{"id":1331,"date":"2006-10-04T20:24:06","date_gmt":"2006-10-05T04:24:06","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/ballsandwalnuts.com\/?page_id=1331"},"modified":"2006-11-15T12:45:19","modified_gmt":"2006-11-15T20:45:19","slug":"all-change","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/ballsandwalnuts.com\/?page_id=1331","title":{"rendered":"All Change"},"content":{"rendered":"

Originally published in Continuum Science Fiction<\/a> last Fall as “The Gorjun is Free”.<\/em><\/p>\n

All Change<\/strong><\/p>\n

by<\/strong><\/p>\n

Douglas Hoffman<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Twenty minutes into our trip to South Padre Island, the Impala\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s air conditioning failed. My ten-year-old son Isaiah had prudently brought a spray bottle — for the last week, the AC had burped and whined its terminal respirations — so we rolled down the windows and spritzed ourselves liberally.<\/p>\n

Daydreaming, I imagined a thousand other Texas highways just like this one, with its arrow-straight plunge to the horizon, its mini-malls and car lots shimmering in the distance.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153It looks so unreal,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I said.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Sure does,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Isaiah said. I wondered: was this a genuine Father-Son Moment?<\/p>\n

Pure ping pong, these conversations with my son: I would make my point or lose it in the return. I could reply, Distortion of light by convection currents, analogous to Schlieren lines in a glass of hot tea, but he knew that already.<\/em> Or I could say, It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s like Heisenberg\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Uncertainty Principle on the macro scale,<\/em> but I knew he wouldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t appreciate the simile. A demon for precision regarding all things scientific, Isaiah had no tolerance for poetic speech. Finally I realized I didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t have to say anything. We were sharing the moment together.<\/p>\n

But then he killed the moment with a question.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153What are you gonna say to Mom?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Isaiah learned how to manipulate me at the age of two.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153You can ask that all you like, Iz, but the answer\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s the same: I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t know. You\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll find out when I do.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Would we be better off if Mom had died?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153What the hell kind of question is that?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a perfectly valid question.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

I knew better than to argue with him. He would declare the question grammatically correct, or point out the validity of analyzing a hypothetical situation. And so we settled back into our usual silence, the only cool thing in the car.<\/p>\n

#<\/p>\n

Southbound I-37, leaving San Antonio, a butterfly smacked the upper right-hand corner of the windshield, well outside the wiper\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s arc. My gaze kept shifting to the creamy yellow splat.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Why does Mom want to see me?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153She\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s your mother.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

“Then why didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t she want to see me last year?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Such an obvious question — I should have seen it coming.<\/p>\n

I signaled to take the next turn-off.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Tank\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s three-quarters full,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d said Isaiah.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I need to clean the windshield.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153You\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re kidding me, right?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

I added a quarter tank just to use the station\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s windshield scrubber. It took some effort, cleaning that smudge, and before long, my cotton shirt clung to my back and chest and sweat ran into my eyes. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d get sick if I didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t get a cold drink. So would Isaiah.<\/p>\n

Where the hell was he?<\/p>\n

Just past the air and water station, someone had parked a trailer on a patch of dirt and set out a vast array of junk. Isaiah loomed over the tables; I knew he would find some especially useless bit of junk.<\/p>\n

Other places had garage sales. Here, we had trailer sales.<\/p>\n

I hollered, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Watch out for ants!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

He heard me all right because he started kicking up dust. He wore Bermuda shorts, top-siders with no socks: South Padre Island attire. Kid was obviously excited to see his mom . . . not that he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d admit it. I had to intuit his emotional state from his choice of clothing.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Dad, come look.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Not again. Last time this happened, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d had to spend twenty-five dollars on a collection of rusty gears.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153You have money.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Not this kind of money.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

I couldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t go into his room anymore. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d cleaned it once and he wouldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t talk to me for a week. (He\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d said: Just because you don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t understand the order, doesn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t mean it isn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t there.<\/em>) We had a different definition of garbage, Iz and I, and an entirely different attitude towards chaos.<\/p>\n

