Fantasy in F Minor
an apocalyptic romance by Mike Scofield
It is still February, the month of love. So… here is another love story, Underside style. One last hurrah in the long winter that, for some, never seems to end. Music lovers, this one’s for you.
Fantasy in F Minor
by Mike Scofield
“The Schubert.”
Conrad considered. Of the three duets, the F minor was the most difficult.
“Um.” He switched his gaze from the middle distance to Danielle. “OK.”
“I know it’s tough,” she said to reassure him. “But that’s what we were looking for.”
“No, no. I’m good with it. We’ll jump into it tonight.”
“Yes!”
***
The world news that day ended with a story of space. Scientists and other observers around the world were tracking an object, thousands of miles across and millions of miles away. The object did not maintain a constant shape or have the mass of a meteor. But it was moving fast and getting closer.
***
“What an odd story.”
Conrad shut off the TV and joined Danielle in the foyer.
“I didn’t quite understand that,” she said. “There is a UFO or something far out in space coming toward us.”
“Yes. That’s what it sounds like. But it’s not a big metal ship or a big rock. It’s this flimsy thing that moves.”
She shook her head and retrieved the Schubert score from a bookshelf. “Weird.”
“Yes.”
***
On the walk to the conservatory they discussed the intricacies of their latest self-imposed challenge. Once seated side by side at the practice room’s grand, they immediately fumbled the opening.
“That was you.”
“No, I believe you.”
They looked into each other’s eyes, chagrinned. And then, hugging, they belted out their private punchline.
“OUR LOVE WILL SEE US THROUGH!”
***
Approaching Space Object was the news of the day. It had covered half the distance since first discovered. Science could not explain it. Apart from the impossible speed, it was somehow attracted to Earth. Most matter in the cosmos was flying away from everything else or following a trajectory based on universal gravity. There was no known law that explained the oncoming object. It would arrive in twenty hours.
***
“What is going on? Is this an attack?”
Conrad shook his head. “They don’t know.”
Danielle had caught only part of the late night news. She’d needed a shower after the stress of their night’s engagement with the Schubert. In her robe, she joined Conrad on the couch.
“It’s not good. Every country’s defenses are on high alert. It’s only a matter of hours before this thing disrupts satellites. It’s massive.”
“But… What? Is it an alien? How can this be?”
Conrad shrugged. “There are a million questions but no answers. I guess we’ll find out.”
***
Minutes after every geostationary satellite was absorbed into the Object, the last communication from the International Space Station was received. “We are…” was its final report. By then the people on the ground were watching the Object approach. It seemed a vast mist or fog dense enough to close Earth off to the sun, moon and stars.
***
Conrad and Danielle sat in the noontime darkness of their living room. Streetlights were on and they could hear the unnerved conversations of people in the street. The TV news had disintegrated into colored data blocks. They could get nothing on their cells.
“Maybe the radio?”
“Ah!” said Conrad. “Yes, maybe.”
He switched on lights on his way to the kitchen and their Tivoli.
“… trying to coordinate with world leaders a response to this event. We will stay on top of that effort. For now what is known is that the space object has formed something of a shell around the Earth. This shell is roughly sixty miles above the planet.”
“What is going ON?”
“No idea.”
***
“Scientists report that nubs or growths have developed on the inside surface of the Object and appear to be growing down toward the planet. The oxygen level of the now-enclosed atmosphere around Earth is dropping and the carbon dioxide level rising.”
***
“This is just…” Conrad was trying to make sense of it. He couldn’t.
“… and that it is some type of parasite here to draw off resources.”
“Please shut it off.”
Conrad left the couch to click off the radio. He looked at his wife from the kitchen.
“Let’s go outside and get some air.”
“Get some air,” Danielle repeated.
“I know. But we can’t just sit here. We’ll go out of our minds.”
“Perhaps that would be for the best.”
“No. Something could change. This thing gets what it wants and then leaves.”
“What if it wants everything?”
“A walk outside.” He would steer her toward the conservatory and their duet. Something to concentrate on besides this.
She rose and went to the windows where she looked up at the sky, shook her head. “All right.”
People on the street stood mostly in couples and groups and mostly looked up. The growing tendrils or roots or arms of the Thing were still miles up but the pale ends of them were visible in the light from drones, helicopters, floating lanterns, and everything and anything that people could launch to illuminate them.
“Oh! It’s so…” she couldn’t finish.
“Bizarre.”
