Conversations were still in full swing; everyone was discussing various and sometimes original topics, but Marinna quickly realized that Alice's remark was more than accurate. Their discussions touched on everything and anything, which hadn't struck her at first glance, but now, as she listened closely to everyone's conversations, a pattern began to emerge.
Everything revolved around that sad event. Everything, closely or remotely, led back to this fateful murder, to those experiments in the other building. She looked at them with a complex expression. She understood, and yet at the same time, she could not understand why everything unfailingly came back to this incident, with an almost insatiable persistence.
"Each person sitting at this table was distinctive, or at least one of a kind," Marinna thought, looking at them with compassion, even though she knew she shouldn't think that way. "For anything special or unique quickly becomes a source of trouble or problems of all kinds for its owner, or at least for the leader. Besides, a human remains a human. There is nothing distinctive, unique, and even less special about them. So, in the end, this thought is all too widespread, excessively simplistic to be anything more than a rhetorical question."
She refilled her cup of tea for the umpteenth time, lost in her thoughts; she soon paid no attention to the new discussions that had just arisen. Conversations were in full swing. Everyone was talking with new people, or at least with new interlocutors, different from the previous ones.
Except for a few, who preferred to listen rather than interject. Alice listened to them without truly taking part in the discussions, even though she was itching to do so; she seemed to be holding herself back. But if you looked closely at her eyes, a certain agitation could be perceived: they moved, dancing with each discussion, as if she wanted to contradict them or converse with them. Yet she did nothing of the sort.
One discussion after another, everyone spoke and listened to others at the same time, without the slightest apparent awkwardness—at least so it seemed—until someone stepped right into the middle of a discussion deemed important to give their opinion on the subject; from that point on, everyone jumped in everywhere to give their view on everything.
— There are days when the simple act of breathing feels incredibly painful, yet at the same time incredibly soothing, said Naoto Akizuki. The wind brushes against our skin, a familiar scent returns with each new season, and for a moment I believe I have found something I had forgotten, a sensation I had lost. Then everything vanishes in the beat of a wing. It is strange... the sweetest memories are sometimes the ones that hurt the most. Perhaps because, deep down, these sensations are the driving force of everything; through them, we rediscover our primary emotions. Living happily is one of the most fantastic things.
— I feel what my body tells me and wants me to understand, but if I listen to it at every turn, then I no longer truly know what I really want. I become a stranger to myself, as if my sensations were thinking for me, replied Leonard Bluom. Emotions are merely fleeting within us, they must not take possession of us, otherwise who are we? A mere slave to our own sensations, or a man chained before his own emotions. We must accept them without putting them in the foreground.
"Perhaps I am too harsh in my words? But everything he says makes sense, I do not deny it; yet what is the use if we are no longer masters of ourselves? Emotions, down to sensations, create a personality within us, like a clock that ticks — but what if there is no longer a clockmaker to wind the hands? One must know how to draw the line between what one is and what one believes oneself to be; there lies a most arduous yet most genuine quest. It is enough then to walk to know if we are expected somewhere, to realize what awaits us on the other side; we must walk, wander among people and dwellings to realize who we are. Emotions, just like sensations, will help us, but they must not be the ones that guide the walk," thought Leonard Bluom.
— We can even draw a parallel with art in general, you realize, said Naoto Akizuki, fixing his gaze on Leonard. Sensations are the heart of everything, I do not see why you doubt it; emotions are our life's journey, they are the most irrefutable proof of it within us, they are our foundations, why doubt it?
— I do not doubt, I nuance, replied Leonard Bluom. All of this is fine and coherent, in a certain sense. When I think about it, it applies to painting, sculpture, writing... but it does not apply to life. One does not build one's life upon such things; as Jiddu Krishnamurti so well put it: "Love is not a feeling. To be sentimental, to be emotional, is not love, for sentimentality and emotion are merely sensations." And, from a perspective that partly aligns with that of Spinoza, who formulated it so well, the problem is therefore not to feel nothing anymore, but to understand what one feels. I will tell you, then, that I reflect before plunging headlong into the heat of the action because of my emotions.
— I disagree with these remarks, retorted Naoto Akizuki. If we go down that path, we can just as easily cite philosophers who say the opposite: Henri Bergson said that we must grant a central place to lived experience, to the consciousness of sensations, to intuition, and to emotions. I could also cite William James, who attached considerable importance to subjective experience and bodily sensations in emotions. And there are still many others: David Hume... Merleau-Ponty, or even Epicurus. For some, emotions are the pillars of our soul. It depends on us to uphold one principle or another.
— You are quite right on certain points, said Leonard Bluom, refilling his cup with coffee for the umpteenth time. Citing philosophers serves only to back up arguments that do not necessarily exist, especially if our two views diverge on everything... even though I think our vision of things is not all that divergent. Our views remain different nonetheless, which is subjective for the rest.
— Yes, in many respects, which deeply saddens me, replied Naoto Akizuki, a slight sadness in his gaze. For the beauty of something that brings us together, or at least the feeling it awakens in us, is not merely subjective; we are the only ones to see something authentic in it. Which seems a bit sad to me. For it is the conviction of wanting to paint that gives birth to the work, and not the reverse.
— I have already realized quite well, from spending time with you on a daily basis, that you are truly passionate about art in general, and more particularly about painting, replied Leonard Bluom, a slight smile at the corners of his lips. When does this passion for painting date back to? Was it there before, or after seeing that...
