The Far Side of the Sun

"Oh, if only she were here by my side! She could help me make sense of this world!"

And with that thought, Martin Stillwell knew that for better or worse, without this woman he and the people of the village were doomed. And he knew that personally, he was as lost now as he had ever been in the forest.

+++++

Another day, another round of doctors and residents, another round of pithy questions and vapid answers.

"But doctor, with breaks at T-3 and T-4, will she ever walk again?"

"We remain hopeful..."

"Oh, will you shut the fuck up! Of course I'm never going to walk again. Now poke the bottoms of my feet with needles then get the fuck out of here..."

Shuffling feet, averted gazes, but one person remains in her room.

"Is it true? What you say?"

She turns her head and sees Martin Stillwell standing just inside the door.

She doesn't have time to think, to "process" the fact that he has suddenly appeared: she simply begins to cry, then realizing what she's doing, tries to hide her face behind her arm.

Not knowing how to respond Martin enters the room and shuts the door behind him. He walks to her bedside and without thinking runs his fingers through her hair.

She begins to cry anew, this time with no restraint.

"You say you'll never walk? Is that what your doctors say as well?"

She is looking away, tears run down her cheeks, snot out her nose, her face now almost as red as summer beets.

She shrugs her shoulders, tries to regain some modest amount of composure, then tries to look at him. Tears cloud her eyes, then she feel him wiping her tears away with a tissue.

"You're learning fast," she says.

He chuckles lightly. "Television," he says. "And speaking of, just what the devil is a hemorrhoid?"

She laughs, and another gout of snot bursts forth onto her gown. "Oh-my-God! What IS wrong with me!"

"Nothing, from all that I can see."

She wipes her eyes, motions to a chair on the other side of the bed. "Please, Martin, sit down and talk to me."

"You're not tired? I won't disturb you?"

"Oh please, God, no! Sit! Tell me what you've seen, what you think of all this newness. Tell me everything!"

He smiled at the change he saw come over her. The anger and fear were quite suddenly gone, and now there was a brightness in her eyes, a brightness he longed to cradle in his hands.

"Oh, what you ask of me, I fear...I fear I do not have the words."

"Oh, come on Martin! Just let go and tell me what you think!"

He looked at her anew, tried to gauge the seriousness of her intent, the resolve of her purpose, then, liking what he saw, he tried to think of the best way to say what he really wanted.

"I've seen a lot, Heidi. And much of what I've seen I simply do not understand, but what I do understand is this. Of the technology I've encountered, it seems that some has, well to have replaced people's humanity. People do not talk 'to' one another. They talk 'at' people, almost as things to be ordered about. There is no courtesy, no empathy, no compassion. Yet what concerns me most of all? I'm not sure if the people in my village could ever fit into this world. I'm certain that I could not, though my son seems more and more interested in what life out here would be like. For him. But this world is so fast. And ours is so slow."

She took in his circumspect attitude and looked at him hopefully, willing him to go on.

"I think," he continued, "that I would always feel like, I don't know if this is the right word or not, but I would always feel like an outsider...if I lived here."

"What makes you think you'd have to live here? Has someone told you that you and your boy can't return to the village?"

"No, not using such words. But if James, my son, wants to remain? What could I do?"

"What about his mother?" she asked.

He looked down at his hands. "She did not survive his birthing."

"So, you raised him, on your own?"

"There are many women in the village, and many helped, in one way or another." He smiled at the memory.

"Do you have someone special waiting for you there?"

"A woman, you mean?"

"Yes."

"There are many who have helped me and James, but no, not in the way I think you mean."

She looked him in the eyes, wondered just how sophisticated this man was.

"Do you have books in the village?"

"Yes, some, but they are old, fragile."

"Can you read? And write?"

"Both, yes. That is important. Even more so in this city, is it not?"

"Yes, very much so."

"And I write poetry," he said somewhat sheepishly, looking down at his hands again.

"You what?"

"Poetry. I write...poetry."

"How?" she asked. "I mean, how is it that you have material to write on?"

"The Algonquin passed on the ways of making paper from bark, and forms of ink. So yes, we have many in the village who write. Diaries, even a history? That is the correct word? Like Herodotus?"

