The Unethical Astronaut

In the hills, in the high and distant hills, they’d hit a big pothole and blown out a tire. No spare. Now what? he said. They sat for a moment not saying anything. It was late and very dark, with just a sliver of moon. They got out of the car. It was mild for March. The stars, he said, pointing, as if the stars would be anywhere besides up. Yes, she said. I see them. In her voice he could hear worry, a deep and unadulterated worry. They both knew the legend of the Mangler, of course. Everyone around here knew of the Mangler. But they would be OK, he was sure. Fairly sure. They’d passed a house a little ways back. Not even a mile. Longer than a mile, I think, she said. Not much if so, he said. And anyway, what else can we do? Their phones had no signal. Seemed strange to have no signal, up here in the hills, where they were closer to their country’s communications satellites than they were at, say, the village park, where they’d first met, each of them flying box kites. Throughout history, humans climbed mountains to pray so they could be closer to God, had built towering cathedrals so their supplications might rise like smoke and be funneled upward, so God might hear them more clearly. But why would an all-powerful being need help hearing? he wondered. He wasn’t a believer. But once he wrote HELP US on the skin of his box kite in black magic marker. No harm in it, he figured. Did astronauts ever pray? With a god that apparently puts so much stock in relative elevation when considering requests, astronauts could corner the market on prayers. But what would one really need to pray for in space anyway? More space pudding? More sunflower seeds for the space hamsters? The ability to do one more consecutive weightless somersault than Brett, that hypercompetitive prick? Astronauts could make a fortune, though, if they really wanted to, he thought. By selling space prayers to the earthbound. If astronauts had no morals, that is. If they shrugged off ethics like they shrugged off gravity. Perhaps astronauts had to complete a personality assessment before they were hired. Would you ever accept cash to transmit someone’s prayer from low Earth orbit? But of course the unethical astronaut would know to answer no to that.

They walked back down the road toward the house. It was definitely more than a mile. More like two, two and a half. This is fun, she said dourly. Yes, he said. A laugh riot. She shivered. The air now felt considerably colder than it had when they first exited the car. They would have tried to flag down a car, but there were no other cars on this winding mountain road. Too dark for other cars, he said. Too high. Too dark? she said. Too high? You don’t know what you’re talking about. He didn’t respond. He couldn’t argue with that. He didn’t know what he was talking about. He rarely did. Finally, the pine trees parted and the house came into view. Two of the windows were lit up. Hot dog, he said. Someone’s home. They’ll probably shoot us, she said. That’s the spirit, he said.

Behind one of the upstairs windows of the house, a curtain shifted. An excited anticipatory flutter. They stood shivering before the front door. He knocked. We’ll be home in an hour, he said. You’ll see. She said, I want to go back to box kites. What? he said. Back to way things were, at the beginning, she said. Earlier that night, in low Earth orbit, the unethical astronaut had whispered, after his more ethical crewmates had turned in following a long day of space somersaults, Oh, and one more thing: please deliver unto the Mangler two weary late-night visitors, for he is most ravenous and in need of sustenance, and then the unethical astronaut, newly opened space pudding in hand, pressed STOP on his voice recorder (for he was required to provide the client with proof of prayer). He took a bite of his space pudding and gazed down (up?) upon the Earth and imagined what he would do with his substantial windfall, once he returned to the only home he would ever know.