The Heaviness

The man standing at head table is wearing a tuxedo with a bright-red plaid cummerbund and matching bow tie. All the rest of the guests at the head table are similarly clothed in formal attire, as are the delegates seated in the large dining hall. The room is a modern recreation of a medieval banquet hall on the campus of a large university. He is preparing to speak. "Dr. Arcturus, Members of the Board, Distinguished Guests, Women and Men of the World Academy of Astronomers and Astrophysicists, it is my distinct pleasure to deliver this address to you, especially in such a sumptuous setting after such a sumptuous meal. When I was issued the invitation, about a year ago, I was somewhat daunted by the assignment: to give my reaction, as an imaginative writer, to the news that you have accounted for enough weight in the universe to prove conclusively that the outward, expanding motion following the Big Bang will not continue, but that the universe will eventually fall back in upon itself of its own weight into what may be either a colossal black hole or else a series of oscillations, like a ball bouncing endlessly. It was your desire to have this news, at once profoundly disconcerting from a human point of view and yet marvelously exciting from a scientific point of view, bodied forth in an imaginative setting. Thus your invitation to me. I have weighed the problem (no pun intended) for a year, and here is my reply. (I wish to add, furthermore, my great thanks to CNN and NASA for allowing me to use some of their film clips at the beginning and at the end of this presentation.)"

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"Thank you all."

As the speaker prepares to sit down again amid the applause of his audience, the rainstorm which had come up outside and could be dimly heard during the latter part of his speech, suddenly intensifies. There is a pounding of rain and hail against the roof and glass panes of the high-windowed hall. Then a brilliant flash of lightning accompanied by a terrible crash of thunder. The room is engulfed in blackness as the rain continues to pound. The only light comes from one hundred twenty candles, two at each table, which glimmer fitfully in the dark. Gradually the low sound of whispers begins to grow to the hum of conversation, the tinkle of wine glasses, and an occasional nervous laugh. The host then turns to the speaker and compliments him on the dramatic ending to his speech and asks if such a thing occurs often when he delivers a paper. The speaker shakes his head and smiles wryly. After a few more minutes of desultory conversation and general indecision among the assembled host, the lights come back on, and there is a smattering of applause. Then, the business of the banquet and meeting being completed, they adjourn, each person wending his or her own way into the darkness of the night outside.