Chapter 40 — Zeno’s Front Stoop
Rufus talks about mixing it up in life.
Followed by Chapter 40 —— Zeno’s Front Stoop, in which Saskia finally confronts Zeno.
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Hello Friends,
In today’s chapter, Saskia finds herself stepping outside her comfort zone and doing something she has never done before. In honor of that I thought I’d reflect on my own personal philosophy around the subject of mixing it up in life. Put simply, I think it’s really healthy to do so, and the last month or so, for me, includes a delightful shuffle of examples.
During the pandemic, my wife and I bought a property about an hour and a half north of where we live. It’s 15 acres and it borders on federal land which makes it feel even bigger. Our anticipation is that we’ll move up there once we’re empty-nesters. In any case, years ago there used to be an orchard on one of the meadows. Unfortunately, before we bought it, the orchard had been largely destroyed by the so-called Thomas Fire. Well, unfortunate for that orchard, but what an opportunity for adventure for us: restore said orchard. Not something we have any real experience with, but an incredibly rewarding endeavor. Best of all, although we initially enlisted some paid expertise, we’ve gradually gotten braver and braver, and are now tackling more and more projects ourselves. Invigorating and enlightening.
However, the thing about orchards that you soon discover, especially those bordering wilderness, is that they are susceptible to deer. Particularly young plants. At first we tried putting little chicken-wire fences about each tree individually. That sort of worked, but it was fiddly, it made weeding and pruning difficult, and eventually saplings get bigger. It also had the unfortunate aesthetic feel of a sequence of cages. So, much as we didn’t want to resort to fencing, our hand was kind of forced. Research, though, tells you that deer will standing jump a six foot fence. Seven feet is recommended, eight feet is ideal. Figuring in for a penny, in for a pound, we committed to eight feet. Now, eight feet above ground, requires three feet below. No easy task in an old riverbed filled with boulders and packed in silt. We started with a pick and shovel, but by the end of our forty-something fence-post job, my wife described our operation as reminiscent of oversized dental work; our tools were laid on the ground beside the hole and we’d cycle through them carefully considering which was best suited to whatever we were currently up against at the bottom of our vertical tunnel, pick (aka crowbar), “post hole digger” (kind of like oversized tweezers), auger (an XXL drill that works wonders until you hit a rock bigger than your fist, of which were are a copious abundance) or sometimes just our gloved hands to lift a freed boulder to the surface.
More recently, we’ve been working on a long and deep trench required for upgrading our electrics. Again, we started by hand, which was important for locating the water pipes that feed the house——and boy did that take some locating!——but have since moved to a major upgrade. Maybe you recall the kids toy you’ve sometimes seen in a sandbox at the local park … an excavator is that for adults! It can lift a boulder the size of a small car. Operating said excavator was definitely a bucket-list life-defining dream, if one I didn’t even realize I had. Also, definitely mixing it up from my daily routine.
In any event, as an author, I feel that such hands on engagement in the world really helps to inform my perspective. From the details of understanding how the flow of the grain of wood matters when putting furniture together, to the effort required when using an auger there are so many physical touch-points in life that really only make sense once you’ve wrestled with them, be that mentally or physically.
It’s all cross training for a writer, and perhaps one of the reasons that people often arrive at writing later in life (that and that writing is less taxing physically).
Until next week, be kind to someone and keep an eye out for the ripples of joy you’ve seeded.
Cheerio
Rufus
PS. If you think of someone who might enjoy joining us on this experiment, please forward them this email. And if you are one of those someone’s and you’d like to read more
And now, without further ado, here’s chapter forty, in which Saskia finally confronts Zeno.
— 40 —
Zeno’s Front Stoop
Saskia emerged from the undergrowth that lined the creek behind Zeno’s house.
A runner jogged by, avoiding eye contact. Doubtless he’d assumed she’d spent the night there. She reflected that, though she’d solved it this time, this was the unglamorous side of time travel: no place to stay. She smiled to herself that at least her phone still worked, though she wondered what would happen if she went back before she’d signed up with her carrier.
