by Leo Nation
The giant man turns to me and emits a virtually silent chuckle, before a starry universe.
“Trust!” Teenager shouts.
“We trust you,” Woman cries.
“That’s right,” says Boy.
“I don’t know how,” he says.
“Just do it,” I tell him.
“You’ll feel better,” says Woman.
“Promise?” Big Guy says, his eyes meek and full of doubt.
“Yes, I promise,” she tells him.
“But it’s hard….”
“It’s supposed to be—come on. Do it!”
“This is not easy….”
“Whatever it is, it’s not you,” I say.
“But I—”
“Do it!”
Like a man on a scaffold looking down at a trap door with a rope around his neck, the huge man sticks his book in his armpit, and he shuts his eyes. A tear rolls down under his eyelid.
“Relax, man. Someday you’ll laugh about this—and thank us for it.”
“Oh!” Big Guy blurts.
He raises his big arm over his head and turns, contorted, like The Human Condition.
“Put your arm down.”
“I can’t….”
“You can, just do it.”
“It’s more than I can bear.”
“You may look like a bear, but this is not more than you can bear. Get the difference?”
The great brute uncovers his face; he clutches his arms to his sides as he lowers his head.
“I can never be forgiven,” he says simply.
“What do you mean?”
“I was willing.”
“To do what?”
“Push the button.”
“What button?”
In his overly snug Bavarian outfit, Big Guy squirms in place and rolls his eyes; he stamps his foot and shouts, “No, you bastards!” He raises his fist and roars like a savage, “You lousy bastards!” He expends a torrent of energy, sobbing deeply. After a few moments, all he can muster is a feeble, “… Damn you!”
“I think he’s got it,” I say.
Woman repeats, “We love you, Big Guy.”
“I loved them,” he says, “but I was so embarrassed I would have pushed the button.”
“What button?”
“The one that pulverizes you on the spot.”
“Why didn’t you push it?”
“Because it wasn’t there. I didn’t have one. But if I did I would have pushed it. So I can never be forgiven. I would have wiped us off the planet.” He sobs again. “I would have pushed that damn button.”
I laugh.
Woman says, “You didn’t do it.”
“It wasn’t there.”
“Thank God,” I reply.
“I was told I didn’t deserve anything good,” he says, “only shame.”
“Even then you didn’t hurt anybody.”
“But I would have.”
“You needed a button,” I laugh, “and you didn’t have one.”
He thinks for a moment and smiles sadly.
“Remember that. It’s important. You didn’t have it in you—you couldn’t do it.”
“I was lucky, I guess.”
“You weren’t mean enough, that’s all. You couldn’t hurt anybody. You ought to remember that.”
Big Guy looks at Boy, who smiles at him. He looks at Teenager and he says, “Look at them now—they’re beautiful.”
“So are you, Big Guy,” Woman says.
“It’s true,” I say, “if she says it.”
Teenager and Boy grab his hands.
Big Guy laughs. “We have a lot in common.”
“A wise man speaks,” Woman says.
“I made mistakes.”
“Join the crowd,” I say.
∞ 24 ∞
In Sophie’s office in Santa Monica the soft moan of the leather chair entered my ears as I sat back pleased by comfort. Probably by now she was marching for the restaurant across the street with her usual alacrity. Sophie always knew exactly what she wanted and where she was going. She had a certain solid look about her. She had called in our order and now she was collecting our lunch. Soon, I thought, she would come through that door with a load of white packages that would make my mouth water.
I imagined her at the bar across the street, waiting, perhaps tapping her fingers on the shiny brass bar as she looked down into a hazy image of herself.
Sophie loved the world as it was. For her the quality of her life was a choice that was hers. She aligned her preferences and intentions so her life made sense. I loved being around Sophie because she was always crystal clear. She showed me that life is a supreme value to be cherished.
She and her husband had many friends, people of various styles and temperaments who felt free with them, because Sophie and George were a catalyst for human possibility.
They loved people. Sophie took pleasure in people who were naturally different. Her respect was practically palpable. She observed without judging lifestyles, and so her friends felt rightly appreciated. Her husband and her three children were just as open and accepting of others as she.
Sophie had an amazing capacity for organized discipline that dazzled me. Order was not one of my strong suits. She could handle family matters, school trips and business affairs as if they were meant to thrive together. Having mastered the art of achieving without resistance, Sophie seemed to gain energy the more she had to do.
Sophie was my childhood buddy. Our mutual love for each other required no language. After all these years she was still a treasure in my life. I admired the way she honored her values. She created what she valued and was honest in her intentions.
I was lucky to have her as my friend.
Sophie would never have taken the risks I had. Never would she have quit a good paying job without having another already in place. Her sense of responsibility always came first. Still, she never questioned my right to be myself in my own way. She didn’t judge me or anybody else. Her unspoken rule of thumb was Vive la difference!
She was a gift.
I swiveled my chair around and looked through the office window into a hazy blue sky. With a feeling of serene gratitude I anticipated the sound of that friendly doorknob and her lively entry.
Was she now across the street gazing at a low-resolution reflection in the brass bar? Or was she already at the corner waiting for the light?
