THIS IS THE WAY THE WORLD WILL END

Liz Milne

The world’s greatest astronomer is fascinated with black holes. Why do they happen? More and more of them, greedily consuming the cosmos.
       He checked: reading the work of the Mayans who knew more than they should, and writings of ‘madmen’ who were merely acutely observant. They lacked not understanding nor sense, but vocabulary, he found, they were constrained by their lexicon.
       The writings confirm it. Blackholes are proliferating.
       But the astronomer loses track: thinks of school, girls, his childhood home. He forgets the key in his pocket, knocks instead. He nearly forgets who his wife is, this grey-haired lady with the kind face and scared eyes, but the memory returns, sauntering breezily back, like an insouciant teenager late for curfew. He is relieved, clings to her – forty years together!
       She distracts him with telly, makes an appointment. She goes with, saying he’s accompanying her. It’s the only way to get him there.
       The medic, young, over-worked, plays along, working questions into casual chat. Worried, he persuades the astronomer into tests.
       Grumbling, but anxious to please his wife (and in the place where honesty hides, worried), he goes along.
       While waiting, he returns to work: more black holes discovered! Were they undiscovered or are they new?
       He believes the latter, almost has an epiphany, but the doctor calls.
       They go to the surgery, alarmed by the intensity of the man’s tone. He can barely take in the words.
       Sticky plaque, lesions in the learning centre, synaptic malfunction and decline.
       The doctor is talking to whatshername, that woman, not him. Why is she here? Does he know her?
       Increased lesions, loss of function.
       Nonsense.
       He has important work to do. The black holes, they’re … What’s the word?
       Getting more. Yes?
       Must go. But where?
       He starts to rise.
       Sits.