Moving back to his clumsy desk, he begins to work with practiced, empty precision, not knowing or caring what moved through his hands. He thought about time. His mind strolled along the lazy path of memory, remembering his calculations, ideas, perceptions of time. He kept moving, going still father back. He thought of when he and his wife were in love. He remembered the pungent smell of his mother’s perfume. He longed for the days when his mind was not laden with the questions he strove to answer, when he did not have to wonder what the future would hold.

When he reached the end of the past, the beginning of life, he stopped. He stopped because he could go no further; there was a barrier here. Beyond the end of the past lies the beginning of the future, a frontier you cannot traverse until it is upon you. For now, the young man is content to stare past the end of his beginning toward the beginning of his end.