Me
Before
Them
Before
Them
JANVIER CHOUTEU-CHANDO
TISI BOOKS
NEW YORK, RALEIGH, LONDON, AMSTERDAM
PUBLISHED BY TISI BOOKS
This book is dedicated to my young nephews and nieces: Pauline Michelle Chando, Mathias Jr. Chouteu Chando, Nathania Chando, Joseph C. Chando, Aiden-Samuel Tchwenko-Fomenky, and Samantha Tchwenko.
My deepest, warmest, and everlasting thanks to my entire family: Special attributes to my nephews and nieces; and special appreciation to my mothers (Theresia Njomo and Elizabeth Masidiso).
“People with scars tend to be better survivors in this rough world of man.”
―JOHN T. CHANDO
The trip to the convent grounds was supposed to be a long and grueling fifteen-hour drive through lush and breath-taking forests, imposing mountains and a vast expanse of grassland. However, my father made a detour that day, turning it into a three-day journey. My parents must have decided beforehand that it would be a bright idea to visit the home of my father’s maternal uncle, which is a nine-hour drive away from the convent, but they only let me know about it just before we veered off the highway.
Even though the first leg of the drive was short and tiring, it gave me the opportunity to ponder my fate and come to terms with some of the My granduncle's place is a beautiful palatial residence of some sort―big enough to house a battalion or two and comfortable enough to host real figures. It is about twenty miles from downtown St. Peters, which makes it more than accommodating for fresh-blooded fellows with a deep love for city life. My father even admitted afterwards that its comfortable location on the outskirts of St. Peters made most people think it falls within the municipal boundaries of the town.
Uncle Joe, as everyone in the older generations of the family fondly called my paternal granduncle, is an amicable person. In fact, he cuts the figure of a rugged character in a ranch anywhere in the USA, Brazil, Argentina, Australia or South Africa. That does not mean he should be judged entirely by his outward appearance. I say so because despite his boisterous nature, sweeping character, piercing gaze and a gait that could be called a swagger, Granduncle Joe is a warm person inside. He is one of those rare souls who are apt to leave an indelible impression on you long after you have met them.
Granduncle Joe received us in a raucous manner that evening. Then he commissioned one of his female workers to get five rooms ready for us and made her promise to have dinner on the table for our yearning stomachs within an hour and a half or two.
My anticipation of the meal was high. In fact, I was very famished. Even the snacks and drinks provided by the servant could not dispel my desire for a heavy meal. However, I carried on thereafter like someone not anxious about the dinner.
By delighting us with his inquiries, stories and jokes in an effusive manner, Granduncle Joe helped take my mind off food most of the time. In fact, he acted like a true host anxious to give his guests a good time.
My granduncle spent the next hour showing us around the ranch before he led us back to the house, an experience I found to be far more interesting, being the indoor person I was. He lived alone in the main house, while some of his workers occupied the chalet behind. Still, the whole place lacked the eeriness or desolateness that seems to be prevalent in many farmhouses around the country.
His house, which must have been built for a large family of half a dozen to ten children or even more, has a welcoming feel all around it. I found out that all his five children grew up appreciating the place, even though they now live in neighboring cities, which though not far away, still give them enough distance to live their lives without their father snorting around all the time. I say snorting around because Granduncle Joe is over-protective and thinks it is his responsibility to see to it that all the descendants of his parents make it in life, protected from the dangers lurking around society.
Unlike Granduncle Joe's brothers, nieces, nephews and their children, his children truly prefer metropolitan life to the drag and serenity of life in the countryside. In short, they love visiting the ranch, though they do not find the idea of making it home appealing at all. I guess they grew tired of the place. After all, they were born there and spent much of their childhood and adolescence in this idyllic setting. “These are the portraits of my wife Susan, and of the children and grandchildren,” my granduncle intoned, “She was a lovely lady. Susan spoiled your father during those memorable days that he spent with us at the ranch. God bless your soul, Susan! It was hard for us all when she too passed away. Hmm! We have more than a ranch here, you know. Please, don’t get me wrong. I spend more time at the farm than with those snorting creatures. A word of advice: do not take my choice of words seriously. The creatures I am talking about are the cattle and horses, and not some of the critters who turn up every now and then to see their parents or relatives working here. Should we include some of the hands in the list as well? You know what I mean, don’t you? Farmers are fascinating if you happen to meet the right ones. A farmer becomes unbearable if he is not enlightened. I mean, if he fails to pay attention to the wider world, to the secret of books and other creative endeavors. You know what I mean, don’t you?” he said and winked at me in a conspiratorial manner.
I nodded and almost choked in my effort not to chortle. “I understand what you mean, grandee,” I said in a slightly stuttering voice.
“Huh, Tania! Your father loved it here when he was a boy,” Granduncle Joe switched all of a sudden. “That’s for sure. He had wonderful moments here with his cousins. They were hooligans, all of them. They often made me wish I had a daughter. Having just one daughter would have made me happier than the king of Scotland. My nephews and sons put me through so much in this ranch. When we compare their time and our time growing up here, I get the feeling that our lives were serene like those of monks in a monastery. Look at Chris, my second boy. He resembles your father a lot, doesn’t he? Your father’s mother and I used to look alike in so many ways. Here is a little secret: My kid sister grew up as one hell of a fighter. If we take into account the fact that she was born between seven boys, we can say with certainty that she had no other choice, you know! Lucas couldn’t beat her in a fight until she married your grandfather.”
“How is Uncle Lucas doing?” my father interjected.
“Waxing strong and being himself, if you know what I mean,” Granduncle Joe said, shrugged, and then continued, “Tania, Lucas is the last born of our mother. God bless your soul, Mama. Over here is the family tree. My siblings contributed family pictures featuring their wives and children. That’s how this family tree looks like with family photos of all the branches and their separate members. Don’t you think it looks amazing? I will update it to include your generation. What else was I about to say, my dear Tania? Oh! Make yourself at home. Trample on any twinge of boredom or other feelings of displeasure threatening to disturb your peaceful time here. Wow, I have another surprise for you.”
“It is true,” I said, edged closer and peered intently at the clearly laid out photographs, “Daddy and Uncle Christopher do look alike. Their resemblance can easily fool an outsider into thinking that they are brothers or cousins from identical twins.”
“You are right. My daddy even claimed that his blood would stand out anywhere. Come on Tania. Our family has many secrets. I want you to know some of them. I am talking about funny family secrets, you know. Like your father here who...”
“Please, Uncle Joe, don’t do that again,” my father interjected with a timid chortle.
“Don’t I always promise never to embarrass you in front of your wife and children?” Granduncle Joe said and laughed, throwing his head back in an elated manner.
“Prove me wrong,” my father said with a smile.
“Tania, a story goes around in the family that your father promised to marry his cousin.”
“Dad! Tell me it is not true.” I blabbered in disbelief.
My father shrugged, but did not utter a word.
“I wasn’t around at the time it all happened. All the kids, your uncles and aunts, that is, were spending the long summer holidays here when your father turned into a Casanova overnight. I was away doing business or something when my brother, your Uncle Philip, who is two years younger than me phoned one morning and told me about it. I could hardly understand what he was talking about because he recounted the story in an excited manner like someone who just won the lottery. She was his daughter, you know. Your dad was six years old at the time, and she was about fifteen. All of us laughed about it.”
“She was my most considerate cousin. She took care of me and also did a good job of protecting me from the others. Take this as a confession, Tania. Your father wasn’t much of a fighter. I spent much of my time clinging to her skirt,” my father said and looked at me with an amused glint in his eyes.
“Really!”
“I guess you now understand why I thought she could be the best wife for me. How was I supposed to know that cousins aren’t supposed to marry cousins, being as young as I was at the time,” my father said and guffawed?