A memory of the taste of Greek cheese spiced up my throat. Thoughts of green salad came to mind, along with a taste of dry wine and cheeses from France. A checkered tablecloth unfolded in my mind as I found myself hoping she was close, perhaps even strolling down the hallway.
∞ 25 ∞
“Oops! Did you see that?” Woman says.
“I did, but I thought it was impossible.”
It swings in space by the tunnel again.
“Wait a minute!” Teenager says.
“There it is again,” says Boy.
“Wow!” I say. “Is that—?”
“I think it is,” says Woman.
“How can that seem impossible, after what we just saw?”
In the vista beyond the tunnel an elephant, with strands of glittering beads and pearls divided by colorful stones steps into the picture. The massive animal turns and its trunk slowly follows.
The creature looks straight at us.
“I saw his trunk,” I say, “but I couldn’t think of anything to say.”
“I understand,” Woman laughs. “But there he is now, standing on nothing.”
On the elephant’s back a straw howdah sits on a gold mat laid across a big bumpy spine. The ornamented beast turns again, and we see there is nothing in the howdah.
Without a warning, Harlequin leaps in front of Big Guy, who must catch him or let him float off into space. He catches the clown and blushes. The diamonds on the jester’s outfit change colors from blue and grey to bright orange and yellow. The big brute looks embarrassed as he sets the jester on his
feet.
The big man laughs, “He’s crazy.”
“That’s just half of it,” I say.
Woman takes Big Guy’s hand. She looks up and gently says, “Goodbye, Big Guy.”
“Goodbye?” he asks with a quiver.
“Yup,” I say. “This is it. You guys are going on without us.”
“Without you?” Boy says, eyes wavering.
“You will leave us here,” Woman says.
Sadness fills his eyes.
Big Guy wraps his hands around Woman’s waist and he lifts her to his level. He smiles sadly. She leans her head forward to kiss his lower lip.
Big Guy blushes and puts her down.
I grab Teenager’s shoulder. “I won’t forget you, Kid. I am glad you came.”
“Me too,” he says, his face red.
“I don’t get it,” Boy complains.
“All things pass,” Woman explains.
“You’ll find a new address,” I say.
Harlequin skips to Woman’s side; he drops to his knees, takes her hand, and closes his eyes. He kisses her fingers like a knight before his Lady.
Now, he stands up. He gives me a big smile and hugs me so vigorously I’m surprised. I didn’t know he had such feelings. I feel his body quake in my arms, and now I realize that letting go of this clown won’t be easy.
“Damn,” I say, recalling our antics together. “I forgot this part of saying goodbye.”
In a rush of nostalgia I hold onto my attachment to him, but Harlequin cuts it off clean by turning away quickly and walking into the void as if it’s a routine exercise.
As he walks away from us in space he raises his arm and snaps his fingers. A shiny top hat emerges from the void on the tip of his thumb. He turns and walks backwards, tossing the silk top hat spinning to Big Guy, who juggles it onto his head. He looks stunning.
With his top hat in place and a flowery silk shirt under a leather vest, short leather pants, tall leather boots and long woolen socks, he is a sight to behold.
Harlequin prances to the wrinkled rear end of the glittering elephant and does a little dance before he leans on the creature’s massive hind leg. He crosses his legs, his body at an angle, and he laughs.
Woman and I applaud.
As the lion and the leopard follow his invisible trail to the elephant, the jester flips his wrist and produces from nothing a pretty bouquet of flowers tied with string. Holding them at his heart, he looks at Woman like a moonstruck boy. Now, he tosses his token of love to her.
“You rogue,” she laughs.
He waves with an arm and a leg.
Boy reaches for Woman’s hand.
“Goodbye, you beautiful Boy,” she says.
“Goodbye?” he says timidly. He turns to me and offers his hand. “Bye, Man.”
I put my arm around him and lower my cheek to the top of his curly head. “I love you, Kid, don’t forget.”
He says, “I know.”
He leaves me and, without hesitation, he steps off the edge and walks through space.
Teenager observes him with dazed eyes, but before he can think about it he follows him. Finding support he looks surprised.
“Hey, Man, get this!”
Big Guy dangles his foot over the abyss as if he knows he will plunge straight to Hell. Under his formal top hat, his eyes glisten with worry.
“Do you believe in Hell?” he asks me.
“Not if I can help it,” I say.
“In that case, I’ll do it.”
He shifts his center of gravity to his foot in space and he steps out like Teenager; he, too, is amazed to find he isn’t plummeting into oblivion. He looks up, waves his book, and now shoves it under the waistband of his short leather pants. He turns away from us and joins the others.
Boy and Teenager run around to the front of the elephant. The great animal kneels down and they scramble up a rising trunk like a pair of circus performers. Now they clamber over a big bulge in his cranium and leap into the straw howdah.
The magnificent creature turns and slowly shuffles away like a wrinkled sack of African rhythms. Adorned with many precious stones the great animal emits lights into the universe. Harlequin follows the elephant with the big cats at his side and Big Guy follows them. They all appear to get smaller with every step.
Woman cries out, “Goodbye!”
“There they go,” I say, “like a circus leaving town.”
