Hysteresis: An Asymmetric Account of an Individual Apocalypse

By David Keffer

In an imaginary land, the eternal battle rages between the forces of darkness and the forces of light. Upsetting a long established balance, the forces of darkness have revealed a mysterious secret weapon, capable, so they claim, of finally providing the means for them to escape from their prison and return to ravage the lands of the forces of light. The forces of light, for their part, have hidden their own secret weapon in the center of the sun, where it remains beyond their reach, because they are possessed of a profound ambivalence regarding the outcome of this engagement. When they discover that the leadership of the forces of darkness share their perspective, one would think that an amiable resolution is at hand, but that turns out to be as far from the eventual truth of the matter as can be imagined.

As a literary conceit, "Hysteresis" examines the symmetry between darkness and light and creates a combined diplomatic and military campaign intended to capture the nuances of the internal debate regarding the lure (or lack thereof) of each force. In short, "Hysteresis" is exactly as described: an asymmetric account of an individual apocalypse.

In the interests of full disclosure, the author has provided a second subtitle as well, which is relayed here, cryptic and self-deprecating though it may be: Tragicomedic Juvenilia of a Melodramatic Amanuensis.

"Hysteresis" was written from March to September, 1995 in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Keffer
• Release date: Jun 17, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301803514

David Keffer

David J. Keffer was born in Kansas City, Missouri. He pursued a technical education earning a B.S. in Chemical Engineering from the University of Florida and a Ph.D. in Chemical Engineering from the University of Minnesota. After a year as a post-doctoral scholar at the U.S. Naval Research Laboratory in Washington, D.C., he began his career as an engineering professor at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville, where he remains today. He has published about 100 technical papers in archival journals. He was awarded a Fulbright Grant to learn and to teach about sustainability in Seoul, Korea.Outside of engineering, David Keffer studied world literature and creative writing. He has published analytical articles on the works of Primo Levi and Kobo Abé. He created various reading aids to several classical Chinese novels. Over the past two decades, David Keffer has been active writing novels, poetry and stories. Several novels and illustrated stories are available from the Poison Pie Publishing House at http://www.poisonpie.com.Beginning in 2012, David Keffer began teaching a course on the subject of non-idiomatic improvisational music, of which he is a devoted listener and a topic which has led aided him on an investigation of a literature of non-idiomatic improvisation.David Keffer lives in Knoxville, Tennessee with his wife, Lynn, and two children. As a family, they enjoy hiking through the local mountains and are always on the look-out for poison pie and other ambivalent mushrooms that dot the landscape.

