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Falling Against Gravity Page 15
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“No, Charles, it’s not what I meant to do.”
Anna’s voice bellowed from the stairs, “Leroy, please take me away from here now!”
Ripley looked crushed. He held his hands out in a state of confusion.
“Leroy!” she called again.
Fort fiercely kicked the table leg. “Just go. Now.” He ran his hands over his face and into his wild brown hair in exasperation as he turned away from Ripley.
Ripley looked at an expressionless Zoya and shrugged before he ran out the door to the stairs where Anna stood watching Nikola on the floor below. Nikola was firing off arcs of electricity into the steel girders from two rods in his hands and laughing hysterically.
“Get me out of this madhouse, Leroy.”
“Yes, Anna, come with me, down here.” He led her down the stairs and out to the automobile where Envar was strolling around, finishing his thin cigar. From a window above, Fort saw Ripley help Anna into the backseat and climb in. Envar stood by the car, looking up at the window, as if seeking permission to drive. Fort nodded, and watched as Envar turned the vehicle around and headed out the lane. In all his days, Fort had never worried about losing Anna’s love and respect, yet here he was feeling like it was broken and it was all Ripley’s fault.
CHAPTER 17
Three days later, the last of the materials were loaded onto the Nimbus. Everything down to Nikola’s chickens were being stowed and latched aboard. Rope, chain, sheet metal, food, and water were all meticulously packed and stacked onto the hold in an organized fashion. There were several pantries and storage rooms full of crates, cans, and provisions. Fort, Envar, Ripley, and Zoya feverishly lugged equipment and supplies onto the ship. Everyone’s backs were aching and stiff, but Fort’s strict timeline goal was going to be met at any cost.
Inside his workshop, Nikola was packing a last few delicate and potentially dangerous items into small crates. As Ripley walked by, he went in to offer a hand. “Which one’s next?” Ripley asked.
“Those ones,” Nikola responded, gesturing vaguely towards the end to the bench.
Ripley tried to pick one up and its weight made him stagger a few paces to the side. “Gah, oh my!” He set the crate down, trying another one but it wasn’t any lighter. “There’s a lot of heavy materials already crammed on board, aren’t you worried about the weight?”
Nikola kept rooting in a drawer. “Where there is no weight, weight is not a concern.”
Ripley nodded to himself, feeling a bit stupid. He wasn’t fully sure what Nikola was talking about but he didn’t feel like pushing it. “Oh, ok. Well, I guess this is ‘good-bye’, Nikola. I need to get going soon, so, I thought...”
“Good-bye,” Nikola barked, slamming the drawer in and pulling out the next.
Ripley stood still for a moment before slowly taking his leave with the crate. “You’re welcome,” he said, almost whispering.
Ripley walked through the beaten down path in the field, alongside eerie trees with their burnt tops from the lightning. He needed to set the crate down several times during his trip across the yard due to the weight, and every time he picked it up again he started feeling his anxiety building; but this time felt a bit different than usual. He set the crate down on the ground one more time, rooting around for something to take. He wanted to alleviate this thumping in his chest, but he couldn’t find anything to dull the emotion. He felt no compulsion, just an ache. He started to cry uncontrollably for a moment. Finally, he realized that he wasn’t feeling anxious at all. He was tremendously sad and disappointed with himself. Everyone was leaving and he wanted to go so badly, but he couldn’t. Going up in that ship would be too much. Even thinking about it made his heart race and his brain dizzy with vertigo.
He didn’t want to be left behind. He truly wished to be adventurous, but it was completely outside his realm to be able to participate in such a ludicrous scheme. He walked behind the hangar so no one could see him and he cried uncontrollably, his shoulders shaking. He didn’t want to be left alone. He kneeled down on the grass, his head hurting from all of the bawling and started to breathe in and out, in and out. Then he thought of Anna. He could take care of Anna while Fort was gone. She was settling down after the shock of coming to the hangar the other night. He would check in on her regularly and take her to the moving pictures. He would keep her company and not let her feel alone or abandoned. He would look after her. He owed it to Fort to try to repair the damage he’d caused. This was how he could be helpful.
