“I wish I could say we came from a perfect world… some beautiful ‘Utopia’ like the one Sir Thomas More wrote of,” she shook her head, “but I’d be lying through my teeth, and that’s the truth… the jet fighters out there on that flight line weren’t developed in a world that’s had any close association with peace of a lasting kind. I know you wonder about what it’s like where we came from, but it’s not the ‘wonderful’ place you imagine it must be.” She thought for a long time, staring at the concrete floor, and Kransky allowed the silence to continue, deeply interested in what she might say next.
“I should be more complimentary about the Twenty-First Century, Richard — it’s given me a hell of a lot more than many women get, and more than any would be allowed in this era. I had the choice to be whatever I chose in life, regardless of who I am, who my parents were, or how much money they or I possess. I had the choice of deciding for myself who I married — or even if I got married at all — and my decision as to whether or not I have children as a result of those choices. If you lost an arm, doctors could sometimes sew it back on for you, and it’d often work again… on occasion they can make you a heart if yours fails — one that would last for a while, anyway…
“Singers and musical groups all around the world organise concerts to raise money for starving nations, and media moguls allow the use of their satellites to televise those concerts all over the world. You could fly from London to New York at a thousand miles an hour if could afford the ticket, and I could turn on one of those computers you’ve seen and receive mail in seconds from someone in Japan or Australia.” She shook her head again, and there was another solemn pause as she met his gaze once more, genuine sorrow in her eyes. By comparison to the era in which Eileen had grown up, she saw Kransky as something of an ‘innocent’, his own terrible war experiences notwithstanding, and there were almost tears in her eyes as she went on, thinking she wasn’t only painting a damning picture of her world but also shattering someone’s dreams into the bargain. “I already miss so many things from our old world, but was it a ‘good’ world…? No… far from it in truth…
“The world I left was a sad, tired, jaded world: one that no longer possessed any naivety or any real honour either. There were corporations so powerful that their directors, unelected by anyone but their own shareholders, controlled the fate of countries by pure economic power alone. Poorer countries couldn’t even afford to make interest payments on loans from faceless monetary organisations, and their people starved as a result. Religious fundamentalists hijacked airliners and flew them into skyscrapers, killing thousands, while superpowers meddled in world affairs and manipulated the lives of millions.
“Youth gangs in major cities killed each other for thousand-dollar pairs of sneakers or a leather jacket, and others killed time and time again simply for the thrill of taking a life. The populations of practically entire nations survived on profits made from the sale of illegal drugs to the affluent and the dirt poor of countries of the first world. People died by the millions every year from starvation, disease and deprivation while their own governments spent billions on killing machines just like the ones outside, and spent more training people to fly, shoot or drive them. I could go on for hours, and yet…”
“…‘and yet’…?” He repeated, filling the pause and encouraging her to continue.
“…and yet, I miss it so much!” She added, her voice almost inaudible as she whispered that admission. “I miss the cars and the freeways, the movies and the music… oh God, Richard, I miss the shops! I miss television and stupid soap operas and my BMW road bike…” Her voice trailed off a little, her expression one of uncertain guilt. “Am I being selfish… is it wrong to feel that way…?”
“No…” Kransky answered with feeling after a long pause, thinking about his own life and the multitude of unknown pleasant experiences he must’ve missed due to the choices he’d made throughout it. “No, I guess I don’t think that’s wrong at all.” He felt a lump of emotion in his throat and it required a great deal of effort to maintain his outward composure. It was a long time since Kransky had allowed himself the luxury of thinking of anything deeper than pure survival in the world that normally surrounded him. The deployment to Hindsight had allowed him free time to think that he’d never allowed himself on the front lines of Manchukuo, Spain or France, and he had to admit that it seemed some of the heart and soul of the journalist he’d once been did still indeed exist within him, much to his surprise.
He could also quite clearly see that Eileen was suddenly and rather unexpectedly on the verge of tears: something he wasn’t at all happy about. A decade of solitary life utterly devoid of long term companionship of any kind lasting beyond one battle to the next had ensured Kransky had never formed any real friendships at all, and although he might’ve originally begun to spend time with Eileen because of a purely sexual interest, he’d instead ended up starting along the road of forming his first real friendship in many years.
He wasn’t consciously considering any of that of course, and education or not, the actual psychological mechanics of it all might’ve well been beyond him had he attempted to understand it. Kransky’s attention was instead completely consumed at that moment by the fact that he was standing beside a woman on the verge of tears that he cared something for (as had innumerable men throughout the ages), and in that moment he felt quite uncomfortable, completely useless, and had absolutely no idea what he might do to make her feel any better (again, much the same as all those innumerable men before him).
In the end, the man’s actions were completely instinctive for, by his own admission, his life experience was far too lacking in the appropriate emotional areas for what followed to have been any kind of conscious act. In a single, smooth movement he reached out and gathered Eileen in a strong but completely innocent embrace, something deep in his mind telling him it was the only thing that might have a hope of making any difference. Judging by the way she wrapped her own arms around his waist and hugged him tightly in return, it certainly appeared in the very least to have not done any harm. She didn’t actually break into tears, but the heaving of her body against him suggested that it was perhaps a near run thing.
The embrace seemed to last almost indefinitely, and was ultimately only broken as the sound of footsteps ringing on concrete heralded another’s approach. Eileen spent a second or two composing herself as they parted once more, and Kransky could see the unspoken thanks and appreciation in her eyes in that moment before they both turned toward the newcomer. He’d never have admitted it, but that single, silent ‘thank you’ made him felt better than any mere physical encounter ever could have, and he gave a nod in faint recognition.
“Not interrupting, am I…?” Max Thorne called out as he drew near, the tone light and attempting to be humorous. although slightly inquisitive all the same. The general interaction between them had been clearly visible as he approached, and he was clearly curious as a result.