“It was beautiful, those days we all thought we could create our own world here,” Granduncle Joe told his nephew with a nod, “We usually had our children at the ranch during the long holidays. Hmm! It was fun watching them glow with delight as they played around and bonded. You know, whenever I recall those days, I tell myself that it was a mistake we didn’t try hard enough to extend that tradition to our grandchildren. Life made much sense back then. As a matter of fact, your grandmother was the force behind those family reunions. Oh, I miss her. Your mother was her mother’s daughter after all. Never saw another pair of women with such strong family values. Things were never the same after we lost those two women of the family,” my granduncle said and rested his arm on my father’s shoulder.
“I know, I know,” my father muttered somberly, and then rubbed his eyes with his fingers. “Uncle Joe, it has been ages since I last heard of Helen. In fact, I know very little about her life after her first daughter’s wedding.”
“Haven’t heard from her myself, lately, that is. I guess she is keeping a low profile.”
“What for?”
“Some people go through introspective phases in their lives, you know. And they do so keeping themselves incommunicado until they feel ready to reengage with families and friends.”
“She is a great soul.”
“Helen is now a grandmother and tries to pass around as an English lady,” My granduncle said, and then looked at me with a smile. “Your Auntie Helen is a sensualist just like you, even though she is more of the classic sensualist, the types you read about in the stories of the ancient Greeks. She stayed true to her name, cuckolded her fiancé, and then ran off to England with an artist.”
“He was a dilettante,” my father offered in a slightly unpleasant tone, giving me the impression that he was uncomfortable with the fact that his uncle stirred a memory many in the family wished had never existed.
“A dilettante you say. The bugger was lucky he had an inheritance to fall back on. That is why he bounced back from his impossible dreams. Your aunt practically took over his welfare during those years he went downhill. Uh-huh, she single-handedly raised two boys and two girls like the true matriarch her grandmother and her aunt taught her to be. She had three children you know. Any idea who the second boy is?” my granduncle asked with a playful smile on his face.
“Her adopted child, I guess?”
“Come on now, Tania! You can be smarter than that,” my granduncle said with a laugh, “The other boy was her husband.”
“Come on, grandee!”
“Why don’t we focus on the logic? I am trying to say something sensible here. With marriage, the birth of her three children and the early fights against bankruptcy, her husband virtually lost whatever romantic flair he had left in him. He became a lost soul in the affairs of the world, which made his wife step up, take control and save their family. My sensualist niece lost more than the artistic spice for her soul. She practically lost a figure she could lean on as a true husband. I mean someone as reliable as her father and uncles. Don’t you agree with me that my brothers and I have strong shoulders?”
“Your granduncle wants a word of praise,” my father said to me.
“We are tough, aren’t we, Tania? Ha, ha, ha...ha! There might be exceptions, though,” Granduncle Joe said, moving his shoulders in a playful manner.
“Helen’s husband developed a weak heart too,” my father chipped in, and then turned around and nodded at me. “That is the main reason why your Auntie Helen has a hard time taking some time off to be away from him. Even a week or two is too much for her to dedicate to herself,” he added and shrugged.
“He is a lucky man. The damn fellah was a sensualist. As a matter of fact, he was an excessively indulgent fellow at that. Good God, he still is; if you know what I mean. Our women, starting with my mother, began as sensualists, but they ended up being the backbones of the families they started.”
“And the men?” my mother asked. I had almost forgotten she existed.
“The men, the men, the men are a different case altogether! Hah! I told you before that we earned our reputation as tough breeds, didn’t I? The men of this family can handle any situation,” my granduncle said in a cheerful voice, and then held my mother’s left shoulder. “Please allow me to show you our special collection of cowboy hats,” he added, before holding out his left arm to my mother who took it with enthusiasm.
“It would be a pleasure,” she offered, radiating charm.
We trailed them as they walked arm-in-arm, chatting heartily and laughing merrily.
“This is a Stetson hat from the last century,” Granduncle Joe began his presentation, “My grandfather claimed Stetson wore this one while panning for gold in Colorado. That one is a Stetson too. In fact, this hat falls into the category of Stetsons. The brown hat over there is in the Stetson group too. You can see for yourself that our family had a thing about Stetson hats of all colors and shapes. Even your husband had a knack of wearing this one back in the day. Now, let’s move away from the Stetsons and talk about something else.”
“Fascinating,” my mother commented with a smile.
“Thank you, Helen. Okay, let’s look at my favorite. I developed a special liking for wide-brimmed hats, especially for the Australian Akubra. Lucas, my younger brother, loved that hat over there. I used to call him an akubra fedora stud. He was a dandy when he was in his twenties. In fact, he was a lady’s man. Some of the hats he wore are over there. Ah, my younger brothers! Back in the day, Lucas hardly visited the town on weekends without wearing his special Bogart hat. He enjoyed dressing up like Frank Sinatra, something the young ladies admired. Now, what do you say about this slouch hat? We also call it a Kossuth hat. The Australians are the ones who popularized it. In fact, even mountain peasants had something going for hats. The Gurkhas of Nepal loved hats too, you know. They did an ingenious job coming up with this variant. It is basically the fusing of two slouch hats into one. Oh, here is my lovely sombrero, a present from John Wayne himself. We also have a Bicorne, the type worn by Napoleon during his conquest of Europe. What about this conical hat or that kolpit? Anthony, my second younger brother, liked the fez and karakul. Over there are the trilby, spodik, homburg and conical hats. Please forgive the mind of an old man for taking you around in his fanciful blabber about hats. Dinner should be ready by now.”
“It is okay, Granduncle Lucas. I enjoyed the presentation,” I said with a cheerful note in my voice.
“Thanks, Tania. You remind me of my sister in so many ways. Okay, please accompany me to the dining table. Oh, we have more cars outside. I didn’t tell you Paul and Lucas would be here with us tonight, or did I?” my granduncle said, looked at me and shrugged.
And true to his words, his younger brother and my father’s older brother met us at the door. We greeted them heartily and Uncle Paul and touched shoulders, which is our signature greeting. Granduncle Lucas and Uncle Paul, as I called them respectively, were soul mates driven by peculiar impulses and an inclination to follow their instincts, which are stronger than those of the other men in the family.
Granduncle Joe led us to the table and pulled the chair for my mother to sit down in. I applauded him for his courteous nature and received a gentle pat on the back of my head for that.
The food was good. For a cowboy, my granduncle served more vegetables than I had anticipated. However, I settled for the steak instead and loved every bit of it. Even as we ate, we carried on with the conversation at the table in a boisterous manner, an exercise that certainly speeded up digestion. The commonplace small talk had an intellectual depth too and was so enjoyable that I lost track of time. However, it later dawned on me that my father was the quietest of all the four men, even though he was at his most outgoing self, talking to his uncles and brother that night. This amazing side of his personality must have stirred pleasant emotions in my bosom because tears swelled in my eyes in an instant. My father’s family was so natural. This was especially true of the male members, known for their outgoing nature and other appealing qualities.
“Boys, I need your view on this,” Granduncle Joe said with a lit-up face, coughed lightly, and then leaned on his right elbow at the commanding end of the table.
“We are listening,” Granduncle Lucas offered.
“It is about your buddy! Hmm, hmm, hmm! By buddy, I mean your uncle Lucas here. Okay! Lucas and I had this argument a while ago about freedom, trust and betrayal. My view is that man is freest when he has nothing to hide, and when he trusts those around him. The people in his circle could be his friends or his family. I consider internal freedom to be the abandonment of oneself to the trusting hands of those he holds dearly. It counts more than external freedom, which are the things society allows a man to do. Your uncle here objects to that view with a counter view of his own that man is not free at all if the society he lives in―be it a village, town, city or country―is not free.”
“I still hold onto that view,” Uncle Lucas said.
