The great flood came and nobody died. No one of real value, Marcus thought. Dad said this swimmer, Michael Phelps, died. But what it was, was a badly timed coronary. Some vagrants too, the local news said, some street dogs, but no one, not really. The apocalypse was an exceptional disappointment to him. He felt lied to by the media, by religious cults, by Hollywood. The rapture was nothing like they’d said it would be.
It was slow, mostly. For over three decades ice caps melted, sea levels rose, water engulfed town after town, city after city, any low-lying landmass in its way. Seychelles disappeared, Manhattan, most of Greece, Easter Island, the Maldives, parts of Bangladesh, most of South East Asia, Indonesia, Japan, Thailand, Singapore, the disputed islands of Shoal and Park, they all disappeared, along with his home in Manila.
He remembers restlessly crossing out calendar days and pressing the light on his G-Shock watch, there was always so much time. He watched Manila leisurely return itself to the sea, like a woman dipping and sinking into a rose petal bubble bath, water draping over her elbows, her knees, flowing into houses and city streets, covering cars and buses, waves moving across surfaces through crevices and with one final breath, everything submerges, lost in the sea of blue. The day they left the city, he held his father and mother’s hand atop a hanging bridge, staring out at the swelling sea. His father looks to his mom and says, “Delia, did you remember to pack my razor?”
Sta. Rita de Casia was the ferry that took them to their sky condominium. The building rose 100 stories above sea; one of the hundreds and thousands of sky condominiums built by real estate developers over the past decades; Marcus’ new home was built by a construction group from Dubai. The Muradistad Condo was a mid-level condominium and the only one his father could afford. He had poured his savings into it, and after the purchase, there was nothing left to do but go back to work. Marcus went back to school where all the textbooks had changed but only slightly, now there is land under sea, buildings under sky and outside there is, as there always was, space and mystery.
Marcus, now 27 years old, is an employee of Citibank’s Augmented Reality Banking division. It is 8am and his head is pressed against the glass window of his 35th floor office. He taps it, taps and taps, asking it for answers, when it does not respond, he turns to his co-worker, Jeff.
“Hey, Jeff, you think there’s life in outer space?”
“Have you been smoking again?” Jeff is hunched over, drawing eyes and a handlebar mustache on his banana. His pale, plump face is covered in stubble.
“No man, seriously.”
Jeff shrugs, “I don’t know.”
“I watched this old movie last night. Contact. You seen that?”
Jeff slightly tilts his head towards Marcus, just enough to raise an eyebrow at him.
“You know? Jodie Foster. She makes contact with aliens but it turns out to be her dead father. Or something. Like the after life but in outer space?” Marcus loosens his tie trying to recall, “Eh. Might’ve fallen asleep. I’ll send you a file.”
“Don’t bother. Haven’t seen Star Trip either.”
“Star Trek.”
“Whatever. I don’t know, Marc. Aliens? Sure. Maybe.” Jeff props his mustached banana next to his holographipad, “Movies are just movies. Oh, hey, The Return of Dolphin Girl just came out. Andrea Mason. Mmhmm.” He starts drawing on a plastic cup with a blue Discus in it named Boris Bover, Jeff’s favorite new singer. “I’d like to stick something in that blow hole.”
“Oh… yeah? Didn’t see the first one.” Marcus sees Jeff roll his eyes. “Um. Boris Bover release a new album yet?”
“Nah.”
“You know, my dad sent me this song from this ancient singer from the land days. Bob Dylad, ever heard of him?” Jeff doesn’t answer.
Marcus hums the song, still hearing the song play in his head. I see my light come shining from the west unto the east Any day now, any day now, I shall be released.
“Frank says he watched Bob play when he was 19.”
“Old Frank the security guard?” Jeff says without turning around, “Huh. Can’t imagine him without a saggy face.”
“He said there was this concert on a field. What do you think that’s like?”
Jeff’s shoulders just go up, so Marcus doesn’t bother to ask if he’d like to hear it. Marcus sits back at his desk, props his chin on a palm and tries to read an article about the God Particle on his holographipad. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and scans down to a headline about the state of cows in China.
“Hey, do you remember what a quarter pounder tastes like?”
“Mmm. God. Mc Donalds.” At this, Jeff drops his pen and lifts a chubby arm, pretending to bite into a burger. “Jessie asked me about that the other day.” Marcus looks at the photo of his 3-year old tacked on the wall. She has brown eyes and olive skin, like he does, and she’s wearing a yellow Submarine Sam t-shirt, her favorite cartoon. Marcus tried to get her to like the Simpsons but she couldn’t understand what streets or houses were.
“Where’d she pick that up?”
Marcus shrugs, “she’s also really into pigs now.”“Real pigs or bacon? Uuurgh! Bacon.” Jeff smacks his cheek, “Isn’t her birthday coming soon? You should get her some for her birthday,” he swivels his chair and points his pen at Marcus, “You’ll have to invite me.” “But if you want, I know a guy.”
“God, no, I can’t afford it.“ “If she wants bacon and burgers she can’t go to school.”
“Eh“ Jeff swivels his chair back to his plastic cup, “she can’t miss what she’s never had.”
“She said she wanted to go to China,” Marcus massages his forehead “See some land animals.”
He remembers watching it on the news when he was 7, all sorts of animals shipped to China, Europe, Africa, America, to where landmasses would remain above water. Not a lot of people are allowed to live in those places, reserved mostly for the agriculture of crops and animals, for breeding, butchering and selling at ridiculous prices. The only provisions Marcus could afford nowadays were artificial meat, vegetables and whatever derivative of Alamap, a ubiquitous sea plant, is in shelves. It’s the modern of equivalent of corn, back in the 20th centurey. Everything has Alamap in it. It makes everything salty.
“You see the prices on the cruise ships?”
“What about the visitor fees! Plus the restriction on the number of tourists!” Marcus’ arms fly out, “It said 4-year waiting list. Honestly!”
“Yeah, well. Get over it. There are other things to see.”
"But we used to drive to the zoo!” Marcus whines, “mom had this red Toyota mini-van.”
“MY MOM, sends me these emails about the church granting second virginities,” Jeff laughs and almost tips over his plastic cup.
“A spiritual rebirth for your penis,” Marcus laughs.“How far humanity has come.”
“You know what I’d do with all that divine power? Turn all this goddamned water into wine,” Jeff says placing Boris the discus atop a stack of papers.
Marcus watches Boris swimming around and around in circles. He had a fish once that jumped out of its tank, he was 15 and Marcus wondered if his fish did that on purpose, just flopped out to die, tired of moving and never getting anywhere. He crouched on the floor and wondered if it might’ve been happier just being there. He might’ve left it there if his dad hadn’t arrived home from work.
Work, home, work, home, just like Marcus does now.
“Hey, do you have those numbers we need yet?” Jeff interrupts his thoughts.
“I’ll get on it man.” Marcus gazes out the window and back at his holographipad. He puts his fingers to work thinking, well the fish must be laughing at us now.