A Life's Work

A Life's Work By Evelyn Canarvon Summary: All of life is about hope,
about believing what you can never know for sure. Here is a look at
people who never had to question, and never had to take a leap of
faith. "Damn." Chris had just dropped his bottle of wine. It crashed at
his feet and glass shattered everywhere. He walked over to the counter
and grabbed a few paper towels. As he bent down to pick up the spill,
his mind flashed to a scene earlier that day. "Will I be happy when I
die, now?" The little boy looked up at Chris, smiling expectantly.
Chris looked down at him. "Not yet," he said. "But you've made a good
start." Chris smiled as the memory came into his mind. He had seen it
hundreds of times: a child's first act of kindness. Of course, Chris
knew that they didn't do it out of any compelling desire to do good, at
least not at first. This little boy had just shared a toy with another
girl in the class-a simple good deed that had been insisted upon by
Chris and the other teachers for the past week. This child wasn't being
good for the sake of his spirit, but more in the same way that a dog
tried to please his master, he was being good in order to receive
praise. Whatever the reason, Chris thought; this little boy was one
step closer to eternal happiness. Chris taught preschoolers at the
Lakeview schools. He had been teaching for five years, and he thought
he was pretty good. He taught what was undisputedly the most
fundamental class there was-Morality, the first class in a sequence of
courses designed to teach children the Meaning of Life. Chris always
marveled at the fact the he held the power to mold what these little
creatures would become. If a math teacher was incompetent, the kids
wouldn't learn their addition. If he slipped up, their souls were at
stake. At the moment, Chris was focused on more mundane matters. He was
having a small group of friends over for dinner, and he had just broken
his only bottle of wine. "You still alive in there?" Chris looked up.
Brian was standing in the doorway, wearing a smug smile on his face.
"Brilliant," he said. Chris held up the wine-soaked towel. "Want to
help?" he asked. Brian didn't move. "No, I'm good." Chris sighed and
finished mopping up the wine. He went to the refrigerator and looked
inside. "How's Coke?" "Coke's fine. It's all fine. Just hurry up."
Chris grabbed a few cans and followed Brian into the dining room. His
other two friends, Dana and Carrie, were already sitting at the table.
Chris sat down next to them and set the soda on the table. "Chris,
how's work?" "It's alright," he responded. "How are the kids?" Dana
asked. "The kids are great. Well, most of the time at least," he added.
Brian leaned back in his chair. "God, I'm jealous of you sometimes," he
said. "I mean--look at what you're doing! You get to teach people the
Meaning of Life. The most important question we'll ever ask, and you
get to answer it! Every morning I get up and go to the plant, same old
same old. What do I do? Make cereal. I could skip work for the rest of
my life and it wouldn't matter. But your work--" He paused for a
second. "Your work has purpose" he finished. "But it's just my job,"
Chris said. "That's not what matters, you know that." "Right," Brian
said. He smirked. "But I'm not sure how well I'm doing in that
department, so it's nice to have something else." Chris sighed. He
didn't understand Brian. Brian, who knew perfectly well what he needed
to do to achieve Happiness, but still didn't do it. It's not as if it
was a difficult process, either. If you perform good deeds, you achieve
eternal happiness after death. It's that simple. Chris wasn't sure how
many good deeds Brian had performed in his lifetime, but he knew it
couldn't have been more than a hundred. Chris had asked him about it
once, about why he not only didn't perform good deeds, but why he
actually seemed to avoid them. Brian had answered, "It just seems too
easy." Chris wasn't able to get anything else out of him about it.
Chris had always wondered what would happen if he could somehow turn
Brian, get him doing good deeds. How many good deeds would that count
for him, Chris? But it wasn't worth thinking too much about-it didn't
seem like he would accomplish that anytime soon. Dana changed the
topic. "So, Chris, how's your mom doing?" "Not too great, actually.
She's having trouble remembering who I am now. The doctors don't think
she has much time left." "I'm sorry," said Dana. "It's okay," said
Chris. "But, she is... okay, right?" inquired Carrie. "You know,
afterwards?" "Mom?" Chris laughed. "Mom's a saint. She can't remember
her own name, but she can still remember how many good deeds she
committed. Yeah, Mom's fine." Chris looked around at Dana and Carrie,
who were both smiling at him. Brian was staring at his glass and didn't
look up.