“Hah! Tania agrees with me. I can see it in her eyes. He is wrong, isn’t he?”
“I don’t want to take sides,” I stuttered.
“Let’s take the case of a child, the freest soul in this complicated world of man, and perhaps the most trusting creature you can ever think of.” Granduncle Joe carried on, “Children will find happiness even in the most restrictive external environments imaginable. Why do you think that is the case?”
“Tell us,” Granduncle Lucas replied.
“My answer is simple. A child’s world as an infant revolves around its mother or the caretaker figure in the child’s life. She would feed this hypothetical male child, wash him, cloth him, soothe him and make him fall asleep. This infant trusts his mother or caretaker. The little one has no fear in the world whenever she is around him. But that is not all about it. The infant has to grow. As he becomes a toddler, his world expands to accommodate all the other people his mother or caretaker allows into his life. This usually involves the child’s father, siblings, relatives and the friends of the family. This young child extends his overwhelming trust to this inner circle, which helps to increase his sense of confidence in dealing with the outside world. Not until the age of four, five or even six does the child become conscious of certain realities that haunt man. However, before that age of true consciousness, the child is genuinely free. He knows little or nothing about societal laws, restrictions and biases. Now, let’s take a critical look at an adult. An adult is not truly free if he has completely lost the child in him. A man puts himself in shackles the moment he loses his trust in humanity, especially his own family and those friends who by conventional wisdom would hardly betray him,” Granduncle Joe articulated in an excited voice.
“Ha, ha…ha!” Granduncle Lucas laughed. “Didn’t Jesus Christ experience the ultimate betrayal from the hands of Judas Iscariot, a disciple he trusted and even entrusted with their finances?”
Granduncle Joe shook his head in a bemused manner, looked at us for support, and then nodded as if it dawned on him only then that his nephews did not want to take sides in their debate. He flashed us a knowing smile, and then faced his younger brother again.
“There you go, Lucas. Jesus Christ’s trusting nature was at the center of everything that made his short life so exceptional, so rich and so emulative. He opened his soul to the world and gave man the key to salvation. So, tell me, my dear brother. What is there for us to regret about his life if out of a moment of stupidity or greed, a certain soul Jesus Christ opened his heart to, decided to let him down?”
“It still doesn’t change the fact that Judas Iscariot betrayed him. Jesus Christ trusted people he shouldn’t have put his confidence in.”
Granduncle Joe was aghast for a moment. “Why am I even arguing with you? Paul, he became an anarchist when he was just a boy. He never stopped being one ever since, even if he tries to deny it now. He has a distorted notion of freedom. His philosophy on liberty or unrestrained power hinges on his notion that he is free only when he is unhindered in the pursuit of his will or when he is exempted from external control, regulations or interference. Or, let’s say when nobody stops him from using whatever he wants to use. It is an amazing concept or idea, but crazy all the same. Do you believe a man is free only when nothing or nobody interferes in his effort to find happiness?”
“I don’t know,” my father responded.
“Let me chip in something here,” Uncle Paul said with a light cough, “There is a great deal of significance in this concept of humility, obscurity and salvation for an aberrational mind that feeds on glamour, wealth or power. Give it a serious thought,” he added, and then nodded lightly as if arranging his thoughts.
“Give what a serious thought?” my father asked with a puzzled expression on his face.
“Take the case of a man who is blessed with wealth, power and glamour, but who is cursed with a base mind. Do you have any idea how he would prefer to live his last days if he knows that his ultimate fate in the afterlife would be a reflection of his acts of devilry?”
“What do you mean by ultimate fate?’ my father asked again.
“This is what I mean. What if he knows that he would face retribution or harsh punishments in the afterworld for his sinful past as an earthly mortal?”
“Expatiate on that, please,” Granduncle Joe said with a smile.
“Okay, let’s say he also has the option to repent and become a man of faith, a disciple of humanity and an advocate of love for life in its natural goodness. However, in order to accomplish that splendid afterlife, he must repent and become a slavishly humble person by subjecting himself to unimaginable series of deprivations. Now, what path do you think he would choose?”
“You tell us,” Granduncle Joe suggested again.
“Do you think he would opt for change and pay the price of humility, obscurity and salvation, knowing that he risks being seen as someone who lost his sanity? Or, do you think he would wholeheartedly accept eternal damnation, knowing that society would regard him as a tough and unyielding character, not out of love, but out of respect or fear?”
Quiet reigned in the room for a moment. I looked around to find the other men of the family fidgeting in their seats. My mother was regarding Granduncle Joe now with dimmed eyes, her hands held together in an upright position, supporting her chin, while her elbows were resting on the table.
“Most men would accept eternal damnation than a life of humility, obscurity and salvation,” my mother said.
“You have a point there, Helen. At one point or the other, the most oppressive and bloodthirsty of tyrants arrived at that crossroads in their lives. How many of them do you think accepted the horrors of their ways and repented?” Granduncle Lucas said.
Nobody said a word for about a minute. The atmosphere was so subdued that I looked around wondering what it was all about. However, the puzzled expressions on the faces of the other men told me in an instant that they did not get the point my dear uncle was trying to make. So, when Granduncle Joe broke the silence with a cough, I knew I was not the only person who got taken aback by his riddle.
“Tell us,” my mother intoned, looking at Granduncle Joe with puzzled eyes.
“Hardly a decimal,” my father offered.
“You are right,” Uncle Paul acceded.
“Good! Damn libertarianism. It is difficult to say you are free when you lack inner sovereignty. In fact, there is no way you can be. Let’s call it inner peace,” Granduncle Joe said in a raucous voice.
“I think you are right, uncle,” my father opined.
“I am right! There is no reason why I should be wrong. A man who is truly free acts with conscious self-control in a constructive and balanced manner, and also in a logical direction. My brother doesn’t act that way. Let’s dwell a little on this aspect of the history of the Achiricahua Apaches to give more credence to my position. They produced three great leaders in the last century. The first was Mangas Coloradas. Our country honored him by naming a state, Colorado. After Mangas Coloradas’s death, his nephew Cochise rose to prominence and proved that the Apaches could be thinkers too, that they could come up with ideas on how to move forward in ways that would advance humanity. Today, a district in Arizona bears his name as testimony to his outstanding statute. Geronimo succeeded Cochise and built a reputation of his own. All three men trusted white people and offered white men their hand of friendship. Now, what did they get in return? Our folks betrayed them. However, who did they fight against; who did they stand up to in their bid to maintain their honor? Tell me, Tania.”
“I don’t know,” I said, feeling strangely embarrassed.
“They fought only those white men who sought to destroy them and their people. They fought people who had no qualms dishonoring others and depriving them of their freedom and liberty. It is Cochise I admire the most. He made a white man his trusted friend and bared his heart to him, exposing himself in ways few leaders are apt to do. His white friend glimpsed or understood his vulnerabilities, though not in the manner Jesus Christ showed the essence of life to Judas. The soft side of Cochise’s soul is what most leaders would consider their Achilles Heels. Imagine Cochise’s apprehension when the white fellow said to him, ‘Don’t you think I can betray you? After all, you are fighting my people.’ Now, what was Cochise’s reply? Ha, ha…ha!” Granduncle Joe laughed.
“Tell us,” I mimicked my mother this time around.
“Cochise laughed at this fellow instead and bared another portion of his heart to him in a manner that gives further credence to his great mind and that explains why he occupies a unique place in our history.”
“How can you explain that?” I asked.
“‘It would be an honor,' he told his white friend, ‘If I find myself dying because you betrayed me. If that were the case, I would accept death with no regrets, knowing that I wasn’t foolish at all. Posterity will judge you instead as a foolish man for betraying the man who entrusted you with the weapon that could kill him.’”
“He had an interesting way of looking at things!” I offered.
“I think what he said was insightful.”
