By Douglas W. Bowers

Tom Bernhardt was puzzled when he first received the invitation from Dr. Conners, but subsequent phone calls eased his mind. Tom had been at the University for only a few months, but his reputation working with the Department of Defense earned him and his family an evening with the chair of the Physics Department. The dinner would be a working session, but his family would be entertained in the professor’s luxurious mansion while they hashed out an issue Dr. Conners was having with one of his articles.

Emily did not want to go. Neither did their son, Greg. But Mrs. Conners promised they would enjoy themselves, and Emily understood what it would mean for Tom if she declined the offer. It was only one evening, and it would be nice to see how the other half lived. Her red dress that evening was only slightly darker than her orange-red hair. Still, she felt like taking a valium or something to calm her as their Honda Accord pulled through a steel gate and into the Conners’ driveway. They sat looking at a three-story brownstone with slate shingles through the windshield. The garage protruded from the left side of the home as if it were an afterthought. On the right side was a glass room with a grand piano, though that could barely be seen from their distance. “This is too much, Tom. Does Dr. Conners have any children?”

“Nope. Never had time, he says.”

“How can two people occupy that monster of a house?”

“He does have a couple of dogs, and a lot of books.” He meant it as a joke but could not muster up a chuckle, or even a smile. Emily held onto his hand and squeezed gently.

“What am I afraid of, Tom? Why does every red flag in my body wave?”

“I can take us home right now, if you want.”

She took a moment looking at the house in front of them. “No, this is important to your career. The university is better than working for the government, even if it does mean you have to schmooze your way through the political maze.” She glanced back at Greg. He looked very cute in his sweater vest and khakis. His hair, which she had spent twenty minutes drying and combing, had already returned to a semi-mop state. She didn’t know if her own feelings were masking what she was seeing, but it looked to her that Greg’s mood was somber as well. He stared at the floor of the car and let his sippy cup fall onto the seat. “Greg, honey? Are you feeling okay?”

He glanced up at her. “Yeah, but Billy and Mark are going to play on the trampoline.” Maybe that’s all it was.

All three got out of the car, and the two adults mustered up smiles on their way to the front door. Tom’s only gray suit was made for a trimmer version of himself many years ago. He felt that if he moved too fast the seams would betray him. The gate closed behind them, committing them to the evening. The doorbell was three chords, rather than single-note chimes, in a minor key. Not exactly gothic, but not a cheery sound either. The door opened to a smiling, middle-aged woman with a stalky build, though she did not look unfit. “Doctor Bernhardt, how nice to meet you!”

“Uh, it’s just mister, or Tom. I never strayed past the master’s level.”

“Doctor…mister…titles mean little in our house. Come in, come in! You must be Mrs. Bernhardt.”

“Emily, please. What a beautiful house you have!”

“It’s way too big for us. I keep telling Gerald that. He doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t have to clean it.” She giggled. Textbook conversation, Tom thought. As the Bernhardts passed the threshold, Dr. Conners came down the stairs with a warm smile.

“Is she complaining about the cleaning of this house again?” Dr. Conners was a tallish man with a thin layer of dark, gray hair only around the edges of his shiny dome. A very slight accent bracketed his question, but Tom could never identify the nationality. He was either waiting halfway up the stairs or they had rehearsed this greeting, Tom thought.

“I’d complain, too,” Tom replied.

“Sure, take her side. Come into the dining area. I have coffee, tea, and some punch for the little one.”

“Great, coffee sounds wonderful.”

“He’ll have tea,” Emily interjected. “It’s much too late for caffeine.”

“Great minds think alike. Our coffee is decaffeinated. Evelyn, lead the way, would you dear?” Emily and Tom looked at each other. Everything felt staged. But Tom could not imagine why anyone would need to play an act for him and his family.

The conversation remained at a casual level, and Greg drank his punch slowly. After minor comments on the current events of the day, Dr. Conners suggested that the men part company with the women so that they could talk about his article and the issue that Dr. Conners couldn’t seem to negotiate. “Afterwards, we will meet here in, say, two hours for supper? Evelyn will show Emily and Greg around and has some activities that I trust will help the time go fast for them. Come, come!” He patted Tom on the shoulder to punctuate each “come” and led him up the stairs.

“So what is this paper you are working on, Dr. Conners?”

“It’s partially outside my field, but I’m taking a chance on it anyway. It is about the ethics of modern warfare. The physics is the easy part for me. Kill radii, targeting trajectories, chemical compositions, those are no problem for me. I have consulted with a chemist on pieces as well, though I have a bachelor’s in chemistry.”