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Hysteresis

An Asymmetric Account of an Individual Apocalypse

or

Tragicomedic Juvenilia of a Melodramatic Amanuensis

by David J. Keffer

written March-September, 1995

Minneapolis, Minnesota

modestly tinkered with in 2013

Knoxville, Tennessee

Copyright © 2013 David J. Keffer

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

This book too is dedicated to my sister,

Marie Poonawala

Hysteresis

Table of Contents

Chapter One. An Introduction

I. The Forces of Darkness

II. The Forces of Light

III. Attributes of the Secret Weapon

Chapter Two. A Sequence of Portraits

I. The Ignominious Endeavors of General Blight

II. The Sordid Tale of General Lareneg

III. The Ambiguous Judgment of Special Envoy Roy

IV. The Inglorious History of Ambassador Dido

V. The Marginal Sacrifice of Admiral Larimda

VI. The Unachievable Quest of General Bright

VII. The Humorless Assignation of Special Agent Dodo

VIII. The Quixotic Path of Special Envoy Roy

Chapter Three. Untimely Evolutions

I. Theory of the Secret Weapon

II. The Forces of Light

III. The Forces of Darkness

Chapter Four. Simultaneous Missions

I. General Blight vs. General Bright

II. General Lareneg vs. Admiral Larimda

III. Ambassador Dido vs. Secret Agent Dodo

IV. Special Envoy Roy vs. Special Envoy Roy

Chapter Five. The Culmination of a Pilgrimage and the Dispensation of Advice

I. Greeting the Other

II. The Forces of Darkness

III. The Forces of Light

IV. Execution of the Secret Weapon

V. Marie

Chapter One. An Introduction

I. The Forces of Darkness

Here we are, the forces of darkness—after an eternity of subjugation to the wills of the favored forces of light—crouched on the brink of success, tensed to pounce from the precipice of our long stifled desires, ready to unleash our secret weapon with only one intent: the annihilation of the forces of light. What restrains our itching fingers from pushing the pulsing, inviting red button is the absence of the necessary confirmation from our commander, who must tell us that our cherished secret weapon has been perfected, that after eons of preparation, our secret weapon is flawless, that it is above all possible reprisals from the forces of light, that beneath its ominous shadow, the forces of light will cower and cringe, much as we have done here in the kingdom of darkness since time immemorial.

I step out from the rock onto a plain lit by starlight. Above me, I recognize only Orion and his hourglass figure. The prairie grass is unmoved by the drifting breeze and the distant rumble of thunder is not accompanied by flashes of lightning. A short distance away a circular wall of sandbags encloses a small encampment. No lanterns or fires flicker among the tents and tanks. The forces of darkness are not accustomed to light and view even the scarce illumination from the stars with a measure of distrust.

Unchallenged by the hidden sentries, I stride into camp and make my way toward the center. I pass through without encountering a soul. The arms and armaments are neatly arranged near the entrances of each tent. The structures of life, a mess tent, a latrine, a shower stall are kept from view. In this camp, there is only one obvious intent and it is not to accommodate the necessities of life but to ruthlessly extinguish the forces of light.

I hurry; my aides and advisors anxiously await my return in my personal tent. I reach the tent, sweep the flap aside, and enter to find them looking at their glow-in-the-dark watches in the darkness. Invariably, I am late, having lost track of time in the solace of the tunnels. Convene, I order before I reach my wood and canvas chair.

Hello, sir, croaks General Blight, commander of the amphibious divisions of the forces of darkness.

Hello, General Blight, I mechanically reply, squinting in the darkness to make out the general seated in a chair similar to my own. He is not facing me; I see the left half of his face, the mobile side, in profile. The right half of his face is paralyzed due to a stroke many years before. His grins are half-grins and his frowns are half-frowns. General Blight is ambivalent about most everything except the crucial role the amphibious divisions must play in the imminent victory of the forces of darkness. His chin is speckled with white stubble. His olive drab field uniform covers his barrel chest and spindly legs. General Blight wears dark glasses, even now, when I can barely discern his figure inside the unlit tent.

Seated behind General Blight, on my trunk, is General Palindrome Lareneg, commander of the fierce and dreaded armor divisions of the forces of darkness. General Lareneg is a skeleton seated on the foot-locker, his uniform sags on his bony shoulders and wrinkles down his chest. His belt is pulled tight around his waist and his dowel-rod legs rise vertically to his knees and jack-knife down into his hips. In this lack of light, it is impossible to tell that one of his legs is, in fact, a wooden peg. General Lareneg chews his lip pensively. Like General Blight, Lareneg is an ancient man, the veteran of countless battles and skirmishes, a man who has devoted his entire life to the defense of darkness and the incessant heckling of light.

Seated on my cot are my other two advisors, Special Envoy Roy and Ambassador Dido, each maintaining a discreet distance from the other. Special Envoy Roy is our courier to the forces of light. Of all the members of the forces of darkness, only he can withstand the onslaught of the sun in full bloom. He takes to the forces of light our terms for their surrender and returns with their paltry threats and ultimatums. Special Envoy Roy is a young man, wiry and light on his feet, the image of Hermes, messenger of the gods, barring the absence of vestigial wings at his ankles. His hair is neatly parted and jet black. His uniform is a neutral khaki. His face is devoid of expression, a necessary trait for one who must visit the forces of light and betray nothing.

