“ For peace? For ever and ever? From now on?” Did I phrase my question wrong? He swings the ax and splits the log. “ The odds are against it. I wish it were different but it doesn't seem to matter what Iwish. The only consolation is that it makes everything we do so much more interesting. For those that want to actively resist this insanity it means betting on the long shot and that always makes for a more exciting race. “ It is conceivable that as the political/ military situation heats up. . .especially in the face of some Mid-East crisis, that the Peace Movement will swell with similar exponential growth, reaching a critical mass and sustaining a chain reaction of its own. The, more obvious that it becomes that the military is actually planning on war, not just preparing for it, the more agitated people will become. " I want to scare them. If everyone stuck a picture of an atomic explosion destroying their own city on the wall where they could see it every morning, it might help jar them out of their complacency and motivate them into action." “ I can forsee a s itua tion where Damascus and/or Tel Aviv have been nuked and hundreds of thousands are dead and the entire Mid-East is insane with panic. And millions, even hundreds of millions march in Cairo, Berlin, Paris, New York, even Moscow, screaming ‘Don't do it! Don’t kill us all!’ “ Millions of people in the past have gone to very gruesome deaths, never resisting at all. Some even helped build the very ovens they were baked in because they thought they needed a job. I have no intention of seeing the destruction of this biosphere—the only one we know of in the Universe—without screaming and kicking.” “ Now wait a minute,” I interrupt, pulling my hands away from the log. “ I thought you were going to leave me with a ray of hope?” “Yeah, well, it really is a slim ray.” He brings the maul crashing into the block of wood but misses the stress crack and buries the head in the grain without splitting the log. “The technology is so complex and the human psyche so fragile that when they finally do push the buttons in such a stressful situation, I doubt if much of their weaponry will actually get off the ground and reach their targets.” He puts his foot on the log and wrenches the maul free. “And then the only things that really get destroyed are Moscow and Washington.” He can’t be serious. I look for that weird smile, but there is only a karate grunt as he slams the ax down again, this time splitting the log in two. He looks up at me and asks, “Can you think of some other way the future will unfold?” On the airstrip I’m uneasy as I check out my plane tires, ailerons and flaps. Our goodbyes are friendly, even brotherly. From the air the Bunker looks insignificant amongst the forest and rock. “ He can’t be serious?” There’s lots of time to think on the way back to California. I spend most of it contemplating different scenarios of what the next few years will bring. None of them are reassuring. Below me the L.A. Basin swells to overflowing and I can make out Disneyland and the Orange County Airport. Arthur Dabney is a freelance writer and pilot living in Laguna Beach. This is his first story in CSQ. SPENDING ETERNITY IN EGYPT Story and Illustrations by Carl Chaplin VANCOUVER—April 30, 1988 'T I hey’re only paintings,” I explain. “ How do we know that?” says the Vancouver airport security cop in an annoyed voice. “ There could be bombs in those boxes.” He is talking about five wooden crates containing the ART NUKO Show. “We’ve already scanned them with the mechanical sniffer and we were just about to call in the dogs.” Only five days earlier I was still finishing the latest ARTNUKO painting in preparation for the Egyptian exhibition of the ARTNUKOWorM Tour. A backlog of logistics and details was yet to be completed when the phone in the studio rang. “We’re very sorry,” the Egyptian Embassy apologized. “There’s been some mixup. Your exhibition cannot be put on display next week in Cairo. Please don’t get on the plane.” A polite “Thank you” hides my disappointment and frustration. “ Now what’s gone wrong? I need some explanation but all I get is “We’ll have more news tomorrow. . .tomorrow.. . . ” Mixed with my letdown is a tinge of relief. If the show has merely been postponed, at least this delay will give me a few more weeks or maybe even months to prepare and finish the painting of Cairo which I have now set aside. On Friday morning the phone rings again. “Good news Mr. Chaplin, you can get on the plane tomorrow. “ Welcome to Egypt.” I’m used to tight deadlines but this is ridiculous. We must reschedule our cancelled airline tickets, pack crates and luggage and leave for Cairo in less than 30 hours. And, oh yes, I must finish the painting. This has indeed become an Arts Race. ART NUKO is on the road again. . . . Allah be Praised! CAI RO -M a y 9 C ^ n the evening of the opening of the show, I change into the dark suit that completes my transformation into Ambassador Nukeau. 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