Carl vs. the Nazis Ch. 15 Victory

"Carl vs. The Nazis Ch. 14 Help!" 
A Mostly Happy Ending

Things have settled down. Dr. Waller went back to work as a pediatrician, while Gwen runs a child care business in their Palm Beach home. They say working with kids keeps them young. Robert has a geriatric fitness show on cable television, and often goes on lecture tours teaching longevity. He is also a championship ballroom dancer. Angela is a model for a New England clothing retailer, and is engaged to a young Italian clothing designer. Mildred is a pianist, playing cocktail music on a cruise ship.
There was quite a ruckus at Indiana University when the media revealed that my dad used the school’s money to pay the Nazis. Dad lost his job, which was awarded to the dean’s son-in-law. So Dad took a job at a bakery near our summer cottage, and has never been happier. When business is slow, he entertains the customers by talking about philosophy. It’s pretty clear Della, the woman who owns the place, is sweet on him. She sends home a box of his favorite pastries with him every night. And she seems to assign him a lot of evening shifts when she’s around anyway and business is slow.
Monica and I go out once in a while. It’s great to have a girlfriend, but it’s a lot of work, too. I mean, I need to call her a lot, and I get in trouble if I talk to other girls or even hang out with my friends too much. I tried to get involved more with other people. I don’t eat lunch by myself, I’ve joined the science club at school and I’m trying to get in shape to run cross country.
Dad insists his research was not pointless, and claims he has no regrets. He says his research showed that it’s not good to be stubborn and strong willed if you are not too smart, and it’s dumber to let someone tell you what to do instead of thinking for yourself.
I spent most of spring and summer with my leg in a cast. When it finally came off in August, I headed up Beaver Brook to see the strange pond where my adventure began the year before. After a swim, I climbed to the tree house, the only building left from the resort since the fire. Thomas Parr greeted me.
“Hello,” he said, grinning.
“Hi. I thought you were still Adolph.”
“I needed some fresh air. So I left.”
“How? The whole place is sealed under asphalt.”
“Do you remember the stream in my cave?”
“Yeah. It poured into a crack. But it was far too small for a person to crawl through.”
“I found that out myself the hard way. I crawled into it with a flashlight and a helmet with a carbine lamp. I slid through the first two hundred feet OK, then I was stuck around a curve. I stayed jammed for what seemed like days. But I had nothing to eat, and grew thinner and thinner. The water pressure from the stream built up behind me and, pop!”
“Scary!”
“You’re telling me! I slithered like a snake and crawled on for hours. The stream seemed to end at a smooth wall, but the water was flowing somewhere. With nowhere to go, I dove down to explore it and was sucked into a narrow tunnel. I lost consciousness. Apparently, I poured out of a steel culvert by Route 80, just behind the county hospital. I awoke to find myself buck naked and shivering, getting CPR from a young nurse. She assumed I was a senile old man who had wandered from home. I played along. She took me to the state nursing home, I mean to say, assisted living facility; They’re sticklers on that point. I stayed long enough to build up my strength get some fresh clothes, and play a little bingo. The food was good. Then I ran away and hitchhiked back here.
Thomas leaned out the window and looked sadly over the burnt landscape. We heard the distant sounds of hammering and high whining of circular saws from the new construction. By next summer the land would be full of office parks and strip malls.
“There isn’t much left for me here, is there?”
“What are you going to do now? You can’t stay in the tree house all winter!”
“No. I would freeze. I think I’ve had enough of this longevity stuff. Remember how I told you that the original Thomas Parr, the one who lived to be 152, would have lived longer if he had taken better care of himself?”
“Yeah.”
“I wasn’t joking. You see, the Earl of Arundel went to see that remarkable old man, and was charmed. He decided to send a carriage and bring him to London. The Earl provided him with servants for every need. Thomas even had his own jester. Thomas spent his days feasting and attending lavish parties. He died just a few months later. The famous Dr. Harvey examined his body, and said he would have lived much longer if he hadn’t moved to London and eaten all that garbage.”
“Very sad,” I said.
“Nonsense!” Parr shouted. “There’s nothing sad about it!”
“What?”
“Look, son,” he said, genlty laying a hand on my shoulder, “When I founded the Immortals I really believed we would live forever. That’s why we have the grapes and wheat carved around the pool. They symbolize eternal life. Now that I’m older, I know I’m going to die someday. No matter how much I exercise and how careful I am about what I eat I cannot live forever; not in this world, anyway. You might say I’m having a mid-life crisis.”
“I am sick of the way I live. Do you think I like half-starving myself with little green bits of vegetables, and bowl after bowl of cabbage soup? Every morning I wake up early in the shivering darkness and exercise: Running in the cold rain, or swimming in icy water. I get stiff, sore and tired. I am sick of it! I need a break.”
“So what are you going to do, Thomas?”
“First, I am going to move to the city and live in a luxury apartment. I will eat juicy, rare, buttered steaks with french fries in fancy restaurants. I will eat donuts and cold pizza for breakfast every day. I may learn how to smoke cigars. Servants will cook and clean and exercise for me. If on the way, I meet a nice woman who wants to reform my bad health habits, and she wants to have kids . . .” Thomas shrugged, “Who knows?”
“How will you pay for that kind of lifestyle?”
“I’ve managed to keep some money tucked away in Switzerland, and the interest has been compounding for quite a few years. I was also hoping that you could help me write a book about my adventures. We’ll share the royalties.”
And that is what you have just finished reading.