I brought the car around to the side, twenty feet from the trailer sale, and trudged across hard-packed yellow clay, my eyes on the ground, scanning for fire ants. Sun-baked clay couldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t be the easiest thing to dig through, but fire ants never seemed to care. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d seen them erupt from cracks in the road, the asphalt so hot and sticky the ants became mired in the goo, but they didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t care. More poured out, parading over the bodies of their less fortunate comrades.<\/p>\n

A large woman in a yellow sun dress straddled a leather trunk. Her irises were the color of wheat, same color as her skin. She worked her few teeth with a toothpick.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Fine boy,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d the woman said. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153What is he, eight?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Ten-and-a-half,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d said Isaiah. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Dad, look.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

He held up two handfuls of metallic lumps: long, knobby, the color of pewter.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Shaped like coprolite,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I said.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Coprolites are fossilized dinosaur feces,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Isaiah explained to the woman, who returned a blank stare. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Dad\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a geology prof at the university.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Hundred bucks for those,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she said.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153A hundred bucks for coprolite?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Dad . . . please?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Why?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153They assemble . . . you wouldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t expect . . . Ach!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d He threw up his hands. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Just look.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

He took something resembling a leprous banana and stood it on end. It remained that way, canted fifteen degrees off vertical. He took a second piece that looked like a warty, broken cigar, and set it at right angles across the banana, forming a lumpy T. Then he took a convex disk that looked like a used condom . . . for a horse. He placed it atop the T, and spun it.<\/p>\n

The whole thing rotated as a unit, precessing like a gyroscope.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Wild, huh?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he said. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153The pieces are balanced. There are seven here, like a Soma cube or a tangram. It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a toy.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Nothing shaped like that should have balanced so well, nor spun so smoothly. I couldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t take my eyes away. I remember thinking, If I blink, it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll fall apart. Isaiah could never make that a second time.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Hundred dollars,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I said.<\/p>\n

Isaiah must have heard it in my voice, that sense of wonder. He smiled; he must have known he had me on his side. But the trailer lady misunderstood me.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153The gorjun\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s free,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she said. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Hundred bucks for the story.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s free, Iz,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I said. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Let\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s take it and go.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Dad!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d He turned to her and said, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Gorjun. Like the Gordian knot?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

She blinked. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Huh?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

“The Gordian knot,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he said. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Tied by Zeus, impossible to unravel, whoever solved the puzzle would rule all Asia . . . you know!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

She shook her head, and he gaped, flabbergasted. Hell, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d forgotten the Gordian knot. Sometimes Isaiah made the wildest assumptions about what the rest of us knew.<\/p>\n

I gave her five twenties and suddenly we were family, enveloped in her arms in a muzzy, beer-scented group hug that had to be as painful for Isaiah as it was for me. A wave of nausea crashed over me and my ears buzzed.<\/p>\n

But then Isaiah said, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Thanks, Dad,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d such a heartfelt thanks I knew I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d done the right thing, and the buzzing subsided.<\/p>\n

He added, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153You won\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t regret this. You\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll need an ally when we get to South Padre.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

I gave him a curious look, thought about what I should say; but then the woman began her story.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I was set up on the 59 northeast of Beeville,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she said, pointing vaguely across the highway. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Just after sunset, not a car for miles around, and who drives up but a little grey alien on a moped. Little grey alien with cat\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s eyes, a turned-up nose, and scales. He looks over my wares and says he needs my Osterizer. Says the motor is just what he needs to fix his ship.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t believe this,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I said.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Neither did I. Imagine, telling me it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s just what he needs to fix his ship. This guy couldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t haggle worth a shit! So I told him what I told you. One hundred dollars.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Let me guess,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d said Isaiah. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153He didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t have any money, just a bunch of alien credits, worthless on Earth. But he did have the gorjun.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153That\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s about the shape of it,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she said. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153But now it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s yours, and I have my hundred bucks.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Isaiah said, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Did he say what it was?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Nuh-uh. All he said was, I needed it more than he did.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

