Digby's Era of Eminence, Chapter Five

Pop as browsing around the shop at around nine, when the sun was painting strokes of orange and blots of pink across the sky outside. It aisles were packed with little ocean animals stuffed with beans, t-shirts with bowling logos, and shot glasses coated with images of Trips, but the only thing that interested him was a round, black hat with plumes sticking out of the top that covered the spectrum between green and blue. He bought it, and wore it the rest of the night.

Tanni was loitering on the porch, twirling a single strand of her bangs in her index finger. She wore a skirt and bikini top, because it was hot, despite the lack of sunshine and the cool ocean breeze, and she wore the lei and flowers she had been given upon arrival at the planet, because she thought they looked festive. Most girls who attended these parties dressed up fairly extravagantly, but it was not like Tanni to demand more attention than she needed. This was not the first time she had been to Trips. She had been invited to the party by friends she made during tournament seasons in previous years.

"There you are," she said when she spotted Pop. "I like the hat," she commented, giggling. Pop gleamed proudly.

"You flowers are pretty, too," he said.

"Thanks! Shall we go?"

There was a large fire on the beach, surrounded by a wide circle of tiki torches. By now the sand and the water's surface were illuminated almost entirely by the moon, stars, and firelight. There were people standing around the fire pit, roasting crabs on long, pointy sticks. Nearby on a long picnic table, an array of fruits and vegetables were spread out over a blanket, and around the edges sat bamboo plates, forks, and knives. Pop and Tanni grabbed a couple of crabs from a bucket of ice and skewered them. Pop sat down by the fire and held his crustacean close over the hot embers. The girl stood next to him; her stick was long enough that she did not have to get too close to the flames.

"Have a seat," offered Pop.

Tanni looked uncertain. She kicked the sand underneath around with her bare foot. Pop watched her patiently. Finally she poked the back of the stick into the sand so that the frozen crab was suspended in the air, tucked the back of her skirt under, and sat down carefully. Pop contained his amusement and returned his attention to the roast.

"So how many times have you competed here?" Pop asked.

"Twice before," she replied. "I've never placed, though. It's really more of a hobby of mine."

"A hobby? This is the universal championship. Seventy galaxies. That's huge, I think."

"Yeah? What about you? How many times have you been here?"

"This is my first time. I guess it will be my last, too."

"Why do you say that?"

"I was only here because of Digby. I wish you could have seen him play, before... Well, in any case, he's not coming back."

"Oh..."

"He's moved on to bigger and better things," Pop explained.

"He must be some goat," remarked Tanni.

"I told you so. It's fine though. I've moved on too."

She wasn't sure how to respond. However, she noted that it was nice to sit so close to the fire. They sat in silence until they decided that their crabs were done, and then they joined the others at the table.

Pop had to stand up on the bench to be able to reach his plate comfortably. He filled it with fruits and vegetables, then tore into the crab. After a moment he observed that everyone at the table, including Tanni, was pulling their meals apart using their forks and knives. Pop studied them curiously, but decided that his method was superior. "Tanni," he began with a friendly smile. "You don't need utensils for that. It's not that messy." The other party-goers were busily attending to their own conversations, but Tanni answered softly.

"It's inappropriate. Why don't you just eat like everyone else?"

"This is the way I've always done it." He thought about the times he and Digby had gone camping on the beach. They would catch fish and other things in the shallow waters, and cut them up to roast over the fire, occasionally in a pot of water. Sometimes they ate fish directly from the stick, but crustaceans were always a finger food.

"Please, Pop." He saw that she was genuinely embarrassed by his actions. He sighed, then picked up his utensils and hacked away at the shelled creature with difficulty.

"Hey," called a man who had been standing by the fire. "A few of us are going to the dock to fish. We'll meet you down there."

Pop and Tanni were finishing up their meals. "Want to go?" she asked him.

"Yeah," he said positively.

Their fishing poles were something incredible. They consisted of a thin, hollow tube two or three feet long with a hook poking out of the end, onto which bait was to be attached. On the handle was a series of controls which Pop could not understand. Essentially, a button was pressed to launch the lure into the water, which remained attached to the rod by a line. Another button set the hook, and yet another reeled it in. Pop was entertained by the gadgets for a while, but he soon grew bored of them and resolved to catch a fish with his roasting stick.

"Come on," he urged his date along as he made his way across the dock. Where they stopped halfway down, the water was still shallow enough for Pop to stand in.

"What are you doing?"

"Fishing!"

"With a stick?"

"It's fun, really. Come on in, the water's fine."

"No, thanks. I've got my rod."

