The Babel Tower Page 6

  “Pleasure doing business with you,” the governor said. “We’ve still got a while before we arrive. A toast?”

  Liz smiled. “Yes. But there’s one more thing.”

  “Fire away.”

  “Owen managed to buy the land I need, with only one holdout. It’s a farm within sight of the tower. About one thousand acres, and the family is refusing to sell.”

  “Why does that not surprise me?”

  “It’s not about the money,” Owen said. “I offered far more than the land’s worth. They won’t sell. They insist that they aren’t moving anywhere.”

  The governor laughed. “That’s a Nebraska farmer for you. I’m surprised you got everyone else to agree.”

  Money will do that, Owen thought. “I moved fast.”

  “So who’s the family?” the governor asked.

  “The Conrads,” Liz said. “Heard of them?”

  Her words wiped the smile off the governor’s face. “Isaiah Conrad?”

  “That’s right,” Owen said. “I talked to his grandson Jacob, who seems to be running things.”

  “Isaiah’s still the figurehead,” the governor replied. “He was a big player in my opponent’s campaign. They’re hard folks. Very traditional. You might as well leave them be.”

  “If they’re already against you,” Liz said, “can’t you help us nudge them out?”

  The governor shook his head. “I’m not going there. Think of all the farmers in Nebraska. Imagine what they’d think if I just ousted one from his land because you want to build a tower there.”

  At least the governor was being honest. Owen had already thought through this. His mind wandered as Liz began to debate the point with the governor. Finally, Liz turned to Owen. “You’ve studied the laws. Isn’t there some way?”

  Owen knew this debate was going nowhere, but he also knew Liz would never drop it on her own. He went with a tried and true tactic: delay. “Let me look into it more. There might be something else.” He pointed to the champagne on ice in the corner. “In the meantime, time for that toast?”

  The governor grabbed the bottle, and Liz gave in. Moments later they were sipping champagne and celebrating a victory. They rode on for a while and Owen noticed the small Conrad farmhouse ahead. He pointed it out for Liz, who studied it with a determined gaze.

  They reached the proposed tower site a few minutes later.

  The group exited the limo, stretching their legs by the empty plain where Liz planned to build. Owen felt a little tipsy, caught up in the bubbly banter of the others.

  Liz came to his side. “Hey, nice work back there.”

  “Thanks,” Owen said. “Just doing my job.”

  “And doing it very well.” She smiled. “Hey, let’s stop by that farm on the way back.”

  “The Conrads?” Owen shook his head, but what could he say? Liz was used to getting what she wanted. Sometimes she didn’t even have to try, or she just put on a little charm like she did with the governor. But this farmer was different. “I’m telling you, they’re not going to budge.”

  “We’ll see…” Liz said, looking back toward the farmhouse. “I want to meet this Jacob Conrad.”

  11

  Most people meet for the first time with a measure of curiosity and caution. A polite hello and how-do-you-do. A few times in a lifetime, it’s different. Two people meet like electrons whirling through particle accelerators at critical velocity, colliding and exploding and leaving ashes in their wake.

  Liz thought of her life as a particle accelerator. Some unseen force drove her with ceaseless compulsion to something bigger and better. She fully expected to collide with another electron someday. She did not expect to collide with a Midwestern farmer named Jacob, but the man was standing in her way.

  Owen had given her the file on Mr. Conrad. It was short. He had no social media. The Internet didn’t even know he existed. The only records came from local intelligence. Neighbors said he was a good man, a normal farmer type. Grew his crops. Fed his family and his chickens. Wore a beard. If anything was going to stop her from building her tower here, it was not this guy.

  The governor had agreed on the pit stop, as long as it was brief and as long as he wasn’t involved. Liz promised it would be quick. She was planning to turn on the full-force charm offensive. Owen had called the Conrad home from the limo, so they were expecting her.