“It was very insightful,” Uncle Paul said.
“Now, what have you got to say about that great American legend?” Granduncle Joe asked, licking his lips.
“He was a splendid fellow,” Uncle Paul offered.
“You are right he was a fine fellow. That is the secret of trust. What did the Native American leader do when the white man found himself at his mercy at one point? Cochise treated him humanely; Cochise accepted him in a heartfelt manner. The point I am trying to make here is that putting yourself at the mercy of someone who was once at your mercy is a strength, not a weakness. It is a manifestation of trust and not a sign of feebleness. Cochise went on to tell his pale-faced friend that if he were to die in the hands of a stranger, he would not forgive himself for being so careless.”
“Did you say pale-faced?” my father asked with a laugh.
“Back in the day, native Americans referred to white people as pale-faced. Now, let’s go back to Cochise’s test of trust. Why distrust those around you, and then expose your vulnerabilities to strangers the next moment, all in the pursuit of freedom? Why do that in pursuit of a distorted notion of freedom that ridicules you to the outside world? Lucas, my dear brother, that is how your pursuit of freedom looks like,” Granduncle Joe said, got up from his chair and sat by his brother’s side, “Tell me, Lucas,” he urged.
“What is there to tell? Besides, what exactly do you want to know,” Granduncle Lucas asked calmly.
“The depth of your heart is what I am talking about. Remember you promised to bare it today. Didn’t you complain a couple of times about your wife Elizabeth and the children? Didn’t you voice your misgivings about them?”
Granduncle Lucas hesitated for a moment before responding with a shrug. “I did!”
“Then be forthcoming. You were a staunch believer of free choice when you were growing up. You pursued your distorted notion of freedom and happiness in the manner of a real anarchist. You never showed the contents of your pockets to your wife and children, but you bared those same pockets to strangers for the momentary joy brought about by carousal, unnatural love and stupid generosity. The truth is that you gave your trust to people whose trustworthiness you doubted, yet you failed to give your trust to your family whom you found trustworthy. Yes, my dear brother, you never acknowledged the fact that your wife and children are honest people.”
“Why are you making everything about me?”
“Listen, my dear brother, listen to the caring words of a loving brother. You took the goodness of your family for granted. You scrutinized their every action in an effort to find even the minutest faults that other people tend to ignore. My dear brother, you avoid thinking about it, that your faultfinding front against your family is an expression of your contempt for those noble souls. I think you enjoyed it when others let you down. It is as if their actions reassured you that people exist out there in the world who are worse than you are. What about your wife and children? Hmm…Hmm, hmm, hmm! You are not comfortable living with the fact that they are better souls.”
“I am giving you the opportunity to criticize me. So, for God’s sake, go ahead and find fault with me if you think I stand to benefit from the whole process. Well, even as you proceed with your carefully-worded criticism of me, remember that there is a fine line between being critical of someone and being scornful of that person.”
“I know,” Granduncle Joe said and chuckled, rubbing his hands together and sucking his mouth as he did so. “What is it you really want to know?”
“Phew! What do you want me to say? I am like any regular man, you know! I am like any other father out there in the world. I am someone who is worth his salt. The simple point I am trying to make here is that I want to be treated for what I am worth. I want my rightful place in my family as a father whose vision charted the path that brought success to his home and family. I don’t think my wife and children recognize the positive role I played in their lives.”
“So, in a way, you do not consider yourself a happy man. Is that what you are trying to tell me?”
“The truth is that I am not happy. I can’t be happy with the way things are at the moment. Do I look like a happy man to you?”
“Let’s get this straight. You do not think you are happy. And you do not consider yourself a lucky man either.”
“No, I am not.”
“Oh boy!” Granduncle Joe said and rolled his eyes in mild exasperation, "I won’t fault a single soul out there in the wide world for the way you are feeling at the moment. You have yourself to blame for your dissatisfaction or unhappiness or whatever word you choose to describe your outlook on the current state of your life.”
“I am not asking for much from anyone, am I?”
“That depends on what you think you are entitled to get from others in a give and take relationship. Now, what is it exactly you want to know?”
“The truth, the genuine opinion you hold on this matter. That’s what I am interested in.”
“Are you sure you are ready for it?”
“That’s why I came to you, big brother.”
“Okay, follow me,” my grand uncle said to his younger brother, and then got up and looked at my father and Uncle Paul.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Uncle Paul asked.
Granduncle Joe shook his head no. “Okay boys and girls, give us a moment. Your uncle and I need to thrash something out in the other room,” he said in a serious tone, and then turned to me, “Huh, my little sis, don’t pay attention to the men of this family. We always argue. You must have seen enough of that between your dad and your uncle here. Treat all our arguments or debates as our way of showing our love for one another or as the concern we have for each other’s welfare,” he said gently, winked at me, and then walked away.
I watched Granduncle Lucas get up and gingerly follow Granduncle Joe. However, that was not the end of them. They settled in the other living room and dominated our time with their argument, which was carried out in high-pitched voices most of the time. My parents and uncle probably enjoyed eavesdropping because nobody suggested that we move away. They just sat back and listened. I guess they looked at it as a peek into that hidden portion of Granduncle Lucas’s soul that nobody in his family could fully figure out. His life abounds with stories of the hearts he broke, of the love he failed to return and of the conquests he abandoned shortly after triumphing over.
“What made you say something like that?” Granduncle Lucas’s voice echoed from the other sitting room.
“You are looking for happiness. Hmm! Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, my dear brother! I don’t think you understand what happiness is all about. Happiness is not only about satisfying your desires, you know. Happiness entails a lot more than that. I have heard you repeat this misleading mantra that your will must always be done. I have heard you say that on several occasions actually as if everything revolves around your will. Will or desire is virtually the same thing. I am yet to come across another soul who is as strong-willed as you are, my dear brother. You obeyed all your impulses and you made it a point of satisfying all your desires irrespective of how irrational they were. Now, what did you get after each of your conquests, after the pursuit of your desires?”
“Go ahead and tell me,” Granduncle Lucas said.
“You found the joy that is short-lived, but you did not find happiness that is the goal of man's pilgrimage in life. You found joy from the bliss of the moment, but no happiness from the feeling of being loved, of giving love and of achieving a fulfilling purpose. It looks like you were not aiming for happiness. My brother, happiness comes from living in harmony with our environment, with those around us.”
“Why are you confusing me with semantics like those―joy, happiness, bliss, desire, will, love, purpose and so forth? What does that have to do with it? The only thing I want from my family is their respect for me as the head of the household. I am not expecting or demanding much from them except their recognition of my worth. I want them to treat me as someone who is... I mean, as someone who is somebody. I want them to obey me, listen to what I have to say, understand what I want.”
“Hmm, there you go again! There is hardly any difference between your wants, your desires or your will. You see, you are unconsciously looking for love, even though you fail to see that you have loving people around you all the time. No matter how much love you are shown or given, you fail to appreciate the effort made by those who love you and want to see you happy. Yes, my dear brother, you fail to comprehend their efforts because you never gave selfless love. You have a hard time identifying with the feelings, thoughts and attitudes of other people. Those are some of my observations about you, which helped me to reach some conclusions that probably answer this riddle. As a matter of fact, I could be wrong about it because of the imperfectability of man’s soul. That notwithstanding, I shall go ahead and share it with you because I think it is the right thing to do. Who knows, my postulation might help mankind in solving this riddle called love. You see, I convinced myself that people are loved for their good personalities, noble intentions, positive actions and enriching ideas. On the other hand, people are pitied because of their situations. The positive response to a situation that arouses pity is a show of compassion, not love. You do not give alms to a beggar out there because you love him. Your generosity is based on your kindness if not compassion.”
“You are posing a riddle again. My point is that my children do not love me.”
“What do you want from them? Pity, kindness, empathy?”