— Art has always been an integral part of me, from my earliest childhood until today; art, more precisely painting, has always been part of my daily life, replied Naoto Akizuki. This passion goes back much further than that fateful view... but that view allowed me to perceive certain things differently, or rather from another angle. A new angle... for beauty is reborn through the eyes of the one who gazes upon it. And you, what do you think of this view?
— To many things, replied Leonard Bluom, his gaze lost in his coffee. To questions, to actions, to the most enriching reflections, but also to the most unsettling self-questionings. This view has truly changed things inside me that I did not even suspect; today, I no longer seek to return home... today, I seek only the grace of God.
— I think each of us seeks this grace of God today, retorted Naoto Akizuki. That makes me think of him, especially of this phrase he told us when we met: "He who does not seek happiness will not find it; so let us reach out our arm to seize this sad, sunlit star that shines with a thousand fires, let us make it our personal happiness... let us pray that it lasts eternally. Let us pray that it lasts." A phrase from this sad character. Which is why I told myself that sensations and emotions are very important; they have already saved us once.
— That rescue may also cost us our lives, do not forget it, Naoto, countered Leonard Bluom, looking at him with a hint of sadness. We rushed in too much, we trusted our own emotions too much; and even though it could be justified by a thousand and one explanations... logic and rationality were forgotten during that execution. What will cost us our lives is that they will trace their way back to us — and if they trace their way back to us, it means they will trace their way back to him, which will be most reassuring.
— You are wrong, they helped us; we were able to feel that sensation in... in... you understood me well. Granted, it is not art or painting, but it made us feel the sensation and the emotion that stems from it. Through this, we have evolved; these two things are paramount for the human, they allow us to evolve continuously, just as supercomputers constantly evolve until they acquire their own consciousness, said Naoto Akizuki. We do not necessarily have to master them, we must know how to explain them; sometimes they surpass our thoughts, or even our actions — that is why we are humans, we make mistakes and try to correct them as best we can.
— Perhaps, replied Leonard Bluom. But still, they will investigate this orphanage, that is certain. They will turn everything upside down, every detail, every paper, every little forgotten thing, to understand why we had to move to another orphanage. It is always like that with investigations: you look for a reason, then another, and in the end you think you have understood everything while they have already caught you red-handed. I am not saying that sensations or emotions do not matter. They matter, of course. Fear especially, or anger, or even love, it stirs your insides and makes you see things differently. But precisely, that is perhaps where the danger lies. Emotions sometimes blur judgment, like a fogged-up window. We all have those things. I do too. So I know. It is perhaps better to stop for a moment, think quietly, before doing something stupid that we will regret afterward. Think first. Act after. It is not that complicated, yet we did the opposite...
"I still remember that sad day, before I entered the orphanage... the funeral of my last relative, of my very last true family: my own father. It has not even been a week since he died, and I still hear him talking to me, or at least I still hear the sound of his voice; he gave me all kinds of advice on painting, he was so talented, my first model and my very first master in this field... but popularity did not choose him as it chose others, and illness got the better of him. He often told me: 'Becoming an artist is not the only way to live artistically.' This phrase has remained engraved within me. Perhaps that is why sensations and emotions touch me so deeply... but I doubt that this is the sole cause; perhaps it goes back even further, to my earliest childhood, where it appeared to me as an obvious truth—these paintings, especially those of the Romantic movement or realism, I fell in love with them. Flowers, details, all of that has its importance, but the sensations reflected by the work matter even more; emotions take precedence over everything else," thought Naoto Akizuki, his gaze lost in the distance; he was no longer really paying attention to Leonard or what he was saying. "Yet Leonard is right on this point: it is sometimes better to abstract certain sensations, to avoid putting oneself in a most delicate situation. Sensations are the heart of man, but also his Achilles' heel."
— We cannot turn back, Leonard; things turned out the way they were meant to turn out, a long time ago, retorted Naoto Akizuki. If human beings try to imitate what is not human, they must pay the price. There is nothing wrong with wanting to be free again — who does not dream of freedom? The insect is free, the bird is free, so why not us? Man was born free and will remain so, intangible like the very concept of life. Sensations act as the gears in our peculiar soul, and emotions are the engine; nothing works without one or the other, hence the mistakes of man.
— I conceive of it, and perhaps I am the first to have made mistakes by listening to my heart, replied Leonard Bluom. All the same, I stand by my position: we should have thought instead of acting as we did, and perhaps we would have arrived at the same conclusion, but with full awareness of the risk this act entailed. The Jesuits reflected throughout their lives, they did not make decisions at the last moment.
— Life is an interior war as much as an exterior one; everyone can enter it, but no one leaves it, said Naoto Akizuki. Life is a struggle, a war whose entry takes longer than its exit; no one escapes unscathed, but that does not mean one must not take risks. If we want to live, we must take them, otherwise our lives will be nothing more than names, aimless, meaningless. Even if we fail, we will know that we have truly lived. Hence the idea that following the path of the heart is both formidable and improbable.
— I did not picture you like that, retorted Leonard Bluom with a slight smile, then a chuckle. A young boy like you, asserting that to live one must act... painting has the most surprising effects, but are you really wrong? Given what we have lived through, your words are only all the truer. We are still quite young, we have our whole lives ahead of us; let us look ahead rather than behind. There are surely still many things that you and I have not yet seen, so let us not rush, let us take life as it comes.
