"The only real point of being an adult is to choose what you want to do with your time. But it's usually too late to choose by the time you're grown up. So if you choose now what affect you want to have on the lives of others, you'll find your best adult job while you still have time to train into it," his 10th grade teacher told them while the classroom was a series of bent heads. Young John Barkus stared at his workbook and thought about when his uncle was finally able to move into his own house. He put his pen to the paper and wrote...
“So why are you really here, John
Barkus?” Sarah asked, breaking into his thoughts. They; Barkus, Sarah, Lynn, Sheryl, Gus, Sol, Jim and half of Jim's regulars were filling Barkus' flat. He wasn't sure how that happened, but someone kept handing him drinks and there were cartons of pizza being passed around so he didnt really care. Plus he had snagged one of the comfier chairs.
"Pride,” was Barkus' instant reply, and
then he blinked as if the answer was unexpected even to him. He had an audience, when did that happen?
“Do you want to think about that for
a minute?” came the joke, not unkindly.
“Well...” Barkus let the word
trail off for comic relief, which was rewarded, then added. “Yes,
in two manners of speaking, I am here for Pride, or about Pride, or
whatever.” Emboldnened by the alcohol and the open faces, he plunged
on. “I thought I could solve my own problems to the point where I
thought getting help showed weakness, an inability to Problem-Solve.”
They heard the capitals. “So I pushed it all away until well, I
ended up in those damn flower beds.” Laughter, the encouraging sort. “But on the other
side, I've just remembered what I put down in my school book for why
I wanted to be an Architect in the first place. Because I could see
the pride that people got when they owned a house.” Nods went
around the group. “I could see how much good that one fact did and I
wanted to make people feel good, help them feel pride. So I decided
to build houses.” He regarded his glass. “And somehow I
still ended up in flowers.” And then he had to tell them about
working at the local garden centre led by hippies who believed that
flowers could solve everything. “For years I had no idea how they
stayed in business. They made silly deals and donated to
ogranisations all over the place and would say things like, “Its not
about the money, its about the joy of earning your way, of using your
skill and experience to make someone's day better.” About 5 years
after I left, the penny dropped when my old boss's son came around
with a bulk bag of weed for the college dorm.” Laughter erupted.
“Yeah, they made a lot of people's days a lot better for a long
time! But what about you Sarah? What are you
here for, cos I know you're not from here.”
“I find it restful, and I like
hanging out with my girlfriend which means I have to spend some time
around here, whether I like it or not.” Mock jeers and pieces of
popcorn rained on her. “But I do have to admit, I find it very
restful here.” She accepted a top-up from Sol. “It's a really
good place to come to after a tour when my batteries are almost
depleted and I start getting really crabby.”
“What do you mean “start”?”
Lynn interjeted, which earned her a popcorn at point-blank range.
”Spousal abuse,” she shrieked.
“Nah,” rumbled George, swaying in
his seat. “Saw it all, it was retaliation for character defamation,
perfectly acceptable behaviour.”
“You're only saying that because
she bought you that special spiced rum,” Lynn protested in mock
outrage.
“Yes, I acknowledge the conflict of
interest and I say you are disturbing the peace and should refrain
from further histeronics unless you wish the warning to become
formal.”
“Oh I know how it goes now,” came
the sarcastic reply. “I'm being set up by the Man, on the direction
of the Woman.”
“And her special spiced rum,”
Sarah pointed out. Sol put on a look of contrived puzzlement.
“Is that what they call it
nowadays?”
From a group in the corner came a cry
of “Yes! That's it, I knew I knew it!”
“My, but that's great timing,”
laughed Sarah as the group turned as a whole to see what the
excitement was about. “What's going on over there?”
Barkus smiled as someone started
triumphantly telling the story of remembering a favoured song from
the 1920's, but he was miles and years away, remembering those
summers when his hands were always in the dirt and the smell of
compost was in the air. He had enjoyed those times, had got a deep
sense of satisfaction from knowing that it was his care and attention
that made the plants thrive and flourish. He remembered the feeling
of coming in one morning and seeing the first blood-red blooms on a
climbing rose that he had rescued from the compost pile. His old boss
had clapped him on the back and insisted that he take it home as
proof of his Lazarus touch. He had tied it carefully to the back of
his bike and presented it to his mother. It bloomed hugely for years
and was so vigorous that his mother had been able to train it over
arches and through the iron sculptures that his father loved. His
younger sister had sworn by its scent and gathered armfuls of petals
for her home-made moisturisers and perfumes. Neighbours and friends
from all over had taken cuttings and soon the “Barkus Rose”, as
it came to be known, was considered an essential part of a complete
garden in their town. He would drive through the streets and his
chest swelled as he thought that, if not for him, all that beauty
would never have been. His lip twisted bitterly and he sighed. *At
least,* he thought. *The Barkus Rose continues in other people's
gardens* He looked up suddenly, to see Sol's eyes on him with an
unreadable expression.
