jikan myshkin
06-11-2009, 09:35 AM
The Thin Man
He was a thin man, a shadow, a wraith, a speck of dust in the ever expanding universe. Whether or not he existed remained to be verified either way. He awoke every morning with his alarm clock. Cleaned his teeth and went to work. On the weekends he would go to the library and wander aimlessly amidst the rows and rows of popular fiction and guides to writing popular fiction. Some days he would frequent a bar where he would enter the throbbing throng of intoxicated people and make his way to the bar. ‘The usual’. The bar tender would smile and nod. He had never been to each bar before but the bar tender always smiled and nodded and prepared the most expensive and most vile drink that he thought he could get away with. He would turn a few heads and a few heads would turn his in turn. Sometimes something would come of it, but either way mattered not to him. After the bar he would leave and walk the darkened streets in a daze before returning home to sleep for a few hours before he had to rise for work.
His life happened, if barely. Everything was systematic, everything was ritualised. All of the chance meetings and events were planned. Nothing would ever change. Until one particular afternoon in late October.
The air was oppressive and the sky was threatening as he wondered the streets after work. He passed a bar lit in neon, his face shining pink and yellow in the window. He entered the bar. It was half empty, still too early for the crowds. A few people of varying ages sat in packs in the booths in the room, most having apparently just finished work. He made his way to the empty bar and ordered ‘the usual’. He was given a blonde lager and took the booth furthest away from the bar. He sat in his solitude watching his change fold itself over, recoiling from its own power for love and destruction. The clouds broke and rain bombarded the window pane next to his head. The bar started to fill, but slowly, the rain was keeping the pilgrims away. A lady came in, in her late twenties, not attractive but then not not attractive. She turned a few heads as she ordered her drink and then moved across the mirrored room and slid into the booth, so that she was sat opposite him.
“oh I hope you don’t mind”
He looked up startled and instantly gazed around the sparsely populated room. And shrugged and went back to staring at his money on the table
“hi, my name’s Jennifer. What’s yours?”
He ignored her so she took out a book and started to read
“oh have you read this book?”
He glanced up irritated and saw on the table “The Beginners Guide to Philosophy”.
He snorted at the book. But would not be drawn into the social contract of conversation. She mistook his silence
“oh, haven’t you read? It’s great. I’m learning how my life is all metaphysical! I think therefore I am!”
At this he laughed cruelly. “you think because you are. Existence comes first. If you did not exist you would not think”
She paused and then smiled patronisingly. “oh you don’t understand! Existence is determined by the mind and self awareness. If you were not aware of yourself you would not exist!”
He looked at her with cold eyes and replied “Have you ever seen an animal?”
“yes”, she replied confused. “well they exist with being inhibited by a sense of self. Animals just are. Nothing more, nothing less. Same as us. Animals belong in the world, we force ourselves upon places where we do not belong” he ended in a meaningful tone. She missed the hint and smiled “so who have you read?”
“no one”, he replied, “no one, I have better things to do”
“such as?” she asked innocently. He was stumped. “well what do you do?” she asked kindly. He slid out of the booth and left the bar. He walked home blazing with anger. Reached his flat and slammed the door shut and only then wondered why he had tears in his eyes.
Saturday morning he went to the library and was moving from shelf to shelf with his usual disinterest when he heard a cheery voice “hey!” he carried on moving. “hey!” the voice sounded again. He carried on moving wishing whomever the voice was addressed to would answer and leave him to his silence. “hey!!” this time the voice was closer and he turned around and saw Jennifer coming towards him. “oh, oh, I’m sorry”, he mumbled embarrassed, “I’m sorry I did not realise you were looking for me”. He caught himself too late. The slip sneaked out. Jennifer seemed not to notice. “Hey” she came up smiling, “I’m so sorry you left as you did last time, I was enjoying our conversation. I wanted to continue it. I thought that you may be here today”. He didn’t ask why she had said this but inside his mind went a mile-a-minute. “so what book are you looking for?”
“none”, he replied truthfully, “if I see a book I will take it, if not I shall leave empty handed, either way I gain as much”
She smiled again “yes, yes I know what you mean. You could be a philosopher!”
He turned and went to walk but she grabbed his arm. The physical contact sent an electric shock through his body. Inadvertently he smiled. She saw this and smiled more, “I’m sorry”, she said sincerely, “I didn’t mean to offend you…”
“can I buy you a coffee?” Jennifer smiled and said “sure, I’d really like that”.
