He placed his ear close, almost blocking her lips. He fancied he heard, for a moment, his name, and then,
“Something’s… going on.”
He listened again.
“Something’s… happening.”
Then she lay still. Breath lifted the sheets but her eyes were still. Her face was blank.
She seemed to be listening.
She felt the love rolling over her in waves, the yearning that was at once so powerful and frightening, the sweetness that lay behind the power. Her death would not come yet, not this minute, not this hour, this she knew, but she was no longer much of this world.
And so she could be embraced and told all.
No fear of addiction now.
Stella brought the baby and sat with them. She wore simple clothes and held the boy in a loose knit wrap, because, she said, he was such a warm-blooded creature, he hardly ever got chilly and fussed if he was covered.
“We’ve chosen a talking name,” Stella said. Then, looking at her mother, she asked Mitch if Kaye could hear them.
“I don’t know,” Mitch said. His face was so lost. Stella let him hold his grandson and adjusted her mother’s covers.
“Nothing’s fair, is it?” she asked Kaye softly, leaning over, her cheeks golden. “She looks peaceful. I think she can hear us.”
Mitch watched Kaye breathe in and out, slowly, simply.
“What’s his name?” he asked.
“We’re going to call him Sam,” Stella said. “I can’t think of anything better. The deme thinks it’s good.”
Sam was Mitch’s father’s name. “Not Samuel?”
“Just Sam. He likes the name already. It’s strong and short and doesn’t interfere with saying other things.”
Sam squirmed and wanted to get down. At six months, he was already walking a little, and speaking, of course; but only when he wanted to, which was seldom.
Mitch tried to find a little of Kaye in Sam’s features, but there was too much eyebrow. Sam looked too much like Mitch.
“He looks like Will, I think,” Stella said. She touched her mother’s cheek, gripped her hand. “She has a scent. It’s her, but different. I’m not sure I’d recognize her. Can you smell it?”
Mitch shook his head. “Maybe she smells ill,” he said darkly.
“No.” Stella bowed to sniff her mother from breast to crown. “She smells like smoke from a wood fire, and flowers. We need her to teach us. Mother, you could teach me so much.”
Sam walked around the bed, gripping the covers and making sounds of discovery.
Kaye’s face did not change expression, but Stella saw the tiny freckles darken under her mother’s eyes. Even now, Kaye could show her love.
The memories fall away. We are shaped, but in ways we do not understand. Know that thinking and memory are biology, and biology is what we leave behind. The caller speaks to all of our minds, and they all pray; to all of our minds, from the lowest to the highest, in nature, the caller assures us that there is more, and that is all the caller can do. It is important that each mind be created with absolute freedom of will. That freedom is precious; it enriches and quickens that which the caller loves.
Mind and memory make up the precious rind of the even more precious fruit.
We are sculpted as the embryo is made; we die and cells die that others may take a shape; the shape grows and changes, visible only to the caller; ultimately all must be chipped away, having made their contributions.
The memories fall away. We are shaped. There is no judgment, for in life there is no perfection, only freedom. To succeed or to fail is all the same—it is to be loved.
To die, to fall silent, is not to be forgotten or lost.
Silence is the beacon of past love and painful labor.
Silence is also a signal.
Mitch sat by Kaye as the doctors and nurses came and went. He watched her grow more at ease, if that was possible, while breath still came and heart still beat with a slow, pattering softness.
He finished that night, before he napped off, by kissing her forehead and saying, “Good night, Eve.”
Mitch slept in the chair. Quiet filled the room.
The world seemed empty and new.
Silence filled Kaye.
In a dream, Mitch walked over the high rocky mountains, and met a woman on the snows.
CAVEATS
Much of the science in this novel is still controversial. Science usually begins with speculation, but must in time be confirmed by research, empirical evidence, and scientific consensus. However, all of the speculations found here are supported, to one degree or another, by research published in texts and in respected scientific journals. I have gone to great pains to solicit scientific criticism and make corrections where experts feel I have strayed over the line.
No doubt errors remain, but they are my responsibility, not the responsibility of the scientists or other helpful readers listed in the acknowledgments.
The theological speculations presented here are also based on empirical evidence, personal and culled from a number of key books. But that evidence is remarkably and uniquely difficult to present scientifically, since it is necessarily anecdotal. That does not make its truth any less apparent to the witnesses; it simply puts this type of life experience in the same category as other human events, such as love, abstract and creative thought, and artistic inspiration.
All of these experiences are personal and anecdotal, yet almost universal; none are easily quantified or understood by current science.
In answer to the obvious questions about evolution, do I support neo-Darwinian randomness or theistic external design? The answer must be neither. Do I support fundamentalist or Creationist views of our origins? I do not.
My view is that life on Earth is constituted of many layers of neural networks, all interacting to solve problems in order to get access to resources and continue to exist. All living things solve problems posed by their environments, and all are adapted to attempt, with reasonable success, to solve such problems. The human mind is just one variety of this natural process, and not necessarily the most subtle or sophisticated. See my novel, Vitals.
I also make a distinction between self-aware personality and mind. Human self-awareness is a psycho-social phenomenon resulting from feedback in modeling the behavior of one’s neighbors, and, almost coincidentally, modeling one’s own behavior to make sure we’ll fit into social activities. One offshoot of this ability is the writing of novels.
Self is not an illusion; it’s real. But it’s not unitary, it’s not primary, and it’s not always in charge.
It seems apparent that God does not micromanage either human history or nature. Evolutionary freedom is just as important as individual human freedom. Does God interfere at all? Other than my affirming, along with many others, that the presence of something we could call God is made known—a kind of interference, undoubtedly—I do not know.
As Kaye experiences her epiphany, she is made aware that her “caller” is not talking just to her, but to other minds within and around her. Epiphany is not limited to our conscious selves, or even to human beings.