Calvin (12 page)

Susie: It's cool to think that odds can be bigger than the universe.

Hobbes: The odds of you making it home alive are bigger than the universe.

Me: Susie, do you believe in God?

Susie: You asked me that before.

Me: Yeah, but that was when I thought he gave us a car.

Susie: You can't believe only when you get stuff.

Me: So are you saying you do?

Susie: Yes.

Me: You do? Really?

Susie: Yes.

Me: Why?

Susie: Don't act like it's so strange—me and three billion other people in the world.

Me: So you believe so you can be part of a club? What about evolution?

Susie: Evolution—maybe that's the way God does it. Maybe God came down every so often and said, Hey Life, Get Complex!

Hobbes: And then he created the tiger and rested from his labors.

Me: There's no God.

Susie: Prove it.

Me: Haven't you heard of Russell's teapot?

Susie: Huh?

Me: This philosopher guy, Bertrand Russell—he said, if I say there's a teapot orbiting the sun somewhere, it's up to me to prove it, not up to the other guy to disprove it.

Susie: So?

Me: So? The teapot? You prove it.

Susie: Of course there's a teapot.

Me:

Susie: Quantum physics, anyone? Infinite number of universes? In one of those universes is a teapot in space.

Me: Is there tea in it?

Susie: Warm, with sugar.

Me: Are there crumpets?

Susie: What's a crumpet?

Me: Something that goes with tea.

Susie: Then there shall be crumpets.

Me: So why doesn't God show himself?

Susie: I don't know—maybe I don't believe enough. Half of me yes, half of me no, but I always speak for the yes side. And I mean, if there
is
a God, it's probably a good idea to believe in him. But if there
isn't
a God, then we're just an accident of nature, a virus, pond scum gone berserk, and it won't matter one way or another if I believe or not because who cares?

Me:

Susie: And so if it doesn't matter, then I choose to believe. There's something mindful about it, about the universe having a heart, us being watched over, maybe life and everything meaning something …

Me:

Susie:

Me: I guess I wonder, who is in charge here? Where is the evidence of the Ultimate Grownup? Seems like everyone goes around thinking someone is in charge, and they go through their lives thinking that the higher they get on the mountain, the closer they get to meeting the guru on top. And then one day they get to the top and nobody's there. God could clear up a lot of things if he'd just show up to a meeting at the UN or make a brief appearance at the White House, maybe the Pentagon, Times Square—

Hobbes: Free all the tigers in the zoos…!

Me: You'd think somebody who hears a tiger all the time could believe in something other people don't see. But actually it makes it worse. Maybe the first guy who invented God was delusional. Maybe if reality is up for grabs, then there's no Ultimate Reality, which is what God would be in charge of if there was one.

Susie was concentrating, like she was replaying in her mind every word I just said.

Susie: That's the thing, isn't it. Why doesn't he show himself? Course some people say he does—to them—but people don't believe them and they kill them or beat them up or drive them away for saying it, and some people do believe it but use it to make themselves think they're better than anybody else which causes all kinds of problems. God's probably sitting up there smacking his forehead and saying, kids, kids, what'm I gonna do with you?

We walked along without talking for a while, but walking without talking felt desperate and boring and soon all you could think about was the pain in your legs and food and water and sleep.

Me: It will be awesome when Bill shows himself.

Susie: He burned out. You can't do something that consistently brilliant for ten years and not burn out.

Me: No excuse to disappear.

Susie: He knew he'd done his best work. He worked like a madman. He needed a rest.

Me: No reason to deny interviews, not show up for awards, refuse to answer fan mail.

Susie: He rejects fandom. He's modest. Sensible. He knows all that stuff is shallow and pointless.

Me: He's an artist! Art means communication! Why doesn't he communicate?