They took their coffee alongside the river that ran through the town. “did you know the river is actually a canal created to appear as a river by the king in the nineteenth century?” he asked her. She lapped up his every word. After their coffee they walked hand in hand alongside the river and he kissed her deeply. She smiled and led him to her flat that was located not far away.
The next morning he woke up, for the first time in his life he felt that he had substance. He felt that he was no longer a thin man, he felt that he finaly had a place where he belonged. He rolled over and kissed her mouth. She smiled and said softly “get out”. He was stunned. she did not need to repeat the words. Sluggishly he found his clothes and left her flat. He walked home alongside the river, his eyes burning.
Chapter 2
His days went back to as they were before. He barely existed in a world that cared not if he existed. He made his weekly trip to buy food. The great thing about supermarkets was that one could be completely anonymous and avoid all social contact. On his way back to his home he would often go to the docks and throw the most superfluous items of his shopping into the water and watch them sink. This was purely a fight against his vanity. He would not unwrap the items so they could not be eaten by things in the water. It was purely a selfish act. The one luxury item he would not throw was honey- the notion of vanity would always win. This he would take home and put in a special place on the shelf and only eat if he felt that he had earnt it. At the current count he had twenty seven pots of unopened honey. His journey home would be frequented by homeless people begging for money. Sometimes he gave, sometimes he ignored them. One time someone spat at his feet and then had the gall to ask for money. He turned around, smiled and kicked the person until they were too weak to move. Luckily it was a deserted back road and no one saw and the police wouldn’t have taken a complaint from the man seriously so his crime was victimless, a bloodless killing that leaves no stain on the conscience.
Over the last few days his work level had dropped and he was suffering from migraines so his work decided that he was to take two months sick leave. His job was affluent enough to afford him pay for the whole duration so he was signed off. Yet his life did not change. He rose early in the morning and wondered the streets and the district libraries. One time he took a seven hour train ride to the capital and then reboarded the train to return. He had no desire to visit the capital. He only did it because he could. The only change in his existence was that he no longer frequented bars. He was through with the inanities of the social contract. He would read a lot and speak never. He started to forget how to use his voice. One day he was buying his shopping when someone grabbed his arm and called his name. He turned around and it was Jennifer. Her eyeliner was running down her cheeks and her eyes were swollen. Her jaw was bruised and her voice broken. He looked at her and went back to packing his shopping into his bag. ‘Please…’ he looked at her. Nodded and let her follow him to the docks where he sat on the bench and gestured to her to speak.
‘i’m sorry…’ he interrupted her with a gesture of his hand that indicated that he wished her hurry up. She swallowed and obliged. ‘please, I need help. That night, was wrong, my husband found out and has been beating me since’, ‘what has it to do with me?’ ‘I need you to help me’ ‘why?’ he asked without a trace of emotion. ‘because’ she sniffed through her tears, ‘because I love you.’ He turned to look at her ‘no you don’t. You love the idea of me, you love the idea of salvation but you do not love me.’
She failed to reply. He, unwillingly followed her gaze and above the docks there was a statue of the Holy Virgin holding open her arms. He followed her inside of the church with his shopping in his hands. She stumbled to the alter and knelt to pray. It was all too much. He started to laugh. She turned to him and asked why but he could not stop laughing. He went up to her, carefully put down his shopping and tore the sleeve of her gown. White track lines streaked her arms. He didn’t need to speak. It was all said without language. He picked up his bags and left. The next day on page thirty-nine of the newspaper her suicide was reported.
Chapter 3
He still had a months worth of leave left. He still wondered the town in a daze. He grew thinner and thinner as the days passed. His grip weakened and his heart disintegrated. He was through with it all. Every time he walked passed a church he spat at the gates. One night he actually grabbed the gates and screamed ‘What God locks his gates to keep his sheep out? What ****ing use is religion if it is kept from those who need it? You should have saved her, she ****ing loved you.’ He sank to his knees, still holding the gates and wept. He could not tell if he was angrier with God or with himself. He knew that God did not exist but then he was unsure if he himself existed. A sickness grew in his stomach and spread to his brain. He lay fetal on the ground as he watched feet pass him by. No one spoke. His infliction was on his face. He started to fade from existence and passed into the nothingness.
He awoke in a police cell, his hands bandaged and an nasty cut on his brow. A police lady tutted at him from the other side of the bars. “why waste your life on junk?’ she asked rhetorically. ‘I wasn’t…’ he tried to reply but she was gone. The gate opened and his keys were returned to him by an indifferent policeman.
