"Damn. I'll screw up everything!", came an instinctive reaction from the well of my bowels.
"Stop it, both of you!" The tension in my voice almost scared me. But that's what happens if you leave things for the last moment. Voices you hardly recognize start popping up in your mind. As pressure builds up, the most simple task hardens into a political decision, fiercely debated by opposite sides of your imagination. I've long suspected dialectics as the hallway to schizophrenia. And that's where I'll end up, if I don't finish this damn' index by morning.
Why do you think I'm spending my night at Meyer Library's twenty-four-hour study room, just a few days before my graduation from Stanford, if not for a burning task? And anything that may affect your future is burning, right? I wouldn't even think of helping Professor Reinstrohm with his forthcoming book. But he's been my tutor and his reputation can boost any application to the top grad schools. Isn't it sexy, when a Nobel laureate writes a letter for you? Yesss!...And now, he needs the index for the book this Monday morning. Only the idea of missing an iota makes me shiver. Ah! This German thoroughness! Why shouldn't Germans live in the Mediterranean? That would make things so easy...
...easy. That's what I long for right now. But at three in the morning I'm the only one left in the room. I can almost feel my thoughts throbbing in my blood stream. I'm so hungry...and it's so cold..."Who the hell left the door open?...These Engineering guys!" Exhausted from the trip to the exit, I return to my seat hardly paying attention to a sneaking shadow.
"Okay. Let's go through Chapter Four once more. 'Marital disposal'...checked. 'Self-imposing liability'...checked. 'Consensual apprehension'...right. 'Black spot'...?!! What's that?" I was still puzzled, when a black shadow swiftly crossed the floor.
"Oh, no! Rats! That's all I need to top my crucifixion tonight!" Only a few days ago, a couple of them were lying dead outside Sweet Hall. Stupid animals! Don't they know that Sweet Hall is a computer center, not a kitchen? Or does Stanford breed siliconvorus rats?
With the door closed and my mind already replaying the rat scene from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, I couldn't sit down again. That creeping smudge had to be expunged. I started moving around carefully, leaning forward to locate the big bastard mouse. After a while...
"There it is!" I couldn't believe the excitement in my voice. Reinstrohm is waiting for the index and I'm hunting a rat in the middle of the night. Is this how I'm preparing for a career?
I advance slowly towards the wall, obliquely moving to the corner. For an assailant, a corner is nothing less than an accomplice; for a victim, its doom. And I was determined to trap my mid-night enemy. Little by little, the shadow moves to its death spot and self-confidence already warms my whole body. Just a well-delivered kick and I'm back to work. I can now see its repulsive black and hairy body approaching the corner.
"Sorry baby, but you haven't seen Reinstrohm in his bad moods." Two more seconds, before it stumbles in the corner and turns back...
"Besides, I wanna go to Harvard..." Kick now! Now!
"Squaaarrr!!!"
"It jumps! The fucking rat jumps! Ah!" Before I realize that my rat had a fluffy tail and could stand up, I lost my balance and fell on the floor. Great! The rat proved an aviation expert and I was now inheriting its erstwhile plane. My head was burning and I felt dizzy.
"Ah! My head..."
"Your head, of course..."
"?!!!"
"...This is where every human problem originates."
"Who the hell is talking?" I shouted, struggling to keep my eyes open. It took me an eternity to focus on the small black object standing on the table.
"A squirrel! A talking squirrel!"
"Do I detect a tone of surprise in your voice--and perhaps a few exclamation marks in your text?"
"Where are you, Reinstrohm, to bring me back to reality..."
"Reality! The crucial issue for every intelligent form of life."
"Who are you? What have I done to you?"
"I'm nothing more than what you see. Unlike humans, we squirrels never indulge in obscuring or inflating our identity. And unlike squirrels, you humans persist in mistaking one thing for another. Just a few seconds ago, I was about to lose my life because your drowsy mind took me for a rat!"
"...Are you real?"
"Would you prefer to put your finger into my mouth to find out?"
"...eh...But you talk! How's that possible?"
"Why, hath not a squirrel vocal chords? Hath not a squirrel hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same nuts, hurt with the same guns, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, drenched by the same El Nino, as a human is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die?"
"Damn! I've heard that passage before. But I've never heard a squirrel talking."
"Well, have you ever tried to talk to a squirrel?"
"What a question...Of course not!"
"You see? You always take for granted that speech is a human prerogative. Indeed, your unabashedly anthropocentric stand has eventually shut you off from the great vista of the world. And to what effect? Every time your scientists announce new evidence on extraterrestrial life, you drop the jaw, as if the idea alone was unthinkable."
"Ha! A New Age squirrel! You've spent too much time at Stanford, don't you think smarty? Perhaps you are a robot that went nuts and wandered off the lab." Meanwhile, I started rising up slowly.
"I don't deny my relation with nuts, but not in the metaphorical way you seem to..."
