Veracity (5 page)

"So then! You believe that you are an exception, that you simply cannot have the same evil inside of you that somehow drove those 'other' people in history to commit such acts, hmm? Is that about right?" I didn't move. "Well then, you should know something:
precisely
because you think that you're an exception to the rule, that you are something above the rest, that you alone are better, proves to me, without a shadow of doubt, that you are exactly the same as everyone else. You can join the ranks - because you are only one among the innumerable, the countless 'exceptions' throughout history. Everyone holds that they are above evil. Not a single one of us wants to believe in the cruelty that we are capable of, which, incidentally, has been one of the greatest vehicles for executing it."

There was a feeling like that of a storm in the centre of my stomach, churning and growing in intensity. I wanted to vomit, scream; or maybe just run, slip out of this place and away from everything he was saying, away from his booming voice, bouncing off the walls in the cramped space. But I couldn't move. I'd become small on the bench, my shoulders crawling up beside my neck; and I felt myself becoming even smaller as he took a few steps forward, his presence looming over me, his words resonating off of my rib cage.

"Tell me then, you who are above evil, how easily can you pass this test: As men are the weaker sex, the darkest of our innate traits come out in us; and men that haven't yet learned to keep their violent appetites within the rules of their culture, that haven't yet learned how to suppress what they naturally are in order to conform to societal norms, are called boys. And in keeping with that rule, every single boy who has ever walked the earth, with, I believe, no exception, has at some point in time been obsessed with his power; discovered it and abused it, exactly as their ancestors had done. The merciless pulling off of spiders' legs, the exploitation of another's vulnerability, the torture and killing of helpless animals, birds, fish; every single boy has abused the power that he somehow discovered he possesses - every one of them. Are you saying you're an exception to that? Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me that you've never done any of those things?"

"Well... I haven't," I said, obviously lying.

"You're obviously lying."

Damn him. My eyes sunk slow and heavy to the floor, and I shifted uncomfortably on the bench, my gestures verifying every ounce of his accusation.

"I really expected more honesty from you. I can only hope that the seconds we've wasted on falsehoods will stop here - that you will join me with some sincerity, as I have chosen to do with you."

He was right. He was so right about everything. It was almost as if the lizard were right in front of me, as if it were that day in the forest, and I was a boy again, crouching down beside it, watching it squirm with pain, listening to our laughter. This was the line we crossed. Of all the other animals in the world that had the capacity to do what we did, we were the only ones that actually followed through with it, and then convinced ourselves that it was okay. I felt repulsive, stupid.

But wait. What was Harek staring down at me for? He said that every boy did the same thing, and that there were no exceptions. So what right did he have to stand over me and make me feel so vile, so guilty, when he must have done something similar?

"Okay, so I did do some of that as a boy. What did you do?" I pressed, still looking at the floor, hoping this was a question I was allowed to ask.

And it was, because he answered me, lowering his voice, ashamed. "We used to find birds' nests and toss them on the beach, and then sit to watch the fledglings get picked apart by scavengers."

"See," I said, looking up, "you did it, too." I don't really know what I meant to say with that. Maybe I just wanted to put us both in the same position; to have him sitting beside me in a way, shrunken on the bench as well, feeling as defeated, as disgraceful as I was.

"Yes, of course I did such things. As I said, every one of us has - but that is clearly no excuse. Just because billions of us have done it, doesn't make it right, it only perfectly illustrates that we are innately wrong. Evil isn't something that is inside of us, Joshua - it
is
us. It's not the result of an individual, or a culture, or an epoch; it wasn't the Barbarians, or the Visigoths, the Vandals, Mongols, Moors, Chinese, the Crusaders, the Inquisition, the KGB, the Nazis..."

"Harek," I interrupted, again, "I've never heard of any of those people." His green eyes flared like fire.

