I’ll be honest with you, even here I wouldn’t have taken on the job of minding the place if they hadn’t agreed it would stop being the way it was up till then, when anything went. Minding the cabins, that also requires giving something up so as to have something else. I said, fine, I’ll do it, but I have to be able to impose order here. Never mind that we’re in nature. Ever since people left nature behind, in doing that they agreed to a different kind of order. If they still lived in nature, nature would do the minding. But since it’s going to be me …
I began by marking out the paths, because people were walking any way their feet took them. They trampled the grass not just in front of the cabins, everywhere you looked it was all trodden down. I had them provide spades, and string to do the laying out. The pegs I made myself. I sketched out where all the paths would be, made a plan for each side of the lake. And can you imagine, they even started objecting to the paths, they said I was restricting their freedom. It made me mad and I said, do they want me to look after the place, yes or no? If so, then we need to get to work. I’m restricting their freedom, can you believe that? And they’re not restricting my freedom? Any reciprocal arrangement is a restriction. Not to mention that I didn’t come here to look after their cabins. I have my nameplates, that’s more than enough for me. Who knows if it isn’t actually too much, because there’s always too much work for one person. I could easily just live my own life, so long as I have my dogs. Besides, I don’t have long to go now. In my spare moments I could go walking in the woods, read, listen to music. That’s right, I brought some books. Not too many, but any of them can be reread, you can do that as often as you like. I always liked reading if I only had the time.
Back when I was working on building sites, whenever the site had a library I’d always borrow books. I had to read at least a few pages before I fell asleep. It depended on how tired I was. But even when I was exhausted I had to, otherwise I couldn’t get to sleep. Even when I was drunk I had to. I’d read even if I didn’t understand what I was reading. Actually, you don’t have to understand right away. You can live any amount of life and you don’t understand that either. I brought a lot of things, TV, radio, cassette player, video, lots of records. It’s all through there in the living room.
I wouldn’t have to know all the people here, know who’s who, which cabin they’re from. But now I do, though I don’t need them for anything. I have to remember who and where and when, who gave what to who and all that. I have to give everyone’s cabin the once-over after each season. I have to do this and that and the other, but I wouldn’t have to do any of it, because I don’t have to do anything at all anymore. They go mushrooming then they ask me to come check whether any of the mushrooms they’ve picked are poisonous. And I have to go, because what would happen if they got poisoned?
I’m restricting their freedom. Like anyone knows what that even means. Or they come to me with all sorts of problems and complaints, and I have to hear them out. It goes without saying that they tattle on each other as well. You can’t have all these cabins and all these people without someone telling on someone else. Sometimes I feel like a priest in the confessional. Except that priests teach you how to forget. They forgive your sins and forget them. But I don’t forgive anything, and I can’t forget either. So who’s restricting whose freedom, tell me that.
Freedom. You could say the word itself conceals its own negation. In the same way that despair lurks in the most beautiful illusion. Because if you understand it as freedom from all constraints, then that includes freedom from yourself. After all, people are their own most troublesome constraints. They can be unbearable to themselves. Some of them are too much for themselves. Uncle Jan for instance, the first example that comes to mind. Nothing in particular happened to make him do what he did. What might have happened, in any case what they suspected him of, maybe he could have endured it somehow or other. People have put up with worse. Did he hang himself because he was free? Or because it was the only way he could get free of himself? I’ll tell you one thing, free people are unpredictable. Not just to other folks. Above all to themselves.
When I think about it sometimes, I come to the conclusion that freedom is just a word, like lots of similar words. They don’t mean what they’re supposed to mean, because that isn’t possible. They aim too high and end up becoming illusions. Which is hardly surprising, since life is just one long series of illusions. We’re guided by illusions, motivated by illusions. Illusions drive us forward, hold us back, determine our goals. We’re born out of illusions, and death is just a transition from one illusion into another.
After all, there are words like that that don’t have any fixed meaning. Words that can adapt to any of our desires, our dreams, our longings, our thoughts. You might say they’re immaterial, words drifting in a universe of other words – that they’re words searching for their own meaning, or to put it more precisely, for their own idea. For example eternity, nothingness. Who knows if freedom isn’t one of those words. Yet you have to beware of words like that, because they can assume any meaning, any idea. Depending on how ready we are to yield to them, and what we intend to use them for. In my view not even nature is free.
To tell you the truth, it’s only the children that keep me here, otherwise I’d have given up this minding business long ago. Yes, I like children. Children may be the only thing I still like. Myself? Why do you ask that? I’ve no reason to like myself. When they bring their children here, the kids come running to me of their own accord. And whatever they want, I always do it, show them things, explain things. I dig up worms so they can go fishing, put them on their hooks, teach them how to tell one kind of fish from another. Teach them to swim. If they break something I mend it without a word. Sometimes I take a larger or smaller group of them to the woods. With their parents’ consent, of course. We learn about the trees, how to tell an oak from a beech, a larch from a spruce. We pick blueberries, wild strawberries, blackberries, or we collect pine cones or acorns. Learn how to tell poisonous mushrooms from edible ones. Sometimes I give them little quizzes so they’ll remember things better. When we see a bird I explain to them what kind of bird it is and how not to confuse it with other kinds. If we find a nest I’ll tell them what sort of bird lives in it, and what kinds of nests other birds build. Then when they get tired we sit down and I tell them stories. What about? No, not about what once happened here, not that. And I never lead them to where the graves are. They might stop being children, because being a child has nothing to do with how old you are.