#<\/p>\n

Isaiah put the road atlas on his lap and began working with the gorjun. The Impala\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s shocks were a bad joke, and the atlas hardly provided a level base, yet he created perfectly balanced seven-piece sculptures one after the other. And such sculptures: tangrams and Soma cubes you could form into shapes that meant something. No matter how he arranged these lumpy things, they looked like metallic stools floating in zero gee.<\/p>\n

How did they balance like that?<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153You believe it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s from outer space?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Of course not,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he said, not taking his eyes off the gorjun.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153How can you be so sure?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153She would have asked a lot more than a hundred dollars.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153You\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re forgetting — not everyone\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s as bright as you.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

That gave him pause. I thought he might toss my question back at me, but he didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I was just wondering,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he said. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153What are you gonna say to Mom?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153What do you think I should say to Mom?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

He looked up from the gorjun. That look on his face: why couldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t I read it? Such a young smile, eyes moist. Was he relieved? Happy?<\/p>\n

Isaiah said, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Tell her she needs to come home.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

#<\/p>\n

Sure, maybe I expected a tearful reunion scene when Cynthia opened the door, but she and Isaiah exchanged a \u00e2\u20ac\u0153hey,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d and I got a look. We drifted into the living room and Cynthia asked him about school, whether he had a girlfriend, what books he was reading. Her patter seemed stiff enough to be scripted, and she ran out of steam after five minutes.<\/p>\n

In the midst of a silence filled with sweat and harsh grins, I punched up my courage and said, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153We want you to come home, Cynthia.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

I thought maybe she hadn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t heard me. She said, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Where are you staying tonight?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Here, I thought.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

She arched an eyebrow. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll get a little crowded when Glenn gets home.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Isaiah and I said together: \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Glenn?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m not sure what happened after that. I remember dull anger, raging incoherent thoughts, a dim awareness that Isaiah had holed up in the den while I followed Cynthia into the kitchen, not knowing what I would do or say next. Now I stood in the kitchen, six feet away from my wife whom I hadn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t seen in over two years, while Isaiah played with the gorjun behind two slammed doors. So much for an ally.<\/p>\n

She dried a wine glass with a terrycloth towel. My eyes moved from her slender fingers to her red hair (tied in a bun), to her shirt (V-neck, royal blue), to her denims (tight). I wanted her and I hated her for making me feel that way.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I could have prepared him for it,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I said.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Smart as he is? He had it figured out a long time before you.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t think so.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Ask him,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she said. She wouldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t look at me.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153What, and humiliate him even more?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153He\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s the one who\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s humiliated?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Oh, how I hated her.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Please, Cynthia. We need you to come home.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153And it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s all about you, isn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t it? But don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t you see? It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll be the same as before. You\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re the same. I saw what you did to the pillows on the sofa. You didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t think I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d notice?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

I kept my mouth shut. I couldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t remember rearranging the throw pillows, but I didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t doubt what she\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d said.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153You say things will be different,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she said, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153but I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve heard it a million times. Nothing ever changes — you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re still you.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Whatever.<\/p>\n

I brought in Isaiah\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s suitcase and set it next to him. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153What are you doing?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he said.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m going to the Holiday Inn,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I said. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll come by tomorrow and say goodbye before I leave.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

He put the gorjun pieces into a burlap rice sack the trailer lady had given us for free. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m going with you,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he said.<\/p>\n

I didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t argue with him. For that matter, neither did his mother.<\/p>\n

#<\/p>\n

We camped out at the Holiday Inn with no plan other than the vague idea we were on vacation. That first morning, we drove to Brownsville and hit a Borders Bookstore, then came back and camped by the pool. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d bought Carl Hiaasen\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s latest book and Isaiah picked up his third copy of The Two Towers<\/em>. Why he couldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t just remember to pack the damn book, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d never know.<\/p>\n

Before we went to the pool, Isaiah made me lock the gorjun in the Impala\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s trunk. He claimed he was afraid the housekeeper would take it, but I suspected he had other motivations. The night before, he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d stayed up past midnight playing with it.<\/p>\n

