Ghosts of People

Two men in a dive bar engage in a relatively mundane discussion about contemporary politics.

"Among the emerging new Lefts and new Rights, there are competing factions," Nicolae begins. "Some more or less support Ukraine, while others more or less favor Russia. Some are preoccupied with Israel and Palestine. Some focus on racial and cultural issues, while others are more interested in economics and government. They all want greater influence and support. The question is: what methods will they use to achieve their goals? Who will succeed? Will the winners absorb followers from their former opponents--or will they themselves eventually be defeated?"

"What reality are you describing?" Lucian asks.

"What do you mean?"

"Not everyone is so political," Lucian replies. "Some people are centrists. Some are moderates or apolitical. Many are unstable--or feel unstable--inconsistent, or simply uninterested. Perhaps you've examined only one corner of political reality."

"The truth is, I don't know everything. Maybe I'm just interpreting the political world through my own biases. Perhaps the people I'm talking about will never amount to much, at least not in terms of real power. Most of them are entertainers and carnival barkers with aspirations of becoming political and social theorists. All you have to do is look around. The centrists are in power now."

"I'm getting tired of this subject," Lucian says petulantly. "I'm not going to lie. There is no ultimate truth. There is no ultimate God."

"And yet, we are one."

"No."

Instead of his long-deceased father, it is Nicolae himself who begins to tremble and slobber. He loses all control of his senses and faculties. "I'm laughing violently about Palestine," he says. "I'm laughing violently about Ukraine."

"Well, I'm laughing violently about Russia and the evil unvaccinated," Lucian counters.

"Two Asian psychiatrists told me that you're my ex-friend now. Yet you're here talking to me. Maybe you're just a hallucination? I never knew my father. I never really knew you, did I?"

"Nicolae, your mother was my mistress--my student. What did you expect? You didn't even know I existed until your aunt threatened your mother by emailing you the truth. You never read the message before your mother found out and made sure she was the one to tell you who your father was."

"And now you're in Hell--or the Inferno--according to my Mongolian aunt," Nicolae says. 

"Dante's Inferno?"

"Do you think I'll end up there, Dad?"

"Why?" Lucian asks.

"Because of all my transgressions against other people."

"Human beings will always hate one another for all kinds of reasons," Lucian says. "They embellish. They exaggerate. Sometimes they distort reality, or become blind to the larger picture--and if they have influence, they can blind others as well. Parents, especially mothers, are almost guaranteed the ability to shape at least one other person: their child."

"I will never blame my mother."

"You don't have to blame anyone," Lucian replies. "Most people aren't selfless saints. Certainly not me. And not your mother, either. In some people's eyes, she would have been better off getting an abortion--or somehow getting rid of you later. But abortion wasn't legal in her country at the time. She chose to keep you, carry you, give birth to you, and raise you. Some people would admire that. I wasn't there to be your father. I already had a wife and an adult son. I wasn't a monogamous man, and eventually disgrace caught up with me."

They both take a sip from their drinks and sit in silence, wondering whether their names have already been added to the pyramid of dead destinies.