I don’t have any children of my own. I was married, but I don’t have any children. That was why my wife and I split up, because she wanted to have children. I liked my friends’ children, though. Whenever I visited I’d always bring them some gift. It pleased me to see how it pleased them. I liked to play with them. But the thought that one of them could be mine would fill me with anxiety. It’s the same now, whenever I think that one of the children here could be mine …
With adults I know at least that nothing much links me to them anymore. And nothing needs to, aside from the fact that here for example, I look after their cabins and insist on order. Not for its own sake, or even because order makes the looking after easier. No. It’s that when there’s order around you, it’s easier to find order in yourself. When they make a fuss, I can always threaten to stop minding their cabins. I demanded a lights-out time in all the cabins. After all, they come here to rest, it ought to be quiet. Do you think they all got it right away? Not a bit of it. Some of the cabins, they’d deliberately leave their lights on all night long. They only began to catch on when I refused to look after certain cabins. Unless someone had a nameday or some other special occasion, then I’d let them have an extra hour or two, but not all night. I marked out firepits for bonfires, at a distance from the cabins and the woods, close to the water. I’ve nothing against people grilling sausages, but only up to such and such a time. Then the regulations say they have to douse the fire. I go around and
check.
For instance, the cabins didn’t have numbers. When someone new came they’d get lost. Or come to me and ask which cabin belonged to so-and-so. I’d have to take them there, because they wouldn’t find it even if I gave them directions. I’d even make mistakes myself about who lived in which cabin. You saw for yourself, a lot of the cabins look the same. And in fact pretty much first thing I decided to number all the cabins. Having numbers would make things much easier. You’d think I’d have been given a round of applause. Not on your life. It was nothing but an uphill struggle. To start with, everyone wanted the lowest possible number. Then someone hit on the idea of numbering the cabins in the order they were built. With that kind of arrangement no one would ever have been able to find any cabin. Number one would be over by the woods, say, then number two would be on the far side of the lake. Plus, they’d never be able to agree on whose cabin was built first or second or tenth, because at the beginning the same company put up all the cabins. And not one after another, but depending on who greased the right palms or knew someone in the firm. Then they started discussing which side of the lake the numbering should start from. And they couldn’t agree on that either, because the people on this side wanted the numbers to begin here, then to continue on the far side. While the folks over there wanted the opposite.
What would you have done in my place? I wanted them to decide it among themselves, because I reckoned that if they didn’t reach an understanding on their own, there’d never be agreement. They’d always be bothered by the numbering, that they didn’t live at the number they wanted to live at. Besides, they were their cabins, their numbers. I just said I’d buy the paint, cut out some stencils and paint the numbers on. It almost drove me nuts. I said to them, do you want me to paint the numbers on? Because someone has to. Then in that case they’ll begin here and end here. And both sides of the lake together, not separately.
Do you think that was an end of it? No such luck. When it came down to it, no one wanted to have number thirteen because that’s unlucky. Except what kind of order is it when one number’s missing? Someone could come and be looking for number thirteen. Nothing I could do, I had them draw straws, and it came out that now number thirteen is between number twenty-six and number twenty-seven. But so be it, I guess no order can be perfect.
Another thing, they’d throw their trash out wherever they wanted, they mostly chucked it into the woods. When you went walking there it was an offense to the woods. At one time the woods didn’t even have any sticks left. I made them bring trash bags for their trash, then take the bags back to the city to dispose of. Cities are beyond saving anyway. If I ever find even a beer can or a soda bottle or anything, the dogs will sniff out who dropped it, and bring it back to their doorstep.
Then sunbathing, they can’t just go sunbathing right away or for as long as they want, there’s a warning on the signboards to say they have to do it gradually, and bald people have to wear a cap. One time it happened that someone figured he’d get a full tan on the first day, and we ended up having to call an ambulance.
I made two signboards. I put up two posts, one on each side of the lake, fixed the signboards on the posts, then each season I write what they can and can’t do on the boards. Whenever anyone arrives for the first time they have to read what’s written there, because every season there’s someone new, and also I change some of the wording to make it clearer, so later no one can claim it’s ambiguous.
Would you like to see the signboards? They’re propped up through there, in the hallway. That’s right, I take them down in the off-season. Maybe you could suggest something to add. There’s never any end to order. All right, maybe another time, if you come during the season. You’ll see for yourself then. I’m thinking of making two more. Actually, there really should be one in front of every cabin. Or even better, everyone should carry a sign like that on their back. That way they couldn’t claim they didn’t have time to read it.
