Bole: Chant 9

In he walks, the immoralist;

Sage of ill-deeds.

Behind his back, a splinter,

From a thousand mischievous

Tricks.

During one night of the week, a coincidental event occurred, where three of the friends I have mentioned already found themselves an appetite at the same time as I, and so we all wandered to the kitchen of the apartment building from either our apartments or returning from work. Having found ourselves hungry at the same time, we decided to cook a meal for the four of us instead of each eating alone. So, myself, Masur, Casuarina and Avellana sat down to a meal that we had prepared and served with glasses of wine. Yet as we had begun to eat, there was another tenant whom I have not yet introduced to you, who found us eating and intended to join us having felt left out.

—Well, what’s this? he asks. A meal with my best friends and I’m not told? he says looking at the table of food.

This was Castanea. He lived in the apartment block, I could not remember which was his apartment, as he would never invite anyone to visit, and instead would only intervene on activities that had already been organized. His appearance was as a birch, and to use the phrase, he bore deceit’s luck. And of all the meals we have had before, anger would made this night a feast.

—I can only take it you all wanted me to be surprised, he says, swaggering about the room. Congratulations. But why all this silent gloom?

We explain it had not been something planned, and that we had all merely been in the kitchen at the same time and decided to share a meal rather than eat separately. He asks us what we had been talking about before he arrived, and we tell him we had been discussing the courage it sometimes takes to get through hard days.

—Courage? He says with disbelief. Courage? Well what were you talking about before that? Because that must have taken only a few seconds between you. He says with a laugh, and we all ignore it.

—We were swapping stories, Casuarina answers him.

—Well, have I got some stories for you, he says enigmatically. There another chair around here? He looks around the room and then at us expecting someone to fetch him one.

—We’ve actually already begun our meal, I tell him

—I’m excluded? As though a child? He says to each of us. Are you all adults? I thought we were swapping stories. . .

—Perhaps you can come back later. I say to him. For drinks. But we’re eating now.

—Ah, but if I’d ambushed this little gathering earlier . . .you’d have invited me?

—Certainly, but—

—Then what harm can it do to sit down?

Avellana grew tired of waiting to continue the meal and the interruption began to irritate her.

—Ah, just let him sit down, Zylitol, she says

—Fine, I say reluctantly

Masur stands up to get the table an additional chair for Castanea, and Casuarina hands him a glass and pours him a drink from the bottle of wine.

—Thank you, he says. So very generous

Still standing, he takes the glass to his lips but refrains from taking a sip.

—I’d like to make a toast before I sit down, he says. That I am honoured to share the company of you people and to dine with you tonight. And he raises his glass. To you all. Before turning to me to add. Except you Zylitol. We have our differences.

He sits down comfortably in his chair and looks to me with an expression of cruel pleasure.

—You had some tales, I remind him.

—Tales: I do, he says remembering his enthusiasm. He looks to me for a moment then turns to the rest of the table.

—There is a gentleman I know, he begins his tale, but his concentration is broken on being aware of the music playing in the room.

—Wait, he breaks off his sentence. What is this music we’re listening to?

Avellana answers him.

—No, this isn’t very fitting for telling tales. Let me change it.

I began to make a suggestion but he cuts me off.

—Oh, what would you have us listen to? Wagner perhaps? he says. You listen to solitary music, Zylitol. You ought to listen to music for company.

He shuffles through the music that lay around the speaker and finds one he likes and before he walks back to his seat he stands a moment to make sure his choice was suitable, his position freezing as if examining fully with his ears. He goes to turn it up but refrains, feeling if it caused this sensation of pleasure at it was, it was probably at the right volume, then returns to his seat and to his broken sentence.

—There was a gentleman I knew, he resumes.

—What’s their name? Avellana asks

—Oh, their name’s not important. It’s the events that are important, he says leaning forward on to the table to encourage our enthusiasm.

—And he had a ship

—Oh, it’s a fable, Masur comments

—Not quite, says Castanea. And on this ship he prefers not to walk around the deck, but to remain at the wheel.