Within a few minutes, he regained his composure and wiped his eyes dry with his cream colored handkerchief. He went back to the path and picked up the crate, looking around with a fervent hope that no one saw him crying. He took the crate to Nikola’s section of the vessel and set it down. He wandered through the ship, lovingly running his sore hands along the smooth railings. He stood at the railing for a few moments, lost in thought until a loud bang broke him out of his reverie. “Hello?” he inquired down the hall.
“Oh, Leroy! Hello,” Zoya popped her head out of her little cabin. “I’m just putting things away in a secure fashion. Can be quite rough occasionally,” she jested. “What are you doing?”
“Just helping Nikola with some last things. I suppose I’ll be leaving soon. Envar is going to drive me in to the city. I want to spend a few days there before I head upstate. Charles wants Envar back before you go. Just in case ... well, you know.”
She smiled, “Yes, I know.” After a moment, she asked, “What are you doing next?”
“Well, get a job, I guess. It is why I supposedly came back to New York. But I’ve been too wrapped up in Fort’s trip, your trip, this whole thing. It’s all been so exciting. Being around here, with all you … it’s been fun. But it’s time for me to get back to living my own life and stop being a sidekick in someone else’s story, I guess. You know, make my own fortunes, be my own man. That sort of thing.”
“Leroy,” she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek and held his gaze closely, “you are the man in your own story. And you are a kind one and a good one, someone who I will miss.”
He thought his body was melting into a pool on the floor. Don’t faint, you fool, he chided himself.
“Y-You are coming back with Charles, aren’t you?” he asked.
“You never know. It sounds like we will be going to many different places and if I see a better job, I might take it. Eventually, Mr. Fort will learn to fly this ship himself and he won’t need me. Plus, I like to challenge myself with new projects, learn more skills. Similar to Nikola. So this could be good-bye.”
“Forever?” Ripley gasped, and was then immediately embarrassed.
Zoya gently nodded and gave him a big hug. He awkwardly hugged her back, uncertain where to put his hands. Ripley was eternally grateful that he had cried earlier. His pride would never recover if he broke down in front of Zoya.
They ended their warm embrace and Ripley felt uncomfortable standing in silence not knowing how to say goodbye. “Well, I guess I better go find Charles and wish him good luck one more time. Have fun, Zoya. Send me letters.” He wanted to hug her again, but the moment had passed so he turned and left.
“Goodbye, Leroy. Good luck to you, as well. In everything.”
Ripley left the Nimbus with his heart pulling him back to it. “Keep walking, old chap,” he whispered to himself, chomping on the inside of his cheek to stop his face from crumpling up. His nose and eyes were burning with the desire to break down, but he wasn’t going to let that happen. Men shouldn’t cry. Even pathetic little men who were afraid of adventure. He dragged his feet through the meadow, kicking at the weeds along the way. He had to say farewell to Fort and he didn’t want to, especially now. Things had been somewhat queer between them since Anna’s visit to the hangar. Fort had been surprisingly gracious to Ripley afterwards, which was not what he had been expecting. He had anticipated a stern tongue-lashing, or maybe for Fort to throw him out of his life entirely. But strangely, Fort never mentioned any
thing about it. Now that days had passed, Ripley even let his guard down a bit. He desperately didn’t want Fort to leave, but since he couldn’t stop him, he wanted them to part on good terms, at least.
Fort was in his office compiling extra maps into leather tubes. He was busily jotting a list of what was in each tube, trying not to mix anything up. Ripley strolled in, laden with melancholy. He had no idea how he was going to say good-bye to his best friend. Especially from a trip that he may never return. There were so many dangers they were going to encounter. Even starting up the ship might end in disastrous consequences. Ripley tried to banish such thoughts from his mind and accept what he could not alter. “Even with those maps you’re still going to get lost, you know?” Ripley said with a fake chuckle in his voice.
“You’re quite likely correct. Want to be my navigator? I could use one.” There was a cold tone in Fort’s voice.
“Nice try. But even you couldn’t pay my enough to go up in that thing. I’m sorry.” Ripley noted that Envar was standing just outside the door as if on guard.