He walked out into the bright sunshine that hurt his eyes. He wished he had sunglasses to deflect the gaze. People walked passed the entrance as he descended the steps to the street level. The odd person would glance at him but most were holding their briefcases far to tightly to recognise another being. A lady in a charity t-shirt clutching a clipboard and collection tin swore at him as he stumbled off of the steps into her path. He mumbled his apologises but she was too busy seething at his actions to acknowledge his presence.
The sickness did not go away. He never left his flat. He did not want to intrude onto the world with his sickness. He was sure that most of the people in the world had it in them but he felt that the saying ignorance is bliss applied. He read widely through mail order magazines. He existed through the written word without physical contact. By the time his leave had came to an end he had read to widely and knew too much to be inhibited by the monotonous nature of existence. He resigned his job and then a moment later begged for it back. His project manager was unbothered either way but let him back at reduced salary- any cost cutting measure was to be applauded. His life continued in this cycle until one day he awoke and he was eighty five. He left his flat and walked down the street to the playground that had brought his so much joy all those years ago. He sat on a bench in the sunshine and watched children playing. A ball rolled to his feet and a young child ran up to him and stopped a few feet from him looking scared. ‘don’t be scared’, he said in his old voice. The child ran forward picked up the ball and ran away. This chain of events continued almost like clockwork for the next two weeks. One time the child sat down next to him. ‘hi’ said the child. ‘hello there’ he smiled back slightly unsure. ‘what’s your name?’ he told him and asked the child in turn ‘Theodore Rubens’ the child replied, ‘I like your hat sir’. ‘my hat? Oh, please,’ he handed it to the child, ‘it’s a gift for you’. Theodore’s mother then came over ‘I’m sorry sir if my son is troubling you’, ‘oh not at all!’ he smiled back. She put her head closer to him. ‘why does an old man hang around in a children’s park, you sick man, if you come again I will call the police’.
As he walked home, leaning heavily on his stick he felt moister in his eyes that reminded him of the someone he had loved a long time ago.
Epilogue
I would like to say that there is a happy ending. But that is not completely true. He died from Terberculous a sad lonely man a year later but Theodore grew up to become a lawyer and a writer. Indeed he wrote a biography of a man that he met in a park when he was young, a man who showed him the importance and unimportance of existence, a man who taught him that maturity was simply understanding the permanence and impermanence of everything, a man whose hat went on to be passed from father to son on their eighteenth birthday.
He was a thin man, a shadow, a wraith, a speck of dust in the ever expanding universe. Whether or not he existed remained to be verified either way. He awoke every morning with his alarm clock. Cleaned his teeth and went to work. On the weekends he would go to the library and wander aimlessly amidst the rows and rows of popular fiction and guides to writing popular fiction. Some days he would frequent a bar where he would enter the throbbing throng of intoxicated people and make his way to the bar. ‘The usual’. The bar tender would smile and nod. He had never been to each bar before but the bar tender always smiled and nodded and prepared the most expensive and most vile drink that he thought he could get away with. He would turn a few heads and a few heads would turn his in turn. Sometimes something would come of it, but either way mattered not to him. After the bar he would leave and walk the darkened streets in a daze before returning home to sleep for a few hours before he had to rise for work.
His life happened, if barely. Everything was systematic, everything was ritualised. All of the chance meetings and events were planned. Nothing would ever change. Until one particular afternoon in late October.
The air was oppressive and the sky was threatening as he wondered the streets after work. He passed a bar lit in neon, his face shining pink and yellow in the window. He entered the bar. It was half empty, still too early for the crowds. A few people of varying ages sat in packs in the booths in the room, most having apparently just finished work. He made his way to the empty bar and ordered ‘the usual’. He was given a blonde lager and took the booth furthest away from the bar. He sat in his solitude watching his change fold itself over, recoiling from its own power for love and destruction. The clouds broke and rain bombarded the window pane next to his head. The bar started to fill, but slowly, the rain was keeping the pilgrims away. A lady came in, in her late twenties, not attractive but then not not attractive. She turned a few heads as she ordered her drink and then moved across the mirrored room and slid into the booth, so that she was sat opposite him.
“oh I hope you don’t mind”
He looked up startled and instantly gazed around the sparsely populated room. And shrugged and went back to staring at his money on the table
“hi, my name’s Jennifer. What’s yours?”
He ignored her so she took out a book and started to read
“oh have you read this book?”
He glanced up irritated and saw on the table “The Beginners Guide to Philosophy”.
He snorted at the book. But would not be drawn into the social contract of conversation. She mistook his silence
“oh, haven’t you read? It’s great. I’m learning how my life is all metaphysical! I think therefore I am!”
