Aerospace Engineer v. Ambassador

The rain subsides, the mist rises. It fades.

The Aerospace Engineer, hanging the soaking English hunting jacket on the nail in the tree, shivering, still wet, walks from under the dripping canopy of the oak. He walks away from the bodies, away from the field of battle. He walks to the south, where in the far distance over the fallow ground tall weeds and saplings grow from the lip of a shallow creek. The air is sweet, clean after the rain. The creek runs high. He returns, unsure why, to the oak.

After some time the Ambassador walks from the road along the field's western edge. He left his house that morning with the intention of dressing well for the duel. But a sudden apathy - apathy and melancholy - took hold of him. He left wearing sweat pants, a blue fleece, a baseball cap with an eagle embroidered in silver. He went without kissing his wife or his child. When he and the Aerospace Engineer meet, he apologizes. He explains himself.

I am an ambassador to a country that once existed and may again exist, but currently does not, says the Ambassador. Now whether this makes me as an ambassador at all I have, to be very honest, no damn clue. I sometimes doubt it. Today I woke doubting and I feeling like hell.

The Aerospace Engineer asks how a country can fail. He asks how a country can redeem itself. He asks whether the Ambassador's purpose is to reestablish his purpose as ambassador. I specialize in predicting failure, he says.

The Ambassador looks off to the west. Listen, I just regret not dressing better, he says. That's all I know and I've had this regret my entire life. As competent a bureaucrat, as gracious a conversationalist as I am, I've on important occasions kept poor appearance. Inappropriate to my station. I believe this to be the root of my failure; had I dressed better, I may have been named ambassador to a country that exists. I am a shadow of the man I could have been.

I've failed at predicting failure. In failure or success I've found no purpose, no difference. And now I can't recognize myself, or failure, or success, the Aerospace Engineer says.

I could go for a drink, says the Ambassador.

The two men take their place on the field, standing fifteen places apart.

They raise their guns. Their guns go off.