Kurt quickly got into his walking pace as he wound his way up a desolate Shady Avenue. He’d missed the ten o’clock curfew, but he’d tracked out on his planner a way through the Homewood Cemetery to Beechwood
Boulevard, then onto a walking path built through Frick Park. The trail would get him within several blocks of Dr. Alexander’s house. Once he left Dr. Alexander’s, he could get onto the trail, which would take him to the old Homestead High Level Bridge and across the river to the beginning of his journey on the Allegheny Passage to Columbia, 318 miles away.
His legs felt strong, relaxed. He was glad he didn’t have anymore beer at Raoul’s. It tasted great, but he needed to be as alert tonight as he had ever been in his life. The beer had calmed him and lessened the tension of telling Raoul of his plans. The conversation with Raoul was what he had hoped for, truthful, honest, and supportive. It had given him closure on several things, including his leaving Pittsburgh. His thoughts broke off as he noticed the grillwork of the Homewood Cemetery looming out of the darkness and the now misty rain, which had begun to fall. Wild vines twisted up above pointed metal bars. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was 11:30. The blue weather screen in his watch showed a rainstorm with high winds. Kurt suddenly felt that maybe the gods were with him. The moon was hidden and the rain would be a big help. Once he left Dr. Alexander’s, he felt he would make great time. He looked back at his watch and realized he would be there close to midnight. He knew the old man hardly ever slept even at his age.
As he walked, his mind began to wander which is what he loved about hiking. All you did was get into a gait, let your arms swing in a rhythm and let your thoughts roam. As a child, he was a curious about everything and he recalled a day when his teacher talked about the mind. Afterwards he spent days reading all he could about the mind. The mind was defined as ‘the part of an individual that feels, perceives, thinks, wills, and particularly reasons’. He knew his own mind was definitely in charge of his actions, especially at this crossroads of his life.
‘It’s all such a mish mash of soul, mind and gut reaction that’s leading me on’, he thought.
This night was a decisive one after months of indecision. For years he tried to adapt unsuccessfully to the new culture. He was locked in his work and his narrow, confined life, but tonight, with his mission clear, he bristled with life. At that point, a gentle rain began and he realized it would be cold along the river later. Kurt shrugged his shoulders and picked up his pace on the next section of the road. As he turned a corner, he almost tripped over a fallen limb. He was amazed that he had not seen anyone since he began the climb. Soon he would be at Dr. Alexander’s house. He wondered if he should have contacted him to let him know he was going to stop in to see him. As he reached the broad, low lit width of Beechwood Boulevard, he felt comfortable with his timing.
He was sure Dr. Alexander would be up and calling him would have been a mistake because messages, voice or visual, are monitored, filtered, and placed in a location grid. No, he should just show up.
Without warning, Kurt heard a loud whooshing sound coming down the steep street ahead of him. He looked up and saw the trim lights of a Skimmer sailing right at him. He dove to his left down an embankment and rolled under a huge bush at the bottom. The Skimmer, which was designed to silently glide at any height, was used by Security for surveillance. This one came to a halt, not more than a block away and reversed itself with its piercing white search beams running along the sidewalk. The beams came around and were now scanning for his body heat. He rolled further looking for something to get under that would reject the heat. The beam was now headed his way. He could see lights in the basement of a house about thirty yards away. Kurt scurried quickly, low to the ground, following the embankment until he reached the cement block of the house. He snuggled under some low lying bushes that went right up to the lighted window. The beam went to where he’d been, as the Skimmer hovered above that spot. The beam was then aimed at the house and followed his path right up to the window. The pilot, realizing he was focused on a house, turned off the beam and sped off. Kurt lay there and breathed deeply for a minute. Inside he heard the Security System Connector react. He had to get out of there right now because Security was probably informing the occupants of a possible intruder on the property.
Kurt ran back the way he’d come, crossed the street, and ran as fast as he could along the other side. If he could run for at least five minutes more, he would be at Dr. Alexander’s. It was tough running with all his gear, but he kept a steady pace. It seemed like a long time - his breathing was beginning to be heavy, but finally he could see the twin chimneys of Dr. Alexander’s home. No fear of security systems in this house. The Doctor didn’t have them. He reached the large dark door and knocked firmly, but quietly. There was no response. He knocked again, looking back up the driveway for a sign of anyone. A light came on and a scanner buzzed, no doubt screening the porch. The door opened slowly and Dr. Alexander was standing back looking surprised from inside the darkened foyer. He stepped forward, unsnapped a lock, and opened the door.