— Living in the present moment is one of the most comfortable things, but it is an illusion, pointed out Naoto Akizuki. Suffering is just as important. Frustration is important. Everything that is shitty in this world is important. It is by experiencing all of that that one can have the most beautiful of lives. Living in the present moment is a sort of escape from life. Suffering is important, it is an emotion we must feel to move forward. If you cannot feel anything, you do not know if you are alive or dead. It is painful because you are trying to live; the sensations are only all the greater.
— Suffering is a universal thing, but not a necessary one, replied Leonard Bluom. Every sensation has its little reason for being, a little reason to exist, its say on us. This damned suffering returns every time to remind us that it has won and that we have lost our way along the path. One failure here, another further along, and it keeps our failures as if each of them were a simple, indispensable trophy to be carefully displayed. We believe it teaches us something — hehe, as if pain were a school where one had to pay the tuition fees with one's own humility as currency. It binds us to its doctrines, to its fine explanations on what one ought to be, endure, become. And here we are slaves, with no visible chains. Nothing more. Nothing less. Do not forget that emotions will perhaps soon lead us to the scaffold, and that suffering will be the stage director, sitting in the front row to watch us die.
— That is certain, or even predetermined, but I want to believe that nothing will happen, declared Naoto, fixing Leonard with a serious look. We simply fought for our freedom, unlike others who sowed evil wherever they passed. We are the good guys — and what is a good guy? A person who suffers discrimination without saying a word? Perhaps so. So, we are in the gray: neither righteous nor evil. It is up to us to decide who we will be in the future. And if this leads us to a hanging before everyone, then fate will have struck, just like the final brushstroke given to one's canvas. There will be nothing left to do but smile in the face of our work.
— Good, evil, feelings, and emotions — what is the point of all this? All these words, all these questions, where do they lead you? retorted Leonard, a bit irritated. In fact, I see very well where all this leads us... but you and I, or even the rest of the group, we know it, we all know it: there was a crime, and that is that. We can mix art and feelings into it, but this thing was done.
— What is the use of all my words?! You want to know what the use is of my words, of my discreet as well as indiscreet references on the subject? said Naoto with courage. I want us to talk about it without hiding, open-heartedly; granted, it is not an easy subject to approach, but I want us to break through this wall. You and I, and the rest of the group, we flee this subject like the plague; yet there is nothing wrong with wanting to talk about it. We are not like group twenty, we have nothing to reproach ourselves for.
— Maybe you are right, but I am not running away, retorted Leonard Bluom. But what is the use of deciding who we will be tomorrow, when I no longer quite know who I am today? I sometimes wake up and, for a few seconds, I recognize neither my room, nor my hands, nor even this face that appears in the mirror; then everything comes back — the name, the memories, the things I have done or believe I have done, for who knows if these memories remain faithful to what we experienced a very long time ago? So I escape, yes, to the other side, over there, somewhere very far away, where I can move without this weight, become another, walk elsewhere — but always I return, always this same self waiting somewhere, like a simple person who has been given a key without being told which door to open. Reality always comes back to knock at our door.
— We must live happily! said Naoto Akizuki, his face illuminated by a broad smile, his cheeks slightly red. Seeing this, Leonard's eyes widened. We are like animals, and just like them, a human being must be happy. In the same way, all must be able to be happy! Human beings seek happiness more than any other living being on Earth. Let us turn, like sunflowers, toward the sun; it will guide us and illuminate our lives until our death. For living beings must be happy until the moment of their death, hence my admiration for them. Life is the hope of being happy... the belief that we will overcome any trial to find the long-awaited happiness.
— Your optimism in the face of the situation is most admirable, said Leonard Bluom, still amazed by these words. But... I do not want your admiration for now, nor anyone else's, because I do not want your insults later, nor your future reproaches. Every human endures the choices that led them to their own solitude, just as they caused it themselves. My acts and my happiness concern only me, especially if it is to avoid a greater solitude in the years to come, for I do not want to search for my lost time. You see, Naoto, solitude is the price of happiness that we pay from our birth for the right to exist. In this modern world, so rich and influential, the independence of our own freedom and egocentrism is rare.
— Why do you say all that? You just sound like a sixty-year-old man, with a more defeatist, even pessimistic outlook on current life, said Naoto Akizuki with a slight smile. A little more joy, please; besides, you say that in the moment, but you are among the happiest and most smiling people I know. Even though, from time to time, you look lost in your thoughts, you always seem ready to tell jokes or say the most sarcastic nonsense about our situation or our life.
— Me, pessimistic? No, I am realistic, my dear friend. That is a most notable difference, make a note of it! repeated Leonard, fixing Naoto. My reflections are sometimes darker, or more realistic, than some of my other statements, because the situation demands it—like the investigation hanging over us.
— You are right, I got a bit too carried away with my ideas on happiness and the rest, said Naoto Akizuki, somewhat crestfallen. But we must still keep hope; without it, we risk sinking. A paintbrush cannot tremble when tracing a line, our perseverance cannot stop now.
— Yes, anyway, whether I complain or not, if they discover us, we will have to react, retorted Leonard Bluom. We will just have to be ready, the moment they discover us. Otherwise, we risk having serious problems with them.
