The kettle whistled, a piercing shriek of alarm.
Little Roy jumped at the startling noise. Grandfather emitted a grunt in response.
Mother poured each of the two children a cup of the steaming liquid and placed it in their hands; one wrinkled and old, trembling with the onset of Parkinson’s, the other tiny with chubby fingers that clasped the cup with care in order to not spill a single drop. She then left the room, shutting the heavy oak door behind her departing figure.
“We learnt about The Big Bang today and that planets revolve around the sun. There are eight of them.”
“Nine,” Grandfather growled.
“Eight! Pluto isn’t a planet anymore. It’s just a large piece of rock!” Little Roy adamantly defended his education and Science teacher.
“There were nine in my time.” Elderly Roy had resigned himself to shifting notions of what constitutes information. Once upon a time he would have engaged in an intense discussion, exclaiming in protest that facts cannot change with the turning of the clock, but now he had neither the energy nor the will to be alarmed at the news. Therefore, this novel piece of knowledge that was being taught earnestly by his grandson and involved the knocking off of an entire planet from the solar system did not astound him anymore and was greeted with nary a twitch.
A sip of tea each. Grandfather slurped while Little Roy tested the temperature with the tip of his tongue. Bad decision. The tea was boiling hot and burnt his tongue. He shook his head in sadness but continued with the conversation; it was a daily routine.
“The Universe was one single mass and then there was a loud explosion which formed our solar system and planets and stars and astrods…”
“Asteroids.” Grandfather corrected him.
“Asteroids…” Little Roy repeated sheepishly.
“Good. That’s good.” Grandfather said distractedly as he rummaged in his coat pocket for a match. Little Roy picked up the box that lay by his feet and handed it to the trembling outstretched hand. Grandfather lit his pipe, first a puff-puff, then a deep breath in, inhaling the smoke that filled his lungs with a tobacco-tinged tranquility.
Little Roy waited patiently, but now that Grandfather had finished his ritualistic post-dinner ceremony of inaugurating a “nicotine night cap” as he would say, Little Roy asked the question that had been burning inside him since his morning lesson.
“Grandfather, I know how the planets were created… but who created the single mass that exploded?”
Grandfather closed his eyes. Age was catching up with him. He was no longer his former sprightly self who could invoke answers, dripping with the phantasmal essence of the insane, to entertain his grandson. However, these conversations over tea had become a ritual in the household, first with his son and now his grandson. He was not able to conjure up the fantastical responses the boy sought, but he managed to conjure up the willpower to stay awake.
“Hmmm.. it was always there.”
“How can it always be there! Something must have created it.” Relentless Little Roy.
“The world is a magical place.”
The tea had cooled. Grandfather was on his second cup. Little Roy was on his second sip.
“Then who created magic,” Little Roy edged closer to the plush leather of the sofa.
Grandfather’s sly grin was hidden in the tangles of his coarse wide beard and moustache. This was a question he very well knew the answer to.
“God. God did.”
He was extremely pleased with himself. This would give his inquisitive grandson the answer to all his bizarre questions.
Understanding he was in uncharted territory, Little Roy reduced his voice to a mere whisper.
Hushed tones made the question seem like a secret; one Little Roy was willing to share with his grandfather who he considered the epitome of an intellectual elite. Poor Grandfather did not expect what was coming.
“Who created God, then?”
One eyelid fought the weight of impending sleep and twinkled at the boy sitting upon the rug, staring expectantly up at the towering figure.
“Nobody created God. God has always existed.”
“That’s what I thought about the planets but they were created by The Big Bang. So then even God must have been created from something…”
Sips of tea and silence.
Little Roy sat, pondering over the question that has confounded scientists for eons, believing the answer would be revealed to him that very night. He sipped and thought, and thought and sipped. Eventually resigning himself to the unquestionable existence of this God, Little Roy came up with a new query.
“So, God exists. But then before the explosion of the single mass, what was there?”
“Nothing.”
Oh Grandfather, if you only knew.
This tedious line of questioning was making the old man cranky. He did not have the mental powers to fathom the profundity of his grandson’s words; all he thought about was sleep.
“So what does Nothing look like?”
“It’s empty and black. Nothing is when nothing is there.” Grandfather offered the last dregs of his insightful wisdom; Little Roy flew on whimsical wings, a creature of reckless abandon.
“Why black, Grandfather. Why couldn’t this Nothing be white? Or blue… Or SILVER?”
Little Roy had recently discovered this colour of liquid moonshine, sprinkled with glittering specks of stardust. He loved it so much that he wrote his name in a Silver metallic pen on all his school notebooks and had painted his car collection silver such that mini Rolls Royces and Pontiacs were doused in sparkle.
Little Roy’s excitement at imagining a nothingness of silver dispelled that mist of sleep that shrouded Grandfather. All of a sudden, memories flooded that withered mind…and he remembered. A train station platform, the crowd, a deep conversation between two friends eclipsed by announcements over a loudspeaker… and tea.
Mirroring the action of his reveries, he drank the last of the infusion in a tremble and a shake. Brown liquid dribbled down his chin, beads of tea standing as murky dew drops upon his pristine all-white beard. It continued, streaking a path to land on his coat collar, staining it a darker shade of brown.
Grandfather was revived. Grandfather was awake.
“The world is an old place, my boy.”
“As old as you?” Wide eyed innocence.
“Older.” A hint of a smile.
“No one can be sure of anything that happened in the past. What if the world wasn’t created by The Big Bang your Science teacher is so proud of? I’m not saying it wasn’t… but WHAT IF it wasn’t. One never knows. We humans think we’re smart buggers but the truth is… we just don’t know.”
Puzzling over this profound explanation that made no sense in the little mind of Little Roy, he piped up in reply.
“I feel like an ant.”
Grandfather guffawed, “Son you’re tinier than an ant. You’re a minuscule speck of dust that settles on the windshield… maybe not even that.”
Little Roy was not amused.
“You’re dust too then.”
Aren’t we all? The mysteries of the world extend beyond our capacities. The Milky Way is our galaxy, we own it with pride. Who owns the other known galaxies of the Universe? Who owns the ones we don’t even know exist?
Mother entered. It was time for bed. The deep reverie in which the two wise men of the world sat was broken by her appearance.
Little Roy kissed his grandfather’s cheek and bade him goodnight. Warm covers and sweet dreams awaited him.
Little Roy’s departure was the much-needed respite the poor old man needed. However, his mind had been stirred… and so had the whirlpool of memories. Grandfather sat in the study, smiling to himself. His grandson’s inquisitive yearnings and existential reflections reminded him of another intellect that had sought the same answers in the past. He saw the man now, on that station platform, full of unanswered questions and engaged in a contemplative conference with an indulgent companion. Through the mists of time, he saw himself on that platform. Today, he saw himself in Little Roy.
Art work- Patrick Saunders – Late Afternoon, oil on canvas
Clarity amidst Chaos 