Act 5

Act 5: Complications

Alee

In the Theater, dancing out the fear

that needs to leave me. It's a bright,

sunny afternoon early in the glorious

month of June, outside. In here, lights are

dim, so as not to distract me from cleansing

reverie. Jay is out and about being Jay.

She says she'll be by later, after I've had my

exercise in catharsis. She knows I want to

have this time alone, to let movement take

me, without regard for her shared space

onstage. All those too long, empty days,

I and my inner music played in dreamlike

trance. I return to that place of peace as I dance,

unattached, unaware of a world out there.

Breath attuned to limbs, feet, a whirl of

scenery from behind flickering eyes, I gift

myself to fate, as if fate cares for the autonomy

a gift implies. It's been a swirl of activity, these

weeks, this invigorating Spring, filled with

surprises. I can't pretend to have had a hand in

what has occurred. More like I was overtaken by

forces beyond my understanding, beyond explanation

or experience of any of our family. Of course I

always enjoyed the appreciation of audience, large

or intimate.  I like that people like my presence,

my happy attitude they say I exude to bring them

uplifting. I know I am overly self-involved. I try to

provide balance by focusing on dispersing those

shareable qualities people respond to by smiling,

when appropriate, applause. A sense of emotional

balance is far from my current situation. The relief

I dispense is not from my talents, experience, nature.

There is an unsolved, maybe unsolvable, mystery

at work, creating this vital service it manifests through

me. I feel this euphoric spirit fill every bit of my being,

demanding I act, connect, allow it forward expression

to join that healing power it infuses with the person 

in need. This blissful blessing seems to invigorate, give

me sacred energy, not of my own. No surprise, I guess,

that once it has passed through me to fulfill its purpose,

I am left drained. At first recovery occurred quickly.

Dory took longer than Barbara because the interval 

between was so short. It seemed like as long as I had

adequate time to rest, sleep I could continue to give

what this spirit sought from our arrangement. But

the twin calls of people's needs and my own growing

addiction to the processes' euphoric effect made it feel

impossible to keep to a healthful schedule, to keep me

whole, well rested, properly restored. And now it has all

snowballed. Everyone's buzzing the word of my results

that cured their neighbors, gave renewal to people

struck down by illness the Clinic was helpless to defeat.

They seem to think I somehow owe this healing to those

they know who could benefit. They show no compassion

when I or my family explain my dilemma of fatigue.

My natural inclination is to help, but that is less of an

option, now that the necessary spark of energy, that which

allows the spirit to emerge, that must come from me,

has been exhausted, at least at this time. Bobby and Cas

have started talking with people they know to be

reasonable, civically astute, who know and trust them.

They will figure out what to do, plan a Stakeholders'

Meeting at the Theater. Thus, we will soon have the

chance to state the facts of the case, answer questions,

assure all that our goals are the same. I am not withholding

a boon for some nefarious motivation. I am, as always,

doing what I can to improve our community with the

abilities I possess. These people have known me, in their

midst for so many years.  Yes, I was to their eyes gone for

quite a while, perhaps forgotten by some for whom I had

been but another youngster. Yet, I have been back these

weeks, in which I have done everything asked of me,

healed their friends, family members, when that talent

manifested, with no question or demand. Here I am, the

Alee many have claimed to love, appreciate, not some 

stranger they might fear to trust. Or, if I am not someone

well remembered, our whole family is well known to be

good folk. Bobby plays with exuberance at parties public

and private. Bonnie treats your wounds. Marta works and

works, demanding science provide better Garden seeds,

techniques to feed us all with improved means of production,

distribution, that we have greater opportunities to thrive.

Our Stakeholder selected Mayor, Paul is always looking out

for all of us. Every day he makes his rounds to check out if

anyone has issues to be solved. Jamee spreads amusement,

his lilting flute, peaceable presence, eagerness to be everyone's 

helpful friend, join with good humor in executing whatever

chore is being currently addressed. In any situation, he is

an excellent listener, one who makes us feel heard, cherished.

