I was up before the crack of dawn. After going through the bathroom and Yoga routines, I put on the running shoes and headed for the the foothills. I live in a valley surrounded by mountains. There's a fine running track at the foothills, about two miles from my condo. The air wasn't as cold as a few weeks ago. Spring was arriving.
I started really slowly at first, more like a slow trot than a run. At my age I dared not risk injury. Recently I took up running again, to clear my head, to lose weight, and to keep murderous thoughts at bay. In my 20's, I ran in order not to kill myself. Now I run so I could hold together the center. I don't know how much longer I can hold off my demons.
The air was crisp and clean in the faint light radiating from the rising sun that struggled to get over the mountain top. I let my mind run free with me. My feet hit the ground, slowly, very slowly and softly, hardly making any sound as I was running on the trail. One thought ran after another, alongside with me, deep from the recesses of my burdened mind.
Why did the Bitch say such an untrue, cruel thing to me? An effort to assert herself or a perverted form and manifestation of self-destructive behavior so common among humans whose aspirations are thwarted by limitations and stupidities? There are certain things which are much better off unsaid, even if they are true. Truths are difficult to face and sometimes impossible to carry. Trampling on a man's ego and he will kill you, without hesitation. There are some men whose ego is so fragile and brittle that you are much better off staying away from them. You can tell who they are by the tense facial expressions, the tics, and hostile, glaring eyes
Why did the motherfuckers in this world cling to falsehoods and self-deception while trying to have a pretense of respect? How could a person respect himself when he knew he was lying? How could a man go on living when he has no dream, no hope, no pride? No, no, no, you thought I was talking about myself? I was talking about you, fool.
I myself was indeed a fool for a long time with regard to bitches. I stayed too long in dead-end relationships and I was lazy and timid in seeking fresh ones. I probably just got wised up about women about 2, 3 years ago. Love is a game played by strict rules. All human interactions are games. However, I don't really regret my past errors and follies. Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards, as Kierkegaard famously opined. Still, it does not hurt to fortify yourself with fantasies. You must imagine that you are indeed attractive and desirable. You must be willing to flirt and exude an air of confidence, sophistication, and urbanity. That was ẽactly how I was doing with Frau Baum.
About a year ago I met her out of the blue, in the full bloom of serendipities, like all my past encounters with women. I was browsing around in the section of Philosophy in the local library when I sensed I was being watched. I turned and caught her right in the act. She blushed and stepped away. I was intrigued but I didn't want to follow her and start a conversation. I had a bad day at the office. That was why I loitered in the library. There are men who drink or jerk off to release tension. I either hit the movie house or the library. Anyway, I checked out two books and headed to my new pussymobile, a black Jaguar in the parking lot, that I foolishly purchased on a whim. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw her admire my shining black new car, sparkling and glimmering in the hot desert sun. This must be destiny, this is nothing but predestination, that was what I said to myself. So my hesitation all disappeared and I briskly walked to her and said, "You're not thinking of stealing my car, are you?"
She blushed again and started walking away. I didn't let her this time. I put on the sweetest smile I could muster and my most sincere, cadenced, baritone, mellifluous voice I had practiced for hours, talking to myself on whatever the subjects that flew in and out of my mind, while driving aimlessly on country roads in the darkest, loneliest nights of my life,
-"Pardon me, I was only kidding. You liked the car? I just bought it. Two months ago. You like Jaguars?"
-"No, I prefer water buffaloes" (What? Am I running into a psycho here? Or a tough, bitchy, Amazon woman who is testing my manhood? I wouldn't be deterred.)
-"That's absolutely cute. Very, very good. Water buffaloes, huh? But you sound German, Teutonic, am I right? You can't be familiar with water buffaloes. You grew up in Southeast Asia? My name is Roberto, by the way, what's yours? "
She didn't get away. She stayed and talked to me. Her name was Martha Baum, a few years younger than me, fresh in the city, and freshly widowed. She moved to the Sin City not to seek and wallow in sins, but for the health of her asthmatic Korean elderly husband, but he died anyway. I, of course, told her only half-truths about myself. I had learned hard lessons about untarnished honesty. I was lonely and didn't want to chase her away. I liked her and wanted her to like me. She looked pretty and sounded educated and intelligent. After some hesitation, she gave me her cell phone number.
