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The End of the World

Anita G. Gorman

    Mortimer Bowler needed something to do. The epidemic was raging right here in his little town and all over the world. That’s why it was called a pandemic, as he had learned from the evening news.
    “Myrtle,” he said to his wife, “this is really bad. We have to stay inside. We can’t go out.” He looked scared.
    “Mortimer, we can go to the grocery store if we need to. We can go to the pharmacy. We can even get takeout at some lovely restaurants. That’s what I would like, some takeout tonight.”
    “I’m afraid to go out to pick it up.”
    “I can go. I don’t mind.”
    “Wait! Now they’re telling us we should put on masks if we go out. We don’t have any, do we?”
    Myrtle looked at the television screen where a pert young woman was putting on a rather colorful mask that she had made for herself.
    “Well, no, not the kind of mask that doctors use when performing surgery. But I bet I can come up with something colorful just like what that girl is wearing.”
    Soon she was back with a tape measure and measuring Mortimer’s head. “What are you doing?”
    “Measuring your head. I’m going to sew a mask for you and one for me. I’ll try to make the masks reflect our personalities.”
    Mortimer grunted. And she was off to her sewing room while Mortimer sat glued to the television, frightened by the latest news about the virus, at the other end of the world, at the other end of the state, and right here, right here in Ashleyville, Ohio where there had already been two deaths.
    In half an hour, Myrtle was back wearing a mask made of a floral fabric. “How do I look?”
    “Fine. Suits you. What’s that black thing in your hand?”
    “Your mask. Let’s see how it fits. Good thing I had elastic and some remnants. My mother always told me never to throw away material left over from a sewing project. She was right, even if I didn’t always think she was. Here, let me help you put it on.”
    A moment later and he was wearing his brand new accessory. “How do I look?”
    She smiled. “Like a bandit. But don’t worry. No one would mistake you for one.”
    “Why not?”
    “Well, for one thing, you keep sitting here on the couch scaring yourself by checking out the news and the talk shows and the daily briefings from the governor. And when you leave the couch you go to your computer and look for more scary stories on the internet. And then you tell me about them. But I don’t see you leaving the house with that mask on, and if you do, you’ll just be going to the grocery store, not to the bank. Besides, our bank branch is closed. There’s just the ATM machine in the vestibule. I don’t think you could rob that, even if you wanted to. You would need a gun to blast open the machine. I wonder if that’s possible. Well, we won’t be able to find out.”
    “Why not?”
    Myrtle laughed. “Oh, I can think of a couple of reasons. Let’s see. You’re an honest man, reason #1. And we don’t own a gun.”
    Mortimer removed his bandit mask and went back to the TV. “Feels like the end of the world, Myrtle.” But Myrtle had gone into another room, probably to work on one of her projects. She was always busy at something, sewing, knitting, cleaning, baking. Takeout sounded like a good idea. Give her a rest. Maybe Joe’s Pizza would deliver, and Myrtle could spray the box before opening it. Or together they could carefully lift the pizza out of the box that the delivery guy could leave on the front steps. They could dispose of the box some other time, after any germs had died.
    Then, deciding he had had enough of the constant chatter about death on the news, Mortimer went to his computer to see what he could find. He needed a distraction. But what he found made matters worse. He went to the channel where people could put up their own videos. They didn’t have to be famous. In fact, famous people probably didn’t need a channel like that. They could go on the networks or star in movies, and their fans would wait patiently in line in the cold to see them. No, this channel, Your TV, was for people like himself. Ordinary people who could share their views.
    He looked to see what was on Your TV. Some songs, some online talks by professors he’d never heard of. Then he saw it, a headline that made him click immediately: “The End of the World Is Now.”
    He was mesmerized from the beginning. A man named Lucas Baring was speaking. Behind him was a screen that produced horrific pictures, one after another: explosions, soldiers on a battlefield, crying children, weeping women, buildings collapsing, thunder, lightning, earthquakes, and that diagram of the latest virus, the virus that was keeping everyone in their houses, the virus that looked, strangely, like a Christmas ornament. Myrtle had made that comment. “I could make some of those ornaments that look like the virus. Wonder if they would sell.” Why was she always looking on the bright side, when the dark side was so compelling?
    Lucas Baring was talking. “Friends, this is the end of the world. Prepare yourselves for heaven or hell. Prepare yourselves first for a time of great pain, of sorrow, of disease, of the most unspeakable and unimaginable horrors that humanity has ever experienced. We would be better off if a meteor or a comet or some other extraterrestrial object hit the world and killed every last one of us immediately. But that’s not going to happen. We won’t be so lucky.”
    Mortimer sat in front of his computer with his mouth open as Lucas Baring continued.
    “It has all been predicted, predicted in the Holy Bible. Verse by verse.” And Lucas Baring read a verse from this part of the Bible, and then from that part of the Bible, and then from another part of the Bible. They weren’t familiar verses, and strung together they didn’t make a lot of sense. But Lucas Baring said they predicted the end of the world, and the plagues inflicted on the Israelites all those centuries ago would be nothing like what we would have to endure today. Mortimer had edged forward in his chair, but now he slumped back and closed his eyes.
    Myrtle had returned very quietly to Mortimer’s office. “Mortimer, what in heaven’s name are you watching?”
    “It’s the end of the world, Myrtle.”
    “And why do you think that? Who is that smarmy, slick guy talking in front of a backdrop of ghoulish visions?”
    “You always had a way with words, Myrtle. It’s a man named Lucas Baring. He says that the world is coming to an end, and it’s going to be awful.”
    “Well, I can’t imagine that the end of the world would be a picnic with strawberry short cake and ice cream. Does this man have some proof, or does he just like to scare people? He seems to be having a good time.”
    They listened together, and then Myrtle spoke again. “Listen, dear, do you have any idea how many times people have predicted the end of the world? It just keeps happening, century after century, when something bad happens, or when someone founds a new religion, or when a new century begins, or a new millennium. And has the world ended yet? By the way, can you turn that thing down?”
    Mortimer reduced the volume. “But what about the Bible?”
    Myrtle sighed. “You can take a verse here and a verse there and put them together and make them say whatever you want them to say. It’s called proof texting. That smarmy looking gentleman on the screen knows how to do it. He starts with a belief, the belief that the world is ending, and then finds individual verses to support his claim. I bet I could do the opposite. I could start with the premise that the world is not ending, and I could come up with plenty of Bible verses to back me up. And I could have my own channel on Your TV.”
    Mortimer started to laugh. “That makes sense, Myrtle. You’re smart. That’s why you were the history teacher, and I was the electrician.”
    “Well, it takes intelligence to be an electrician. You’re smart, too. We’re just smart in different ways. And by the way, I’m not going to get my own Your TV channel. We’ve got something more important to do now anyway.”
    “What?”
    “We need to decide on what kind of pizza we’re going to order and if we’re going to have it delivered.”
    “You order whatever you like. You have great taste. And I’ll pick it up, wearing my new mask. And I’ll give those guys at the pizzeria a good tip, since they’re working in the middle of all this chaos.”
    Myrtle smiled, leaned over, and gave her husband a kiss.

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