And all the rest of us, interactive in daily occupations, well

meaning neighbors, happy to lend a hand, an ear, a musical

interlude, to grace our common space with our creativity,

intelligence, good will. I don't recall their ever arising a

contretemps between our clan and anyone else. Jay has

arrived as promised. She hugs my swirling form from

behind, smiles, suggests, her voice caresses me with loving

kindness, we get back to the apt that I may take in

nourishment, sleep, be at peace.

Jamee

People can be surprisingly kind, reasonable, when given

reason to be so. My friends came through for us in the end,

not just sympathetic, but what friends ideally are. Alee,

Cas and I gave our testimony, shared our plight

forthrightly, with kind regard against the animosity of

some, perhaps among those who don't know us well.

There were questions from some of those, spit out as

though a weapon of hostility. They were more than

balanced by people who needed greater clarity to

understand their options, our positions, how it could

be possible for everyone to win. After all, until this recent

seeming miracle, Alee's emergent skill provided, we had

contended with these illnesses in a state of hopelessness.

We, our family, among those afflicted, resigned to never

have Alee as we had known her again. Our friends

remember our suffering. After all, it was not long ago,

but up until very recently. We have no way of knowing

how her miraculous recovery occurred for us, or

subsequently those now cured by Alee's intervention.

We have no interest, nor cause to keep this healing from 

them. We are all in this together, visited by a mystery

that appears to mean us well. There is no reason for

animosity, no foe to retaliate against. Rather, we ought

to be engaging in reverent celebration of the happy change

we witness in those thought lost, the further possibilities

if only we show patience toward one recently recovered 

woman who is doing all she can. She is no benevolent

deity of unending power. She is our Alee, a bright sprite

of a girl, who used to twirl about, shining like an

emissary of the Sun. My beloved sister, a solid friend

to many here, how could you doubt her? Gossip only

tells a condensed, if possible shocking, part of the truth.

To get to the same page, we engage in conversations,

each to express our questions, what we feel, suggestions

to progress beyond private fears, public misconceptions.

I lie here in the quiet of night, while everyone else

appears to be asleep, thinking over what has transpired,

but hours since. Alee seems less agitated, more secure,

as do we all. We, the community, have agreed to wait

and see how Alee's power fluctuates, how we, together

may best figure out what she can manage, what duration

between healing sessions allows her enough rest. Yes,

those few sour complainers continue, as is their

annoying nature. They are not about to change who they

are. More and more, though, surprisingly I find,

generally people are essentially kind when not responding

to the challenge of hostility. Some amazing few even

rise above the sounds of fury, kindness shining through

their wise, abiding eyes. Cas is like that. His calm, peaceful

demeanor, enhanced by his constant meditation practice,

but his from the start, never seems to leave him, no matter

the provocation. I know he feels pain, in body, mind,

spirit, as appropriate to the exigencies of reality. Still,

he holds those feelings under the control of his greater

motivation to provide a continuity of grace that emerges

from his essential core. His perception of what life is for

is far different from mine. I can't say I understand how

he is as he is. Each of us siblings exudes our own natural

talents, passions. Better together, to share what we have on

offer, to expand our combined hearts, the whole enhancing

the parts. Feeling this through, I am gladdened, blessed with

exhilaration that releases, replaces, fear and sadness with

peaceful somnolence. Paul gently moves in his sleep, beside

me. I feel the safe presence of those I most love surround,

This soothing bliss I've found for now to carry me into

tomorrow's adventures, takes me into easy dreams, even

breath, musical interlude.

Cas

I sit in contemplation, calm, focused, after

my regular, daily, formal meditation. Of course,

my flow of activities are each their own meditative

practice.  Bonnie has passion, to ease the ravages

of disease, heal injuries, generally do as she can

to promote a well community. She feels driven by

a self-imposed destiny, in honor of her long deceased

sisters, her formative disaster, her family's legacy of

pain, dissolution.  Her passion does not bring her

peace; that is mine, to help those within my influence

to find their peaceful place, ease their minds when

issues agitate and keep them from the calm focus

needed, to ameliorate, sooth, solve, move beyond.

