The Broadcast Page 4

  His sister, Lily, was not as sharp-minded as he was, but she had been endowed with talents of her own. From a young age she loved to dance, and when she heard a familiar song, she moved to the rhythm of the melody in joyful and charming steps that brought smiles to everyone around her. She was fascinated by the natural surroundings; hugged dogs and cats, attentively watched little insects and liked planting plants and watching them grow.

  Lily had an eye-catching beauty; straight, blond hair and large, green eyes. She was also gifted with a good heart and sensitivity toward others, including her parents and her big brother. The parents did their best to divide their love and attention between their two children, but at times, they dedicated a little more of their time and energy to Michael, so as to compensate him for not being their biological son.

  One time, when Michael was about eight years old, he had a big quarrel with Raymond, the neighbors’ son—usually his good friend—while they were playing on the lawn in front of the house. Raymond, who was frustrated about losing in soccer, had provoked Michael by saying, “Lily is the real daughter of your parents!” Michael lashed out at him and furiously pounded Raymond with his little fists, not stopping even when Raymond’s nose was bleeding. Hearing the sounds of the brawl, Michael’s mother had rushed out of the house to separate between the young fighters, and she had a tough time pulling her son from his wounded opponent. She had been very angry at Michael, but when he told her the reason for his outburst, she immediately softened, hugged him, and said, “Oh Michael, I love you so much. You don’t have to take to heart stupid comments that people say. He probably didn’t even mean it.”

  At the age of twelve he learned to play the guitar, and two years later he had started a band with a few of his friends. They liked to perform old songs from the sixties and seventies. Michael had also tried his hand in songwriting, writing lyrics as well as music. He didn’t sing because he didn’t believe in his vocal capability, so his friend Raymond became the lead singer, enjoying the spotlight. Michael preferred his place in the back, slightly in the shadows; he liked to watch his songs and the sounds of his guitar being released into the world. The songs he wrote had mostly expressed a longing for love and unity, and sometimes a feeling of alienation in the world and strangeness in society. From time to time he would also write songs that reflected a tendency to rebel against conventional thinking.

  His father, Ruben Evans, held a managerial position in a bank, and his mother, Rose Evans, was a history teacher in a high school. In their spacious house, in a suburb of San Diego in southern California, they led a comfortable life, and Michael knew that his parents would do anything they could in order to meet his needs and fulfill his wishes.

  More than once had he surprised his parents with his sharp thinking, his excellent grades, and his considerate manners. His teachers appreciated his diligence, although they were somewhat apprehensive about his outbursts of rage, which had diminished over the years.

  He became the editor of his high school’s newsletter, and from time to time he even sent astute articles to a local newspaper in his hometown, where he had expressed a solid liberal political point of view. He was handsome, with his blue eyes, black hair, and his athletic body, and toward the end of his time in high school, he had started to think about a career as a reporter, or perhaps a TV host.

  Chapter 8

  The Broadcast

  In a series of bombastic previews and trailers, the TXB network presented their plan to air a special TV article in which a ten-year-old murder case would be exposed and solved.

  “They thought they could kill and escape unpunished,” said the announcer of the trailer in his bass voice and a dramatic tone, “but they were wrong.”

  Producer Walter Lindsey, expected high ratings, but knew there was no chance he’d recreate the success of the previous broadcast, the one that documented the murder of Melisa Robinson Gonzales.

  “Good evening.” Susan Riley, the popular host, aimed her look at her viewers, through the camera’s eye. Like in the previous broadcast, TXB had chosen to air the program at 10:00 p.m., relatively late, and warned that the broadcast was not intended for children’s viewing.

  “This evening,” Susan Riley said, “I would like to welcome our guest, investigative police officer Reginald Tucker, of the Springfield, Illinois, Police Department.

  The camera zoomed out, and now showed the host along with her guest, who smiled shyly.

  “Officer Tucker,” she turned to him, “please tell our viewers about the incident that you investigated in 2009, about ten years ago.”

  Reginald Tucker turned to the camera, as he was instructed, and started to unveil the story of the case he had investigated: the murder of the manufacturer and wealthy businessman, Scott Jenkins, and the reasons why the case had never been solved. Very few among the viewers who knew the humble and dedicated policeman could perceive that the TV studio was not his natural surroundings and that he would probably prefer to be somewhere else.

  “And what brought about the breakthrough in the investigation?” The host asked the question they had prepared him for.

  “After I saw the broadcast of the Gonzales case, I approached TXB and I asked if there was a possibility that they would use the same technology in order to get documentation of the case I investigated years ago. And they indeed succeeded in obtaining the material, which led to solving the case.”

  Sharp-sighted viewers noticed that the police officer had given his side of the story as if against his will; he seemed somewhat annoyed, and didn’t make an effort to hide the fact that he was not enthusiastic about cooperating with the voyeur media.

  “We are now going to watch the footage,” Susan Riley said, “and then we’ll come back to talk to the officer, who we thank for being with us here tonight.”

