Save the Last Bullet for God (36 page)

“What do you mean?”

“Diseases, especially the smallpox that you
brought with you, destroyed 95% of their population. Death followed
wherever you went and killed almost all living beings. Those who
survived were assimilated. It was a massive continent, hosting
millions who had lived in isolation since the ice age. But
overnight, almost all those civilizations were destroyed.”

“So this made room for the new ones who had
the desired characteristics?”

“It’s similar to what happened in Australia.
Before immigration, there were no predatory cat species in
Australia. Birds evolved to walk on the ground without any fear.
When the cats came by ship and escaped into nature, they killed the
unprotected birds. Now, none of those species exist. Wherever they
go, human beings also kill or allow to die all animal species
except the tamed ones or the ones that serve them. They also try to
cause the extinction of all humans except those who serve them or
won’t be a potential threat. It is in their nature.”

“As far as I understand it,” I said, “there
is a genetic intervention spreading throughout Asia, Europe,
America, and other continents, starting from North Mongolia. This
intervention will happen through slowly affecting the natural
evolutionary development and expected mutations and accelerating
the process of selection.”

“Sir, you have begun to regain your
abilities; you have also begun to solve the system easily. What you
are saying is almost right. The main aim is to lead the
evolutionary development, which would take an undesired shape if
left as is. The goal is to provide the species with the desired
characteristics. It is like human beings’ unconscious efforts to
change the process of evolution by taming animals. If you want to
get more yarn, you let the wooliest sheep live and kill the others
or prevent their breeding. By only producing those with desired
characteristics, you continue the bloodline.”

“If there is such technology and foresight,
isn’t a direct genetic intervention easier?”

“Sir, your opportunities define your style
of work. You can only work from your present options.”

“Is that the soft way of saying that we
can’t do it?”

“We are at the final stage, sir. You will
get all your answers soon, and, if there is no problem, you will
get all your old abilities back, together with new ones.”

“Final stage? Who will I be?”

“Wilhelm Reich, an extraordinary Austrian
psychiatrist.”

“Again?”

“
Yes, sir. Can we start
now?”

“Yes, let’s finish it.”

Wilhelm Reich

Typically, the things you value most are the
things you have taken for granted, but you do not realize their
value until you have lost them. I learned much later that I had
everything I wanted in my early childhood. There, on a large and
productive farm near a mountain village, I grew up dreaming and
playing in nature, experiencing the seasons as colorful feasts.
Tame animals were everywhere, and every spring there were new
offspring to bring up. Abundance and fertility were all around
me.

I was blessed with a beautiful mother and a
father who was surly but omnipotent.

Servants were at my disposal. The cooks made
delicious meals. A butler fulfilled all of my wishes. And I had
many siblings to share my joy. With such pastoral bliss, I happily
spent my childhood without leaving the farm.

When it was time for my education, a
governess came to our home and added new lessons to the reading and
writing my mother had already taught me. At the time, farm life had
begun to seem too narrow for me, so it was impressive to learn from
somebody from the outside. My governess told me about incredible
things and had me read exciting books. When she told me she was
getting married and had to leave, I dealt with my aggressive
behavior by returning to the tender embrace of my mother.

In order to prevent another emotional
trauma, my father brought in a male academic from far away. He was
a very different man, tall and young with blond hair and a unique
style. He knew a lot and taught me many mysterious things. I soon
looked forward to each lesson.

His father was an archaeologist
participating in excavations in Ottoman lands and beyond. I would
make my tutor tell me about the ancient Sumerians and the
civilizations they established and would always listen to him with
the same excitement. He would tell me about sky Gods who came from
very different planets and stars that we couldn’t even see with our
eyes.

As he explained it, their planet, Merodach,
came from an unseen place every four to five thousand years to rule
the people. Their gods fought in space, helped people, and
presented a wealth of knowledge when they returned. When necessary,
they bred with people and protected the lineage of the children
born to them. When they got angry, they used disasters to kill the
ones they didn’t want.

My teacher brought me all the books and
texts on this history and tried to explain the things I didn’t
understand. I began looking at the sky and the stars with a
different perspective. I dreamed of my own stories with my own
aliens. Sometimes, in my dreams, I was friends with them and
destroyed my enemies. Sometimes, I rebelled with the people and
fought against the aliens. I promised myself that I would live
until the next time the aliens came, no matter how old I was.

My teacher was an impressive man. You either
loved him or hated him. First, I chose to love him, but when my
mother made the same choice, I began to hate him. At first I denied
what I saw in my mother’s gaze and behavior, but, when my mother
and teacher started to be alone in a room after telling me to read
or do my homework, I could no longer remain in denial. Once, I
“accidentally” went into the room and faced the very truth I knew
but didn’t want to know. From that moment on, my nights were filled
with dreams of killing archaeologists and their children together
with the alien gods.

At the age of 12, out of anger at my
teacher, I gave up my interest in aliens, and revealed my teacher’s
betrayal to my father. I never knew someone could survive such a
bad beating and run away as fast as my teacher did when he was
thrown out the door. I savored my revenge, no matter how short it
lasted. My mother responded with screams at first, then denial, and
finally silence. We didn’t talk, not that day, or the next. No one
looked at each other, and we always found an excuse to be
apart.

But the biggest disaster was still to come.
One day, we found my mother lying on the floor surrounded by empty
bottles of kitchen chemicals. She had consumed them hoping for a
quick death, but it was just the beginning. For days, we watched in
horror as her faced twisted from the burns and her purulent wounds
leaked blood. Our nights were made unbearable by the high pitched
sounds coming from her roasted air-tube. My mother paid, yes, but
she also made us pay, without uttering a word. When she finally
passed away she saved her last mortified glance for me.