Next to him sits Ambassador Dido, liaison from the Kingdom of Purgatory, whose untold legions have not yet committed to either the forces of darkness or light but who waver between loyalties. Ambassador Dido is present because we hope to convince her of the justice of our cause and win her and her minions to our side. Dido is the tallest in the tent, taller by a head than I or my aides. Her height is matched only by the height of her beauty and the joy in her quiet heart. We sense the enthusiasm she holds for our efforts, feel her cheering on the toil of a kingdom in the making. When bashfully approached by our men, amphibious and armored, as Dido strolls through our camp, she gives judgments and rulings, apportioning work with fairness, assigning some tasks by lot. The men willingly, enthusiastically obey her despite the fact she holds no authority over them. For our part, as their commanders, we do not interfere with the ambassador’s interventions. We clearly perceive how it raises the camp’s morale to have this regal woman express concern for them. Moreover, all her directives seem judicious and well-spoken. We have no quarrel with her unsought aid. For her own part, Dido seems unaware that she has over-stepped the reasonable bounds of her authority as an ambassador. She conducts herself with the natural gift for leadership. Generals Blight and Lareneg agree with me that all this is a favorable portent, an auspice that we are winning the Ambassador over to an allegiance with the forces of darkness.

How are the forces of darkness? I ask the same question with which I begin each of these conferences.

Dark, answers General Blight in his croaking voice.

Very dark, adds General Lareneg in his dry, wispy tone.

Essentially as dark as they are ever going to get, continues Blight.

They seem a visceral epitome of darkness, a paragon of the absence of light, a force with which to be reckoned, adds Ambassador Dido in her honey-sweet voice which in no way betrays her confidence and power.

And yet it would be a stronger force, were your legions to supplement our own divisions, I state to Dido.

Perhaps, she murmurs without conviction.

You doubt the value of your own troops, Ambassador? General Blight croaks disapprovingly.

Not independently, the Ambassador replies, unperturbed. But the forces of darkness are impeccably dark and my legions are a mixed breed, part dark and part light. I fear their presence might spoil the perfect harmony which presently reigns in this camp.

We needn’t integrate them directly with our troops, Lareneg interrupts. A swift, diversionary blow from the west by your legions and a massive onslaught from the east by the forces of darkness is all it would take. Your people and ours would never have to see each other.

Need I remind you, General, that my ‘people’ are not people. They are lost souls, Ambassador Dido curtly replies.

I was speaking metaphorically, of course, Lareneg offers apologetically.

I interrupt. We are not seated around the strategy table. This is simply a status report. I gaze over at Special Envoy Roy. Any news from the forces of light? Any sign of a build-up along the coast?

Special Envoy Roy shakes his head. Nothing of the sort. I believe they are waiting for us to make the first move.

Returning my attention to my generals, I ask, Are we prepared to make the first move without the assistance of Ambassador Dido’s legions?

General Lareneg clears his throat and it seems as if he is going to break out in a coughing fit. Instead, he sputters, The amphibious troops and the armored divisions have been at the ready for the past countless centuries. We await only your declaration to proceed.

What are we waiting for?

In your own words, Commander, we are waiting for the secret weapon to mature, Lareneg answers calmly.

What’s holding it up? I ask my aides, even though I know I am the one best informed to answer that question. And I do not know precisely why the secret weapon refuses to perfect itself, to admit its own readiness, to announce that the time has arrived to deliver the single, fatal blow.

You can’t rush the secret weapon. There’s no point in wasting our one golden opportunity through haste, Lareneg patiently replies, repeating the words that I myself have told them, time and time again. We have waited eternally for this moment. Another week, another few months is nothing.

Noticing the severe, dismayed expressions on the faces of my four aides, I ask, Why are you all so grim?

Lareneg barks, Because we live in the kingdom of darkness; it is our grim lot.

Nothing beyond that? I reply, knowing full well, that the General’s response is simply a reflex.

General Blight turns in his chair to face first Lareneg and then me. Because we don’t really want to attack the forces of light.

It’s the same words over and over again. It always boils down to this. We don’t?

No. We love the forces of light. We want them to forgive us and take of back of their own volition, General Blight reminds me.

We do?

Yes. Most certainly. And attacking them is no way to go about it.

Special Envoy Roy chimes in, Intelligence reports indicate that what the General says is true. The forces of light would be extremely upset with us were we to unleash the devastating secret weapon on them. The likelihood of their forgiving us would decrease sharply after such an event.

I see your point, Special Envoy Roy.

You’re in a ticklish predicament, Ambassador Dido points out. That is why I am afraid of allying my forces with yours. Were forgiveness offered the forces of darkness in the midst of a battle, you would surrender and accept, leaving my legions of Purgatory alone and vulnerable. I will not expose them to that risk.