*********************************************************************
The next day at work, Chris was in between teaching the preschoolers
and the prekindergarteners. He figured he should go to the bathroom and
wash his hands. When you teach three and four year olds, you have to
wash your hands every hour if you want to avoid a cold. This small,
poorly ventilated school was a petri dish for culturing viruses. When
he came out of the bathroom, the school principal walked up to him,
looking distressed. "Ah, Chris," he said. "Can I have a moment with
you?" "Of course," Chris said. The two of them moved into the empty
hall of kids lockers. "You know Marcus Kemp didn't come in today."
Chris nodded. "Well," continued the principal, "I tried calling his
house but no one was home. The authorities have just contacted us."
"Authorities?" "Yes. Apparently, last night while driving home, the
Kemps got into a car accident." "What?" "It was late; the other car was
going very fast. Everyone died." Chris was speechless. Marcus. Chris
had just taught him his first good deed last month. He couldn't believe
he was actually dead. His eyes automatically moved to the small cubby
that he knew to be Marcus's, still containing a blanket and a stuffed
rabbit. "That's horrible," Chris finally spit out. "Yes," said the
principal. "I thought you needed to know. Sorry." He started to walk
away, leaving Chris alone in the hall. "Wait," said Chris. "Who's going
to empty out his cubby?" The principal looked confusedly at Chris, and
then he glanced at the row of cubbies. "I'll have the janitor do it
today." And he left. Chris stared at the stuffed rabbit, its right eye
missing, the fur sticky from spilled juice. He thought it was amazing
how worn out that thing had become during the three years Marcus owned
it. Busy kid, Chris thought. Chris continued to stare for a minute
until he realized he still had a class to teach. He turned around and
started to walk to his classroom. Chris spent the rest of the day in a
daze. Two more sets of kids and the same material. Whenever he
explained the purpose of good deeds and the way to Happiness he
couldn't help thinking of Marcus. How many good deeds could he possibly
have performed? Five, maybe? Chris didn't know exactly how it worked-if
there was some lower limit of good deeds, then Marcus certainly
wouldn't have made it. Or maybe it was a continuum of Happiness, and
the more good deeds you do, the happier you become. Either way, the
prognosis wasn't good for Marcus. Chris felt entirely powerless. He was
responsible for the Happiness of these kids. He was the one who made
sure they started life on the right track. But he didn't even get a
chance with Marcus. There was nothing he could have done. When driving
home that day, Chris turned into the Rolling Hills Nursing Home. His
mom had been living there for six months now. She had Alzheimer's and
she had deteriorated to such a point that Chris could no longer take
care of her. He felt guilty putting her in there, but he knew he
shouldn't. Now that he didn't have to take care of her, he could
perform twice as many good deeds. It really was the right thing to do.
He had even wondered if that fact could have made putting her in there
a good deed in itself. Chris knew that going to see his ailing mother
was probably the last thing he needed right now. But it seems that
death attracts death, and he was compelled to go. Chris walked into her
room. It was bright and the air from the outside created a pleasant
breeze. Looking though the window at the nearby pond, Chris again
reminded himself that putting her there was the right thing to do. "Hi
mom" he said. She was sitting in her rocking chair staring out the
window. She hadn't heard him. He moved closer and said more loudly,
"Hello." She turned and looked at him. "Oh, hello." She didn't know who
he was. "It's me, mom. Chris." She smiled at him. "Of course you are."
Chris knelt down and kissed her on the cheek. "How are you?" "Very
good. Two more good deeds this week," she said proudly. Chris smiled
and looked over at her notebook. In it she kept a tally of every good
deed she ever performed. She had taught him to do the same. No surprise
that Chris chose the job he did; he was trained for it since he was a
toddler. "What are you at now, mom?" he asked. "Six thousand and
twelve." "Wow." "None of the nurses can believe it. They say six
thousand's incredible." "It is, mom," Chris said. She smiled. "I'm sure
it will be enough." Chris felt a pang in his stomach. Marcus was
screwed. No question. "I think people do less now than they used to,"
his mother continued. Chris felt sick. He had to get out of there.
