Free TVA BABY and Other Stories by Terry Bisson Page A

the operator. “Almost a thousand feet so far. We’ll stop at the 78 th floor and you will change elevators. That one will take you to—”
    The elevator stopped with a sickening
bump
. The lights went out.
    “Mommy, it’s dark!”
    “What happened?” her mother asked, alarmed.
    “Not to worry,” said the operator, with a thick New York accent. She got on the phone. “It’s a power failure, temporary. They say it’ll be ten minutes.”
    “It’s dark, Mommy!”
    “Don’t worry, little girl,” said the priest disguised as a fireman. He found her shoulder with his hand. “Perhaps we should introduce ourselves, to pass these few minutes till we are moving again. Have you ever made friends in the dark before?”
    There was no answer.
    “I am Father Mychal Judge, but you can call me Father Mike.”
    “Imam Habib,” said the Imam. “Visiting your beautiful city from Baghdad.”
    “Another beautiful city,” said Father Mike. “And an ancient one. The cradle of civilization.”
    “You are welcome in the cradle at any time,” said the Imam. “It’s a World Heritage site now, you know.”
    “I been there,” said a rich black voice from the back of the car. “I was assigned to the UN Friendship Force sent to help in the Restoration.”
    “An exemplary mission,” said the Imam, finding the Marine’s hand in the dark and shaking it. “Especially since so many here, as well as there, were so eager to loose the Dogs of War. And your name, young man?”
    “Washington, Caleb, Master Sergeant, USMC. Proud native of Harlem, USA.”
    “My brother’s a Marine,” said the little girl’s mother. “I’d be proud to shake your hand, if I could find it.”
    “A pleasure, ma’am.”
    “Ouch!”
    “Sorry ma’am. Guess I’m a little nervous. Don’t mind choppers but don’t much like elevators.”
    The elevator operator made another call. “They’re working on it,” she said. “Thank you for your patience.”
    It was very dark. In the distance, they could hear an alarm bell.
    “I’m not afraid,” said the little girl. “I’m five.”
    “I was five once,” said Father Mike. “Long long ago.”
    They all laughed. It made a nervous sound in the crowded elevator.
    “I believe you mentioned a ceremonial mission,” said the Imam, restarting the conversation.
    “Yes, yes, of course,” said Father Mike. “I come here once a year to bring a few flowers. And to say a prayer from the highest point in our city. It’s a personal ceremony, to honor the firefighters that we lost in the past year.”
    “That’s lovely,” said the mother.
    “Not so lovely this year, I’m afraid,” said Father Mike. “We lost eight this year. That’s a lot.”
    “I’m sorry,” said the Imam. “But why September?”
    “I come every year on September eleventh. Nine eleven, nine-one-one. It’s sort of symbolic. Emergency number. I knew these boys.”
    There was a long silence. The operator made another call. “They’re working on it,” she said.
    “Thank you for not thanking us for our patience again,” said Father Mike, trying to lighten the mood.
    No one laughed.
    It was awfully dark.
    “You two are awfully quiet,” said the Imam, speaking into the darkness. “Where are you from?”
    “Beirut, Imam,” answered a shy voice. “But we’re not Lebanese. I’m Ali, I’m Palestinian. Ben here is Israeli.”
    “Romeo and Julio,” said Ben with a laugh. “And we’re here on a sort of ceremonial mission too. Nine eleven is also our special day.”
    “Oh, really,” said Father Mike. He was hoping for more, but there was just a long dark silence.
    It was broken by the elevator operator.
    “I believe we have a lawyer with us,” she said. “Perhaps he’d like to testify.”
    Another voice came from the darkness, with a slight Spanish accent: “She is right, I’m that dread creature, a lawyer. The name is Al. I’m from Texas, in New York working with the Human Rights Commission of the UN.”
    “The