I called her that very evening. That seemed to delight her. We exchanged more info about ourselves. She lived in a tony suburb of Vegas. She didn't have to work for a living. She did volunteer work for the city. And yes, she liked to read philosophy. I told her of my interest in languages and writing and of my avocation of poker, which took her aback. She then commented that I must be doing all right on account of having a brand new Jag. I chuckled, telling her not to believe everything she saw with her own eyes. Appearances could be deceiving. Yes, I was doing fine. And I was only interested in having somebody to talk to. "But you must have a lot of women who want to talk with you. You look good and you are funny, charming even, if I may say so.". I chuckled again and said thanks and then added, "my heart is a very strange, lonely hunter. It goes after impossible prey and hopeless dreams."
We talked some more in subsequent weeks. It was always I who called. I didn't mind. I was not looking for love, hence no ego got dragged into the relationship. I was looking for a sympathetic ear, an intelligent listener to whom I could unburden myself. I began sending her my "writings", a mixture and mélange of essays, poems (translated as well as original) and short stories, all unpublished, while learning German in earnest. I didn't tell her that I was learning the language. That would sound cheap and crass, for some reason.
I usually called her in the evenings, after I got back from work. I spoke whatever that occupied my mind at that moment. But invariably my topics revolved around religion, philosophy, love, sex, power, honor, knowledge, and honesty. Usually, the conversations were actually monologues and soliloquies from me with some interruptions from her for clarifications. She let me spill my guts while she kept close to her chest her views. I didn't know I kept her spell-bound or she played me for a garrulous fool. But I didn't really care. As I said, I was not in love with her or anything close to that. All I wanted to do was to talk.
And talk I did. About three weeks ago. I called her up and said I wanted to talk about honesty.
-"But what kind?"
I was stumped and flustered and bewildered by the question. And I told her so.
-"Is there more than one?"
"Ja, Herr Wissai.
-"Such as?"
-"That's for me to know and for you to find out."
She had not been playful like this before. This was the side of Frau Baum I least expected. So, I was stalling for time ("Let me think. You said there was more than one. So, there could be two, three, or more than that.") and then the floodgate in my mind was opened. And I spoke.
-"I agreed that there are more than one kind of honesty. We have ethical honesty: be factual, don't tell lies, don't misrepresent facts or yourself. And we have what I would call situational honesty which says that untarnished honesty is not really the best policy. Honesty must be subordinate to higher values like kindness. Am I getting warm?"
-"You're getting more than warm. You're getting hot!" (Boy, I am treading on dangerous terrain, I think. The woman is either flirting with me or putting me in my place. I will soon find out.)
-"Whatever. What I want to speak tonight is the intellectual honesty I find lacking in most people I interact with. They have an ego to protect and they don't want to admit to themselves that they could be intellectually inferior to me. I'm not saying that I'm vastly intellectual or anything close to that. What I'm saying is that when I interact with people, I want to find out where I stand intellectually and if there are things I could learn from them. If they're intellectually superior to me, I'm happy for them and I don't actually feel bad about myself because I know I don't know everything and there are always people who are much better than me, not only intellectually but in other aspects as well. But I've found that most people have small minds and puny hearts. And that's made me feel good about myself because I've long suspected that I'm special and rare. I guess what I'm saying is that one cannot find out who one really is if one doesn't interact with others. The others act as a preventive mechanism that works against self-delusions and too much subjectivity. If we have nobody else to compare and contrast, we don't really know who we are.
-"Jawohl! ", she exclaimed or, should I say, thundered. And then she spoke in that lilting Bavarian accent of hers.
-"Roberto, you're zu sensitive for your own good. The hell with others. Don't give a damn what they think of you. Humans are mostly scumbags and assholes. Really. They are no different from dogs and pigs. They are deep down aggressive but insecure, and greedy and filthy. Sie haben keine Liebe in ihren Herzen. Sorry, I mean, they have no love in their hearts. By the way, do you know German?
-"No, not at all."