Susie: Maybe someday he will. Even Lee Salem said that, said Bill hasn't locked the door and thrown away the key. He's just not a sellout, is all. He thinks selling out is buying into someone else's values. Or maybe he knows there's power in creating something and then stepping out of the way. All that silence, that refusal to show up for adulation—it forces you to look harder at the creation itself, like he's saying, this is what I have to say. You laugh, you cry, you think, you change—and that's the point.

We walked in silence for a long time. She was getting slower, breathing harder, but she picked up a little when we talked.

Me: He'll be onshore with the comic strip when we get there. He'll swear us to secrecy, and we'll take it to our graves.

Susie. Okay. How much longer?

Me: Not much.

Susie: Promise?

Me: Promise.

Susie: Calvin, this past year?

Me: Yeah?

Susie: That was the worst part, not having talks about stuff like this.

Me: Yeah. That was the worst for me, too.

 

Susie gave me one cookie.

Me: You eat mine.

Susie: Why?

Me: I'm rationing.

Susie: I'm the leader of this expedition. I'll say when we're rationing.

Me: All great leaders listen to the rank and file.

Susie: I think you think you don't deserve that cookie.

Me: And you'd be right. You know what's interesting to me about the digestive process? We know empirically that the food in your stomach can be all colors. Like when you throw up you never know what color it's going to be. But you know pretty much what color it's going to be when it comes out the other end. I guess bile does that—makes everything brown. Unless you're a baby. My mom's cousin had a baby and his poop was always surprising. Once he had a game piece in there, the Monopoly iron. Another time he had a Lego. Blue.

Susie was staring at the cookie with a disgusted look on her face.

Susie: I'm eating it anyway, but only if you eat yours. We'll take a bite at the same time.

Slowly we lifted our cookies, staring into each other's eyes. We bit in at the same time, and then stuffed the rest into our mouths as fast as we could.

*   *   *

Lunchtime had come and gone without any lunch except oatmeal cookies, which Susie handed out like hundred-dollar bills. My legs felt like lead prostheses and still no sight of shore. The wind coming from the south was relentless. It never slowed or took a breath.

Susie was taking deep breaths. All I could think about was food.

Me: Did you know I disagree with both individual and world hunger?

Susie: And war.

Me: And war. I bet if we got all the Mensas and all the big moneymakers and all the big technology brains together, and all the artists and musicians and filmmakers, and put them in a room and said, don't come out until you've solved world hunger and war, I bet they could do it. Right, Susie?

Susie nodded.

Me: You have to answer.

Susie: Yeah. I bet, too.

It sounded like yeahh ah beh too because her mouth was as cold and dry as mine was.

Me: Which raises a philosophical question. If I'm against war, how does this impact the decisions I make on a more personal level? Take Maurice. When he acts like a jerk toward me, like some countries do toward others, do I fight back? Isn't that how wars are started? It goes against my principles to lower myself to his level of behavior, but I've tried reasoning with him, I've tried being nice to him, I've tried being a good sport, and things just get worse.

Susie: Why didn't you ever tell me?

Me: You mean why didn't I call on my allies? Should I have involved them in peace negotiations? Do you think that would work?

Susie: No.

Me: We'd have to impose sanctions. Like you could refuse to talk to him, refuse to let him throw his arm around you as you're walking down the hall, for example. Not share my sandwich with him.

Susie: That was your sandwich?

Me: It's always my sandwich. He doesn't share his own.

Susie: Hmm … You could just punch him in the nose.

Me: Maybe it's the uneven distribution of resources that causes the problems.

Hobbes: You unevenly distributed your peanut butter.

Me: So stupid how some people have four toilets and some people have none, how NBA players get a new pair of shoes for every other game while some kids go their whole lives without a single pair. Right, Susie?

Susie: Right.

She said right without the
t
on the end of it.

Me: And what is it about balls anyway? Find a person who can hit a ball really well with a stick or put one through a hoop or knock one into a little hole in the ground, and we pay them bazillions of dollars. Seriously, people, it's a ball. A toy! Huh, Susie? What if we gave all that money to the poor people, set them up in business or something?