Today I contemplate our neighbors' recent

deliberations, their change in attitude after clear

communication. From outraged fear to mellowed

sense, people get roused, overwhelmed, when

triggered with emotional manipulation, not 

necessarily derived from some foul motivation,

more usually coming from their own unthinking

reactions to what goes around, surrounds as 

ambient contagious panic, sadness, celebration,

dedication to rational consideration, whatever the

currents demand. Always I do what I can to counter

turbulence with balance, to encourage stronger

attention to their core of reason, amiable relationship,

kindly automatic default. People often say my presence

gives temporary pause in jumbling thoughts, enjoyable

feelings of peace, lightness, a moment of gentle clarity.

If only such a moment would expand into a constancy

of lasting revelation, a self-companionship that reminds

us who we are, how we ideally prefer to live. Yet even

within my intimate family, consistent recipients of my

influence, my concern, they don't, for the most part, 

exemplify emotional control. They fall into each their 

own well traveled patterns of effusions, immediate 

enthusiasms, unfounded barriers of fears, unbound 

intense reactions when unresolved traumas are triggered. 

My joyful service, ever renewed blessing to my evolving

consciousness, does not falter nor get bogged down

in thoughts of fault, impatience with human

imperfections. These fluctuations of temperament,

moods, instigations to dismay, deny best acts, in

favor of retaliations or self-flagellations, are not foes,

but friends to show me the infinite, intricate

machinations, why I've been gifted this precious

conscious humanity. As Fate reveals her patterns,

day by day, I stand amazed.

Bonnie

Another of those sparkling days outside. This

Spring has been full of them, cloudless sunshine,

merry breezes, birds and bees abuzz, singing.

I thoroughly basked in that pleasant scene, before

starting my shift at the Clinic. Right now is a

quiet interlude, no emergencies or planned

examinations, procedures. I can reflect, let my

thoughts wander. I like to think things through,

extract any nuggets of truth, follow streams of

information gathered into questions, investigations,

what may become the basis of new treatments,

improvements of what we have learned to do

to keep our neighbors well. I always feel so

inadequate, letting people down who have

sought me out to relieve their suffering, when

what I know to do is not enough. Now, more and

more when that occurs, I am asked if Alee could

be their cure. At first I would bring them together,

when only very few presented with such pleas.

These past several days, since the gossip has

permeated, I am forced to face all of these in

need with no easy answer. Alee's degenerative

fatigue goes unabated despite her attempts at

restorative rest. I have no idea how best to treat

her, either. At home, buffered by Cas' s soothing

company, I release these anxieties. When we met,

as teens working out our identities, I immediately

realized, while I am clearly quite intelligent, he

is wise, has always been so, well beyond his years,

even as a child. Though he is years younger than me,

I knew back then, when first acquainted, becoming

intensely solid friends, I needed his wisdom to be

complete, to reach my best me. Every day we spend

together proves that again. Of what use would my

fine mentality be if undermined constantly by deeply

held fears, demanding panic of inadequacy, without

the calming tools he provides for me to use as needed?

My life is so blessed, yet still I easily fall into a kind of

depression when too tired to think clearly. I surmise

Alee's debilitating tiredness, with the added pressure

of knowing there are those desperate for her aid, feels

like more than she can bear. All of these miraculous

happenings, with Alee at their center, perhaps the next

chapter will allow her to regain, even to a greater

extent, energy enough to cure all of those who now

suffer without recourse from diseases for which we 

at the Clinic have exhausted our known treatments.

Cas assures that the Universe is moving as it should

to insure the ascendancy of good, that we can trust this

guiding light of truth to reach us. I don't know what

this, hopefully beneficial, Universe wants from me.

My best plan, I think, is to follow my heart and reason

where they lead.

Camille

The day Alee rewoke, by chance my birthday, I

gave myself a party/art show, presented my work

and some from promising students. Yes, that night

we had a grand family celebration, though not

for my new year. I am truly grateful, unusually

happy for me as previously, now all these years

of having family. Back then, these people welcomed

this unruly stranger on Bobby's word, when we

were teens in love. He rescued me from my demons,

gave me more than a home, a chance to grow into

a much better me. Though he insisted I made the

greater gift to him, of purpose and partnership.