“I’m sorry, too.” Fort’s emotional distance and disappointment was obvious. He looked around his bare office. Everything useful had been packed onboard. The only remaining items were his desk with maps on it and a large empty rectangular crate with some packing blankets.
“What’s that crate for?” Ripley asked. “It looks like a casket.”
“I suppose it does…” Fort went to a drawer and pulled out a bottle. “Let’s have a drink of something nice before we part ways.”
“Yeah, let’s. I could use one, honestly,” Ripley lamented. “Seeing you all off has been harder than I thought it would be.”
Fort turned to the counter and slowly poured a couple of glasses, neat. Ripley wandered around the room aimlessly, running his hands along things. He scrunched his nose at the dust on his fingers and took out his handkerchief to wipe his hands clean.
Fort waited for him to put his kerchief back in his pocket. “Here, my good man.” Fort handed him a drink. “And a toast…”
“Here, here.” Ripley replied.
“Ripley, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had and I wish I could convey how much I want you to come with me on the adventure of a lifetime. There is no one I’d rather share it with.”
“Well, thank you, Mr. Fort. You, as well, are the best friend a man could ask for and I wish I was as bold as you are so that I could keep up with you. May you find what you’re looking for. And many safe returns.”
They clinked their glasses and took a stiff swig. Fort finished, and told Ripley to finish his so he can pour one more. Ripley tossed the remainder down, wincing at the bad flavor.
“What is that, Charles? It had an awful aftertaste. Ugh.”
“Well, maybe you won’t have another then. Why don’t you sit down … or lie down?”
“Lie down? No I’m ready to go. Envar seems like he’s waiting for something. Not to be rude, but I don’t think I can witness another ‘Voyage of the Nimbus’.” He crookedly smiled. Ripley felt a wave of warm heaviness wash over him. He looked at his hand and it moved in a segmented fashion before his eyes. Worried, he looked at Fort and mumbled, “Morf.” Ripley shook his head at his own words. “Morf,” he said again to Fort. What’s wrong with my mouth, he thought, panicked. Ripley’s eyes felt numb as a dark tunnel of vision closed in on Fort’s face. He heard his friend’s voice through a series of echoes.
“Believe me, Ripley. I’m sorry, old friend. I didn’t want it to go this way. I’m only giving you what you deserve.”
Those were the last words Leroy Ripley heard as everything faded to black and he fell lifelessly to the floor.
EPILOGUE: 1936
A small bell jingled lightly under the shelf above the watchmaker’s workbench. With surprising reflexes for a rather drunken old man, the watchmaker drew his large Colt pistol and aimed it at the window just over the journalist’s shoulder. The journalist jolted in a panic and fell sideways off his seat, landing awkwardly on the wooden floor. “Whoa! Whoa!” he screamed at the man in the wheelchair. “What are you doing? Don’t shoot me!” he said as he got off the floor and slid up the wall.
The watchmaker sat still as a statue for a few moments, scanning with his ears. His arm started to shake slightly, but remained rigidly pointed towards the window, his gun’s hammer cocked. “They’re here. Spies,” he said ominously.
The journalist hadn’t expected the old man to grow weird and paranoid after so much liquor, but perhaps he should have known better. He glanced back and forth between the dark window and the old man. “There’s no one there, sir. Why don’t you put the gun down before it goes off?”
“Why don’t you grab your hat and get outta here?” he barked back. “And don’t try and tell me what to do, either! You don’t live as long as I have without trusting your own judgement!” He then turned the gun on the journalist. “It’s you! You brought them here! You took something from one of them! Didn’t you! That’s how they follow you! I knew this would happen.”
“No. No, I didn’t bring anyone here! Or take anything. Just the gin. And the onions! I just wanted to hear the story! That’s all.” He held his hands out in front of him as he spoke. He grew very afraid of the old man with the bleary, angry eyes.
“I-I-I’ll go sir. I’m sorry for upsetting you. Please don’t shoot me.”
The old man lowered the heavy gun. “Good. Get outta here. And don’t come back, you damned fool.”
The journalist, albeit drunk, quickly rounded up his belongings and made his way to the door. He was bothered by what had transpired. As he put his hand on the door handle, he turned slowly and looked back at the old man in workshop. “Sir, I am sorry for upsetting you. I really did just want to hear your story. The story of Charles Fort, that’s all.”