After that, everything was gray: sometimes
light, sometimes dark, but always gray. My father and I would catch
each other’s eyes, but we wouldn’t look at each other. We would say
a little, but we never talked. I registered in a school away from
home and buried myself in books at every opportunity. My father was
never the same again and he was seldom at the farm. A few years
later, under the pretext of fishing, he went up to a cold river in
the mountains. There he tortured himself in the cold until he got
sick. It was a suicide of exposure. So, at 17, I became the head of
the household.

The Great War began soon after. I easily
bought into the hysteria and joined in the nationalist rhetoric. I
looked forward to my own chance to join the military. I wanted to
get away from everything and the allure of adventure made me long
for my own uniform. When the Russians invaded our town, we sold
whatever we had and went to live with our distant relatives in
Vienna, never to return. After finishing school, I was finally
accepted into the army as a lieutenant, and, after some short
training, I was sent to the front.

The one who draws, but can’t be an
artist

In the crowded, dark railway carriages, we
buried ourselves in our coats and used our bags as barricades
against the cold. We were going to a place we didn’t know to kill
people we didn’t know. It was a community of dull gazes, stiff
movements, and identical outfits. As the journey grew longer, we
grew silent, didn’t move without orders and watched as our
personalities and individuality disappeared. The days bled together
and the scenery remained the same, as though we were moving in an
endless circle.

When we arrived, autumn was turning to
winter. Gray covered the mud and rain pelted the endless war debris
of dead horses and overturned cars. A thick cloud of gunpowder hung
in the air and left an acrid taste in our mouths.
Everything—including the faces of the people—was rusted and
muddy.

I entered a trench that was twice my height
and struggled through the mud until I came face to face with the
captain. I saluted and informed him I was ready for duty. It didn’t
affect him. He remained silent and seemed focused on something far
away. To him I was invisible. The man next to him, who seemed to be
his aide showed me to a place in the trench and murmured something
like, “Stay here.”

I knelt, turned to a pair of dull eyes next
to me, and said, “Hi, my name’s Wilhelm.”

“Names have no use here, son,” said the one
beside me after a long silence.

“I…well…,” I muttered before keeping
quiet.

“Stay alive,” he said, “and don’t get in the
way. That’s enough.”

“Nothing else?”

“Kill if you can and if you get injured, try
to die as soon as possible,” he added with a grin before once again
growing silent.

Exhausted, cold and alone, I tried to sleep
right there in the unknown. When a skinny soldier woke me by poking
my foot and offered me a bucket of slurry, I took it and wolfed it
down, then went back to sleep to escape my surroundings.

Soon I grew used to the whir and crash of
the artillery, but I woke up when I heard those sounds accompanied
by the crackling of rifles. It was the enemy and they were getting
closer. The order was given for a counter-offense, and I readied
myself to go over the top. I took my bag off my back and set it on
the ground but immediately realized that no one else had done the
same.

Trying to keep up with the others, I
approached the slippery wooden ladder and waited for the order. My
eyes frantically scanned everyone to take it all in. I wanted to
tell them I had never been in a war, had never been shot at, and
had never shot anyone, but I knew there would be no sympathy. I
gulped when I saw the master sergeant slam someone against the back
wall of the trench, shove a pistol into his hand, and yell, “If
anyone comes back to the trench, shoot him!”

Then the whistle. With shaky knees, I
stumbled out of the trench. As I took my first steps, I tried to
look around, hoping to see the scene before me, but in the
impermeable darkness, I could only see a few meters ahead. All I
saw were the backs of my comrades, glints of barbed wires, muddy
holes, and flashes from the weapons. I was startled when I heard my
own voice in the screams and cries of the night. I ran blindly
forward, screaming, and, when I stumbled, I rose again and
struggled forward.

Bullets whizzed by. From where, I had no
idea. I wanted to fire my gun, but I feared stopping. As I ran with
no aim not knowing what to do, bodies fell on all sides of me and I
realized I was getting close to the enemy. Everything became a blur
and soon I noticed that no one was in front of or behind me. I
stopped screaming and slowed down, and, when I came to an artillery
pit, I got inside. I suddenly noticed that I didn’t have my rifle
anymore. Apart from an occasional gunshot, everything was darkness
and silence.

I was frozen, and my teeth chattered. I
feared looking around me. I don’t know how long I stayed there, but
soon, I heard whistles and screams in what sounded like French. It
took me a while to understand that, this time, it was the enemy
that was attacking. I crouched in the pit, waiting as I listened to
the screams and the gunfire and smelled the chemicals that wafted
toward me. I felt like a twisted, shivering worm.

When dawn finally came, all had grown
silent. A thick fog had rolled in that hid the horrid ground from
the sky. I emerged slowly from the pit and, with hushed movements,
I proceeded slowly without knowing where I was going. Along the
way, I encountered barbed wire fences, pits filled with muddy
water, and newly dug pits that hadn’t yet filled with mud. There
were so many corpses. They had become a natural part of the
scenery. It was impossible to proceed without touching or stumbling
over a body.

Without any sense of direction and not
knowing how long I had been walking, I started to think that I was
going in circles. I could only see three to four meters ahead of
me. I was terrified, but at least I was alive. As I moved forward,
semi-blind, I sunk in the mud and quietly stumbled over
something.

I was shocked when I encountered a living
being in that land of death. First I saw its nose, then its blue
eyes. Its ears were erect, and it took me a while to perceive what
it was. I had grown up on a farm, and I had a treasury of
experience with animals; however, I couldn’t determine whether it
was a wolf or a big dog.

I feared the beast might attack me until I
saw its tail flicking.

As I approached, I knelt down and caressed
its head and murmured reassurance. “What are you doing here, boy?
How did you end up here?” (I could have easily asked myself the
same questions.)