A far from ambitious middle child, among such

intense company his family provided, he felt he

drifted from one pleasant scene to the next. In

music he found a relaxing, if often loud and

evoking perspiration, occupation for much of

his time, passed on from his encouraging father's

influence, how he learned to be himself. I

never took issue, was in full agreement, about

naming our children for his grappa, and later

dad, in our bereavement, each in their turn.

I was sad with him, with all of them, glad for

this symbol to give in remembrance. I see

them as my heroes, who were the first to show

me how a family can work together, after having

basically raised myself. I've had great sympathy

for Jay, in some ways similar to me, in escaping

a miserable home. Though she has been less on

her own with Alee's companionship from 

childhood, and the wonderful homelife she was

able to share, as Bobby gave me, but much

earlier in their journey. Long before I became

their extended sister, I would notice those two,

mischievous, elated kids, about the Mart and

here and there, engaged in their imaginary

adventures, later organized as plays for

theatrical endeavors with their acquired

thespian flock. I would often see Jay without

her alter ego when she visited her sisters, then

my apt mates, and her father who resided 

next door. I knew their family history pretty

well, from Rebecca and Gwen's sneering

recollections. At least my mom left me out of

her miseries, dying when I was so young, but

Gramma Carolyn more than made up for her

reprieve. Barbara, their mom, was well known

for being crazy and mean. During the years when

their dad, Mal, was still able to deal, apparently

she seemed more stable, though not enough for

him to stick it out forever. When he left, Gwen

and Rebecca, the oldest two of the sisters, were,

though children, old enough to be aware, share a 

plan to get out when they could. We met during

that escape process for all of us, as teens. My

acquaintance with Jay helped me to see Bobby

as more than some younger than us good time

kid. His being younger never mattered once we 

became friends, then hot lusting teen lovers.

Once we knew we were us, we moved in with

Cas and Bonnie, Gramma Liz and Grappa Dan.

To the extent we could, we helped out with the

old folks' care. Secure in this arrangement, I

settled down into figuring out how to make

my art a popular commodity, even build an

art community, dreams I could realize bit by

bit. And, after years of patient work, here we are,

the strong central part of an artistic guild. My

days filled with busy activities, finding potential

customers for work displayed at the Mart and

arranging shows, accepting commissions, creating

and teaching classes. I am awash in passing 

conversations, neighborly chatter, the buzz of

gossip, that cements community commerce.

 These days the main buzz concerns my family.

People learned, from the meeting, or the

pervasively circulating word, of Alee's

inability to continue her healing of those in

need. The prevalent demeanor suggests they are

willing to be sympathetic, but wonder how long

it will be necessary to wait for her recovery. 

People generally don't like to be patient, though

they know at times they must put up with delays.

People prefer their demands met quickly, then

on to the next. Alee, sadly, despite her recent

emphasis on rest, seems slow to progress. She

appears to be falling toward depression, unlike

the Alee we all expect. We had been overjoyed to

have her returned to us well and energized. 

We have been wary, but happy to accept when

she evidenced this beneficent gift of Fortune.

Those amazed days now fade into apprehension,

growing tension through our surrounding

atmosphere. I gravely hope we may again find

happy blessing, our nurturing clan able to devise

an efficacious plan that creates better futures for

all concerned.

Jay

 

I sit in this low-lit theater, cool due to climate

control, in contrast to warmer climes outside

in the afternoon sunshine. I watch Alee trance,

dance as her body commands, her mind clearly

elsewhere. She has confided she has reason to

believe she can find that deep, deep core of

healing energy, re-light it, make it roar once

more, that she might extend it into those in

need. I do sincerely hope this intuition speaks

truth, that she is re-gifted that agency before

its absence consumes her, as I see it already

does in the sense of growing desperation. 

Dance seems to sooth her, at least in the

moment. All she seems to desire to do is this

trancing out here, or sleep for the dreams,

the peace. In-between she agrees to nutrition,

brief conversation. It is better than when she

barely existed, but terrifying us that she might

get lost again. Those years I learned to depend

on myself, discover resourcefulness built from

early experience, when despite our houseful

of sisters, I was alone. I think my siblings held

it against me that Dad, their buffer from our

horrible mother, left when I, the youngest, was

too young to remember a better home. 