“What do you think of the
discussion, Barkus?” Sol asked.
Barkus blinked and rubbed his forehead
ruefully. “I wasnt listening,”he admitted. “What's being
discussed?”
Sol shrugged. “The evolution of music
I think,” he replied, sipping his scotch. “And its relationship
to politics.”
“Are we up to Punk yet?” Barkus
asked, stretching in his chair and shoving his remembrances aside.
“Cos if we're going to discuss music and politics, Punk should take
centre stage, pardon the pun.” A hand waved from another chair,
Barkus thought he remembered the owner as being called Sophie.
“But we're talking about music, not
noise,” she stated disparagingly. Barkus shook his head.
“I'll grant you that it's far from
being the most technical genre of music, but it was never meant to
be,” he argued. “It was supposed to be a statement, for free
choice and originality and against constraints of personal freedoms.”
Sophie didn't look conviced. “Take the Sex Pistols for example,
they wrote music that directly attacked policies of the British
Government at the time, they made satire of the Queen and they
encouraged the general public to speak their minds and be themselves.
They championed real freedom of choice. The Clash did the same.”
“But their music was so basic, it
really is just modulated noise,” Sophie protested.
“Others would argue accesible,”
Barkus retorted. “They showed that you don't need to be a virtuoso
to write songs and get people's attention. From the point of view of
musical history they were extremely important becasue they gave so
many people the confidence to pick up an instrument or microphone
and try.” Barkus shrugged. “Basically, if the Sex Pistols or the
Clash could play a song, anyone could.”
Sophie snorted. “You're right there.”
“And what do you play?”
“Cello, violin and piano,” she
said proudly.
“Sophie is part of the provincial
orchestra,” Sol told Barkus. “She played for the Youth Orchestra
before that.”
“Not all three instruments at once
though,” Barkus hazarded.
“No,” Sophie laughed. “That
would be a feat worthy of record. No, I play the cello for the
Orchestra, the piano and violin are more for fun.”
“And I suppose they are easier to
bring to parties.”
“Yes indeed, though I was caught on
the backfoot tonight and I brought nothing with me.”
“You brought yourself,” Barkus
reminded her and she smiled. “Next time the price of admission is a
tune.” She nodded and smiled again.
“Deal.”
In the natural pause of their
conversation, they heard Sarah in full discussion mode.
“No. I agree tht
lives are being sacrificed on the alter of propriety but I disagree
on the thinking behind it. AIDS isn't being treated like it is
because its a poor mans disease, or a black man's disease or a
homosexual disease, it's because it's a venereal disease. If AIDS was
transmitted through aerosal, there would be a solution to the “AIDS
problem”. I dont know what form it would take, but there would be
one. But AIDS is transmitted through sex, therefore it enters the
realm of religous taboo and the Authorities can take the highest
moral ground and leave the sinners to rot.”
“You really dont
like religion, do you?' A sip of the drink, a headshake.
“No, I consider
the vast majority of true human suffering in this world to be the sum
total of the presence of organised religion.”
“What?!” In
the hubbub, Barkus noticed that Sol and Gus were both staring at
Sarah intently. He realised then that he had never seen either man
direct their full attention on one subject before. Even when playing
music, there was the impression of there being many things going on
at once. Now, both men were completely focused on Sarah, who was
sitting in the eye of the storm as the other guests protested her
words.
Finally, Sol
raised a hand and, quite naturally, the voices died away.
“I'm sure Sarah
has no intention of leaving us hanging like this,” he observed
dryily. “Only it's kind of hard to yell over 10 people's voices and
still sound civil. So how about I restart the conversation with a
point of order.” The woman in question nodded graciously as the
others pulled themselves together and either prepared to listen or
pretended to. “Sarah, you said the sum total of organised religion.
