the end of the world. (posted: Friday, August 10th, 2007)

8 May 1905

The world will end on 26 September 1907. Everyone knows it.

In Berne,

it is just as in all cities and towns. One year before the end, schools close
their doors. Why learn for the future, with so brief a future? Delighted to
have lessons finished forever, children play hide-and-seek in the arcades of
Kramgasse, run down Aarstrasse and skip stones on the river, squander their
coins on peppermint and licorice. Their parents let them do what they wish.

One month
before the end, businesses close. The Bundeshaus halts its proceedings. The
federal telegraph building on Speichergasse falls silent. Likewise the watch
factory on Laupenstrasse, the mill past the Nydegg Bridge. What need is there for
commerce and industry with so little time left?

At the
outdoor cafés on Amthausgasse, people sit and sip coffee and talk easily of
their lives. A liberation fills the air. Just now, for example, a woman with
brown eyes is speaking to her mother about how little time they spent together
in her childhood, when the mother worked as a seamstress. The mother and
daughter are now planning a trip to Lucerne.
They will fit two lives in o the little time remaining. At another table, a man
tells a friend about a hated supervisor who often made love to the man’s wife
in the office coatroom after hours and threatened to fire him if he or his wife
caused any trouble. But what is there to fear now? The man has settled with the
supervisor and reconciled with his wife. Relieved at last, he stretches his
legs and lets his eyes roam over the Alps.

At the
bakery on Marktgasse, the thick-fingered baker puts dough in the oven and
sings. These days people are polite when they order their bread. They smile and
pay promptly, for money is losing its value. They chat about picnics in Fribourg,
cherished time listening to their children’s stories, long walks in
mid-afternoon. They do not seem to mind that the world will soon end, because
everyone shares the same fate. A world with one month is a world of equality.

One day
before the end, the streets swirl in laughter. Neighbors who have never spoken
greet each other as friends, strip off their clothing and bathe in the
fountains. Others dive in the Aare. After swimming until
exhausted, they lie in the thick grass along the river and read poetry. A
barrister and a postal clerk who have never before met walk arm in arm through
the Botanischer Garten, smile at the cyclamens and asters, discuss art and
color. What do their past stations matter? In a world of one day they are
equal.

In the shadows
of a side street off Aarbergergasse, a man and a woman lean against a wall,
drink beer, and eat smoked beef. Afterwards, she will take him to her
apartment. She is married to someone else, but for years she has wanted this
man, and she will satisfy her wants on this last day of the world.

A few souls
gallop through the streets doing good deeds, attempting to correct their
misdeeds of the past. Theirs are the only unnatural smiles.

One minute
before the end of the world, everyone gathers on the grounds of the
Kunstmuseum. Men, women, and children form a giant circle and hold hands. No
one moves. No one speaks. It is absolutely quiet that each person can hear the
heartbeat of the person to his right or his left. This is the last minute of
the world. In the absolute silence a purple gentian in the garden catches the
light on the underside of its blossom, glows for a moment, then dissolves among
the other flowers. Behind the museum, the needled leaves of a larch gently
shudder as a breeze moves through the tree. Farther back, through the forest,
the Aare reflects sunlight, bends the light with each
ripple on its skin. To the east, the tower of St. Vincent’s rises into sky,
red and fragile, its stonework as delicate as veins of a leaf. And higher up,
the Alps, snow-tipped, blending white and purple, large
and silent. A cloud floats in the sky. A sparrow flutters. No one speaks.

In the last
seconds, it is as if everyone has leaped off Topaz Peak, holding hands. Then end
approaches like approaching ground. Cool air rushes by, bodies are weightless.
The silent horizon yawns for miles. And below, the vast blanket of snow hurtles
nearer and nearer to envelop this circle of pinkness and life.

 —-

An excerpt from Alan Lightman’s
Einstein’s Dreams. I haven’t finished the book yet. It’s really not the kind
that you should finish in one sitting, because if you do, you wouldn’t get to
absorb much of what it says. I try to read it chapter by chapter, whenever I
have the time.

I found this chapter particularly
interesting. Contrary to most ‘end of the world’ scenarios, the chapter depicts
a sort of calm surrender. An acceptance of one’s fate, and just trying to make
the most of what you’ve got left. Enjoy what really matters in life. Living
like there’s no tomorrow, but not the kind where you become reckless,
destructive and selfish. There are no screaming people or damaged buildings. There’s
no fear, no hiding. Rather, the world seems a better place…but only because it
is ending. Ironic and bittersweet.

I wonder if this is how the world
will end. And I hope it does end that way, or something similar. But then
again, I remember the Bible stories I’ve been told wherein the Second Coming (=
end of the world as we know it) would come like a thief in the night. You don’t
know when he will strike, that’s why we must always be prepared…which means
that there is no exact knowledge as to when the thief would strike prior to the
event…furthermore, there is the element of surprise, which usually results in
people panicking. No logical thoughts. Fear. Oh no.

It’s past midnight.
I’m alert and tired at the same time. But my thoughts are only slightly
coherent.

 —-

 She lit her thin cigarette with the lighter she bought at
the convenience store at the ground floor. It was a Friday night, and she felt
a bit rebellious. She took a puff. Inhale. Exhale. She could see the smoke
float into the cool night air. That felt damn good.

 She absorbed the sight below her. At the roofdeck, 36
stories above the ground, she could see people walking, cars driving by, the
city lights, buildings at a distance. She could hear laughter, the whoosh of
fast cars, music…all at a distance. And as she stared into the horizon and
emptied her thoughts, the sounds and sights faded into the background. She was
in her own dark corner. And she felt relaxed, the first time in a few days.

 Puff. Inhale. Exhale. She was not a good smoker. In fact,
she doesn’t really smoke. But tonight…tonight was different. She needed to vent
out. This was her way of doing so.

 “Excuse me. Can I have a light?”

 She didn’t notice him approach her. Feeling slightly annoyed
that he’d disturb her moment, she fished her lighter out of her pocket and lit.
He shielded the flame with his hand as he, with his stick in his mouth, moved
closer to the lighter to light his cigarette, allowing her to catch a glimpse
of his face.

 “Thanks,” he said, after he blew out the smoke from his
initial puff.

 They stood there in the dark. Absorbing the distant sights
and sounds. Looking at the dark horizon. Puffing. Inhaling. Exhaling.

 He broke the silence.

 “Do you come here often?”

“No. This is the first time I’m here at this time,
actually.”

“Problem?”

“Is it any of your business?,” she said in her head.

After a couple of seconds, he added. “…if you don’t mind me
asking.”

She obliged. Despite his disturbance, she didn’t want to be
too mean to the guy.

“Something like that,” she answered. “I just needed a moment
to relax.”

“I must be intruding. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s okay, I actually find this conversation
refreshing.” She did. Surprisingly so.

“So you don’t mind me staying?”

“No, not a bit.”

“I’m Justin. What’s your name?”

“Chesca. Why are you up here?”

“Same reason as you.”

 She had finished her stick.

“I have to go.”

“Okay.”

“It was nice meeting you.”

“You too. See you around.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

 They smiled at each other and then she walked away.

—-

Another excerpt. What a boring conversation.