No time for that now. It was time to go back around to the front of Zeno’s house and confront the oil exec before he headed off to work.
As it happened, her timing was perfect. Zeno strode out of the house wearing a dark suit and tie. His appearance was such a contrast to the man she’d seen half an hour earlier that Saskia almost didn’t recognize him. The man on the front stoop was clearly a member of the executive class.
Saskia left the sidewalk, heading towards Zeno as he turned back to the house and pulled his two inch thick solid wood door to a close. “Zeno Williams?”
Zeno turned to her. “Yes?” She’d caught him off guard, but his voice was alert and laced with suspicion.
Saskia took two steps up the front path to meet him. She extended her hand in an effort to project confidence.
Zeno glanced up and down the street. He accepted her hand and shook it. He was warming a little, but still unsure.
Mica had been right, there were the advantages to being a pretty young woman. “Be confident,” she’d told Saskia. “Men like that. It opens doors.”
“Do we know each other?” Zeno asked, apparently unfazed that he might have forgotten Saskia despite having met before.
“No, but I’ve read about you, and——”
“Look, I’m sorry.” Zeno pulled his hand back. “I’ve got to get to work.”
Saskia could see Zeno visibly stiffening. “It’s about the Deepwater Black Gold rig.”
Again, Zeno checked up and down the street. Saskia lamented that, notwithstanding the success of her opening gambit, her earlier subliminal messaging didn’t seem to have amounted to a hill of beans.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m just a cog in the machine.”
Saskia could feel herself being blown off. “No,” she protested. “I’m not here to harass you. But you oversee the Deepwater Black Gold rig, yes? The one in the gulf.”
“Sure,” he conceded curtly. “But I’m late right now. Call my office. Shelly will set up a time for an interview.”
“No,” Saskia tried again.
“That’s my best offer.”
Saskia marveled at how well she must have taken on Mica’s teachings. He was convinced she was a reporter. But before she could respond——
There was a thud on the ground by fence at the side of the house. Zeno’s cat.
Both Zeno and Saskia turned to the animal, in time to see it hop onto one of the featured granite rocks that defined Zeno’s front yard aesthetic.
The cat stared back at them.
To Saskia, it felt as if the cat had shown up to warn Zeno. To betray her incursion into his backyard. Saskia glanced between Zeno and his fluffy companion. And then, suddenly, she was flooded with relief that this was happening now, and not five years in the future; the AI models that had facilitated rudimentary two-way communication with Dolphins were still just a harbinger of what lay ahead. The prospect of communicating with our pets was still in the realm of fantasy, if only just.
“Beautiful cat,” Saskia purred, switching attack. “Is she yours?”
“He——” Zeno softened momentarily. “EO. The Enlightened One.”
“Look, Mr. Williams. I see——”
But Zeno interrupted her. “Sorry, I’m leaving.” He wasn’t staying for an interrogation. He pushed Saskia back. It wasn’t exactly a blocking move, but as Saskia stepped back, her foot missed the step and she fell. Her concentration was elsewhere and her exhaustion didn’t help, but whatever the cause her ankle twisted on the edge of the step below and her body crumpled over it. Her right hand, the one that might have helped break her fall, trailed in front of her where it had hung in an awkward attempt at placation. In all, her move was graceless. Then, as her balance tipped, and realizing there was no way to brake her fall, she reached forward to grab Zeno again, but it was too late.
For his part, Zeno immediately realized his error and leapt forward. In his haste, though, he too misjudged the steps. Steps he’d taken a hundred times. But his intimate acquaintance with the hand-laid stone path didn’t help, and his extended hand turned into a redoubled shove as he fell into her.
Any hope Saskia had of stabilizing her fall vanished.
She tipped back further.
Were it not tragic, it would have been laughable the way he fell onto her. His firm body engulfing hers.
Instinctively she arched her head forward as her back hit the concrete sidewalk. But that only served to focus all the momentum in one spot. Her skull whipped back and there was a sickening crack as it connected with the cement.