“So you need my help with ethics?”

“In a way. Your efforts in the war a couple of years ago are intriguing to me. I’m trying to recreate the stress you felt designing your missiles knowing how they would be used. I want us to build a missile ourselves…only on paper, of course. Maybe we should start with that.”

“I’ll help in whatever way I can, Dr. Conners, but the emotional aspect is complicated. I had to come to peace with what I was doing.”

“Yes, I’m sure you did.” Was that accusatory? “But I think you’ll be most helpful to my work. Trust me.” The professor led Tom up to the third floor. Only two rooms and a half-bath populated the upper level. One was a large library with just about every science category available, and a small philosophy and religion section on one wall. The other room was a laboratory with reading chairs, desks, lab tables with Bunsen burners, white boards, and a chemical closet. “The top of the house is the brain. When I am up here, Evelyn knows not to disturb me.”

“I have to say, I’m a little jealous.” This was a lie. Tom preferred to keep his home and work lives as separate as possible. “How long have you been teaching?”

“Nearly twenty years. I took some time off here and there…the wonderful thing about being a tenured professor!”

“I have a ways to go before that.”

“You should look into getting that Ph.D., young man.”

“On my list. What did you do before teaching?”

“Cleaned shitters. I did whatever I could to support my way through the higher learning model. They don’t make it easy.”

“No. That’s why I took a job with the government first.”

“You must do what you must do, right?”

“Something like that. So what kind of bomb are we gonna build?”

“Yes, you like the bombs, eh?”

“I like the sound they make.” A jib, but Tom wasn’t sure the professor took it that way.

“Then let’s get to it.” The two men sat down and began plotting their bomb. They discussed how far the imaginary target was from the launch site and various propulsion methods. They talked about how many people they wanted to kill and how many they wanted to wound. They discussed advantages to leaving buildings in tact vs. just destroying everything. Several times during the planning stages, Dr. Conners reminded Tom that he was supposed to be imagining that there would be real casualties.

“I gotta tell you Dr. Conners, that’s hard for me to do. After designing so many bombs that would really result it real deaths, this exercise doesn’t hit any of my emotional buttons.”

“Then imagine this is something more meaningful to you. Imagine this bomb is vital to the survival of the country, but that you knew it would destroy Emily and little Gregory in the process. Forget about any hero’s notion you might have to sabotage the bomb, I’m trying to draw your emotions out, so imagine that you are in some situation where you continue to build the bomb in spite of the sacrifice it requires.” Tom looked at him for a few seconds. Something in the way Dr. Conners spoke to him really disturbed him.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll do it that way.” Tom did feel differently as he worked on his formulas and discussed possibilities. After nearly two hours had passed, Tom was looking forward to rejoining Emily and Greg for supper. “Should we take a break and see if the others are ready to eat?”

“That won’t be a problem. I believe Evelyn can sup with your family and give us a chance to discuss what we have been doing. You don’t mind going a little while longer without them, do you?” Tom did mind. “Evelyn will bring our food up to us so that we can review. I hope you are okay with this arrangement. I’m afraid that the feelings you had while making the bomb will change if we took a break and allowed you to spend time with the family you are pretending to kill.” Tom froze for a second. He understood that the hierarchy at a university sometimes required pleasing the whims of ranking professors, but Dr. Conners had obviously lied to him earlier about meeting up with there wives and Greg for supper. He nodded once. “Excellent! I promise you will be with your family soon.” He picked up the receiver to a phone that had no buttons. “Evelyn, dear, can you bring up two plates for us nerds? Wonderful. And how are the other Bernhardts doing? Splended.” He hung up the phone. “Gregory has taken a liking to a video game we have on a large television screen. Your wife has formed a nice bond with mine and will eat downstairs.” Tom’s stomach started to squirm.

“This exercise is interesting,” Tom lied. “When I was designing my lethalities for the war, I really had to take a step back. I didn’t feel for the victims. But thinking of my wife and son…that’s a different story.”

“So you never thought of any soul as you designed your bombs?”

“Honestly, no. I couldn’t. I’m not a violent man. I was bullied a lot as a kid. To this day, the thought of being confronted by someone who would want to hurt me makes me queezy. How could I build a bomb if I thought about the victims? I designed them from a purely theoretical stance.”

“So you don’t feel responsible for those people killed by your bombs?”

