by Allen Lyne
Marcie considered herself to be alone and friendless, and that there was nobody in her world that cared enough about her to make it worthwhile continuing to exist in this world.
That was why she was poised upon this ledge forty feet over the rocks about to make the dive into blackness. Was forty feet high enough? What if she didn't kill herself but landed on her head and suffered brain damage? What if she was forced to live like a vegetable for the rest of her life? She looked up and saw another ledge perhaps twenty feet further up. She would climb up there and make certain she did the job properly. Marcie had just turned when a voice from below pulled her up.
"Hey, babe, whatchadoin? Bit dangerous up there, don't go no higher."
She looked down and saw two men below her. Funny she hadn't seen them before. They must have been lost in the shadows that had now cleared as the sun came from behind clouds.
"I'm okay, don't worry about me.” She could see that the older of the two men wore a caftan and had multi-coloured beads around his neck. He had long hair and a long beard, and he spoke like an aging hippie. The other man wore a conservative grey suit and tie. His hair was cut short, and he was more or less the reverse of the coin of the other man. He had taken off his shoes and socks, rolled up his trousers and was dangling his feet in the river. A piece of grass extended from his mouth, and he chewed on it thoughtfully.
"You're going to jump, aren't you?” shouted the hippie-looking older man. It was not a question, more a statement that he knew her intentions.
Marcie was rattled. She hadn't expected this sort of interruption to her plan. “What's it to you?"
"Everything."
She thought she detected a smile on the face of the silent man in the suit downstream. She started to get angry. “What do you mean ‘everything'? You don't even know me."
"No man is an island. Who said that?"
"John Donne."
"Ah, good, something of a scholar. Then you'll know the gist of the thing, and that is that every part of the world that breaks off, every person who dies, is a part of me. It means that we are all our brother's, or in this case, our sister's keepers, and we must care for one another and look after each other. Would you agree that that is the intention of the poet?"
"Well, yes, sort of. I guess that's as good an explanation as any other. What is this, an exam?"
"Then if you agree with that and agree with the philosophy behind the poem, how can you ask me why I am concerned that you are about to leap off a cliff and kill yourself?"
"I don't remember saying I agreed or didn't agree with Donne."
"But don't you? If you were to see a small child accidentally tipped out of it's pusher into the path of a bus and you had the power to save that child, wouldn't you do so?"
"That has nothing to do with what I'm doing or why."
"No, you're right to an extent, but the answer is ‘yes', you would save the child, and you know that is true. It has everything to do with why I'm trying to stop you killing yourself. We are all involved with one another, or ought to be. Even my friend here, with his feet in the water pretending no concern whatever, is running plans through his mind to try to get up that cliff while I divert your attention, and bring you forcibly down here so that he can talk some sense into you. That's the way he operates. He thinks you just need a kick up the bum and be told to get on with it and that all will be cool. I have known him for so many years that I know what he thinks. Extraordinary, eh?"
Marcie was becoming confused by the talk. “Why don't you and your friend just go away and let me get on with it? My mind's made up."
"Can't do that. We're committed to the end now, whatever that end may be. We are involved with you whether we want to be or not and whether you want us to be or not. Our paths have crossed and all that. Tell me, are you religious at all?"
"I used to go to church with my mum."
"Used to, eh? An unbeliever? God forbids suicide according to the bible. Can't use that one then?"
"I don't know what I believe. All I know at this moment is that I have to stop the pain."
"But why are you in pain? Because some pimply little boy said you were ugly? Or a number of pimply little boys and girls? A boy you really fancy told you to get lost? What you have to realise, what I have to make you realise, is that this moment in time is a mere blip in your existence. In five years, eight max, you will look back at this moment and wonder how on Earth you could have arrived at the point of standing on that ledge about to cast yourself into oblivion."
"Please go away.” Marcie was in a dilemma. Killing herself was one thing, but killing herself in front of other people was something she couldn't contemplate. Besides, he might be loopy, but his voice had hypnotic qualities. He seemed to be a nice old man, even if he was dressed like a refugee from the sixties. She didn't want him or his friend to have the experience of seeing her brains dashed out when she hit the rocks.
"I've been alive a long time,” continued her tormentor. “And yet I still take great delight in living. I want to make you see why I delight in it and why so many other people do and why you will again. The taste of food. The smell of fresh brewed coffee. The smell of asphalt and fields after first rain. Real friends. The beach on a nice day. Sunrises and sunsets. The poem of a tree. The capricious sea in sunlight or in storm. The sheer joy of real love. Oh, I'm not denigrating your feelings now, but believe me, the first one that's not puppy love hits you like a ton of bricks. You are too inward looking right now to know what I'm talking about. You must grow, not just older, but emotionally, and in awareness of the beauty and splendour that is around you. The real beauty of people is within them, not in their physical form. Not that there's anything wrong with the way you look. If you want confirmation, do some volunteer work around a disabled people's hospital or residence. Some of the most twisted looking people in humanity have a great light that shines out from them. You know why?"
