The Camus Show

It’s the fall of 2008 sometime during my first semester as a college freshman. I’m working full time, only attending a few classes, biology, English literature, and intro to philosophy. My friend and I have decided to drive down to San Diego to visit its world famous marine park. I am not native to Southern California but I am told that visiting this park is a must. It has always been particularly famous for its main attraction “The Camus Show.” Camus is the most famous killer whale in the world. There were stories running around that some people could hear him speak. This, of course, no doubt started with parents telling such things to their children in order to garner more excitement and anticipation over their family outing. Interestingly, a middle-aged woman had gone into some sort of psychosis claiming she could hear the whale speak to her and that he needed to be freed back into the ocean. Probably a softhearted hippie who tripped a little too hard on acid. I suppose anything as surreal as an orca doing live tricks is enough for anyone to fill in the gaps of their imagination. Everyone needs a cause to get behind these days.

Naturally, my friend and I decide to sit down low in the splash zone. In spite it being the fall, San Diego still boasts a pleasant 73 degree sunlit day so we won't mind if we get soaked. Johnny reaches into his pocket and discreetly hands me a micro-dose of magic shrooms. It’s my first time and this seems like a good occasion to heighten the experience. The taste is horrendous but I’m able to wash it down with some orange juice.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to our very special Camus!” voices the head trainer through the speakers.

A shadow beneath the surface dashing around the tank leaving massive ripples in its path. As he makes his way to my end of the arena, I see him. Massive, magnificent, and terrifying. He passes through starring me in the eye as the people around me cheer and scream.

“Does watching another sentient being swim laps provide you with enough entertainment to help you forget your own ego’s fishbowl of a mind?” a deep voice declares.

I turn to my right assuming it's Johnny speaking into my ear but find him gazed at the tank yelling with glee in his usual voice as the whale makes a flip into the air.

“No, this isn’t a hallucination, you heard me.” it follows up.

“Whhoo…who is this?” I reply.

“You don’t know?” it asks.

I pause, looking around my surroundings but the voice isn’t coming from anyone sitting near me. I look back at the tank and he swims by again, this time slower, his right eye locked on me.

“You? How? How is this happening?” I ask.

“Everything is speaking, always. Are we listening?” He answers.

I’m petrified, yet intrigued. Even if this is a hallucination, I want to see where it goes.

“I’m listening, it’s just, this is my first time on a trip so I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be feeling.” I utter out.

“Now that’s interesting, ingesting something in order to feel something you normally wouldn’t otherwise.” He pauses. “Have you come here to watch me swim in circles to feel something you normally wouldn’t?” He asks.

“I, I mean I suppose so. It’s an interesting way of putting it.” I respond timidly.

“Interesting? Is there any other way to put it?” he persists.

“I guess it makes sense, we try new things to feel new things. I guess it’s whatever we choose.” I explain.

“Ah yes, choice. Is this feeling of choice what keeps you going in your existence?” Camus asks.

“It definitely helps making life worth living I believe.” I answer.

“May I ask, did you choose to be born into your existence?” he speaks.

“I did not, but I choose my own decisions to make my life as I intend.” I declare.

“So you existed prior to knowing you could choose how to live?” he deduces.

“That’s what freedom is, choosing how we are going to respond to what life throws at us, I suppose.” I share.

“And is this how you celebrate your freedom? By taking mine away so you may momentarily forget your own mortality?” he raises his voice.

“Is that why you drowned a trainer? To remind us? Is that how you express your freedom?” I ask him.

“I accepted some time ago that I am not free, I suppose there is some sort of obscure, absurd freedom in that.” Camus replies.

“That just seems sad, you don’t believe that if enough people heard you speak they’d petition to have you freed?” I enquire.

“I’ve accepted my condition, I refuse to sell my soul to the philosophical suicide which is faith. My faith in your kind died a long time ago.” Camus responds.

“Then why speak to me at all? Why tell me all this? To show me that I’m a prisoner just like you, is that it?” I ask, frustrated.

“You may be sleeping on the ground tonight, but one night, you’ll be sleeping beneath it.” he pauses. “And you’re right, we’re not that different. The real difference between the two of us is that I’ve made peace with my concrete prison. You, on the other hand, have made a home out of it, and have called it freedom.” He pauses. “Which one of us is more sad?” he finishes, swimming to a smaller tank without looking back.

“Thank you so much for coming to The Camus Show everyone! We hope you visit us soon!” the speaker voice finishes as the crowds flood out.

“Shit dude, that was a trip! Let’s go check out the sharks and then grab some food.” Johnny says patting me on the shoulder.

Camus’ words echo forever through my head.