"Mom," he said. "I have to go now and get some work done. I'll see you
soon, okay?" "Bye, sweetheart." Chris left and got in his car. He got
on the freeway and started driving, not in any particular direction. He
had always known his mom would be okay. He knew since he was a little
kid that his mother was perfect, an example for them all. He had always
taken comfort in that. It didn't matter how nice of a life he gave her
in her elder years-either way she would be happy when she died. But now
with Marcus, he looked at his mother differently. He always knew she
was above them all, at the top of the class. But he had just realized
that she was changing the scale and destroying the curve, destroying it
for people like Marcus. How could he possibly achieve Happiness when
his good deeds are compared against those of people like his mother?
There had to be some exception, something Chris didn't know about. When
they trained him to be a teacher he had thought they told him
everything, but maybe they didn't. Maybe, as someone who just taught
preschoolers, he didn't need to know all the specifics. Maybe Eternal
Happiness wasn't just based on a raw number of good deeds, like he
thought it did, but instead a ratio of deeds to time alive. That would
make more sense, he thought. Either way, he had to know. He kept
driving, heading for Altmar. The University of Altmar held one of the
most respected philosophy programs in the country, philosophy being of
course the field devoted to the study of the Meaning of Life. Altmar's
department of philosophy had actually employed the scientists who first
discovered the Meaning hundreds of years back. Today, research involved
determining the best course for achieving Happiness-when to start kids
on their good deeds, maximizing how often one should perform them, and
so on. Chris had attended a seminar once there as an undergraduate, but
besides that he had never been there. The ideas behind the Meaning of
Life were interesting to him, but he never thought it was too important
for him to understand the thought behind it. He didn't think it would
make him teach better, so he didn't really care. But now it mattered.
He reached the philosophy building and went inside. It was six o'clock
already; the receptionist had gone home. Someone still had to be there,
someone who could answer his questions. He walked upstairs and went
down the hallway, looking for offices with lights on. He reached the
door at the end of the hall. The sign on it read "Randy
Barrett--Department Chair". The light was on. It was perfect-who could
answer Chris's question if not him? Chris knocked on the door. A voice
inside spoke, "Come in." Chris pushed the door open slowly and went
inside. Barrett was sitting at his desk. "Hi," Chris said. "My name's
Chris Hunt. I teach the Meaning of Life to preschoolers at the Lakeview
schools." "Nice to meet you, Chris" Barrett said. "I needed to see you
because-" Chris started. Now that he was here, he didn't know what to
ask. "I-I had some questions about the specifics of the Meaning." "All
right." "You see-I don't quite understand how the system works for
children." "I'm afraid I don't understand your question," Barrett
replied patiently. Chris knew why he came here. He figured he might as
well just state it directly. "Well, I'm here because one of my students
died." "I'm terribly sorry to hear that. How old was he?" "He was
three. Actually, that's what I didn't understand. Marcus--my
student--had just performed his first good deed last month." Barrett
looked down at the floor, like he knew where this was going. "And I
wondered-what's the rule for people like him? Kids who didn't perform
many good deeds because they just didn't have enough time?" Barrett
breathed heavily. "That is a difficult question to answer, Chris. It
had puzzled philosophers for years after the initial discovery of the
Meaning of Life. They concluded that the system works the same for
everyone." "What does that mean?" Chris asked. "Does that mean he
didn't make it?" "The philosophers concluded that there are no
exceptions" Barrett concluded. "So he didn't make it. He didn't achieve
Happiness." Barrett didn't say anything. "But why didn't you tell us
that, the teachers? If we had known, the system of education would have
been different! We would have started teaching them earlier!" Barrett
sighed. "Chris, we never talked about the subject because, frankly, it
is too distasteful." "What?" Chris asked. "If we had announced it to
the public, could you imagine what that would do to parents? They would
be terrified. They shouldn't have to live with that." Chris didn't know
which part of that to address first. "Maybe they're wrong." "Who?"