Pop climbed back onto the dock, dripping. "You don't have to be so lame," he joked. "Trust me, you'll have fun." He tugged her towards the water.

"No, really," she assured him. But Pop was already too close to the edge, and he started to fall over it, still clutching her hand. The two of them toppled into the ocean. Her head didn't even make it into the water, but most of the rest of her body was drenched. "Pop!" she screamed. By now the other fishers nearby had become preoccupied with the scene.

"Really?" said Pop. "You invited me to a party; I thought you'd be up for a little innocent fun."

"I don't think it's fun!" she exclaimed in annoyance. "You're just being inconsiderate. Haven't you heard the saying, 'when in Rome, do as the Romans do'?"

For the second time that night, he thought of Digby. For years they had done everything together. They had eaten, played, shopped, laughed at politicians, gone on adventures, and helped each other through everyday struggles together. And they had always gotten along. The way Pop and Digby did things was the right way. It was the fun way. It was the way that felt like home.

"Well, maybe I don't want to be in Rome."

"Then leave!"

Pop allowed her words to sink in. Then, deciding that that was exactly what he wanted to do at the present moment, he said, "okay." Then he left.

It was midnight. Pop was wandering the empty streets of town, unsure of where to go. He wanted badly to find his lost friend, but was at the same time afraid to confront him. When last they spoke, Pop had told him that their friendship was over -- not the best note on which to end. What he was more frightened of, however, was the possibility that Digby didn't even care.

He woke up, late morning, to the shrill noise of a double-decker tour bus motoring past the street bench on which Pop had passed out. His joints popped as he sat up, wide awake as if he had just run a marathon. "Digby?" he called, expecting to see the goat, young and unmutated, somewhere nearby. When he remembered where he was and why he had ended up there, he slouched back into his seat. The sun was bright. He had to squint to avoid being blinded, even after his pupils were adjusted. His feathered hat was lying upside-down by one of the legs of the bench.

"Maybe he'll just keep mutating until he's back to normal," Pop suggested to himself. "Normal goats don't mutate, so once he gets there, he'll stop. It's simply the principle of equilibrium." He planted his chin square in his palm, ready for some critical thinking. "He's becoming more and more advanced every day -- more intelligent and capable, like a kid growing up. He said he was starting a business, but if I had to bet, he's probably given that up by now. It's probably below him. Before long, he's either going to be plotting to save the world or to take it over. But what about now? He could be running for office, or mixing chemicals in a lab. Think, Pop, think..."

Digby was at the local library, nearly buried under a mound of cinderblock-sized textbooks. His fur was the same length as it had been the day before, but now he also wore a thick gray beard which would have hung to his belly button were he standing. His sunglasses had been replaced with black-rimmed reading glasses, and his hoof-hands had been substituted with long, muscular fingers, of which there were seven on each of his four bulky arms. His horns were absent entirely, but he possessed a pair of large, brilliant eagle wings, folded neatly behind his chair.

"Digby?" Pop asked, standing at the doorway to his private space.

"Ah, Pop," said Digby, without turning around. "Now is not a good time. Can you come back later?"

"I..." Pop began insecurely. "I came here to apologize."

"I forgive you," he replied impatiently.

"I can help you, if you want. I just..." Digby turned his head halfway, listening. "Please don't leave me alone. You're the only real friend I've ever had."

He stuffed his nose back into his book. "I'm sorry. I feel the same way, Pop, but you would only get in the way of my work, which at the moment is far more important than anything any man has ever done. You will understand once I am finished."

"When will you be finished? When you find the light at the end of the tunnel, will you die?"

"I have no answers for these questions right now. But I am very close. Perhaps I will be able to meet God. If I do, I hope He will let me return to share all I have learned with the people I have met during my time here."

"I hope so too," said Pop, confused.

"Ah!" blurted Digby suddenly. "That's it!"

"That's what?"

"I've discovered a superposition of bosons that proves the gravitational force is unified with the other fundamental forces at high energies! Einstein will be relieved to hear that quantum mechanics is not an accurate description of the universe."

"Einstein is dead," said Pop slowly and uncertainly.

Digby stood, taking a brown plaid hat from the desk and placing it on his head. "I can visit him, using the time machine I built this morning." And then he leaped out the window, white wings spread, and vanished into the glimmering sunshine.

Pop sighed. "I guess that's that..." He strolled to the chair on which Digby had until recently been planted, and sat down, exhausted. "At least I cleared things up between us. I did everything I could. Digby is in charge of his own destiny now." Then, strangely, Pop felt happy.