And rightly so, I assure the Ambassador. We implore you, though, to maintain your diplomatic link with us in the event that our resolution steadies.

Of course.

Adjourn, I bark abruptly, sending my aides from the tent. First Special Envoy Roy stands and deftly slips through the darkness and out the tent, followed by the dignified exit of Ambassador Dido, then the hobble of Lareneg, and lastly the slow pace of Blight.

General Blight stops at the tent flap and turns to me. Sir, he begins, waiting for a word from me to continue.

Yes, friend.

We will eventually attack the forces of light. There will be no reconciliation. Such a union is preposterous and even inconceivable. The general’s voice is heavy with unswayable certainty.

Our reconciliation may be extremely improbable but it is not inconceivable. Because we have imagined the possibility, the possibility exists. In fact, we cling to that possibility. We postpone our attack based on nothing but that possibility.

Sir, I imagine that the possibility you speak of is realizable only in the imagination and not as a reality. By your own logic then, because I have imagined that the possibility is not achievable, it must not be so.

I suppose.

Then we have no hope of success in this venture, Blight states flatly.

We’re you placing all your bets on success?

You were not?

I thought in the kingdom of darkness, we had all long ago grown accustomed to failure in our uprisings against the kingdom of light. I thought we were all quite used to being imprisoned in the darkness by their power since time immemorial. It would be untrue to our character to hope, much less expect, success. Would it not?

Of course, sir. I don’t know what I was thinking.

It’s okay, Blight. It’s late; go to sleep.

One more thing, sir. You were in the catacombs today?

Yes, I was, I answer a bit perplexed by this question.

The secret weapon?

Its development is progressing, I reply noncommittally.

Is its completion assured? There is the same hint of doubt that has been in all my aides’ voices lately.

I feel that it will inevitably be completed.

And when it is, the forces of light will be ours, says Blight. They will be unable to resist. We will have no chance for failure, an unprecedented situation. I am unsure of how to act under those circumstances.

I too have no idea what we will do when the secret weapon is completed. I drift off thinking about my last expedition in the tunnels.

General Blight interrupts my reverie. The secret weapon is very beautiful?

It has to be, to entrap the forces of light. It is a thing of pure darkness, a creature which could only be born in this realm, a creature which has no history in light, no fond remembrances of light, no knowledge of light at all. When we release it, everyone will see the bliss of existing solely in darkness. It will be the envy of every creature who has ever burned his eyes with the sun. We will offer it to the forces of light and they will not be able to help but accept it and, in accepting, concede to darkness.

General Blight turns without bidding me good night and paces out of the tent.

I hear him shuffle across the patches of grass and dirt to his own tent. I listen to the sounds of the camp--the rattling of chains, the baying of dogs, the snoring of infantry, the slithering of the amphibious units, the furious and soothing groans of lovemaking of Special Envoy Roy and Ambassador Dido in the Envoy’s tent.

When I first entered the camp tonight, I heard none of this. The sounds of the camp, of the creatures of darkness within the camp, were undetectable by my ears because I had just left the secret weapon. The sounds of the camp are only distant, degenerate cousins to the sounds inside the secret weapon. What I hear in the secret weapon is the music of pure darkness, a thing without shape or thought. These small animate portions of darkness manning the camp are but faint echoes of that life. Only I, who have been inside the secret weapon, do not cling to the hope that the forces of light will revoke our sentence, grant us amnesty and freedom. Only I know the undeniable allure of the secret weapon. Only I, who have burned my eyes on the light of the sun, rejoice at each step the secret weapon takes toward completion.

Now as I sit in my tent, taking off my boots and unbuckling my belt, I lose even the memory of the music of darkness. I hear only these noises around me. Clank, ssss, ummmm, oh, cough, cough, and the whisper of my voice, Marie, Marie, Marie.

II. The Forces of Light

I’m the double agent, more or less. By night I command the forces of darkness and by day I forget everything of that role except that I occupy it and I assume the position of commander of the forces of light.