"You've read Herodotus?"

"Yes, of course. And most speak Latin, as well. Does this surprise you?"

"Yes, Martin, it does. But I guess it shouldn't. In truth, I know so little about you."

"That is, what is the term I hear? A two way street?"

"Yes, just so. We know so little of each other."

"Would it be improper of me to say that I would enjoy learning with you? And learning more about you? You see, I think of you almost all the time. I think of all the people I've met here you alone seem to see the truth of me, of the village. When I see the future, I see you. Does that make any sense?"

She smiled softly. "I think so, yes."

He looked at her again, concern in his eyes. "You tire? Shall I leave now?"

She took a deep breath. "Please, no, not yet."

"What does it mean, that you will not walk again? How will you live, day to day?"

"A wheelchair, perhaps. Have you seen a wheelchair yet?"

"Everywhere I go in this building! You can hardly walk without falling over one the things!"

"Yes," she laughed, "I suppose that's true." She looked down now, tried to measure her words carefully. "You said you feel like an outsider here. I wanted to say then, when you said that, that many times I do as well."

"Do, what?"

"Feel like an outsider."

"How could that be? I don't understand?"

"It's difficult to describe, Martin, but as a woman here, well, as a pilot, and as a physician, men often do not take women seriously. I sometimes feel like I don't fit in, that I am, I guess, an outsider. Does that make sense?"

"I understand your words, but no, that makes no sense. And in the village that would make no sense at all. We each have a role..."

"But that's the problem, Martin. The role I've chosen for myself is a role that was once almost exclusively, oh, how do I say this? Men were pilots and physicians, while women raised children and took care of the house. It's very difficult for many to accept women who do the things I do. Not difficult to learn, but difficult for many men, for many in our society to accept."

"Again, I hear your words but they still make little sense to me. In the village, if a man is injured he may stay in the house, he may take care of the children. And many women hunt, while their men work the fields. We each have a role to play in our survival, and no role is less valuable than another. You are saying that it is not so here? That you are considered less than equal, because you are a woman?"

She nodded her head. "Yes. But sometimes I think it's always been that way. Forever."

"Yes, I've read that in ancient books, even in the Bible, and that troubles me."

"Why?"

"Because it means that people are not meant to learn from their mistakes."

"Yes, just so. We repeat the same mistakes over and over, from generation to generation. There was a philosopher, in Spain I think, who said that those who forget their past are doomed to fulfill it."

"I think that philosopher knew what he was about!" he said, smiling.

She smiled too. "Another said you should worry about the things you can change, and not worry about the things you can't change."

"Sound thinking."

"What are you worried about, Martin?"

He looked her in the eye again: "You."

"But you can't change anything about me, Martin. My future is cast in stone."

"Oh? How so?"

"You can't change the injury to my back, make me walk again. I will never fly again."

"So you think you are without value, without purpose? Because you cannot walk?"

She looked away, ashamed of her weakness, what she assumed was his perception of her self-pity.

"I feel that way, yes. So much of what I was..."

"Do you not recall my words to you, in the forest?"

"I'm not sure..."

"That I would take care of you. I meant those words, Heidi. I still do."

She looked at him again. "And me? What do you expect? That I come to live in the village?"

"You would be valued there." And loved, he wanted to say.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. You are needed there."

She looked away, tried to measure her own reaction to his words. What words of her own came to mind? Ridiculous? Impossible? But...what if I tried? What would become of the outsider I've always been? Could it work? Could I change? Could I ever be an 'insider'?

She looked at Martin Stillwell, and smiled. "You think so?"

February

It was impossible of course. All the bureaucrats said so.

First, word of the village had leaked out to the press, and interest was high. How could the village's isolation, let alone privacy, be maintained?

Next, the academics all wanted first shot at studying the village – and it's inhabitants. Wouldn't the introduction of an outsider, any outsider, spoil the anthropological purity of the site?

And who had jurisdiction over these people, anyway? The United States of America? The State of New York? Napoleon, or God forbid, King George III? The U.S. Forest Service wanted to know, and right away, because there were apparently hundreds of people living in what was supposed to be a pristine Wilderness Area! People at the Department of the Interior were apparently shitting their pants over the very idea, and even the Internal Revenue Service was getting in on the act: what sort of income did these people generate, and what about back taxes! The thought of interest owed made these agents weak in the knees!

