Lenny and Bea communicate through handwritten notes hidden in burritos traveling through an underground near-vacuum tunnel between the Bay Area and New Jersey. As a catastrophe reduces the system to one burrito at a time, Lenny begins to fall for Bea, interpreting every ingredient list, smiley face and cryptic message as a possible sign of affection.
Messages in transit
Lenny fell in love with Bea around Burrito No. 5. He sighed as the mouth of the tunnel released a hiss of sweet air. When the vacuum-sealed burrito slipped through, he felt a blinding jolt pass through his brain.
Three hours and 21 minutes earlier, at the East Bay facility 4,553 miles away, Bea had been thinking about him. At least, Lenny was sure she had. He wished he could have tracked her interest in him beyond the minute or two it took her to collect a flash-chilled burrito from the sorting station, place it in a carbon-fiber pod, send it into a near-vacuum tunnel deep beneath the Earth and propel it across the continent at subsonic speeds.
Lenny worked at an underground exit in New Jersey, where the Bay Area’s famous Mission burritos arrived in bulk on magnetic currents, ready to be delivered to the hungry residents of New York City’s five boroughs. Since the explosion on the surface, the flow of people had been reduced to one burrito at a time. Lenny examined each one longingly, wondering whether Bea had tucked a note into its mylar pouch.
An eerie roar still vibrated through the basement walls when her first message arrived. Lenny ran through scenarios involving an alien invasion, given his contact with one the previous year. Nuclear war … When he considered all the possibilities, the thought of dying alone underground seemed absurd. When the first burrito slid out with a note attached, he was ready to take the plunge and face radiation and the new Overlords.
This is the end-of-the-world burrito. Best ever.
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Apparently, Bea had not expected her message to reach anyone. Who could have guessed that insomnia would bring Lenny to work early enough to save her? Now he was sitting on a cornucopia of dragon burritos. The shipment sent that morning contained enough food for two people for several weeks. They could stay there and wait for things to blow over.
The problem was not food, aliens or bombs. As with Lenny, it was love.
Around Burrito No. 9, he wrote on a whim: People might get the wrong impression if they see you spoiling me. He slipped the note into a mylar pouch, placed it inside an empty burrito pod and sent it down the tube.
Bea volleyed back: Yes, they will think of you as my grandchild. PS: What’s wrong, Lenny?
He bit into the cold tortilla. Was she flirting? Or was she gently rejecting him by hinting at her age? That would not have been a problem.
Lenny agonized over his reply for hours, perhaps days. After that, every interaction between him and Bea seemed to carry meaning.
Chorizo, Mexican red rice, refried pinto beans and real Monterey Jack, Bea wrote. Enjoy 🙂
Were the smiley faces shy or merely friendly? What about the winking ones?
Lenny spoke to her in his head, and Bea nodded, her dark eyes dancing. But whenever he put pen to paper, his clarity evaporated and collapsed into the overzealous chatter of some hapless idiot.
At one point, Bea wrote: The day is long.
He stared at the plastic sleeve, longing to hold her in his arms. He placed his hand where she had placed hers three hours and 21 minutes earlier.
Are you bored too? Lenny answered. I thought we could spend time getting to know each other.
He began telling her where he had grown up, along with his favorite music and several formative events from his childhood.
After what felt like an eternity, Bea wrote back. It was an ingredient list.
Carne asada, sautéed mushrooms, salsa verde.
No smiles. Lenny’s heart broke.
What’s going on, Bea? What did I do? he wrote.
Several hours passed like torture. Then came the reply:
Imagine a map of an island. This is the highest-fidelity, most detailed map of the location. Now imagine that the map itself is on an island. Do you know what that means? There should be a map of the map inside the map. And inside that second map, there’s another map. On and on. It’s a map all the way, Lenny.
Lenny had heard of such a paradox somewhere. However, Bea seemed finally to be opening up. Her scribbles looked frantic, streaking into the margins like a startled flamingo.
He considered the riddle, then wrote a reply.
What about cartographers? Are they also depicted on all maps?
… And what about themselves?
Source: www.nature.com