—Oh, he was a captain, Avellana asks

—You may say that, Castanea says slyly. And from that wheel he may take the ship anywhere, and everyone on board.

—Where did he go? Avellana asks

—He didn’t go anywhere, Castanea tell us. He remained behind that wheel, deciding where to go, but he never actually drew up anchor. And he would stare out to the horizon, imagining the places he may sail to. But he still never drew up anchor, as he was afraid he may never reach these places he imagined.

—Sounds like a terrible captain, Casuarina says

—Oh, but he was more than a Captain, Casuarina, he was a thinker. And in those thoughts he was a profound man.

—But his job is to sail the ship, Masur says

—Exactly, Masur

And Castanea looks at me having not said anything.

—But perhaps he didn’t want to be a captain. He just wanted to feel like he was in control.

—But the ship didn’t move. He was in control of nothing, Masur interrupts

—Yes, but as long as he was behind that wheel, he was in control of something, or so he felt.

—Say his name, I interrupted

—He doesn’t have a name, he replied passively. Anyway, everyone on board the ship, went about their business as they liked. Cleaning the ship, drinking, fighting, singing.

—But why did they just not leave if they were still at port, Masur asks him

—But they weren’t, they were anchored at sea, and for miles around was only water.

—You can’t just drop anchor in the middle of the ocean, laughs Masur

—It’s a story, he snapped, Masur. And Masur having sat back in his seat having felt offended.

—And he felt to be at the helm of all these men, as he watched from behind the wheel. But he wasn’t, and deep down he knew it. But as long as he observed what they were doing, he watched over them¬—

—Like sheep? Avellana says

—Like sheep, Castanea says smiling. Very good, he compliments her as she takes a sip of wine.

—But the men were not following any orders of the captain. They were just living. Quite merrily, or at least as merrily as they believed was living.

—Why didn’t the captain join them? Casuarina asks

—Because he was afraid, Casuarina. He was afraid that if he left the wheel, he would leave his dreams.

—So, they just stayed there? Casuarina says

—Yes, for many years.

—Why didn’t the men demand the captain to sail off? Masur says

—Because they forgot about him, Castanea replies. They weren’t wondering about where to sail to. They were busy living, and enjoying their time. They were all in the same situation, no man had any more than any other.

—There were no women on board? Casuarina says

—There were women on board, of course, one less as many as there were men, Castanea quickly answers her. For them it was a splendid life. The sun rose and set above their heads, birds flew across the sky, they saw whales breech the surface, they saw dolphins leap above the waters. They saw life in its most natural beauty. And they all worked so that they could continue to. But the captain only saw his dreams, and never saw how hard it took them to work for something beautiful.

—Ah, wonderful, Masur applauds.

Avellana and Casuarina were in smiles and they began to follow Masur’s applaud, and with an unenthusiastic response, I also applauded.

—You tell a good story, Castanea, Casuraina compliments

—Yes, stories from my mouth, but these things happen all the time. He says and then turns to me to say:

—What did you think, Zylitol?

—It was . . .very good.

—Is that really what you think? he asks.

—Came from my mouth didn’t it?

—Yes, he says with a smile. It did.

—Tell us another, Avellana says excitedly and Castanea takes his eyes off me and turns to her.

—Maybe. But first I need a smoke.

—Oh, you can’t smoke in here, Casuarina says

—Says who?

—The law, I say in support. And the rest of us.

—Ah, he says sinking his face. A real kick in the face that law isn’t it.

—Maybe, Masur says. But you’ve got to respect it. If not for the law then for us.

Castanea turns his head quickly to Masur.

—I didn’t respect the woman who gave birth to me, what chance do you think you have?

I saw Castanea fumble in his pockets the packet and removed the cigarettes from the packet and placed them in his trouser pocket.

—Look, he says showing them the packet that is empty of all but one stick. Those of you who don’t smoke wont have to suffer for long.

—I’ll make that three cigarettes for you, if you smoke them outside, Casuarina offers him

—You want rid of me just say.

I want rid of you, I don’t say.

—What about if I smoke by the window, he tries to negotiate, and we all look to each other.

—Fine, alright, Casuarina accepts, and hands Castanea two cigarettes.

