A sorry tale

The art of story telling

There’s no need for me to mull about it at all. Why should I? And yet, I can't help but fret over it. At the same time, it's in the middle of the night. Just past four ‘o clock. If I listens carefully, I can hear all the noises of the overzealous birds outside. And the wind that slowly moves the branches of the cherry tree back and forth.

Nevertheless, I cannot resist. To ponder, to stand still. What makes people so sensitive to things that don't matter? Why do we buy expensive cars, clothes, houses, furniture? Caramel colored sparkling water? Why are we so receptive to status, brands? And on the same note. Why are we so easily persuaded by prophecies of doom? Why are we so open to scammers, charlatans?

I realize I gotta to sleep any time soon now. Or otherwise, I should fantasize about things that really matters to me. Like philanthropy, fighting poverty, improving the environment, tackling inequality. But I can’t get it out of my head. Why do we as human beings put so much energy into ideas and beliefs that are just decoration? Things that brighten up the outside of our lives? But nevertheless activities that do not touch the core of our fleeting existence?

Suddenly I stiffen. My fingers grip my Mondrian comforter. My jaws tighten, my heart is pounding in my throat. And after holding my breath for a few seconds, I know it for sure. There's someone in my house. A person is shuffling around downstairs in the living room. And that is not a relative or acquaintance. I live on my own for many years. And those who have my key don't stay nearby.

I feel the cold sweat running down my upper arms. What to do? Call the emergency number? But how long will it be before any help arrives? Or should I pretend to be asleep? Play dumb? Despite the deafening fear, the roaring anxiety. Should I pray and hope that whoever breaks in goes away unseen? Despite of what he or she is stealing? Because it's just about things? Just decoration? Only things that brighten up the outside of our fleeting lives?

"Good night! I was expecting you!"

The voice of the unexpected visitor sounds sonorous, dignified. He sits relaxed in my favorite armchair. Next to him on the side table is a bottle of expensive brandy and a glass that is half full. Some table lamps are turned on. And isn't there a soft jazz music playing through the speakers? Miles Davids? Chet Baker?

After minutes of fearful reflections, I took the courage to go downstairs. After all, am I not responsible for my own life? Therefore, it would not be smart just to sit and wait in my bed  and count down the seconds until some help might arrive.

The moment I somewhat manage to recover from the first shock for meeting the stranger and I intend to open my mouth to respond, the guest raises a hand and urges me to be quiet for a while.

“I know what you're thinking. I know what you want to say. But hey, there's a clear explanation. It's not what it seems. Grab a chair, make yourself comfortable. Do you also want a glass of brandy?”

I decide not to take a seat. At the same time I am to stunned to react.

“You should know that for many years I lived a very bad life. Lots of dope, lots of violence, lots of lies and deceit. But a few months ago I changed my mind. I've decided to change course. I want to become a new person. But how do you accomplish that? How can someone move on that with such a irredeemable past?”

He looks at me. Helpless, guilt-ridden, defeated, exhausted.

“Hence this strange habit. To break into the homes of ordinary, honorable citizens. To become aware of what it must be like to live honestly, sincerely, neatly, adapted.”

I cannot help but feel sympathy for this visitor. The initial shock and anger have completely disappeared. As the man stands up, he hugs me cordially and thanks me warmly for my hospitality and my willingness to put a fellow human back on the right track.

It is only when I find out that my purse, bank cards and car keys have disappeared, that it starts to dawn on me why people spend so much money on caramel-colored sparkling water.