  Now, as she walked toward the farm and spotted the farmer outside, clearly having seen her coming, she started to wonder what this unusual person might be thinking. He stood strong yet relaxed, an arm reaching out easily to rest on a fencepost. He wore boots, jeans, and a tucked in white shirt. He looked almost Amish if not for the green trucker’s hat. He somehow made the fencepost look like a slouch.

  He didn’t smile, didn’t say anything, as she came closer. She let her natural energy show, with a bounce in her stride and a bright, confident smile.

  “Jacob Conrad?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “Liz Trammell. Thanks for agreeing to meet me on such short notice. I heard about your meeting with my lawyer.”

  He didn’t react, though his eyes missed nothing.

  “We can make this quick, let you get back to your farming, okay?”

  He stared at her with an interminable grin. Up close he looked straight out of the Civil War in a dignified sort of way. Maybe like a general, like Stonewall Jackson. Except for the grin. There was something charming about it.

  He surprised her by stepping closer, into her space. She suddenly felt his presence, like the sun slipping out of the clouds and basking over her. He smelled of sweat and dirt, but it wasn’t bad. She didn’t pull back. She wouldn’t retreat. He reached up by her face, grazing her ear, then pulled something away and held it in front of her eyes. It was some flaxen, stringy thing.

  “Corn silk,” he said, his dark eyes amused.

  She took the string out of his hand.

  “Hard to see the silk in your hair. It takes to you.”

  She felt her face going red. “You know why I’m here, right?”

  “The tassel is the male part of the corn,” he said. “The ear, the part we eat, that’s the female part.”

  “Mr. Conrad, I did not come here to learn about corn.”

  “Call me Jake.”

  Not the most promising start to a business negotiation she’d ever had, but she was the one with something to say, after all. So she launched ahead.

  “Okay Jake, I’ll get right to it. I’ve purchased all the land surrounding your farm, and I will be building the tallest skyscraper in the world within a mile of where we’re standing.” She gestured in the direction of the building site, which was currently only rolling hills of long grasses. “I realize this will be a big change, close to your doorstep. But I hope you understand it is not just you this is affecting. It’s your neighbors. It’s the whole state of Nebraska. Everyone is excited about this. The tower will bring new business, tourism, and jobs. It’s going to be one of the greatest feats of humanity.”

  She paused, trying to gauge his response. She got nothing, but she pressed ahead to lay it all out on the table. She knew the normal negotiating tricks wouldn’t work with this guy. Owen had already tried.

  “I’m not just talking about how tall the building will be,” she continued. “But also how we’ll use it. We’ll have top-notch research and collaboration to tackle the world’s challenges. Jake, we could conquer death right over there. Can you imagine that? And we want this land right here to be part of it. Now I want to be fair. We’d like to make your dreams come true at the same time. We’re all in this together. Tell me, what do you want? Is there any other place you’ve ever wanted to be?”

  She had turned on the charm, built up the energy, and set it free. She waited for a response. And waited a little longer. She knew it was a lot to take in—the great feats that would happen where he currently plowed land.

  Finally he answered. “There is no better place.”

&n
bsp; His voice was firm and steady. Not excited or energetic. As if she had not affected him at all. She tried again.

  “Jake, we’re talking about a princely sum for your land. We can make you and your family happy for the rest of your lives.”

  “Miss Trammell, with all due respect, money can’t make a person happy.”

  “Please, call me Liz. I know I’m making my own dream come true here, and I realize it’s going to affect you. You won’t be isolated out here much longer. Thousands of people will be coming. Making noise.”

  “I don’t mind visitors.” He might has well have been talking about the chances of rain tomorrow.

  “Well, I want to make this good for you, too. Think of it as an opportunity. You can get away from the disturbances here, and go wherever you want. It could even be a farm twice as big and only a hundred miles away. Give me some hint of what you’d like, to achieve your own dream. You might be surprised what I can make happen for you.”

