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The One

By RD Palmer

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CHAPTER 1 — 2059 AD

A year spent in artificial intelligence is enough to make
one believe in God.
Alan Perlis – Computer Scientist and first recipient of
the Turing Award


“I’ll carry your books, Naomi,” Jakob said.
Naomi stopped walking and shoved her school books into his stomach. “Stop calling me Naomi. You know full well that my name is pronounced Nay-oh-mah. Why do you keep doing this to me?”
Smiling, Jakob shuffled books, balancing them in both arms, “Ah, maybe because I think Naomi is a prettier name?”
Stomping her feet and walking faster toward home, she huffed, “Well, it’s not! Why do you keep testing me if my parents are Amish?”
“Because they’re English.”
Abruptly stopping, Naomi grabbed Jakob’s arm and twisted him around. Locking eyes, she shouted, “Jakob J. Zebadiah, son of Josiah!”
Raising his eyebrows, Jakob cried, “Don’t do that. My mother calls me that when she is angry with me.”
Smiling, Naomi responded, “Well, that is called payback,” pushing Jakob to the side. Naomi huffed, lifted her chin, and stomped down the trail leaving small puffs of dust behind.
She knew he was watching as she walked off. “Wait!” he said. She could hear him running to catch up with her. He spun around to face her and began walking backward. “Look, Naomi. I was kidding.”
Naomi didn’t stop walking though and continued to push Jakob backward, as if with an invisible hand. Walking with determination and arms akimbo, Naomi proclaimed, “My name is important to me, so don’t tease me again!”

* * *

Memoir: If anyone should find this book, my name is Naomi Adams, the author. While this memoir is not about me, there are a few things you should know. My name is pronounced Nay-oh-mah. As my parents said, this life isn’t about ME. Naomi is pronounced this way because I’m Amish, but my parents used to be English before they became Amish.
Alas, a conflict all of my life: Amish and English. I mean, I’m Amish, and we shun the English ways, but because of my poor hearing, I wear a hearing aid in my right ear. You see, we are allowed to wear hearing aids. A battery, not electricity, powers my hearing aid. Apparently, this is good for me, but it was the English who created the hearing aid, not the Amish. So, on the one hand, we reject the ways of the English, and on the other hand, we adopt the English ways.

* * *

“You know?” her mother sighed, as she leaned into Naomi’s ear and grabbed her arms from behind. “I’m not sure sometimes, if it is your hearing aid or if it’s the book that you’re writing.”
Naomi had ignored her mother’s call, but now she sensed her mother’s caring hands comb through her hair. “Sorry, Mom,” she said, while closing her book.
“Your father should be home soon. Help me set the table, please.”
Naomi giggled, pushed her book to the center of the kitchen table, and leaned back into her mother’s belly, soaking in the warmth. Reciprocating, her mother wrapped her arms around Naomi, and gave her a firm hug.
She then kissed Naomi on the head, released her and stepped to the stove. Bending down, with one hand she picked up a mitt and with the other hand, a split-wood oak. Opening a door on the firebox, she placed the wood into the fire, closed the door, and then opened another door. She paused, and a huge smile enlarged her face. Inhaling she said, “Mmm. Your father is going to like this apple pie!”
Naomi stepped toward the oven. “Let me smell!” Naomi inhaled, then gave her mother a bear hug. “You’re the best baker in the whole world, Mom!”
Kissing Naomi on the head, and giving her a shoulder hug, her mom said, “Sunshine, would you set the table now while I get the leftovers out of the refrigerator?”
“Of course!” Naomi responded, skipping to the cupboard. While stacking plates, Naomi heard her mother exclaim, “Darn it! Darn it, again!”
Turning, Naomi asked, “What’s wrong, Mom?”
“This gas-powered refrigerator. I never liked them. Something’s wrong with the fridge!”
“Oh?” Naomi clasped her mother’s silken hand and stared into the darkness of the fridge.
“You’ve got to help me, Naomi. We’ll take all of this food downstairs to the refrigerator in the basement, and we’ll tell your father about this when he gets home.”
Grabbing two dishes with leftover food, Naomi replied, “We can have this cleaned out in no time, Mom.”
“Watch your step, Naomi!”

* * *

“Now Pumpkin, you won’t stay up too late with your book, will you?” her dad chided her while stroking Naomi’s blonde hair.
Naomi held her pencil steady, then looked up to her dad. He wore a frown as he glanced at her open page. “No, Dad. I’ll blow the flame out on the lamp when the grandfather clock strikes ten times. I promise,” she said, striking her heart. “My memoir is just my companion.”
“Oh?” he said, pushing back to gaze at Naomi’s face.
“Yes.” Naomi pushed herself up on her pillow. “I look at my memoir as my dear friend. A friend that allows me to bare my soul without judgment. And my memoir helps me to remember too.”
“Remember?” her dad asked with a quizzical tone.
“Remember about you and Mom.” Naomi batted her eyes. “Remember my blessings that you two are my parents, and about how we live our lives.”
Her dad smiled, and her mother pulled on his shoulder. “Well, that’s the latest,” her mother chimed. “Ten o’clock and lights out, okay?” Her mom reached down and kissed her on the forehead.
“Nite, nite, Naomi.”
“Nite, Dad. Nite, Mom.”