On our second night, he returned it to the sack after playing for only twenty minutes.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153What\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s the matter?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I said.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I can\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t stop thinking about it.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Just like a Soma cube.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s awful,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he said. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I keep rearranging it in my head. Have you noticed that every piece can grip every other at least three different ways?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153No, I haven\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t. You won\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t let me play with it.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153It wouldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t be healthy for you.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\nThe next night, we ate fried scallops at Joe\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Crab Shack, came back to the hotel, and Isaiah didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t even take the gorjun out of its sack. I watched an old Black Adder on cable while he read The Two Towers<\/em>. He\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d made a lot of progress.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153SHIT!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Isaiah slammed down the book, opened the burlap sack, and dumped the pieces on the round oak table near the window. I thought of Richard Dreyfuss in Close Encounters<\/em>, building mountains from mashed potatoes. Of kids spending hours on end playing the same computer game.<\/p>\n

Then I remembered Rick Barnes, whom I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d known since college. Rick lived in Austin, where he practiced patent law and ran ads on cable: Market your invention now!<\/em><\/p>\n

#<\/p>\n

Cynthia may have griped about money, but I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d always been happy on a professor\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s salary. Or rather, I would have been happy, had she not been so damned unhappy. No, if I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d been alone, this crackpot idea never would have occurred to me. But I had Isaiah to think of, too.<\/p>\n

Isaiah insisted on going everywhere the gorjun went. Like a Vatican bureaucrat, he feared Rick and I would defile his Shroud of Turin.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153How do you know X-rays won\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t hurt it?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153We need to know if it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s homogeneous,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I said. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t know any better way to do it.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153How do you know we can spare a milligram for the mass spec? You\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll unbalance the whole thing.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Look, do you want to know what it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s made of, or not? Wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t it you who said, ‘Maybe it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s made of some mineral that\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s never been seen before on Earth?’\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

In the end, he agreed to let us take samples from each piece, but after we took the first sample he insisted on playing with it for twenty minutes, just to be sure.<\/p>\n

The results were far from exotic. The pieces were isodense and homogeneous, composed of a nickel-tin alloy with traces of copper, silver, molybdenum, and iron. Isaiah, Rick, and I read the report together and exchanged glances.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153What do we do now?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I asked Rick.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153You need a working prototype,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he said. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153You have a working prototype.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153You can\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t have this one,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d said Isaiah.<\/p>\n

Rick said, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I know a good plastic extrusion man.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Three weeks later, we had our first plastic prototype. Isaiah took it into the kitchen and shooed us from the room. Ten minutes later, he joined us on the deck, looking like his hamster had died.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Well,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he said, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153now we know whether the alloy\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s important.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Rick clucked his tongue and sighed. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153This might price us out of the low end toy market,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he said.<\/p>\n

“Not at all,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Isaiah said, grinning fiendishly. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153It spins like a top.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

#<\/p>\n

We made it our summer project. Isaiah and I learned everything we could about manufacture, distribution, and marketing. Rick said we were wasting our time, but he didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t understand; we couldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t hand over control without some knowledge of the process.<\/p>\n

As for Cynthia, we heard not a peep. Neither Isaiah nor I mentioned her again.<\/p>\n

On Rick\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s advice, we decided to market the gorjun through LenCo, a local distributor of scientific toys like Grow-Your-Own Mystic Crystals, Uncle Josey\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Silkworm Farm, Monty\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Metaphysical Magnets, and Angelica\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Amazing Flower-Pressing Kit. Rick figured the gorjun would create its own sensation. He maneuvered a sweetheart deal for us with LenCo, so that when the gorjun turned into the next Rubik\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Cube, we\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d have a lion\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s share of the profits.<\/p>\n

Not that the money mattered, really, but college tuition wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t cheap, and Isaiah had his heart set on early enrollment next year. And besides, it was the principle of the thing. Why should some multinational make a killing off the gorjun?<\/p>\n

We called it Wacky Wiggle Worms, by the way. That\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s market research for you.<\/p>\n