"Because their names don't matter! Because it wasn't 'them', it was us! Can't you see that? We all have the same genetic makeup, the same inclinations, the same fear, the same malevolence! It is a product of our blood. This blood!" Harek, who was already standing too close, stepped closer, and held his forearm in front of my face to squeeze it, his thumb pressing along the blue vein under his skin. "This very blood running through my body! Through your body!"

He'd become incensed, unpredictable, and he realized, as I was pushing my back against the wall in an attempt to wriggle away from him, that he was scaring me. And with this realization, his eyes began to relax, his pupils slowly contracting, and he straightened up, turned, and walked back to the centre of the room again. He rolled his shoulders a few times and cleared his throat, composing himself a bit before speaking. When he did, his voice was quieter, calmer, but still hadn't lost its severe edge.

"I'm not going to ask you what you did, because you already know, in the same way that every one of us knows about the harm we've inflicted firsthand. But just stop to imagine for a moment: we are only two people - two people that don't really have any kind of governing authority over others, who don't have access to a lot of power - yet we have still found a way to abuse the little bit of power that we have. What about others? What about the scores of people who had more resources, more influence, who had the chance (and used their chance) to trigger suffering on the most extreme scales?

"Think about it. Have all of those horrible things that you and I did, that mankind did, just disappeared into thin air after we did them? I'll tell you the answer: they didn't. Every one of our deliberate wrongs, every last bit of pain, every shred of damage that our kind has cumulatively caused, has all incurred an enormous debt - and it is a debt that we must pay."

Harek turned to face me, nodding. "I know why you denied what you did when I first asked you. It was because you already wished that you hadn't done it. You wished you were perfect - or maybe just better. But the fact is, you aren't. And this alone is probably the hardest thing for a human being to admit. Yes, we might be able to look at our species as a whole and laugh at its absurdity, and we can certainly look at other cultures across the water and point out their faults, errors, and shortcomings, and we can even do this when we talk about our neighbours in the community, even our closest companions, but when it comes to looking at ourselves, things get a bit trickier. Most often, the nearer we come to our own hypocrisy, to our own petty meanness and cruel tendencies, the further from the truth of them we get.

"Yet, that said, this doesn't always have to be the case. I believe - no, I know - that we have it in us to admit to ourselves exactly what we are. And this duty alone, this one incredibly taxing responsibility, happens to be the only possible salvation of the future. It is the most critical, most vital step that anyone can ever take.

"And this is one of the reasons why I believe you show such potential, one of the reasons we've selected you. You've proven to have some analytical talent, the capacity to offer insight into yourself and the world around you. You seem to be able to question yourself, doubt yourself, which, strangely enough, is exactly what we need you to do.

"As it turns out, your Coming of Age isn't about a careful lie, as it was with almost all of the others; it is about truth. But more importantly, it is about finding out if you have what it takes to grasp that truth - because it is always a concept that is extremely intricate, challenging, and often enough, even dangerous. And this struggle to hold onto the coldest, hardest, and most difficult truth, to ask yourself, and then re-ask yourself, and then re-ask yourself again if what you see in front of you is really there, and not just what you would
like
to see there, this constant and gruelling dedication to truth has a name. It's called veracity. And it isn't an ideology or a religion, it's a path. And the only reason that you are here today is because we honestly believe that you have it in you to stop and consciously choose that path - and then, to walk with us along it."

He stopped as if he was waiting for a response of some kind, but I didn't have one; in fact, I didn't feel like I had much of anything. I felt spent, worn, like I'd been ripped apart and thrown onto the ground, stepped on, spat on, left for dead. The very last thing I wanted to do was say anything, so I gave Harek a look that I hoped would indicate my wish to forfeit any active dialogue from this point on. He seemed to understand, and continued.

"However, before any of this can even begin to take place, you need to have some time to reflect on what we've said, to think about it, because one of the most natural reactions that a person has to difficult news is to initially suppress it in their minds, to blind themselves from it. It's called denial, and before we can move on any further, you will have to get through this stage; which, we believe, is something best done on your own (at least initially)."