“You know what I am talking about.”
“Come on, Lucas. What exactly are you talking about? Hmm, I am going to be very frank with you on this one. I have seen your children. I know them well. They turned out to be the best of all our children. Now, whom should I credit for doing such a wonderful job with them? Their mother, of course, deserves the credit. Please don’t raise your eyebrows.”
“You don’t expect me not to move a single facial muscle while you are talking, do you?”
“Your body language tells me you disagree with the point I am trying to make.”
“I am an old man with arthritic joints. Please, believe me! I am listening with a sincere heart.”
“I believe you, Lucas. All I am trying to say is that their mother is the mold that shaped those beautiful minds, the nurturing soul that helped them the most to become so humane. You gave them hardly a decimal of what you should have given them as a true father. Why? Because you were always away, pursuing your freedom, as you claimed at the time. That notwithstanding, their mother always allowed you into their lives, brought up the children to respect you. She always looked out for your interest. Now, tell me. What exactly do you want? What do you expect to achieve in your relationship with your children?”
“There you go again with your intriguing questions, big brother Joe. What do you expect me to say? As a matter of fact, I am not different from all the other true fathers out there in the world. It is not as if I am trying to fleece my family for my own good, for something I can’t even think of,” Granduncle Lucas said in an incongruous voice, “What I want is simple. I want happiness,” he added with a note of dejection in his voice.
“I see, I see! Still, it is difficult to figure out the point you are trying to make here. You are my brother, remember? I watched you in your crib, tried to fathom the natural and innocent expressions that are the cornerstone of your character even before you started muttering words that could be comprehensible to the human ear. Do you think I am boasting about this?”
“Why are you asking me such a question?”
“Because of the expression on your face.”
“Come on, big brother!”
“All I am trying to say is that I was the first person in our family to understand your mumblings. Our parents often summoned me to explain the meaning of the hardly discernible words that came out of your…of your sweet lips. You had a beautiful smile back then. I mean, when you were a toddler. You were such a lovable child. But you developed an intriguing personality.”
“What is your point?”
“Now, tell me, my brother. Do you want to be loved or do you want to be pitied?”
“What do you mean?”
“To be loved involves enriching the lives of those around you while deriving happiness that comes from being loved and being appreciated in return for your enriching presence in the lives of those you touch. What do you give to your children? How do you enrich their lives?”
“I gave them a lot,” Uncle Lucas responded in a slightly shaky voice.
“Come on, Lucas! You gave them little paternal love, support and comfort while they were growing up. You were not as conspicuous in their lives as you should have been because you were pursuing your desires. Your life, my dear brother, has been a life any free-spirited soul would envy. You were always pursuing your phallic and material desires, and because of that, you neglected those who truly mattered in your life. Your pursuit, my dear brother, was to satisfy your larger than life ego, a pursuit that has only brought disaster to your life and complicated the lives of your wife and children who have always been there looking out for your interest. You neglected them, my dear brother. Now, even though they have forgiven you, you continue to feign feelings towards them as if they are to blame for your discomfort. It is obvious you are not an appreciative soul.”
“What do you mean?” Granduncle Lucas cried.
“Lucas, the reality is that your actions towards your family are meant to generate sympathy and not love. In a subtle way, you are blackmailing them instead of loving them. Even if they offer you their heads on a platter of gold, you still won’t find the inner satisfaction you are seeking. That is the curse for those who seek pity in the place of love. That is my view, my dear brother. People who strive to fulfill their desires and at the same time fail to enrich the lives of those who selflessly love them, often find themselves eternally blind to true happiness.”
“Aye! Damn you, Lucas, if you cringe for even a second and fail to express yourself on this issue! I won’t allow myself to be damned, so I will go ahead and bare my soul to you, my dear brother. You always blamed me. Yes, I am speaking the truth and I know you are not going to like it. Even though you never said it aloud, you blamed me for many of the things that went wrong in our family―daddy’s heart attack, the deacon’s wife, et cetera, et cetera. You blamed me for things that happened to them as if all I brought into their lives was grief. How old was I at the time? I was barely twenty. It was Monica’s fault. I was sad and she took advantage of me. Perhaps she was sad too; perhaps she wanted a way out of her marriage; perhaps she found her role as the mother of four children at thirty overwhelming and suffocating. Believe me, she was such a pretty, free-spirited and creative soul. Perhaps! Who knows? I wanted to be happy. She wanted bliss or whatever.”
“I didn’t even have her in mind, Lucas! Anyway, she was beautiful,” Granduncle Joe interjected.
“Yes, she was a belle,” Granduncle Lucas said and emitted a short laugh, which I interpreted as a positive reminiscence of the first woman he fell madly in love with, even though he never accepted it to anyone in his family.
“What about the story of the bet you had with your friends?”
“What story; what bet?”
“You promised them that you would break her resistance and make her crumble into your arms. You even gave your friends a time frame for the seduction. It was meant to be a conquest, wasn't it?”
“Who told you such a story?”
“I am glad you are not denying it. That means it wasn’t love, my brother. Your ego was at play in the affair,” Granduncle Joe said, sounding irritated for the first time that day.
“I was looking for happiness. Anna and I were looking for an outlet for our grief. Both our mothers had just passed away, remember? We were two grieving souls who found each another and clung together in a destructive embrace. We were insecure and thought we could find solace by…by, you know.”
“You mean by satisfying your desires?”
“I loved her,” Granduncle Lucas cried in a voice laced with desperation.
“Why don’t you admit it? You used her. You knew she was a wealthy heiress, and of course, she gave you money, presents and a lot more. Come on Lucas! You knew it. She took care of your financial worries while you were messing around with her. Don’t confuse the feeling of financial security and the false sense of satisfaction that came with seducing her. Don’t confuse them with love. You never allowed yourself to be vulnerable during the entire affair. She was the susceptible party in the amour. The way I saw it, you sort of blackmailed her with threats of leaving and made her give you whatever you wanted. You were the secure party for god’s sake. So, don’t talk to me about love as if you couldn’t help being in the relationship or romance or whatever name you chose you give to the illicit love affair.”
“I loved her,” Granduncle Lucas hissed.
“You can’t talk about love if you have never experienced that state of bliss, that period when you have no desire to be secure while you are with the person you have a strong affection for,” Granduncle Joe blurted out.
“Stop looking at me with those eyes.”
“You puzzle me. Now, you are frowning again. What are you trying to convey now? Regret, a sense of desolation, a feeling of dejection?”
“It is all a waste. I loved her, you know! I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. Perhaps I didn’t show her my true feelings all the time. I am not the type who is always in control. I had fears, feelings of inadequacy, an awareness of my vulnerability, considerable remorse and a lot more.”
“She never thought so.”
“Those unsettling emotions are capable of messing up the most beautiful minds in this world. I was a wreck at the time, and the burden of her situation was too much for me to handle, on top of my own problems. You see, I have never been in love with another woman the way as I was with her. I didn’t show it, that’s all,” Granduncle Lucas stuttered.
“She was real and you weren’t. She made herself vulnerable while you built walls instead, making her more vulnerable as she tried to break down your defenses.”
“I agree I was afraid of the unknown. In hindsight, I never allowed myself to be vulnerable to the point where my feelings could be hurt.”
“Stop denying it! You used her! Admit it, Lucas! You took advantage of her. You might not have known at the time that you were exploiting her to fill the void in your soul. Nobody could have taken care of that void after your first girlfriend jilted you. I don’t fault Jessica entirely for breaking your heart, knowing how immature you were at the time. You were a spoilt kid Lucas. I should say it, and I am going to say it. You are a curse for being the last child of the family. Mama did her best, especially as you kept running away from her each time she took you to task or questioned your degenerating lifestyle. I understand mama’s death was hard on you the most. Still, that doesn’t change the fact that you took that woman’s love for granted, just like you used mama’s love for your selfish ends.”