***
“The White House has reported that the Air Force shot down a section of the Object’s—for lack of a better word—root, safely over the Mohave Desert. The section has been retrieved. Observers have since reported that the severed root is still descending and has split into two regenerated roots.”
Conrad rose to shut off the radio before Danielle came out of the bedroom, but she was there, in the living room.
“Get any sleep?”
“Very little. You?”
“Not really.”
“… does not appear that the Object was affected by the attack. There have been no reprisals. Scientists conjecture that the Object may be as mindless as a plant and has only settled around us to draw off oxygen and, possibly, nutrients.”
“We always knew that mindlessness would kill us.”
Conrad shut off the radio. “Drawing off oxygen.” He shook his head.
“We’re doomed.”
Conrad looked at Danielle, tried to rebut, but could not. When she began to sob, he embraced her.
***
After the two sat together for hours in the quiet darkness, broken only by soft weeping, Conrad stood and faced the windows. “They don’t know what to do about this. How to remove it or if it will just leave on its own. They don’t want to tell us that this may be the end, but that’s what it feels like to me.”
Danielle choked up.
Conrad turned to her. “But I can’t just sit here waiting for whatever happens to happen. I—we—are not scientists or military people. We can’t help fix this. We play music. Teach it. I’m going to continue playing until I cannot.”
Danielle looked down at her hands.
Conrad moved to her and covered them with his.
“Let’s resume the Schubert. If you are not up to it, at least sit with me while I play. The Ligeti No.13 seems apt now. I’ve never conquered it. I want another try.”
***
“OH!”
Danielle clutched Conrad’s jacket. Hanging over their neighborhood, piercing the artificial night sky, a colossal finger pointed down. Despite the ashen, gray-blue color, it was unmistakably organic. It was rough and twisty as a dry old root. And so out of place and massive. Closer than a hundred feet above them, it swayed gently as they stared.
“Please, let’s go back in!”
“You heard the radio. They’ve stopped growing. Or descending. They’re just there.”
“Oh…”
Conrad took her gently by the elbow and turned her toward the university. “We need a diversion.”
***
There was another giant finger hanging over the park. They quickly dropped their gazes to the path and kept on.
In the conservatory, Danielle turned toward the basement and practice room, but Conrad stopped her.
“The Bösendorfer. In the theatre.”
There was a hush to the performance space that was easily broken by the most minimal of sounds. The proverbial pin drop could be heard. Though alone, they were self-conscious of the noise their steps and swishing coats made. The opening of the fall board was like a rifle report.
Danielle took a seat in the front row. Conrad watched her from the bench and nodded. He turned and propped the Ligeti score on the music rack. He read the first two pages through, then took a long white candle from his coat pocket and a simple holder from the other pocket and set them together on the music shelf. He lit it and leaned back.
“Should we be burning a candle? The oxygen level?”
“Didn’t think of that…”
He stood and cupped the flame to blow it out.
“Wait. Please, I’m sorry. Leave it.”
He nodded and stepped away to shut the lights of the theatre.
“Ooo, I like that!”
Conrad smiled and returned to the bench. When he raised his hands above the keys, Danielle slid in beside him and covered the Ligeti with the Schubert.
“Ready when you are.”
Their first attempt was no better than the last attempt they made days earlier. But after an hour, some discussion, and a second run-through, they made headway.
“That’s better. But still…” said Conrad. “That third movement…”
“We’ll get it.” She smiled at him, and he returned it happily.
“Let’s do another!”
She shook her head. “I’m tired.”
“It’s the oxygen level.” He immediately regretted this.
She frowned. “And the CO2.”
***
“Scientists were originally optimistic when the roots stopped growing, believing the organism to be dying or going dormant. But they have found that the Object itself is growing, or at least expanding, as it draws in oxygen and moisture. Levels of both are declining in the atmosphere.”
The announcer paused. He could be heard breathing.
“But an equal or, possibly, more pressing concern, they say, is the increase in CO2. The combination of lower oxygen levels with higher CO2 levels threatens all animal life on the planet. Continuing along the current trajectory will wipe out most life on the planet.”
“Please shut it off.”
“… stealing oxygen tanks and in several cases commandeering entire gas delivery trucks. The Center for Disease Control is reporting that people with compromised respiratory systems are dying at an unprecedented…”
He switched off the radio.
Danielle lay on the couch under a blanket, her eyes closed. Conrad stepped out to the front windows.
