Eric Luthi

Schrödinger’s Box

 

 

Simon walked into the small university office he shared with Jesse.  Two tanker desks, World War II era, two metal bookshelves and two desk chairs was all the furniture that would fit.  Jesse’s desk was one nearer the window and he leaned back in his chair.  He stared at a two foot by two-foot U-Haul moving box that sat on his desk near the edge.  The punch-out handles were still in place and the top was folded down and held shut by a single piece of masking tape with one end folded back on itself for a handle.  One of the sides had three small holes in a triangle pattern.  Simon stopped inside the door and watched Jesse.

 

“Jesse?”

 

“Simon,” said Jesse without turning.

 

Simon waited a moment.  “What’s with the box?”

 

“Experiment.”

 

“What kind of experiment?”

 

“Quantum mechanics.”

 

“Quantum mechanics?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Did you sneak out and earn another degree in night school?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then your dissertation is still on seventeenth century dramatic literature?”

 

“As is yours.”

 

“Yes, but I’m not arguing that Marlowe ghost wrote all of Shakespeare’s plays.”

 

“No, you are much more pedestrian.”

 

Simon turned his chair to face Jesse’s desk.  He sat down and placed a hand under his chin and

gazed at the box.

 

“So, Jesse.  What’s with the box?”

 

Jesse sighed but didn’t turn toward Simon.  “I’m re-creating an experiment in quantum mechanics.”

 

“I see a box.”

 

“Schrödinger.”

 

“Schrödinger and his cat?”

 

“That’s the one.”

 

“You’re telling me there’s a cat in the box?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Simon leaned forward and stared at the box.   

 

“You do know, Schrödinger’s experiment was only a thought experiment.  He never actually put a cat in the box.”

 

“Yes, but I decided to help him out.”

 

“Today?”

 

“As you see.”

 

“Schrödinger came up with this experiment in the 1930’s.  And you’re helping him out today?”

 

“Time displacement – multiplicity of universes -- yes, it could happen.”

 

“You’re a fruit loop.”

 

“Shh.”

 

Simon spread his hands wide.  “Is something happening?”

 

“I don’t know yet.”

 

“What do you expect to happen when it does?”

 

“I’m not sure.”

 

“You’ve really thought this through.”  Both stared at the box for a moment before Simon spoke.

 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but in Schrödinger’s experiment, the cat was supposed to be either alive or dead when he opened the box?”

 

“That’s what I understand.”

 

“But you don’t know what you expect?”

 

“The cat could be alive or dead or not there at all.  Or, there could be another cat there or a different animal entirely -- or not.  There are an infinite number of possible outcomes.  We won’t know until we open the box and reality comes crashing in and overrides all else.”

 

“Reality?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Are we talking quantum mechanics reality or seventeenth century dramatic literature reality?”

 

“They’re not the same?”

 

Simon raised both hands into the air.  “Schrödinger called for poison triggered by radioactive isotopes to be in the box with the cat.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“A cardboard box?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You have poison and something radioactive in this cardboard box?  And a way to trigger the poison?”

 

“No.  I modified the experiment somewhat.  And expanded it to include time displacement and a multiplicity of universes concept.”

 

“So you’ve said.”

 

The box didn’t move.

 

“Is there a reason you used a U-Haul box?”

 

“It’s what was available.”

 

“Jesse, whose cat is in the box?”

 

“Mine.”

 

“Jesse, you don’t have a cat.”

 

“Yes I do.  I inherited it from my aunt when she died a few months ago.”

 

“Did the cat come with the box?”

 

Jesse sighed but remained fixed upon the box.

 

“Does your cat have a name?”

 

“Bruno.”

 

“Bruno sounds like a pit bull and not a cat.”

 

“He’s not an ordinary cat – he’s large for one thing -- and old.  Nobody knows how old, but he is old.  My aunt had him for eighteen years and she acquired him when he was already full grown.  She said he just walked into her kitchen one day.  Must’ve climbed in through an open window and made as if he lived there already.”

 

“Eighteen is old for a cat.  You don’t think you stacked the experiment by using an old cat instead of a young healthy one?”

 

“He looks healthy.”

 

“Or he looked healthy when you put him in the box.  Any chance he’ll die of old age before you look inside?”

 

“We’ll open the box in a few minutes.”

 

“Maybe he’ll suffocate?”

 

“That’s what the air holes are for.”

 

“I wondered about those.”

 

They watched the box which remained motionless.

 

“How long has he been in the box?”

 

“Since about an hour and twenty minutes before you walked in.”

 

“Has he moved at all?”

 

“Not that I could see?”

 

“And you’ve been watching this whole time?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I want to try something.”  Simon took a paperclip from his desk and moved toward the box while he unbent the paperclip.  Jesse raised one hand.

 

“You could alter the outcome.”

 

“Jesse, you don’t know what outcome you’re expecting.  You are testing Schrödinger’s Cat, quantum mechanics, reality versus superposition, the observer effect, time displacement as well as multiplicity of universes.  See, I did read Hawking.  You’ve modified the original experiment by leaving out both the poison and the radioactive substance and you’re using a cat that, by your own admission, is who knows how old.  You’ve introduced so many variables when a standard experiment calls for only one and you think my paperclip is going to alter the outcome?”

 

“Okay, then.”

 

“Okay.”  Simon touched one end of the now-straightened paperclip to the side of the box and moved it back and forth making a scratching noise on the cardboard.  There was no movement and no noise from within the box.  Simon looked at Jesse.  “No cat worth his salt would ignore that sound.”

 

“Bruno is no ordinary cat.  But, try again.”

 

Simon repeated the scratching but still no movement from within the box.

 

“Jesse, I think your cat is dead.”

 

“Or gone.”

 

“Or gone.  Or he’s deaf because of his advanced age. Or the sound is being stopped by any of the factors you have either not eliminated or deliberately introduced into this experiment.  The point is we have no idea what is going on inside that box.”

 

“Wasn’t that Schrödinger’s point, also?”

 

“Have you considered that you might not be the observer?”

 

“No, it could be you,” said Jesse.

 

“Yes, but I wasn’t thinking of me.”

 

“Who else, then?”

 

“Bruno.”

 

“The cat?”

 

“Your cat.”

 

“How so?”

 

“When you open the box, you might be dead or alive.”

 

“If I’m dead, how can I open the box?”

 

“Bruno opens the box, then.  Point is, if Bruno is the observer, we might not be here at all when the box finally gets opened.  Or dead, if we are still here.”

 

“Hm.  I hadn’t thought of that.”

 

They stared at the box for a few moments.

 

“Jesse, open the box.”

 

“Six more minutes and we’ll be at ninety.”

 

“What difference will six minutes make?”

 

“Every moment allows for a different outcome.”

 

“And the outcome at each of those moments might be worse than the one before.”

 

“That is possible, too.”

 

“And each moment might cancel out the outcome from the moment before.”

 

Simon placed all five fingernails from one hand on the box and scratched the box.  The box itself remained motionless.

 

“Jesse, open the box.”

 

“Five minutes more,” said Jesse emphasizing with his hand.

 

“Waiting longer accomplishes nothing.”

 

Simon took the end of the tape that was folded back and ripped the tape loose from the cardboard.

Jesse jumped to his feet as Simon opened first the two outer flaps and then the two inner flaps that formed the top of the box.

 

“Bruno?”

 

Inside the box, a large grey tabby cat with yellow eyes looked up at them and purred.

 

 

 

Eric Luthi writes plays, short stories and longer works and, occasionally, bad poetry.  He is currently trying to publish his first novel.