Tragic Aggression
It was another hot summer evening when it happened. Instinct prevailed over intelligence and I was crowned king. We were at Henry's house that night. Just the two of us. Having our usual discussions. We started talking about religion. "It sucks." I said.
"Oh, please, David! Don't be so destructive."
"Why not? What good has it ever done?"
"You're completely missing the point here, David. It's not about that at all."
"Then tell me, what is it about? 'Don't ask what your church can do for you, but what you can do for your church'? Please, don't give me that crap!"
"No, no, no. Why can't you see that it's not about a church? It doesn't matter to what church you belong, or what religion you adhere to. It's all chance. Church, mosque, temple, they're all centred around the same thing."
"God, you mean? I don't think so. Whatever religion you have, you always want to destroy the other religions."
"Nonsense, David, nonsense. Of course they're not centred around God. Nor around destruction."
"What are they centred around then? I would like to know. If it's not God or destruction, then what is it?"
"I'm not going to spin everything out for you. Come on, you tell me."
"You mean to say that you don't know either. Okay, I'll tell you what you want to hear. Indeed, it's not about God or destruction. It's about unconditional love for everything."
"David, why do you always have to play stupid? Please, stop it."
"Who's playing stupid here? You're the one who can't give an answer. I've come up with all the answers now."
"Yes, but you're too narrow minded to substantiate any of your answers. That's not science, that's guessing. Everyone can guess."
"Then give me a scientific answer."
"Oh, God! Come up with your own ideas. I'm not going to tell you."
I stood up and walked towards the cupboard annex mini bar to the right of me and took out a bottle of whiskey and two crystal glasses. I put the three items on the table and sat down again. Henry poured himself a glass and lit a cigarette. As did I. He emptied his glass and poured another one for himself. I tipped my ashes into the ashtray that was on the table. The ashtray was made of black marble and quite heavy for its size. I liked it. "Whatever happened to that girlfriend of yours, David?"
"We broke up."
"You mean she dumped you."
"No, we broke up. I didn't dump her and she didn't dump me. We just realised it wasn't working anymore."
"I thought you wanted to marry her."
"So?"
"Well, I didn't think you were the type that would commit itself."
"I didn't, did I?"
"No, because she dumped you."
"How come you are still unmarried, Henry? I thought you saw marriage as that great constitution between two people."
"What made you think that?"
"You did."
"How? I've never said anything like that."
"I'll tell you why we broke up."
"Yes, David, tell me."
"She was seeing someone else behind my back and I found out."
"Then why didn't you dump her? Because you still wanted to marry her?"
"No, I made her a wreck by saying that if she could live with it, so could I."
"Very devious, David, very devious. Of course she couldn't handle it."
"No, she couldn't, and thus we decided to break up."
"Still, what it comes down to is that she dumped you."
I emptied my glass and filled it again. It was getting darker. The room was lit by two lamps hanging from the ceiling and a floor lamp. I lit another cigarette. "Henry," I said, "let's turn the lights off and open the doors to enjoy the breeze without the flies coming in."
"I'll turn the lights off. You open the doors."
I stood up and opened the doors. Henry switched the lights off and for a moment all we could see was the orange light coming from our cigarettes. Outside the crickets sang. "Listen, Henry, the crickets are calling out to their girlfriends."
"David, why are you such a hopeless romantic."
"What's wrong with being romantic?"
"Nothing. It just doesn't seem to suit you."
"And why is that?"
"Because you like to look at yourself as the free, self-made man."
"Those two things can live together in perfect harmony."
"Of course they can, but I don't see them living together in perfect harmony in you. Stop trying to be one when you are the other."
"Are you so perfectly balanced then?"
"Why do you keep trying to shift the topic to me when we're talking about you?"
"Because we never talk about you. You try to hide yourself because you are afraid I find out something about you."
"So you want to ask a question about me? Fire away."
"Okay. Are you so perfectly balanced then?"
"Yes I am. Why do you want to know?"
"That's not what I wanted to know. What I want to know is how come you're so perfectly balanced?"
"Why is that of interest to you? You want to be perfectly balanced as well?"
"No. I have no need to be."
"Why not, David? Because it doesn't suit your romantic side? The perfectly imbalanced man? Why don't you want to be in perfect balance?"
"What fun would life be if there's nothing left to do?"
"Is that the ultimate thing in life for you? Being in balance? I'm disappointed, David."
"Of course it's not the 'ultimate thing' in life."
"Why not? What's the 'ultimate thing' in life then? Having a well-payed job, a nice little wife and an affair at the office Christmas party?"
"For me it's to have a job I enjoy and the freedom to do what I want."
"Like marrying someone who then dumps you?"
"Har. Har. Har. Very funny, but Henry, tell me, what's the ultimate thing in life for you? What is it that you want to do with your life?"
"You want to know what 'the thing' for me is? Is that what you want to know?"
"Yes. Now tell me."
"Death, David. It's death. That's it for me."
"Death? Why?"
"You'll find out when you're there. I'm not going to tell you now. You'll find out."
Now, I can't say that I wasn't surprised at his answer then. I couldn't figure out why someone would want to die. However, I was quite taken aback by his answer and for a minute or two we just sat there and drank another whiskey, smoked another cigarette while we listened to the crickets singing. "David, you used to be a poet. Do you still write poems?"
"As a matter of fact, I still do. Why do you want to know?"
"Write me a poem about the crickets outside. Write me a cricket poem."
"A cricket poem. Okay. Give me a second.
The night is dark.
Breaking out is the sound of crickets.
The cricket's girlfriend is listening."
"Haha. I like it, David. Go on."
"The night is dark.
I'm walking down the path.
The sound of crickets suddenly breaks out.
Where's my lover?"