-"Roberto, my Roberto, you are going to die, sooner than you want or think. Each day if you are still alive, that should be a cause for celebration. Be peaceful. Don't get involved in the world. Don't get too anxious and excited to show off your intellect. Rise above common desires and temptations. You are a very good looking, strong, and vibrant man. Don't waste your time. You have very little time left. I sensed that you were perturbed, troubled, not blessed with serenity, even lonely, although really funny, when I first met you. Go with the flow. Be good and alert. Peace."
What the fuck was going on here? Why Martha spoke to me this way? Preachy and maternal. Was I that transparent? I had nothing to say to her strange change of tone of voice. I didn't want to get hurt. So I said goodnight to her and clicked off.
I lost the urge to talk to her. I needed to retreat and regroup and reorient myself. Loneliness and the need to be understood had always been my enemies. Those plus the habit to unburden myself. No wonder I found no peace and received no respect. I ran longer distance, though not faster. The longer I ran, the urge to reach for the phone and call her became less strong. After a week, I regained my composure. After two weeks, I stopped counting the days. I was getting stronger physically and emotionally. Daily financial gyrations did't bother me much, After three weeks, she no longer occupied my mind. Then she called when I least expected. I was still at work, so I said I could call her back when I got home. But I didn't. I usually kept my word, but somehow with her, I wanted to make an exception. Besides, what could I speak about now? I had exhausted the topics. Then she called again, two nights later. This time I was at home.
-"You are a tease. Do you know that?"
-"Pardon me?"
-"You called every night. Then you stopped calling. No explanation. No goodbye. Who do you think you are?"
-"I don't like the way this conversation heading."
-"Are you playing with me? With my emotions?"
-"Whoa! Wait a minute. You got me all wrong here. You told me to be strong and serene. That's what I've been doing."
-Yeah, at my expense."
-"I don't think you really know me at all. I'm not what you accuse me being. I'm trying to survive here, okay? I've made a lot of mistakes in my life. Didn't you realize why I elected to talk about honesty in our last conversation? Honesty is not just an idle subject for me. It's an integral part of me. It's my middle name, believe it or not. Of course, I can lie as the next person. And there were times I was forced by circumstances to do so, but I was never comfortable doing so. I always want to be accepted and loved on my own terms, warts and all. I told you a lot of things about myself. They were all truths, but only half-truths. I had to protect myself. The whole truths would scare you and make you feel uncomfortable about me. I experienced a pull towards and a push away from you. When a man and a woman talked--- actually, I did most of the talking---as long as we did something was bound to happen. And I was scared of the sentimentalist in me. You were so bizarre and coy and aggressive in our last conversation that terrified me. I figured, however, if you really liked me, you would get in touch with me. My life has always been about displacement and dislocation, literally and figuratively. Catastrophes and disasters always happen to me because of my personality. And I somehow have survived thus far. There is a thrill to that. I guess what I am saying is that I am looking for a person like me all my life, my long lost twin brother who is a woman. Do you think you can be my long lost twin brother, who understands what and how I think and feel and long for? I don't think so because if you are, you would call me right away, a day or two after you didn't hear from me, instead of weeks. You are the one who is a tease, not me. You overthought. You were too burdened with philosophy. There was not enough poetry in you. Life is not about being safe and sound and rational. It's about being alive and honest with yourself, with your feelings, with the other person, with taking risks and damn the consequences. That's how you would find out who you are and what you are made of. I'm sorry if I'm sounding too judgmental here. Actually, I'm not. I respect your worth, your very being as a different person from me. Not everybody must be like me, I realize that. The world would be very boring.Thanks for listening."
-"Hey, don't go away. Listen, you are free tomorrow evening? Come see me, please. We will talk some more."
I arrived at her house, dressed in black. Pants, shirt, and shoes. I even put on a necklace of prayer black beads for peace and confidence. I purchased it in a mosque in Turkey. Everybody seemed to like it and said it looked good on me. I am no Muslim, though, even though I am very fond of and respectful towards Muhammad. If you take the time to read about his life as I did, you would like him, too. He was a well-rounded man. The only blemish about him was his decision to marry a six-year-old girl Aisha, daughter of one of his aides. There are certain things thou must maintain decorums, like thou shall not walk around naked outside of thy house; or thou shall not marry a child 50 years younger than thou art, no matter how much thou love or desire her, no matter how powerful thou art. Thou must learn to curb thy desires. Thou must respect the order of things in life. There is nothing that exceeds like excess. Anyway, I am digressing.
