Read Online What in God's Name: A Novel by Simon Rich - Free Book Online
Authors: Simon Rich
Ads: Link
software, but its function was simple: to record everything that ever happened on Earth. By throwing a few keywords into the mainframe, you could watch any event in human history, from any angle, in fast-forward, rewind, or freeze-frame. The program was invented for research purposes, but the Angels used it for one thing and one thing only: procrastination.
“Come on,” Brian said. “I’ll show you how Lincoln gets shot.”
“That’s so morbid, ” Eliza said, but she could feel herself inching closer to the screen.
Brian typed “Ford’s Theater Washington DC,” “Abraham Lincoln,” and “1865” into a search box. A few different windows popped up; apparently, Lincoln had attended several shows that year.
“We want this one,” Brian said, clicking on the box with the latest date.
Eliza watched in rapt silence as Brian zoomed in on the theater’s red-brick roof. The roof grew in size on the screen, then suddenly disappeared, replaced by a grid of balding scalps and floral bonnets. They were inside the theater, looking down on the audience.
Brian tilted the view slightly so they could see the stage.
“Let’s skip ahead,” he said, clicking on the fast-forward icon.
The actors buzzed back and forth across the clapboard stage, gesturing rapidly. The audience clapped and laughed in unison.
“Here it comes,” Brian said.
He zoomed in on a roped-off area in the upper balcony. At first Eliza thought Brian had selected the wrong box; it was empty except for an unattractive elderly couple. But as he zoomed in closer she realized that they were the Lincolns. She hadn’t recognized them. She’d seen paintings of them before, but they looked so different in real life.
Brian unclicked fast-forward, and they watched the Lincolns watch the play in real time. Mary Todd was a lot heavier than Eliza had expected (the portrait artists had obviously been kind). Her flabby neck glistened with sweat, and she kept dabbing at it with a coarse beige handkerchief. There was a small black hair growing out of a mole on her cheek, and she picked at it from time to time, never quite extracting it. The president never laughed at the play, but he smiled genially throughout the second act. His eyes were damp and deeply sunken in his pale, crinkled face.
Suddenly a sweaty man appeared behind the couple, holding a small black derringer. He was surprisingly handsome. He paused for a moment, then slowly raised the gun to Lincoln’s head.
“I can’t watch!” Eliza shouted, covering her eyes. When she next looked at the screen, the president was lying on the rug, a murky red puddle pooling horribly by his skull.
“Want to watch it in slo-mo?” Brian asked, shaking some more Alka-Seltzer onto his desk.
Eliza shook her head. “Could we maybe switch it to something…less horrible?”
“Sure,” Brian said. “We can watch whatever we want.”
Before Eliza knew it, they had spent three hours surfing the Server. They watched the first Beatles rehearsal (surprisingly boring) and Mozart’s first recital at Versailles (disappointingly brief). They watched Joan of Arc give a rambling speech to a pack of worried soldiers. They watched Nefertiti take a bath—an outrageously complicated process, which took them twenty minutes to get through, even in fast-forward. Eliza grimaced as the English let loose on the Spanish Armada, torching their ships and scorching their sailors. She laughed at an Athenian dwarf as he tumbled crazily across a sunlit marble stage.
But the most absorbing discovery was something she found by accident. She was watching some seventeenth-century Indians trap beavers when she clicked the zoom out icon. The Indians shrank down to specks, and jagged coastlines appeared on all sides.
“What’s that little island?” she asked, pointing at the rectangular strip of land.
“That’s Manhattan,” he said. “See?”
He clicked fast-forward, and the city began to take shape. First a cluster of houses spread
“Come on,” Brian said. “I’ll show you how Lincoln gets shot.”
“That’s so morbid, ” Eliza said, but she could feel herself inching closer to the screen.
Brian typed “Ford’s Theater Washington DC,” “Abraham Lincoln,” and “1865” into a search box. A few different windows popped up; apparently, Lincoln had attended several shows that year.
“We want this one,” Brian said, clicking on the box with the latest date.
Eliza watched in rapt silence as Brian zoomed in on the theater’s red-brick roof. The roof grew in size on the screen, then suddenly disappeared, replaced by a grid of balding scalps and floral bonnets. They were inside the theater, looking down on the audience.
Brian tilted the view slightly so they could see the stage.
“Let’s skip ahead,” he said, clicking on the fast-forward icon.
The actors buzzed back and forth across the clapboard stage, gesturing rapidly. The audience clapped and laughed in unison.
“Here it comes,” Brian said.
He zoomed in on a roped-off area in the upper balcony. At first Eliza thought Brian had selected the wrong box; it was empty except for an unattractive elderly couple. But as he zoomed in closer she realized that they were the Lincolns. She hadn’t recognized them. She’d seen paintings of them before, but they looked so different in real life.
Brian unclicked fast-forward, and they watched the Lincolns watch the play in real time. Mary Todd was a lot heavier than Eliza had expected (the portrait artists had obviously been kind). Her flabby neck glistened with sweat, and she kept dabbing at it with a coarse beige handkerchief. There was a small black hair growing out of a mole on her cheek, and she picked at it from time to time, never quite extracting it. The president never laughed at the play, but he smiled genially throughout the second act. His eyes were damp and deeply sunken in his pale, crinkled face.
Suddenly a sweaty man appeared behind the couple, holding a small black derringer. He was surprisingly handsome. He paused for a moment, then slowly raised the gun to Lincoln’s head.
“I can’t watch!” Eliza shouted, covering her eyes. When she next looked at the screen, the president was lying on the rug, a murky red puddle pooling horribly by his skull.
“Want to watch it in slo-mo?” Brian asked, shaking some more Alka-Seltzer onto his desk.
Eliza shook her head. “Could we maybe switch it to something…less horrible?”
“Sure,” Brian said. “We can watch whatever we want.”
Before Eliza knew it, they had spent three hours surfing the Server. They watched the first Beatles rehearsal (surprisingly boring) and Mozart’s first recital at Versailles (disappointingly brief). They watched Joan of Arc give a rambling speech to a pack of worried soldiers. They watched Nefertiti take a bath—an outrageously complicated process, which took them twenty minutes to get through, even in fast-forward. Eliza grimaced as the English let loose on the Spanish Armada, torching their ships and scorching their sailors. She laughed at an Athenian dwarf as he tumbled crazily across a sunlit marble stage.
But the most absorbing discovery was something she found by accident. She was watching some seventeenth-century Indians trap beavers when she clicked the zoom out icon. The Indians shrank down to specks, and jagged coastlines appeared on all sides.
“What’s that little island?” she asked, pointing at the rectangular strip of land.
“That’s Manhattan,” he said. “See?”
He clicked fast-forward, and the city began to take shape. First a cluster of houses spread
Similar Books