"Life is like a canvas, and I am the painter, the artist of my own life; everything stems from me and my paintbrush. I create my own life on this painting, so vast and at the same time so small. Creating a work of art is one of the hardest jobs, yet also one of the most comforting, for no one can reproduce what we do or produce—our art is our own, whether we are a genius or not. Beauty will flow from it with every brushstroke placed on this canvas, the authenticity of our art, our life will be on this canvas. Each stroke brings me back to my father and his heritage, which has become mine; my art cannot be like his, on pain of remaining a mere interpretation, a reproduction forever—approximation remains a falsification, for me as for him, for every true thing stems from oneself and oneself alone. I have always admired my father's innate talent, to the point of copying it for a few moments, before realizing, before having that click, that art is my life, and life is my art; perfection is found in the most minute details of life. What is perfection if we do not place our entire life at its disposal? For at the final stroke, there will be no more doubt; the paintbrush held highest, this stroke will be the last, there will be no other. Before the end of the painting, and of the work of our life, we..." thought Naoto Akizuki for a brief instant. "Let us not forget that our life stems from us, and not from the gaze of others!"
— Let's stop talking about this for a moment, said Leonard Bluom. Tell me more about painting, about art, about what you love, and what you plan to do here, in this new orphanage? As for me, I mostly plan to do the same thing as in the old one. The same cycle repeats over and over again, a most monotonous life.
— I would say like in the old one, actually a bit like you, but in my own way, replied Naoto Akizuki. I am going to train, listen to their classes, and if possible go paint in a quiet place; and if I have a little luck, I'm bound to run into someone who likes painting in general. Then, in the evening, go explore and hope to find interesting things, and if possible keep an eye on you-know-what group.
"In the evening, training, fights, discoveries — things repeat, always with the same gesture, the same voice. We will still have to search for more and more information, wander through all kinds of libraries, trick and be tricked for a few crumbs of information, eat with strangers, future allies or enemies; death will watch over us all, but the more the days advance, the more reality will catch up with us. The body remembers before the head, the muscles know, the eyes look, and the heart beats faster without asking why, while the brain processes every piece of information. And evening falls, like a shooting star toward another point, abandoning us for a moment to our worst demons... the night is soft like autumn rains, it advances gently, while we continue, as if it could wait for tomorrow. We really must free ourselves from all this, before the night devours us, before the return of the sun, of that tender light!" thought Leonard Bluom.
Alice, sitting in her place, observed Leonard and Naoto with a palpable judgment in her gaze; no word came out of her mouth, but her face spoke for her. She nevertheless let out a slight, mocking laugh, to which of course no one really paid attention. She turned slightly to see if Marinna had finished reflecting, but to her great regret, the latter was still lost in her thoughts.
She wanted to speak to her when voices began to rise throughout the hubbub; it was not a dispute, of course, but Alice still noticed the discussion. She wanted to ignore it, or at least not dwell on it, to go talk to Marinna, but a slight curiosity took over — anyway, she had nothing else to do, so wasting a few seconds or minutes cost her nothing, especially since Marinna would eventually wake up on her own.
She resettled in her chair, took her tea, which had become slightly lukewarm, with one of the last biscuits left on the table. She brought it to her lips with tenderness and bit into it; it was crisp on the outside and soft on the inside. She smiled in the face of so much sweetness and information about the lives of others.
"Everything that is conditioned is impermanent; when one sees this with wisdom, one turns away from suffering to see oneself, to see us. For we are, and will remain, that. Fear is merely the accompaniment of our incomprehension of ourselves; we have a right only to action, for its fruits will never be mine; let the fruits of action not be your motive, for they will accompany you until the end," thought Manas Dvait, a slight cold sweat trickling down his forehead. "I must calm myself, I cannot let myself be guided by this current, I must resist temptation; by oneself, evil is done; by oneself, one is defiled. By oneself, evil is avoided; by oneself, one is purified... This is not me, that is not me, I was no longer myself, I am not my self... for I am not that."
— Being born is, and will always be, a crime against all and against ourselves; so easing one's conscience by doing away with oneself would only be beneficial for everyone, said William Riemann in a most cynical tone. If death had only positive sides, dying nowadays would be one of the most glorious acts. But dying today is something far more impracticable, even unforgivable, especially in everyone's eyes; for if nothing exists after death, then all this is no more than a simple act of rebellion against ourselves, a flawed calculation in this vast reality. Dying knowing there is nothing afterwards is rather reassuring, because if there is nothing afterwards, whatever the outcome, there will be nothing left.
— I did not take you for that kind of person, replied Manas Dvait, shocked by William's words. Living is a formidable thing, difficult certainly, but formidable all the same; life is unique and irreplaceable... dying is something regrettable and definitive. Thinking in such a dark manner makes me doubt you — are you truly the William Riemann I know? That young boy immersed in his science and math books; I am almost sure you have already read philosophy, so why are you uttering such dark remarks?
"I should never have acted with them... why? Why did I do it? I should never have done that against him... Now, it is irreparable. I must move forward with this weight on my soul, even if the action seemed to serve a noble cause; I feel soiled before myself... we should have proceeded differently..." thought Manas Dvait.
— You are quite right, I slightly exaggerated to make you understand that life and death are one and the same calculation, a comma in an infinite number; whether one lives or the other dies, it will not change the outcome of this calculation, replied William Riemann with a slight smile. Philosophy is only there to back up the statements of certain people who simply do not know how to express themselves properly; no one is truly nihilistic or pessimistic all their life — one day you are happy, the next unhappy; ultimately, everything comes down to the human body and how it works. Every person believes in something or someone, we all have our star in the sky.
