Cheetah's Worth Words

Due to tons of spam comments and Wordpress incapacities to deal with statistics and such, I decided to move this blog INTO the French one here:

http://cheetah.over-blog.net

Thank you to delete this one in your bookmarks!

Not a soul out. Seagulls are racing the waves. Sun has not come over the dunes yet. Their wet suits next to them, eyes on the ocean, they sip in their morning coffee slowly, not saying a word. A fisherman by the shore, a clay pipe un his mouth, looks out for fish, his giant cane set firmly into the soft sand.

Boards waxed, wet suits on, they walk in. Small waves, but they don’t really care. Being out there in the swell, paddling out west, listening to the wind, the sound of the waves on the rocks, the nothingness of the open waters. Finally the first rays of sunlight pop from behind the dunes, covering them in orange. Riding the first waves, they realize that they’re not alone. A couple of surfers paddle out towards them. The fisherman is walking  back towards his car. 8 a.m. Ocean Beach. February. Water freezing, wind blowing, sun is shining. No loud speakers, no crowded towels on the sand, no sunblock smell, empty car park.

10 a.m. They walk out to their bags. The boards are sticky with salt and wax and sand miwed together into a hard shell. They take off their suits, shivering in the winter air for a good five minutes. Still not a word. Their bicycles ready, holding their boards under one arm and driving with the other, they ride back home. Black suits white shirts black ties, they sit at their desk half an hour later, looking like anyone. But in their mind the only sound, the only memory is of a wave, silent and blue, curled like the body of a woman, foamy like a good beer, and their board sliding, silently, effortlessly. Winter session, surfers’ delight.

His IQ is 40, his age 26, his skin colour light brown, his hair cropped short. His eyes shut, his mind absent, his will resigned. The crime he’s said to be guily of, he doesn’t even understand. His family tried everything. Associations brought out complaints, huge banners outside the courthouse and hundreds of people to manifest their anger. Justice for all, the judge said, even if the person is “simple”. Psychiatrists forgot to type their report, the kid is about to get legally put to sleep. Did he commit the crime? Probably. Does he deserve some humanity? He sure does. 11 a.m. The clock rings. The guards bring him in. A smile on his face. He still doesn’t realize where and why he’s here. He sees his mom on the other side of the thick bullet-proof window. He waves, smiling. She waves back, crying. They tie him up to the chair, prepare their instruments. Close your eyes. Please close your eyes kid. The audience keep theirs open. Justice for all, 21st century style.

April 4th 1945, Washington D.C., USA. In the Oval Office, four men are sitting in the presidential sofas and talking aout the future of the modern world as they know it. Are present: Harry S. Truman, President of the United States of America, Robert Oppenheimer, father of the atomic bomb, Henry L. Stimson, War Secretary and Paul Tibbets, US Air Force B-29 pilot. Their discussion could have been as follows…

Harry S. Truman (HT): Gentlemen, the solution to the end of this war is near, and the man responsible for it is right here with us today. Robert, tell us more about it.

Robert Oppenheimer (RO): Thank you Mr President. Indeed, what I’ve come up with in my last experiment could very well be the end of  the Second World War. A powerful yet containable weapon, to be used in last resort, if the enemy won’t surrender. Lots of casualties and long-term regional radio-activity so to be used with extreme caution.

Henry L. Stimson (HS): Exactly what we needed! How long to have such a bomb ready? I was wondering what to do if the Japanese refuse our ultimatum in June…

RO: Bombs could be ready by July-August but we would have to test it properly some place deserted first.

HT: The New-Mexico desert would be perfect, we’ve already got training grounds there, desaffected years ago. Robert, I let you supervise the tests, Henry, prepare the locations for the drops in Japan, Paul here will be flying one of the B-29, he might have questions for you both. Mr Tibbets, any questions?

Paul Tibbets (PT): not right now Mr President but thank you I won’t hesitate to ask questions to MM Oppenheimer and Stimson if I have any.

HT: So that’s settled then, we’ll bomb Japan if they decline the ultimatum next June!

HS: Excuse-me Sir, just one request: please don’t target Kyoto, there’s too much history and beauty there. I was there on a honeymoon with my wife a few years back and it’s really worth keeping, if I may.

HT: You may. My advisors told me about Nagasaki and Hiroshima, would that be good targets?

HS: Perfect Mr President, lots of population but not much sight-seeing monuments. I’ll arrange meetings with the Joint Chiefs.

HT: Well, we agreed on your bomb A Robert, now make it work!

The meeting was adjourned, everyone returned to their daily tasks and we all know how it turned out… Enola Gay and her sister killed more than 200 000 Japanese on August 6th and the following weeks. A sad day for the history of mankind.