Susie: Toy …

Me: And how idiotic is it that some even pretty ordinary people over here have a single house as big as a whole African village, for only two people and their kid-dog. Really? Really? And these are supposedly sane people, Susie. You know what's even stupider, Susie—even stupider than all that? That we all sit around and let it happen.

Susie (with a dreamy smile): That's why I picked you.

Me: That's a good answer, Susie. More than one word is good. Did you know the last war cost three trillion dollars? What if we got together over pizza and said, here's three trillion dollars. We can use it to kill people, or we can use it to solve our differences. I bet three trillion dollars could go a long way toward solving a few differences. I bet our best TV-commercial makers could help people understand how moronic war is. What do you say to that, Susie?

Susie: Mmmm …

Me: That's not a word.

Susie: Moronic.

Me: Okay, okay, because that was three syllables. It's just that the world is so big, Susie. We think we can't change anything because if we tried someone would call us crazy, but I can tell you that that is not the worst thing in the world.

I thought about what I'd just said for a minute.

Me: Okay, maybe it's up there, but not the worst thing—

Hobbes: Look at her. She's cold, she's exhausted. Her lips are chapped—

Me: Susie—Susie, you doing okay?

Susie: I really can't feel my feet. How much longer, Calvin?

I took off my mitten and scooped some snow in my bare hand. I held it until it melted.

Me: Here, Susie.

She lifted my cupped hand to her lips and slurped like a cat.

I did it again.

I did it until my hand was too cold to melt the snow.

Susie: So good.

Me: You're doing great, Sooz. You're strong.

Susie: Not strong. Tell me again why we had to do this?

Me: I don't know.

Susie:

Me: I don't know anymore.

Susie:

Me: I—I think I was trying to understand, trying to figure out why I am the way I am. I think I felt like if Bill came out and made a comic about me, I'd understand something about myself, just like Scout did when Boo Radley came out. It would make me feel like the broken bits of me were put back together and the cracks might even disappear—

Hobbes: Crack.

Me:

Hobbes: Crack in the ice.

I looked. A crack in the ice.

Me: Just step over it.

Hobbes: You step over it.

I stepped over the crack.

I lived.

The ice felt firm under my feet, but soon I saw another crack, and then another.

Susie: The ice is breaking.

Me: No. Remember what Orvil said. These are old cracks. It's frozen over again. And the cracks don't intersect.

 

We walked.

Susie handed out a cookie when we couldn't stand it anymore.

We walked.

Susie handed out the last cookie.

We walked.

*   *   *

Calvin the abominable snowman, yeti for short, surveys his icy kingdom—

Me (to me): Stop it.

Man has driven him into the coldest wastelands—

Me (to me): Stop it, stop it.

His mate, smaller and weaker than him, has been pushed past her endurance. She's a little on the toothy side, and has a tendency to bite, but when you're an extinct race, you take your love where you can.

Me: Doing okay, Susie?

She shook her head.

Me: Let me carry you for a while.

She shook her head again.

Me: Yes, let me carry you for a while.

Susie: I'm too heavy.

Me: Argue not, mate, only obey.

She held out a hand to ward me off.

Susie: Who are you now?

Me: Yeti. We can do this, Susie. Think of it as a video game, and the snow and the cold are the enemy, and all we have to do is get to that next drift of snow, or that bump shaped like a fin, or step on twenty dents in the ice, and we get to the next level. Every level is a bit harder than the one before, but if you avoid trapdoors and keep moving around, you're good. You're sort of good.

She shook her head. She didn't want to play.

Me: Susie, when we get to the other side of this lake, I'm going to buy you fried eggs and lots of white-bread toast slathered in real butter, with pancakes for dessert.

Susie: And a breakfast brownie.

It sounded like bre-fash bow-nee.

Me: There's no such thing as a breakfast brownie.

Hobbes: There should be.