Martha greeted me very warmly, asking what I would like to drink. I said a cup of tea would be just fine.
After bringing me a steaming cup of green tea, she just sat there in the sofa, studying me and simply said, "We talked enough already. I just want to welcome you in my house and feel what it is like to have you here in the same room with me. Say anything you want. I just want to hear your voice and see your face. This is the second time we met. We met 3 months ago. You remembered that, didn't you? Did you count the days as I did?". The last three sentences were delivered with a choking voice. It was quite moving for me to see her trying to maintain a composure. Then she added, "I was trying to be strong, to stay away from you. But I couldn't. I hope I am not wrong about you."
I didn't know what to say. I lost my capacity for speech, momentarily. The whole thing was like a dream, a melodramatic scene from a cheap romance novel. She looked at me inquisitively and I looked back at her, tenderly. She then motioned me to come sit next to her on the sofa. When I got up, she opened her arms widely. I collapsed in her arms, with tears in my eyes.
I told her everything she wanted to know about me and more. I spoke without restraint. I bared my soul. I completely unburdened myself. I told her about my ex-wives and current wife, my past girlfriends and the current ones, my triumphs and my defeats. I told her about my oppressive loneliness. I spoke about my quirks and phobias, my lack of peace. I told her of my daily routines and my plan for the remainder of my life. She only interrupted my monologue when I talked about the first two women that went through my life. She wanted to know if I still loved them. I bitterly laughed, "No, not really. And maybe not at all. And do you know why? I fully admitted that they were smarter than me, but I now strongly believe that I have a better heart than they do and I don't respect them as much as I used to. I think they are too common, too predictable, too sane, too rational. Their lives lacked what I would call poetry. And most importantly, I don't think they cared about me at all. They were flattered and pleased, but not really moved that I mistakenly cherished and treasured them. In hindsight, they were intelligent but ordinary while I could be less intelligent but much more non-ordinary. I seized on life, I took risks, and I made myself vulnerable. I had a bigger heart. I was more willing to sacrifice myself for others. I, of course, was wrong and impractical in my approach to life and in my orientation towards others. But I think I was more real, more authentic, and I won't regret when Death arrives. I guess my ambivalence towards both of these two common women was gone. I had concluded that I was a better specimen as a human being than they were. That is why I have stopped having bad and sad dreams about them."
She told me more about hếlf: how she grew up in Bavaria, moved to Chicago as a student and got a job as am insurance claims adjuster upon graduation; how she met her Korean dentist husband (she was his client and they were childless) and why she liked to read philosophy (why we must learn to live and not to kill ourselves or others). She told me to stay where I was, went to one of the bedrooms, and came back with a framed picture of her and her deceased husband. I was startled. The man looked like me, like we were identical twins. Then she said, "Now, you understand why I spied on you at the library, and why I couldn't stay away from you."
Of course, I asked her an all-important question, "You like me because of me or him?," pointing my index finger at the man in the picture.
Her answer was that initially because of the physical resemblance, but as time went on, it was because of my unique personality. She added, "I have met nobody like you. Nobody. You're so different, so childlike and yet incredibly profound, so stupid and so wise. I just hope you aren't going to hurt me, making me feel like a fool, that I'm falling in love with a rascal, a jerk. I don't care that you're already married. I just want to know if you love me and care about me as much as I care about you. As you said, we are no spring chickens. We're going to die soon. Before I do, I want to be loved. I want to hang around a man I feel comfortable with and whom I trust and respect. You are that man. I thought long and hard during those three weeks I didn't hear from you. I even went to the library, looking for you, hoping you're there."
I told her yes, I respected and cared for her, and that I didn't know if I loved her yet, but given time, I would as there was nothing about her that would stop me from going to the next level. I then added that based on past experiences I had to go slowly because I had learned to my sorrow that the human heart was really a dark place, and not a sunny locale as many of us would like to believe. I had learned that many, many humans were filthy, stupid, ignorant, untrustworthy, greedy, and vain. They cared nothing for others. All they lived for was to service their needs and their egos. "A selfish heart knows no light. It's dark, very dark indeed, darker than night, blacker than asphalt. There was no mistake and no joke that Joseph Conrad talked about Heart of Darkness and named one of his novels after it. By nature, I was a funny, loving, trusting, caring man, but the more I interact with humans, especially those from my old country, I'm getting to be misanthropic and homicidal. Most of them behave like plain animals, with no redeeming human qualities. I now prefer a dog for company than taking with my so-called compatriots. Still, I'm struggling with the notion that we must always try to rise above animalism and we must learn not to be indifferent to the suffering and misery of our own kind just because of some or even most bad apples among us."