— I am not even surprised, I who took that completely literally, whereas you had only used a single sentence to back up your remarks in our previous discussion, retorted Manas Dvait, his hand on his face, shaking his head slightly. But I still find that you remain a bit cynical in your words, even distant regarding them. Life and science are two very different things. One is life, the one we live every day; the other is merely a simple calculation...
— Life is meant to be lived, unlike science which is there to explain it, replied William, taking a sip of his coffee. There is a theory, or at least a thesis, according to which there are two visions of the same thing, two worlds: the real world and the fake world. The real world is outside, outside of this house; the real world is beyond the walls of the house, outside, where air and earth are one; going beyond the houses and dwellings is going into the heart of nature, enjoying life, being social, traveling, doing everything outside... And there is the fake world, the one where you exclude yourself from the world, where you stay locked up behind these walls, where you spend your life cloistering yourself, dreaming instead of going out. In the fake world, we are in an illusion; in the real world, we are in the truth. This theory is interesting, because no one knows if it truly works. Either I am, along with many people on this earth, in total illusion, or I am in the truth. Believing or not believing in a single god is merely a choice — we have a fifty percent chance of being right or wrong. There is no right answer, just a reality.
— Why do you always have to bring everything back to numbers or theories more far-fetched than the next, retorted Manas, looking William straight in the eyes with a certain frustration. Life is everything, and at the same time nothing; there is no disputing that, nor setting up theories on that level. Life is a magnificent thing, fabulous even. We have one life, and only one, not two — so let us enjoy nature, the love of our neighbor, and stop putting numbers at the forefront of our lives; a human life is long, we have plenty of time to discover ourselves through the trials of life. Let us accept that destiny, instead of looking for theories to explain to us who we are.
— The theory of ambivalence between dichotomy, veridicity, and the simulacrum of verum. This theory does not officially exist; it took shape on the internet. I wrote it, or rather reinvented it, through reading Wittgenstein and his one and only true book, the Tractatus logico-philosophicus, or other authors and philosophers, said William Riemann. But the idea comes from there... what I just stated to you about the "real" and the "fake" world is only a glimpse of what my thought on the human being contains; yet this simple beginning still remains an essential foundation of how we function, because we, like our brain, perceive the world in a non-linear and undefined manner.
— So this theory... you created it? That is impressive, but still, someone else must have already had this idea before you, right? And why give your theory such a long name? You could have simply called it "Mind and Brain," it would have been much quicker to pronounce and easier to remember, pointed out Manas Dvait. And above all, from what you are saying, I do not see the connection between the real world and the fake world in this theory, which studies ambivalence and tension between what is truly real, what is presented as true, and what is merely an appearance of truth.
— A theory is never created by a single person; time perfects it and makes it more accurate. Isaac Newton discovered and formulated the law of gravitation, but before him, someone had already found its premises, or at least understood its basics, six hundred years earlier: it was Ibn al-Haytham, also known as Alhazen in the West, retorted William Riemann with a small, satisfied, somewhat smug smile. A title has a precise meaning; it is not enough to find a name that rhymes or sounds good to make it more marketable, it must precisely expose the subject being treated, especially when it comes to philosophy.
— Granted, an idea can evolve, or even transform — we have seen it well over the years, I understand that —, but that does not mean one does not steal an idea from someone; directly or indirectly, it can be perceived as intellectual appropriation, or even intellectual theft. Of course, I am not saying you are a thief, but it is possible you indirectly reused someone else's work, replied Manas Dvait, seeming to reflect while speaking. Still, for the title, we are not forced to choose a name that is overly explicit or uses complicated words to state something; we can do it, but I find it ruins the experience a bit, at least from my point of view.
— I who thought you were lost in your bubble, with your ideas on metaphysics, said William, slightly surprised. You will always surprise me, you who are so close to religion and so upright; I did not see you as someone who questions everything, or who seeks to better understand the world around them. You are unpredictable, Manas. But to answer your question, no one steals from anyone, because no one thinks the same way. We see the same idea, but we all understand it in a way that is unique to us. Can we really call that theft?
— Perhaps, or perhaps not; it all depends on the words we choose to define that idea, replied Manas, looking at William's steaming coffee, an indescribable sadness appearing in his shining eyes. But one thing is sure, we all think differently, but we all act the same way when a situation demands it... even when that situation is most harmful to us and our person, we do it if it allows us to be free, if only for an instant.
— Yes..., replied William, his voice reduced to a murmur, but clear at that moment. I know what you are going to tell me, or what you are implying with this statement; but this crime was necessary for our survival. Granted, there were a thousand and one ways to do otherwise than the choice we made, but we made it, and it worked; there is nothing more to say about it.
— There is everything to say, retorted Manas, a bit annoyed by William's lack of interest regarding his statement. This act will cause our downfall, karma will catch up with us to make us pay for it... since that day, something has broken inside me. Every silence, now, is an ink that weighs a little heavier on each of my words, and every glance exchanged between us seems to tirelessly remind me of that sad evening. I no longer even know what I must do.
— There is nothing to be done, and nothing more to say, replied William, his gaze turning in turn to the smoke rising from his coffee cup. Things unfolded this way; we cannot dredge up the past to torture ourselves, we must move forward. Accept the choices we made, and move forward by owning them.