"I got you!" I cried, as I jumped on the table, launching a frantic squirrel hunting inside the room. Its minuscule body turned into a thick black line going amok. At times it would run with lightning speed, its sprint interrupted by acrobatic maneuvers and unpredictable jumps. Occasionally, it would stop and stand on its rear legs, looking in my direction with an imperceptible smile, as if to check the extent of my foolishness to try to catch a natural-born sprinter. After a minute, I couldn't stand the exhaustion anymore. It was futile to continue the desperate attempt to forget the reason I was in the room. I grabbed a chair and let gravity land me onto it. "Ahhh! What a relief." I moaned, as a sweet warmth started spreading in my limbs.
"Tension and relief. The two extremes in the pendulum of life." I opened my eyes. There it was again, standing on the opposite chair, as if nothing had happened. Only that now its small, glowing eyes seemed more penetrating.
"Are you still here? Why don't you leave me alone in my misery?" I muttered. All my body was now paralyzed, leaving only my eyes hanging upon the gaze of my unlikely nocturnal companion.
"Would you rather consume your misery alone? What's then the purpose of living in a society, if you are left alone with your problems?"
"Please, no preaching to a desperado. I've probably screwed up things and it'll cost me the support of someone whose name alone can open any door and start off careers."
"How could a name support that much?"
"Don't you get it? Reinstrohm is a Nobel Prize. A Nobel Prize!"
"No, I ain't got it yet. But tell me, how many Nobels do you think Stanford has?"
"Twenty or so, if you include the deceased ones."
"You see? He's not that unique after all!"
"Jesus!"
"Careful! I'm Jewish."
"What?!! Are you gonna drive me nuts, crazy rat?"
"Squirrel, pray..." Now he was pissing me off.
"D'ye think you have the brains to understand anything about human complexity, about society, religion, politics? Show me the volume of your cerebral tissue, show me your history, the achievements of your species. With your puny brain, how d'ye dare to speak to me at all?"
"Why, with your puny penis how d'ye dare to date girls, marry them and have children?"
"Are you stupidiot? Don't you understand the difference between brain and genitals?"
"Why, aren't the genitals the collective brain of every species the same way the brain is the genitals of your civilization? Do you think that a couple match their genitals because of knowledge or because of instinct? The genitals are programmed, destined to match each other. That's why you can have an involuntary erection; the logic of the species outweighs that of the individual. So, the brain and the genitals are not that different, as your cocky rationality would have it."
"Damn you, squirrel! Are you gonna teach me how to think?" Now I was burning in rage, moving uncomfortably in my chair.
"Far from that, my dear. But living on a campus, among so talented and clever people, I have the luxury to observe things that their fast-paced life obscures from their vision."
"Oh, yeah? Name one!"
"You have some very beautiful girls..."
"Cut the crap!"
"No, no. I mean...even though there are so good-looking boys and girls, they never date."
"Are you trying to get me horny in the middle of the night, squirrel?"
"Bear with me for a moment. I have a point to make."
"Yeah! I can already see your erection."
"Hush! Do you want your story rejected on obscenity accounts? Let me finish and you'll see my point. What I'm saying is that the students' reluctance to date is not a matter of personal volition or inauspicious circumstances but rather of underlying thought patterns."
"You've lost me now."
"It's simple. They are afraid to expose their innermost self."
"Ha! I could bring you a bunch of my friends eager to contradict you."
"Bring me as many as you want. It doesn't change my point. In public space, anyone would contradict even his own convictions in order not to lose face. And in highly competitive environments people's behavior is so predictable and uniform that you never really know if they like or hate you. The glistering facade of uttermost civility usually hides the psychological bomb of insecurity. Frankness is the last thing to expect in these situations and a genuine relationship cannot but flourish in the soil of truthfulness, don't you think? Hence, dating and relationships are very difficult to find at Stanford."
"Hmm...Well, I can understand that, but where do the thought patterns fit into the image?"
"Well, these patterns are like..."
Knock, knock, knock. "Anybody in?" a rough voice from outside startled me.
"Coming!" I shouted, trying to retain my composure. Damn! I forgot I'd locked the door.
"Everything okay?" the security man inquired, as he walked in. "What?...Oh, yeah. Everything's fine." He looked around, then turned to me.
"You seem to work pretty hard."
"Eh...yeah. A graduation project, you know."
"Take it easy, man. And keep that door unlocked. This is a public access room."
"Oh, yeah. Sure....Sorry."
I was returning back to my table, when his voice caught me in surprise again.
"By the way, you didn't happen to see a squirrel wandering around."
"!!!........." He hesitated for a second. Then, he came closer and in a conspiratory tone he said,
"You didn't hear it from me. A squirrel escaped from the Gates building. It's said that Gates' donation to Stanford was made in exchange for a secret joint project. Microsoft captures Stanford squirrels, implants them with spying software and lets them loose in the Silicon Valley to steal software from other companies. That Gates is the Devil's son! He's the Anti-Christ! He's..."
"Okay, thanks. But I've work to finish," I interrupted him.
"Ah!...Right. Take it easy, kid. But remember,..."