#<\/p>\n

Two weeks after we released our first lot of five hundred, Isaiah went back to school. He soon fell into a routine: he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d come home, finish his homework, eat dinner with me, then play with the gorjun. I had a similar routine, except instead of playing with the gorjun, I read the emails to our website.<\/p>\n

Note from LenCo: We\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve cleared five hundred units in under three weeks. Figure we can place another fifty thousand nationwide.<\/em><\/p>\n

Note from Rick: Here\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s that background information on international distribution contracts. Don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t sweat it, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve done this before.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153DAD!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

I sprinted into the kitchen. Last time I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d heard anything like that, he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d cut himself slicing a bagel. Two seconds later, my heart pounding, I found him all in one piece standing over the gorjun.<\/p>\n

Nevertheless, he looked funny. Pale.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153What is it?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153How well do you remember the beanie?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

He held the piece that looked like a giant used condom. AKA the beanie.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153What do you mean?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Look. The perimeter is studded with big bumps and little bumps . . .\u00e2\u20ac\u009d He explained the pattern to me, but I couldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t follow him. He finished with, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Get it?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153If you say so.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Look at it now.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

The beanie felt cool and slick. Two large knobs interrupted each group of small knobs. The central portion, which used to be uniformly convex, was now half convex, half concave, each region flowing into the other like a yin-and-yang symbol.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s different,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I said. Something cold opened in the pit of my gut.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s the same for the others,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he said. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Every piece has changed.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

I didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t doubt him. If anyone knew those pieces, he did.<\/p>\n

We\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d kept one plastic gorjun for ourselves in the garage, still in its neon-bright wrapper. Isaiah studied the pieces for thirty seconds, and said, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s the same as the one in the kitchen.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153How . . . ?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

He shrugged.<\/p>\n

I said, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153But it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s just a shape.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve been thinking,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he said. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153A tangram starts as a square. A Soma cube starts as a cube. Maybe this thing started off as a hypercube — a four-dimensional cube — or maybe an even higher-dimensional object.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Oh, come on! You\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re talking like you believe that trailer lady\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s nonsense story.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

He shrugged.<\/p>\n

I pleaded: \u00e2\u20ac\u0153It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s just a shape.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I think it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a four-dimensional shadow of a higher-dimensional object,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he said. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153We\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re only three-dimensional beings — four, if you count the fact that we exist in time — so all we can appreciate are the objects\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 four dimensions.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

That\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s my boy, unfazed by the impossible. I felt defeated by his even tone, his persistence. The indisputable fact of the gorjun\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s changes made my feelings and everything else irrelevant. Maybe some idiot alien on a moped really had needed an Osterizer motor to fix his ship. It didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t matter: the gorjun existed, and that required a logical explanation. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d have to deal with it just as Isaiah dealt with it, as a puzzle to be solved.<\/p>\n

I said, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153So. If you can reassemble a tangram back into a square, and a Soma cube back into a cube, what do you think the gorjun makes?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d never seen him with such a wicked grin.<\/p>\n

We spent the rest of the evening in the kitchen, monkeying with the gorjun. We worked well together, I noticed, and it wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t lost on me that this odd collection of shapes had succeeded where a half dozen parenting books and thirteen hundred dollars\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 worth of family counseling had failed. The gorjun had brought us together.<\/p>\n

I thought, too, of the Gordian knot, the impossible knot of Zeus: whoever unraveled it would rule Asia. The legend attributed the puzzle\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s solution to Alexander, who solved it by slicing the knot with his sword. Folks usually interpreted the story as a metaphor for violent conquest, but Isaiah and I knew otherwise: Alexander had been thinking outside the box.<\/p>\n

We tried to do just that. We approached the problem intuitively, no preconceptions, long on instinct, short on analysis. I kept thinking: Just because you don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t understand the order, doesn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t mean it isn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t there.<\/p>\n

By 3:30 AM, we were both too tired to go on. I pushed the pieces together into a pile.<\/p>\n

The beanie leaped above the pile. Suspended midair, it spun clockwise over the other six pieces. A minute later, it reversed its rotation. A minute later, it reversed again.<\/p>\n

