Clear Skies

They usually didn’t have many questions.

But today was different. Because today was prep day.

And they were full of questions.

Mostly a variant of one question:

Will [this] be on the final?

Their professor answered them all, but with increasing frustration.

Until he couldn’t do it anymore.

Until he snapped.

Enough, he said.

Change of plans, he said.

He closed the textbook he’d been holding and tossed it on his desk.

We’re going to start the final right now.

The students’ eyes grew wide.

Relax, he said. For every question, there are only two possible answers.

I’m not going to tell you what’s right or wrong. By which I mean that I’m not going to grade it.

That goes for all the questions.

There was a collective sigh of relief.

Except the last one.

Eyes grew wide again.

The last one will be different.

I’ll ask the last question today and you’ll answer it next class.

Not by raising your hand, but by stating your answer aloud. And justifying your answer.

Your grade will be based solely on this.

Are you ready?

The students looked terrified.

Let’s begin, he said, turning to write something on the board.

The students didn’t see. They were busy looking at each other, looking at their book, looking at their notes. But it was just as well.

There’s this man, the professor started.

Let’s call him Man 1. Man 1 lives in a place where it never seems to rain too much.

Then there’s Man 2. Man 2 lives in a place where it never seems to stop raining.

Who would you rather be? the professor said, pointing to a boy in slacks and collared shirt in the second row.

Well, I don’t really like rain, so probably Man 1, the boy said.

Okay, the professor said.

But I forgot one thing, the professor said.

When it rains in the place where Man 1 lives, nothing happens, he said.

When it rains in the place where Man 2 lives, people die, he said.

Who would you rather be? the professor said, pointing to a girl in a corduroy cardigan and spring dress.

Well, obviously I don’t want to be in a place where people die like that, so I’d be—I’d rather be—Man 1. Actually, Woman 1. I’d rather be Woman 1.

Many in the class cheered this answer.

Okay, the professor said.

Woman 1, the professor said, and there were muted cheers once again.

But I forgot one thing, the professor said.

When looking for a job, people told Man 1, or Woman 1, that he or she was good with numbers. Do something with numbers. So he did. So she did.

People told Man 2, or Woman 2, that he or she was good with numbers. But the rains made steady work like this impossible. So he, so she, never really did anything with it.

Who would you rather be? the professor said, pointing to a girl in the back who always took copious notes but hardly ever said anything.

Woman 1, she said softly.

Okay, the professor said.

But I forgot one thing, the professor said.

When it seemed time to choose a partner, people told Man 1, or Woman 1, See that girl over there? She’s always looking at you. Marry her. So he did. So she did.

When it seemed time to choose a partner, people told Man 2, or Woman 2, that there was a girl who was always looking back at him. Or back at her. That they should get married. But Man or Woman 2 couldn’t erase the thought of the rain. So they didn’t get married.

Who would you rather be? the professor said, pointing to a boy who always had a smile on his face, whose father owned a large corporation. Most of the students had well-placed parents, but this one’s were in another category.

I’d be MAN 1, the boy said, emphasizing the word ‘man’. There were groans and some scattered cheers. The professor went on.

Okay, the professor said.

But I forgot one thing, the professor said.

The individual we’ll call Person 1 will live nearly 80 years on this planet. They’ll enjoy a relatively high degree of freedom. They’ll experience little real loss or lasting pain.

The individual we’ll call Person 2 will live around 50 years. They’ll have a relatively low degree of freedom. They’ll experience major loss, including the loss of multiple siblings and good friends. They’ll never marry for fear of losing more. They’ll live with great pain, of a physical and an emotional kind.

Who would you rather be? the professor said, pointing to the whole class.

The response came back with a mix of Man 1s, Woman 1s, Person 1s.

Okay, the professor said.

But I forgot one thing, the professor said. And this is the last thing.

The students shifted nervously in their seats.

Every two years or four years, sometimes at random intervals, Person 1 is presented with a button that says, TO GUARANTEE CLEAR SKIES. And Person 1 suspects, which is to say Person 1 knows but will not admit, that pushing this button will cause the deadly rain to fall on some other place, that place occupied by Person 2.

Person 2 receives no such button.

So the question for you is this:

Who would you rather be?

Please have your answer and justification ready for tomorrow, the professor said.

And he walked out the door.

Leaving the class wide-eyed, staring straight ahead, for the first time seeing the message on the board.

The Modern Age