they are not certain; and as far as they are certain,
they do not refer to reality.
― Albert Einstein
Wheat Sheaf Tavern
I love Rilke's poetry but unlike him, I can't live as he did in the question, embracing ambiguity―No, I need answers.
Obviously Art Tucker isn't helping. It's probably because he's a friend but I can't rely upon him for an objective psychiatric assessment and it's probably better I don't.
Talking with Brooke helped―it was an emotional catharsis for both of us and now that we're reconciled, one less conflict I have to handle. But neither of us knows what the hell is really going on, especially concerning the blackouts.
I decide the best course to follow is to make a rare trip to The Telegram in hopes of learning something more substantial.
I used to think there was wisdom in many minds but seeing the somber faces gathered around the water cooler was disheartening.
Sue Ellen saw my crestfallen look and tried to help me.
"Ben Church is in his office if you want to see him."
She had this knowing smile on her face that telegraphed, I know something you don't. I hoped it pertained to Ben Church and not Brooke and I becoming office gossip.
"Actually, I was looking for Tom Faraday―have you seen him?"
"Who isn't looking for Tom?" she snorted derisively, "Everyone wants the guru's take on the blackout. He's gone dark and is hiding out somewhere."
Sue Ellen knew more about the office than anybody, so I decided to play to her ego. "Yeah, I'm sure everyone wants to know where our Einstein has secreted himself, but you're the only one who really knows."
"If I did, I wouldn't tell," she teased coquettishly, "but I do know he often goes to The Wheat Sheaf Tavern for lunch―says he prefers the waitresses there."
I could have kissed her. "I owe you for this Sue."
"I'll save that for a rainy day. Who knows, I may collect on it."
I knew she'd struggle keeping a lid on Brooke spending a stormy night at my place. I'd have to get some dirt on her to make sure her gossip didn't go viral.
True to her word, Tom Faraday was exactly where she said he'd be, getting drunk and chatting up a waitress.
I waited until she left to serve another patron before approaching.
"Well, this must be the worst of times," Tom slurred, "seeing Zach Shepherd in The Wheat Sheaf. What's the occasion, or are you just slumming?"
"I like old places and this is the oldest bar in town so I figured I'd absorb some of our heritage."
He slid a draft across the table to me. "Absorb some of this brew while you can―I doubt this place has much of a future."
I looked around the newly furbished pub, "They just completed renovations―it should be good for another couple of centuries."
Tom scowled, "Maybe I was talking about the future of humanity."
I had seen Tom drunk before. He wasn't a happy drunk―usually alcohol made him feisty. But I had never seen him morose and the change in him worried me.
"The news can't be all that bad, unless you know something I don't. Either we're in for a spate of solar storms or the sun's going to implode or explode. So, which is it?"
"You haven't a clue what's going on and you never did. You and Brooke and your Bridle Path set―what do you know about life? Your idea of roughing it is enduring a day or two without electricity. Give me a break. Why should I tell you anything?"
I smiled. "Because you don't like to drink alone and that waitress isn't buying what you're selling."
He shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, it doesn't take a clairvoyant to figure that."
Obviously, he heard about my assignment and the expense account which he'd no doubt put to good use at The Wheat Sheaf.
"Okay Tom, it's plain to see you don't like me. But you've got something I want and I'm willing to pay for it."
"Well, you're right about that, Edgar Cayce―so how much are you willing to pay?"
I flipped him my staff Visa card. "You can spend up to the limit of my expense account."
He was taken aback and my gesture seemed to sober him.
"I'm not that much of a schmuck―I'll just the spend half of it," he smiled.
I clapped him jovially on the shoulder, "In that case, order another jug of draft, my friend, and tell me how the world's going to end."