"No."
"It shines out because they accept themselves, who and what they are and how they look. They live with things and with pain you can never know about, but they LIVE, and that's the difference between them and you. You are willing to throw away your lifetime because of feelings of lack of worth. You have never suffered. Yours is an extreme form of self-indulgence—yes, I know that sounds hard and I'm not here to insult you—it is self-indulgence because you haven't yet really begun to live, and you're going to call it quits. People can only define you as something if you allow them to define you. What about the you that you know and they don't? You are a beautiful, caring, sensitive—perhaps too sensitive—human being. Don't let them do this to you. Don't let the bullies win. Do you know what the best revenge is?"
"No, I don't."
"Success! Go on to succeed in your chosen career in a way that these vain fools never can. Let them look in later years at someone who has made a mark. At someone who has made a real difference, a contribution of some kind to the human race. Show them all how wrong they are."
Marcie stepped back from the precipice and digested all that had been said to her. The hypnotic quality of the voice had worked to quieten her emotions. No longer did the storm race through her. She was quieter inside herself than she had been for a long time. Could this old hippie in his caftan be right? Should she try to walk tall and live forgetting the slings and arrows cast at her by outrageous bullies?
"You mean you think I've let people define me, and therefore that's who I've become?"
"You're an intelligent girl. It would be a great pity for the world to waste that intelligence. There's not enough of it around."
"I don't know. I just don't know?"
"What don't you know?"
"Whether you're right or not."
"I have said all that I can to dissuade you. I cannot go further. It is you who must decide whether or not you throw yourself off that cliff. But I put it to you that if you are going to you better hurry up, because my friend is more than halfway up the cliff toward you."
&nb
sp; "It hurts so much."
"Living is never easy. We all have to have some courage to face what we must face. You think you have suffered so far? You will find that you have not the first time you lose a loved one to death. The first time your supposed true love proves false. You will find that what you are going through right now is mere aggravation."
"You mean it gets worse?” Marcie moved back towards the precipice.
"Worse and better. Life has its sorrows, but it also has its great joys. It is the balance that makes it worthwhile. If there was no sorrow, how would you know what happiness is? True love and friendship, old people, children, generational change, the great beauty that surrounds you. That's what it's all about, if only you allow yourself to see it."
Marcie decided to live and took Peter's hand when he arrived, and they both descended to the ground. She hugged both of her benefactors who said no more words to her. They went away, walking along the path by the stream, until they went around a bend in the river and disappeared from sight.
Marcie went home and resumed her life. She became interested in things outside of herself. She found a circle of true friends and left the vainglorious fools who had come close to killing her. She studied hard and achieved top grades—finishing as dux of her school—and went on to become an outstanding university student. Her studies culminated in a doctorate at the young age of twenty-two.
Marcie turned her back on the promise of a great academic career in favour of journalism, where she concentrated on bringing stories of injustice and oppression to light. Marcie was the shining light of the Daily Bugle.
She served as a war correspondent in three war zones and saw some terrible things during her time working in that capacity. Although the experiences hardened her, they forced her to look even deeper into herself and to analyse the motives and actions of her fellow human beings. Marcie became a vegetarian in direct response to the bloodshed and killing she observed as a journalist. She believed that no human—a supposed being of the highest intelligence—should kill to live. Her philosophy was as simple as that. She never became cynical and never forgot the deep lessons in humility and caring those two strange men on the riverbank taught her.
She had looked over the precipice into the black abyss and had been pulled back thanks to the efforts of two kindly strangers. Marcie often thought of that dreamlike scene in later years. Surely it must have been a dream. How could the old hippie have known so much of what was going on inside her?
Yes, she knew Jonathan and knew where he was coming from and why. Jonathan was one of the oppressed who had been bullied just as she had been. He had the courage to live with his burden without the intervention of a kindly old hippie and his conservative friend. Or perhaps he lacked the courage to die.
Marcie wondered often if she really would have jumped when the moment came.
She would have.
Chapter 14
The Meeting
Blofield West Town Hall was filled to overflowing as Jonathan entered. Marcie had run a brilliant campaign through the Daily Bugle and on talkback radio. The gist of her campaign was that the greatest religious revival in history was going to take place. It would start at Blofield West Town Hall with the revelation of the Second Coming. The media, in it's usual cynical fashion, ran with the story along the lines of, go to the meeting in Blofield West Town Hall and watch this idiot fall flat on his face.
Bugs and Thumper were very unhappy rabbits. A chorus of complaints came from their cardboard box as Jonathan moved up the crowded aisle towards the stage.
"We don't like this."
"We're scared."
"There's too much noise.” Bugs and Thumper detested noise.
"It's only for a little while and then we'll go home."
"We want to go home now."
Jonathan reached the stage and opened the lid of the box. Both rabbits were huddled in a corner of the box with their noses pressed into one another's fur.
