The Propagation of Light in a Vacuum
a short story by James Patrick Kelly
Introduction
"The Propagation of Light in a Vacuum" is probably my favorite James Patrick
Kelly story that no one knows about. I was quite thrilled to sell it to Bob
Silverberg and Karen Haber back in 1990 for the revival of the Universe series
of original anthologies, edited by Terry Carr. Unfortunately, Universe
collapsed.
The story is a stylistic experiment: magic realism hitching a ride on a hard
science starship. I freely admit to committing a circular plot, playing with
punctuation and jumping off the page to throttle the reader. Also, this is the
only story of mine to include a recipe.
Disappointed that "The Propagation of Light in a Vacuum" did not immediately
find its audience, I took to reading it in public. It proved an interesting
piece to perform; audiences seemed to like it. In 1996, I rewrote it as a one
act play; it has received several staged readings and will get its first full
production in May of 1998.
The Propagation of Light in a Vacuum
Women have served all these centuries as looking-glasses possessing the
magic and delicious power of reflecting the figure of man at twice its
natural size.
Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own
Maybe you think I'm different, but I've got the same problems everyone has. Just
because I'm on a starship traveling at the speed of light doesn't mean my
feelings can't be hurt. I still get hungry. Bored. I lust like any other man.
When a bell rings, I jump. I don't much like uncertainty and I have to clip my
toenails every so often. I want my life to have a purpose.
(You're nattering, dear. This is about us, so go ahead and tell them.)
Ah.
Yes.
My imaginary wife and I are much happier these days, thank you. We've come
through some tough times and we're still together. So far. But we still have a
way to go. Exactly how long, I'm not sure. When you attempt to exceed 299,792.46
kilometers per second, here and there are only probabilities. Relative to you, I
am no place. I do not exist.
I used to think that she was a hallucination, my sweet imaginary wife. Proof
that I'd gone mad. Not any more. If I ask her whether she exists, she just
laughs. I like this about her. We often laugh together. She keeps changing