asked Barrett. "Your scientists." "Of course they're not wrong,"
insisted Barrett. "But how can they know for sure?" asked Chris. "It
doesn't make sense that the system would be so flawed. There must be
something wrong. Can I see copies of the research or something? I want
to see it for myself." Barrett waved his hand. "You wouldn't possibly
understand!" Chris, of course, knew this. He knew since he was a child
that this was the way it worked-only a handful of people had the
ability to study philosophy, and he wasn't one of them. He knew it was
stupid to question this man, but he didn't care. Right now, he couldn't
just accept it, he needed to understand. "Look, you must be able to
explain to me some of how you got all this." "I would try but I
actually have to be leaving soon, so, I'm sorry, but-" "You know my
mom, you know how many good deeds she performed? Six thousand. That's,
like, perfect, right? That has to count for something." Chris was
grabbing at air here. He knew his mother's accomplishments wouldn't
possibly impress Barrett into helping him, but he had to try. "Chris-"
"And I deserve to know, I need to know to teach these kids." "Chris-"
"Look, I just can't believe that this kid was cheated out of Happiness
like that. It can't be true!" "It's not." Chris stood in silence for a
few seconds. Finally, he spoke. "What?" "It's not true," Barrett said.
"I don't understand," said Chris. "We don't actually know about what
happens for kids. We don't know what happens for anyone." "You mean you
don't know how many good deeds it takes to achieve Happiness-" Chris
helped. "No, I mean we don't know that anyone can achieve Happiness. We
don't know about any of it" "But-" Chris stammered, "What about the
scientists, the research, the discovery? You guys have spent centuries
working on this!" "Chris, just listen for a second. There are only
about fifty people in the world who know what I'm about to tell you."
Chris sat down in the chair next to the desk. "I don't know exactly how
it started myself; I only know what I was told. A few hundred years
ago, the government started it. They had just gotten over a war. It
ended badly and people were scared. People needed to feel that they had
some control after all that had happened to them. I'm not sure but I
think it happened little by little. They started teaching the Meaning
of Life to kids in schools. After a century or so, it became accepted
as fact." "But you-" "There was no research. We invented all of it."
Chris stared at him for a few seconds. "Why?" "I told you-people were
scared! They had to believe in something." He moved closer to Chris.
"You can't possibly understand, because you've never had to feel it."
"What?" Barrett looked out the window facing the city, streaming with
cars. "You've always known, never questioned, that your life makes a
difference. That must feel-wonderful." Chris looked up at him. "You're
saying it doesn't?" Barrett continued to look out the window. "I'm
saying that the number of good deeds you perform, it doesn't mean
anything." "And Happiness?" "As far as I know, there is none." "Then
what is there?" Barrett finally looked at Chris. "I don't know." Chris
suddenly saw an image of his mother lying in the nursing home. "No,
wait," he said. "So everyone now, everyone who dies, their good deeds
must count!" He looked imploringly at Barrett, who did not respond.
Chris quickly moved to him. "How could none of it help? My mother is in
a nursing home dying and I need to know that she's going to be all
right! Tell me!" "I don't know, Chris. I really don't know." Chris
lowered his head and backed away. He looked out the window, at the
millions of people, happily oblivious. "No, this-this is impossible.
You're saying everything I've been teaching these kids, everything
we've all been taught, it's all been a lie?" "We had to do it." "You
didn't have to! If nothing matters, then people deserve to know!" Chris
pointed out the window at the cars below. "They have a right to know
that there's nothing they can do." Barrett stared at him. "No. You
can't let them believe that. No one can live like that. They have to
believe that what they do makes a difference. They deserve that much.
Everyone deserves that much."
***********************************************************************
Chris left Barrett's office not sure what to do. He drove down the
highway trying to remember all his past good deeds. All wasted, he
thought. If he had known-it would have been different. It's Barrett's
fault, he concluded. His, and everyone else's who kept it a secret.
It's unfair-they knew, they were enlightened; and he and everyone else
were kept in the dark, foolishly acting in accordance with the lie.
Pulling into his neighborhood, one face suddenly came to mind: Brian.
He knew, thought Chris! He must have figured it out. And whenever Chris
talked to him about Happiness, he always wore that smug smile, but
never told him a thing. How could he, his friend, know the truth and
keep him in the dark? Chris turned the car and drove to Brian's house.
It took a minute of knocking before Brian finally came to the door,
confused at Chris's agitation. "Hey, Chris-" Brian started. Chris cut
him off. "You knew," he said accusatorily. Brian smiled. "Uh, knew
what?" "That it's all a sham. That none of it matters. That you've been
doing more for the world each day making cereal boxes than I have in
all my years of teaching." Brian stepped outside and closed the door.