“I did,” Granduncle Lucas said in barely audible voice. “That is one thing I may never forgive myself for doing. I ruined her life. I wasn’t genuine with her. I actually pushed her away after allowing her to make me her world. Well, my big brother, don’t you think we can still talk about this some other time? I must go now,” he added and rose to his feet.
The next thing we knew, Granduncle Lucas was at the banister, his fedora in his hand and a thoughtful expression on his face. We bade him goodnight with love and understanding, and then watched him in silence as he walked upstairs to get some rest for the night.
*****
“It is not as if I am a bad person. No, I am not a monster. I have a hard time thinking evil of anyone, especially in a sustained manner. So, I am neither an evil person nor a bad person. Perhaps I am just an unfortunate soul whose worst enemy is the blood coursing through his veins.”
Uncle Paul who slept in the room next to Granduncle Lucas’s, claimed his uncle muttered those words several times before he fell asleep that night.
I never developed any profound opinion on my granduncle and I am not going to try to say that Uncle Paul could be right in his perception of his beloved relative. However, I admit my granduncle got badly affected by his encounter with his older brother who was blunt in an affectionate way. He must have found it difficult to pacify his troubled mind because he left early the next morning without telling anyone about it. He must have slipped out of the estate while most of us were either snoring or dreaming, and when Granduncle Joe’s employees were barely awake to prepare breakfast and do the other morning chores at the ranch and in the house.
Granduncle Lucas was certainly missed. When Granduncle Joe woke up the next morning and learned of his departure, he became uncomfortably thoughtful all of a sudden, a demeanor that contrasted sharply with his outgoing self the day before. He became a little bit gruff with his workers and apologized to them afterwards for his less than courteous behavior. I let my father know that Granduncle Lucas’s unannounced departure affected Granduncle Joe on the bad side.
It was almost ten o’clock when we settled for breakfast at the dining table that morning. The morning meal was delicious, but the conversation was carried out in a barely spirited manner. Of them all, Uncle Paul was the least outgoing, a poor reflection of the zestful person I knew him to be. I say so because I have always considered Uncle Paul as that darling uncle with a knack for telling jokes, for exciting smiles and laughter, and for making people around him feel joyful. It felt strange sitting there next to a thoughtful Uncle Paul who had this sudden inclination to weigh in on his words, to be precise in his pronouncements and to reflect deeply on every sentence, opinion or judgment.
Our guarded ways soon created a sort of uncomfortable atmosphere around that became difficult to ignore. Even though I considered myself a novice in affairs of the heart, I did not need to be a psychologist or a psychiatrist to understand that the edginess or awkward atmosphere at the table was caused by the men’s conscious effort not to talk about Granduncle Lucas's troubles that certainly occupied the back of their minds.
“You see, the function of a good memory in an interpersonal relationship is to remember both the good and the bad things experienced or shared,” Granduncle Joe said finally, breaking the silence on the touchy subject of Granduncle Lucas.
He said nothing further after that, notwithstanding the fact that he looked serious and thoughtful from his corner at the far end of the table. Even so, I thought his words were uplifting.
“Okay!” Uncle Paul chipped in and regarded his uncle with a wondering expression on his face as if silently urging him to say something more.
“Before I touch on the point I intend to make; we need to understand that we have our failings. Boys, the point I am trying to make here is that my brother is a good soul with a good memory,” Granduncle Joe said and nodded thoughtfully, “He dwells on his hurts, which are often self-deceptive. On the other hand, he fails to consider the hurt he inflicts on others who might be inclined to react defensively and hurt him too, even if they don’t intend to. Your Uncle Lucas sometimes hurts those who love him, yet when they try to defend themselves in a manner that he does not like, he turns around and portrays himself as the victim of malicious attacks. It is a form of self-deception, I would say. Moreover, I see some degree of blindness in his approach. Hmm! Do I sound like someone making excuses for him?”
“He is your younger brother,” Uncle Paul said.
“You see; Lucas was a protected child. He loved the special attention he received from his family. He practically reveled in it. That is how he developed his self-centered traits without knowing it. It is a form of narcissism. Or should I say he became self-conceited to the point of subconsciously believing that he is a special person in the family? Perhaps we, his older siblings and loved ones, failed to help him develop the deep capacity to empathize with others,” Granduncle Joe muttered in a breathless manner, and then looked at his nephews, before turning his eyes to my mother, and then to me as if expecting us to contribute something to the discourse.
However, nobody uttered a word. We sort of avoided his eyes as if we had planned it or as if we were involved in a conspiracy of some sort. At length, Granduncle Joe heaved a sigh, shoved aside his plate, and then placed his cup of coffee at the right corner of the tablemat where he could pick it up comfortably.
“Are you still going to drink that?” Uncle Paul asked.
“Yes! Why? Do you want it?”
“Just asking!”
Granduncle Joe thought about it for a moment, shook his head, and then said in a barely audible voice. “I know I shouldn’t be doing this. The truth is, I didn’t want to bring any of you into this,” he said.
“Come on Uncle Joe! He will get it. Uncle Lucas is at an introspective stage in his life. I do not doubt the goodness of his heart or the cravings of his soul. That’s why there is a conflict in his soul at this very moment. He is battling his destructive impulses, questioning his past judgments and learning to give unconditional love. He is even trying to be apologetic to those he has hurt,” Uncle Paul said.
“I hope so,” Granduncle Joe grunted, pushed his chair back and rose to his feet.
“The sun is out,” my father said.
“Ah! What is the price for worrying about things you cannot control?” Granduncle Joe asked no one in particular.
“Tell us! You are the puzzle head,” Uncle Paul said with a laugh.
“Hmm, hmm, hmm! I can’t help but ponder the words of this foreign writer. He wrote that ‘The second half of a man's life is made up of nothing but the habits he has acquired during the first half. Taking a new step, uttering a new word, is what people fear the most.’”
“That was Dostoyevsky! The fellow’s understanding of human psychology was baffling. One might think he was around when God created man,” Uncle Paul commented.
My father nodded without uttering a word. I noticed Uncle Paul dim his eyes as if savoring something deeper in those words. Granduncle Joe had his eyes fixed on him in a sort of wondering gaze.
“There is something else Uncle Lucas meant to tell you. He was at the doctor’s two weeks ago. Please don't get me wrong. His intention was to tell you first before letting anyone else know about it. The thing is, not all the results were good, but―”
“What?” Granduncle Joe muttered, his face a deathly pallor, his grip tight on the top rail of the chair as if frozen around it, and his breath held like someone suffering from a panic attack.
“Even though some of the results were not good, they were equally not alarming or so he told me. In fact, he considers the current state of his health as his wakeup call. He now contemplates his life. I have never seen him look so thoughtful before.”
Blood seemed to flow through Granduncle Joe’s face again. He tried to say something, thought about it for a moment, but then ended up saying nothing. Instead, a grin appeared on his face that stayed there for a couple of seconds before he flashed us a broad smile. “The damn kid almost scared me again. How about you guys driving with me to his home later in the evening?”
It was certainly a bright idea or so I thought. I was convinced the others thought so too because the atmosphere at the table lightened up in an instant.
However, if Granduncle Joe imagined he had an ace up his sleeve, then he was certainly mistaken. Granduncle Lucas had something else in mind because he returned to the ranch that afternoon bustling in high spirits. He told his older brother he was from the doctor’s office with test results showing that the tumor they feared could be cancerous was, in fact, benign. The relieving news uplifted the mood of the members of my extended family, transforming the atmosphere. In fact, we stayed upbeat for the rest of the day. Conversations, debates, pranks and intonations to famous ballads loved by the family members made the afternoon explosive. My sensualist uncle and granduncle even showed me some very fine dance steps.