What do you mean by that?” She shrugged.
“In a budgeting
sense, benefits go on eside, detriments go on the other, take one
from the other and see what's left over.”
“Well what do
you count as benefits and detriments?” Barkus asked before the
hubbub could start again.
“I look at it
from a humanistic point of view. Is this action or this mentality of
net benefit, or net detriment to the health and well-being of human
beings? The community spirit and the social conscience and
responsibility that Organised Religion engenders is of net benefit to
people becasue it roots them. It gives them a place to put their
energies to use by helping other people. Without groups like the
Salvation army, Meals on Wheels or church-organised social events a
lot of people would be significantly more worse off than they are
now, be it on an acute or chronic fashion.”
“Huh?”
“Whether you get
emergency shelter or a place to meet people,” Barkus translated.
“Okay, but I can see a big “But” appearing in your mind.”
Sarah smiled and
tipped her glass at him. “You're right because here comes the
detriment part. Organised Religion works becasue of the submission of
the congregation, the unthinking acceptance of whatever dogma is
delivered from the hierarchy.”
“That's only
true of the Catholics...” someone began but Sarah cut her off with
a smile.
“Nope. Hierarchy
is inherent in religion because it always requires submission
to a mortal representation of the Divine.” She scanned thier faces
and continued. “That is, someone created a picture of what the
Divine looks like, feels like, behaves like and all followers of
that Creed must submit to that one depiction and all other
depictions are blasphemous. All other ways of intereacting with the
Divine are wrong and only those who share the same method are saved.”
Silence. Barkus saw dropped jaws on everyone who was listening but Sol and Gus who
were both grinning to themselves, then he saw them exchange a loaded,
expectant look and nod.
“The alienation
that this core aspect of organised religion engenders makes it of net
detriment to human happiness.' Sarah continued. 'Never mind the
exploitation, the ready excuse for inhumane acts, the barrier to a
truely personal relationship with the Divine or the obsession with
forcing people to believe that their bodies are inherently filthy and
that shame is the only acceptable attitude regarding them.”
“What
alienation?'
“Inhumane acts?
What kind of Church have you been going to?”
“Wait a minute,
I want to know what she means by a barrier...”
Weaving slightly,
Barkus made his way to the kitchen for a refill. He had heard most of
this already and Sarah looked capable of looking after herself.
“Interesting
lady, isn't she?” Sol asked conversationally, leaning on the counter
with a fresh scotch. Barkus frowned, puzzled, then turned around to
peer into the living room. He hadn't had that much to drink, had he?
Sol was looking at him with his head on one side and a contemplative
expression when he turned back around.
“Yes,” Barkus
answered eventually, restarting his trip to the fridge. “Extrememly.
Extremely sincere too, she really believes what she says.” The
fridge held no more beer. “Dammit.”
“Thats why she
surprises people so bad,” Sol shrugged. “She's comfortable enough
in her own philosophy that she doesnt need to try and convince
others, she just tells it like she sees it. It's the calm that gets
people to listen and then she knocks them between the eyes with a new
world-view. All with a smile on her face.”
Barkus nodded,
pondering this and cast a last, hopeful look into the fridge, just in
case new beer somehow appeared.
There was a new
case of beer in the fridge. Barkus stared at it, hypnotised, then
turned to look at Sol.
“Did you..?”
Barkus heard himself say. Sol's eyes flicked from him to the fridge
and back in apparently genuine incomprehension.
“Did I what?”
Barkus stared at
him, at the beer, back at him.
“Uh, nothing.”
He grabbed a beer and closed the fridge. “I've either drank too
much or too little, because I'm seeing things.” He popped the top.
“So I'm going to try drinking some more and see what happens.”
“Famous last
words.”
“How come no-one
remembers the first words?” Barkus mused.
“What do you
mean?”
“The words that
started events. Or at least were pithy, smart and said around the
beginnings of a chain of happenings.”
“I guess the
historians only show up when the action's over. Though I do remember
some memorable first words, now that you mention it,” Sol continued, scratching his chin.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, I think
it was something like, “Everybody take up their positions.” “
“Loaded, for
sure,” Barkus said after a moments thought. “But not particularly
memorable on their own.” Sol nodded.
“I guess you'd
need to know the context.”
“What's the
context?”
“A private party
in a brothel.”
'Oh.'