Why do I do it? Let me ask you, do you know people? I get the impression you sort of don’t. Would you be able to turn a blind eye to all these things? And what, just let it all happen? That that’s how people are made? Then why were they made at all? They didn’t have to be. It’s easy enough to imagine a world without people. Why not? You say that in such a case the world would have no imagination? Perhaps our imagination is our misfortune, and by the same token it’s the misfortune of the world? Maybe I’m not as strong as you. I can’t say, I don’t know you. But here at least, in this place, it can’t be so. I could be indifferent to all this if I weren’t looking after it. But once I took the job on, even though I didn’t have to, it became an entirely different matter.
For instance, since last season they’re not allowed to take children out into the deep water. They’re not my kids, but I couldn’t stand to see some father or mother taking a child into deep water to teach them to swim. Don’t be scared, don’t be scared. That’s not how to stop a kid from being afraid. One time a little one nearly drowned. The father accidentally swallowed a mouthful of water, and he let go of the child. Before anyone could have swum out there it would have been all over. Luckily Rex and Paws jumped in and pulled it out.
I’ve stopped allowing adults just the same, if they’re not good swimmers. I was even thinking of requiring everyone to get a swimming certificate. How else can you know if someone really can swim when they say they can. I mean, I can’t stand in front of everyone and check. Maybe one day I’ll organize races and everyone can show whether they’re a good swimmer or not. You can’t mess around with water. Water, fire, destiny.
But there’s one thing I haven’t been able to do anything about. I haven’t been able to stop them having fights and beating up on their wives. I say wives, it makes no difference whether it’s their wife or not. There are guys that bring a different woman here every season. But I know my boundaries. There’s others have someone different with them every weekend. Last time it was an older woman, this time he’s with someone much younger. You can’t help seeing. Some of them even swap women among the cabins. You can’t help noticing that one of them was staying in one cabin and now she’s in a different one, then two or three weeks later she’s in one of the very furthest ones. I don’t pry. It’d never even occur to me to ask one guy or another, So is this your new wife? And I won’t listen when other people come and complain about these wives or whatever they are.
One time they came to tell me that in one of the cabins, forgive me for not saying which one, the man was always beating his wife or non-wife. It was always in the middle of the night. And that I should do something about it. But what was I supposed to do? I can’t just go there and say, stop beating her. I don’t even have the right to say, your wife or your non-wife, whichever it is. Myself, I’d never strike a woman. But how can you explain it to a type like that? What am I to him? I just take care of the place, I let myself be hired. Or if I wanted to write it on the signboards, what am I supposed to write? Beating of wives and non-wives prohibited? There are things that don’t belong on signboards.
Then one night I was woken by a shout. Or maybe I wasn’t asleep? I jumped out of bed and ran outside, the dogs followed. I couldn’t see lights on in any of the cabins. It was quiet as it usually is around here. Maybe I dreamed it, I thought to myself. I sometimes dream something that wakes me up. Even from a deeper sleep. Afterwards I find it hard to believe that I only dreamed it. Like what? I won’t tell you, dreams can’t be told. When they’re told, they stop being a dream. It’s like you wanted to tell about God. Would God still exist? Besides, can anything actually be told? Things told are just things told, nothing more. Usually they have little in common with what was or is or will be. They live their own lives. And they don’t settle down for good, but instead they keep on moving, growing, getting further and further away from what was or is or will be. Though who knows, maybe in that way they draw closer to the truth?
Try and reach down deep, try if you can to touch the world with the very first
thought, that’s still untainted by anything. You’ll admit then that it’s what’s told that establishes what was or is or will be, not the other way around; that it fills it out, determines whether it’s bound for oblivion or resurrection. And what is told is the only possible eternity. We live in what is told. The world is what is told. That’s why it’s harder and harder to live. And perhaps only our dreams determine who we are. Perhaps only our dreams are ours.
To be honest, mostly I don’t dream that much. Less and less. Plus, when I wake up I don’t remember anything. In general I sleep badly. Often I’ll be dead beat, but when I go to bed I can’t get to sleep. Then if I do, I can’t tell if I’m sleeping or not, whether I’m sleeping in a waking state or dreaming of being awake. This doctor that has one of the cabins gave me some foreign sleeping pills, he told me they’d for sure send me to sleep. He sometimes comes and gives me a checkup, listens to me with his stethoscope, checks my blood pressure. I tell him, what for, doc? I don’t need to live so very long. What I’ve already lived is enough. Let’s say I take a pill, and I’m sound asleep, and during that time something happens in one of the cabins. If I take a pill the dogs might not even be able to wake me up, and they can’t go off and help all on their own. They can’t even open the door, I always keep it locked. I’ve never taken sleeping pills, and I’m not going to start now.
A Treatise on Shelling Beans Page 7