“If you’re not up to it…” he began, but she cut him off.
“Give me twenty minutes.”
Later, in the perpetual night, they walked quietly to the conservatory and their piano. On the way, they spoke only once.
“So odd.”
“There are no words for it.”
Together on the bench, it was soon apparent that this was their best attempt yet. They rocked through the dotted rhythms, bore down on the scherzo, swooned during the largo until…
“Oh!”
… he missed the switch to F major.
“I’m sorry,” he said. And then promised, “Tomorrow.”
***
“… of evaporation going up. Humidity levels worldwide are dropping.”
The breathy announcer paused for several moments.
“Defense forces around the globe have been attacking the roots in attempts at stopping their absorption of oxygen and moisture. So far, the Object has not retaliated beyond replacing the damaged areas with larger and more branched root systems.”
Then the radio was silent except for the announcer’s breathing. Nearly a minute went by.
“Oxygen-producing industries are having difficulty separating the essential element from the atmosphere and are turning to electrolysis, an energy-intensive process. Governments around the world are making oxygen-production their top priority.”
After another long pause the announcer continued.
“At this time there is no known solution to the high and rapidly rising level of CO2 in the atmosphere.”
***
“I can’t do it.”
“Stand up?” asked Conrad.
“Stand up. Walk. BREATHE. I can’t STAND THIS!” The outburst cost Danielle her breath. Her head fell back and her mouth dropped open as she tried to fill her lungs.
Conrad watched her from the armchair. After several minutes she met his gaze. After several more he rose.
“Please, just rest.”
He walked to the door. She got up slowly and followed.
***
The ten minute walk took them forty. They managed their way by settling onto benches along the sidewalks and paths for minutes at a time to regain their energy. They did not speak.
Together on the bench in the theatre they remained silent, except for their breathing, for many more minutes. Then Danielle raised her hands to begin, and Conrad followed.
***
He missed….
“Oh!”
Danielle’s hands slammed the keys; dissonant noise shattered what they had accomplished. She rested her head on her forearm and heaved with exertion. She left the bench and took a seat in the front row.
“I’m sorry.” He sat, breathing hard, looking off into the dark background of the stage.
“We can’t do it.”
“We were so close!”
They sat for a long time. The sound of their breathing in the acoustically perfect space would not let them forget the state of the world, that its starved lungs would soon be silent.
“One more.”
“What’s the point?”
He remained as he was, facing the dark.
“Just one more.”
“I don’t have the energy.”
Conrad nodded and then spoke very softly.
“If this is the end of us, of everything, I say we accomplish one final act.”
“Again, what is the point?”
“Does it have to have a…” He restarted. “No point. Maybe there never was one. But, maybe, the sounds we make together, the notes we play, somehow travel forever. Across the universe. We will have left something.”
“I don’t…” Her voice trailed off.
“A last gasp…”
“Oh.” She found that horrible.
“…of the beautiful sound of humanity.”
They were quiet for a long time. He listened for the sound of her leaving her seat to join him, but it never came. Only their breathing remained. He replaced the Schubert sheets with the Ligeti. Then his fingers danced the staccato opening, and the frantic buildup of tension filled the room as the devil climbed his staircase.
Danielle slid in beside him and quieted his hands until her shoulders shook as she cried. He hugged her. Then she pulled herself from his hug, rearranged the scores, and signaled the start.
During their best attempts, they had failed to achieve the rapture of physical and mental harmony the difficult duet could produce. It was here now. The power that the two felt added up to more than their individual strengths. They luxuriated in the final, faultless twenty minutes of their music-making.
After the last chord rang out, Conrad lowered the fall board. Triumphant, exhausted, they lay their heads together.
The candle guttered out.
Meet the Author:
Mike Scofield has been publishing stories since the late ‘90s. He has stories in the current issues of Intangience Magazine and Lovecraftiana. His experience of the underside includes the time he picked up a pine cone that turned out to be a dog turd.
You may also enjoy:
I like the mood of this kind of story, where someone copes with an impossibly monstrous situation not by panicking, but by spending their remaining time doing the thing they'd already planned to spend their remaining time doing, because dying alone and dying along with everyone else are not so different. I dub this genre "absurdist existential heroic."
It also reminds me of the cellist of Sarajevo, and of the play /Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars/.
The last line is perfect. Nicely set up.
Excellent! I much enjoyed the intertwining of the couple, the piano and the mysterious object(s).