Tom considered this before speaking. “No. Honestly, I do not.”

“But you knew people would take your work and kill others with it.”

“That’s too much of a stretch. Yes there are wars in this world, and yes the United States kills people. You pay taxes, right?” Dr. Conners stared blankly back at Tom. “You see where I’m going with this. Your tax dollars build bombs. Hell, they paid my salary.”

“I don’t want to pay taxes and would avoid them if I could.”

“But you can’t. And you like living this lifestyle with your brain rooms all the way up at the top of this beautiful house. You profit off of the same system that requires you and others to pay taxes, which in turn builds bombs that kill people.” Tom felt he was on the beginning of a roll when the door opened.

“Dinner is served!” Evelyn wheeled in a cart with a meat entre, several sides, and dessert. A bottle of red wine with a label he could not read was uncorked and breathing. Dr. Conners’ smile returned.

“My that smells good, Darling!” Tom agreed. He had never smelled that flavor before.

“Mmm. What is that?”

“This is a delicacy from my home village. It is an animal similar to the water buffalo. But the flavor comes from the marinade. It is a secret only my family shares.” Evelyn began placing plates on one of the large desks and serving portions of the meat dish on each.

“I’ll leave you two to fetch your own vegetables and desert. Here are the wine glasses.” She handed one to each of the men and wheeled the cart back through the door.

“Where is your home village?” Tom asked.

“You probably haven’t heard of it. It is a small country called “Abingford” in Western Asia.

“It sounds familiar.” Tom was not lying. “How often do you get to go back there?”

“Not often enough, but at least every couple of years. Please eat. I’ll pour the wine.”

Tom took a bite and was in love. “I need to marry Greg into your family so I can get this marinade.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“No, Dr. Conners, I freaking love it! How long did you have to marinade it?”

“I suppose I can share that secret with you at least. Being a physics professor, I tinker with my own inventions. I have a vacuum chamber that allows me to fully marinade a 20 pound turkey in 30 minutes. This roast was still virgin when you arrived!”

“Wow, I will gladly buy one from you.”

“Again, I’m glad you like it. If you don’t mind, I want to continue our discussion.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry if I appeared to be on the attack back there.”

“Not at all. I admire your honesty. So you were saying that by paying taxes, I am responsible for the deaths caused by the United States Military.”

“Actually, I wasn’t really saying that at all. I was making a comparison to my work. The point is: how far do you stretch the roles and responsibilities of war?” Tom paused to study Dr. Conners’ reaction. Tom really wanted to find the fastest way to end the conversation and see Emily and Greg again. He could take the high road and admit full responsibility and express guilt, but the professor might see through that. “Think of it this way: were you in favor of raising the speed limit to 65 back in the 80’s?”

“I was, yes.”

“Why was that?”

“Fifty-five seemed unreasonably slow for long trips.”

“I saw an article about five years after they raised the speed limit. A study showed that the increase in deaths following the raising of the speed limit was lower than expected. Sounds great, right?”

“Yes.”

“But the implication of that statement is that the officials who raised the speed limit did so with the expectation that the death rate on the highways would go up. They made a decision that they knew would cause people to die—people who would otherwise remain alive if they left the speed limit alone. Are they responsible?” Tom took another bight of his meal.

“No. People driving their cars accept the risk when they get on the interstate. Nobody is so naïve as to think the risk would not increase when they raised the speed limit.”

“Is it reasonable to expect people to avoid the interstate?”

“They have a choice.” Both men ate in silence as they pondered the last exchange. Tom felt his analogy was a stretch, but was not sure where else to go.

“The enemies of the Unites States have a choice, too. They know the risk our military poses to them. I am only one piece of that risk, and my design work is not done with any particular enemy in mind. It’s to keep you safe.”

Dr. Conners’ eyes changed from studious to angry. Tom regretted his last comment, though he wasn’t sure why. “The victims of your bombs have no more choice than the previous owner of that meat on your plate. It is irresponsible to make weapons and give them to men who care little of where they end up.”

“Care little…”

“Abingford wasn’t even part of your war.” That’s where I heard the name Abingford. Damn it, I should have remembered that. “We had the same enemy for Christ’s sake! Your same enemy often invaded our village, stealing our children, turning them into soldiers and training them to kill us! You say you your bombs were to keep us safe. But your command crew punched the wrong numbers into their damned computers and BOOM! My entire family was blown away! My wife, my sons, my granddaughter…all gone!”

