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The Centenarian’s Tale of War and Woe
- University Press of New England
- Chapter
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THE CENTENARIAN’S TALE OF WAR AND WOE % half an hour later, having followed Birch’s cross-country ski trail to the Manse, Howard parked the snowmobile and limped to Cooty’s cabin. Of course he entered without knocking, and was surprised to find not just Cooty on hand but Luci, Wiqi, Birch, Missy, and F. Latour. You should have figured that Tess called Birch—on her real mobile phone. No, wait. They’re not here because I’m here; they’re here because . . . because? You’ll find out soon enough. Howard faced his son, “Holy guacamole, Freddy, what are you doing here?” “Hi, Pop, I happened to be the area,” F. Latour said. He was built like Howard, thick, heavyset, but unlike Howard he kept a trimmed full beard, and the hair on his balding head was long and in a ponytail tied with a piece of rawhide. He dressed in blue jeans and a blue work shirt, his pockets bulging with pens and notecards. Howard thought he looked clean and healthy. “How are the kids?” Howard asked. Wrong question. F. Latour launched an elaborate explanation of the activities of his young son and daughter. Howard blinked with the sad awe that only a parent can feel on behalf of an adult child who talks too much. Even Birch appeared bored. Finally, Missy interrupted F. Latour and said to Howard, “We’re trying an experiment with Cooty.” Howard, just now catching up with the scene, gaped at Cooty who lay supine on his narrow bed. His eyes were closed, but he didn’t 216 appear to be asleep because he was smiling. Wires attached to suction cups on his head traveled to a console on wheels, where Wiqi stood seemingly on the verge of pushing buttons. “Geeze,” said Howard. “Do you want to stick around?” Missy asked. “I guess. Can I have Cooty when you get done? I came here for a private conversation with him.” “I don’t know,” Missy said, and looked at Luci, “What do think?” “He might have some temporary memory loss, but other than that he’ll be cogent,” Luci said. Howard turned to Birch. Amazing how Birch in his looks took after Elenore’s side of the family, the side nobody knew anything about. “What are you going to do to Cooty, electrocute him?” Howard asked. “Sort of,” Birch said with a smile that announced he enjoyed the alarm on his grandfather’s face. “Luci and Wiqi have been working with Cooty, through talk therapy, medication, electroshocks, and, of course, infinitely tiny brain implants. The idea, Grandpa, is to regress Cooty to that moment in his past when he was traumatized. We want to get him through that gate to the other side.” “The other side of what?” Howard asked, unsure whether to be curious or furious. “We don’t know,” Birch said. “Nobody has been there to report the scene.” Cooty opened his eyes. “It’s okay, Howie. I want to do this.” “Cooty, these people might kill you,” Howard said. “That would be entertaining,” Cooty said. “Actually, if it works,” Luci said, “the process may trick his dna into halting cellular deterioration.” “In other words,” Missy said, “Cooty might live another fifty or so years.” “Maybe forever,” Luci added. Howard noticed now that F. Latour was writing on a notecard. “What’s his stake in this?” Howard said to Birch. F. Latour winced, but he kept writing. Howard remembered now how much his son hated it when Howard talked about him as if he wasn’t in the room. Howard wanted to apologize, but he didn’t know [34.230.84.106] Project MUSE (2024-03-19 03:48 GMT) 217 how. He had the motive and the opportunity, but he lacked the means for such expression. “Dad is the writer for this part of the script,” Birch said. Howard turned to his son, and snarled at him, “What the hell are they doing to Cooty?” “These treatments have three purposes,” F. Latour said. “The first is to make Cooty happier, more comfortable, and long-lived. The second is to add to the science of gerontology—that’s the study of old age.” “I know what it means,” Howard lied with a straight face. “What’s the third?” “The third is that everything that happens to Cooty will find its way into Darby Doomsday. As one of the writers, I wanted to be here to witness the event and record it...