Silent Afternoon
By Qicheng Zhang
I never thought I could invent anything great since I lost my ability to create when I was young. One day, I just suddenly felt unable to write, draw, or compose anything shining and unique. It is like a sacrifice for my growth into adulthood. I am now more sophisticated, but also less creative. They say that growth brings us knowledge but as my experience shows, this is not always a positive thing.
***
It was an ordinary Sunday afternoon for me, a mature 30-something big company manager living in an old but pretty house that I inherited from my family. There were plenty of things I could have done to kill time that day, but I chose to clean and search the attic. I spent a considerable amount of time in the attic during my childhood, discovering all the dusty but exciting items stacked there. My father was an engineer, so there was never quite enough space for him to fit all his stuff. The garage, his studio, and of course, the attic were all occupied by his works, blueprints, electrical devices, and tools. My mother always referred to those places as “the best places to get lost in the house.” My father inherited the family’s bad organizational habit: when something appears that you cannot classify, throw it in the attic. I had a great time in the attic and began to show some interest in electronics as I searched through it. My father thought that I might follow his path and become an engineer but I became a businessman instead, although the eagerness and desire to discover and read anything, any word combination, was well kept.
***
It had been a while since the last time I went through the attic. I once considered cleaning it up completely in hopes of waking up my memory and possibly my creative ability, but after making a total mess, I gave up. This time I decided to start from one of the corners I hadn’t already searched. There I found three paper notebooks.
***
“The Handsome Guy Journal Ultimate Super Extreme Final Chronicle 2003-2004 edition?” said my wife looking over my shoulder. “It must be your brilliant great-grandfather’s, according to the year and, well, your bizarre family style.”
“I guess so.”
“Your sister called to see if you wanted to have dinner together tonight.”
“Sure, call her back and ask her when we should be there, ok?” By the way, I love my wife. She is beautiful, tender and willing to tolerate all of my shortcomings and weird habits, but most importantly she understands me, almost totally.
“We’ll go to her home at seven.”
“Great.”
“I haven’t seen you here in a while, any new discoveries?” she asked. I checked those journals while she was away. Considering the amount of half empty pages in those thin notebooks and the years it took him to finish them, my great-grandfather must have been really lazy.
“It would be interesting to know what happened to my ill-fated family from the very beginning.”
She laughed and put her head on my shoulder softly, “We still have your great-grandfather’s photo around, right?”
“Positive.” One of the best things about living in an old house is that you can find a lot of memorials. We hang almost all of our ancestors’ pictures up, not only their portraits but also their day-to-day pictures. Most of them are attractive but this particular great-grandfather's could be called stunning, Van-Gogh-self-portrait-stunning. My parents told me little about him, but I am named after him because they popped up with this idea: “No one in the family carried fore-parents’ names, so why not?”
Although times have changed, the joy of recording things on paper will never be replaced by digital devices as is the joy of reading through paper. There was still enough time to go over the journals before we had to leave for my sister's. We went downstairs and opened the first page of the 2001-2003 edition.
***
2001.11.06
I do not know why I am writing this. It seems like I am a person who hates to leave anything behind. All of those things will later be found by someone and used to criticize or judge me, and that is not fun. Anyway, I am starting to write this.
***
The rest of the pages included some cynical complaints about the weather and people. By reading through the 2003 journal I was able to discover my great-grandfather’s approximate age. Since he graduated from high school at the time, he should have been around 18 when he wrote it.
Then I found this.
***
2004.03.20
There’s a funny thought. Someday, long after I’m gone, someone could find these journals. This person might think that he can uncover my thoughts hidden behind these words—of course, he will not be able to totally understand me. But if I use some other method, I could guess what he would want to know about me and then provide him with answers in the following pages. The two-way communication between the living and the dead?
***
“I’ve read a book about this. Someone in the 18th century compiled an encyclopedia-type book with an extraordinarily detailed index system, which allowed people to communicate with the author to a certain extent. If someone wanted to know when the author argued with a friend they would just need to look up the ‘argue’ entry, then specify the name of the friend, and the answer would be there. Then if the reader wanted to ask the author why the argument occurred, there would be another entry that could answer that question,” said my wife.
“That’s exactly what I wanted to say. I knew I shouldn’t have married a woman who reads a lot.”
This actually isn’t a new idea. Even the technology as far back as 100 years ago allowed people to record and build their own encyclopedia or database online easily. People could create a website in multimedia form with pictures, texts, or audio and video, which other people could even add comments on. With the help of technology, people could let their spirits live forever. Anyway, all of these were still just forms of one-way communication. The reader and author could interact, but all of the results came from prewritten codes and happened facts. The author could not make new decisions to influence the future.