"Chris, are you okay?" Chris scoffed, and Brian continued to stare at
him with confusion. Could it be that he doesn't know, considered Chris.
That he simply got lucky in his apathy? "Don't you know? About the
Meaning of Life?" Brian's expression did not change. Chris continued
on, feeling like an idiot. "It's fake." Brian raised his eyebrows.
"Oh?" he asked. Chris explained. "I talked to the chair of the
Philosophy Department at Altmar, and he told me-it's fake. The Meaning.
No one knows what happens when we die. There's nothing we can do to
ensure Happiness. They made it up." "Really?" Brian wondered. "You're
sure?" Now Chris was confused. "Yes." Why was Brian taking this so
well? "You really didn't know?" Brian shook his head. "No, of course
not. How could I possibly have known?" "But you must have guessed,"
Chris said. "Why did you avoid good deeds, why did you never seem to
care?" Brian stared at the road for a second. "I did care, Chris. Even
if it never looked like it, I was worried about it too. Maybe even more
than you." "If you were worried, then why didn't you do something about
it?" "I don't know. It seemed wrong, somehow, to do all these things
without really meaning them, you know?" Chris had no idea what Brian
was talking about. Brian continued. "You train these kids so that from
the time they're three years old, all they care about is doing good
deeds. But why do they do it? Because they know it will get them
Happiness. Nothing's selfless anymore." Chris couldn't believe Brian
was saying this. "You're not saying that we shouldn't practice good
deeds? It's the right thing to do." "Yes," said Brian. "But you're
doing the right thing for the wrong reason." Chris stared at him. "So
you would avoid doing the right thing, and give up on Happiness, just
because you don't like the motive?" Brian looked at Chris darkly for a
few seconds. "I don't know, Chris. I guess I never really knew, but I
always wanted to. And as long as I kept doing what I was doing, I could
never forget the question." They stood in silence for a second. "But,"
Brian said, "Now that we know there's no such thing as Happiness, it
doesn't matter, does it? A relief for me, I must say." Chris didn't
understand how Brian could look at this so lightly. "But what do we do
now?" Chris asked. "What do we do, knowing we can do nothing?" Brian
smiled at him. "Who said we can do nothing?" Chris didn't know how to
respond. He was saved from the burden, however, when his cell phone
rang. He answered, "Hello?" "Hi, is this Chris Hunt?" "Yes." "This is
Laura from Rolling Greens nursing home. Your mother has been having
some complications with her breathing, and we've been keeping an eye on
her, and lately she's-" Oh god, Chris thought. Not her. Not now. "Is
she there now?" he asked. "Yes." "Hold on-I'm coming." Chris hung up
the phone. He looked back at Brian. "It's mom." Brian realized what he
meant, and realized how now, Chris had much more reason to be worried.
"Man, I'm sorry." "I've got to go."
************************************************************************
Chris entered his mother's room. It was completely dark, except for a
dim lamp sitting on the desk. A nurse was standing over the bed. She
turned as Chris walked in. "How is she?" he asked. "She's not doing to
well," the nurse said. "It's good you came now. I don't think she has
much time left. Do you want me to leave?" "Yeah, yeah I do." As the
nurse walked out, she placed one hand on his shoulder, and smiled. Then
she was gone, leaving Chris alone with his mother. She was breathing
with great difficulty. "Mom?" he asked. "Chris. Hey honey. Come a
little closer, will you?" She looked the very image of death: her face
was white, you could see yellow in her eyes. As Chris moved closer to
her, he could smell the stench on her breath. "I figure I'm going
pretty soon." Chris nodded dumbly. "Uhuh." "Six thousand and twelve,"
she said. "That's how many deeds I've performed. Do you know anyone
who's ever done that many?" "No, I don't. That's great, Mom." His
mother smiled. She coughed heavily. "I know it's enough. I'm not afraid
of anything, Chris. I know I'm going to be just fine." Chris smiled at
her. She was happy not knowing, he thought. This lie, there's some good
in it. His mother's breathing began to grow sparse. Chris watched as
the life drained out of her, as she struggled to take each last breath.
Chris looked away. He breathed deeply, and looked back at her and said,
"I love you, Mom." As his mother exhaled for the last time, he could
barely make out what she whispered: "Six thousand and twelve."