“You’re too stupid to tell! Now get out!” The watchmaker turned a handle at his bench and the heavy deadbolts wickedly snapped open, startling the inebriated writer once again.
The journalist gently grabbed the door handle and opened the door. The little tintinnabulation of the golden bell above the door seemed to laugh as he slipped out the door, closing it gingerly behind him. Snap! The deadbolts slammed shut behind him and it felt like the end. How did it all go so wrong, he wondered as he weaved into the alley. When he got to the sidewalk, he stopped and leaned against the brick exterior of a building. He took out his tobacco pouch and twisted up a sad cigarette. Patting his pockets, he solemnly realized that he had neither matches nor money for a cab home. He looked down the long dark street, dreading the long stumble back to his apartment. He started to grow furious with the way the old man treated him, combined with the fact he had no matches for his smoke.
As he turned to look the other way up the street, he was startled to be facing a man a few inches away. “Gah!” he shouted and clutched at his chest.
“I’m very sorry,” the finely dressed man said. “I just noticed that perhaps you needed a light.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. That’s very kind of you. I’d appreciate that, thanks.”
The man with a sharply pointed dark goatee held out his gloved hand. “Here you go.”
The journalist took the attractive metal lighter from the stranger and marveled at its beauty. He flicked the hinged cap and drunkenly inspected it. He started to smile when he realized what it might be. “Hey Mister, is this one of those, whadda ya call it? A Snappo! Is this one of them new Snappos?”
With a slick little grin, the well-dressed man said, “Not quite, it’s a Zippo.”
“That’s it, that’s it. A Zippo! I’ve seen the adverts in the paper for them. Very nice lighter. Pretty pricey too.”
“Well, yes, I suppose it was. But fine craftsmanship always costs more.”
The journalist spun the roller with his thumb and a long stout flame appeared. “Well, would ya look at that,” he said with the sad cigarette hanging from his mouth. He put the flame to the tip of the cigarette and took a long drag before
snapping the lighter closed. He turned it over in his hand a few times, admiring the emblem on it. It was a brass disc with a dark copper arrow coming out of it.
“That’s a fine, fine lighter, Mister. Thanks. What’s the emblem?” he said as he handed it back to the dapper fellow.
“It’s an organization I work with. International affairs mostly.”
“Pretty late for a businessman such as yourself to be out, isn’t it?”
“I prefer the night air and the night sky. I like to see the stars and the planets.”
“Oh yeah?” The journalist looked up and weaved a little.
“Oh yes. You see there is Jupiter. And over there, above the taller building, that’s Mars.” He pointed in the direction of a reddish point of light. “So close and yet so very, very far away. Also, I like the quiet, when there’s not so many people. There really are far, far too many people.”
“I guess so.” The journalist knew he had long walk ahead of him and wanted to get started.
“Well, it’s been a pleasure talking with you, mister. Thanks again for the light.”
“You’re welcome. And my name is Cyrus.”
“Well, Mr. Cyrus, you seem like a very nice gentleman who’s done very well for himself.”
“I suppose I have.” Cyrus pointed to the journalist’s shoe. “I noticed your shoe is untied.”
The journalist weaved a bit as he looked down. “Figures…” he mumbled as he knelt down and tied his shoe lace. As he stood he said, “Thanks again, my name is –”
He was shocked that there was no one around and he was speaking to himself. He looked up and down the street and even peeked in the alley. But he was all alone. “What the…?” He wasn’t sure what had happened and rubbed his forehead as he started to walk in the direction of his bed. He looked back behind him again, wondering where the man went. He turned up his collar and took another deep drag of his cigarette before plunging his hands into his coat pockets for the long walk. He felt something both familiar yet unfamiliar, and slowly pulled it out of his pocket. It was the man’s Zippo lighter. The journalist could’ve sworn he gave it back, but he must have accidentally pocketed it. Oh well, he thought, it ain’t stealing if you can’t give it back. He flicked the lighter a couple of times and looked around in every direction, but he was definitely alone. So with a deep cough, a little stumble, and a profound sense of bewilderment, he began his long trek home.