***
2005.11.20
It took me some time to figure out how this should work—ok, I admit it was actually due to laziness. First, it is not about time travel. You may think that if a man is able to talk to people in the future then he is traveling forward in time, but he is not. It only counts if he interacts with the environment by his own will. The easiest way to travel through time is go to a place with daylight savings time. Over there, the process of gaining or losing one hour in your life is reversible. Second, it is not about the prediction of the future. There is one certain way to predict it: Write down all the possible outcomes, which might not be right but that’s ok. You just write another one, and another one. After accumulating enough, let’s say, infinite possibilities of the future, there is going to be one that matches the real future exactly. Monkey, typewriter, Shakespeare. The last and most difficult way, has to do with the creation of the future. Create it by copying your “current life” into the future in some way while making all of the necessary adjustments. Then you can both communicate with people in the future as yourself and predict the future.
***
2005.11.23
Forget it, it cannot be done.
Even I can’t create a complete replica of myself, and the environment around me, the people, the globe, or even the universe—in other words, my “current life”, and find a place to keep the universe—are you kidding me. It still wouldn’t be a future along the timeline, it would become a parallel universe.
***
“Lazy people rarely produce meaningful things,” my wife mumbled.
“It is not my fault…”
“I do not even know why this is all so attractive to me. I’ll get you a cup of tea.” I leaned back, wondering if I had ever read these words before. No result. I opened another page and she was back.
***
2006.05.02
So I was thinking of an alternate way to create the future. I can set some traps, activate them and wait for a seemly time to pull the trigger.
Still not new.
But what if I push it one step further?
I could be there, controlling the future by opening all the right doors for people to pass through. Although I might not be there as a human being, the whole process would represent my consciousness. I would be like the invisible hand, controlling the economy…no, the future.
It wouldn’t require high-level technology or relate to enigmatic theory, all I need to do is set it, and boom, it goes off. For example, I could leave a house behind. All of my family would live there because I know they would, I’ve set the switch. Numerous things in the house would be bugged, waiting for the opportunity to impact the life of one of my offspring. And there could be a great-grandson carrying my name because I told his parents to do so. As he grows his parents will try to direct him in a specific way—based on his interests after he reads and discovers the colorful world I left in the attic. As the kid grows, he might meet his future wife in a café in Paris—because I arranged that meeting.
***
I raised my head and exchanged glances with my wife. “This is the house left by the family, you are named after him, and we did meet in a café in Paris.”
“Just coincidences.”
***
2006.05.02(Continued)
At least it sounds easy enough. I could have the money to build a house and I am able to leave a will to ask my kids or grandkids to name their children after me or they might do it eventually. It is also easy to fill a house with stuff when you own it. And, I do have some close friends. We can make a pact for our sons and daughters to get married. Some day in the future they can meet and get to know each other, and then…There are other necessary things to do. I might not live long enough to pull the trigger and set things in motion, but there are always certain groups and organizations that could be around for a long time. They can carry out your will and do things for you as long as you have what they want.
***
“Well, I guess our marriage isn’t just built on the foundation of two drunk and over-excited people.” I touched her hair and laughed.
“Screw it, we still have some time before you hit 40, start to go bald, grow a fat belly and lay on the couch watching sports all day long.”
There were only a couple of pages left. These too were full of complaints and weird thoughts.
***
2006.05.12
According to my plans, my mind will continue influencing the world a long time after I’m gone. It is kind of like “The delayed choice experiment” concept. I can make decisions after things actually happen. For example, suppose the kid in the future shows an interest in electronics after he reads the stuff I left in the attic. Then the people who carry out my will, probably his parents, could decide whether or not they should be supportive—depending on the circumstances at the time. My mind will analyze the situation and make the decision. Then they will take action based on my decision, as if I am really there, as a coordinator rather than a communicator.
But of course I do not have the right to intervene in other people’s lives, not even my own great-grandkids. If you are one of them, don’t panic, I promise I haven’t done any of these things to you. What I should do is make fun predictions about the future and just observe. Maybe I can watch from the back of my portrait that they’ll hang in the house. The point is, the future is filled with infinite possibilities, and you are the only one who can create it.
***
That was the second to last page of the journal. I turned to the last page. Following the date 2006.05.20, there were some huge bold words shouting, “THE FREAKING DEADLINE.” I did not really understand my great-grandpa. I held my wife’s hand as we looked at each other, sweet smiles flowing from our faces.
“Let’s go for dinner,” she said.