Phases of Gravity

'She left yesterday for South Dakota,' said Sheila. 'She flew out late in the afternoon.' South Dakota? thought Baedecker. Then he remembered a conversation they had had in Benares many months before. 'Oh, yes,' he said. 'Her grandparents.'

'Just Memo, her grandmother, now,' said Sheila. 'Her grandfather died in January.'

'I didn't know that,' said Baedecker.

'Here's their address and everything,' said Sheila and handed him a slip of yellow paper. The handwriting on it was Maggie's. 'Hey, you want to come back to our apartment to call a cab or anything?'

'No, thanks,' said Baedecker. 'I'll call from down the street if I can't flag one down on Mass Avenue.' Impulsively he took her hand and squeezed it through the mitten. 'Thank you, Sheila.' She reached up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. 'You're welcome, Richard.'

Baedecker flew into Chicago shortly before midnight and spent a sleepless six hours in the airport Sheraton. He lay in the dark room listening to vague motel sounds and breathing motel smells and he thought about his last conversation with Scott.

Waiting with him in the Melbourne Airport near the Cape for Baedecker's co

'What's that?' asked Scott. Outside, the rain was letting up, and they could see bright sky silhouetting palm trees.

'Have you ever read John Updike's ‘Music School'?'

'No.'

Baedecker paused. 'I guess it's my favorite short story,' he said. 'Anyway, there's a place in it where the narrator says, ‘I am neither musical nor religious. Each moment I live I must press my fingers down without confidence of hearing a chord.'' Scott said nothing for half a minute. The airport PA system was busy paging people and disavowing any collusion with religious solicitors. 'So how does it end?' asked Scott.

'The story?' said Baedecker. 'Well, the narrator remembers when he was a boy going to Holy Communion and had been taught not to touch the Host with his teeth . . .'

'Uh-uh,' said Scott. 'That's not what they taught me at Saint Malachy's.'

'No,' agreed Baedecker, 'now they bake the wafer so thick that it has to be chewed. That's what the narrator decides about his life at the end of the story. I think the closing lines are — 'The World is the Host. And it must be chewed.'' Scott stared at his father for some time. Then he said, 'Have you read any of the Vedic holy books, Dad?'

'No,' said Baedecker.

'I did,' said Scott. 'I read quite a bit from them last year in India. They did-n't have much of anything to do with the stuff the Master was teaching, but somehow I think I'll remember the books longer. One of my favorite things was from the Tattireeya Upanishads. It goes — 'I am this world, and I eat this world. Who knows this, knows.'' At that moment the boarding call was a

'You take care, too, Dad,' said Scott and, ignoring the offered handshake, threw his arms around Baedecker and hugged him.

Baedecker put his hand on his son's strong back and closed his eyes.

Baedecker caught a 7:45 A.M. United flight out of O'Hare. It was bound for Seattle but had a scheduled stop in Rapid City, South Dakota, which was as close as Baedecker could get to Maggie's grandparents' ranch near Sturgis without bailing out. Tired as he was, Baedecker noticed that the aircraft was one of the new Boeing 767s. He had not flown in one before.

They served breakfast somewhere over southern Mi

'Yes?' said Baedecker and felt a stab of alarm. How did she know his name? Had something happened to Scott?

'Captain Hollister wonders if you would like to come up to the flight deck.'

'Sure,' said Baedecker and followed her forward through the first-class section with relief slowing his heart rate. He searched his memory, trying to recall if he had met an airline pilot named Hollister. He could remember no one with that name, but he did not trust his memory.

'Here you are, sir,' said the stewardess and opened the door for him. 'Thank you,' said Baedecker and stepped through.

The pilot looked up and gri

'Hope we didn't disturb your breakfast,' said Hollister. 'I noticed your name on the passenger list and just wondered if you'd like to see how our new baby here compares to your Apollo hardware.'

'My God,' said Baedecker. 'I'm amazed you made the co

'Here,' said Knutsen and released his straps. 'Have my seat, sir. I'm going back to the galley for a minute.' Baedecker thanked him and settled into the fleece-lined right seat. Except for the yoke in place of a hand-controller, the cockpit could have been a close relative of the space shuttle's. Video display terminals flashed instrument readings, lines of data, and colored maps onto three screens in front of him. A computer keyboard filled the console between Hollister and him. Baedecker looked out at the blue sky, distant horizon, and layer of clouds far below. He looked back at the pilot. 'I am surprised that you made the co

'No, sir,' said Hollister. 'But I know all of the names from the various missions and remember seeing you on television. The only thing I ever really wanted in life was to be an astronaut myself, but, well . . .' Baedecker extended his hand. 'Let's drop the sirs,' he said. 'They make me feel a little old. My name's Richard.'

'Howdy, Richard,' said Hollister as they shook hands across the computer.

Baedecker glanced at the flashing data screens and moving yoke. 'The aircraft seems to be flying itself pretty well,' he said. 'Does it let you do anything?'

'Not much,' said Hollister with a rueful laugh. 'She's a doozy, ain't she? State of the art. I can program her on the ground at O'Hare and wouldn't have to do a thing until we're setting down in Seattle. Only thing she can't do herself is lower the gear.'

'You don't actually go on full automatic like that, do you?' asked Baedecker.

Hollister shook his head. 'We argue that we need to keep our hand in, and the union supports us. The airline argues back that they bought the seven-six-seven so that the Flight Management Computer System will save money on fuel and that every time we take over manual, we piss that away. Fact is, they're right.'

'Is it fun to fly?' asked Baedecker.