  The showing of the film began, while Tucker explained what was occurring on screen. “This is the car of the late Mr. Jenkins,” he said in an unemotional voice. “And that’s his wife, Mrs. Helene Jenkins,” he added, when she was clearly seen stepping out of the car. “And this is the murder suspect,” the police officer continued when the man came out of his vehicle. “And here he shoots Mr. Jenkins to death.”

  The film froze at a point where it was possible to see the face of the shooter, and Tucker indicated dryly, “And here you can see the face of the murderer.”

  “We will be back after a short break,” Susan Riley promised her viewers when the showing of the film came to an end.

  After the commercials, Officer Tucker told viewers how they arrested the two suspects. The business partner of the victim was charged with murder, and the wife of the rich manufacturer, who cooperated with the murderer, was also charged.

  “At first the suspects denied any involvement in the killing,” the police officer said. “But when they were shown the film, they broke down, confessed, and also participated in a police recreation of the incident.” Reginal Tucker concluded by saying that the suspects were under arrest, awaiting their trial.

  The TV broadcast was seen by policemen all over the United States, many of whom started to examine the possibilities that the new technology might offer and how it could assist in cracking their unsolved cases, on which they had labored for years.

  Yet many viewers thought the TV network should reveal the source of the broadcasts and refute the charges that started to emerge—which claimed that the films were fabricated. In the press, there appeared a limited number of commentaries that alleged that TXB was immorally manipulating their viewers and intruding on people’s privacy by photographing them without their consent.

  Chapter 9

  Jonathan and Sarah

  The low price of the property made it possible for Jonathan and Sarah to become homeowners at a relatively young age. Before that, they didn’t think they’d make it to a house of their own before the age of forty, and much to their surprise, the dream came true when they were only twenty-five. They had a home, although an old wooden house,
and also a large country estate. At that time, it seemed like fate had been kind to them.

  Most of the area in their possession was rough, mountainous, and forested. A small creek flowed between the mountains and hills. During the summer, the water flow in the creek was shallow and calm, and in the course of the rainy season, its level rose, and the current grew forceful and dangerous to pass.

  On weekends, the two liked to take long hikes in the forests of their land. Here they were, masters of the land, touring around their territory with their loyal dog. At that time, they had a Great Dane named Pearly, who always waited for the trip with great enthusiasm.

  It wasn’t a hospitable environment. Trees blocked the direct passage of the sunrays almost everywhere, and the mountainous environment forced them to climb steep trails and go down slippery slopes. Despite the tough terrain, the couple loved their land—perhaps because it was theirs. Sarah felt that it was her duty to preserve and protect the trees from loggers who coveted the timber and offered them a lot of money for a license to cut the trees.

  They enjoyed their hikes and continued with the weekly activity despite complications that arose in their relationship, when tension was hanging like clouds over their heads. The walk was their time together, away from the din and turmoil of the world that was threatening to invade and undermine what they had managed to build together.

  The forest had its magic. Walking in the wooded area, they observed how lights and shadows blended with sounds of branches swaying in the wind; wild animals and birds called to one another and warned of intruders. The forest inspired a sense of introspection—of caution—of being close to something unknown, which may hide in the shrubberies, concealing dangerous possibilities, unresolved secrets, and unrealized opportunities. They felt that the forest dictated circumstances in which a person must blend in with the nature around him, be part of the whole, with sharp senses and alert reflexes.

  By the creek, Jonathan and Sarah used to look for a random snippet of the sun and sit down for a picnic they had prepared in advance. They would look at the fish swimming in their separate world, listen to the relaxing sound of flowing water, and sometimes they spread open a blanket and made love.

  On one of their hikes, they climbed a steep hill. Sarah noticed, and brought to her husband’s attention that the dog was unusually apprehensive and deterred. He always ran forward in front of them, excited and enthusiastic, but while climbing that hill, he slowly walked behind them, reluctantly, as if dragged against his will.

  As they progressed in their climb up the hill, the forest became thicker, denser, and impenetrable. The density of the trees and shrubs increased so much that the two had a hard time passing through. But they didn’t give up because they thought they should visit and get to know all the places and corners of their land, including the less friendly locations. When they got close to the top of the hill, they noticed that the trunks of the sequoia trees grew in a completely straight line, without the slightest curve. The trees were so close to one another that it seemed they created a natural wall, and both of them got the impression that the trees were doing their best to protect something and prevent passage from anyone who was not permitted.

  Then, all at once, the vegetation ended. They came out of the forest into an open space—a glade—an exposed, round clearing of about forty feet in diameter. The sun was in mid-heaven, in a blue sky, gently warming. The place was very quiet, with just a minor breeze blowing around, shielding and guarding the spot.

  About halfway to the middle of the circle, a big rock protruded from the ground, four feet in height. It looked strange in its partially chiseled form.

  Both of them saw, without unnecessary talking, that they had reached an ancient worship site and they felt that the spot was somehow different from their everyday reality.

  “What is this strange place?” Sarah whispered, wondering at the unexpected discovery.

  “I once saw a rock like this,” Jonathan said, pensively.

