Beyond the Glass

The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. It was a large, panoramic window, sealed on the edges. She could see for miles the sweeping landscape of arid mountains. It was beautiful, but it was also dead.

Occasionally she lingered just a little too long and he would look over, his head rolling slowly to the side, heavy for his frail body. His eyes, glazed over, would rest on her as she stared. Her silhouette in the window made him feel, for a moment, that he was in a world not so broken as theirs was. It made him feel, for a fraction of a second, that if he were a few years younger and just a bit stronger, he could climb out the window and run in the valleys below. But then, just as quickly, reality would come crashing back over him. He was not a few years younger. He was not a little bit stronger. And no one was ever going to be running out there again. Drowning in irritation and dismay, he would clear his throat as if to get it out, and then he would speak. Something always along the lines of:

“It’s the last one.”

Always startled, she would jump. “What do you mean?” She’d ask. But she always knew what he meant.

“The last window to the outside world. The forgotten world.”

“Oh, yes,” She would always respond- as if she didn’t know.

“Do you know why it’s forgotten?”

“Yes,” she would simply say, and that would be the end of it.

But not today.

She came into the old man’s room, her mop and duster in one hand and a large pail of soapy water in the other, and looked around. He was having a harder time breathing today. The monitor beside him beeped steadily, and she set her things down in the corner and began going around the room picking up little things that had fallen or had been left by visitors. He got many visitors- although less now. He was still considered the Leader of their world, but he was far too frail now to do much more than nod here and there during a discussion. His son was now in control. But still they came- to pay respects, to ask for favors. Still they came. And so did she, picking up behind them what was forgotten.

She straightened the pictures on the shelf and threw away the dying flowers in the vase on the table. As she worked her way around the room, she kept her head down and her hands busy. Then, as she passed by the window, she stopped. It was beautiful, but it was dead. But it was beautiful.

The old man took a deep breath to speak, but it caught in his throat and he began coughing and wheezing. She ran to his side.

“Sir, let me help you,” she said, taking the pillow and propping him up. His weak arms strained to lift the weight of his body and he shook as he tried to lift himself. She put her arms around him and pulled him up. He winced and then sighed as he settled into a more comfortable position.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, sir. Do you need anything, sir?”

She watched him as he struggled for air. His eyes were sealed shut, but as he relaxed they began to flutter open. He licked his lips, which were dry and cracked. “Some water.”

She hurried to the cabinet on the far side of the room, took a glass out, filled it, and came back. She pulled up the closest chair next to the bed and leaned in close, helping him to drink.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, sir.”

He struggled to breathe and his eyes darted from corner to corner of the dimly lit space. “If only I could get out of this stuffy old room.” She nodded sympathetically. “Get some… fresh air,” he said. Just saying the words made him breathe a little easier- as if he had a nice gulp of fresh air just by thinking of it.

“Sir, there is no such thing as fresh air.”

“Anymore.”

“Right, anymore.”

“What’s your name?” He asked. “All these years and I don’t know.”

“Charlotte.”

“Were you born before or after The End?”

“The End? Don’t you mean The Beginning, Sir?”

“Ah. You can cut the political correctness with me, young lady. We called it The Beginning to give us all a little hope amongst the death. But we all know- it was The End. And I know people still call it that sometimes, too, when they’re especially tired or angry or in need of-” he began coughing again. The fit subsided and he blinked the wetness from his eyes. “Or in need of some fresh air.

“Yes, well… I was born after The Beginning, Sir.”

“So you’ve never seen it, then? Never seen life outside these walls?”

“No, Sir, I haven’t.”

“You know why they made me leader?”

She nodded. “Yes, Sir. We learn it in history class. They made you leader because you were the one who was wise enough to build these cities for us. You saved us.”

“You want to know the real reason, Charlotte?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean, Sir.”

“They made me Leader because I was the only one who could pay for these cities. High above the flood waters and deep inside the bed of these mountains- too deep for radiation. It was an expensive project. The world was dying, but it was too stubborn to let go. Just like me. Here I am dying, and I’m too stubborn to let go.”