At this he laughed cruelly. “you think because you are. Existence comes first. If you did not exist you would not think”
She paused and then smiled patronisingly. “oh you don’t understand! Existence is determined by the mind and self awareness. If you were not aware of yourself you would not exist!”
He looked at her with cold eyes and replied “Have you ever seen an animal?”
“yes”, she replied confused. “well they exist with being inhibited by a sense of self. Animals just are. Nothing more, nothing less. Same as us. Animals belong in the world, we force ourselves upon places where we do not belong” he ended in a meaningful tone. She missed the hint and smiled “so who have you read?”
“no one”, he replied, “no one, I have better things to do”
“such as?” she asked innocently. He was stumped. “well what do you do?” she asked kindly. He slid out of the booth and left the bar. He walked home blazing with anger. Reached his flat and slammed the door shut and only then wondered why he had tears in his eyes.
Saturday morning he went to the library and was moving from shelf to shelf with his usual disinterest when he heard a cheery voice “hey!” he carried on moving. “hey!” the voice sounded again. He carried on moving wishing whomever the voice was addressed to would answer and leave him to his silence. “hey!!” this time the voice was closer and he turned around and saw Jennifer coming towards him. “oh, oh, I’m sorry”, he mumbled embarrassed, “I’m sorry I did not realise you were looking for me”. He caught himself too late. The slip sneaked out. Jennifer seemed not to notice. “Hey” she came up smiling, “I’m so sorry you left as you did last time, I was enjoying our conversation. I wanted to continue it. I thought that you may be here today”. He didn’t ask why she had said this but inside his mind went a mile-a-minute. “so what book are you looking for?”
“none”, he replied truthfully, “if I see a book I will take it, if not I shall leave empty handed, either way I gain as much”
She smiled again “yes, yes I know what you mean. You could be a philosopher!”
He turned and went to walk but she grabbed his arm. The physical contact sent an electric shock through his body. Inadvertently he smiled. She saw this and smiled more, “I’m sorry”, she said sincerely, “I didn’t mean to offend you…”
“can I buy you a coffee?” Jennifer smiled and said “sure, I’d really like that”.
They took their coffee alongside the river that ran through the town. “did you know the river is actually a canal created to appear as a river by the king in the nineteenth century?” he asked her. She lapped up his every word. After their coffee they walked hand in hand alongside the river and he kissed her deeply. She smiled and led him to her flat that was located not far away.
The next morning he woke up, for the first time in his life he felt that he had substance. He felt that he was no longer a thin man, he felt that he finaly had a place where he belonged. He rolled over and kissed her mouth. She smiled and said softly “get out”. He was stunned. she did not need to repeat the words. Sluggishly he found his clothes and left her flat. He walked home alongside the river, his eyes burning.
Chapter 2
His days went back to as they were before. He barely existed in a world that cared not if he existed. He made his weekly trip to buy food. The great thing about supermarkets was that one could be completely anonymous and avoid all social contact. On his way back to his home he would often go to the docks and throw the most superfluous items of his shopping into the water and watch them sink. This was purely a fight against his vanity. He would not unwrap the items so they could not be eaten by things in the water. It was purely a selfish act. The one luxury item he would not throw was honey- the notion of vanity would always win. This he would take home and put in a special place on the shelf and only eat if he felt that he had earnt it. At the current count he had twenty seven pots of unopened honey. His journey home would be frequented by homeless people begging for money. Sometimes he gave, sometimes he ignored them. One time someone spat at his feet and then had the gall to ask for money. He turned around, smiled and kicked the person until they were too weak to move. Luckily it was a deserted back road and no one saw and the police wouldn’t have taken a complaint from the man seriously so his crime was victimless, a bloodless killing that leaves no stain on the conscience.
Over the last few days his work level had dropped and he was suffering from migraines so his work decided that he was to take two months sick leave. His job was affluent enough to afford him pay for the whole duration so he was signed off. Yet his life did not change. He rose early in the morning and wondered the streets and the district libraries. One time he took a seven hour train ride to the capital and then reboarded the train to return. He had no desire to visit the capital. He only did it because he could. The only change in his existence was that he no longer frequented bars. He was through with the inanities of the social contract. He would read a lot and speak never. He started to forget how to use his voice. One day he was buying his shopping when someone grabbed his arm and called his name. He turned around and it was Jennifer. Her eyeliner was running down her cheeks and her eyes were swollen. Her jaw was bruised and her voice broken. He looked at her and went back to packing his shopping into his bag. ‘Please…’ he looked at her. Nodded and let her follow him to the docks where he sat on the bench and gestured to her to speak.