He stands from his chair, and walks to the open window in the corner of the room opposite the table.

—Excuse the draft, he says. But it may ease the temperature anyway.

Castanea pats the pockets of his trousers as though hurriedly looking for something inside.

—Anyone got a light? he asks

—There’s some matches next to you, Casuarina says

He snatched the box of matches beside and drew a match stick. The first one failed and it took him a few matches to light. Castanea looked at the box in his hand.

—Look at these things. Damn things come all the way from Suetidi, they don’t even light. You have to go through half the box just to get one that strikes.

—Calm down, Masur says. They’re just match sticks..

Ignoring Masur, Castanea draws another match stick out and examines it.

—Damn matches are tipped with less red phosperant than ever, he says frustrated.

The rest of us ignore the comment so not to encourage him.

— They’ve got our flag all over the box, full of Angli pride, but then it reads they’re made in Suetidi. For a stick made from the materials we got here in Bjorkvard, he says laughing delighted or perhaps appalled. We talk about courage, he says, but we can’t even stop the matches getting smaller.

— Ha! Masur laughs

— It’s true. Castanea says throwing away the used match stick. We’re a nation of small matches.

—Well, Masur comments, you shouldn’t speak ill of the country that provided them for you.

—Ah, Masur. He smiles. Masur, Masur, Masur. He repeats. Pa-tri-o-tic Masur. Almost singing. They oughtta hang you from a flag pole.

Masur drops his amused expression and Castanea changes his to tone to somewhat more seriously.

—But tell me, what is it you’ve done for your country recently? And in return, what is it you’re country has done for you?

—That I am well, and have a place to live?

—But you still live here. And you still work at that awful job, and yet you probably come home everyday, look at that flag and feel proud.

—That I am not starving and homeless? Yes, I do.

Castanea lets out a deep sigh.

—Yes, and I bet you daren’t even complain you can’t afford the fuel for your car and you have to skimp on food. Just the way of world, you’ll say.

Masur look across to the rest of us and then back at Castanea.

—Then none was for a party; Then all were for the state, Castanea recites.

We continued to try not to encourage that animosity, which Castanea possessed and enjoyed unravelling on to others, and instead began a discussion of our own. Masur and Casuarina began talking, which lead to a discussion on suffering of people, from the poorer of people who long for daily meals, and those who though wealthy, try to maintain it. Whilst this discussion took place, Castanea held his tongue and listened intently, as he concerned himself with each word that left their mouths and bubbled to a culmination.

—That was hardly a discussion, Castanea says. It was just a contest.

—A contest?

—A contest merely of knowledge between you two, he says pointing at Masur and Casuarina.

—You disagree with us? Masur asks.

—Yes, suffering is terrible, he says. But necessary.

—How can you say that, Castanea? Suffering is tragic, Avellana says.

—He enjoys suffering, Casuarina says.

—Yes, suffering is tragic, and both are means of strengthening. And so as with as any ingredient it must be measured correctly and, in fact, suffering is healthy in proportion.

—You’re saying, Masur asks dumbfounded, people should suffer?

—Not as you mean it. I’m saying it is better to have suffered than to have never suffered at all.

—You want to suffer? Avellana asks.

—No, what could I possibly learn from suffering?

—Then what is it you’re getting at? Masur asks

—It is striving one learns, he pronounces. Rising from suffering; dike eris.

Castanea enjoyed to provoke discussion. He would enjoy causing people to defend their remarks, and was delighted to see people offended by his own. But just as Castanea was determined to provoke a discussion, they were equally determined to provoke a conclusion, and the debate continued with none in agreement.

— What are you saying? asks Casuarina.

—Sure, the five of us can sit here and come to the conclusion that its better to be nice, says Castanea. But don’t be fooled by a good conscience, to think that makes the world any nicer. Or that even another person has thought better since our discussion.

—I hardly think he had any rational ground for saying that, Masur says to Casuarina

—I don’t? Face facts. The consequence of our discussion extends only to the five of us.

—So you believe people act conversely to these good things?

—I didn’t say that, but I think to think well is different than acting well, and all you people of good conscience do is think well.