His wife? “But…Evelyn…”

“She’s my sister. I had her playing the part of my wife for your benefit.”

Tom knocked his chair over as he stood up. “I’m sorry Dr. Conners, but this is beyond what I’m prepared to deal with tonight.” He walked quickly over to the door and tried to turn the knob. The knob would not turn. He looked back at the professor. Dr. Conners glared at him. Tom pulled his cell phone and pressed the speed dial for Emily. Silence. “What is going on here?”

“No signal in this room. Only one of us leaves here. Can you kill a man when you have to look him in the eyes?”

“I’m not going to kill you.”

“I think you will want to.”

“I just want to see my family.”

“Your family is with you. And now they always will be.” Dr. Conners glanced at the table when he said this. Tom followed his glance.

“What do you mean by that?” Tom looked down again at his plate.

“I told more than one lie tonight, Tom. Evelyn is not my wife, and that meat is not some animal that resembles a water buffalo.” Tom continued to stare at the plate of mostly eaten meat. Tears began to flood his eyes.

“No. That’s not…. I refuse to believe.” He vomited. He vomited again.

“And now you must kill me. Or else you will die.” From underneath the desk, Dr. Conners pulled a short sword just shorter than his arm. “This is meant for decoration. But it will suffice to kill. There is a longer and sharper sword somewhere in this room. If you can find it, you should kill me. I have the key to this room in my pocket. Evelyn will be gone by now, so once you leave this room, you will be free to go.”

He walked towards Tom. Tom backed away and picked up a chair. Dr. Conners struck hard at the chair, knocking it to the floor. Tom turned and jumped over a waist basked and ran behind a reading chair. Dr. Conners walked casually around the chair, sending Tom trotting across the floor. “If you run while I walk, you’ll wear down long before I do, Tom.”

Tom was breathing heavy. He felt like vomiting again. He looked at the lab tables and desks. No place for a sword in there. The chemical closet was closed, but the doors were made of glass. No sword. Then his gaze took him back to the lab tables. Bunsen burners. They were hard. They were small. He grabbed one and yanked the rubber tube off of it. Dr. Conners walked closer. “You’re going to fight me with….” Before he could finish, Tom winged the burner at the professor’s head. It knocked him down, but not out. He started to rise when Tom grabbed one of the desk chairs and swung it down hard. Dr. Conners attempted to bring his sword up to block the chair but was too slow. Tom repeated his strike four times until Dr. Conners dropped the sword completely. Tom stepped on it and slid it as far from the professor as possible. Dr. Conners looked up at Tom, but did not move or speak.

“I won’t kill you. You won’t get off that easy.” Tom searched several pockets on the professor before finding the key. He picked up the short sword on the way to the door. “If Evelyn is still here, she better have a gun.” He unlocked the door and left the laboratory.

He remained cautious as he stepped down the stairs. He held the sword ready to swing. Downstairs he saw no one. He stepped to the front door and opened it. His car was gone. Either Evelyn or my family is gone. Maybe both. He moved down a hallway and started opening doors. Each room was empty. A smell permeated a swinging door at the end of the hall. As he approached, he could hear boiling water. He considered a slow entrance, but then changed his mind. He grabbed a hold of the short sword with both hands and raised it above his left shoulder as if it were a bat. Then he yelled as loud as he could, kicked the door, ran through, and slipped on the wet floor. The sword flipped out of his hand and slid across the room. Tom landed on his back and smacked his head for good measure. He did not pass out. He looked around and saw red everywhere. Red cloth hung over the edge of an island in the middle of the kitchen. He stood up and grabbed his wife’s dress. Tears blocked his vision briefly. He vomited again. On the stove, a large pot boiled violently. He didn’t want to see, but could not reframe. He walked to the stove and cut the heat. Coming through the white foam were strands of red-orange hair. He tried to look away, but before doing so, he caught a glimpse of his wife’s jaw and left eye turning in the water. He backed up quickly and fell down, turning so that he landed on his knees and began dry-heaving. No, no, no. Then he remembered: “Greg!”

He pulled himself up to his feet and looked around for Greg’s clothes. Nothing. He flew out of the kitchen. “Greg! Are you here?!” He raced through the rooms, forgetting the sword. Silence answered him. After an eternity of frantic searching, he opened the curtain again to look at the empty driveway once more. The professor’s words came back to him: “Your same enemy often invaded our village, stealing our children, turning them into soldiers and training them to kill us!” Tom picked up the phone and dialed 911.

No tags for this post.