promise
“A man who expects only goodness from himself either desires to make up for the evil he see’s in the world- to balance it out, that is- or he has misunderstood his own nature.”
”Why is it always this or that with you, Lewis? Why can’t it be both, or an offering of two of potentially many?”
"I… well, I suppose…”
"And what sort of question is that, anyway?” a third student- Patrick- whispered, “Benjamin’s right; this is exactly what you do… there’s something fun, a dare, and you fly in talking about something, opposing G-d knows what… the universe and man’s nature… it’s rubbish, or at least its boring, if you ask me.”
"Now, to the matter at hand, gents… it’s entirely possible, he still hasn’t moved.”
The three students looked over to Mr H, the teacher of science, who had fallen asleep during the lunch break and was now, in the third period, still in the sleep of the innocent, a small patch of drool having formed in the preface to The Count of Monte Cristo. Our class had been sitting in silence for an hour; we wanted to see whether Mr H would sleep through to the bell, thereby relieving us from the fortnightly quiz. The student Lewis- alone in his interest in terrestrial magnetism- presented a particular threat, and had to be kept busy. Though I note that Patrick, who was sitting next to Lewis, held very strong convictions for a boy of fifteen, couldn’t stand Lewis’ snobbery, thought him remarkably stupid, and had evidently made it his secret purpose to humiliate him (in an intellectual sense, that is).
"And by the way,” Patrick hurriedly whispered, “What about those of us who aren’t compelled to do good? Or better still, Lewis, what about those of us who understand that man can never ultimately know whether he is doing good or otherwise, because he doesn’t have the capacity to foresee the consequences of his actions. My brother lied to my parents; he told them that he was enrolled in medicine at the University, and for three years maintained this, when in fact he was never enrolled, squandered their money, promising himself and the world ‘the masterpiece of the age.’ What do you think happened? For three years he was drunk on wine and croissants, and he didn’t even write a word, because he was (and I quote) ‘allowing things to reside in the firmament’. Well, naturally things came out; the scheme was exposed, the money vanished, and my mother, like something out of an old novel, retired to her room and soon filed for divorce….”
Patrick’s hands were reached out in front of him, clutching the edges of his desk,
"That’s what, Lewis… because he thought… well… what I was saying was that a lie, or something you think will save somebody, very often turns out to be cowardice!”
"Yes, that is very sad…” Lewis muttered, diverting his gaze.
"That’s enough!” Thomas, the other student, hissed, “who’s going to do it?”
"But, won’t he wake up?”
"No! A quick rub on his bald spot; he won’t notice… someone told me there are no nerves there, or something…” Thomas grinned, twitching with anticipation.
There were a few gasps as Mr H snorted and turned his face, but all was well; he was still asleep.
I turned away from the window and stopped eavesdropping. The sun was setting, and the lorikeets stirred. It was so still, so gentle, this winter’s evening, and somehow everything- the upcoming final examinations; the promise of a career in law; the ideas of other people, of my parents; this new marriage of time and money- was impossibly insignificant. For the first time in my life I felt that the world- not any particular aspect of it, not G-d, but existence herself- saw and understood and loved me, and would continue doing so, if only I noticed her and spoke with her more often. I remember promising to find some way of living that would make every evening as beautiful.
I was young,
and I am.
Ilya Repin. Preparation for the Exam. 1864