The ranch also received a surprising set of visitors later that afternoon in the persons of Granduncle Lucas’s wife Elizabeth and his daughter Vera. They drove in at dusk, bringing with them more spirit to the warm atmosphere in Granduncle Joe’s home. I had no recollection of Vera, but she did not flicker even for a second as she took me into her arms with warmth and a great deal of joy. Her genuine feelings, trustworthiness and engaging nature instantly created a strong bond between us that is likely to last our lifetimes.
Vera bore a deep resemblance to her mother, though she is exceedingly pulchritudinous. In fact, she looked far more beautiful that day than her mother ever was as a young woman. She also had her mother’s comeliness. However, unlike her mother who lacked a deep light-heartedness and whose extreme kindness showed on her face, Vera was a simple and vivacious soul with a very easy way of warming herself into the hearts of people. Her humaneness was laced with a sort of child-like sincerity that could only have come from the positive side of her father’s family. Her slightly protruding lower lip was another aspect of her body that added an unusual classiness to her extremely beautiful face.
Vera also had a good rapport with Granduncle Joe because she showed little restrain as she joked with him. She even caressed his belly for a second or two. My recollection of the exchange of words that ensued afterwards between the two always brings a smile to my face.
“Wow, Uncle Joe,” Vera told him in an animated voice, “Your potbelly shows no signs of shrinking despite the promise you made six months ago that you were going to look like Lee Marvin by the end of the July. We are in September already.”
“There you go again,” Granduncle Joe replied with a laugh. “I lost three pounds over the past four months. Something else I want you to know, young lady,” he added with a comical growl, tapped his belly with both hands and regarded his niece with playful eyes.
“What do you want me to know?” Vera asked, dimming her eyes slightly.
“As a matter of fact, it ceased to be a potbelly after I stopped drinking beer last year. I prefer you call it a portly belly. Working hard on the land has kept me fit and agile, you know. Take my words for it, Vera. A lady mistook me for her nephew at the bar the other day. She was about your age, I think. I wonder if she asked me to marry her or not. That is how it went, young lady.”
Vera burst out laughing.
“Whatever! I didn’t allow myself to be carried away by my special qualities that defy the aging process.”
“What are you trying to say?” Vera asked with a gasp.
“That I left that bar alone that night.”
“Come on, Uncle Joe! Act your age. No woman my age would make a pass at you.”
“Vera, did you just say I should act my age?” the chuckling Granduncle Joe said good-humoredly, “You probably don’t know that men my age are acting like my father’s age mates, just like old Mr. Lawson?”
“You are kidding, Uncle Joe! Your age mates haven’t aged that much,” countered Vera, who then guffawed so loudly that I thought she knew the people Granduncle Joe was talking about.
There were several other refreshing exchanges at my paternal granduncle’s home between the members of my father’s extended family. It was the day Granduncle Lucas started reconciling himself with his family. The good thing is that he began the process with his wife who never ceased loving him and who at the same time had a big enough heart to forgive him for all his trespasses. Besides his wonderful wife to count on, Granduncle Lucas also had Vera whose unconditional love for him was like Electra’s profound tenderness and commitment to her father Oedipus.
In hindsight, the sudden turn of events that day must have touched on Granduncle Joe’s good humor because he looked gratified thereafter. He carried on playing the role of an enchanted host, acting like a true patriarch in the traditions of the ancient world. It did not need a keen eye to discern that he was a truly reliable soul for his relatives. We bonded freely, and I learned a lot from my relatives about life and the family history and traditions. The evening moved fast and in a seamless manner, and with it the pace and nature of discussions. Soon the women were in one corner, discussing women affairs, as Granduncle Joe said in a passing comment, while the men were at another end discussing affairs of the world.
These two clusters soon split into four based on age groups as if we had planned the configuration in advance. I was at my own corner with Vera, talking about so many things, among which was my impending move to the convent to become a nun. She advised me a great deal without pushing, an approach I was comfortable with. I even thought my life would have been a lot better had she been a part of it before, even if that meant playing the role of an older sister or young aunty.
I went to bed just after midnight and slept soundly for close to an hour before I woke up feeling like I was choking. I sat up in bed to catch my breath, and did not move at all for a moment until a dog barked outside, prompting me to fling the bed covers off my body. Then I jumped out of bed and made my way to the kitchen for a glass of water, using the light from the corridor without turning on the kitchen light. I got the water from the tap all right and gulped it down thirstily. In fact, I was having my second glass of water when a conversation in one of the sitting rooms caught my attention. It was my father and his brother. They must have been talking in low tones until their heated views raised the pitches of their voices.
“I wasn’t implying in any way that Uncle Lucas and I have some of the traits that characterize a true misogynist. No, we don’t hate, dislike, mistrust or mistreat women as misogynists do. The central point I am trying to make here is that a man searching for happiness with his wife or any other woman in his life craves for the satisfaction that comes with knowing that the woman loves him. The full impact of the woman’s love can never be felt or appreciated if the man builds defenses that prevent her from penetrating his soul. I think Uncle Lucas is beginning to see the wisdom in that line of thinking.”
“I still can’t get the point you are trying to make,” I heard my father say to Uncle Paul in a slightly disinterested voice.
“A man can’t sincerely claim he is free if he fails to give anybody access to the piece of knowledge that is the key to his downfall. Any free soul should have at least a soul or two or perhaps even more that he can trust with his life and legacy.”
“Are you talking about blind trust here?”
“In a way, yes. I am not saying that people should bare their lives to people who are not trustworthy at all. When I say people who are not trustworthy, I mean those who have not done what it takes to earn your trust,” Uncle Paul intoned.
“Come on, Paul! What are you talking about?” my father asked.
“Don’t you get it? It is simple. It is healthy to commit ourselves even for a moment by trusting those who have been humble to us and who at one time or the other put themselves at our trust or mercy. Auntie Elizabeth humbled herself unconditionally to Uncle Lucas, remember? And she didn’t have to. After all, even God created man and gave him the freedom to disobey him.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“By what?”
“By that thing about God, man, freedom and disobedience?” my father said in a voice laced with curiosity.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Come on Paul! You know, in a way, you are beginning to sound like Uncle Joe,” my father said with a chuckle.
“Marcus, Marcus! You are not serious. Or are you? Come on! You are the religious brother. I was talking about the forbidden fruit. Man was given the free will to obey God and be exulted or disobey him and face the unpredictable. Man, of course, thought the unpredictable promised something better and chose to disobey God. Who made Man think he could go against God’s rules and get away with it?”
“The devil!”
“The devil fooled man. Yes, the devil, the devil, the devil is the cause of man’s predicament! Yes, the devil is responsible. The devil, of course, fooled Man into betraying God’s trust, thereby forcing God to become more watchful over humankind than ever before. God never deprived Man of his free will even after man let him down.”
“Don’t stop. I am listening,” my father said with folded arms.
“I want you to look at it from this angle. Man cast his lot with the devil whom he never trusted simply because he wanted an unfathomable freedom and a better tomorrow. Uh-huh! Man did that in complete disregard of God who had shown him his secured tomorrow. Well, we know the outcome today, don’t we?”
“Continue! I am listening.”
“Tell me, Marcus! Tell me, my dear brother! What do we have today? I can answer that for you, if that’s how you want it. What we have today is a world that understands God less, but takes him more seriously than Adam and Eve ever did.”
“Hmm! You know, you just came up with a very interesting hypothesis there! Did you get into philosophy or something?”
“Don’t mock me.”
“So, what you are saying is that in a way, Man took away God’s freedom by betraying God’s trust. Hmm! It is an interesting if not fascinating concept!”
“It certainly is interesting.”
“So, by betraying God, Man forced God to become eternally involved in his fate, to the point where God had to suffer persecution for the freedom of man’s soul.”