— That is easy to say, retorted Manas. Why are we so complicated to understand? The idea was bad from the start, but we executed it as if it were the best idea in the world, whereas it was a total illusion, one of the worst ideas we ever had. But we accepted it without flinching, and executed it without a word; this simple thought makes me doubt who I was. Since when have I changed so much?
— We are like free electrons, each heading in an undefined direction; that is why I love philosophy — understanding how our thinking works gives me chills, it is always fascinating to see and try to understand how a mind operates, remarked William Riemann, raising an eyebrow slightly. Man is as complex as the best mathematical formulas in the world. This comparison may seem silly to you, since any calculation can be as easy to solve as it is difficult to understand, but it is a reality: man does not understand himself. He simply accepts what he is, and only realizes it much later. God created man in his own image. Can we understand God? We are incapable of understanding him, just as we are incapable of understanding ourselves — who are we really, humans, or gods? Hence why philosophy attempts to do this: science tries to understand the world, philosophy tries to understand the Human.
— Really, and how can that be useful to us at a time like this? asked Manas Dvait, a bit skeptical. Moreover, "understanding the Human," isn't that a bit easy to say just like that? Using this term to understand the world seems partial to me indeed, but understanding the Human seems even more complex, even impossible on that level... how can I say it, oh darn, I don't know how to phrase it, but we are everything, and at the same time nothing; kindness just as much as malice, the human being can be everything and its opposite. I do not believe we can be pigeonholed by saying "he is this, the other is that" — sometimes man is much more, he is himself, and will remain himself.
— That is certain, the human is almost an intangible concept, an idea created almost by a single god, an idea, a symbol — hence why so many people feel like more than just a person, said William Riemann with a slight laugh. It is always easy to say that a subject talks about this or that, but sometimes it is better to encompass the subject to better grasp the essential message one wants to convey. Man remains human, unlike God, who is merely a concept.
— You minimize the place of God a bit too much for my taste, replied Manas Dvait. Gods are the very foundation of a coherent society; without them, there is only chaos, ruled by the law of the strongest, for man remains a wolf to himself. The only higher order capable of containing our wildest and most animalistic desires is a higher order, because, as the sages teach, it is from ignorance and attachment that suffering and disorder are born. Our inner peace comes through understanding what surrounds us.
— The gods... do not forget what situation we are in today because of them; look at how tormented you are, like a child who has done something very foolish. The gods are only there to calm some of those fools who think they are superior to others, retorted William Riemann with a discreet smile at the corners of his lips. The gods are only stories invented to keep us on the right path that they themselves imagined, to make us respect others and nothing else. Granted, certain religions are more peaceful than others, but it remains a simple fable, even one of the most comical stories told to children... Reality plays out here, and not after our death.
— We must accept certain mysteries of life to better understand ourselves, instantly said Manas Dvait. We can never perfectly understand ourselves, nor understand our neighbor; that is what I was terrified of during that crime — I was no longer sure I was myself, still that person I have known, whom I have looked at every morning since my earliest childhood with so much admiration. But there it is, we must move forward; man is a bottomless abyss in his complexity, something we can neither master nor even control. We must accept that... but we must still question ourselves to understand each other, and avoid repeating the same mistakes over and over.
— The human is above all a body filled with bones, blood, and tissues. He is nothing more than a mass of flesh. The core of all this is our heart, our brain and our mind, and of course our sight. Without that, we are only lifeless bodies, said William Riemann. God has nothing to do with this, because above all we are autonomous, endowed with a most favorable free will. All our choices are decided by us, and by us alone; we are that triangle revolving around this table that is life, we spin without ever straying from its gravitational field, because everything is a simple calculation, a simple reasoning. Our choices simply result from our mind combined with our brain, like quantum engines — both process the same data, but do not produce the same result; it is the same principle, but the calculations that come out of them will never be the same. It is our sight that will determine our vision of the world, which shapes us through our prejudices, our morals, and everything that will make us a being different from our neighbor. All this sums up in philosophy, which can pass through science or otherwise; we are merely calculations, a mass of even or odd numbers, or prime numbers. The choices offered to us will make us what we will be; we can understand them or realize them today. We are already able today to say whether someone is altruistic or selfish — so this also applies to us; we can understand, perhaps not accept, but at least realize what we are made of.
— I am not sure I understood everything in your response... but one thing is sure, I do not agree with you, replied Manas Dvait with a slight laugh. I concede that man can be reduced to a simple diagram, a photograph where his functioning is explained through complicated phrases, but I rather think that man is a variable that does nothing but change and evolve; we are not numbers, William. But human beings — what would we be if we were only numbers on a blank sheet of paper?
— Something stable and harmonious, said William Riemann calmly. Today, we can create life and death from viruses or diseases, we know how gravity works and how human evolution unfolds — why could we not do the same for the human being? We are so unpredictable: look, we killed for our survival, and now we torture ourselves with that conclusion. We are unstable beings; sooner or later, certain patterns will repeat themselves, whether we like it or not, things reproduce endlessly. For we are free electrons, we possess this freedom and free will which are our greatest advantage, but also, in parallel, our greatest enemy, because we are incapable of appreciating lasting freedom between ourselves and ourselves.
