The next two weeks were a blur of boiling down data and crunching the numbers, looking for patterns that matched up. We had been careful to set everything up the same through all the students, and it all lined up wonderfully. The DEI was producing something, but it wasn’t anything we could easily explain.
The review we were preparing for was our last before the Final Review in six months. Funding for the DEI project was contingent on getting high marks at that review, but I didn’t see it happening. We had made very little progress in the area we were supposed to be studying, which is how people learn and store information in their heads. However sharp my students were, I had the terrible feeling that learning facts and integrals and relationships between abstract concepts just wasn’t that interesting to them.
The software was flawlessly spitting out comparisons between the different waves and signals as if it was trying to tell me something. I often stayed up until midnight wondering what was going on inside the machines as the computers heated up the room to the point of drowsiness.
After a time we both took to dulling ourselves with PowerPoint. There was enough data to show we were making progress. We had to beat it into something so obvious that even the least imaginative could see it, however. It always frustrated me.
LaShonda took it much better than I did, cheerfully aligning columns and sweating out details that seemed utterly trivial to me. We pressed on, day after day, until the day of the Skype hookup to Washington.
“Are you ready for this, LaShonda?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be. Are you?”
“I think so. I still don’t know if we should show the last two videos.”
“I’ll leave that up to you. We can keep the door open to funding for interrogation techniques.”
“No, I don’t know,” I squirmed. “I … I just don’t think I can do that.”
“I understand. But it could help us get different funding.”
The big screen in our conference room came to life with the image of a very similar room that morning, except this one was packed full of people looking very sour and dull. The rows of dark suits and scowls reminded me of the video we pulled when we had students concentrate on learning, those dull images with a thin purple fog around them. This distant image was much sharper. As I concentrated on it I couldn’t help but feel that they were not just the jury but the firing squad. Our Project Administrator, Michelle Anderson, did most of the talking.
“Let’s begin the recording. This is the semi-annual review of Direct Encephalo Ionization, a project in the area of cognitive learning. Are you there, Central Texas?”
“Yes, we are,” Dr. Clark was the one who always had to get things started.
“Good, then we can proceed. Professors, what do you have to show us?”
We went through the presentation that was by now thoroughly canned and rehearsed. There was a lot there to be proud of, certainly, but correlations between different wave forms was not as impressive as the video. And the video wasn’t all that great, either. At the end of our little show there were a few questions, but none of panel seemed to come close to understanding what we said. They looked like their job was to tell us some bad news, and Anderson to delivered it.
“If that’s all for today, I think we can wrap this up.”
“Yes, yes,” we concluded on our end.
“Well, I have to say that there doesn’t seem to be a lot of progress on the topic of cognitive learning. The DEI is certainly an interesting device and it is clearly producing a lot of information. But the utility of that has yet to be demonstrated.”
“We’re, ah, we’re working on that.”
“I can see. But this is an area that we cannot be confident will continue to receive resources in the future for pure research projects. We are looking for application. I hope you understand.”
I was struck speechless. Dr. Clark knew how to engage this, however.
“Ms. Anderson, I hope I’m not out of turn when I suggest that there are many potential applications for the DEI that extend beyond cognitive learning. Would it be helpful for us to compile a detailed analysis of these alternative potentials?”
“I believe that might be very helpful, yes.”
“Bill, do you have anything to add here?”
I looked past the screen for a moment, trying to get behind the grim scene. I knew that no matter how much of my life went into the DEI that I had to stand on principles.
“No, no, I do not have anything to add. I think we can discover some exciting applications in the next six months.”
At the word “discover”, I could see the stone-faced group flinch just enough to know I’d made a mistake. It wasn’t a word that inspired confidence.
“Very well, I suggest you do that. Thank you for an interesting presentation. This concludes the review of the Direct Encephalo Ionization project with Central Texas State University.”
The screen went dark and I said nothing. I felt LaShonda look at me, but I said nothing. This was a moment I had to face with silent dignity.
“It’s OK, Bill. You need a break, we all need a break. Let’s get back at this on Monday.”
“Sure. Will do.”
The next day was Saturday, and my daughter Gracie was coming over. I couldn’t believe that I nearly forgot my day off with her in all this nonsense. At 17 she had become the real joy of my life. I can’t begin to tell you how much I looked forward to nothing more than many hours of time with her just being her Dad.