“Kurt, my boy. What are you doing here at this hour? Looks like you’ve been running from a band of hooligans.
Come on in.”
“Thanks so much. Not hooligans, but Security. They may have picked up my moving heat imprint.”
“Moving heat imprint? What a nice modern way of putting things. Who ever heard of moving heat? Moving heat! I remember going to a Marilyn Monroe revival in college. That was moving heat,” he laughed. “Sorry, you probably have no idea what I’m talking about,” he chuckled as Kurt came into the foyer.
“She was an old movie star, I think,” Kurt said standing on the small hallway.
“You are a historian of many things, I see, but before I tell you about Marilyn Monroe and moving heat, come along to my den.”
They moved through the paneled hallway on a thick, cushiony blue carpet that hadn’t been used much in years.
It always reminded Kurt of his parent’s home, soft and comforting. The den was unchanged from his last visit.
This time of year, a fire glowed red in remission. He walked over and warmed his hands as Dr. Alexander plopped down in his leather chair.
“Now where was I. Oh yes, Marilyn Monroe. It was my second year at Harvard. It was in the Yard somewhere.
They had old movies shown once a week in one of the lounges. One winter, I remember because there was a foot of snow on the walkways that night, all of Marilyn Monroe’s movies were shown back to back. Funny, but there was a scene in one of them with a male star named, Tom, something or other. Tom, Tom, Ewell, that’s it.
He was the co-star, great performance by that guy. Anyway, there was one scene of her standing on a sidewalk, when all of a sudden a gust of air came from an air vent below, subway or something. Jesus, Kurt, what a pair of legs. In those days if you saw a woman’s underwear on the screen it was censorship time, but it was allowed.
Now, Kurt, that was moving heat,” the tall, old man said laughing. He looked at Kurt and said, “ Here take off that backpack. If you’re cold, push that chair over by the fire. There’s a bit of a chill tonight, first inkling of winter.” As Kurt began to twist out of his backpack, Dr. Alexander got up and helped him slide it off. Kurt dropped down into the leather recliner, as the doctor sat back down.,
“Well I’m glad you’re still focused on the important things in this life, Doctor,” Kurt replied, thinking back to the Marilyn Monroe story as he stared at the low lying logs sitting atop old molten ones, crackling from the licking fire.
“Kurt, a woman always represented to me the perfect mechanism in this world. A combination of softness and hardness, vengeance and caring, acceptance and rejection, every emotion in one package. I’ll tell you, they still represent the ultimate mystery of life. But now, tell me what has you out roaming and ducking the evening Security patrol? I’m curious.”
Kurt hesitated, not sure exactly how to start, but then just blurted out confidently, “Doctor, I am going home. I am going back to Scotland. I’ve talked to you about Scotland many times over the years. As you know, that’s where my mom and dad are buried. It’s where my sister and her family are and where the Sloan clan came from originally. In fact, if I’m not mistaked, that’s where your family came from.“ Dr. Alexander nodded, but didn’t say anything and Kurt continued.
“Family, maybe that’s what this all about, but the only family I have is in the lowlands, alive or dead. I’ve told you about my two uncles who left for Glasgow almost ten years ago and of course my sister Margaret. They’re all I have left in this world, as far as family is concerned. I want to make a new home there and I know for sure that Alleghenia in 2050, is not my home anymore,” he said with a crack in his voice.
Dr. Alexander didn’t reply. He looked at Kurt and then at the fire. His face was angular, with a large spreading nose, which dominated his wrinkled, but pink face surrounding a pair of dark blue eyes. He had a full head of white hair, which was always in a bit of a mess. His look was austere, lean and wise, but his blue eyes sparkled even this late at night. He exuded confidence always and was a picture of health.
He’d been born in 1970 in the little town of Damariscotta, Maine, which was down east on the spectacular Atlantic coast. Growing up there isolated him from the rest of America. He didn’t find out what America was really like until he went to Harvard. Boston and its environs were a rude awakening for him coming from the small village, populated heavily in the summer by tourists. He always talked about his summer jobs because they were the vehicle to his becoming a firebrand about American history and restoration of relics of the country. In ten years he had his Masters, his Doctorate, and was head of the History Department at the University of Pittsburgh. While doing this he’d mastered computer technology, especially programming. He designed programs about American History that even to this day are used at the university level all over the world.