— Every struggle goes through its own contradiction, said Manas Dvait. The body and the mind are one; if one goes against the other, it will lead us to our end. It is better to face it head-on than to ignore it. Every struggle does not necessarily need a weapon or energy, for it plays out within us, like a calculation: the mind reflects with the brain to wage battle against this question. It is crucial for us, to be at peace, to have a most stable life. Everyone goes through it in their life... today, it is my turn to be confronted with it.
"I would have liked not to be born as a human, but in a geometric form, wandering among infinite lines, of a form I would not even suspect, living in total stagnation, without evolution, without anything. To be a square on a straight line, or parallel to another, it matters not — I want to forget the problems of life... yes, to forget them, these problems imposed on me by everything and nothing. I know myself, but it seems I am gradually losing myself; for now, I am still myself, but one day I will no longer be... I want to be a triangle, or a constant form, and not a human; I would have that feeling of freedom, while experiencing the sensation of moving, of pressing against other lines, of being that mathematical theory crossing time, where neither God nor anyone can make me exist, becoming an integral part of a vast calculation where there is no end, just a beginning. I no longer want to be the hero of my life, just the spectator of it, for what follows bodes no good... but I want to be a part of it... in fact... I just want to understand," thought William Riemann.
— Let's change the subject now, if you please; I think I have gotten the answer I was looking for to my question, retorted Manas Dvait. Do you remember, one evening, telling me that you loved the stars? Why the stars?
— The stars... because they remain unchanged across time, they are permanent, replied William Riemann, looking into the distance at a window, where a few rays of light could still be seen piercing through the dirty panes. The stars are the very representation of permanence, at least that is what I believe; unlike us, who do nothing but evolve through time, who change along with our experiences. Our worldviews change unceasingly; we are everything and nothing, at once one and at the same time zero. There is nothing more tiring than change; stability and stagnation are merely a respite from the constant change of what we are. Well, they never cease to illuminate, to collapse and to be reborn to awaken once more; deep down, they show us our path, our route toward our heart.
— You are most sentimental, I who still thought you were devoid of emotion. One can say that one must never judge someone by their choices, for some of our choices are merely a way of fleeing ourselves, said Manas Dvait. Accepting everything that presents itself to us is one of the most fundamental things; we cannot flee them, it is like a judgment, they will arrive sooner or later. When everything is too stable, one can tell oneself that something is brewing, or that misfortune is approaching. It is better to have a whole sad and unhappy life than a happier but false one; for in the end, there will be the greatest of calms.
— Surely, replied William Riemann.
— You say that, but as a man of science, I am almost sure you do not believe it, said Manas Dvait with a slight smile.
— That is for you to say, replied William Riemann with a most explicit smile.
"I cannot control what is coming nor what will happen, but I can learn to welcome what comes, standing firm. Like water, I adapt without losing my nature. I must keep this faith that animates me, like a candle resisting the wind and the tide; I must no longer lose sight of that, for doubting remains human. Learning to surpass oneself, I must gather my courage so as not to lose myself on the path I have decided to take!" thought Manas Dvait, convinced.
Alice was watching William and Manas, who had just changed the subject to talk about what was up there, beyond the sky, in space. She observed them with a slight mockery in her eyes; she saw them discussing this and that, mundane life topics, but noticed that the subject kept coming back, over and over again — and upon realizing this, her theory was confirmed, which almost made her jubilant.
Congratulating herself on being smarter than the others, who were drowning in their own fate, Alice noticed that Marinna was also watching them; she must have finished reflecting a while ago, judging by her concentration on those two. She kept silent, but just like Alice, she was watching them, even judging them. Alice turned slightly toward her so that she would notice her presence, then took a deep breath before speaking.
— So, finally awake, retorted Alice, looking at the young girl by her side. What do you think of those two idiots? They do nothing but talk, over and over, about their theories on the behavior and functioning of our minds, but in the end, the subject keeps coming back... here, and before, during their previous discussion — as distinct as it may be from this one — they are both talking about the exact same thing. Don't you find them stupid, always talking about that?
— No... I think they are right to question themselves, to endlessly self-critique the choices they will make, and the ones they have already made in the past, replied Marinna calmly, watching Manas and William talk about their topic with such passion; she was almost smiling seeing this, then her gaze turned to Alice. You see, their discussion makes me think of someone... and besides, they have the right to talk about everything and nothing, who are we to judge them?
— We all have the right to judge someone; ethics would suggest we shouldn't, but we can do it. Of course, it goes against the grain, it might shock some people, but we have the right to say what we think about other people's topics, even if it means spitting on someone's ideas; it's our right, said Alice dryly. And, without wishing to be indiscreet, who is this famous person you're thinking of... the other one?
— Far from it; it just makes me think of my older brother, or at least of what he used to be, and the famous discussions he had with my other brother, said Marinna. And certainly not that person, he can go to hell!
— You have two brothers? Full or half-brothers? Or just two brothers of different ages? questioned Alice. Given that you speak of them in the past tense, I figured... that he is... you know. Excuse me, but is he dead?
— Yes, replied Marinna, melancholic. He is indeed dead; it's been a year to the day, a suicide if you prefer, he hanged himself at home, in his apartment... he was barely twenty when he left... a dreamer, he only ever thought all the time, he pondered over everything and nothing, he was a thinker, he escaped reality to look elsewhere, he did nothing but ruminate on his thoughts; besides, he loved reading the most complex and longest books. From thinking too much, one can end up getting lost. He was one of the kindest men... he was a bit of a pain as an older brother, but he was still kind. Hearing them talk, questioning themselves, made me think of him despite myself — him pacing back and forth in his room, he adored that, thinking, but it cost him his life.