#<\/p>\n

“Rick, I think you should come over here.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Where\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s here?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153The house in Leon Springs. You need to see this. The gorjun is . . . doing things.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Silence at the other end of the phone. Rick believed all business could be conducted by modem. He probably dreaded the trip down from Austin.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Why don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t you just tell me what it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s doing.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153You wouldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t believe me. Oh, and Rick? Can you tell LenCo to hold distribution of the next fifty thou?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

More phone silence. Then, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153They shipped last night, man. No can do.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

#<\/p>\n

Isaiah and I stared at the gorjun. We hadn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t touched it since morning, and the beanie still spun like a top.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a perpetual motion machine,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I said. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153This isn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t supposed to happen.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Before, whenever we\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d spun the gorjun it would wear itself out. And it had never leapt into motion of its own accord.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s not exactly a perpetual motion machine,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d said Isaiah. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153It spins forty-seven seconds clockwise, then the same interval counterclockwise, then it repeats. If you average it out over time, the angular momentum would cancel, wouldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t it?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

I said, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s not supposed to work that way, and you know it.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Isaiah pointed at the spinning beanie. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Something else you ought to know,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he said.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153What?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Our toilets are flushing funny. It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s happening at school, too.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

The doorbell rang. It was Rick. Isaiah led him into the kitchen, and the three of us stared at the gorjun.<\/p>\n

Rick took the salt shaker.<\/p>\n

Isaiah said, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153What are you . . . ? Oh.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Rick unscrewed the shaker\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s top and poured salt over the beanie. A cloud of crystals swirled midair . . . then reversed.<\/p>\n

#<\/p>\n

We drove back to that same service station off I-37, but the trailer lady wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t there. Then we went to the only other place we could think of — Highway 59, northeast of Beeville, where she\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d supposedly encountered her moped-riding alien. Ten miles outside of Beeville, we found her at the roadside, hawking \u00e2\u20ac\u0153authentic Navajo spirit jewels\u00e2\u20ac\u009d to a busload of Canadian tourists.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153No refunds,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she said when she recognized us.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153That\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s okay,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d said Isaiah. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153We only want to talk.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

She squinted at us.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I brought money,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I said, and she brightened.<\/p>\n

Isaiah said, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153We want to know if that story you told us is true.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

She motioned for us to wait. When the last Canadian tourist had left, she took a twenty from me, then another twenty, smiled, and spat on the ground.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Bullshit, like all my stories,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she said.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Then where did you get it?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I said.<\/p>\n

She thumbed a low, oak-stippled hill five hundred yards off the road.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I was closing up for the evening when I saw this explosion. I went to take a look, and found a meteor cracked open like an egg. Meteor\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s all smoking red and fuming, but this thing was inside, cool as a pint of sherbet.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153No bullshit?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d said Isaiah.<\/p>\n

She shook her head.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Then, why\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d you make up the other story?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

She shrugged. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153That\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s what I do.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Less than ten minutes later, we crested the hill. We found no trace of a meteor or crater. We did find a quarter acre of tropical rainforest.<\/p>\n

When we got home, the gorjun was still spinning.<\/p>\n

#<\/p>\n

This was not the only special shape.<\/p>\n

A seven-year-old boy in Wichita formed his gorjun into something resembling a conjoined-twin giraffe. The rigid plastic giraffe necks softened and entwined, unwound, then entwined in the opposite direction. It blew every fuse in his house.<\/p>\n

A Winnipeg girl Isaiah\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s age formed her gorjun into a three-foot-tall tower that began hopping in place. The room became glacial so fast the girl had to be treated for frostbite.<\/p>\n

At first we followed the gorjun\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s progress by our emails — some bemused, others threatening litigation. Later, as the wonders multiplied, we didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t need to read emails. The changes were as obvious as the sun in the sky.<\/p>\n

Sunsets were green now, and the aurora borealis could be seen as far south as Monterrey. Blue dust devils appeared on the streets, glittering like fireworks. Nights lasted eighteen hours, and no two days were the same length. On the coast of Southern California, the surf was spectacular.<\/p>\n

