Three letters (short story)

Three letters

Not too long ago I frequented my ole pub down in the centre of town intending to enjoy the quiet of an evening alone, entertaining myself I fear not the least since nothing can be called wrong with it –although there is a stigma about being alone in a public place, as if one has no friends or companions when one happens to be alone in the one instance one is seen. But the night turned out to be a lot more interesting than the regular solitary binge, for I overheard large parts of a conversation between the two men sitting next to me at the bar, which I heard more, at first at least, out of proximity than curiosity, and which I want to retell for reasons I prefer to keep to myself.

As I mentioned just now, it was parts, though sizable in nature, that I heard, so common logic and deduction, as well as my interpretations concerning the rest of the conversation, will have to do to relate the complete story, for it should be a fluent narrative, lest it confuses the simpler souls that never read stories like these.

Though not much time separated my arrival in the pub and the start of the conversation of the two men, I, fortunately, did not tune in while the interaction was halfway through, nor did the short interval deprive me of an opportunity to seat myself comfortably with a cold, refreshing beer, so appropriately gold in color, for as a benign goddess of fluid luxury she may rightfully be described. I sat there for a whole of a couple of minutes, three of them I’d say, before the man next to me was joined by his comrade, and I heard them exchange a singular talk.

‘Why, there you are, Lloyd! I’d expected you much sooner, my most gallant fellow. What kept you from arriving at the time agreed on in advance?’

‘Oh you ask a rapacious question there! Rapacious because of its pronounced eagerness for information, that I will give to you now. I am late, dear Christopher, because…it is in a word… rubbish I had to experience in the little trip I have made to come here.’

‘Tell me, old boy.’

‘Well, you are, of course, acquainted with the law of Murphy, that dark and thus prophetic thinker of yore. Well, today everything followed his well-known law, proven and rejected everyday. I will deprive you of the discomfiture of hearing about my dreadful day up to the point of departure, so I’ll start with when I left home. In a nutshell: my key broke, I tumbled down those marble stairs leading to my door, I landed on a lady whose neck broke my fall, though thankfully I did not break hers, and every mode of transport I tried failed on me.’

‘By Jove, you’re not saying what I think you are?’

‘But I do, I walked over here all the way.’

‘But that is no small matter, I’d say!’

‘I know, my legs feel like they were struck by that most faithful tool, the sledgehammer.’

‘How on Earth did you occupy your mind during your journey?’

‘By cynically thinking of the failures in the near past as less horrible than those that transpired before them.’

‘Worse still than your trip?’

‘A lot worse.’

‘Do tell, if it is not too painful or too much of an inconvenience for you.’

‘Well, it may help to tell, to relieve the burden of memory if you will, but comfort may be hard to find.’

‘I am getting fearfully intrigued.’

‘And rightfully so, my story surpasses that of the most fervently hoping amateur-writer. I suppose, it all begun yesterday, when everything degenerated into an abyss of myopic despair.’

‘Two beers please (directed at the barman), go on then (directed at Lloyd).’

‘I received this letter in the morning, neatly delivered right on my doormat, which displays the ambivalent greeting of: “Well…come, if you must”, a hairy monument to my pessimistic outlook. It was cased in a lovely designed envelope, often the portent of good and assuring news. So I opened it grinningly, for a second even allowing the fantastic hope of having won the lottery, when I gazed disbelievingly at the text printed on a jolly yellowish paper.’

‘And what did it proclaim?’

‘To be short: I have been evicted.’

‘What!’

‘I’d say. Yes, evicted. Out of the house I’ve called home for more than twelve years.’

‘But how?’

‘Well, somehow the bank got wind of me breaking up with Hailey, who, as you know well, is, at this moment, the sole owner of an income and thus, in the capitalist tongue, all that matters in a household. Since I cannot cope with bills presently, I must leave my trusted home, meaning, o irony, even more bills, probably.’

‘They can’t just throw you out… can they? Where would you stay?’

‘That is an interesting question, of which I do not possess the answer outside the proverbial carton box under the bridges near the station.’

‘That’s nonsense!’

‘I told you already all was rubbish, and I meant it. But regardless of my present statue as bum, worse still is what happened next; what was in the second envelope I might say.’

‘What could possibly be worse?’

‘The death of a parent…’

‘No! Your mom or dad…?’

