A Spy 2

He was suicidal again. They had saved him from committing suicide, but now he was again suicidal. He didn't see any point in continuing to live. Who cared about him anyway? A low-level spy working for a country that wanted to change the world.

"Do you really want to change the world?" asked the interrogator.
"No. I actually want to change myself, but I find that to be impossible."
"You really are a puzzle," she observed.

"So what is my first mission?" he asked naively.
"Frankly, we want you to kill the North Korean President."
"Why? Does he hate himself too."
"No the world hates him!" she stated emphatically.
"Why doesn't the world kill him then?" he cackled.
"Will you do it?"
"It depends..."
"On what?"
"On how much you are willing to pay me..."
"How much do you think the job is worth?"
"Millions at least. More than even that. I could do it if I hated myself so much that I was willing to transfer all my hatred of myself to the North Korean dictator and then some. I must have some hate left over."

No one cared about them, they said. They needed people of deep emotional conviction. Someone who would stand up to the complex politics and deceptive bipartisanship of world governments. I said that I was the one, their savior. They started to laugh. So here I was on mission number one. I was to observe a certain politician named Erkel Stammer. It was so boring watching him. There was not the slightest deviance to his routine. He was like a machine working away endlessly. And now they were listening to me. Probably because I gave them the same report every day. At 5:30 he took a shower. At 6, he ate breakfast with his kids, etc. It was killing me. It was probably killing them.

"Does he have a mistress?"
"No."
"Why does he hate the Democratic Party so much?"
"He thinks that they are overspenders. They act like they are so rich when they actually have no money."
"What does he think of Israel?"
"He sees them as a desparate country on the verge of chaos."
"Why?"
"I'm not sure."
"Do you think he could change the world?"
"No."
"Why not?"

I was so tired of such conversations. Why didn't they just shoot me?

"Why are you so cynical about yourself?"
"I love pleasure, that's why. I've given up on feeling all this pain inside of myself. I'm sick of guilt and morality."
"Gabriel, you're so..."
"So Francis, what's Erkel stance of the Iranian nuclear program?"
"He's definitely against it."
"What's wrong with nuclear bombs anyway? If the ghetto had a nuclear bomb, there would definitely be social change. Who doesn't want a nuclear bomb anyway. At worst, you get involved in a war with the U.S. and they rebuild your country to be safe again. Talk about castration. A nuclear bomb is a modern phallus. It's the reintroduction of masculinity into a world that is being whitewashed by feminism."
"Do you really believe that?" Francis asked curiously.
"Look at Japan and Germany."

Francis gave him a kiss. Stars lit up in his brain. A kiss is a rest, memories folding into oblivion, hanging and hanging in mid-air.

"So how do you manage to watch him day and night?"
"Well, his wife kind of adopted me, as I remember. I was adopted by her."
"No way...you're 35. By Erkel's wife..."
"She thought I would be a good influence on her kids. I've sort of been feeding them candy all day."
"You're insane..."