a rational man

by J S Hollis

  S eventually came back to reality through the unbreakable bond of an arrangement. S had planned to join ariadne and eugene on a bike ride to italy. plans made before the Event.

  he considered excuses. he didnt deserve the trip. he hadnt worked to pay for it. shouldnt he have shared the benefits of his upbringing? but where did that decision lead? a monastery? S lacked the stomach for consistent benevolence. having spent a month reading, he wasnt in a position to make a stand on the bike ride. and he had already started riding the new bike wheelcraft had given him despite his falling viewing figures.

  so he set off with ariadne and eugene from dartford and once the towers of london were behind them, they turned their eyescreens off and for a moment allowed their retinas to rest on fields of soft green and yellow. S pretended to find the reality impressive but his mind rumbled elsewhere: why were so few people trying to get cold fusion to work? what if there was no end to how small particles can get? how could it be easier to colonise another planet than to fix the earth? did the division between the watchers and the watched matter, if the watchers had enough to survive? why must there have been something before the big bang? why were the poor in overcrowded tower blocks while there was all this space in kent? the questions passed by like the turbines lining the road, forming, looming and flashing past to be replaced by another.

  the idea of the steak began to develop when they stopped at a market in canterbury. ariadne had ventured off in search of a toilet and when she returned, her veil was raised and her face was pinched with disgust.

  “you will never guess what i saw,” she said.

  “not going to guess,” eugene replied. “what was it?”

  “they are cooking meat – sausages – next to the womens toilets.”

  “is it additionally offensive cos its next to the womens toilets?”

  “no, i was only providing some context. although it is not surprising they have to hide out there. i am going to have a chat with them once we have finished our shakes.”

  “i dont think you need to do that,” S said. “they are probably aware of the arguments.”

  “they are not aware enough then. we should gently convince” – ariadnes pupils shifted – “mr molik of the error of his ways.”

  “theres no need to get all joan of arc about it,” eugene said.

  “yeh, there are worse things than eating meat,” S added.

  “yes, there are worse things. there are always worse things. but it is wrong.”

  “maybe.”

  ariadne gulped the shake.

  “maybe not.“

  “well, the majority …” ariadne coughed. “the majority of people disagree with you.”

  S laughed. “the majority? cos open democracy was a real success.”

  “this is a different question. a moral question.”

  “well, meat isnt banned.”

  “only because of freedom of expression.”

  “i am sorry to disagree. i know you care a lot about this. but they are animals. they live well and then we kill them painlessly. and if the meat tastes good and people enjoy it, we should let them.”

  “then why dont you eat it?” eugene asked, grinning.

  “maybe i will.”

  ariadne pushed her hands upwards, pulling her luminous cycling jersey tight against her skin and stretching forever towards the sky. a few long black hairs came loose and fell against her face. then she released and came back to earth. “i had always been excited by the prospect of a proper conversation with you,” she said, before wandering off. eugene nodded to S and scampered after her.

  suddenly alone, S pondered his arguments and wasnt sure he believed them. he had stumbled into them, reacting to ariadnes fervour. there was something grating about her certainty that made him want to snap it in half.

  the meat discussion had been consigned to the recesses of Ss mind by the time they left canterbury the following day. over the next few weeks, they crossed the channel and cycled down and along france, past the obese ruins of monaco and into italy.

  there was no foreseeable reason for florence to be the location of Ss fall. for three cyclists coming out of the sun and a wind blowing from a celestial hairdryer, florences narrow streets were paradise. the cyclists weaved through the shade, pulling away from the walls where they could see the cream plaster was about to be bleached by the sun. but as they rode down via dei martelli they saw that there was no escape and they emerged into the piazza del duomo to be struck by the heat and the vision of a huge cathedral that appeared to be made out of a billion sheets of papier mâché. they stopped.

  “we have to go in,” eugene said without turning towards his friends.

  “food first?” S asked.

  “its only twelve. well be quick.”

  S and ariadne looked at each other.

  “ok,” ariadne said.

  they entered the duomo and, as expected, eugene could not pass a picture without the routine of getting up close to it, examining its texture and then drawing back to take in the full perspective.

  S and ariadne wandered ahead of him.

  “hes like a nineteenth century naturalist,” ariadne said.

  “what do you mean?”

  “he has to chart every detail.”

  “nothing was fun in the nineteenth century.”

  “the naturalists enjoyed it.”

  “imagine how boring life must have been if drawing insects was considered fun?”

  “isnt that dome incredible?”

  S craned his neck up. hundreds of figures appeared to be clinging onto the dome, fearful of falling, while jesus sat in a golden corona. “id appreciate it more if wed eaten,” he said.

  they took a seat next to a pillar at the back of the duomo and followed eugenes small afro, willing it on, losing it when he dipped into the transepts.