‘Me mum. Only seventy and a heart attack. When I opened that second letter, a little distraught as you may understand, I found in it her death certificate accompanied by an obituary, kindly sent to me by auntie dearest.’

‘What, she couldn’t afford a short phone call?’

‘Of course she could, she does have a nice paycheck. But she does not care too much for me, never did actually. Odd woman –kind of spooky, many opinion sincerely. Anyway, normally I’d relieved my emotions with Hailey, she who dumped me like a stray dog in a cold December night.’

‘A gruesome imagery you display there.’

‘But how could I not, C? Is there anything under the sun like sharing with a lover, which comes closer to equaling all its glorifying warmth?’

‘I guess not…’

‘Right! Nothing under the sun… But I venture to pose the seemingly unbelievable statement: it was not yet the worst that happened, for there was, naturally, always envelope number three not too look forward to.’

‘Something worse than eviction and the untimely death of so close a relative as your mother? Something that is even more offensive than that?’

‘Well, objectively speaking perhaps not, but how can one remain indifferent when one is confronted with one’s impending demise, one’s forthcoming, imminent I can say, end of existence.’

‘End of existence?! I refuse, categorically refuse to believe that! It is impossible, ludicrous even!’

‘And yet ole boy, it is true. The third envelope contained the results of a medical examination I underwent recently. And it is established beyond doubt. Metastasized cancer…in my balls. Oh well, I suppose, I do not use them anyway since Hailey left me…’

--At this point I cracked up, albeit so completely inappropriate and awful; however, I managed to save myself, as well as Lloyd from the awkward situation in which sensitive matter was overheard by a third party and this fact becomes known to all. I did so by pretending it was about a text message I faked reading. The two men gazed uncertain at me, but then continued their chat.--

‘I do not quite know what to say to this flood of bad luck, for I assume that was, bad as it may be, the end of it?’

‘No, not quite. Three letters containing such odious news all delivered at once? I suspected the mailman, a ghastly man, of saving up on them to maximize the impact on delivery. So I went out searching for him, to question him about it as it were. Then, a girl passed by and winked at me lustfully, and so, as any respectable man would have done, I turned my head proportionately to her position relative of me, and had a rather unflattering meeting with a telegraph pole, causing her to look at me, as to see why so many a stranger suddenly erupted in chuckling, with more disdain I ever happened to see in my short life.’

‘Were you alright?’

‘No, a temporary concussion, allowing me to entertain the possibility of viewing the letters as a side effect of my condition, so when I returned to… well what once was my home… you can imagine my sadness upon coming back to reality. So I went to sleep to give my aching head some rest, and woke up just in time to be able to keep the appointment I made with you this day, only to be a unwanted spectator at the concert of unlucky happenstances with which I have already regaled you, and thus be late.’

‘My, a story indeed well suited for the realm of cheap fantasy or realistic horror.’

‘True, very true, needless to say.’

‘I wonder how you managed to get here at all, instead of doing the mature thing and crawl in your bed crying all day long.’

‘That indeed was a long considered option, but I have to keep thinking, and doing stuff lest I go insane, though ironically I suppose, my thoughts may jump-start me into mental instability.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, I started pondering about the meaning, or lack thereof, of it all. Take religion for instance. How can a man who in three days time, starting with the departure of Hailey, loses everything his world needs not to fall apart and to keep it together, still believe in a kind God awaiting in Heaven?’

‘Some, though not me obviously, might propose a test of some sorts you are being subjected to, in order to determine your faith and its strength.’

‘A little superfluous I’d say since even if I were to pass this test, and I’m not saying I would, I would still be terminally ill, with too little time left to do anything with my newfound faith in the Almighty…’

‘You are right. So, I guess you are an atheist now, eh?’

‘Absolutely not, I believe in God staunchly!’

‘But you just said…’

‘I know, but I don’t. I don’t believe in a kind God, but I do believe in an evil God, who can outdo the devil in an attempt to destroy your life. Here, I’ll tell you an even more far reaching contemplation: there is no God in Heaven but there is one in Hell, since there is no Heaven and Satan is God… the only God.’

‘I see –you’re now a Satanist.’

‘A devout one at that, without the need for changed prayers and rituals, because of my God-is-the-Devil-idea.’