  “Where?” she inquired.

  “I’m not sure, perhaps in Machu Picchu.”

  The big dog cautiously and curiously peeked from behind the trees but didn’t dare come into the glade. Jonathan paced himself around, examining every step, attentively surveying every piece of land that might point to the purpose of the odd site.

  Sarah sat on the ground facing the rock, crossed her legs, stretched her back and closed her eyes, trying to feel the mysterious place and connect to it. She recalled their trip to Machu Picchu.

  ***

  After their wedding, the couple experienced the happiest time of their lives. They were young and optimistic, despite their past predicaments. Their love blossomed, and the pregnancy issue had not yet mushroomed into a central worry that would threaten to cover and suffocate the light they had managed to cultivate in their world. They experienced a period of relative financial stability since both of them worked, and their cost of living was minimal—low rental payments and no burden of mortgage and the expenses that come with raising children. That’s why they allowed themselves to fulfill old wishes and go on trips abroad.

  The first trip was to Peru in South America. Jonathan wanted to see the famous Nazca Lines and the site of Machu Picchu with his own eyes. They flew to Lima, the capital of Peru, and from there continued south to Nazca by bus, an exhausting ride of about 250 miles. They spent the night in a hostel, and the next day they boarded a small plane that took them on a flight over the mysterious geoglyphs that are located in the desert. They watched with much curiosity and saw straight lines as much as twelve miles long, and they also saw triangles and trapezoids. From the plane, they saw shapes of different animals: spiders, monkeys, lizards, a big fish, birds, and also human figures. They flew over the entire area, about 310 square miles.

  Jonathan read about the lines in the book ‘Chariots of the Gods’ by the Swiss writer Erich von Däniken, who claimed that human civilization had been significantly influenced by intelligent aliens from other worlds, who visited planet Earth.

  He enthusiastically told Sarah, “The Nazca people had never seen their creations in full, because the only way to observe them is from above, from a bird’s eye view, which is why it is a mystery: how were the drawings created and for what purpose?”

  Sarah had also found the lines fascinating. She said, “I don’t think the lines are related to extraterrestrials. I assume they were created for some ancient spiritual practice.”

  “It would have been quite difficult to draw those figures without help from above,” Jonathan responded.

  “True,” she said, “difficult but not impossible.”

  The journey to Machu Picchu, an ancient city from the time when the Inca were thriving, was even more challenging. They arrived at the town of Agua Calientes on the train and spent the night in a motel that wasn’t especially clean, not far from a raging river. Sarah wanted to arrive at Machu Picchu early in the morning because her sister, Julie, had told her before the trip, “To see the sunrise from Machu Picchu is an unusual spiritual experience.” Sarah promised Julie to make an effort to go up the mountain before sunrise, although she thought that every sunrise could be a spiritual experience.

  They got up at 4:00 a.m. and climbed over winding trails and numerous stairs, on their way to the famous site. Panting, they arrived in the lost city on time and saw the sunrise over the snowy peaks and the evergreen forests, and indeed, it was a marvelous sight.

  They toured the exceptional place and listened to the explanations of a native guide who came along with a group of hikers. He explained in English, in a heavy local accent, that the city had not been destroyed by the Spanish conquistadores because it had nested in a location that was especially hard to get to. The guide said that the city served as the winter residence of the emperor; he explained that the Inca, who were master craft builders, had used large rocks that were precisely chiseled, and that is why they had not needed to apply clay or any bonding material.

  Jonathan did n
ot need the guide’s explanations. As always, he had prepared for the trip, spending time reading about the Inca in books and on the Internet.

  “The Inca had a different perception of time than the conventional western point of view,” he said in an authoritative tone of voice.

  “In what way?” Sarah was interested. She looked at her husband with affection and appreciation, knowing that before the trip he profoundly studied topics they may encounter on the way.

  “In the West, the perception of time is linear,” Jonathan started his explanation, seizing the opportunity to show his knowledge, “That means that time exists in three consecutive planes: the past, the present, and the future.” Jonathan paused, to let her grasp his point, and continued. “According to the Inca, the past, present, and future do not happen one after the other, but advance and develop in parallel and exist simultaneously.” He looked at the beautiful, green valley that was spread below and added, “There was a time when this concept was considered strange and even stupid, as could be expected from uncultured natives, but today, modern science doesn’t completely negate it.”

  Sarah looked at the mountains around them. “And you, what do you think?” she asked.

  “I think,” he answered, “that there is something to this point of view, although I have a difficult time in fully comprehending it.”

  Sarah didn’t always understand Jonathan’s elaborate explanations, and she tended not to dwell on those intricate theories. Jonathan was attracted to metaphysics, but he never followed spiritual teachers, and he didn’t read their books. He never participated in meditation workshops and nor did he practice yoga or tai chi. His fascination with the sublime was confined to the mental realm. He tried to study and understand the unusual facts, the strange phenomena—the amazing and ungraspable essentials of life in our world, like in Einstein’s theory of relativity and in quantum physics.