Free The Good Atheist by Michael Manto Page A

get it? I’ve found evidence my dad is alive. There is a good chance that somewhere in this cottage will be something that tells me more about him, maybe even where he is. I’m not leaving until I’ve had a careful look, even if it takes all night. And I still need to sort out the banned books and pack them up so we can turn them in for burning.”
    “All right,” she said. “If you want to stay that badly, I guess one night here won’t kill me.”
    “I’ll be fine. Go back to the motel for the night.”
    But Selene crossed her arms. “Nope. I’ll stay too. I can help sort the books.”
    “Thanks,” I said, pulling her close to me.
    “You’re welcome,” she said. She started to say more, but I stopped her with a kiss. After a few minutes she finally pushed me away. “Look, I’m giving up a decent night’s sleep and a hot shower for this, so let’s get on with it.” She turned to the nearest pile of books on the floor, and started picking through them.
    It was going to be a long night, and coffee would be required. I left Selene in the den and went into the kitchen to see about making some. It was getting dark, and I commanded the house to turn on the lights, before remembering that this was a primitive home without artificial intelligence. I went around, manually flicking on lights. It felt odd to be in a house that would not answer questions or obey my commands. I would have to do everything the old-fashioned way. Manually flipping switches, turning knobs and even, for heaven’s sake, making my own coffee.
    I found an old-fashioned coffee maker sitting on the counter next to the stove. It was the kind that you had to manually pour water into the top. I knew Grandpa had been a coffee drinker, and I dug around the kitchen cupboards until I found a can of coffee. Next to it were paper cone filters. I put a filter into the coffee maker, and poured some coffee grounds into it. I had to guess how much to use – Ellie normally made the coffee for us at home.
    I pumped some water out of the tap at the sink, poured it into the coffee maker, turned the switch on, and waited. I stood at the counter, watching the coffee drip through. It seemed to take forever, but then everything seemed to take longer. Instead of feeling impatient, I found myself enjoying the slower pace and doing things for myself. And I enjoyed the quiet and solitude. There were no servbots or cleaning droids scurrying around. The house wouldn’t try to schedule my life. I could open the fridge door, and it wouldn’t give me dietary advice or make snide comments on my snack choices. And the stove wouldn’t try to tell me how to cook.
    I could get used to this, I decided.
    Maybe if I did more for myself, I wouldn’t need a gym membership to stay in shape.
    I made a full pot of coffee and took a cup into Selene. She was busy organizing the books in neat stacks, separating the wheat from the chaff, the good – or at least the harmless – from the religious.
    I took the rest of the pot of coffee, along with the letters, into the living room, and sat down next to a reading lamp. I began by sorting the letters in date order. My father had the habit of putting the date at the top of each letter, and soon I had them in order. The letters started almost seventeen years ago, shortly after the last time I saw him and, according to my mother, had run off with another woman. The last letter was dated December 15, 2057, just six months ago. I started reading in chronological order. There were almost a hundred – it was going to be a long night.
     I made a conscious decision to keep my emotions in check until I’d finished, but it was hard. At time the tears blurred my vision so much I had to stop reading and get myself back under control.
    I lost track of time. I hadn’t heard a peep from Selene for a long while. I got up to stretch my legs and check on her. She was fast asleep, curled up in the big chair. She looked comfortable enough, so I decided