The Monument

The Monument 

We didn't know what to think of it at first; there were so many more important considerations to deal with after the bombs had stopped. Our primary concerns, of course, were the external condition of the shelter and its ability to resist the fallout, as well as the reliability of the decontamination units for air and water. How much more meaningful now is the wry smile of the technician who installed the shelter when I stupidly asked him about the warranties. Almost smirking, he said, "Sure, if you have any problems, just give us a call and we'll send the first available person!" I still imagine my message melted and mutely captured in the copper pools that were once the telephone lines. Then there was the food supply. Were the infinitesimal particles of radioactive dust excluded by the lead lining of the cans? Was the aluminum plating on the inside of the cans preventing leaching of the lead into the food? These speculations were only the latest iteration of the deterrent being the more deadly consequence.

It was during one of our first explorations from the shelter that we discovered what we called "the monument". The landscape had changed so drastically around our Connecticut home that to place that slab of concrete into its original context of surroundings that had long since vaporized, or otherwise crumbled, was not initially possible. In the broad, flattened valley it sat, a white rectangle, like a playing card without a face or number.

Eventually, as the radiation levels fell to safer levels, we could forgo the formality of our protective, foiled suits and indulge in the warm spring breeze (now lacking the perfume of the flowers). On such occasions, we made the monument a favorite, frequented place for picnics and sunbathing. Its broad surface warmed more quickly than the surrounding barren earth and it was somehow easier to plan our summer gardens from this promontory. It wasn't until the surveying was finished, however, that I thought to dig out an old map of the area in order to place that slab that became one of the few pleasant memories during the first spring after the war. I re-experienced the technician's wry irony with my discovery. It was unmistakably clear what it was and I wondered if the monument's designer would revel at the endurance of this creation. I can only see it now as it was before the holocaust, an integral piece of a longer band of similar rectangles upon which I would commute to work with only the sign, "EXPERIMENTAL PAVEMENT" to distinguish it from the remainder of the highway.