  In the silence that followed, he looked at her with such calm intensity that she looked away. The green of the grass was so bright. She heard a bird chirp, and the slight rustle of the trees in the breeze.

  “My dreams can’t be bought.”

  She wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. But at least he’d admitted he had dreams. “Jake, I can pull strings, hire people, get the best minds on an issue. What is it you care about? Is there a cause? Is it your family? What can I say or do to persuade you to consider partnering with me?”

  She noticed the cadence of her speech slowing the longer she spoke with him. Her breathing became steadier, deeper. Her shoulders loosened and she stood taller, letting her arms fall by her sides. Her smile became more relaxed. Her overwhelming curiosity about this person in front of her, and what made him tick, was not a frustration. It was more…wonder. Who is he? How does he live? What would it feel like to be so tied to a place that no amount of money makes you want to leave? To have no desire to live some other, better place?

  A long-dormant place inside her began to prick her consciousness: Is it possible to feel that way? No one she knew did. It was always about the next thing, the big achievements, the milestones, the successes. From the day she and Jax created Babel, she’d been working to make it the success it was today. By all accounts, she had succeeded. And then what? Surely this tower was the answer. If she built it, she would do a great thing in the world. She could never doubt her success, her worth, her reason for living. The tower would stand as a testament long after she was gone. People would never forget her.

  Thoughts of the tower got her mind back onto normal Liz-track. A goal-oriented track. It was more comfortable for her there. What was the next step to get this land for her tower? She put it to Jake:

  “Look, I see I haven’t persuaded you. But I do think selling is best for you. This huge tower is going to be right there…” she pointed again in the general direction. “What can I do to get you to reconsider?”

  A long pause. Again the breeze and the quiet entered her consciousness. “Do you need some time to think it over? Would it help if I came back?”

  She had no idea why she offered that. She was way too busy to be flying back to Nebraska with everything else going on with Babel and plans for the tower. It just slipped out before she could stop it. Surely it was because she was reading him so well and it was what he would need in order to sell. Right? Surely it was because she could tell he wasn’t going to sell today, and she couldn’t bear to lose the negotiation. That must be why.

  But for the first time, her offer seemed to ruffle his calm. His eyes flickered, looked at the sky behind her, like he was listening to something, then came back to hers. When they did, she caught her breath. It was like they looked straight into her core. His words, when they came, were quiet.

  “Yes. I’d like that. Come stay for a while.”

  Liz’s breath caught. The intensity in his eyes made her hesitate. “Stay?”

  “I don’t mind much about the tower,” he said. “People build things, things fall down. But you’re a mighty interesting lady.”

  There was no hiding the crimson in her face now. She wasn’t thinking straight, and she didn’t trust herself to respond. “We’ll be in touch,” she managed to say before spinning off and walking away, with the strand of corn silk still clutched in her hand.

  12

  Jacob Conrad lifted a tin cup of coffee to his lips as the day’s first light touched his face. He licked his thumb and pointer finger, then clamped them over the candle flame. The gray light played in the smoke curling up to the wooden rafters. He looked down at the thick book open before him. He closed his eyes and prayed.

  When the sun crept over the flat horizon, he knew it was time to work. His tanned, calloused hands folded the book carefully. It would probably be his hands’ last delicate moment until he returned to the book tonight. Those hands would be wielding tools and ploughs and tractor wheels. Jake would spend this Wednesday feeding, weeding, watering, and maybe even harvesting. He thought of the best watered corner of his land, where the sweet corn grew tallest and produced a few early ears every year. Fresh corn would be good with dinner.

  Jake mouthed the words again. Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits.

  He shook his head. He’d only met the woman once, just yesterday. This had nothing to do with her. But still her face was imprinted in his mind. He tried to wave it away, as if it were a fly buzzing past. He failed. Try as he might, the words from the wise man’s ancient love song entwined with the brief memory of her, making a single encounter somehow feel infinite.

  There was only one way to deal with a nuisance like that. Jake pulled on his hat, went outside, and began to work.