* * *

Dear memoir. We also don’t have air conditioners in our homes. Instead, we have basements, which means that, depending on the season, we cook in the basement. We have these conflicts with hospitals, too. We don’t have hospitals, but when we get seriously injured, we go to an English hospital to get patched up.
I’ve had conflicts and questions like this all my life. Especially since my mom, dad, aunt, and uncle were all English at one point before they became Amish. So, even though my immediate family was English, I consider myself Amish. To clarify: English to us is more than a language. We speak Dutch-German, as well as English, but we call all of those outside our community “English,” for this is all they seem to speak. How they can speak only one language and yet create things to help people is beyond my understanding. Things like this have always seemed like a paradox to me.

* * *

“Jakob! Wait up for me!”
Spinning around, Jakob threw his shoulders back. “I thought you were mad at me.”
“I’m not mad at you,” Naomi said, catching her breath. “It’s just that—names are important. That’s all.”
Jakob perked and proudly commented, “And if we get married, we’ll name our child an Amish name.”
“Married? You’re funny!” She pushed on his iron-like chest, but instead of him stepping backward, Naomi was pushed back. “We haven’t even bundled yet, you know,” she said, catching her balance.
“I know, but that day will come.” Naomi gazed at him with her soft, hazel eyes. His eyes smiled back, and he exhaled, “I believe.”
Miss Yoder stepped on the schoolhouse porch and rang her massive bell with both hands.

Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.

“Come on, Jakob! We’re late! Let’s run!”

* * *

With her heartbeat slowing, Naomi scanned the classroom from her familiar desk. She sensed that all thirty-two children were present today in her one-room schoolhouse. While Miss Yoder taught all the required subjects—reading, writing, history, arithmetic, and English—mornings were reserved for history lessons.
“Naomi, from the lesson yesterday, who was the sixth president of the United States?”
As if awoken from sleep, Naomi replied, “I’m sorry, Miss Yoder. I’ve got—my hearing isn’t good, you know. What did you say?” She raised her voice so everyone could hear her.
Smiling, Miss Yoder walked to the blackboard, picked up chalk, and underlined, “Sixth president of the United States.”
Naomi felt eyes burning on her skin from the other children as her mind raced. “That would be John Quincy Adams, Miss Yoder.”
Feeling relieved, Naomi pushed back in her chair, then she felt a tug on her hair. Without looking, she knew it was the prankster, Jakob.
“And Jakob!” Upon hearing his name, he quickly brought his hands back to his history book.
“Can you tell me something important about what John Quincy Adams did?”
“Why yes, Miss Yoder,” he replied, straightening in his chair and stiffening his back. “His belief in God. He, like all of us, I believe, looked up to the stars and marveled at God’s handiwork. His writings, and his work, reflected his desire to see and understand celestial bodies.”
“Very good. Now let’s add to this,” Miss Yoder said, walking to the blackboard. “John Quincy Adams’ wife was—Louisa Adams,” writing her name on the board. Turning on a heel to the class, she continued, “In the first year of Mr. Adams’ presidency, Mrs. Adams wrote a book. The title was Adventures of a Nobody.” She paused. “Now children, do you think Mrs. Adams was a nobody?”
“Nooooo,” the class sang in unison.
“Well, then. Are you a nobody?”
“Nooooo,” again they said, in unison.

* * *

Our schooling is different than the schooling of my parents and aunt and uncle. Their education was at what they call “universities.” But when you think about it, who needs more than an 8th grade education, right? I mean, I am happy with my education and, besides, look at all of the bad things the English have brought upon themselves with their education. The English, with all their training, are always creating problems.
Well, a reason I’m writing this memoir is because of the problem—the disease—that the English brought upon the world. For just like in the days of Christopher Columbus who brought contagions to the New World, the English have borne another disease. Actually, they created this plague and released it to the whole world. Now, I know what you may be thinking. It was some disease such as smallpox or polio that the English created. No. Not at all. I’m talking about the disease the English, who are now mostly dead, call The One.
It is Saturday, April 12, 2059, in the year of our Lord. Ah, how am I going to explain this? Okay. The year is 2059 to us, but it is the year 33 to the English—the year 33 of The One. So, I’ll start at the beginning. The year 2026 to be exact, and the year 1 for the English.
 

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