‘I don’t think Hailey would’ve liked to hear you talk like that.’

‘I know. Have you by any chance seen her in the last three days?’

‘I have, actually, yesterday if memory serves me. But let’s not get into that right now; it will make you even more bitter.’

‘I’d think I’m not bitter at all, just honest with life, that’s all. I feel… serenity. It is a calm acceptance of the end nearing, a quiet clarity that my ordeal will soon be over.’

‘O Lloyd, nonsense, nonsense I say to you in earnest! What is the prognosis of yur condition?’

‘About two more years left in me…’

‘There you go, just think of all the people with malaria or polio who felt like you a day, an hour even, before a cure was found. Medical research does not stand still, Lloyd, it evolves. And so do you I may add –bodies can become resistant to aids, is that a more terrible disease than cancer, even testicular?’

‘You’re comparing rotten apples with rotten pears, you fruity friend.’

--Again I laughed, still pretending it was about a phone message. Christopher said to me he surmised I had funny things in my inbox, apparently. I told him I had received a couple of jokes, entirely innocent of course, about people from Wales, and was mightily grateful he did not ask me to tell one of them, since I could not have improvised that much. The attention shifted away from me soon however, when Lloyd pounded another cold one.--

‘Easy there, ole boy.’

‘Why, I can do what I want now, no longer am I bound to society’s laws and ethics, I am free now, because I’m terminal.’

‘And impending death makes you free?’

‘No, but conquering the fear of dying does, for it is that final fear, that abundant fear of death which keeps us in check. Allow me kindly to postulate a little more on this.’

‘Go ahead.’

‘Gladly. What keeps one from punching armed men, from disobeying laws, from stretching the basic rules of ordinary conduct? Is it not a fatality of oneself that keeps most people from behaving badly, more so than rules or traditions? Everyday we are in one way or the other reminded of our own mortality, for instance the speed limits or the macabre graveyards. On has to keep oneself under control, lest one shortens one’s expiration date. It is the image of death which, following reverse psychology, keeps us from cutting our wrists as teens when the world no longer seems merrily, when parents become adversarial schoolmasters and schoolmasters become a little too friendly. To quote the most remarkable man of philosophy ever to exist: only when one is alone, one is allowed to be free, for only when one is alone, one is allowed to be oneself, which is necessary for being free…’

‘I knew that one day, that book I gave to you would come back and sharpen its ferocious teeth on my backside.’

‘Perhaps. But from that point of view it becomes markedly easier to stipulate that only in death one is, given the ever present plague that is humanity, completely free. For in order to be free, I would have to be alone, since only then could I be truly myself, and only in being myself I can be free. Since I would never be left alone on this godforsaken planet of the human element, being alone is impossible in life, and thus: so is being free. Since I want to be free of the many burdens I carry, I have to free myself from the world. Does that make any sense to you?’

‘It does, though I find that eerie and not the least comforting.’

‘Comfort –how much comfort could I feel when I die slowly and painfully, when my life is not…’

‘But hold on you act as if dying is natural, as if it is not the exact opposite of life itself!’

‘And why should I not? For what is more natural than dying, that inescapable ending of all that lives. Even though it is the final chapter, it is just another chapter in every persons’ biography. All that lives must die, and shall die too. Unfortunately, somewhere the idea has crept in that it is to be postponed until it no longer can be postponed. This is absurd, if we accept people’s right to live, it should be normal too to have the right to die, or, accept that ending life is a part of the right you have of it.’

‘I guess that’s kind of true, but then again, why rush anything? You have two years ahead of you, part of which at least will not have to be spent in dreadful agony. Why not doo all you wished to do, or wish to do? Vacation? Skydiving? Slap the queen?’

‘They would be… well, fun I guess, but I would constantly be reminded that it would be the last I’d enjoy before I start coughing up blood, which may very well be even more devastating mentally than physically!’

‘Why not try one thing then, one thing you’d like to do and see if you cannot keep up with it?’

‘Because all things remotely enjoyable for an extensive amount of time takes a lot of administration, right?’

‘Right.’

‘Well they might not really like the fact I have no house as of tomorrow, so this, C, is where my joy ends. This is to be my last entertaining evening.’

‘If I had known that beforehand I would have taken you to all prostitutes strolling Main Street, load you up on all drugs outlawed by the House of Cowards, and go on like that until the pleasant illumination of dawn stops us from our nightly adventures.’