“Don’t talk like that, sir.”

“Ah, it’s the truth,” he said, bordering on irritation. “But you want to know another secret, Charlotte?”

“If you want to tell me, Sir.”

“The world was dying but it never did die. That’s where we’re different- me and the world. I can not be saved, but the world keeps on going.”

“I don’t understand, Sir.”

“I need to go out in it, just one more time. Just one more time…”

“There is no way out sir.”

“There is! There is!” The heart rate on his monitor began to jump.

“Don’t get too excited, Sir. Be careful.”

He laughed, but it was full of bitterness. Then he began to cry.

“I have to go out again. I have to see it again. But he won’t let me go. He won’t let me go.” She tried to console him while he cried, but he just kept crying until he fell asleep. She sat for a moment longer then stood up, watching him to be sure he was asleep. She carried on with her work.

The next day, she returned promptly at noon, as always. She came in, but he was not laying down or sleeping as he often was. He was sitting up, and for the first time since she had ever known him, he looked at least slightly alive.

“Good afternoon, Sir.”

“Hello, Charlotte.”

She set her things down. “You look well today, Sir.”

“Charlotte,” he said, very matter-of-factly. “You are aware that each year, I have the ability to write in one new law, no questions asked, aren’t you?”

“Uh… yes, Sir. I’m aware.”

“Well, this is the law I signed in yesterday. Effective as of this morning at 10 am. This is our copy.” She stood where she was, blinking. “Come take a look.”

Charlotte came over slowly, hesitant to look and yet overcome with curiosity. Her eyes lingered over his face, which was mixed with excitement and worry, and then fell slowly to the page.

“Although the breaking of windows and the exiting of the city in any way is illegal to all residents herein, an exception can be made at the sole direction of the active Leader. This direction must be provided in writing, with signature and seal.”

She looked back to him. “I don’t understand.”

“Yes, you do. This is your written direction.”

He handed her another piece of paper, signed and sealed.

“I- I don’t know, Sir. It’s not- it’s not possible! It’s dangerous!”

“Not anymore!” he exclaimed frantically. His hand reached out and grasped hers tightly, clinging to it. “I told you, the world is stubborn. It’s fighting to live and so am I. I need to be out in it again! I need to be out in it!”

“But it’s dangerous, Sir!”

“The teams- the research teams. They go out in it every day. It’s much better now. We can go!”

“I-”

“I see the way you look out the window. I see it. You want to go out in it just as badly as I do. Now is your chance. Look what I have- look. This is a very thin, adhesive line- explosive. You can follow the outline of the window with it and you can break through. Then we can go out. Then we can go!”

Without truly knowing it, her hand had lifted and her fingers caressed the explosive with such longing that she could not contain it.

“Yes, we can go!” He exclaimed. “If only you put it on the window. Put it on the window!”

She took a deep, shaking breath, and stood up, holding and unraveling the adhesive. “You say they go out in it every day?” Her mind was distant. Her body was there, but her spirit was already outside.

“Yes, every day! We can go, too!”

She turned in a daze and went up to the window. She ran the adhesive explosive along the edges of it.

“Very good. Very good! Now take this line and stick it to it. Yes, very good. Now come back here with me. Come back here with me. Light the string. Yes, light it.”

The match between her fingers came to life, a red and yellow tongue dancing on its tip. She hesitated.

“Don’t wait. Don’t lose courage,” he said. “Light it. Light it now.”

So she did. And the fire raced to the finish. She shrieked and fell to the bed and covered her ears. She looked up and the smoke began to clear. The leader, old and frail and yet bursting with the last of his hope, looked eagerly through the haze.

The old man screamed. It was not fear, but it was desperation and it was death.

Charlotte, confused, began walking towards the window. The monitor was beeping maniacally behind her and the old man went on screaming, but she heard nothing at all. Squinting, she edged closer. From the wall and the rock bed protruded wires, and sparks jumped and an image- the landscape that she watched every day for years- flickered sporadic and broken in front of her. She reached out, her fingers touching lightly, ever so lightly, the fractured monitor.

Charlotte began to scream.