One day, about two weeks after first meeting him, Kurt was amazed at a demonstration set up by Dr. Alexander.
He retraced and rebuilt the Hadrian Wall in England using all the available topographical data and matching this with detailed maps drawn by the Roman engineers 2000 years ago. He matched them and the computer display across the middle of England was remarkable. This was the early Dr. Alexander. He was more of a researcher and writer now, but his mind was still working on history with a goal of preservation for the future. His latest concern had been the preservation of the history of earth’s natural resources, with emphasis on the Northern Hemisphere. But for Kurt, his most important work was in convincing the government of Atlantica to also preserve the history of the land they now governed. This is where Kurt worked and he was in awe of this man.
Dr. Alexander was the classic mentor and Kurt had become a ardent student.
As he turned back to Kurt from the fire, the blue eyes sparkled. “You’re leaving history, my son. The history of the world is where you are, now. A country, a boundary is meaningless when a universal revolution is under way. This is a universal revolution. This is France and America in the late 18th Century; Europe in the mid-19th Century; Europe between the two World Wars of the 20th Century; this is one of the most important times in all of mankind. I really feel, for the fine historian you are, you’re leaving at the wrong time,” his eyes now locked on Kurt.
There were only the tiny explosions from the low-lying, red-hot fire as it crackled away inside the large stone fireplace. Kurt stared at the yellow to orange flames flashing upward in an uneven serpentine dance.
Kurt did not respond, but Dr. Alexander picked right up and said, “What has happened politically, we can talk about. I believe the people in charge are benign. They want to create their own Eden here in Pittsburgh and with its water supply and system. That analogy might eventually be right on target. Am I getting anywhere?” he quickly added. “Oh, I’m so sorry, how about some wine.”
“No thanks, I have quite a way to go tonight,” he said firmly.
At that moment Dr. Alexander realized the seriousness of his young friend and associate. He stood up and walked over to a wooden cabinet and rustled around in a lower drawer. Kurt could hear bottles rattling against each other.
He pulled out a bottle of red wine and turned back to Kurt, “This is good stuff for a cool fall night. Warm up the innards a bit. It’s an old Merlot, Kurt. Not brandy, but a good bite to it. Sure you don’t want a short one?”
“No sir. I need to be clear tonight. You go right ahead.”
“I plan on it,” he quickly answered as he popped a stopper from the dark bottle. “It’s a heavy grape
combination. Has a nice taste. At my age, I need all the power I can get so I can really taste the grape. This will do it.” He ambled back and plopped back into the deep-seated chair. As he sipped, he looked deeply at Kurt, not smiling as he had before.
“You disappoint your old boss, Kurt. I never liked running as a reaction to adversity and I am disappointed that you would make that choice. You are a superb historian,” he paused and then continued slowly, “I think it’s a grave mistake.” He finished his sipping, but never took his bright, moistened eyes off Kurt.
“What happened, Professor? What happened to the United States of America? Why did it dissolve?”
“Because the majority of the people, gained control. Even though those people were first and second generation Latino immigrants, they gained political control through the ballot box. It became the purest of democracies.
Thus the most votes controlled the local, state, and eventually the national legislatures. One could say, that the vote destroyed what had been the world’s beacon for democracy. But did it? What it really did was
democratically and peacefully, for the most part, transform the United States from a white European based society to a Latino, Africano and Asian society. But isn’t that democracy, Kurt? In its perfect state! What happened was that “We the People” actually became the people. Not the white people who began the idea, but the majority of the people who lived within its boundaries. They gained control through elections, fair and square. So what do the losers do? They leave. Back to enclave white Europe or down to the South or up to Canada. That’s you, Kurt, I’m sorry to say. Listen, adapt, my fine young man. Adapt. Join the swell of history.
Study it. Write about it. I believe that’s your life’s mission. This land will be the center of the historical world in the coming years. It’s success or failure. They have problems and some big decisions to make in the coming months and years which will have world implications. It needs to be recorded, first hand for the historians of the future. In my opinion, at your young age and with your abilities, you should be the one writing of this time, in this country. I really believe that.”