— I am sorry about that, replied Alice. But you didn't answer my question: are your brothers twins, or is there an age difference? And how does this make you think of him, I don't see the connection in your answer?
— You are always as direct as ever, said Marinna. They were twin brothers, more precisely fraternal twins — I specify, because my other brother doesn't like being called just "twins." He is the more annoying of the two, with his oversized ego, but after my brother's death, he was no longer the same, he was broken... you know, sometimes seeing a person wearing the same clothes or playing the same games as him subconsciously makes me think of him again.
— Then your brother, the one who was dead, was just a fool, an idiot among other idiots, replied Alice with a most mocking smile. There is nothing to cry over for that kind of person; he doesn't deserve life — they don't even know how to appreciate a single drop of it, while it could be given to people who actually know how to live...
— There will always be something that will make me laugh when I think back on him, said Marinna, smiling slightly, but after a moment her smile froze as she thought back to certain events. In his kindness, he was one of a kind; his head was always in the moon or in the clouds, it went hand in hand with him, he saw the world his own way, and in that way, one could have thought he was selfish, hypocritical — but none of that, he was just spaced out. I don't know if it was because of his dyslexia, or simply his daydreams, which made him so peculiar, but he was how he was... yet he was bizarre, he didn't see right and wrong the same way we do, it was just like that for him. He seemed calm on the outside, but his whole life was nothing more than an appearance, a mask... I know, or at least I think... no, I know it: behind order and moderation hid a man who abandoned himself to his impulses, to excesses and a most chaotic life, a man who lived according to his instincts...
— A most complex man, from what I understand... but he remains pathetic all the same, retorted Alice. Often, this kind of man is not hard to understand; they are almost idiots who only want sex or violence, you don't have to think long to realize that.
— Perhaps... but the worst part is that he left a letter, replied Marinna. My brother and I never had the courage to open it; after all, my brother gave it to me before disappearing in turn, he just told me he was going to look for the other idiot. This letter is like a confession I don't want to know about; even today, I keep it in my suitcase, looking at it every day wondering what it could possibly contain. Confessions? Regrets? Or simply a little joke about his situation? Sometimes, I wish he had left nothing behind.
— Really? And you never had the courage to open it? said Alice, both happy and surprised by this new information. Please, can we open it tonight? Please! Please! Please! For once you're talking to me about yourself, can we go all the way?
— You know who he makes me think of? replied Marinna, seeming to daydream. The answer might surprise you, but now that I think of him, he makes me think of something I would never have thought of a year ago...
— Why are you doing that?! Answer my question instead of dodging it like that, said Alice, looking sideways at Marinna, almost vexed that she wouldn't answer her. What on earth could your idiot brother have looked like?
— Like a butterfly, said Marinna calmly, still looking at William and Manas, the same nostalgic smile of the past on her lips. Just a simple butterfly, that simple insect; I am almost sure that at the moment of hanging himself, he felt, perhaps for the first time in his life, a sense of freedom... he was a solitary person, I don't know why, but he had isolated himself from the world, even though he had friends... no, pals, as he used to say, because friends are something not everyone can afford. All his life, he had been nothing more than a larva... the only moment he became great was at the moment of his death. His own death set him free, for the first and last time in his life.
— A most beautiful comparison, but I doubt he is worthy of it, replied Alice. Are you finally going to answer my question now?
— Yes... yes, all right, if you feel like it, said Marinna, looking almost sad to have shared this touching moment. We'll see about that tonight, agreed! Don't get too excited — at any moment, I could call the whole thing off.
Alice raised her arms and let out a slight cry as a sign of victory; seeing this, Marinna was already hesitating to call everything off right then and there, but seeing her so joyful, she couldn't help but smile. The other members of the group turned around to see the enthusiasm Alice was radiating at that moment.
Alice quickly calmed down upon seeing all those faces turn toward her; no one was used to seeing her like that, even Marinna, sitting right next to her, was slightly flushed from watching her fidget all over the place just for a letter to be opened. She quickly sat back down, annoyed that everyone was looking at her like a freak show, and shot them all black looks.
Soon, the others stopped looking at her to refocus on their discussions.
But a question seemed essential to her as she saw them turn away; she had forgotten it for a moment, but now felt almost foolish for not having asked it sooner. She turned to Marinna, who was still slightly flushed.
— I forgot to ask you an important question, said Alice. What are your brothers' names?
— Put like that, I can only answer you. I had almost gotten used to the idea that you would never ask me, replied Marinna. The eldest, if I can put it that way, my brother who died, was named Vesperus; my second brother, the one who left who knows where, is named Aylin-Dag. Most unusual first names for both of them; I still wonder how my parents ever came up with that idea. As you can see, my family is quite peculiar.
Alice looked at Marinna with a slight smile; she nodded upon hearing these two first names. Marinna scrutinized her to see what she was going to say, but she did nothing, no remark or word too many — she just smiled.
The two girls looked at each other without speaking; a feeling of calm settled between them. Marinna was a bit unsettled by it, but quickly forgot about it; they looked at each other in silence, in a calm that was as simple as it was soothing.
A sound. Voices. A new discussion had just begun. The two of them looked at each other with a small smile at the corners of their lips, before turning toward where those voices were coming from.
End of this episode.
Thank you for reading.