Fortunately, but a few years later, Alee and

I combined. I was able to remove myself to

her wonderful world, welcoming kin. Though

I know I am still welcome, without her to anchor

me, I drifted into random activities with friends

from our theater flock that missed her too, yet

without the immediacy of grieving family so

I could remove myself from that greater, 

escalating pain. We from outside got to

grieve together, find mending, fall into this

new reality, different enough to be ours

without her inspiring charm. My solo

performances, on and off stage, allowed me

to hide behind the part I played. That inner

place where I kept what consciously would

mis-serve me to dwell upon, gave me instead

fantasies to share with the flock. I continued

as a back-up cook for Gus, along with two

of my sisters, and others, but cut back my

front fill-in hours without Alee to give me

reason of her company to continue as before.

I kept up my time committed to the Pantry/

Kitchen, and bringing meals to the disabled

because it felt good to bask in community

spirit, to speak with these fascinating people,

whose stories I could mingle with mine in

that mental factory producing scripts to

perform. Of course, now the background 

conditions have changed. Our world is abuzz

about Alee, her strange journey, how it will

continue to progress, if in the end our friend

will be the sort of savior our neighbors hope

for, or if that miraculous glimpse is all we get.

She dances on our familiar stage until ready

to go home for dinner and bed. I am truly

glad to have yet this much of her still left

to notice we who love her, respond to our

concerns and affection, what the affliction

of her addiction, denial of her drug and

the continued execution of her mission,

 has left us, but a small retention of what

we had believed to be re-found.

Sophia

 

What a beautiful early June late afternoon. My 

School day done, while Marta works away,

I take a perambulation, lazy, easy, onto the

well-worn path NorthWest of the Towers,

beside the River, almost touching the Forest.

I watch the River flow a while, feel the fragrant

breeze that wafts through blooming trees, the

brilliant Garden flowers to my immediate

South, hugging the path, then down over

plants and paths, seeming forever. A bright

blanket of later Spring growth both soothes

and excites my eyes. My thoughts wander,

along with my feet, which unconsciously lead

me. I get caught up in the fantasies of how I

surmise this place would have been in previous

times, as my research suggests. I always love

listening to the stories elicited from elders with

long memories. Often they have records of sorts,

left by those once older, now gone. My history

studies, back when I was a City child, helped me

to develop a structure on which to build a picture

of this land before, long before, I arrived. The site

of the City was discovered, repurposed, by

survivors of a world wide climate holocaust.

Our Uppers, their descendants, and perhaps even

some old timers themselves, thanks to their life

extension practices, are proud of these 

accomplishments that produced a new beginning,

giving no credit to the Lowers, servants, who 

actually did the work. Many of them tend to be 

horribly arrogant, entitled, humorless when it comes 

to their prerogatives. They expect unquestioned

obedience and admiration, supplication as if toward

gods, from we they consider beneath them. Jealous

enough of their inherent superiority, they demand

clear understanding that their enhanced power will

not tolerate dissent or less than expected behavior.

