When the hour struck to return us to standard time Shatner scaled the wall and began to crawl across the ceiling, like some manic gecko stalking gnats in the choler of a tropic night. With a reptilian prowess he stealthily zig-zagged across the surface to the center of the room where a cord descended. It had until moments before dropped to a mirror ball, but the reflective panels had fallen away to reveal an industrial strength bug zapper in it’s place. I was simultaneously impressed that a man of such considerable bulk might so defy gravity and that at the tender age of ninety-one he should prove to be so agile. He remained for some time perched above this device, studiously watching for I can’t imagine what. It’s November for Christ’s sake! The bugs are all gone, save for the stinkbugs who have burrowed into every dark crevice to be found. They come haltingly whenever that low winter sun should grace our windows and nudge the mercury above fifty degrees. That was not so at this day and hour. An inner voice warned against engaging in any way with the man while he was in this state, for surely one would do so at their peril. Who knows what kind of psychosis would infect the foolhardy who might try?
I have long suffered manic episodes of my own, these usually afflicting me in the long, dark pre-dawn hours of the morning. These are the dead hours when most of the living are wrapped in their silent repose, chasing after pleasant dreams to dull each waking nightmare. We who depart our unquiet slumber for these nocturnal vigils are privileged to witness such bizarre occurrences, though often left to puzzle what we have seen. Or why. I consider myself fortunate among this number, for it is in these hours that I am often visited by the spirits of the departed. Most only sit in the darkness in a mute communion with the night, but there is one who truly haunts me.
“God is dead.”
“He is indeed, for we have killed him.”
This is our standard opening exchange. I can not summon him; he only appears as he will.
“Wie gehts, Fritz?”
“I am well. And yourself, Thomas?”
“Puzzled. I’ll assume that is why you are here?”
“Oh dear! Reading Sartre again?”
“No, not lately. I am puzzled by this!” I gestured at Shatner’s form, still looming above the bug zapper.
“Also, naturlich! It is a man crouched on the ceiling, Thomas. Your eyes are failing you! Do you know him?”
“Not personally, no, but I know who he is. I just don’t understand why he is here.” I did not dare to add that I was also puzzled over why and how he had crawled upon the ceiling. Apparently whatever place Fritz inhabits, in whatever form that may take, it is perfectly normal for the geriatric crowd to climb about like lizards in the middle of the night.
“Have you been taking hallucinogens again? You’re getting rather old for that now, don’t you think?”
“No! Not… today. No, I am not hallucinating. You see it too!” I had to wonder for a moment. Could he share my hallucinations? And if he did, would he ever tell. I think not.
“Do you fear this man for some reason? Who is he?”
“He is Captain James Tiberius Kirk, commander of the Starfleet Ship Enterprise.”
“Kirk. Hmmm…. Kirk. Is that an Americanized version of Kirkegaard?”
“No, I don’t believe so...”
“And did I hear you correctly, did you say Tiberius? Ha! Pretentious much! What was his mother thinking!”
“Trust me Fritz, that is nothing compared to some of the names they dream up now.”
“Indeed. I lose track, friend….when is now?”
“2021 AD.”
“Thomas, have you considered asking him what he wants?”
“I had not made it quite that far, to be honest. I was resolved to do all in my power to simply ignore him. I would, however, like to know why he has suspended a bug zapper from my ceiling.”
“Ja, that is a curious apparatus. Bug zapper? How does it work?”
“It….I can’t believe I’m doing this, it has a charge in the cylinder. And a light. The light attracts the bugs and when they fly too close...ZAP!”
“Ingenious! Does it work on people too?”
“Sometimes…. Look, Fritz! I know you don’t just drop in for casual conversation. I don’t have any brandy, if that’s what you’re after.”
“Ach, nein nein! Smoke your pipe, Thomas. I will speak with him.”
In the blink of an eye Fritz appeared seated next to Shatner, sitting cross legged upside down. The tails of his heavy, woolen waistcoat of 19th century vintage hung down behind him, lending the unsettling illusion that he was a fly with wings at rest tucked behind him. I could not make out their discussion, only the muffled, distant buzzing of their low voices. They appeared to be holding an intelligent exchange with even temper and few gestures. Given Shatner’s flair for the dramatic flourish the entire discussion was surprisingly absent of much animation at all. This went on for several minutes and then, as suddenly as he had appeared above, Fritz was back at my side and Shatner had vanished. The bug zapper remained.
“Well? What did he say?”
“About what?”
“The bug zapper!”
“Oh, ja ja...the zapper. Thomas, the zapper is of no consequence. You are seeing the zapper because you are remembering a specific time in your life. This life, that you are in now...”
“I’m sorry Fritz, I’m not following this...”
“Ja, the Captain said you would not. Hör mal, bitte! The first time you ever saw one of these devices you were a boy. It was summer. Can you remember that year Thomas?”
“Vaguely.”
“Thomas, you were of the last generation of boys to enjoy play themed upon the American west. Cowboy hats and gun belts, with shiny cap guns. Your mythology was gunslingers and heroes riding to the rescue on horseback. Mock rifles and toy soldiers. The Rifleman and The Lone Ranger on your television. You do remember these things?”
“Yes. What does this have to do with anything?”
“Lieber Gott, you are an impatient man Thomas! I am arriving at the point, just hear me out. Now, your Captain Kirk arrives on your television. There is the space program, the moon landing… it was what you Americans call a “sea change”, I believe? The world changed Thomas and little boys were no longer interested in dusty old cowboys. It was the beginning of a turning, verstehen?”
“Yes… I understand what you mean. Go on.”
“Ausgezeichnet! Captain Kirk has come to let you know that he has crossed his final frontier. This turning has passed, my friend. You have entered the fourth turning and Captain Kirk is leaving now.”
“Yes Fritz, but what does it mean?
“It is like your Dylan. It means everything and it means nothing. At once. When you are dead like me you will understand.
“I see. And how long will that be?”
There was no further reply. Fritz was gone, until the next time he should decide to drop in. I will have to make it a point to stock more brandy. If not soon, then at least some time before I die.