Then there were the medical considerations that were unique to Heidi Stillwell. How could a paraplegic deal with such a complicated and challenging lifestyle – and under wilderness conditions? What known and unknown medical complications might arise, and who would deal with them?

Then, perhaps the biggest problem of all. What if the villagers wanted to remain isolated? Even to the point they didn't want a single outsider coming in, let alone herds of academics? And could the state exercise imminent domain and force them to relocate, as some were already advocating, to protect the forest? Just what were the limits of privacy, and choice? If the villagers wanted to remain isolated, was the stated honor-bound to adhere to that wish? If so, by what case law? This was terra incognito...

So, the biggest external issues were political, and hence, to a degree, jurisdictional. But no one could answer for the villagers.

And that turned out to be the first problem Heidi Stillwell had to resolve, and her first step was to get Martin involved, to set him off finding answers, for there was no better way to acquaint him with modern society than to get him involved with a modern federal bureaucracy.

+++++

"I don't know how you stand life in this cesspool," he said after one entire afternoon wasted talking with a woman behind a counter at the Forest Service. "What manner of world is it that you have created?"

"You get used to it," was Heidi's retort.

"Truly? One day of this and I'm ill. A week and I would become a lunatic."

"There have been books written about the subject, but none better than a one called The Castle, by an author named Kafka. Franz Kafka. Should we get you a copy?"

"Indeed. Perhaps multiple copies, for the villagers to read."

"Now, now. Don't get carried away. Surely it wasn't that bad?"

"You think not? I found myself thinking about The Inferno. Dante's seventh level of Hell. I now know first hand what Hell is like. It was in that office, and I assure you that woman was the devil herself."

"I can't wait to see what happens when you try to get a driver's license, or God forbid, a passport. Come to think of it, without a birth certificate of some sort, you probably don't even exist?!"

"I know not of these things, and perhaps that is a blessing." He shook his head, his brow deeply furrowed. "And how can one not exist? That's absurd."

"No. That's Kafka."

"Then, yes, we must get copies for the village. We must read him, and learn what it means to not exist."

"Oh, my. I've opened a nice can of worms, haven't I?"

"What?"

She smiled. "It's nothing. Just a saying, but wait, I have other news."

"Good news?"

"I think so. I've got funding for a clinic. For the village. And I might be the physician."

"Truly!? This is grand news!"

"Yes, assuming the village decides to let an outsider come, and that they want such a facility..."

"What do you mean, 'assuming'? Why would they not consider such an advance welcome?"

"Kafka!"

"Ah, yes, I see what you mean. Would a...bureaucracy attend such a facility?"

"It very well might. We would have to be very careful."

"Indeed..."

"How is James doing?"

"Well. He was almost able to make a fist today. Not a firm grip, but the fingers are moving."

"So soon?"

"Yes, his doctors were most pleased with themselves."

"Don't you think they should be! That's astonishing news!"

"I think it a miracle. James too."

She smiled.

"You don't believe in miracles, do you?" he said.

"I believe in working hard to achieve what you want in life."

"Yes. I believe in that, too. Tell me one thing. If your, parachute? Is that the word?"

"Yes."

"If your parachute hadn't opened? You would have died? Correct?"

"Yes."

"If you had been carried by the winds to the next valley, we would never have met?"

"More than likely not."

"And God played no role in this?"

Her smile deepened. "There's no answer to these questions, Martin. There's only faith. If you have faith, you have one set of answers given to you. But those may not be the only answers out there."

He frowned. "The scientific world view?"

"Yes, that's another source of answers."

"There are more?"

"Of course. Irrationalism, pseudo-science; there are all manner of mysticisms. But all these are beliefs, and entail a type of faith. Proof is elusive where these things are a concern."

"But science isn't faith?"

"Oh, I didn't say that. Science implies a belief in the process, a kind of faith, perhaps, only without scripture and pre-ordained outcomes."

"Has science ever proved that God exists, or doesn't exist?"