When incensed by Lowers who annoy them, those

miscreants get relegated across the River, banned

from City advantages.  Not at risk for this exile,

the merely indigent, unable to work for the necessary 

creds to pay their way. Such unfortunates, to remove

the blight of their existence from public sight, were

sent to a dormitory facility, dubbed the Poor Dorm,

far enough NorthWest of centers of activity, to never 

enter our thoughts. Over the past less than two centuries, 

changes have occurred, not imagined at the founding 

of our society. The class divisions remain. The rest of

us live at the pleasure of our betters. Utmost loyalty

is assured by unabated surveillance, everywhere in

the City, where AI senses never sleep. Because the

Barro was created to distance the disloyal or

otherwise vexing from Upper interest, such spies

were not employed here, except for the Compound,

under City control for those transplanted to fill

certain vocations. Separated from Barro interference

by an opaque high tech fence, rendering this City

outpost invisible, off limits to those not City raised

and in good graces. Over Barro history, various Uppers,

individually or in concert, out of concern based in

boredom, found use for this newly forming society,

in their endless quest for entertainment, to produce

projects, experiments, gave themselves praise for such 

proof of their humane intentions. Then there is the

Factory to our South and East, beyond where most

Barro people tend to conduct their affairs, except, of

course, during their hours working there. I guess, these

jobs were to some extent meant to repay Upper largesse,

though they also agreed on the need for encouragement

with good wages (at least for this economy) for hard

labor that supplies energy to everyone's benefit. The

Clinic, originally conceived to birth and grow healthy

potential soldiers, became a means to satisfy curiosities,

to see how we learned to manage our medical issues

with the limited skills education and materials they

allow. Meds must be trained at Uni, separated from

everyone else for that duration, only exposed to 

pretty much 20th century methods, to keep these

exiles and their descendants from advancing too far. 

The Com, Community Center, which includes the

School, the Theater, studios, rehearsal rooms, labs

with appropriate equipment, and other amenities,

was part of a master scheme a bunch of culturally

motivated Uppers devised to find talented "pearls"

through observing students learn from the provided

basic education. Later, over the many decades, 

other diverse projects of community involvement 

evolved. Eventually the Store was set up, a space for

entrepreneurial Lowers to sell approved City made 

goods, once the Factory workers had creds to spare 

for such luxuries. A much older institution, more 

important for Upper comfort were the Jails, in the 

subbasements of the Towers. The whole Tower 

complex may have grown from that initial idea. 

Not happy to have dangerous Lowers in their midst 

when violence erupted, the Uppers felt it best to send 

such across the River, not as mere exiles, but confined 

to below ground cages. Once the idea of building 

structures to that end became commonly discussed, 

some who had interest in social engineering 

envisioned the Tower complex as housing for the 

populace. Despite adherence to a policy of disinterest,

City representatives have, in certain instances, 

greatly interfered with Barro development. My 

rambling imaginings have taken me rather far to the 

East along the path between Forest and Gardens. 

I start to hear and see festivities from the Fire Pit, 

where people often like to gather for outdoor parties, 

far enough away from the center of community 

activities, that partiers can pretend this space more 

private sanctuary than it really is. I begin to retrace 

steps, head toward home. We have all been worried 

about Alee's struggle to regain her special energy. She 

seems barely there, not so severe as when she could 

hardly move, do much of anything. She moves, dances 

at the Theater for hours. She speaks, asks our advice 

within rants about how she can practically feel her 

power's source deep inside, getting ready to re-light. 

She eats meals with us, nutrition to build her strength. 

She is here, but not completely, not the Alee we had 

such hope for when she awoke from those years of 

bare existence, showed us our friend, our sister, again, 

for that precious while. Maybe she is right, her power 

will re-light, she will once more be restored.

Custer

They say I'm arrogant, as if a sin. How am I

different from them. Raised to my elevated station,

I am who I have been made. That is not, though,

the arrogance they object to. It is my supercilious

stance in their regard, in their midst. I am a man

who knows my value. Too highly intelligent to

put up with fools, hypocrites, shallow thinkers,

absence of refined aesthetic taste. With the

abundance of time I have arranged through

science, and not bothering with social

engagements, I am able to reflect, subject my

precious mind to all kinds of knowledge,

subtleties. I cannot respect those who merely

flitter, fritter away endless days based on

nothing more than random pleasure. Yet, I

am the one punished for my eccentricity of

demanding meaningful existence, by a kind

of exile from my social peers. In an effort to 

understand my fellows, their attitudes toward 

me, I voraciously studied human psychology. 

I see, these so-called elite Uppers, for the most 

part, do not have sufficient personal worth to garner 

the attention necessary for power.  Their unlimited

wealth does.  It influences the behaviors of those 

who hope for a boon, or get terrorized by mercenaries 

working for elevated wages.  For me, with all that 

wealth also at my disposal, they offer no incentive to 

alter my ways for their approval. Small minds, easily 

swayed by fashion or temporary fidelities, not worth 

my time or persuasive abilities. Over and over, in all 

these years, I have tried so desperately to find

those of fellow feeling, of thriving intellect, a mind

and psyche I can easily relate to. I have dabbled

in romances that always seem to miss the point.