"Yeah! The Anti-Christ! Good night," and I hurried to close the door with my trembling hands. "How on Earth do they hire these nuts?"
"Nuts? Where?" With a jump, the squirrel resumed its now familiar position on the front table, turning its head around.
"Get out, bastard! You destroyed my night!" I yelled.
"I thought I was enriching it."
In a rage, I grabbed my bag and threw it on the squirrel. It flew past my target and crashed on the floor, dispersing its load all over the place. I fell on my knees, staring the wall. "That's too much...too much..." I whispered. A minute or so lapsed in absolute silence. Then, the squirrel slipped into the chair next to me.
"Nothing's really too much, my dear. Satisfaction and despair belong in the same sphere of life."
"It's easy for an outsider to suggest solutions to my problems," I shrugged.
"I understand you more than you think. But believe me, it's far better to confront a major crisis early in your life rather than in the middle of a soaring career."
"Oh, yeah. It's better to reach the end young. To see all your hopes and dreams crushed even before you take off."
"Do you see now the poisonous effects of rationality on your life? It's everything or nothing. Success or failure. No middle ground, no nuances. That's not what life is all about, my friend."
"I told you before, squirrel. You don't know enough about humans to make these judgments."
"Really? Let me try again. You have four nuts and two squirrels. How do you divide them up?"
"Two and two, perhaps?" I said indifferently.
"Perhaps. But why?"
"Because it is just for each to have the same amount."
"Do you realize that your notion of justice is identical with arithmetic, reducing a real human, sorry squirrel problem into an abstract one? But while arithmetic has universal validity, justice is idiosyncratic, case-dependent, and so requires a real insight into a situation."
"What do you mean?"
"Perhaps the one squirrel is bigger than the other, or perhaps the one had previously stolen the other's food. Giving the same to the big and the small, the stuffed and the starving, makes you equanimus, but certainly not just. Rationalism is the most notorious epigon of Procrustes. Everything has to fit its fixed table of procedures or it's mutilated or rejected as superstition. It reduces everything into measurable quantities, palpable data, hard-core facts, being unable to cope with nuances. But since life is far beyond 'facts', rationalism proves inefficient to bring justice. Expertise and wisdom have long been estranged bedfellows. So, you see executives who solve problems in numbers but they mess with people's lives. That's what happened, I think, with the recent changes in graduate housing here."
"Damn! Yes! They simply converted some large single rooms into doubles and voila, they 'created' new spaces." I was coming back to life now.
"That's nothing compared to crimes like the Holocaust."
"Oh, c'mon! What do the deranged Nazis share with rationality?"
"A crazy can kill many, but not millions. A genocide requires organization, planning and discipline, the very virtues of rationalism. Do you forget that Goebbels was a Ph.D? The Holocaust shines as the monument of amoral rationality, where procedural reasoning dispenses with moral circumscription."
"That sounds too scary."
"Even more scary is the opposite, irrationality disguised as rationality. Take, for instance, the stock market. Everyone understands that the planet's resources are limited, yet they keep pumping the prices in expectation of even higher profit, sustaining the hallucination of artificial wealth. And when it comes to Wall Street, voyeurism takes on a new meaning. Millions are hooked on Dow Jones' erection, the penis of American economy. How else can you call it but herd instinct?"
"Funny thing to hear that from an animal."
"No less a tragic thing to see humans operating in that instinct."
.......
"You have undone me tonight, squirrel. Let's go outside. I need fresh air."
*****
We started walking down the Quad, nursed by blissful silence.
"Are you happy?" said the squirrel.
"...No one has asked me that question before."
"Because they don't care."
"I suppose they don't." I paused.
"Ha!"
"What?"
"I already see the ironic smiles of your readers."
"Let them ridicule me. They will never fathom that art is the most sublime form of revenge. You create; they simply react." I broke off, as if I had revealed too much. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Are you a projection of my imagination?"
"I'm certainly the offspring of someone's mind, but certainly not yours."
"Why not mine?"
"Because I resist you."
And then, I finally understood. Tears of gratitude set my eyes on fire and the iron cage of my heart melted, as the fusion of inner and outer world was transmuting my existence into a cosmic cross of light.
*****
The silhouette of the odd couple disappeared among the massive redwoods, as the dense sheet of morning mist was spreading over a world-renowned university known as "the Farm".
*****
Two days later, the Stanford Daily featured the story:
|
Student run amok, climbing trees
According to the Stanford police, a senior was found naked and wounded yesterday in the land area between Palm Drive and Galvez. He was surrounded by dozens of squirrels, but there's no indication that he was attacked by them. Blood streaks in a nearby redwood make the police believe that he wounded himself trying to climb the tree. Asked to explain what happened, he said "I was squirreling around." The student was taken to the Stanford hospital for medical and psychological examinations. A hospital source admitted that similar reactions are not unusual during exam periods, and suggested that students have enough relaxation, proper food, mild alcoholic drinks, erotic massage and, if possible, avoid Nobel laureates. |
©1998 Ilias Chrissochoidis
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