‘That would have been nice, but it also would not have made any difference, for I am determinate to act out my last decision in… of life.’

‘Even if it means never seeing Albion defeating wicked France again?’

‘I am afraid not; I have found rest and acceptance in my death, which will go how I’ll choose, and when I’ll choose.’

‘What will you do with your possessions?’

‘I have in fact already put something on paper about that, but I can’t say yet. You see, even though penniless, the costs of the eviction will fall on me to bear. To do so, I’ll let them impound as much as is needed by them to cover their expenditures. Afterwards I will have stuff left but nothing to put it in, so I guess I’ll just take whatever I can carry easily and leave the rest to face the elements and scavengers. If you want, you can come tomorrow and collect certain books you’ve always fancied having.’

‘I might just do that, at least, the very least, to salvage them from the brutes who’ll kick you out and storage them in case you change your mind about them. I think I’ve some spare room in my basement, and it will be no trouble at all to…’

‘Yesterday?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘You said earlier you saw Hailey yesterday, you did!’

‘So?’

‘So, she is in Cork with her parents. I called you yesterday and you were at the office. You said…’

‘Alright, alright, I wasn’t at work. I was in Cork, explaining to her folks why the two of you’ve broken up.’

‘Why would you be the expert on that?’

‘I’m not the expert, Lloyd, I am the reason.’

‘You are the reason of what exactly?’

‘The breaking up part. Hailey left you because she slept with someone else, and regularly too.’

‘You?’

‘Me.’

--For a good second I thought I was about to witness a bar fight caused over, what else, a woman, but the throbbing vein in Lloyd’s neck subsided and he sighed heavily.--

‘I see… well… I guess… since I’m dying anyway, whether by my own hand or cancer, I’d rather have her be with a befriended Judas than God… I mean Satan knows who.’

‘You’re not mad at me?’

‘Not mad, but not all too happy either. As I said I have resigned in my fate, whatever that is, and will not cause trouble or even frown when further unexpected events come upon me.’

‘That’s… very big of you, albeit a tiny bit odd.’

‘Thank you. No really, thank you –it has strengthened my desire and fortified my resolution on whether to live or not.’

‘Well…’

‘I only hope you will be as lenient towards my intentions as I have been to your indiscretion, revealed to me only now, and not have me confined to an asylum for lunatics or something.’

‘Of course I won’t. Over the years you have forgiven me for my many eccentricities and although deeply disturbed by the prospect of losing such a good friend, I will not stand in the way of you executing the decision your deliberations have reached. I accept your logic on three points: first, overcoming fear of dying does make you free; second, death is an undeniable part of life and since your rights include the right to live, you also have the right to die; and lastly, soon you’ll suffer horribly and that you do not deserve.’

‘I thank you.’

‘But I must leave now, for Hailey awaits me, probably naked, and I don’t want to let her down like you did every night. You’ll pick up the tab right, thanks.’

--With that, Christopher got up, patted Lloyd on the back, and left the bar. I tried to discern the emotion prevalent on the latter’s face but could not quite make it out. After a few minutes of subtle observation he suddenly hopped on the seat previously occupied by his “friend”, which was next to mine, and looked at me with a forced display of cheerfulness.--

‘Would you mind drinking with me, stranger, so I can open up to you and discuss the iniquitous ways lives sometimes develop.’

--I looked at him, straight, got up, and, copying Christopher, I patted his back and spoke to him.--

‘What do you think, you pathetic moron, why would I waste my precious time, time I do have in abundance by the way, unlike you, on a dumped and terminally ill loser who does not even respond angrily to his friend’s betrayal of him? I hope soon you will cut your wrists or whatever, for I intent not to spent a mere minute on he whose friendship would last only as long as it would take him to gather the required cowardice to kill himself. I only hope that your suicide will be slow and hurtful, worse still than being devoured by cancerous cells, and then, upon entering Heaven and discovering that in fact it does exist and so does God, be spitted out of there to bade in the fire filled pools of eternal Hell. Goodbye, Lloyd, you retarded weakling.’

--As I left him I emptied the remains of my beverage on his crotch and walked out of the pub to the cheerful sound of sobbing. It turned out to be an entertaining night indeed. I am God. I am Satan…