Patrick McLean - How To Succeed in Evil

Days come and go. Edwin comes to work. Edwin goes home. He takes no calls and he holds no meetings. He sits in his office, staring into space, as the sun moves across the sky. Seeking his answer in the movement of shadows.

After long years of service, Agnes is highly attuned to Edwin’s moods. At times she has felt his great brain churning on some problem as one might feel the thundering of a diesel engine buried beneath the deck plates of a ship. But now she can sense nothing. When she tries to talk with him, he dismisses her with an all-too-familiar wave of his hand. He has gone where she cannot follow. But she does not give up. She does the only thing she can think to do. She calls Topper.

Topper is not the kind of person who broods. Sure, he’ll cry at the drop of a hat. Sure he’ll rage and throw a fit for no reason at all. He will whipsaw back and forth across of a range of emotions so extreme that it could give an ordinary person the bends. But Topper never broods. The finer shades of a long, protracted ennui are unknown to him. As is the word ennui.

So when Topper hangs up the phone after talking with Agnes, his reaction is swift. “Bullshit,” says Topper, “It’s just nothing but bullshit.”

The way Topper sees it, there is no reason to get stuck in a mood. The seasons change, the temperature changes, everything in the world changes. And if you fight it too much, you just screw yourself up. A man has to follow his urges. They come in on a radio from God. And you might not always understand them, but maybe you weren’t supposed to.

All Topper knows for sure is, every time he tries to think about his emotions, it gets him into trouble. But if he gets laid when he feels like getting laid and throws a tantrum when he feels like throwing a tantrum, somehow, everything works out. He calls it advanced Zen. Eat when you’re hungry. Sleep when you’re tired. And when you feel like doing something, just do it already. Why resist?

“Guy just needs to get laid,” Topper sums up as he exits the elevator at the top of Windsor Tower. He barges into Edwin’s office. Without breaking a stride, he says, “All right Beanpole. Time to snap out of it. We’ve already got one Lincoln memorial, we don’t need another.”

Edwin sits low in his chair, the tips of his index fingers touching in front of his nose. He does not turn to look at Topper.

“What, now you’re gonna give me the silent treatment? That’s gonna get you nowhere. Because, let me tell you something. I’m louder than any silence.”

Edwin looks up and to the right. As if he is recalling a piece of valuable information.

“Yeah, yeah. You just keep thinking. THINKING! THINKING! THINKING! That’s the problem. You’re unhappy because your all the time thinking and none of the time living!”

Edwin’s gaze wanders to the ceiling.

“And just because I found that in a fortune cookie doesn’t mean it’s not true. What is it? Is it that you made a mistake? C’mon! I make mistakes all the time, you don’t see it getting me down, do you? You can’t give up!”

Edwin looks at Topper. He realizes that looking at Topper is a mistake. It only serves to encourage him.

“Yeah, yeah, look at me. See how short I am? You know, when they told me I was gonna be a midget, I said no way. I said un-hunh. I said screw you. And then they held out the book and showed me where it said, 4’5” and under is the classification for dwarf. And I said, there is no way I’m going to be a midget. You just watch me. And you know what I did? Do you?”

Edwin closes his eyes.

“I started hanging out with tall people. I started doing the things they did. I went out for the basketball team. I even thought lofty thoughts. Yeah, me. And I did this for a whole year. So I get back to the doctor and they measure me again. Still 4’4” and half. They called me a midget. I called them assholes. Then I went out and bought shoes with a half inch lift. And forgot all about it.

“Which is what you need to do. Forget about it. It’s a mistake, sure. Ya screwed it up. Everybody screws up. Who cares? Just roll on to the next thing. You just roll on. Get me. Roll on.” Topper turns dramatically and heads towards the door. Any other man would be enjoying a false hope that Topper is done with his sermon, but Edwin knows better.

Sure enough, as soon as he reaches the office door, Topper spins on his heel and says, “And you know what happened? Three years later, I grew that extra inch. Hunh? Hunh? What does that tell you?” Topper pauses. Edwin does not react. Topper leaves the room with a “harumph.”

With serenity restored to his office, Edwin wonders if Topper really has grown that extra inch. He makes a mental note to have Topper measured if the opportunity presents itself.

In the lobby, Topper takes a few deep breaths.

“Were you able to cheer him up?” asks Agnes.

Topper shakes his head.

“Well, I suppose we shall just have to ride it out again.”

Topper asks, “What do you mean again?”

“It happened once before. Oh that was a dreadful year.”

“Year? You gotta be kidding me. He was like that for a year?”

“Well, it doesn’t happen often,” says Agnes defensively.

“Somebody’s got to toughen that kid up.”

“Oh, I am certain that is the answer,” Agnes says, her tongue curling around the sarcasm.

“C’mon Agnes, I feel guilty enough about this as it is.”

“Guilty enough? I scarcely think that is possible.”

“I gotta make it right somehow.”

“Oh no,” says Agnes, “You’ve had your chance. And, I might add, you have failed to bring him out of his funk.”

“I can do it. I swear I can.”

“I am as close to being sorry about this as I can be about anything that regards you, but I have no more faith to waste on you.”

“Aw, Agnes, I know I’m a screw-up. The trouble is I don’t fit, see? I’m the wrong size.”

“Really?” Agnes raises an eyebrow as she says, “I would have suspected that your trouble is that you fit all kinds of places where a decent person should never go.”

“Oh, there you go again, always beating on me.”

“If it is too much for you, I can only suggest that you put yourself out of my misery.”

In defeat, and finding no solace, Topper scuttles into the elevator. ”Fine, fine, you mean old bat. But I’m gonna make this right. You’ll see.”

“Away with you, you vociferous munchkin. I would sooner put out mine own eyes with a tuning fork than admit you have done something correctly!”

Topper sticks his head out of the elevator. “Velociraptor what? What does that even mean?”

Agnes returns to her work with a dismissive gesture. “Just don’t make things any worse than they already are.”

Mighty forces call forth their own resistance. The bigger they are, the more they weigh. The harder they fall. The more friction they generate when they move. The faster they are, the harder they have to be able to brake to make the corner. Nature counterbalances the power she bestows. Sometimes not elegantly. Sometimes not obviously. But there is always a balance.

As Barry revels in his newfound might, he does not imagine that there might be some kind of a catch. After all, he has never been to college. He has never studied Greek drama. He’s never heard of Nemesis, The forces of retribution called forth by the prideful actions of the hero to bring about his downfall. And even though he’s not a hero, the same principle applies. Hubris is the nail that sticks out. Sooner or later, it gets pounded flat.

Barry has always been strong, but he’s never known how strong. But then, he’s never had occasion to put his strength to the test. Now that he’s knocking down buildings, everything just feels right. In fact, it feels like buildings just aren’t big enough any more. He needs bigger buildings. He needs mountains.