"Screwing a business suit while you have your back turned. Try again, David. I don't like it."
"Cricket! Cricket!
You are my lover.
I'm walking the path alone,
But I'm not lonely with you."
"I didn't know you were into bestiality, David. But the poem typifies you."
"Why's that?"
"Because it's sad."
"You mean to say I'm sad?"
"No, I didn't say that. You're not listening. I said the poem typifies you because it's a sad poem. Sorrowful."
"Like me."
"Please, don't give me that 'I'm so pitiful' routine. If you refuse to see what I mean I can't help you any further."
"No, I'm just interested. Why do you link sad to me? I'm not sad. Not often. Sometimes. We're all sad sometimes."
"Very true, David. You see? You can figure it out for yourself."
The bottle was almost empty now and we both began to run out of cigarettes. The black ashtray had become nothing more than a pile of cigarette butts and ashes. Henry was leaning backwards on his chair with his hands folded behind his head. His feet were half on the table. "Say, David, are you still with that anti racism thing you were in a couple of years ago?"
"No, I quit. They were awful. They got on my nerves."
"I told you."
"Yeah, but you're just a racist."
"A racist? Why made you think that?"
"With your 'all people are unequal' stuff it was hard to think otherwise."
"That's just because you didn't understand what I meant."
"What was it that you meant then?"
"Simple. All people are unequal."
"Yeah, what does that mean? Everyone's a racist?"
"No, David. It means something else entirely."
"What else does it mean then? By saying we are all unequal, one has to be better than the other."
"You're very narrow-minded, David. Very narrow-minded. It's not about better or worse. It's none of that."
"What is it then? Come on, give me a clue."
"No. You figure it out. All people are unequal, but no one is better than the other. Not overall."
"Not overall better? So one is better at one thing, and someone else is better at another?"
"Go on."
"So we're all unequal in every respect."
"I'm not saying anything. You can figure it out. I'm certain you can, David."
"But we're all human."
"Yes, very sharp. You're a regular Sherlock Holmes, but don't let me distract you."
"So what you mean is that we are all different and thus are unequal in that respect and thus cannot be treated the same and thus we all have to be treated differently. So another common denominator is called for."
"Why do you think we need another common denominator? What is the current common denominator in your eyes?"
"Well, let me see. We got Caucasoid, Negroid and Mongoloid, so the current common denominator is three, while it should be five billion."
"Are you sure?"
"Well, in theory it should be like that."
"Why then, David?"
"Because, like you said, we are all unequal."
"Why do you think inequality has anything to do with denominators?"
"If we were all equal, there would be no denominator, because it would be one, but we are not all equal, so the denominator is higher than that."
"It reaches far beyond numbers, David. Besides, you're trying to be scientific, but still all you can do is guess. Please, don't give any answers when you don't know how to go about answering them."
It was now completely dark outside, and because the lamps weren't on, it was also completely dark inside. We had finished the bottle and we had run out of cigarettes. I stood up, closed the doors and turned a lamp on. "It's time." Henry said.
"Time for what?"
"Time for a game. You like games, don't you, David?"
"Well, it kind of depends on what sort of game."
"Let me show you."
Henry stood up and walked over to the cupboard. From one of the drawers he took a gun and two boxes of bullets. He took the gun in his hand and sat down again. Then he took a bullet from his hand and loaded the gun with it. "You know the rules of Russian Roulette, don't you?"
"You're mad! I'm not going to play a game like that!"
"Why not, David?"
"I don't want to die!"
"You mean you don't want to lose. Fair enough."
"I'm not afraid to lose."
"Clearly you are. Here. You go first."
He handed me the gun. I took it and said: "No! I'm not going to shoot myself!"
"That's the idea. That you don't shoot yourself. Now, come on, pull the trigger."
I can't describe the horror I felt when I put the gun to my head. I think it was the liquor that actually made me do it. I pulled the trigger and heard a click. "Very good, David. I knew you could do it. Now give me the gun." I handed Henry the gun, glad to be rid of it. Henry put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger. I closed my eyes and heard the same click. "Why did you close your eyes, David? Afraid of looking death in the face?"
"Jesus, Henry! That's enough. Stop it now."
"No. You try again."
Henry handed me the gun again. It didn't feel as heavy as before. I pulled the trigger and heard a tremendous bang. I slumped to the floor. I wasn't dead. Nor injured. It had been a blank. "Haha! You lost, David. Now get off of the floor."
I stood up and sat down again. "You fucking bastard! You knew all along it was a blank! Why didn't you tell me?"
"It would have spoiled the fun. Didn't you have any fun?"
"No!"
I took the ashtray from the table and flung it at Henry. It missed him by miles and smashed against the wall. "Haha! I take it you don't want to try again?"
"You're sick!"
"And you're tragic."
"You're tragic!"
"But you're tragically aggressive."
"Said the man with the gun."
"At least I wasn't foolish enough to shoot myself. You were the one who pulled the trigger, not me."
"You forced me to do it!"
"No, that's what's so tragic about you. Nobody forced you. You did it all yourself. And afterwards you blame me, that's the aggression. Totally misdirected as it was."
I took the gun that now lay on the table, walked with it to the cupboard and reloaded it with a bullet from the other box. I then aimed the gun at Henry and pulled the trigger. Henry dropped dead on the floor. "Here's tragic aggression for you!" I screamed. I should have known then that that was exactly as he had expected, and that he had won and that I lost. Oh, but for a while I thought, I believed I had won. I was king now. I should have guessed it would never end that way. I realised sooner than I think even Henry predicted. I had been a victim of tragic aggression, but in the country of the blind, the one-eyed man is king. I would just never have two eyes, and therefore always be the half-loser, half-winner. I'd never be a winner. Not until I die.