Triadic Tales - Last Morning - Short Story (Part One)
Bellingham got up early. He never failed to notice the play in the surface below his feet when he got up in the morning. Footsteps now could contribute to the powering of the world. Each step he took on the thin surface - what was once the floor but which was now all sides of all spaces - activated tiny sensors that created energy. Outside on the walkway, the same play existed. The strength of surfaces exceeded that of what used to be called walls. Soundproof. Fireproof. Replaceable. They came from a plant that once made automobiles.
He spoke softly to the wall. The temperature inside and out appeared. They were identical. It was spring. He looked around his room. It was his idea that everyone should have their own room. The idea evolved. The community acknowledged the individual as requiring his or her own space. Beyond such rooms, a residence had few requirements. Common life was springing up all over. What used to be houses were now these spaces, cobbled together in the matrix. Bellingham had come to see this as the evolution of building. We had always had the technology, Bellingham argued. All that was required was vision. His favorite Bible text was, "See and see but do not understand."
Bellingham walked out of the room to a narrow way. He entered his wife's room. She was still asleep. He knew this was his last day. He had not shared this knowledge with anyone save his friend and old classmate Henry. Henry was a doctor and for years they had corresponded about the vagaries of their old age. Henry still kept to the life he had led since his own health forced him to be a country doctor instead of a globe-trotting public health pioneer.
We are our bodies, Bellingham thought and smiled. Carrie knew in a general way that Bellingham was dying and that he had reached that happy point where he had everything one might want. It was old age that would finally kick in. And Bellingham's formidable will would allow death to take place without extended care or hospitalization.
He looked at her again. He could barely make out the motions of her breathing. Ah, there it was. She would find out soon enough.
Sun and shade were conspicuous here.
Bellingham's vision combined an almost medieval atmosphere with the highest tech yet been applied to the ill-tended macro-sphere. He exited to a slightly inclined way and sat down on one of the surfaces that were present everywhere.
Frangoulis and Theodorakis are joined by musicians, including two bouzouki players, and a very large audience that is completely familiar with the words. The audience joins in at Frangoulis' prompt.
This is my very favorite Theodorakis melody. Those who know Theodorakis only for his "Zorba" music are in for a treat. When I was in Athens in 1966, for a short period of study with Constantinos Doxiadis, I knew nothing of Theodorakis. But about five years later, my friend Irene Vassos sang "Sto perigiali" to us. I have never gotten the tune out of my mind.
Later, when Irene joined our group to form a travelling company performing "New Rain", I learned to pick out a …
Stephen C. Rose (1936-) was born in New York City and raised there. He currently lives there. He was educated at Trinity, Exeter, Williams and Union Theological Seminary. He served in the Student Interracial Ministry in Nashville. He founded and edited the prize-winning Renewal Magazine in Chicago and studied with C. A. Doxiadis in Athens. His first books "The Grass Roots Church" and "Who's Killing The Church" established him as a prominent critic of American Protestantism and American religion. He was and remains a civil rights activist. He has interviewed and done in depth pieces on Saul Alinsky and Martin Luther King, Jr. He won awards for editorial courage and for two documentary films. He has written and published many songs and musical works including "We Are All Americans". During the late 90s and early 2000s he worked for UN agencies, most recently editing CHOICES Magazine at UNDP. Since 2000 he has written several books for distribution via K…