—And what of the others?

—They simply act out of their own stupid will.

—Their stupid will? Masur laughs at Castanea’s contentiousness.

—Not always. But at least it’s a consequence.

—Why don’t you settle down, Castenea.

—Settle? I am settled. This is me enjoying myself.

—If you were settled you’d realize your mistake. The consequence of thinking well is acting well.

—Absolutely, agrees Casuarina. It’s a natural consequence, whether thought were absent or not.

—Ha! You’re making me laugh. You really suppose people who think well, act well?

—I suppose you don’t

—I certainly don’t.

—And what is your belief?

—It is my feeling that people who think well rarely act at all.

—So they’re motionless . . vegetated . . is that what you’re saying?

—No, I’m saying . . if action is a consequence of thought, then they rarely act, because they rarely think. Instead, they act out of habit, because being good is safe, habitual, and it requires some actual thought to really act.

Castanea would not end his argument there, and continued to speak of the dormant minds, as he put it, of those of good conscience. And that it was those who acted conversely to a social conscience, and accordingly to their own, who would use their intelligence the most. And that the proof was in the test of intelligence.

—And what is the most intelligent test in your mind, Castanea? Casuarina asks.

—It is through thieving, Casuarina! Durch raub! Through thieving.

—And what if someone were to steal from you?

—Then they should expect the consequences. There are manners even in thieving.

—Now you propose a decent thief? Masur laughs.

—No, not decent, but there are indecent ways of doing these things. Yes, Masur, even indecent thieves.

—What would be indecent? Avellana asks.

—To steal the same thing from me twice would be indecent. Or to steal something I greatly needed in a manner as if it were something pointless.

—Like what?

—Like, say. . . my car.

—That ever happened? Casuarina asks.

—Once.

—And what happened?

—They received the consequences.

Masur stares at Castanea and sits back on his chair.

—The shear indecency of people, Masur, he says.

—He’s saying people don’t even have respect for thieving, laughs Casuarina.

—That’s exactly what I’m saying. But not only ordinary people, Casuarina, but thieves themselves.

—What if it was something more than that, more than a car? I ask Castanea. What if they thieved something that belonged to you, that was more important to you than a car?

—Like what?

—Like. . .I don’t know, I say.

—Like a child, Avellana says.

—Then if it were not my car, but my child, I would have killed them.

—Lord, Casuarina gasps.

—Casuarina, there are some people in this world you may come across who don’t give a rat’s arse about the law.

—Well, Masur says. They should soon find that the law is very much concerned with them.

—Well, this doesn’t occur to them, Masur. They’d kill regardless. And do you know why?

—For power.

—No, not for power. They wouldn’t swing that bat for power, not even for pleasure. But for no other reason than to rid themselves of a nuisance.

—I’d imagine they’d need more of a reason than that, Masur says.

—You don’t always need a great reason to do something of a great consequence.

—Are you mad or just drunk? Masur says

Castanea makes fists of his hands and places them on his hips and leans forward to answer with a shake of his head.

—Desperately wasted.

—For God’s sake, hush up, Castanea.

—God again? I let it go before, but don’t use words like that in my presence. I won’t hush up for anyone’s sake. There isn’t any authority above me but my own.

From the appearance of Castanea, he was not slightly concerned by the offence he had caused the four of us who had been dining together quite peacefully. In fact, he appeared delighted, as though enjoying speaking precisely what was on his mind, and serving it to us, as we had served him his wine, and expecting us to eventually come to feel grateful of these remarks he had made.

—Have you bought that ticket to life yet, Casuarina?

—Excuse me?

—No, I don’t suppose you ever will, he says coldly mocking her. You’ll end up jumping out of an airplane just to invigorate your life.

Casuarina had the sense not to reply to Castanea’s remarks, and understood they were only raised with the intention of provoking a response, and so let them fly pass her without even allowed the words to enter her ears.

—Well if you have so much intelligence, Masur raises. Why do you not use that intelligence for anything useful?

—I suppose, he says pausing to think, it’s just not as fun. The effect doesn’t last as long.

He pauses for a moment wondering how to continue this trail of thought.

