After much thought, Thornton Zhu came to realize that everything in the world is connected to everything else. Gradually he began to sense those connections – between the falling leaves in London’s Holland Park and a volcanic eruption in Kamchatka, between his wife’s moods and the rising level of the world’s oceans.

One day, seeing in an old magazine a thirty-year-old photograph of a woman in tears, he suddenly understood, though he could not say how, that had she smiled at that very instant, the destructive power of the great Atlantic typhoon twenty years later would have been much weaker.

In his investigations, Zhu had advanced so far that, by studying the pattern of spilled sugar or salt on a tabletop, he could forecast next week’s weather or even the coming grain harvest.

He could only imagine what intricate chain of relationships might stretch between, say, a shaving set in a shop window, the snows of Kilimanjaro, and his great-great-grandfather, who had never shaved and had never been to Africa. Yet time after time, Zhu became convinced that nothing in this world stands apart; everything, somehow, is linked.

Thornton was quite pleased with his discoveries. At times, by listening to birdsong or watching the serve of his favorite tennis player, Pete Sampras, he could tell which London shop was selling cheaper beer. Eventually, a new idea began to trouble him: if two things are connected, then by influencing one, one might affect the other.

But an inner voice warned him not to use this ability. He vaguely sensed that any interference in the flow of events could bring about an endless chain of unforeseen consequences. In ordinary life there was nothing wrong when a person acted naturally, creating or breaking connections through daily deeds. Even the ugliest acts born of life itself were woven into the fabric of the universe, into its vast weave of cause and effect. A sailor sets his sail to the wind that blows, not to the one that has died away or has not yet risen. Yet if he somehow managed to catch a Baltic breeze with a sail on the Black Sea – to construct an artificial link – the whole system would be thrown out of balance.

Once, after dinner, Thornton for some reason drank coffee instead of his usual tea and began softly humming a long-forgotten tune. At that very moment he realized that his beloved nephew would fail his mathematics exam the next day. The boy was finishing school, and his chances of entering Oxford depended on that result. Zhu was deeply troubled but held himself back; he didn’t warn his nephew or suggest postponing the test. Sadly, he was right – the boy did not earn the marks needed for Oxford. Yet Thornton felt no regret. He was even glad that he had managed to keep the genie in the bottle.

That day there was to be a football match between Manchester United and Arsenal. A devoted Man U fan, Zhu had managed to leave work early. On the way home he bought a case of his favorite Boddington’s beer, opened the door of his flat in South London, set the beer down in the hallway, hurriedly threw off his work clothes and shoes, and tossed them in the corner. Then, as usual, he changed into his Manchester United kit. The match was to begin in twenty minutes. He never tried to predict the outcome of games – in fact, he preferred not to – because he liked to savor the match itself.

Grabbing two cans of beer, he headed toward the living room. As he walked, his eye caught the heap of trousers, socks, jacket, and shoes lying on the floor. What he saw struck him suddenly: it dawned on him that the Allied air forces were about to strike Iraq. In just a few minutes, war would begin!

Frozen, Thornton stared at the chaotic pile. What should he do – go watch the long-awaited match as if nothing had happened, or change the arrangement of the heap and thus prevent the war? Zhu hated the Iraqi tyrant, the Bearded Killer, yet as a pacifist he opposed war on principle.

The match was about to start; there was no time to lose. Gathering himself, Thornton took a short run-up and, like an expert footballer, kicked the trousers across the room. Yes, he had broken his rule and interfered with the course of events. But this was a special case, and Zhu felt with relief that the threat of war had passed.

Content, he turned on the television, settled comfortably in his armchair, took a sip of beer, and waited. But just before kick-off, the broadcast from the stadium was interrupted by breaking news. The excited announcer reported that only minutes earlier, Allied forces had launched a missile strike on the Lesser Barbarian Archipelago. The newsreader expressed confusion: why had the Allies, after so long preparing for war with Iraq, suddenly attacked a cluster of god-forsaken islands inhabited mostly by peaceful shepherds?

Zhu turned pale. He ran into the hall, still holding his half-empty can of beer, and stared in despair at his trousers sprawled limply between the telephone and the crate of beer. In his mind’s eye he clearly saw the Allied missiles falling on the green pastures of the archipelago. Then something caught his attention: one trouser leg was bent awkwardly at the knee. My God – one of the missiles had veered off course and was heading for America!

He had to act immediately to prevent disaster. But then another thought came: any attempt to intervene might unleash new horrors. What should he do? No – he must save innocent lives! Thornton hurled the beer can into the trouser leg and, instantly calm, ran back to the television. He knew the missile would not strike America now, and he was glad. But he preferred not to think about where it might land instead. Zhu understood that the more he interfered with events, the more unpredictable they became.

The explosion came so suddenly that Thornton never had time to appreciate the elegant football play that was about to end in a magnificent goal.

#shortstory, #philosophy, #metaphysics, #irony