Adam Levin - The Instructions

I write scripture, I said. It’s different than fiction. You have to read it different. It matters what I do.

“And what will you do now? Will you do the right thing?”

What disappointing questions, Mr. Roth. Really.

“Disappointing how?”

You’re not taking me seriously. You were faking umbrage to get information.

“I was faking umbrage to get information, but only because I do take you seriously. Everyone does. The question was serious. Will you do the right thing?”

Whatever seems proper in my eyes is right. There’s no king in Israel. Thanks for your time. Good Shabbos, Philip Roth.

“Wait,” Roth said. “Let’s not end like this. Let’s not end with ugliness.”

I told you ‘Good Shabbos.’

“You said ‘Good Shabbos.’ You told me ‘Fuck you.’”

Good Shabbos, fuck you, but good Shabbos nonetheless because you wrote all those books. Good Shabbos, really. Okay? Good Shabbos.

“Backatcha, I guess.”

Some silence. I waited. I looked at the screen; the call hadn’t ended.

Persphere, I said, I know you’re listening.

“I’m here,” said Persphere.

The prisoners are safe.

“Prove it,” he said.

When my friends get here, you let them inside. I’ll come out with the prisoners and surrender myself.

“Can’t do it,” said Persphere. “I can’t let civilians— kid civilians… You’ve gotta be kidding me. No fucken way, kid.”

I’m not asking, I said, and you’re suck at bluffing — probably you should have kept that accent for cover. You’ll let them in, we’ll come out and surrender.

“Have you looked outside?”

Have I what? I said.

I said it to stall, and raced up toward the junction.

“Have you looked outside?”

A line of cops in riotgear were standing the perimeter.

I said, A line of cops in riotgear are standing the perimeter.

“A line of a hundred,” he said. “Now listen.”

I listened; heard chopping.

A helicopter? You brought in a helicopter? You’re cracking me up.

“Come again?” said Persphere.

This is overkill, Persphere. Too asymmetrical. You’ve got an advantage that’s too big to use. To tell you the truth, I’ve been a little scared of what you might do, but now? A hundred cops in riotgear — them just out front — and a helicopter ? You’re stuck. You could’ve, thirty minutes ago, raided the school with five or six cops and hurt us a little in the process of saving us, maybe gotten some of the prisoners killed while saving the others — true — and then later made a convincing argument that it was crazy in here, that I was crazy, and that you did the only thing you could have. It would’ve been hinky, but you probably could’ve managed it. Now, though, you’re live on television everywhere, a helicopter chopping and plexiglass shields, not to mention, I’m sure, the requisite snipers and reinforced vehicles, and even if your cops are willing to shoot at or teargas or beat on some kids — and probably some are, but certainly not most of them… You know what a Chow is? Chow’s a big, mean guard-dog from China that a fascist I know’s mother keeps as a pet. You’re a Chow and we’re a lapdog. One offhanded swipe on your part and we’re dead, no doubt about it, but as soon as you kill us, every neighbor on the block’ll demand you put down. And there’s lots of good neighbors in that parking lot, there. Lots of good parents behind that cordon who might want to put you down themselves, so listen up: I appreciate the complexity of your position — I’m the one, after all, who put you in your position — and even knowing that you’ve got nothing, I’m telling you that all you have to do is let my friends in when they get here, and this will all end without any more bloodshed. I’m telling you I’m your only hope.

“So you’re saying you’re angry at Philip Roth for the way he spoke to you, and now—”

What? I said.

“You’re saying you’re angry at Philip Roth for the way he spoke to you, and now you’re gonna start executing hostages, one every five minutes, til we get you a plane with a pilot you’re saying, like in — what did you say? Like in Dog Day Afternoon ? Your parents let you watch that? I’m expressing surprise here. You want a plane like Pacino, except you also want a Nintendo on board? And Natalie Portman? Is that what I heard you say? You want Portman to do you ‘favors’ on the plane? If that’s what I heard you say, please say it again so that I can record it in order to justify the raid we’re about to bring down on your arrogant, terrorist head, because I just realized that — check this out — I just realized that, all along, though I thought I was recording this conversation, what I was actually doing was erasing our earlier conversation, and no one except you and I’s ever gonna know what got said here.”

You’ve got that gluggy Biggie Smalls thing in your voice, I said. You’re obese, right? You’re a fatguy with facial flush, drymouth, and perpetually sweaty nosewings, and the one thing you’re not gonna do, Wayne, after threatening such an over-the-top deception, is use that deception. Nice last desperate try, though. Goodbye now, to you, and to all you good neighbors listening in, as—

“Gurion, you must kill no one,” my mother said.

Ema? I said.

“I want you to listen to me, Gurion. I want you to stop talking and listen to me very, very closely. Your father and I love you. We know that you were already upset about what happened to your father last night and we are sorry that—”

Ema, you don’t have to—

“Listen. Closely. Please. Gurion. Please do not interrupt me again.”

Okay, I said.

“I do not like to discuss these kinds of things when other people are listening either, but it is important we discuss this right now: We are, first of all, sorry, very sorry that it took us so long to get in contact with you today. Despite your father’s injuries, we did end up meeting with our lawyers this morning, and our phones were turned off. We did not know about any of this until only fifteen minutes ago. We are even more sorry, your father and I both, that we chose last night to tell you about the divorce. We are sorry that we did not take into account how upset you already were about what happened to your father at the courthouse, and we are sorry that we did not take your feelings into account regarding where you would live. As a mental health professional, I of all people should have known that you would want to live with me, your mother, even though I am the one at whose feet lay the blame for our marriage’s disintegration. Our only excuse for our rash behavior, and it is not a very good one, for you are our son who we need to put before ourselves and protect at all costs — our only excuse is that we were upset, ourselves, and we were being selfish. Me especially. It is not a good excuse, but it is the truth. And you do not have to live with your father, not if you don’t want to. You can live with Yakov and me and all of Yakov’s children at Yakov’s house, just as long as you don’t kill anyone. Are you listening? This is important.”

I said, Ema, I feel like I’m going crazy.

“You have my word, Gurion, that you are not going crazy. You just need to pause for a moment and think clearly about what I have told you, and you will see that everything, though it will be different from now on, will be nonetheless fine, at least eventually, just as long as you do not kill anyone. Yakov is a kind, forgiving man, and just as soon as this is all over, and just as long as you do not kill anyone — Yakov cannot be expected to abide killers in his house, not with all his children, all your new brothers and sisters — he will treat you as his own son. I am assured of this. He has assured me. He knows who I am and he knows that you are special. Do you understand?”