—If I blow up a bin, he continues, I know it affects everyone who walks past it. If I don’t, he says sullenly, no one knows I’ve even been there.

—He’s lost all sense and wits, Masur exclaims.

—Not at all, Castanea snaps. You must surely understand though, a person who is forced to live by their wits, uses their intelligence more than one who lives by force of habit.

Masur appeared to look as though confused by Castanea’s response, that it was one that made sense to him, but he resisted accepting the remark as something correct.

—He may be a great mathematician, articulate, Castanea continues. He may even a fine chess player. But ask him to steal from his neighbour and get away with it, and he won’t have a clue.

—Your nothing but a petty scoundrel, Masur says.

—Say what you will. I don’t make excuses for other people’s remarks. And I certainly won’t excuse my own.

After feeling Masur had done with him, who had now returned to his plate of cold food and poked at it as though trying to wake up the warmth that it once contained, Castanea meanwhile, turned away from Masur and directed his attention towards me.

—Got your light fixed yet, Zylitol?

—No, I haven’t yet, I reply

—How’s your reflection look in the dark? He says looking at me intensely. Or is it you just can’t bare to face yourself?

These words of Castanea seemed to cause discomfort in me, as though he were referring to something beneath the words he had spoken and so spoke each one of them precisely as though he thought he was able to communicate his message.

—You like to talk about courage, but do I ever see you with any? he says to me.

I had grown angry with the room, but tried not to show it and only held it within, and if a time came to use it, I would put it in to actions.

—I find courage animates me, he says. And if you had any courage you would display it and come hit me like I know you’ve been wanting to.

My chance? I think. But I couldn’t stand and only found myself to say:

—Don’t act childish. This is not my place, it wouldn’t be right to. But if this were in my apartment, believe me, things would be different.

—I highly doubt that, he says.

—Well, you haven’t the chance to prove it.

—Fight if you’re angry, Zylitol, he says mockingly. A brave man wouldn’t consider.

Avellanna put her hands on my arm.

—Ignore him, Zylitol.

—Who are you protecting? he laughs. What’s Zylitol to you, but one of many men who’ve entered your bed? I bet I’d see a beggar walking out of your room if you had no change to spare.

Avellana looks up at him shocked

—How dare you!

Avellana reached for some food from her place and through it in the direction of Castanea, but it all flew to his left and landed against the window. But he looked at her pleased that his remark had caused her to respond in action, and gave me a look to say that she had proved she was bolder than myself.

—See, the real problem with you, Zylitol, he says. Is that you think you can get through life on judgments. You think as long as you prove something to yourself, the world owes you.

I look at him bitterly but allow him to speak.

—You’re sat judging me as I speak. But you won’t say anything. And you’ve already proven you won’t do anything. . . . so nothing will come of it, he says parting his hands.

—But I bet it makes you feel better though, right? he continues to address me. That you can identify me as something? Something repulsive? But only repulsive because I offended you. And what makes you think you have to hate something that offends you?

—Stop it, Castanea. Avellana spits. Zylitol is a good person. You’re just taking pleasure in being cruel.

—It’s for his own good, he snaps. See, I believe we understand each other, Zylitol. But you amuse me, because you’re so restrained. You daren’t do any of the things I know you think about. You don’t even dare leave. He says with a smile, then wipes it from his face. But you think about it.

As I thought of a response to counter his words, we each heard footsteps on the stairs that lead to the kitchen, and through the arch way, we would see a familiar figure standing before us, looking at the scene he had arrived to.

—Ah, Carpinus, Castanea says. I’ve heard about you. He says as Carpinus looks on at a table of appalled and angry faces. What a fine mess you’ve got yourself in to.

—You’re referring to our house?

—When’s the wedding? Is she expecting litter? Or is she just expecting trash?

Carpinus took a deep breath through his nose and held on to it and his eyes flared red.

—Say that again, he threatens, and I’ll put your face through the wall.

—Where is she by the way? I never seem to see her anymore. Is she still at work? You think I can see her on the street from the window?

Carpinus clenches his teeth and swallows.