  First he fed the chickens. Then he sharpened his axe. The wood didn’t need chopping yet, but Jake needed to slam into something, split into the grain, and divide it. He dragged the axe blade against the hairs of his arm, satisfied as the metal shaved like a razor. He set his feet and raised the axe.

  Whack.

  The thick wood split in two. He grinned a little as he set the next piece on the stump. Up went the axe again, down it slammed.

  Whack.

  He laid the split pieces onto a stack. He kept hammering his axe down until his arms ached.

  After a while he’d built up the pile. He leaned the axe against it and wiped the sweat off his forehead. With his first deep breath, the woman’s face came back into his mind.

  “Corn silk,” he muttered. He walked to the tractor and started the engine. The thrumming pistons drowned out the face in his mind’s eye. He rode the lengths of the field’s edges, inspecting. A few times he stopped to pull out the victims of his traps. Two rabbits, one groundhog. He checked a few stalks to make sure growth was on pace. He eyed the clouds, smelled the rain coming. He tinkered with the irrigation valves, adjusting for the coming wetness.

  Jake spent the whole day like that. He found escape in the work. Only when he was sweating and concentrating over some familiar task could he keep thoughts of the woman at bay.

  By evening he was exhausted. He soaked in a tub of water and let his eyes close. She was still there. She was everywhere.

  Why God? he mused, half-asleep.

  She is yours.

  Those exact words had come to him before she’d visited. But who could be sure about the source of words drifting into the mind? The mind was a tricky thing. He asked again, Mine?

  She is yours.

  Twenty minutes passed before Jake’s mother knocked on the door. “You okay in there?”

  He awoke with a start. He never fell asleep like that. “Yeah,” he grunted.

  “It’s six o’clock,” she said. “Dinner’s on the table.”

  He listened for footsteps walking away, but didn’t hear any. He climbed out of the tub and quickly dried and put on clean clothes. His hair and beard were still drippin
g when he opened the door.

  His mother was standing there. “You sure you’re okay?”

  He nodded.

  She smiled and motioned for him to follow. “It was hot out there.”

  Jake didn’t respond. He greeted the others at the table—Pops, Grandma, and his sister, Annie. He sat down, blessed the food, and dug in.

  His Mom and Annie talked all about the news of the tower. They talked about the woman who had visited the day before. They didn’t bother asking Jake about her. They knew he wouldn’t answer.

  And if he’d had to answer, he wouldn’t have known what to say. None of it made any sense. The way her face plagued his mind. Not plagued, he corrected himself. She isn’t ugly. But it was still a nuisance. And then he kept thinking of those lines from his morning reading. Words about a garden and pleasant fruits. Words about love. Normally the holy words were his reprieve and sanctuary through the day. Now they were a haunting, unmet desire, and the desire was the face imprinted on his mind.

  Worst of all, though, was the half-dream, the half-thought: she is yours. It made him almost afraid. She was a billionaire from Silicon Valley. How could he possibly get along with a woman like that?

  A while later he finally lay in his bed. He feared hearing the words again. He feared believing them. No more words came, but they didn’t have to. Jake fell into deep, dreamless sleep. He’d battled today, tried to resist the urges of emotion and desire, and for the first time in years, he’d lost.

  13

  Katarina Popova held her arms out to her sides, tense and straight and parallel to the San Francisco Bay. She tensed her leg muscles, finding her balance, then leaned over and stretched one of her arms overhead. The salty air filled her lungs with each deep breath. The movements warmed her core in the cold, foggy dawn. She still found it hard to believe that August felt colder in San Francisco than in Moscow.

  “Downward dog.”

  The words translated into motion. Katarina’s hands planted on the mat in front of her, heels behind her, shoulder length apart. Her gaze fixed on a blade of grass underneath, as she pressed her heels down. The pose formed a perfect triangle, her body two sides and the ground the other.