Richard Powers - Bewilderment

The senior officer’s nameplate read SERGEANT JUFFERS. His badge number was a palindromic prime. “You don’t have a permit for this,” he said.

I shrugged. I probably shouldn’t have. “We’re not demonstrating. We just wanted to take a picture of ourselves in front of the Capitol, with the banner my son made.”

Sergeant Juffers looked at Robin. His eyes narrowed at the complication to law and order. No doubt it had been as long a day for him as it had for me. Things weren’t good in Washington; I should have remembered that. Bullying was trickling down. “It’s unlawful to crowd, obstruct, or incommode the entrance of any public building.”

I glanced over to the entrance of the Capitol. I would have been hard-pressed to throw a baseball that far. I should have let it go. But he was being stupid about a thing that had given my son such hope. “That’s not really what we’re doing.”

“Or to crowd, obstruct, or incommode the use of any street or sidewalk. Or to continue or resume the crowding, obstructing, or incommoding after being instructed by a law enforcement officer to cease.”

I gave him my Wisconsin driver’s license. He and his partner, whose plate read PFC FAGIN, retreated to their vehicle. The last time I was caught breaking the law was in high school, shoplifting wine from a convenience store. Since then, not even a speeding ticket. But here I was, encouraging a small boy to take issue with the destruction of life on Earth. It was not socially acceptable behavior.

In five minutes, the two of them had all the information about me and Robin anyone could use. All facts, instantly available, to anyone. In fact, they didn’t need a single bit of additional data to know which side of the civil war Robin and I were on. The banner told them that.

It was not in my son’s lesson about the separation of powers, but the Capitol Police fall under the responsibility of Congress and not the President. But all such distinctions had been disappearing over the last four years. Congress itself now took orders from the White House, and the appointed judges had fallen in line. A steady destruction of norms—favored by less than half the country—had united the branches of government under the President’s vision. The laws did not say so, but these two policemen now answered to him.

The officers left their vehicle and waded back toward our cluster of people. As they approached, the two teens holding the banner began spinning rings around the officers. Juffers spun in place. “We’re going to ask you to disperse now.”

“This problem won’t disperse,” one of the banner-holders said.

But most of the gatherers had maxed out their political will and were drifting away. Juffers and Fagin came at the banner-holders, who let go of Robin’s artwork and fled. The banner blew limp across the pavement. Robin and I chased it. There’s still a crease and footprint where I stepped on it to keep it from blowing away. It’s right over the painting of what must be a pangolin.

The officers watched as we smoothed, dusted off, and rolled the banner in the stiff wind. You’re probably sad right now , Robin said to Juffers. It’s kind of a sad time to be alive .

“Keep rolling,” Sergeant Juffers said. “Let’s go.”

Robin stopped. I stopped with him. If the insects die, we won’t be able to grow food .

Officer Fagin tried to take the banner, to finish rolling and wrap up the show. The move startled Robin. He clutched his artwork to his chest. Fagin, defied by something so small, grappled Robin’s wrist. I dropped my end of the banner and screamed, “Do not touch my son!” Both men squared off against me, and I got myself arrested.

THEY CUFFED ME IN FRONT OF HIM. Then they tucked us into the sealed backseat of their cruiser for the four-block ride to USCP headquarters. Robin looked on as I got fingerprinted. His face glowed with a mix of horror and wonder. They charged me with violating D.C. Criminal Code Section 22-1307. My options weren’t great. I could get a court date and make another trip all the way back to Washington. Or I could admit to the obstructing and incommoding, pay the three hundred and forty dollars plus all administrative costs, and be done with it. Nolo contendere , really. After all, I’d broken the law.

We walked back to the hotel in the dark. Robin was all over me. He couldn’t stop smirking. Dad. I can’t believe you did that. You stood up for the ol’ Life Force! I showed him my blackened fingertips. He loved it. You’ve got a record now. Criminal!

“And that’s funny… how?”

He took my wrist the way Fagin had tried to take his. He tugged me to a halt on the sidewalk alongside Constitution Avenue. Your wife loves you. I know it for a fact .

THE NEXT MORNING GOT US as far as Chicago. ORD was in a state of heightened security not safe enough to communicate to the public. Armed guards with Kevlar breastplates and canine sniffers worked their way up the concourse as we made our way to our gate. I had to keep Robin from petting the dogs.

The gate was a cocktail of jet fuel and stress pheromones. What we used to call freak weather was creating a cascade of delays and cancellations. Our connector to Madison was running late. We sat in front of a suite of four TVs, each tuned to a different band of the ideological spectrum. The moderate-liberal screen reported more drone-delivered poisonings in the Upper Plains states. The conservative-centrist one covered a private mercenary force deployed on the southern border. I pulled out my phone and attacked the two-day backlog of work. Robin sat people-watching, his face a study in wonder.

Every time I glanced up at the gate board, our flight slipped another fifteen minutes. Someone on the gate crew was ripping the Band-Aid off as slowly as possible.

Alerts rippled through every phone in the gate area. A text from the new National Notification Service flashed across everyone’s screens. The message was from the President, emboldened these last two months by a series of unopposed executive orders.

America, have a look at today’s ECONOMIC numbers! Absolutely INCREDULOUS! Together, we will stop the LIES, SILENCE the nay-sayers, and DEFEAT defeatism!!!

I muted the phone and returned to work. Robbie sketched. I thought he was drawing people in the gate area. But when I looked again, his figures turned into radiolarians and mollusks and echinoderms, creatures that made Earth seem like a crazy 1950s issue of Astounding Stories .

I worked, ignoring the fidgeting in the chair to my left. A substantial woman, her head on a swivel, was berating her phone. “Is something going on out there?”

Her phone answered in the sassy voice of a young actress. “Here are today’s best events in the Chicago, Illinois, area!”

The woman caught my eye. I looked away, at the bank of television monitors: a cloud of acrylonitrile vapor several kilometers long was spreading through the Ruhr. Nineteen people had died and hundreds were hospitalized. A small paw clasped my forearm. Robin regarded me, bug-eyed.

Dad? Know how the training is rewiring my brain? His wave included all the craziness of the concourse. This is what’s wiring everybody else .

The woman to my left spoke again. “There’s something they’re not telling us. Not even the machines know what’s going on.” I didn’t know if she was talking to me or her digital assistant. Everyone else around us was bowed and tapping, lost in their pocket universes.

A voice came over the PA. “Ladies and gentlemen in the boarding area. We’ve been informed that no flights will be leaving this airport for at least two more hours.”