I woke up the next day and tried to get my small apartment looking a bit less filthy. It wasn’t until 5:00 that the buzzer rang in three short bursts, her signature greeting. I was smiling even before she bounced up the stairs to my open door, her long black hair fluttering around her mother’s green eyes. Gracie had just left her awkward teen years behind and become a young woman with a thin, knowing smile that must melt the hearts of so many young men I knew I’d never hear about.
“Hi, Daddy.”
“Gracie, how are you?” I hoped my smile said what words didn’t.
“Great. You look good.” She set her bag down just inside the door of my place.
“Ah, too many gray hairs coming in.”
“You look … dignified. Wise. Like a professor should.” I know she didn’t learn how to flirt like that from me.
“You make it sound so much better than just being old.”
“Daddy, you’re not old! You just have to stay in shape.” She poked my belly.
“Ah, yes, too many hours staring at the screen.”
“It’s the Teddy Bear belly coming back!”
I don’t think she saw me blush, but I had to change the conversation quickly.
“You want to talk first, or just go out to eat now?”
“I’m starving, let’s go!”
Gracie wasn’t going to nag me or dwell on her concern. Besides, she knew I enjoyed treating her like a princess, and it was much easier in a nice restaurant than a dingy apartment. We’d named her well, because that sense of grace framed all of her manners constantly.
We wound up just down the street at El Amanacer, my favorite Tejano watering hole. It was always up to me to keep her connected to that side of her, and I did it gladly. Gracie could sense the worry under my beard and after we ordered I told her the whole story, beginning to end, feeding her rapt attention.
“I’m surprised to hear you talk about evil, dad. It’s not like you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You always said that there was no good and evil, only truth.”
“Well,” I flustered, “It’s not that there’s no good or evil, but truth is what counts.”
“I think I know what you mean. This has clearly been stressful.”
“That reminds me, I was wondering if I could ask a favor of you, Gracie.”
“Sure!”
“Would you go with me to Mass tomorrow?”
That caught her by surprise. I’m not sure she had been in a church since her First Communion. That was during our divorce, and somehow everything became so much more difficult for each of us. The memory of a little girl in a long white dress with innocent eyes was my one link to the Church that wasn’t full of shame or guilt or doubt. It was far too easy to simply break it off after that.
“Sure, Daddy, that … would be great.”
“I was hoping it wouldn’t be too strange.”
“No, it’s not … it’s just that … it’s not like you.”
“Yes, I know, the man of science and all that.”
“It’s not that … you’ve always been a good Dad.”
Words failed her just as our plates full of beans and rice and other simple foods arrived. It was an easy way to let it drop, and we both did. The rest of the evening we talked about nearly everything else you could imagine and had a wonderful time just being together.
The next day we got ourselves up and looking good just in time to slip into the back of the small stucco church bright with murals of a good Catholic life. I smiled all the comforts of childhood revisited and hoped that Grace would feel their warmth as much as I did. When she smiled back I knew that this was more than a favor to me. She made a point of enjoying it.
The Mass was not all that eventful beyond the warm feeling that I could never describe. I never knew what kind of faith I had inside of me. But here in the church, difficult and thorny issues like my own turmoil seemed easy and gentle. My life was full of many questions that were only becoming harder as I worked my way through them. Here, among the bright murals and thick ritual, all of that dissolved. I felt as if we were a family again in a way I had not felt for years.
When it was over, we tried to slide out as easily as we’d come in, but that was not to be. Father Juan Rivera was there at the door, giving his blessing on the way out. We would just have to see how that went.
“Dr. Hernandez, a pleasure to see you again! You, too, Grace. You’ve become a beautiful woman.”
“Good to see you, Father Rivera.” I blushed at how he remembered us so well.
“I hope your students appreciate your wisdom, professor.”
“Ah, I’m never sure what they make of it.”
“Truth and faith have more in common than we both know. They are, at least, both difficult at times.”
“Father, I can see you are wiser than I am on this score.”
Father Rivera lowered his voice in a firm yet gentle tone that told me he had seen the turmoil inside my head.
“Please, professor, if you ever need anything, you know where to find me.”
I paused a moment and thought about what he said. It was clear by the way he leaned toward me that he meant it. That’s when the idea bubbled up like a spring.
“I believe there may be a way you can help me, Father. Thank you.”
To Chapter 4 –>
