Read Online Interstellar: The Official Movie Novelization by Greg Keyes - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Greg Keyes
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people like Donald, and always had. But it needed more than one kind of person. It needed the men who sailed dangerous seas, to discover unknown lands. Those men had not been—for the most part—of the “count-your-blessings” sort.
“I’m not gonna lie to you, Donald,” Cooper said. “Heading out there is what I feel born to do, and it excites me. That doesn’t make it wrong.”
Donald thought about that for a moment.
“It might,” the old man countered. “Don’t trust the right thing, done for the wrong reason. The ‘why’ of a thing—that’s the foundation.”
“Well, the foundation’s solid,” Cooper said, a bit sadly. He swept his hand out toward the fields, the distant mountains—the world.
“We farmers sit here every year when the rains fail and say ‘next year.’” He paused, and looked at his father-in-law. “Next year ain’t gonna save us. Nor the one after. This world’s a treasure, Donald. But she’s been telling us to leave for a while now. Mankind was born on Earth. It was never meant to die here.”
He stopped, feeling somehow a little hollow, even though he believed everything he said. He was right, and Donald would get to that.
So would the kids.
Donald brushed some dust off of the porch rail. He pursed his lips, and now he did seem emotional—uncharacteristically so.
“Tom’ll be okay,” he said, as if reading Cooper’s mind. “But you have to make it right with Murph…”
“I will,” Cooper said, even though he knew it was easier said than done.
“ Without making any promises you don’t know you can keep,” Donald finished, looking him directly in the eye.
Cooper looked away, nodding.
Feeling the burden.
* * *
Cooper figured he’d let Murph cool down overnight, that she’d be easier to approach after some sleep. But the next morning, the door was still barricaded. He pressed it open gingerly, until he could reach the chair and pull it down from where it was stacked on the desk. Then he pushed it wider and stepped in.
Murph was in her bed, back turned to him.
“You have to talk to me,” he said.
She didn’t respond, and he wondered if she might still be asleep.
“I have to fix this before I go,” he said.
He leaned over her to see her face, and he felt a sort of shock go through him. Her cheeks were still blazing and tear-stained, and he wondered if she’d slept at all.
“Then I’ll keep it broken,” she said stubbornly. “So you have to stay.”
So that’s how it’s gonna be.
Cooper sat on the bed. He had taken Donald’s advice to heart, and had been practicing what to say, staying up half the night. He hadn’t expected Murph to still be this upset, however. In his mind’s-eye rehearsal, he’d been having this conversation with a calmer, quieter daughter.
He still had to give it a go, though, and he thought he knew how to begin.
“After you kids came along,” he told her, “your mother said something I didn’t really understand. She said, ‘I look at the babies and see myself as they’ll remember me.’”
He studied Murph to see if it was sinking in.
At least she appeared to be listening. So he continued.
“She said, ‘It’s as if we don’t exist anymore, like we’re ghosts, like we’re just there to be memories for our kids.’”
He paused again before going on. The expression on Murph’s face was a little puzzled—and he didn’t blame her. It had taken him a while to get it himself.
“Now I realize,” he said, “once we’re parents, we’re just the ghosts of our children’s futures.”
“You said ghosts don’t exist,” Murph replied defiantly.
“That’s right,” Cooper said. “I can’t be your ghost right now—I need to exist. Because they chose me. They chose me, Murph. You saw it.”
Murph sat up and pointed at the shelves, at the gaps between the books.
“I figured out the message,” she said. She opened her notebook. “It was Morse code.”
“Murph…” Cooper said,
“I’m not gonna lie to you, Donald,” Cooper said. “Heading out there is what I feel born to do, and it excites me. That doesn’t make it wrong.”
Donald thought about that for a moment.
“It might,” the old man countered. “Don’t trust the right thing, done for the wrong reason. The ‘why’ of a thing—that’s the foundation.”
“Well, the foundation’s solid,” Cooper said, a bit sadly. He swept his hand out toward the fields, the distant mountains—the world.
“We farmers sit here every year when the rains fail and say ‘next year.’” He paused, and looked at his father-in-law. “Next year ain’t gonna save us. Nor the one after. This world’s a treasure, Donald. But she’s been telling us to leave for a while now. Mankind was born on Earth. It was never meant to die here.”
He stopped, feeling somehow a little hollow, even though he believed everything he said. He was right, and Donald would get to that.
So would the kids.
Donald brushed some dust off of the porch rail. He pursed his lips, and now he did seem emotional—uncharacteristically so.
“Tom’ll be okay,” he said, as if reading Cooper’s mind. “But you have to make it right with Murph…”
“I will,” Cooper said, even though he knew it was easier said than done.
“ Without making any promises you don’t know you can keep,” Donald finished, looking him directly in the eye.
Cooper looked away, nodding.
Feeling the burden.
* * *
Cooper figured he’d let Murph cool down overnight, that she’d be easier to approach after some sleep. But the next morning, the door was still barricaded. He pressed it open gingerly, until he could reach the chair and pull it down from where it was stacked on the desk. Then he pushed it wider and stepped in.
Murph was in her bed, back turned to him.
“You have to talk to me,” he said.
She didn’t respond, and he wondered if she might still be asleep.
“I have to fix this before I go,” he said.
He leaned over her to see her face, and he felt a sort of shock go through him. Her cheeks were still blazing and tear-stained, and he wondered if she’d slept at all.
“Then I’ll keep it broken,” she said stubbornly. “So you have to stay.”
So that’s how it’s gonna be.
Cooper sat on the bed. He had taken Donald’s advice to heart, and had been practicing what to say, staying up half the night. He hadn’t expected Murph to still be this upset, however. In his mind’s-eye rehearsal, he’d been having this conversation with a calmer, quieter daughter.
He still had to give it a go, though, and he thought he knew how to begin.
“After you kids came along,” he told her, “your mother said something I didn’t really understand. She said, ‘I look at the babies and see myself as they’ll remember me.’”
He studied Murph to see if it was sinking in.
At least she appeared to be listening. So he continued.
“She said, ‘It’s as if we don’t exist anymore, like we’re ghosts, like we’re just there to be memories for our kids.’”
He paused again before going on. The expression on Murph’s face was a little puzzled—and he didn’t blame her. It had taken him a while to get it himself.
“Now I realize,” he said, “once we’re parents, we’re just the ghosts of our children’s futures.”
“You said ghosts don’t exist,” Murph replied defiantly.
“That’s right,” Cooper said. “I can’t be your ghost right now—I need to exist. Because they chose me. They chose me, Murph. You saw it.”
Murph sat up and pointed at the shelves, at the gaps between the books.
“I figured out the message,” she said. She opened her notebook. “It was Morse code.”
“Murph…” Cooper said,
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