“You can say that if you are a Christian,” Uncle Paul offered and emitted a short laugh.
“I am a Christian. That is why I am holding onto that interpretation,”
“I am glad you got what I mean,” Uncle Paul said with a sudden peak in his voice that I found puzzling “You see, you cannot betray something that is good or virtuous, and then expect to get away with it. There is, however, a down side to that line of thinking.”
“You are posing a riddle, Paul!”
“What I mean is that the plight of the offender becomes the worry of the good soul. Broadly speaking, such a worry is the cross of a humane society that is committed to providing its people with the best and to punishing those who try to hurt them.”
“You are posing another riddle, Paul, and a deep one at that,” my father repeated.
“Here is a perfect example to explain myself better. A killer betrays his society in his inhumane act of slaughter. However, by reprimanding him, locking him up and controlling his everyday life thereafter, the humane society commits itself to the killer’s welfare. I think Dostoyevsky explained that better in one of his books.”
“Please don’t take me there. I read that writer’s works about thirty years ago. He was very much into philosophy, something my mind wasn’t prepared to grapple with at the time.”
“That’s fine with me. It won’t do you any harm if I refresh your memory on this analogy, or, would it?”
“Ha, ha, ha, ha!” my father laughed. “I don’t have any choice here, Paul, do I? Go ahead with your analogy. I am listening. But make it short.”
“I will make it brief. I don’t like lengthy recounts myself. Okay, my dear brother, allow me to refresh your memory on this one. Perhaps it would tempt you to look for the full story afterwards.”
“Okay!” my father muttered.
“Now, there was a human called Richard. I am using the word human because he was human when he was born and stayed human during the vicissitudes of his life. Richard had few choices when he came into this world because the society he was born into considered him an illegitimate child. It was a society that had no place for a woman who succumbed to the weakness of her flesh. How do we justify such an injustice on an innocent fellow whose parents deserted him at the tender age of six, parents who offered him for a price to some Swiss shepherds knowing all too well that these guardians would use the poor boy to tend to their flock? The shepherds deprived Richard of a lot in life, you know. They deprived him of clothing and shelter, of love and education, and even of hope and laughter that every human being needs in order to feel that beyond their ordeals lie better days. Since this young fellow scarcely had anything to eat, hunger compelled to steal the mash meant to fatten the pigs that the shepherds kept aside for sale. They beat him each time he got caught in the act. That was not even all about it. They did not only beat him for stealing animal feed, they thrashed, slapped, spanked and kicked him around all the time for the little mistakes he made or for whatever excuses his masters fancied or came up with as a reason to trample on his dignity as a human being. However, this young boy who worked sixteen hours a day like a slave in the galley had a brain that could not be stopped from developing. He learned the tricks of surviving and grew up strong and resourceful, that is, until the day he decided to escape.
Richard must have thought he was putting his old life behind him when he fled to the city. He was almost twenty years old at the time and must have considered himself a man free of all the shackles that had held him down early in his life.
Now, Richard was a fellow who appreciated breaking a sweat, and who now found himself in a position to chart his own life. Upon arrival in the city, he immediately offered his services as a day laborer to craftsmen and other employers who needed strong hands to run their businesses. Having been deprived for so many years, this unfortunate fellow had no concept of planning for the rainy days that always lie ahead. I say so because he lived off his earnings as if there was no tomorrow. He must have convinced himself that he did not have to worry about tomorrow because whenever a situation arose, he instinctively reverted to his old stealing ways. However, in the course of returning to the old means of attaining his goals, Richard killed an old man who caught him in one of his acts of robbery. I don’t think he actually meant to kill the unfortunate fellow because he regretted his action right after he committed the murder.
The Swiss authorities apprehended Richard and their judiciary sentenced him to death without thinking twice about it. But that was not all about Richard’s case. Missionaries for the soul wasted no time in courting him in prison as if he was a special challenge they needed to overcome to prove a point. They exposed him to the secrets of books―both religious and non-religious. Actually, they did not have to work hard because Richard embraced the Christian faith like sandy soil absorbing water. I said the Christian faith because even though Richard lived in Switzerland all his life, he knew little or nothing about the bible. Richard’s conversion into Roman Catholicism became a sensation in Geneva. The aristocracy, the middle class, the intelligentsia and the working class took a fancy to his story and yearned every day for more developments on the drama of Richard the remorseful murderer who finally found God. He became a genuine Catholic, repented for his crimes and sins, held onto his new faith with a conviction far stronger than those of many of the missionaries who parade around in religious garments and artifacts. He even accepted his impending execution as punishment for his crime with the calmness of someone resigned to his fate. That was how society forgave him, and that was equally how the same society failed to pardon this deprived soul that it pushed to live like an animal to the point of murdering for food. An unbelievable number of people wept with him as he succumbed to the guillotine on the day of his execution. Do you have any idea why Richard wept or why the people wept with him even though they wanted him dead, even though he truly repented of his sins?”
“Self-mortification, I supposed,” my father said in a shaky voice.
“Self-mortification, you just said,” Uncle Paul mumbled, and then whistled for a moment, “That is the point. Our hearts can forgive a man for his sins, but society always insists a man pays for his crimes. I still hold strongly to my opinion that except for the instance of murder, Richard was more humane than many of those who condemned him. You see, the sins of the society pushed such an inherently good soul into committing the savage act of murder. Now, what is the lesson from that story?” Uncle Paul offered.
“I don’t know. Tell me,” my father responded in a subdued voice.
“I will, I will. I will tell you the lesson I picked up from Richard’s tragedy. I think the good part of society took upon itself the task of redeeming the soul of the savage even though the savage hurt them by killing one of its own. However, the good part of society embarked on it not out of a sense of conviction but rather out of a sense of righteousness. Richard’s religious friends didn’t set out to help him develop faith in Christ because they thought he was inherently good. No, they must have thought he was like any of those creatures of the wild that needed to be tamed. And since he was a creature that had spilled the blood of a man of their class, he could not be trusted to live with society any more even if he repented a thousand times and over, even if he became a different person altogether, and even if he lost every recollection of his act of murder. But there is something else my dear brother. Richard the savage ended up looking more humane than the good society. That is the intricacy involved in combining freedom, punishment and forgiveness, without including clemency in the package.”
“I see. Wow! You came up with such an insightful piece. I am beginning to get your point. In a way, the civil and economic parts of society forced Richard to become a thief and murderer at the same time that it was preaching a sort of freedom that is undefined even by liberal standards. And then as if to mock the serenity of humanity, this very privileged part of society punished him with imprisonment and execution. On the other hand, the moral part of society helped him to redeem his soul but did nothing to change his fate because even this moral part of society was convinced that he had to pay for his crimes against society with his life.”
“That’s right,” Uncle Paul said.
“I think I got it. Paul, we are on the same page here.”
“Now, you got it. How many souls could those moral purifiers of life save? How much effort did they put into their mission? I can go on and on with those questions. The questions are so many. Here was a good man called Richard, who could have become a model human being had he not been battered by society and forced to survive at all cost.”
“Still, we shouldn’t absolve Richard of everything. He knew that stealing was wrong. I mean the stealing of whatever is not yours―like life, the truth, as well as tangible and intangible things, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.”
“I am not condoning his actions. Now, how would Richard’s life have ended if this very society had aimed for fairness by creating protective laws, safety nets for the unfortunate and programs for the disadvantaged?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
“With an effective social program in place, the chances of Richard and others like him corrupting their souls in their efforts to survive in this crazy world of man would have been very slim. That is my concern, my brother. I think those missionaries of the soul would have been more effective had they banged on the doors of the people in power repeatedly, forcing them to enact and implement laws that would make society humane. Wasn’t that one of the cardinal points of the teachings of Christ―making society humane?”
“It is,” my father said with a yawn.....
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