‘i’m sorry…’ he interrupted her with a gesture of his hand that indicated that he wished her hurry up. She swallowed and obliged. ‘please, I need help. That night, was wrong, my husband found out and has been beating me since’, ‘what has it to do with me?’ ‘I need you to help me’ ‘why?’ he asked without a trace of emotion. ‘because’ she sniffed through her tears, ‘because I love you.’ He turned to look at her ‘no you don’t. You love the idea of me, you love the idea of salvation but you do not love me.’
She failed to reply. He, unwillingly followed her gaze and above the docks there was a statue of the Holy Virgin holding open her arms. He followed her inside of the church with his shopping in his hands. She stumbled to the alter and knelt to pray. It was all too much. He started to laugh. She turned to him and asked why but he could not stop laughing. He went up to her, carefully put down his shopping and tore the sleeve of her gown. White track lines streaked her arms. He didn’t need to speak. It was all said without language. He picked up his bags and left. The next day on page thirty-nine of the newspaper her suicide was reported.
Chapter 3
He still had a months worth of leave left. He still wondered the town in a daze. He grew thinner and thinner as the days passed. His grip weakened and his heart disintegrated. He was through with it all. Every time he walked passed a church he spat at the gates. One night he actually grabbed the gates and screamed ‘What God locks his gates to keep his sheep out? What ****ing use is religion if it is kept from those who need it? You should have saved her, she ****ing loved you.’ He sank to his knees, still holding the gates and wept. He could not tell if he was angrier with God or with himself. He knew that God did not exist but then he was unsure if he himself existed. A sickness grew in his stomach and spread to his brain. He lay fetal on the ground as he watched feet pass him by. No one spoke. His infliction was on his face. He started to fade from existence and passed into the nothingness.
He awoke in a police cell, his hands bandaged and an nasty cut on his brow. A police lady tutted at him from the other side of the bars. “why waste your life on junk?’ she asked rhetorically. ‘I wasn’t…’ he tried to reply but she was gone. The gate opened and his keys were returned to him by an indifferent policeman.
He walked out into the bright sunshine that hurt his eyes. He wished he had sunglasses to deflect the gaze. People walked passed the entrance as he descended the steps to the street level. The odd person would glance at him but most were holding their briefcases far to tightly to recognise another being. A lady in a charity t-shirt clutching a clipboard and collection tin swore at him as he stumbled off of the steps into her path. He mumbled his apologises but she was too busy seething at his actions to acknowledge his presence.
The sickness did not go away. He never left his flat. He did not want to intrude onto the world with his sickness. He was sure that most of the people in the world had it in them but he felt that the saying ignorance is bliss applied. He read widely through mail order magazines. He existed through the written word without physical contact. By the time his leave had came to an end he had read to widely and knew too much to be inhibited by the monotonous nature of existence. He resigned his job and then a moment later begged for it back. His project manager was unbothered either way but let him back at reduced salary- any cost cutting measure was to be applauded. His life continued in this cycle until one day he awoke and he was eighty five. He left his flat and walked down the street to the playground that had brought his so much joy all those years ago. He sat on a bench in the sunshine and watched children playing. A ball rolled to his feet and a young child ran up to him and stopped a few feet from him looking scared. ‘don’t be scared’, he said in his old voice. The child ran forward picked up the ball and ran away. This chain of events continued almost like clockwork for the next two weeks. One time the child sat down next to him. ‘hi’ said the child. ‘hello there’ he smiled back slightly unsure. ‘what’s your name?’ he told him and asked the child in turn ‘Theodore Rubens’ the child replied, ‘I like your hat sir’. ‘my hat? Oh, please,’ he handed it to the child, ‘it’s a gift for you’. Theodore’s mother then came over ‘I’m sorry sir if my son is troubling you’, ‘oh not at all!’ he smiled back. She put her head closer to him. ‘why does an old man hang around in a children’s park, you sick man, if you come again I will call the police’.
As he walked home, leaning heavily on his stick he felt moister in his eyes that reminded him of the someone he had loved a long time ago.
Epilogue
I would like to say that there is a happy ending. But that is not completely true. He died from Terberculous a sad lonely man a year later but Theodore grew up to become a lawyer and a writer. Indeed he wrote a biography of a man that he met in a park when he was young, a man who showed him the importance and unimportance of existence, a man who taught him that maturity was simply understanding the permanence and impermanence of everything, a man whose hat went on to be passed from father to son on their eighteenth birthday.