The last week of September arrived, traditionally one of the hottest times of the year for south central Texas, yet we didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t have a single daytime high above seventy-six degrees.<\/p>\n

One morning, I awoke to find Isaiah frying hamburger meat, breakfast for a small brown dog: a chihuahua, the plump variety they call \u00e2\u20ac\u02dccobby\u00e2\u20ac\u2122.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Since when do we own a dog?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I asked Isaiah.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Pendejo,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d the dog said. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Who says you own anybody?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

#<\/p>\n

Last night, Isaiah and I spent the evening on the deck drinking virgin Margaritas and watching the aurora. Life was good.<\/p>\n

This morning, I woke up to find Cynthia sleeping beside me.<\/p>\n

I shook her until she opened one eye. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153When did you get here?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I love you,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she said, and rolled over.<\/p>\n

I found Isaiah in the kitchen fixing French Toast. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Mom\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s back,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I said.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I know.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d His face had a freshly-scrubbed glow. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153She tucked me in last night, kissed me on the cheek.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153You two are nuts,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d said the dog. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153That bitch has been here for weeks.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

We both ignored him. One of these days we\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d have to ask him his name.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Do you understand any of this?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I said.<\/p>\n

Isaiah flipped the toast. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153All I know? I have to stand back three feet when I flush the toilet, or else I might get sucked in. If I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t put a teaspoon of salt into the French Toast batter, the Toast burns every time. My tennis shoes won\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t stay knotted so I have to wear loafers. It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s easier to pedal my ten-speed at the highest gear ratio than the lowest. The fire ants are weaving flower necklaces and hanging them off the deer grass.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

He poured me a cup of coffee with cream, no sugar.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153And I know that Mom kissed me on the cheek last night, and told me that she loves me.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

I sipped the coffee. Nowadays, it tasted much better without sugar.<\/p>\n

I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d have to learn to accept change.<\/p>\n

#<\/p>\n

A vivid rainbow encircled the moon, and smaller glories ringed the stars. The air smelled of sagebrush and cinnamon. At my side, Cynthia draped her arm casually around my waist as if it were the most natural act in the world. She squeezed me tighter and gave an excited ooh when a red shooting star cleft the sky, leaving a wake of violet ripples. Isaiah peered into his telescope, muttering to himself about subtle shifts in the fundamental constants; Cynthia and I exchanged a glance, the smile of proud parents.<\/p>\n

When Cynthia ducked inside to make tea, Isaiah said, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Are you happy now, Dad?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Something about his question chilled me. Like he expected a thank you.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Isaiah, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m still wondering . . . do you understand what\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s happened?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

He laughed to himself and rested his arms on the deck railing.<\/p>\n

I said, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153You solved the puzzle, didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t you?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153There are lots of solutions. Just like a tangram or a Soma cube.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153But what about all those other gorjuns, son? When the hell will things stop changing?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Isaiah gave me an exasperated sigh. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153What do you want, Dad? Mom\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s home.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

He looked hurt. Frustrated. That moment, he wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t the prodigy who would start classes at University of Texas next month. He was the ten-year-old boy suffocating in a state of pique because his dad just doesn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t get it.<\/p>\n

A trio of violet orbs sped across the sky, accompanied seconds later by a low sonic boom.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Sure, kid,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I said, and his expression softened. I hugged him close. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Life is very good.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Yeah, life is very good . . . for now.<\/p>\n

Copyright me, Douglas Hoffman, forever<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

Leave comments here<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Originally published in Continuum Science Fiction last Fall as “The Gorjun is Free”. All Change by Douglas Hoffman Twenty minutes into our trip to South Padre Island, the Impala\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s air conditioning failed. My ten-year-old son Isaiah had prudently brought a spray bottle — for the last week, the AC had burped and whined its terminal… Continue Reading All Change<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-1331","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry","radius"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/ballsandwalnuts.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1331","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/ballsandwalnuts.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/ballsandwalnuts.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ballsandwalnuts.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ballsandwalnuts.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1331"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/ballsandwalnuts.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1331\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/ballsandwalnuts.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1331"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}