  “isnt it wonderful?” eugene said when he arrived at the pillar.

  “great,” ariadne said.

  “whos up for the uffizzi?”

  “if you like.”

  “id rather we grabbed a steak” S said.

  ariadne tutted. “not this again.”

  S was joking but ariadnes response irritated him. “i want to do something new, not more art.”

  “why that new thing? what about bungee jumping or composing haiku?”

  “or canyoning,” eugene jumped in, ”or tomato throwing or sex?”

  “yeh, yeh, i get it. but i cant just not do something because there are other things to do. i would never do anything.”

  “youre trying to be controversial,” ariadne said.

  “i am trying to think for myself. youre just worried about your careers.”

  a lady walked past and placed an index finger to her lips. the three friends apologised.

  “its your choice, spec, but im going with eugene.”

  “see you later then.”

  S walked back out into the sun, picked up his bike and searched for a steak in florence. his search led him back into the narrow streets, away from the tourists, until the bricks transformed into concrete and he was standing beneath the sign for da oscar.

  S thought the hard decision would be ordering the steak. but eating it was harder. the waiters indifference troubled him. when S ordered, the waiter had simply said “sì, signore”. he hardly felt like dunlop refusing to eat, parks sitting on her seat or the brandeists poking their eyes out. just an everyday act. a tawdry sin that S had built up to significance. it wasnt even something new. millions of people ate meat every day. just no one S knew, unless they were too old to change their ways.

  the steak gleamed. he hoped he would hate it. that its juices would make him retch. he placed the first piece in his mouth and chewed, examining it with his tongue. salt and charcoal overwhelmed most of the other flavours. but underneath
there was something else. an age. he took piece after piece and each one satisfied him in a way that food never had before. but rather than understanding more, he understood less and less. he became aware of the naivety of his summer quest for knowledge. the steaks juices broke down in his stomach and the meaninglessness seeped into his intestines, entered his blood, overcame his senses and left him with a circus of feelings.

  like how all his actions were predetermined, formulated in his unconscious before he even knew they existed and then he believed those decisions were of his own free will, so he delighted in his successes and was blamed for his failures, and he knew he had no power over them but it didnt change his attitude, because if he couldnt blame himself, who else was there to blame? his unconscious, like it was somebody else? or the infinite preceding events? so he had to have responsibility for something he had no control of, and his mind couldnt ride the flow of time conscious of its inability to change its course – it pretended to take control …

  like how he loved to love others, wrote about it, considered it the true religion, and yet it was another faith, as love story after love story left nothing but broken hearts, as marriages were dismembered, disfiguring happy memories with the pain of the present, but he still believed, thirsty for something, refused to see love as nothing but the most effective social control ever devised, a construction of chemicals from birth or a fading evolutionary necessity, because perhaps he needed it or wanted it in spite of himself, better to have loved and lost …

  like how he dreamed of progress but progress to where? happy deaths followed unhappy lives, the world was a place of better or worse, and the middle ground dissolved, he was forced to grab onto the poles, free markets or marxism, right or left, true or false, order or anarchy, man or woman, good or bad, perfection or flaw, privacy or security, he believed he was running straight so he could run in circles, excoriating politicians for hypocrisy as if consistency was a possibility, they preached equality, renounced worldly goods and found themselves out of touch with society, or they promoted selfdetermination and nationality, which flowed through parents and the soil and the pencil, nothing more than chance, until the mercians and the northumbrians claimed themselves as nations, because things changed, so that empires were reduced to families and back again, everyone saw everyone everyday but nations shattered …

  like how he knew it was all chance, that he was born, his parents, his mind, his time, his place, it was a fluke, he treated history as a contrast not a lesson, and then there was the future, each event determined and each event to be explained, but, at best, prediction was statistics, the wealth, health and preoccupations of a cohort of schoolchildren could be prophesised, and maybe he could see the cold outline of his future, but the rich tapestry of life was a mystery until it became a memory, so that death, while inevitable, saved its surprise for the timing, and he feared it, banged his head against it, but if all his thoughts were like snakes eating their own tails, why trust them?

  S lay his head down next to the empty plate and closed his eyes for a while.

  when S left the trattoria, he turned his eyescreens on and messages piled up to the right of his vision. the first few were from his friends but they were followed by those from his watchers.