—Say that again, he hisses, and I’ll put your face through the wall.

—Oh, you are boiled aren’t you, Castenea says delighted, moving closer to Carpinus. Is that because your girl’s all used up by the time she gets to you?

Before Castanea could hardly take a breath after his sentence, Carpinus had thrown a heavy fist in to Castanea’s left jaw, knocking him to the floor.

—Alirght, he says, I’ll go. Catching his breath he fumbles around to find the cigarette that was knocked out of his mouth. But only because I was impressed with that, he says.

He tries to stand and straighten his clothes.

—Take a note guys, he says hunched and pointing at Carpinus. That was courage you just saw.

I did not see Castanea after this meal, but I had learned that after he had left, some of these small matches he had mentioned, had become heated, chased him for a while before they caught up with him, punched him, kicked him, tore his clothes, and then tied him to a lamppost, poured cold water over him, and left him there. I don’t know what kind of courage Castanea had, but he certainly never saw the benefits from it.

After leaving the dinner, the air now calmed amongst us, I began to walk up the stairs to my apartment, as I usually did after these things. But I felt my conscience was pricked. Castanea was right, I admitted, action was missing from my thoughts, and I could no longer make bitter comments on the world. The world had not changed through my bitterness and would not do so. What peace from my sorrow could I expect if I do not act from peace myself. No, things must begin a new. I have seen only what is immediate to me, but there is more deeper still. I have seen the surface for what it is, but not yet peeled it back.

And feeling as though I were breathing different air and no longer felt drawn to my writing desk but to elsewhere, where I might receive further tastes of this air, I halted in my steps and feelings rose up inside of me, demanding of me:

Go! Go out in to the world and see what cannot be seen from indoors or through windows. Find what has not been shown to you; seek what has not yet been seen.

I immediately turned around, as though knowing there was something to fulfil that lay elsewhere, and walked towards it as if tethered to it. And after a while of walking, following the direction this feeling had chosen, I arrived at the park where I stopped in the middle, and looking up to the sky, breathing in the cool air, the town felt unfamiliar, and I felt unfamiliar to myself. And whilst there, standing in the centre, breathing in the nightly air, the clouds dispersed, showing no sun but stars. The land was never tired at this hour, and rested only during the day, exhausted buy our trampling. Only by the night does it wakes and breath without those to disturb it. The ground was warm, and held puddles of collected rain, working to become vapour for heavy clouds. In the summer, this place is covered in bushy trees and fruit, cherries, berries and apples. But in the winter it has shed this skin and shows its cold and coarse body, a hidden nakedness brought by an unbearable season. In autumn we sweep away the dead leaves that have been shed, in spring we’re grateful for the warmth return, but we see no colours from the land for a few more weeks. We live and wait for the land’s rebirth of its green overcoat that will revive the life and bring fruit. As night comes, only starlight and passing planes can be seen in the night sky. Neither the clouds feel the need for their presence. Words are spoken only between the lowest and highest, between the grass and the stars. Even the moon looked down upon me, hovering over me with its one examining eye, and I stared back at it, breathing with it. I wondered how I felt before and now how I felt none of it tonight. And how peaceful this feels to me now, and how undisturbed I feel towards it. What a different light I have see it by, what a different skin I have seen it in, what a different tone I have felt it with.

Where is this land I felt revulsion for? Is it still here, is it buried? Have I buried it? Or buried only my feelings and thoughts of it? If my thoughts were me and I was absolutely myself, then they will still be with me, but if I am absolutely myself as I feel to be, without burden, whole-spirited, in balance, a harmony, then they have departed from me. Then this land is not what I held revulsion for, but only having felt torched by it. Tonight, is how I wish to feel. This peace, this lazy harmony, is absolutely myself. In touch with the land and leaves. If tomorrow should be any different, I will have done wrong to myself. No, this, this radiation of soul, this efflux of spirit. This is how tomorrow shall be, and how all further days and nights should be. And I will make it of my concern for it to be so. This is not a thing to leave behind, not a leaf to leave to the wind. I am settled, calm, as amongst the grass, as if I were these blades of grass, and the land which has awoken me tonight.