"Don't be frightened. Nothing can happen to you while I'm here."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
"No one's going to eat us, are they?"
"No, no one will eat you. Try to be brave bunnies. I just need you to say a few words into a microphone so everyone will believe you can talk and that you talk to God and give me messages."
"I wish God had never made us talk to people. It causes a lot of trouble,” said Bugs with a frown.
Marcie was at the microphone calling the meeting to order and explaining who Jonathan was and what had happened to him. There were a few hoots, catcalls and whistles from members of the audience who were there to scoff, but the majority were listening. Marcie was a good orator and knew how to work a crowd.
"...and now...” Marcie was building her speech to a climactic introduction of Jonathan. “...and now, ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to a man who has not only found God, but a man who has actually seen him. Ladies and gentlemen, Jonathan Goodfellow and his talking rabbits."
Jonathan moved to the microphone and placed the box containing the rabbits on a stool provided for the purpose. “Ladies and gentlemen.” His voice wavered, and he tried to be as firm as when he rehearsed the speech in his room. “Ladies and gentlemen...."
"And rabbits,” boomed out a voice from the audience. Jonathan looked out into the audience against the glare of the stage lights and saw that it was a red-faced man.
The crowd laughed. Jonathan held up his hands to exhort them to give him a go. “Ladies and gentlemen, I come before you as a man who has seen God."
"He must take us for a bunch of rabbits.” The same voice boomed out. Others joined in with comments, shouts and whistles. The meeting threatened to degenerate into bedlam. Marcie stepped up to the microphone and took charge.
"If you came here to scoff, why don't you piss off down to the front bar of the pub down the road and join the rest of the red necks. You may believe or disbelieve what Jonathan is going to tell you, but give him a hearing and then make up your minds. Or are you too bigoted for that?"
Voices joined in supporting Marcie. There was a large contingent of genuinely religious people in the audience and also a number of journalists who wanted to make mileage out of the meeting. The argument in the auditorium went on, and insults were traded back and forth for some minutes.
Then Marcie swung the crowd Jonathan's way. “Those of you who want to hear what Jonathan has to say shout out aye."
A chorus of ayes echoed around the room.
"Those who don't want to listen shout no."
Several people shouted no in response.
"I put it to you that the ayes have it and say again, if you didn't come to listen then piss off and let those people who did get on with it."
A cacophony of whistling, clapping and stamping of feet greeted this salvo. Jonathan was no orator, but he did his best. He told the audience everything that had happened to him from the moment he had entered the house with the dwarf and met Cowley, Sampson and Old Crone right through to Marcie working out who he was. The crowd was restless throughout his speech. It was not well constructed or to the point. Marcie cursed the fact that she hadn't had the good sense to edit the speech herself. Even those people who had supported Jonathan's right to be heard were feeling as though they had been conned by a madman into giving up an evening of their time. He got their full attention when he told them that the rabbits were in the cardboard box and would address the meeting.
Jonathan took a rabbit in each hand and held them up to the microphone. Both rabbits were terrified.
"Put us down,” shrieked Bugs.
"I don't like this,” wailed Thumper.
Jonathan put them back into the box. “They are very nervous. I'll put the microphone into the box so they can talk to you from there."
"No way,” shouted the red-faced man. “Out in the open, buster. This is a con from start to finish.” Jonathan recognised the voice. It was Jones P. senior. He looked out into the audience and sa
w his red-faced boss and his smirking son sitting about ten rows back.
There was much agitated comment from the audience. Jonathan brought the rabbits out of the box and held them on the stool. He placed the microphone in front of them. The rabbits were shaking, and Jonathan was worried they might have heart attacks. “Just relax. No one's going to hurt you."
"How do you know?” Thumper sounded like she was going to die.
"Just say a few words into the microphone and it'll all be over. You can go back into your box then."
"Hello everyone,” Bugs quavered.
"We talk to God and tell Jonathan what to do,” said Thumper.
Marcie looked across at Jonathan. “I can hear them, but they're not coming through the mike."
"Testing, testing.” Jonathan's voice sounded clearly through the speakers. The crowd was becoming really restless.
"Try again.” Marcie took the mike from Jonathan and held it close to the rabbits’ pink mouths.
"Hello everyone,” Bugs quavered again. The speakers were silent.
"We want to go home now,” said Thumper. Again, the speakers were mute, staring accusingly from their position bolted to the ceiling on each corner of the stage proscenium arch.
"Please God.” Jonathan tried the same tactic as he had at Marcie's place. “Let them hear."
"Put us back in the box,” wailed Bugs, and again nothing was heard in the auditorium.
"Keep talking,” implored Jonathan. “This has got to work."
The rabbits both spoke at once into the mike, as Jonathan again made entreaty to God to let the audience hear. Nothing happened. Slow handclapping had begun, and the audience picked up a chant started by Jones P. senior of, we want rabbits. This was repeated over and over in rhythm with the clapping.