“The first question is whether hypnotism would help me forget something I want to forget.”
“That perhaps depends on what you want to forget.” He paused, but she did not fill in the information. “Hypnotism resembles a state of intense concentration; in fact the brain waves of the two states may be indistinguishable. So my guess is that if it is anything of consequence, if concentration won’t do it, neither will hypnotism. Also, you might have to tell the hypnotist what it was you wanted to forget.”
“Scratch that, then. My second question is, what is the safest, cleanest, pleasantest way to die?”
He canted his head. “You are serious?”
“Yeh. Remember, you won’t tell.”
“I already regret that commitment. But before I answer, I must know one thing: are you thinking of someone else’s death, or your own?”
“Oh, I’m no killer!” she protested. “And not even suicidal, really, maybe. I just want to know, in case.”
“If I told you how to take your life, and you did it, I would not only be deeply disturbed by your loss, I would be accessory to the crime.”
He had a point. “Well, could you maybe just sort of point me in the direction of where I could find the answer, without anyone knowing?”
“I’m not sure. Colene, you’re a bright, seemingly well-balanced, and I must say pretty girl. If anything—” He paused again, but again she stonewalled it, making no response. “I might just mention that there’s a book in my desk, titled Final Exit, published by an organization called the Hemlock Society. You know the significance of hemlock?”
“It’s what they made that Greek philosopher drink.”
“Socrates. I believe that book is buried under some papers, and it would be a while before I missed it, if someone borrowed it. However, if anyone were to see a girl like you reading a book like that—”
“Discretion can be my middle name, when I choose.” They continued working, drawing near the end of the job. Amos, perhaps trying to restore some semblance of normalcy, resumed his discussion of paleontology. “The reclassification of the creatures found in the Burgess Shale forced a reinterpretation of evolutionary theory itself.
Originally discovered by Charles Walcott, perhaps the greatest paleontologist of his day, they were considered to be an oddity. He more or less shoehorned them into familiar classifications. This was because the standard model of evolution described early creatures as few and primitive, becoming more varied and complex as time progressed. Thus the greatest diversity and complexity of life should be today, with all prior ages less so. But there is more fundamental diversity of life forms in the Burgess Shale than in all the seas today—and we don’t even know what creatures weren’t recorded there. We conjecture that most of the creatures lived in shallow water at the base of a sea cliff, in the accumulated mud and sand there. Then that material abruptly slid off a lower cliff and sank into much deeper water, where there was no oxygen. That killed the creatures, and preserved them flattened but almost intact, their soft parts fossilized. It was a bad break for them, but a great break for us, because otherwise we would not have known that most of them existed. But they were from the earliest time of multi-cellular life, and therefore were supposed to be primitive. In fact they are extremely diversified and sophisticated. When these fossils were reclassified and correctly placed, it became apparent that they simply did not fit the standard pattern.” He paused. ”I don’t mean to lecture. Stop me, if—”
“No, I’m interested,” Colene said. “Now.” And she was, because the weird creatures had captured her fancy. She wanted to know more about them, and their significance. They were coming alive for her, in their fashion, there in that ancient mud.
“We now conclude that evolution, instead of being a constantly expanding cone of diversity and complexity, is actually a process of explosive radiation and subsequent winnowing out. That is, a great many types of creatures appear early, trying every ecological niche, and then competition eliminates many of them, leaving relatively few major trunks. These may in turn radiate and be winnowed. the most surprising and uncomfortable message of the Burgess Shale is that this winnowing process appears to be largely random. The fittest, by any measure we conceive, do not necessarily prevail. The most successful creatures of the Cambrian period did not survive, while some of the least promising endured to form the greatest arrays of creatures in ensuing eras. How can we account for this? Only by saying either that we hardly understand the true criteria for long-term survival, or that they were lucky.”
“Lucky!”
He nodded. “It is true. We can not claim that mankind is the absolute summit of an inevitable evolution. Our dominance may have been the result of pure chance. The large extinctions, especially—our ancestors may just have happened to be in a spot that was shielded from the worst of the effects, so scraped through while less lucky species took the fatal brunt. If it were to be run through again, the chances are that our kind would never have arisen. It’s a humbling thought: that chance, more than anything else, accounts for us.”
That was an awesome thought. “Pure chance—and I might never have existed.”
“As we now see it. Some scientists object, of course. But the evidence of the Burgess Shale is persuasive.”
Colene thought about it: how she might so readily never have existed. The notion had tremendous appeal—and was simultaneously frightening. Was there after all any point at all to living?
Suddenly all her swirling thoughts, past and present, coalesced into unbearable grief. She burst into tears.
In a moment she found herself sitting in Amos’ office chair, and he was handing her tissues from a box so that she could mop her face. “I’m s-sorry,” she said, trying to get control. “It’s nothing you did, Mr. Forell. I just—I don’t know.”
“Call me Amos,” he said. “And don’t tell.”
She had to laugh through her tears. “Thanks, Amos. It’s just that nonexistence—it gets to me.”
“So I gather. Colene, it is evident that you have more on your mind than incidental chores. I have promised not to betray your secret, whatever it may be. I am beginning to suspect what it is, but I would rather have you tell me.”
“I was raped!” she blurted out. “I was such a fool! I went on a date with this high school boy, and I was sort of flattered he had asked me, and he took me to an apartment, and there were three others, and I had a drink, and then another, and I don’t know how many, and then—it disgusts me, so, but I can’t ever quite wash it out, and I don’t know what to do.” She mopped her face again.
“When?” he asked, and indeed he seemed unsurprised.
“Last Christmas. Three months ago. I guess I really asked for it, because—”
“Who?”
She snapped to. “I can’t tell you that, Amos! ‘Cause I know you’ll have to do something, and you promised—”
“I promised,” he agreed tightly. “I’m sorry I did, but I did. Very well, no names. You didn’t report it?”
“I didn’t know how. Besides, I was so ashamed. I mean, I walked right into it! I should have known—”
“Certainty is easy in retrospect,” he said firmly. “If we all could see ahead as readily as we do behind, we’d never make any mistakes. Consider yourself foolish if you ever walk into such a situation again. But not for your past judgment. You trusted your date to be honorable, and he betrayed that trust. The fault was his. It is obvious that he set you up for it, by getting you to the apartment, then by plying you with alcohol so as to muddle your judgment and resistance. Even then, he used force. You were the victim of a carefully laid trap. You have grounds for outrage, but not for shame. You didn’t ask for it; you were chosen for your naïveté. It happens to young girls, too often. They are even encouraged to blame themselves, as if they have sinned. So that they don’t report it.”