The Half Life Of Stars Part 28

'You want a refill?'

'I...no.'

'You're all set?'

'Yes. I am. I'm all set.'

I could go down to the jazz club and see if he's finished, but he didn't want me in there while he auditioned; he thought that I might put him off. He needs to concentrate, to get into his performance mode; he takes on a different persona when he plays. He needs to dig down deep into the music and the rhythms. He didn't want to have to worry about the clock.

Half past ten. I climb into the car and spend a few minutes looking in the rearview mirror. Hoping. Hoping he'll show up. My breathing is tight, the air is closing in; it's getting humid again. What happened to that breeze, that blessed breeze?

Twenty to eleven. He's definitely not coming. I roll down the soft top, start up the engine and drive off the island on my own.

Nowhere to Run.

It's all so much bigger than I thought it would be: a wild sweep of nature trails, picnic grounds and woods, spread out over more than thirty acres. Most of the serious astronomers have gravitated to the observatory at the southern entrance to the park, but everywhere you look, families, couples, children and slouchy teens are pouring in and setting up camp. Men hump coolers and cameras, women carry telescopes and canvas chairs; kids walk brisklyhopping and jumpingfuelled with the excitement of staying up late. Everyone wants to get a good pitch, all fifteen thousand of them.

'Really? You think there's that many?'

'Not yet, no. But there will be by the time the show starts. Going to be quite a thing. You ever seen one before?'

I shake my head.

'Know much about meteors per se?'

'No.'

The teenager in the yellow shorts with the yellow hair and the goofy smile makes it his mission to enlighten me. He has a book, several books, about his person, and he flicks through the heaviest, balancing its well-worn spine on his portable camping table.

'These particular meteors are called Perseid.'

'Right.'

'Perseid meteors come from the comet, Swift-Tuttle. Every 130 years, the comet swoops in from deep s.p.a.ce, way out beyond Pluto, and plunges through the plane of our solar system, not all that far from Earth's own orbit.'

'I see.'

The boy squints.

'Astronomers used to worry that Swift-Tuttle might hit our planet one day.'

'Will it?'

'No.'

He quotes from his book.

'Recent data suggests there's no danger of a collision for at least another millennium, probably longer.'

'Phew...that's a relief.'

'Yeah. It is. But it doesn't mean we won't get hit by something. The chances are, I mean you'd have to say, statistically speaking, the earth's bound to get hit by a comet or a significantly sized meteor of some kind. Sooner, I'd say, rather than later.'

He smiles. He almost seems pleased about it. If he had a pair of gla.s.ses on this would be the moment that he'd push them backwards on the bridge of his nose.

'But not tonight, though?'

'Nuh-uh. Definitely not tonight.'

He shifts his weight from foot to foot. I peel off one of my photocopies.

'I was wondering...have you come across this man?'

'Don't think so. Is he out here somewhere? Have you lost him?'

'I hope so. And yes.'

The kid blinks.

'Might be tough to find him tonight though, in all these people. It's going to be a heck of a job.'

He's right, they're still pouring in. The crowd is so dense now it looks like a solid block, a single organism. I can barely pick out the faces any more, only the shades of hair or waterproof jacket. But, I won't be disheartened. I won't.

'How many stars are out there right now?' I say, pointing to the heavens. 'How many of them are there in this one galaxy?'

'Roughly...around a billion.'

'Which is your favourite?'

'I'd probably have to say Betelgeuse.'

'Can you find it?'

'Sure,' he says pointing skyward, 'it's a red giant, right there, in Orion.'

I smile. This cheers me up. The boy in the yellow shorts shakes his head.

'OK, I see what you're saying. But a person isn't anything like a star. A star stays put like it's supposed to. For millions, billions billions of years. People, they tend to move about some. With people you have to know where to look.' of years. People, they tend to move about some. With people you have to know where to look.'

But I do. I know exactly exactly where to look. where to look.

'If you had three minutes to live what would you do?'

'If there was going to be a nuclear war, you mean?'

'Yeah, if they set one off. If the bomb was coming, from Russia or something, where would you hide?'

'I wouldn't.'

'Why not?'

'There'd be no point.'

'You're meant to get underneath a table. You're meant to paint yourself white to deflect the heat from the blast.'

'A table? You think that's going to help? You think a table will stop your skin from peeling off like wrapping paper? You think a table will stop your eyeb.a.l.l.s from melting out of their sockets?'

I thought about my eyeb.a.l.l.s melting. I didn't appreciate it, not one bit.

'Well, it's never going to happen, so there there. I don't even know why I asked.'

'Daniel, stop it now. You're scaring your sister.'

'I'm not.'

'Yes you are. Give it a rest.'

I dug my fingernails hard into the kitchen table and ran my thumb along it's rough splintered edge where the melamine had begun to peel back. Daniel ate his cornflakes noisily, kicking his chair with his heels.

'So...then, where...?'

'Would I go?'

I nodded.

'Same place I'd go, if a rogue comet appeared, or a giant meteor was going to hit us. I'd stand in the middle of the widest open s.p.a.ce I could find, right in front of it. Just like that.'

'You wouldn't try to run away?'

'No.'

He shook his head.

'What's the good? There'd be nowhere to run.'

I head for the widest open s.p.a.ce I can find; away from the swampland and the patch of scrubby mangroves; away from the observatory and the towering palms. I don't see him. No one tall and limber with a young face and a middle-aged hair cut, holding his arms out to his fate. No one lonely, wandering, depressed or confused, with dirty running shoes strapped to his outsized feet. The s.p.a.ce shrinks and tightens as people crowd into the park and eventually I give up and move away. Past the nerds with their binoculars and their sheets of elaborate star charts, past the Christians singing bible songs round a fire.

'You like a map, miss?'

'A map?'

'Help you know what it is that you're looking for.'

I'm one step ahead of him. I already know what I'm looking for.

'This is a map of the night sky. Shows you where to look for the best shooting stars. On the back here is a list of our bible meetings. How long since you last read the bible, miss?'

'Long time.'

The man reaches into his rucksack and pulls out a pocket bible.

'What you see tonight will bring you closer to G.o.d. Remind you of His hand on the universe. G.o.d made the heavens and the stars and the earth. Seven short days. That's all it took.'

'Right, well...uh, fast mover.'

He smiles; that smile they have.

'I'd guess you're an evolutionist, am I right?'

I don't answer. There's no point.

'Evolution is a dangerous thing, don't you doubt it. The greatest threat there is to the modern world.'

I shudder. I start to move away.

'I'll pray for you,' he says, pressing the bible towards me. 'Remember, Jesus is with you.'

I stop. I do the decent thing. I hand him one of my flyers in return.

'Who is this?'

'A missing person. My brother. I think he's out in the crowd somewhere.'

The zealot shakes his head.

'Well, you won't find him here, ma'am; far too many people. Be a miracle if you came across him tonight.'

I frown. I walk on. Seems like I'm more open to a miracle than he is.

Back at the main entrance near to where I first came in, a man is shuffling papers on the lecture stage. He's humming to himself, he looks content. I climb up the slim wooden steps behind him and cough.

'Can I help you?'

'Probably not.'