And then the kiss. She would never forget that. She felt his breath on the nape of her neck and she turned to the left, but he edged onto her right, so she turned back that way and their faces nearly bumped—and it happened. It just happened. She closed her eyes and honestly, she almost fainted (her mother used to say the word “swoon,” and Sarah had a vague idea this was that), and he kissed her again, harder, and turned her toward him and grabbed her closer, and she remembered thinking Me, he’s kissing me, he wants me! But what started softly got a little rough, his hands moved quickly all over her, until she nervously pulled away and then, embarrassed, tried to laugh it off.
He filled her cup with more vodka and orange juice, and she gulped it faster than she should have. The rest of the night she remembered laughing and pushing Ethan and him pulling and them kissing again, and Ethan getting more aggressive and her pulling away and drinking and repeating the pattern.
“Come on,” he said.
“I know,” she murmured. “I want to, but …”
Ultimately, he backed away and drank more vodka, until he almost fell asleep against the wall. Not long after that, they each went home.
But now she wondered,
chewing the crust of her whole wheat toast on a Monday morning—7:23 A.M.—if she had done the right thing, the wrong thing, or the wrong thing by doing the right thing. She realized Ethan was a better-looking boy than she was a girl, and she pondered how much “gratitude” she was supposed to show him for that. They’d kissed—a lot—and he’d wanted her. Somebody wanted her. That was what mattered. She kept seeing his face. She pictured the next time they’d be together. Finally, something to look forward to in her drab and ordinary existence.
She put her plate in the sink and flipped open her laptop. She was going to be late for school—Sarah was never late for school—but Christmas was coming and she had a sudden urge to buy Ethan a present. He’d said the actors in Men in Black wore these special, cool-shaped watches. Maybe she could buy him one. He would like that, wouldn’t he? Something only she would think of?
She told herself she was just being thoughtful. Christmas was Christmas. But deep in her heart, the equation was simple.
She would buy a present for the boy she loved.
And he would love her back.
36
Can you imagine having endless time to learn?
If you could freeze a moving car and study it for hours? Wander through a museum touching every artifact, the security guards never knowing you were there?
That is how Dor explored our world. Using the power of the hourglass, he slowed time to suit his needs. Although he could never stop it completely—a train might move an inch in the hours he spent investigating it—he could easily hold people in place while he circulated through them, touching their coats or their shoes, trying on their eyeglasses, rubbing the clean-shaven faces of men, so different from his time, when long beards were common. These people would remember nothing of his presence, only the quickest flicker across their field of vision.
Dor wandered the Spanish countryside this way, living days inside a moment, exploring neighborhoods, cafes, stores. He found clothes that fit his frame (he preferred the type you pulled on, as buttons and zippers perplexed him), and at one point he wandered into a low-level brick building marked PELUQUERÍA, a hair salon. He looked into a long mirror and yelled out loud.
Only then did he realize he was seeing his reflection.
Dor had not seen himself in six thousand years.
He moved closer to the mirror, alongside a businessman in a high, spinning chair and a female stylist with her hands in a drawer. Dor observed the man’s reflection—blue suit, maroon tie, hair short, dark, and wet—and then he looked at his own unruly image. Despite his massive beard and flowing hair, he appeared to be younger than the businessman next to him.
In this cave, you will not age a moment.
I deserve no such gift.
It is not a gift.
He stepped back, crouched behind a counter, and tilted the hourglass.
Life resumed. The stylist removed scissors from the drawer and said something that made the businessman laugh. She lifted his hair and began to cut.
Dor peeked over the counter, fascinated. She moved so adeptly, the scissors snipping, the locks of hair falling. Suddenly, someone turned on a stereo and music blasted, a thumping beat. Dor clamped his hands over his ears. He had never heard anything so loud.
He looked up to see a fat, middle-aged woman, with her hair in plastic curlers, standing over him, staring.
“¿Qué quiere?” she yelled.
Dor grabbed his hourglass and she—and everyone else—slowed to a near-freeze.
He rose, walked around the woman (her mouth still open), and went to the stylist. He took the scissors from her hand, put the blades near the bottom of his beard, and began to cut away six thousand years of hair.
37
“I asked you here because I want to change the rules.”
Victor poured Jed a glass of ice water. They sat across a long table. Victor was reluctantly using the wheelchair now (his walking had grown too unsteady), and the office furniture had been rearranged for clear maneuvering.
“Under the law, I must be legally dead before the freezing process can begin, correct?”
“That’s right,” Jed answered.
“But you agree—science agrees—that if the freezing could start before the heart and brain gave out, the chances of preservation would be that much better.”
“In theory … yes.” Jed palmed the glass. He seemed leery.
“I want to test that theory,” Victor said.
“Mr. Delamonte—”
“Hear me out.”
Victor explained his plan. Dialysis was the only thing keeping him alive. The big machine that washed his blood and removed the toxins. If he stopped treatment, he would die in a short time. Days, perhaps. A week or two at most.
“The moment I died, a doctor would confirm system failure, a coroner would confirm death, and the freezing would begin, right?”
“Yes,” Jed said, “but—”
“I know. We would all have to be at your site when it happened.”
“Right.”
“Or before it happened.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Before it happened …” He let the words sink in. “To say it already had happened.”
“But to do that, they would have to …”
Jed stopped. Victor jiggled his jaw. He believed the man was beginning to understand.
“When you have a lot of money,” Victor said, “you can get people to do things.” He crossed his hands. “Nobody has to know.”
Jed stayed quiet.
“I’ve seen your facility. It’s pretty—don’t take this the wrong way—bare bones?”
Jed shrugged.
“You could use a few million dollars, no? A bequeathal from a satisfied customer?” Jed swallowed.
“Look,” Victor said, lowering his voice to a friendlier tone. “I’ll already be near death. What difference could a few hours make?
“And let’s be honest.” He leaned in. “Wouldn’t you like to see your chances of success improve?”