Michael Swanwick's Periodic Table of Science Fiction

Bromine

79.904

Try Not To Think of Elephants

A bromide is a sedative, often taken in a glass of water. The name comes

from the fact that sodium and potassium bromides were used as early

sedatives. The concept of bromide has recently gained a literally cosmic

significance with the assemblage of data from the new Universal Mapping

Project full-spectrum satellite observatories.

Though the UMP survey is only three-quarters complete, evidence is

compelling that the universe is not saddle-shaped, as Einstein thought,

nor spherical as many before him believed. It is, instead, shaped like a

slightly tapering cylinder. The proportions are startlingly similar to

those of a common water glass.

Worse, the distribution of galaxies within the universe is similar to

that of bubbles within a glass into which a bromide has been dropped and

then stirred. Much that was puzzling about the distribution of matter

within the universe is now rendered comprehensible by this insight.

Moreover, cosmologists attempting to peer beyond the limits of the

universe by studying infinitesimally small distortions in its boundary

tell us that they believe they have begun to establish the dark presence

of an enormous hand, clutching the glass.

The price of this discovery is, of course, a potential lessening of our

self-esteem. Is that all we are?negligible specks within a bromide

contained within some vastly greater universe? Is that all our lives mean?

But cosmologists tell us not to despair! Ours could be a noble destiny.

Perhaps the hand holding the glass containing our universe belongs to a

great philosopher or theologian who, having finally discerned some key

insight into the nature of God or Existence, now settles him- or herself

down to a night's well-deserved sleep. Perhaps it belongs to a great

peace-leader who has fallen ill upon the verge of putting an end to some

all-encompassing war, and who needs but a night's rest to restore the

energy needed for his climactic deed. We could be playing a key part in

something great beyond our imagining.

It's best to focus on this possibility.

It's not easy, of course. There's an old joke about a man who was offered

a thousand dollars if he could keep from thinking about elephants for

half an hour. Two minutes later, he cried out excitedly, "I haven't

thought of elephants yet!" It's impossible to look upon those

computer-generated photographs of our bromidic universe and not think how

much we look like a glass of Alka-Seltzer. Alka Seltzer, of course, is

most commonly used as a cure for hangovers.

There's the unbearable part! That all our hopes and fears, aspirations

and despairs, good works and bad, might be nothing but the most minor

workings of a universe whose ultimate purpose is to ease the deserved

sufferings of some drunken lout! There he sits, his trembling hand

everywhere about us, his dim thoughts focused only on his own throbbing

pain, while drops of sweat larger than supergroups of galaxies bead up on

his apelike brow, rank with self-inflicted poisons. His clothes?none of

the best, you may be sure?are stained, his shoelaces are untied, and

perhaps his trousers are unzipped. A string of drool that could swallow

up every star we can see in the night sky connects the lips of his

slack-jawed mouth. And that's it? That's all? That's the purpose of our

lives?

But try not to think about it.