I enter my palace, taking the 742 steps at the entrance two at a time. In the antechamber of the throne room, between the gilded pillars, beneath the gothic arches and stained glass windows, across the maroon carpet unrolled over the marble tiles in a straight line from me to my aides, I stride.

Hello, General Bright, I cheerfully greet my right hand man, commander of the divisions of riflemen of the forces of light.

He grins back at me with his crooked half-smile. Howdy, Chief. He steps forward and warmly takes my hand in both of his. General Bright is as nearly as old as the sun and the sunspots on his bald leathered pate lend credence to this myth. His hearty demeanor and his robust health do not betray his age.

With General Bright’s arm about my shoulder, I greet the other members of my staff.

Admiral Palindrome Larimda, my other right hand man (there is nothing sinister about us), stands stock still on his peg leg. He nods when I nod at him and he taps the wooden spoke on the ground with a certain swagger. He is anxious to leave the shadows of antechamber and ascend to one of the sunny balconies overlooking the sea where we can discuss matters of state over coffee and biscuits.

Welcome back, Special Envoy Roy, I greet the man, about my age but more shiny, Good to see you made it back safely.

Nothing to worry about, Chief, Special Envoy Roy assures me. But it’s good to be back.

Finally I turn to greet the lovely Special Agent Dodo, assassin-extraordinaire. I bow and she extends her hand, which I politely kiss.

She bestows me with one of her radiant smiles, fairly lighting up the whole antechamber until the room is aglow with her presence. Good morning, Chief, she says in her easy, honeydew voice.

Yes it is, I tell them all. A good day to be rooting for the forces of the light.

They concur with a chorus of Yes indeedie’s.

We mosey up a sweeping spiral staircase to the thirty-third floor of the palace and emerge on a balcony on the southeast side of the palace where the sun is above us and the sea beneath us. We approach the balustrade and each peer out into the clean, clear atmosphere before us and down to the heedless surf below.

The coffee is waiting for us, steaming on the table as are the biscuits. We pass around the strawberry jam and the sugar before engaging in the critical matters before us.

Let us begin, I state ceremoniously, with a report on the underhanded going-ons of the forces of darkness. Special Envoy Roy, give us the straight scoop.

Setting down his coffee, Special Envoy Roy shows none of the displeasure at discussing this sour topic, which the rest of us surely feel. They are at it again, those treacherously dark servants, begins Roy with a flourish, And this time they are really on to something.

Oh, come on, Roy, Admiral Larimda drawls, You say that every time those scalawags come up with some confounded, feather-brained scheme. Take the last time we had a solar eclipse. You promised us in the months preceding to expect the much-feared tetanus offensive. We had the children inoculated and the whole armada waiting with cannons manned. We had the sentries doubled and the foodstuffs tripled expecting the terrible and lengthy siege your sources predicted. We had crossbows crossed and the countryside dotted with landmines. And for what, need I remind you? A dozen roses sent to the each of us. Hardly a belligerent assault.

Special Envoy Roy blushes with the mention of his previous miscall but as soon as he remembers the new ploy at hand, he urgently protests, No, Admiral, I assure you, I am not crying wolf this time. There is a new threat, greater than we ever imagined, a force against which we presently have no defense.

Larimda remains unmoved. No defense, huh? That’s what you said last Valentine’s Day when you confidently declared that the long-awaited battle would surely appear. And what, need I remind you, did appear? Bitter dark chocolates.

They were tasty, General Bright reminisces.

Larimda continues unimpeded by the interruption, I’ll admit, General, I enjoyed my chocolates as much as the next man, or woman, the Admiral adds, nodding deferentially to Secret Agent Dodo, But they were hardly a threat.

Special Envoy Roy slumps back in his wicker chair. I admit, Admiral, that my sources are not infallible. However, I adhere to my previous claims that there were very real possibilities of assault on those occasions. It was a last minute change of strategy from the highest tiers of government in the kingdom of darkness that prevented those terrible encounters. Roy straightens himself in the chair. Nevertheless, I ask that you believe me now when I tell you that they are perfecting a devastatingly secret weapon.

How secret? asks Secret Agent Dodo, rapping her black-painted fingernails on the glass tabletop.

So secret, promises Roy, "that the commander of the forces of darkness is keeping the precise nature of the