When reading or occupied with solving chess problems, I’ll often sit by the window looking out. You never know when something worth watching might happen, although it’s pretty unlikely, the last time was three or four years ago. But the mundane can also provide some diversion, and at least outside the window there’s always something moving, in here it’s only me and the hand of the clock.
But three or four years ago I did see something strange, and that was the last remarkable thing I’ve seen, although as I said I’m not indifferent to more everyday occurrences, people fighting for instance, hitting and kicking one another, or people keeling over on the pavement and lying there because they’re either too drunk or sick to make their way home, if they have a home that is, many of them probably don’t, there aren’t enough homes in the world.
But what I saw that time was different. It must have been at Easter or Whitsuntide, because it wasn’t in winter, and I remember thinking such an occurrence most likely had some connection to one of the religious festivals.
My window looks down upon a side street; it’s not too long and I can see to the end of it without difficulty, I have good eyesight.
I was sitting following two flies mating on the windowsill, so in all probability it was at Whitsuntide; watching them provided some diversion, although they hardly moved. Looking at them didn’t arouse me, not like I can remember it doing when I was young – oh yes, I remember that well.
Anyway, I was watching the two flies – I’d just touched one of the female’s wings very carefully, and then one of the male’s wings, without them seeming to notice, and it struck me as odd that their preoccupation with each other should be so intense, since the male had been sitting on top of the female for at least ten minutes, and that’s no exaggeration. I should have spent more of my life studying insects, then again what would have been the point? – when I caught sight of a man at the far end of the street behaving in a most conspicuous manner. He was sort of flapping his arms, and shouting something, although I couldn’t catch what it was in the beginning. He did move in a systematic way, although his sense of geographical organization was peculiar, because he walked, or jogged rather, from the first window on the right-hand side of the street to the first window on the left-hand side, and from there to the second window on the right-hand side then on to the second window on the left-hand side, and so on, knocking on all the doors and shouting something. It was unusual and strange, and I opened the window – this was before the hinges broke – and heard him shout: “Jesus has come.” But he called out something else as well, which sounded like: “I have come,” and as he drew closer I realized I was right, that was what he was shouting. “Jesus has come, I have come.” And the entire time he was jogging from one side of the street to the other knocking on the windowpanes he could reach. It was a disturbing sight, religious insanity is disturbing.
The initial reaction was as surprising as it was appropriate: a stool came sailing down at him from a fourth-floor window around halfway along the street. It didn’t hit him – nor hopefully was that the intention – but it broke into pieces of course. It was very much a wasted effort, the man only grew louder, perhaps he needed confirmation that what he was doing was of importance.
The next reaction was akin to the first, but less concrete, and not without a touch of comedy. A window flew open and a furious voice screamed: “You’re stark raving mad, man!” It was only then that I realized that the man on the street was actually dangerous, that he provoked latent inclinations in some of his fellow men, and I thought: can’t some rational person, who has no difficulty walking, go down there and put an end to all this? Quite a few heads had gradually begun to appear out of windows along the street, but down below the madman alone held sway.
I was fascinated, I admit, but as time went on perhaps more so by the entire street scene than by the main character. People had ceased being silent, they laughed and called out to one another over the poor wretch’s head. I’d never seen the like of such sudden social interaction, a man in the building next door even called out to me. I could make out only the last word, ‘blasphemy’, and of course I didn’t reply. If he’d said something reasonable, ‘emergency room’ for example, then who knows, we might have begun to nod whenever we saw each other from then on. But a grown man, old enough to be my long-deceased wife’s son, who has nothing more reasonable to say than ‘blasphemy’, I have no desire to have a nodding acquaintance with, I’m not that lonely yet.
But enough about that. As I said, I was fascinated at this teeming life outside my window, it put me in mind of my childhood – it was probably a better time to be old back then, I think, less lonely, and above all you generally died in a timely fashion – when a man emerged from an entranceway. He looked to be in a hurry and was headed straight for the madman. He grabbed hold of him from behind, spun him around and struck him so hard in the face that the madman staggered sideways and fell over. For a moment there was complete silence in the street, as though everyone were holding their breath. Then there was uproar again, and it was now obvious that the unpleasantness was directed at the assailant. It didn’t take long before people began emerging from other entranceways, and while the immediate cause of the entire commotion sat silent and seemingly helpless a few meters away, a heated argument broke out which was impossible to grasp the details of, but it was obvious that the assailant also had his supporters, because two youths suddenly came to blows. Oh, it was a black day for reason.
In the meantime, the madman had got to his feet, and while the youths fought –because of him in all likelihood, but possibly for other reasons – and some others tried to break them up, he backed further and further away, until he reached the closest street corner, at which point he turned and sprinted off. It was a relief. And I’ll tell you, that man could run.
When the crowd on the street realized the man was gone, things slowly began to settle down, and one window after the other was closed. I closed mine too, it wasn’t a very warm day. The world is full of foolishness and confusion, lack of freedom is deep-rooted, hope for fairness and equality is dwindling, the odds are stacked against us, or so it seems. We should be happy to be doing as well as we are, they say, most people are worse off. Then they take a pill against insomnia. Or depression. Or life. When will a new generation come, one that understands the importance of equality? A generation of gardeners and foresters who can fell the big trees keeping the smaller ones in the shade, and who can remove the suckers from the tree of knowledge.