James Gardner - Muffin Explains Teleology to the World at Large

"Shut up, Jamie."

The back was only a strip of weeds two yards wide, stuck between the warehouse and a chain-link fence. Halfway along was a flight of metal steps, like a fire escape leading to the roof. They creaked when you walked on them, but didn’t wobble too badly.

On the roof we found a weird-looking airplane. Or boat. Or train. Or wagon. Whatever it was, it had wings and a tail like an airplane, but its body was built like a boat: a bit like our motor-boat up at the cottage, but bigger and with these super-fat padded chairs like maybe astronauts sit in. The whole thing was attached to a cart, but the cart’s wheels were on the near end of a train track that ran the length of the roof and off the front into the street.

"What is this thing?" I asked.

"The monks made it for me," Muffin said, which didn’t answer my question. She climbed up a ladder into the plane and rummaged about in a cupboard on the rear wall. I followed her and watched her sorting through the stuff inside. "Peanut butter. Bread. Kool-Aid. Water. Cheese. Diet Coke. What’s this?" she said, handing me back a roll of something in gold plastic wrapping.

I opened one end and sniffed. "Liverwurst," I said.

She made a face. "Is that like liver?"

"No, it’s peanut butter made from bologna."

"Weird. Do you see any hot dogs?"

I looked in the cupboard. "Nope."

"I should phone the monks. We need hot dogs."

"What for?"

She ignored me. "Is there anything else you’d want if you were going to be away from home for a few days?"

"Cheerios and bacon."

She thought about that. "Yeah, you’re right."

"And Big Macs."

She gave me a look like I was a moron. "Of course, dummy, but the monks will bring them just before we leave."

"We’re going on a trip?"

"We’re on a trip now. We’re going to arrive."

Early the next morning, Dr. Hariki showed up on our doorstep. He works with my dad at the university. My dad teaches physics; he uses lasers and everything. Dr. Hariki is in charge of the big telescope on top of the physics building, and he takes pictures of stars.

"What’s up?" Dad asked.

"You tell me," Dr. Hariki said, spreading a bunch of photographs on the coffee table.

Dad picked up a picture and looked at it. Turned it over to check out the date and time written on the back. Sorted through the stack of photos till he found whatever he was looking for and compared it to the first. Held the two together side by side. Held one above the other. Put them side by side again. Closed his right eye, then quick closed his left and opened his right. Did that a couple of times. Picked up another pair of photos and did the same.

Muffin came into the room with a glass of orange juice in her hand. "Looks more like a dipper now, doesn’t it?" she said without looking at the pictures.

Dad and Dr. Hariki stared at her with their mouths wide open. Muffin said, "The dipper was too spread out before. Don’t you think it looks better now?"

"Muffin," Dad said, "we’re talking about stars... full-size suns. They don’t just move to make nicer patterns."

"No, but if they’re going to stop moving, you might as well make sure they look like a dipper in the end. Anything else is just sloppy. I mean, really."

She walked off into the TV room and a moment later, we heard the Sesame Street theme song.

After a long silence, Dr. Hariki picked up one of the photos and asked, all quiet, "Something to do with entropy?"

"I think it’s teleology," I said.

That night Uncle Dave was over for Sunday supper. Mom figures that Uncle Dave doesn’t eat so good in residence, so she feeds him a roast of something every Sunday. I think this is a great idea, except that every so often she serves squash because she says it’s a delicacy. Lucky for us, it was corn season so we had corn on the cob instead.

After supper we all played Monopoly and I won. Uncle Dave said it made a nice family picture, us all sitting around the table playing a game. "Someday, kids," he said, "you’re going to appreciate that you have times like this to remember. A perfect frozen moment."

"There are all kinds of perfect frozen moments," Muffin said, and she had that tone in her voice like she was eleventy-seven years old instead of six. "Right now, people all over the world are doing all kinds of things. Like in China, it’s day now, right, Dad?"

"Right, Muffin."

"So there are kids playing tag and stuff, and that’s a perfect moment. And maybe there’s some bully beating up a little kid, and punching him out right now." She banged her Monopoly piece (the little metal hat) when she said "now." "And that’s a perfect moment because that’s what really happens. And bus drivers are driving their buses, and farmers are milking their cows, and mommies are kissing daddies, and maybe a ship is sinking someplace. If you could take pictures of everyone right now, you’d see millions of perfect little frozen moments, wouldn’t you?"

Uncle Dave patted Muffin’s hand. "Out of the mouths of babes... I’m the one who’s studying the Wonders of Life, and you’re the one who reminds me. Everything is perfect all the time, isn’t it, Muffin?"

"Of course not, dummy," she answered, looking at Uncle Dave the way she did when he tried to persuade her he’d pulled a dime from her ear. She turned around in her chair and reached over to the buffet to get the photograph they’d taken of her kindergarten class just before summer holidays started. "See?" she said, pointing. "This is Bobby and he picks his nose all the time, and he’s picking his nose in the picture, so that’s good. But this is Wendy, with her eyes closed ’cuz she was blinking. That’s not perfect. Wendy cries every time she doesn’t get a gold star in spelling, and she knows three dirty words, and she always gives Matthew the celery from her lunch, but you can’t tell that in the picture, can you? She’s just someone who blinked at the wrong time. If you want someone who should be blinking, it should be dozy old Peter Morgan, who always laughs too loud."

Uncle Dave scratched his head and looked awkward for a bit, then said, "Well, Muffin, when you put it like that... I suppose there are always some things that aren’t aesthetically pleasing... I mean, there are always going to be some things that don’t fit properly, as you say."

"Not always," she said.

"Not always? Someday things are just going to be right?" Uncle Dave asked.

Muffin handed me the dice and said, "Your turn, Jamie. Bet you’re going to land in jail."

Next morning Muffin joggled my arm to wake me up. It was so early the sun was just starting to rise over the lake. "Time to go down to the boatyards."

"Again?"

"Yep. This time for real." So I got up and dressed as quietly as I could. By the time I got down to the kitchen, Muffin had made peanut butter and jam sandwiches, and was messing around with the waxed paper, trying to wrap them. She had twice as much paper as she needed and was making a total botch of things.

"You’re really clueless sometimes," I said, whispering so Mom and Dad wouldn’t hear. I shoved her out of the way and started wrapping the sandwiches myself.

"When I rule the world, there won’t be any waxed paper," she said sulkily.

We were halfway down to the bus stop when Uncle Dave came running up behind us. He’d been staying the night in the guest room and he must have heard us leaving. "Where do you think you’re going?" he asked, and he was a bit mad at us.

"Down to the boatyards," Muffin said.

"No, you aren’t. Get back to the house."

"Uncle Dave," Muffin said, "it’s time."

"Time for what?"

"The Eschaton."

"Where do you pick up these words, Muffin? You’re talking about the end of the world."