He walked to one of the other metal doors in the room and began to tug on it. It had the same ridiculous width as the one at the entrance, and opened to another corridor, which seemed to be lit with natural light. I realized that this might have something to do with the rectangular depression I'd seen missing from the hill. "We have a room for you to stay in while you do this. It has food in it and opens up into a garden." I raised my eyebrows. Did he say a garden? "Well, not really a garden... it was designed to be a kind of laboratory to test the air outside of this shelter (again, for reasons you wouldn't really understand right now), and we've just let things grow wild inside of that space. There are also a few writing materials for you to organize or express your thoughts, if you find that helps you in any way."

I could already see the small bed from where I was sitting, and I stood and began walking toward it, my steps vacant, clumsy. I passed by Harek without looking at him and continued toward the bed, and maybe it was seeing how dejected I was walking, which made him stop me once more.

"I know that this must all seem so incredibly depressing, but you should bear in mind that we haven't brought you to this place to sadden you; there's obviously a greater intention here. And believe me, you will soon see that there is nothing to be miserable about at all. In fact, quite the contrary."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, as I said, we won't get into it now, but... but what if I told you there was a way to restore what we've ruined? What if I told you that we've figured out a way to mend the damage we've caused?" Harek broke off and grinned at the floor for a moment. "There was a time in my life when a man asked me that very same question; and then he wanted to know if I might be interested in learning more." He looked up again, "Are you interested in learning more?" I nodded drunkenly, and Harek smiled at this. "I'm happy to hear that. Because so was I."

We looked at each other in silence for a few seconds. "Well then... someone else will come to see you early tomorrow morning." He reached out and started to heave the door in an effort to close it, and looked at me just as it began to move. "I'm sorry for the noise this will make, but there's no other way to close it." He gave a feeble grin as the metal swung between us and crashed into its frame.

I collapsed onto the bed, somehow exhausted.

So this was the great secret that I'd been searching for all of my life? This was what I had longed for, the covert glances of my childhood decoded? That we were a 'thing' in nature that went horribly and catastrophically wrong? Monsters?

No. This was all impossible, unthinkable.

Though, didn't that ring of denial, that 'stage' I was supposed to be in?

But if... I could rise above it...

I stopped to think about what monsters were for a moment. When I was a child, I used to look out into the shadows of the underbrush, the lantern light cutting out a cavern of perceived safety, the darkness pressing against its fringes. I was always afraid that some horrible creature might come along and break that sacred border, risk walking boldly into the light, only with the intent of hurting me. Later, I had convinced myself that such a creature was a figment of my imagination, that there was no such thing as monsters. But suddenly, I was forced to ask an intimidating question about that rationale: Could I picture a man walking into that same light? Could I picture him carrying a weapon and approaching me? Could I picture him coming for no other reason than to harm? And if so, wasn't I a man just like him?

As the night fell, I kept looking into the garden, feeling as afraid as I had been as a boy. I could almost see them, a handful of nondescript men, stepping out of the shadows, closing in around me, raising their clubs and sticks, their knives and spears - their pins that they'd stolen from clothing class.

Who knew? Maybe we had wrecked everything. Maybe what had gone horribly wrong in the world was even because of us. And what if he was right? What then?

But before I found sleep, something incredibly important had occurred to me: if Harek were right about our being monsters, then he might also be right about there being a way to repair things. And if so, then there was still hope.

Yes. I thought about it over and over again. Because if he were right about there being a possibility to mend things, then, of course I wanted to help. Of course I wanted to walk along this 'path' that could make things better. 'In fact', I thought, rolling over in bed and squinting into the darkness, having suddenly forgotten about the men I'd envisioned coming out of the shadows beside me, 'I wanted to learn everything there was to know about that path, and exactly how we proposed to fix things. Everything.'