my road-the first ending

Ending part 1

You will ask me, he says as he holds the third of the last four glasses, why I could not move on, especially with someone so ephemeral who danced so lightly from one relationship to the next.

Perhaps there is no answer.  She once asked me when we were separated for a time and were only talking fleetingly on the phone what I would do when I was too tired to walk if we were together.  I thought on this for a while and responded that I would read for a while, perhaps go for a walk if it were not too hot and dear, and then I would make love to her and go to sleep at which time she could go about her business if she was so inclined.  In this what I meant was that I would make love to her as normal people do, over a short period of time, for during our long sessions, there was not much room for anything more to us but to sleep otherwise, although often she would get up, her various affairs too numerous to rest.

There was a time in my life when I was ready to bear arms against the corrupted.  The natural tendency of power is to corrupt, the natural tendency of the weak minded to submit.  It is up to those like Thomas Pain who are willing to live in a state of virtue at such times to light the night, if not ignite the fuse of revolution.

And so when the time came to make my decision as to what I was to do next, I decided that it made a lot of sense for me pursue a nobler cause.  I had, at this point in time written two books which could be important.  One was largely the antithesis of the other and both bear a short comment.  One dealt with issue of flanking maneuvers and the blindness that comes from vision focused ahead.  While I have had things made in China and have dealt with others who continued to do so successfully and while I admire much about Chinese culture and industry, I recognize that the USA has built fortunes in the middle east through the purchase of energy and in china has raised equally mighty towers in the interest of cheap trade goods, neither of which returned in kind anything to the USA.  I felt that what the middle east did by accident, the Chinese did by design, draining the USA of money as well as their ability to manufacture self sufficiently until the USA was a manufacturing vassal of the Chinese and therefore largely at their mercy militarily as well as economically.  While many would say that the USA was able to generate additional fortunes, and while on paper many of the empty successes, those with large book value but no intrinsic value like social networks, did generate fortunes, the real continuity of the economy rested on offsetting the huge expenses of outsourcing with additional debt.  Having experience first hand the dangers of over extending my credit, I saw no good end in sight.  Therefore, it was largely up to me to fight what was a corrupted government, a corrupted economy and a corrupted people.

No country is more regulated than ours, what we do, carry, and who we marry, what we ingest, make, buy, grow, even our words are controlled by laws and monitored, the names being changed to protect the writer, there is no innocent to protect in a country where there are too many laws not to break them.  And yet, there is still a bit of the virtue left in the system, there is still opportunity to live a virtuous life, to rail against tyranny and to martyr oneself against the weakness and sloth of the masses.

And then there was my other great work, the antithesis.  It was my book on physics and the futility of action in a pre-ordained universe.  Of course on the other side of that coin lay the fact that each moment exists forever, and as such the need to act virtuously is all the more important, the need to make life worthwhile in each moment all the more important.

He sips the glass, as if hesitant to drink the rest, to speed too quickly to the end.

How did I fare running from virtue, living life for the future instead of for the moment and as if I could live forever instead of the last day of my life?

First, I couldn't love anyone else.  Everything else, besides her was a farce.  I could do it physically, but could get no enjoyment.

Finally, I went back to her but she wouldn't have me.  It doesn't matter why she rejected me as she had rejected me so finally, if unconsciously before.  It would have made no difference if she was terminally ill, if she died, if she fell in love with someone else, if she decided she hated me, if she saw who I really was through the shield I had built to protect myself and realized she could do better.

You say, it would have been better she died than leave me for another?  Who would that have helped.  I could not suffer any more than I suffered away from her.  The damage from not having sex to my system had already done its damage to me, the stress of being cut out of her life had already mangled my insides.

What had I done but thrown away the only thing that really mattered to me?  More important that the causes, the good deeds, the insights into physics, more important than anything, the reason I was here, if there was any reason.  

Why are you here, the pamphlet asked.  I was here to be with her, in whatever way I could for however a short time I could be there.

The strange got up then, leaving everyone staring after him and went towards the back.  After a long while it began to brighten outside.  The bartender came over and looked at everyone sitting there, the litter of empty bottles.

As he had walked off in the light of the dawn, I could see the shoes that had appeared newer when they glistened with rain water were losing their soles, the ends of the pants were tattered as he went towards the back.  I could see that the stranger was bent and walked with a limp.

Somehow the regular had known the stranger was leaving.

The regular went to confirm what he suspected. He came back, "He's gone, he went out the back.  I think he must have disabled the alarm.”

The bartender looked at the litter of bottles and in a nonchalant voice asked, "Who's going to pay for all of this?"

***

Much later the only two were left.  The bartender preparing to close and the regular having a cup of coffee after the two had shared breakfast.

A policeman came in with a rich looking trench coat.  On one sleeve, what had looked like a wet spot the night before now looked reddish brown.  "Do you know the man who was wearing this, He asked?

We related a condensed version of the story,  A man came in wearing it and drank all night.  It was too dark to be able to tell clearly what he looked like, but he was old and careworn.  We asked where the coat was found.

It was in the snow.  Another man was beaten and this was stolen from him.  A strange thing, it was the only thing that was stolen, no money, just the coat.  The man who was robbed was taken to the hospital, it appears he will recover.  If the stranger comes back, you will call us? 

Of course, we had both said, but we both knew he would not return.

“Why didn’t you tell the policeman more, something that might have helped him to catch the stranger?” the bartender asked.

“I’m not sure I wanted him to be caught.  I hope that perhaps having told his story, he will find a way to find his way back, to find the girl again.”

“So, where do you think the stranger went?” the bartender asked.

I don't know I hope he went back to her.  I don't know if there is a way he could do it, but it is what I hope.”

End of the first ending.