  * * *

  your choice spec. you know cows feel pain though?

  its a free world mate but your freedom shouldnt hurt others.

  if you dont care about animals, what about the environment? trees need to be cut down for the ranch, cows produce methane, meat needs processing.

  murderer.

  you are the problem with this world. a selfish teenager who uses “experimenting” as an excuse for his moral depravity.

  i knew you were hiding something.

  what else is going on in that mind of yours?

  this is why we need thought tracking.

  why dont you masturbate? are you worried about what you might think about? meat?

  you are more like your father every day. we will be watching you.

  cunt. i dont like to use that word. but that is what YOU are.

  * * *

  S was tagged as a “known carnivore”, which opened him up to the world of vegetarian and animal rights groups. he had never realised how many there were. within an hour of S eating the steak, “the vegetarian society”, “the jewish vegetarian society”, “save the cows”, “meat is murder” and “free the farm” had all contacted their members with a pro forma message for them to send on to S. and there were many more to come.

  S thought the endless messages would become tiresome. he thought the only threat to him was to be bored into submission. he was wrong. he thought he was strong. but the messages stung and he couldnt stop himself reading each one.

  S didnt want to be selfish. he didnt want people to think that he had inherited some evil gene from his dad and he didnt want to provide proof of his dads malevolence. he wanted to be good, but not as much as he wanted to be liked.

  he arrived at the hostel and felt a stabbing pain in his stomach. he ran to the toilet. he felt he needed to explode but nothing came. he winced and pushed and watched his critics delight in their righteousness.

  * * *

  what goes around comes around.

  imagine how the cow felt!

  you did an unnatural thing.

  i hope you die you little shit.

  * * *

  S refused to turn the messages off. he had made his decision and he wanted to experience the full force of the response. he began to watch the people messaging him. watched them watching him sit on the toilet. it was strange to be so conscious of being watched during a private moment. a true expression of liberty.

  “how are you doing in there?” ariadne asked when she arrived at the hostel with eugene.

  S laughed. “i would like to blame the focaccia we had at breakfast.”

  “regret your decision?”

  “at this moment, yes. how was the uffizzi?”

  “there are only so many images of the madonna i can take. but eugene loved it.”

  “cool.”

  “any chance of you coming out of there?”

  “ill take a risk.”

  S left the toilet and found ariadne and eugene sitting in the corridor.

  “to the room,” eugene said.

  S picked up his bag and turned to see a lobster faced woman enter the corridor. she looked straight at him.

  “no meateaters here, sebastian,” she said. “you should stay somewhere else.”

  “sorry?” sebastian asked.

  “im not going to share a building with your sort.”

  S began to cry. he squeezed his eyes shut but the tears ran down the back of his throat and made him cough. he hung his head.

  “he was just interested,” ariadne said.

  “like father like son. you better watch out, missy, he might get jealous and slit your throat.”

  “dont you think he has been through enough?”

  “no. we all suffer for our fathers sins.”

  “leave it.“ eugene pulled ariadnes shoulder before she got any closer to the woman.

  ariadne took a breath, turned to S and hugged him, while eugene formed a defensive cordon. the woman eventually walked past and snorted.

  ariadne touched Ss back and he wiped his face.

  “sorry about that.”

  “dont worry about it,” ariadne and eugene said.

  he did worry about it though. he had allowed himself to become gripped by an idea. an idea he may not have believed in. he had perverted his own reputation, his familys reputation, on a whim. he couldnt trust himself.

  later that evening when ariadne and eugene hooked up with other travellers on matchstick, S did the same.

  he was matched with a twenty-one year old german girl called maxi. she was suspicious of h
im. he had no record on matchstick, had a murderer for a father and had spent the afternoon being socially dissected. S convinced her to meet him. maybe she feared damaging her matchstick reputation by rejecting him or maybe she was attracted to his infamy.

  she bent down as she entered through the low doorway of the room. S looked up at her and found her face friendly. he wondered if it was possible to be unpleasant with flushed and freckled cheeks.

  “sorry about the stairs,” he said.

  “no worries.” maxi breathed in. “exercise is the price you pay for history.”

  “do you want a drink?” S asked.

  maxi looked around the empty room. “if you dont mind, id rather get straight down to business. got a long day of sightseeing tomorrow. just wanted to get away from the family for a bit and have a little fun.”

  “sure. of course,” S replied. he got close to her once he had closed the door and could smell lemoncello on her breath. shaking a little, their lips met. this seemed to trigger something in maxi. she squeezed him against her breasts. it didnt take long for them to get undressed. she was only wearing a minidress. her bra, S noted for the moment it remained on, was barely visible. he wondered whether it was made out of nanocloth, one of cecils inventions. they lay down so that they faced each other and maintained parity. they touched each other. and once they both nodded assent, they joined. maxi seemed to reach an orgasm within a couple of minutes (data later showed she had) and then she asked S, “are you going to come?“

  “in time,” he said.