Woman cries out to them, “I love you.”
Teenager’s voice floats back. “We know.”
I smile through a rueful feeling that gently scrapes the bottom of my stomach as another far-off voice comes like a thin column of smoke in an Arizona sky, “Yeaaah.”
Woman and I smile but without joy.
“I don’t see them anymore.”
“It’s just you and me now.”
“What a performance!”
∞ 26 ∞
Only a few yards away from Adam and me, two seagulls pulled a clever turn and landed easily on wetted sand. Seated on a bench at the beach in Santa Monica, we had been enjoying the sight of people strolling by as we talked over a few ideas. A light breeze evoked an awareness of seaside appreciation.
Between us and the water’s edge, in a little cordoned-off space, three people lay asleep on the ground. On either side of a supine woman in a red cloth coat, were two men, each with an arm lying over her. All three were out cold.
The scene reminded me of the woman at the bus stop, the day I met Adam. Now I thought of the lady in the West End, the one who handed me the pamphlet with the picture on the back, which I used for a bookmark in Tree and Leaf.
Two people sidestepped the sleeping trio leaving a wide berth, and they went on as if they hadn’t seen them.
“Peaker,” Adam said, breaking our silence. “Is that English?”
“Yeah, it is, Adam, with a snifter of Scots-Irish on the side. My grandmother claimed we had American Indian in the mix, but I doubt it. She also laid claim to an Italian whose name was Americus Vespucci.”
Adam laughed.
“Still, I have to say, I feel right with the world when I hear Italian spoken or sung, and when I hear Greek music I feel as if it’s coming from my bones.”
“After the Celts dominated Europe,” Adam said, “the Romans took over the British Isles. You could have southern European blood. My people, the Vikings, invaded those islands for centuries. You may have Viking genes in your blood; you and I could be cousins. We may be linked many ways.”
“How far back are you going?”
“How about the Big Bang?”
“In that case the whole world is related.”
“There is evidence for that. Astronomers say we’re made of star stuff. How could we not be related?”
“Not everybody believes that.”
“How unfortunately true, my friend.”
“You won’t believe this, Adam, but I heard a man the other day actually say ‘we should nuke ‘em all.’ He was talking about a whole country. He meant every word.”
“I believe it.”
“I can’t understand how he could ignore the morality in a stance like that. It felt like being in a dream where nothing had any consequences. This kind of attitude disturbs me, Adam. How the hell does it happen?”
“We are a clever bunch,” Adam said.
“I don’t get that.”
“I think the problem stems from our ingenuity.” He laughed. “We figured out how to resolve problems, and then we learned how to let solutions descend into our unconscious. That was very clever. It was brilliant. Our awareness could be free to learn new things, and we could use old patterns when they were needed. You learned how to ride a bike decades ago, and still, every time your butt hits a bicycle seat, it all comes back and you’re free to enjoy the view.”
“That is true.”
“The trouble is, Jonathan, we store all manner of things in the mind. Patterns of emotions and feeling are embedded in the brain. They become uncon
scious. Kids absorb everything. Let’s say you decided somebody was a jerk last month or maybe twenty years ago. If you didn’t figure out how to let go of that idea, you still have it inside. That single perception can interfere every time you are reminded of that person. You may be looking at the world through an old, distorted lens. The weird part is you probably don’t know it. You see a projection of your mind, not the truth, and your old assumptions and conclusions of the past can distort your present perception of reality.”
“That’s when things get strange,” I said.
“That guy who said ‘nuke ‘em all’ must believe something dire about that group of people. When such a belief replaces our ability to see what is and use reason, it’s a disease. That man is at the effect of derelict stuff in his unconscious. The weird part is, he doesn’t know it.”
“We’re screwed.”
“We just might be,” said Adam.
“By us,” I said.
“When Socrates said the unexamined life is not worth living,” Adam added, “he could have been referring to the same mental condition. Displacing perception with belief makes us blind, literally. It can make us see things that are not there. If that is not disease, what would you call it? Cognitive scientists say 95% of what we think is unconscious.”
“I haven’t heard that.”
“How do you like it?”
“It’s a bit troubling.”
“Explains a few things, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, like the world now.”
“Consider this Jon. Scientists now know that the brains of young children operate at frequencies so low they absorb nearly everything in an almost hypnotic state. Just as important, that information doesn’t go away. It persists in the mind. Adults walk around with thoughts and emotions they acquired when they were four or five years old no matter how faulty their conclusions. Things that you understood when you were six years old may be demanding satisfaction today without your knowing it.”
“That is a formula for trouble.”
“Relatively few people know this, Jon.”
“Or care.” I said.
“Don’t be cynical. We have come a long way. But I do think this is humanity’s biggest problem. If billions of people can’t perceive objective reality, and have no idea they are in that condition, how can they transcend the problem?” He laughed. The situation he described was ludicrous. “Science has been improving its instruments and methods for 500 years. Humans have an astounding tool of cognition and survival between their ears, but what have they done to improve how it functions? We have learned a multitude of things, but some of them don’t serve us anymore. Many of them never did. We have to accept the challenge now. It’s time to correct our primary tool.”