by Brian Smith
A Clean Slate
Even noble souls
can be corrupted
with wrong education.
Plato, The Republic
The next day was a Friday. Sycko woke up early. For the first time in many a year he was looking forward to the day to come. On the chair he saw some new clothes. Someone had come at night to make sure he could dress in the right way. There was a white shirt and a black suit. “Not my style really,” he said, “but what the heck. If life in paradise means wearing this stuff then I’ll wear it.”
He left his room and was surprised to find everyone else up too.
“Awake already,” a voice behind him said. He turned round and saw Jeremiah.
“Excellent,” Jeremiah said. “I trust you had a good night and you’ve found your new clothes. Splendid, new clothes for a new life.”
“Good morning,” Sycko said.
“And a good morning to you, my friend, though around here we prefer to say ‘Good morrow’. But let’s not stand around here. It’s time for breakfast. I trust you have a good appetite after such a long sleep. There’s nothing like a hearty breakfast to start the day. Eat well and live well is what we say, wouldn’t you agree?”
Sycko consented eagerly and followed Jeremiah to the common dining hall. There was a long black table with chairs all around it. At the far end was a chair with a much higher back than the others had. Jeremiah headed for this chair and motioned Sycko to take a chair to his right. There was absolute silence in the hall even though there was someone standing in front of every chair.
“Good morrow, brethren,” Jeremiah said loudly.
“Good morrow, Master Jeremiah,” the reply came.
“Pray be seated,” Jeremiah said. When everyone was firmly ensconced in their seats Jeremiah looked each one of them in the eye, one by one. “As you know we have a newcomer in our midst, my young friend Sycko here,” he said patting him on the shoulder. “I bid you all to be warm and welcoming to our new friend. He is here to learn our ways and to begin a new life. When the slate is wiped clean and we can start all over again it is a tremendous opportunity as well as a responsibility and I ask each of you to shoulder your part of that responsibility.”
“Hear, hear,” the reply came.
“Excellent,” Jeremiah said. “Now let us thank the Lord for the bounty of the land that He has so magnanimously bestowed upon us. Let us pray and drivel.”
They said a short prayer in silence and then pushed saliva out of a corner of the mouth till it was drooling down onto their white shirts. Sycko felt rather silly doing this but decided he had to join in. He didn’t want to stand out and not doing so might have been seen as being ungrateful.
Jeremiah noted how fast Sycko joined in the drivelling and was satisfied. When everyone had a wet stain on their shirts Jeremiah gave the signal to start eating and soon the room was filled with quiet voices and the clanking of cutlery on crockery.
After breakfast Jeremiah beckoned Sycko to follow him. They went to the grand hall and sat down on two large cushions in the middle. There was no one else there and every little noise they made echoed off the walls. Sycko took a packet of cigarettes out. “Do you mind…?”
“Oh, but those won’t do at all, my friend, they won’t do at all. There now, let me have those and wait for me.”
Sycko watched him disappear with the only cigarettes he had left. “Oops, shouldn’t have said that, I guess. No smoking in the temple, at least not in this hall.” He waited wondering if Jeremiah would be annoyed when he came back, but he needn’t have worried.
“My dear young friend,” Jeremiah called as he came back into the hall. “I’m so sorry, I must apologize for this oversight. I should have told you before, but then there are always so many things to think of and to do, one can’t always remember everything. I do hope you don’t mind.”
“Hey no, that’s all right, I understand” Sycko said surprised by the verbose apology.
Jeremiah held out a black and white packet to him. “Have these,” he said. “You’re one of us now so I really must ask you to smoke these only like everyone else here.”
Sycko took the packet. It said Drivellers’ Fags in large white letters on a black background.
“Fags?” he said even more surprised.
“Yes,” Jeremiah said. “Fags meaning cigarettes. You’ve heard the demotic usage, I’m sure?”
“Eh, yes. I’m sorry, I was just surprised to see it used like this. I thought you’d be cross with me for wanting to smoke in here, or something.”
Jeremiah laughed. “No, no, how could I be cross with you. We have no objections to smoking as long as you light up drivellers’ fags. Do light up, I pray you, and relax. I’m sure you’ll find them to be much more, how shall I say, energizing and invigorating than mere cigarettes you buy in a shop.”
Sycko opened the packet and slowly took out a cigarette. Jeremiah held out a lighter and the little flame soon left a narrow trail of smoke rising up into the air. Sycko inhaled deeply and then blew a cloud of smoke towards the ceiling.
Seeing Sycko comfortable and settled Jeremiah began to write the word ‘level’ on the slate he had prepared.