I was exhausted and weary yet still angry after my short but intense and personal speech. I felt like going to the gym and hit a punching bag. And I told Martha so. She just said, ""Hush" and placed her index finger on my lips, then pulled it back, and seized my hand and led me to the master bathroom. She took my shoes off, asking me to lie down and close my eyes, and not to get all worked up over the foibles of animalistic humans. She came back with a warm wet wash cloth and proceeded to clean my forehead and my face, all while speaking to me in a tender soothing voice. She offered me a glass of Glenlivet, urging me to inhale it deeply and then drink it if I wanted to. The elixir worked wonders on my nerves. She then undressed me and patiently massaged me all over. I passed out before I knew it. When I woke up a few hours later, Martha was lying naked, next to me, with her arm stretching over my chest, sleeping....
I wouldn't bore you with the titillating details and clichés of how we made love that night and of whether I was still a stud and if she was a tigress in bed. Suffice to say I was pleased and honored and appreciative of how lucky I was loved by Martha. Now there are times when we are together, I wonder if the whole thing, I mean how we met and fell in love, is like a dream or a screenplay for a soapy French movie. Still, I believe in luck. I know I've been a very lucky man, considering what has happened to me throughout my life. It was I who kept screwing things up, who had a Death Wish. But I won't screw things up with Martha, oh, no, not with her. She's too incredible, too trusting of me, too understanding of my matrimonial predicament for me to hurt her and myself. She has helped me become less cynical about the human black heart.
When I told the Bitch about Martha, she was furious at first and then incredulous. She pestered me for a meeting with Martha as proof. When I proposed a conversation over the phone instead, she initially refused but gave in when I held my ground. Yesterday evening 9 pm was the agreed-upon time. I called the Bitch. She answered on the first ring. After a minute of light banter, I handed the phone to Martha who put it on the speaker, per my request. Here was how the conversation went:
-Hi, Sassy.
-Oh, Hi. Are you Martha?
-Jawohl!
-Excuse me?
-Ja, I am.
-So, you're for real, huh?
-Excuse me?
-That son of a bitch Roberto has been bragging that he's found a new girlfriend, a widowed German woman. Are you the one?
-Listen, I won't tolerante that kind of language from you. Roberto is my man, a real gentleman. He ain't no son of a bitch, you hear? And he ain't no "stupid failure" either. You're the one. He has told me everything about you. Now, go fuck yourself! (Martha clicked off the cell phone and handed it back to me, her eyes glared with anger and she was huffing).
The phone rang almost instantaneously. I looked at the number. It was Sassy. I didn't answer it. Instead, I put the phone on mute. It vibrated in my hand for a few more seconds. Then it stopped. I put it down on the bed side table. Martha then put a question to me, "Does your wife have bad manners like that Bitch Sassy?"
I just shrugged my shoulders and said nothing. Then it was my turn to ask her a question, "What in the world, you used "ain't" this and "ain't" that for? Weren't you concerned the Bitch thought you were uneducated?
She laughed and said, "it's my way to let people know that I'm mad and pissed off. I'm telling them, watch out, I'm willing to get down and dirty in the gutter with you."
"That's my girl!", I said.
Wissai
March 20, 2015
Afterword:
I am a creature of contradictions. My feelings and sensibilities run the whole gamut, from the sordid to the sublime, from coarseness to refinement. Very few, if any, people see the whole picture of me. They only see or understand a facet and mistakenly take a facet as a whole. I write "short stories" to let people know, "hey, I am not an one-dimensional man. Watch how I use language, lyrical and sublime one minute and coarse and aggressive the next minute. But although I'm self-contradictory, I am a honest man, not a fake, a poseur. The more I interact with people, the more I realize most (at least 80%) of them are not who they present themselves to be.
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