"Not that I'm aware of, Martin. It's not really the kind of question that science seeks to study."

"What about love? Does love exist?"

"The effects of love can be measured, scientifically. But love itself? I doubt that could proven scientifically, though there are psychological tests that can measure empathy, things of that nature."

"Well then, can the effects of God be measured?"

"I would assume so, on some levels at least. Perhaps when people have a religious experience... biochemically, perhaps, or neurologically, the effect of the experience could be measured."

"What are those things?"

"Oh. The way chemistry, more specifically something called hormones change in the blood, and how structures and processes within the brain change when certain chemicals are present, or absent. Just as "love" changes these things, my guess is that "God" does as well. But, that is not to say that "Love" or "God" exists or does not, it's only a measure of how human beings react biologically to the concepts of "Love" and "God"."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Could we learn these things? This "chemistry" you speak of?"

"Yes, of course. It's not magic. It simply takes hard work."

"Could you teach this? Teach all in the village who wish to know, to understand?"

"Teach? Me?"

"Yes, you. And perhaps there are things you could learn from us, as well."

"Of that I have no doubt, but yes, I think I could teach."

He smiled. His seed planted, he stood to leave. "You look tired, Heidi. I should let you rest."

She shook her head. "Not yet, please. Come sit by me for a minute, would you?"

He came to her and sat; she took his hand in hers.

"Thank you, Martin."

"Thanks? For what, Heidi?"

"For caring."

"It was your eyes, you know."

"What? What about my eyes?"

"I fell in love with your eyes the moment you took off that funny hat. I can feel that moment every time I close my eyes."

She felt herself blushing. "You fell in love with me?"

"Oh, yes."

She squeezed his hand. "Is that why you said you wanted to take care of me?"

"Yes. As I said, from the moment I saw your eyes." He leaned forward, kissed her forehead, saw that she was crying. "Does that upset you?"

"I just wish, wish that..."

"Your legs? How could that matter? If you can not walk, I will be your legs. Don't trouble yourself with such thinking."

She nodded her head. "Okay," she said, taking a deep breath.

"Oh, your freckles! They drive me wild!"

She giggled. "You know, you make me so happy! Like a kid..."

"You are a kid! You must not even be thirty years old!"

"Twenty-nine. You?"

"Forty and two." He looked at her anew. "See, I was right. You are still a child..."

"I wish!"

"Oh? Why so?"

"Because then we would have that much more time to be together."

"I wonder. Would one lifetime ever be enough?"

Her eyes were drifting off into sleep, so he leaned forward again and kissed her. On the lips.

"That feels so good," she said, dreamily. "So good..."

He ran his fingers through her hair until she was fast asleep.

June

The last element of the "clinic", such as it was, hung beneath the ungainly looking Sikorsky SkyCrane, which was hovering a hundred meters above a meadow near the edge of the village. Men on the ground in green Army fatigues supervised construction of the clinic, as well as it's hydrogen fuel-cell power plant, battery installation and small solar array. This new clinic 'element' was the fifth piece of the puzzle to arrive at the construction site, and with just one more to be airlifted in, the clinic was finally beginning to take shape.

The villagers were fascinated by the machine. They stood well back in the trees, but almost everyone in the village came to watch as soon as the wump-wump-wump of the rotors was heard down the valley. They pointed and shook their heads, clearly awestruck, and little girls and boys all talked about how fun it would be to go up in the huge beast. And of course there was food nearby, for many of the villagers had been cooking meals for the troops and engineers that were piecing together the clinic. The process had been pleasant, and had given the villagers time to get used to the idea of outsiders coming into their valley.

The assembled building was an "H-shaped" affair, with one wing each for the clinic's exam rooms and operating rooms, the other two wings dedicated as living spaces for physicians and academic researchers. The central bar of the "H" was built as a dedicated reception area and radio room, for it had been decided that no roads would link the village to the outside world – yet.

Another curious political artifact of the arrangement allowing a clinic to be built at the village? For every "villager" who decided to move out into the "mainstream" world, an outsider would be allowed to take his or her place – at least if approved by the village council. That way the population would remain constant, and thereby allowing some semblance of stability to be maintained.