“In here, my young friend, we meet upon the level. In our language meeting upon the level means that we are equal. That I am a Master Driveller in this temple and you are as yet a novice is of no significance here. Now that we are upon the level I would ask you for a little help. Nothing much, I assure you, and quite easy.”
Sycko nodded.
“But wait,” Jeremiah said. “On the level I must be fair to you. It is not fair that I should ask you to agree to something, and be it ever so small a matter, without first informing you to the full extent what it is you are being asked to do.”
Sycko smiled in admiration. “You’re a really nice and decent bloke, you know Jeremiah.” For the first time in his life he felt the wish of wanting to do something for another person. It was a new sensation and he didn’t quite know what to make of it, though it didn’t feel unpleasant in any way.
“How can I help you?” he said.
Jeremiah beamed. “Ah, my friend. I’m glad to hear you say so, it warms my heart. I’m sure we’re going to get along brilliantly together. What I really need your help with is that you help me to let you relax. You’ve got your fags, I’ll bring you something to drink and then I want you to sit here and relax. Just contemplate your surrounding, that’s all. Oh, and we’ll be playing some music. You don’t mind music, do you?”
Sycko was flabbergasted. “I sit here, I smoke, drink, look at the room and listen to music. That’s it?”
“Why yes, certainly. Is anything wrong?”
“Wrong? This is the closest thing to paradise I could imagine.”
“Splendid,” Jeremiah said, “splendid. I’ll leave you to it then. I’ll be back to pick you up for lunch. I only ask you to stay here and relax until then.”
“Suits me fine,” Sycko said. “See you then.”
Jeremiah brought him a large bottle of whiskey and left.
Sycko lit up another fag and poured himself a drink. “Now that’s what I call life,” he said. I help Jeremiah by smoking, boozing and relaxing. This is just fab!”
Moments later music filled the air. It was Handel’s Sarabande. The slow rhythmical music and the beating of the drum combined with the whiskey to slowly induce something similar to trance in his mind. The same piece was played over and over again without interruption while Sycko kept smoking and drinking. The hours passed by. Sycko looked at the chess board floor. At first there were only black squares and white squares but later his mind began to fill some of the squares with other things. Images came to his mind. His childhood and how his parents were yelling and fighting at home. His teacher at school furious with him for being disruptive. There was a square with Sycko shoplifting and another square showed him being fired. There was a square with the police, a square with his first fight and a square with his first sexual ad
venture. Soon all the squares were brimming with images of his life, his former life, his brain corrected. And still the music droned on mercilessly cleansing his soul, extirpating every last vestige of his former self. He drank and smoked and listened and his head spun round. Hours later the bottle was empty and all that remained of his fags was a pile of ash and cigarette butts on the floor. He put his head on the cushion and listened to the music till his mind drifted off and he was asleep.
Just before noon Jeremiah returned. He switched on exhaust fans to air the hall. There was no more music. Everything was quiet and he noted with satisfaction that Sycko was asleep. “You have relaxed very well, my friend,” he said to himself. “Let’s hope your journey to the realm of dreams was a productive one.”
He gently woke up Sycko and took him to the dining hall for lunch. Sycko was silent. The experience of lunch was similar to breakfast and he found himself fast getting accustomed to things. When everyone drivelled he just joined in as though he had been doing it all his life.
After lunch Jeremiah invited Sycko for a walk in the park. “Nothing like some fresh air to clear the mind,” he said. Let’s go and have a chat.”
Sycko happily assented. He had almost worried Jeremiah would ask him for an afternoon of relaxation similar to his morning session. A walk in the park offered a pleasant alternative.
While they wandered about the park Sycko told Jeremiah about how his morning had gone and the impressions on his mind. Jeremiah nodded and listened but said remarkably little. On their way back to the temple a crow flew by on Sycko’s left side. “Odd bird,” he said. “Just like the one that woke me up yesterday.”
The following days passed in a similar vein. From breakfast to lunch Sycko spent his time ‘relaxing’ with a strong drink, drivellers’ fags and repetitive music. Only the music changed from day to day. The second day he spent listening to Al Bowly singing ‘All of me’ and on the third day Mike Landau kept repeating ‘Deep Night’ for hours on end. Sycko did wonder why Jeremiah kept choosing obscure and old music but then it seemed to have the desired effect. Every day his visions changed and he began to incorporate more and more of his new life at the temple into them while images of his previous existence slowly waned. Sycko even began reading in the copy of The Holy Drivel that was in his bedside table, not much at first but it was the first time in his life he had read in a book without being made to do so.