fixed his eyes on the lens as if he could look through it and out of a television set that might not even be on, and into her soul.
"And angel," he said softly, and with more sincerity than he had used for anything in numberless years; "I want you to know, if you're out there watching, that I'd sure love to send you some calla lilies tonight."
"That's it!" Clem said abruptly. "Dark side of the moon: radio blackout."
"Did that last bit get through?" Jim asked anxiously.
Jacobs shrugged. "No idea."
Taggert put a consoling hand on Al's arm. "Don't worry, Al," he said. "She knows you love her."
"Yeah?" Al croaked, hating himself for the tears that prickled in his eyes.
"Yeah!" Jim said emphatically. "She'll come around. I betcha when we splash down she'll be right there waiting to make up for all of it!"
Oh. He meant Elsa. Damn, Al'd forgotten all about Elsa.
"Somehow, Jimbo, I don't think so," he said ruefully.
The desolate look on Jim's face was not to be borne. Why should the kid mourn a marriage that even the husband wouldn't miss? Al shook off the ghosts and grinned. "What are we waiting for?" he demanded. "We've got work to do! Are we landing on the moon tomorrow, or not?"
"Yes, sir!" Jim said, his affect brightening enormously. "Yes, sir! We are!"
"Never said a truer word!" Jacobs exclaimed.
"Well, then, we've got work to do!" Al declared bracingly. "Hop to it, sailors!"
"We're Air Force," Jim corrected.
"Every man's a sailor on my ship!" Al contradicted. "Anchors aweigh!"
Laughing and joking, the three men set about readying the craft for the morning's separation. Presently Al pushed away from his work to peer out of the window. Enterprise were just coming out of the shadow of the moon.
He stared in astonishment at the thin bow of light that grew and expanded and swallowed the black sky. His heart sang with pure joy as the sublime glory of the lunar sunrise banished the darkness from his soul.
At least for the moment.