How can I join in intimacy without there being

a meeting of truths, yearning searches for clarity

of purpose, stimulating conversations, moments of

pure devotion, unadulterated emotions, not so far

evident within the scope of those I have known.

I don't know how it took me so long to give up hope

of satisfactory companionship. I suppose my abject

loneliness to be at fault. Despite what I have been

denied, I do enjoy my solitude. Independent

physical activities, like long River swims, Forest

hikes, a great diversity of exercise as each previous

palls, keep me fit. I am well versed, have immersed

my astute senses in glorious art, from ancient primitive

expressions, through every era's most exquisite

representatives. Visual, musical, tactile, odors ordered

to deliver stories by curated scent memory, ambrosial

flavors, my well-honed tastes lead me to some ephemeral

intimation of ecstasy -- a sacred release from human

limitations into a purer realm. Yet, here where I reside

can feel like a sort of purgatory, where my abiding,

even at times exciting activities won't provide fulfillment

of my greatest desire. I have wandered lonely, through 

what seems to be my destiny, losing any hope of relief.

Because I am a monumentally stupid fool, it has taken

so many precious decades to figure out my solution.

Yes, I have participated in our people's technologies,

practices that extend our youthful days for decades,

maybe, ultimately, centuries. Several decades past my

first century myself, I maintain my appearance and 

energy from my physical peak. My strength, stamina, 

have never waned. I know there are many of us Uppers 

who have invested in progeny, descendants, increasing 

their genetic line, with the precaution of testing for 

unfortunate hereditary traits, or just deciding on the

child they would prefer with genetic editing. Why 

should I not take advantage of our techno-knowledge, 

not for my next generation, but to arrange for a mate 

who meets my idiosyncratic specifications? For several 

years, then, I found great pleasure in essentially 

blueprinting my bride to be. She must, of course, be 

lovely, in every dimension. Her intelligence must shine, 

at least equal to mine. Her artistic sensibilities need to 

be superb, perhaps selecting for ancestry with strong 

creativity and grace. I put out search for such 

characteristics, once I decided clearly what they 

ought be. My embryos thus formed were subjected 

to all the tests and refinements I considered necessary. 

Of course, once thus bred and born, my darling must 

be provided appropriate education to stimulate her

intellect, expose her to the finest beauty, sublime

experience, fodder for her expressive nature to 

blossom. I named her Angeleen, my angel of

Earthly creation. Throughout her childhood, 

as she grew into an amazingly beautiful and 

cultured woman, I often visited. Though vastly 

distanced in age, we developed an easy rapport,

a real friendship, based on mutual admiration, 

binding love. My plan advanced marvelously. 

After she was fully grown, fully prepared, we wed. 

Our ceremony was magical, sweet, beautiful as she.

We fell into our happy routine, domestic bliss.

At long, long last, I have my realized dream, my 

beloved life companion, to fulfill my forward

days. No more to feel alone, unwanted by those

petty folks who spoil my solitude with nothing

to offer but annoyance. See, all of you who thought

me unlovable never knew who I could be with

appropriate motivation. All was going so well. Then,

suddenly, tragically, my angel turned ill. It was as

if she were taken from me, lying so still as if barely

living. Our vaunted Upper technology, modern

medical knowledge, had no answers, no cure.

How could this be happening to me, to us, after

all my machinations toward relief from my previous

misery? There appears to be not even anyone to

blame, to castigate, as if that would in any sense

make this situation better. Yet, at least such angry

retribution would act as distraction, temporarily,

from despair. I have never been aware of any divine

being out there, to hear prayer, offer surcease of

suffering. Still, I am willing to try anything in my

desperation for my love's recovery, for our blissful

existence to resume. Day by day, now, I watch over

her nearly inert form. Occasionally she has been able

to speak, with difficulty, lets me know her mind persists

despite her long silences. I gaze upon her beautiful face,

making useless wishes. There is no other here to share

my lamentations, to offer caring succor. Servants,

only at my call for their generous pay, know to stay

out of my way as I contend with this special brand of

grief for one still present, but not. What will become of

my silly, stupid story, a destiny of bitterness, unabated

rage against cruel fates?