Sergio De La Pava - A Naked Singularity

“Leave me alone.”

“Mary’s sure been quiet lately, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“How’s your ear?”

“Fine, never better.”

“Why lie? Oh I almost forgot. This conversation between us is being taped for quality control purposes. If you’d like we can have the videotape transferred to DVD. Would you prefer that? If so, you must exercise that option within the next 23.2 seconds or have it irretrievably lost. Because here’s the future whether you want to hear it or not. Everybody leaves. Everyone. Just be patient as every day the wait becomes shorter. Think it was a good idea to watch that funeral?”

The funeral was held in Conley’s office where the pink now seemed more like laundered blood red. Television had broken into its regularly scheduled programming to show the procession of the tiniest casket I had ever seen. There were hundreds in the church including the cameraman. Not camera men because one network had secured exclusive rights to the St. Patrick’s Cathedral service. Atop Television lay a transparent jar with the money for the pool. The cork stopper on top couldn’t fasten against the weight of the bills. I could make out a hundred. Everyone was crying. The camera would cut to someone for a close-up then a yellow caption would appear below the weeping face identifying it in relation to the casket’s occupant. The whole thing really was a procession. It kept building and growing to a promised crescendo. I turned away from the images but didn’t leave the room. I didn’t want to look back.

I didn’t want to look back that night on the bridge either. I knew Uncle Sam and the chimp were following me and I knew the distance between us was shrinking steadily. I also knew that if I turned around and faced them directly, it would all become aerated and apparent and I was sure I didn’t want that so I just kept walking.

But after the chimp did what he did my attitude changed. So when I later came across the old man in fur I didn’t take my eyes off him for a second. At least not until he executed a perfect 360° spin that dropped him into a sudden split from which he quickly sprang up and started shuffling towards me in an exaggerated gait. I turned and ran away until I almost ran into Angus.

The way I almost ran into Dane after I left the funeral in Conley’s office and returned to my office to keep waiting. He was leaving my office, his back to me.

“Don’t split,” I said. “Here I am.”

“What happened?” he said.

“They’re still out,” I said.

“How long they been out?”

“Couple hours.”

“Very impressive.”

“Forget that. What did you mean the other day when you said you were dying?” I said as I closed the door.

“How come your officemates are never here?”

“Julia’s around. Greene splits early, right from court if he can swing it. I’ve got to say, you look good for a dying man.”

“Looks deceive, often. You on the other hand look quite horrible.”

“Lack of sleep. Will you take over Hurtado’s case for me now so I can go get some?”

“Only if you’re going to win. I despise losing.”

“It’s inevitable. Now, are you dying?”

“You really want to know?”

“Only if the news is pleasant. I want to enjoy these last few moments.”

“It’s not pleasant. I’m dying. Every day and every minute of those days I get closer to my end. The worst part is not knowing what I have. I don’t know if I have brain cancer, a gunshot, or an Acme safe to the head, the only thing I know for sure is it’s coming.”

“I see, you’re not dying at all. I think I’m disappointed.”

“I can feel it happening too. I feel myself drifting into senescence. Don’t you? Every day I wake up against my will, shave my hairy face, put on one of these monkey suits and come in here to exchange language with strangers. What kind of life is that? That’s not living. That’s dying, slowly I admit, which is even worse. This is a prison.”

“No it isn’t. You’re free. You can effect change. Do something that won’t make you feel that way. Go into Swathmore’s office right now and quit. Then on Monday you won’t have to wear that monkey suit or clip those hairs. You can prepare to climb Mount Everest or whatever your heart desires.”

“Do I look like a fucking dilettante to you?”

“Fine, you’re a free agent, accomplish what you wish.”

“Ahhh, thank you, now you’re getting it. You see I can recall a time when I didn’t feel this way at all, maybe the only time in my life I didn’t. It was when I was in the midst of providing that guy perfect representation. The pursuit of perfection Casi. I’m going to pursue it again in the form of a perfect crime and I’m going to convince you to join me in this heist. When I walk into that building to seize that thirty million I guarantee you I won’t feel like I’m dying. And when we execute our perfect plan perfectly and walk out of there with said money I further guarantee that you will feel more alive than you ever have. In fact the very notion of alive will mean something different to you than it did before you entered that house. You will, for the first time, experience the fact that life is nothing shy of a miracle. Do you feel that way now? Of course not. You’re living in a Platonic cave with blinders on to boot. Come with me to the light, Casi. Don’t stay in the dark with the sightless others. You genuinely feel you belong with them? I dare say you don’t and that you know this viscerally. You’re as capable of perfection as I am. Join me in this and learn what it means to truly exhaust a potentiality.”

“No, sounds great though. Meaning do it, what do you need me for?”

“Because people like us don’t stem from trees. I see it in you. The air encircling you is suffused with the same longing I animate daily, the same contempt that you orbit the sun and not the other way around, making you the perfect person for me to do this with.”

“Wrong, because as I’ve iterated repeatedly I don’t believe perfection can be achieved. That pessimism alone should disqualify me. Find someone who agrees with you, seems that would increase your chances of success.”

“You don’t think yourself capable of perfection? Search inside yourself for me. I’m talking about if you devoted every fiber of your being to its pursuit.”

“Sorry, no. I don’t see perfection inside myself, potential or actual.”

“You must hate what you see then.”

“Not at all but I recognize its limitations. Have to know your limitations. I’m a firm believer in Boyle’s Second Law of Thermodynamics and that’s what I see when, at your request, I look inside. I see increasing entropy, there and everywhere else. I finish a summation and two minutes later five things jump into my head that would have made it better. In this case I’d have plenty of time to engage in that toxic activity while I sat in prison.”

“First of all, forget Boyle. As you know his law is not one in a strict sense in that it does not demand a particular result but rather identifies a probability, albeit an admittedly overwhelming one. I readily acknowledge that perfection is highly unlikely, that’s what makes its achievement so damn attractive. Moreover he’s referring to closed systems, which the two of us and our plan are not. We would export all the necessary error or disorder out to the rest of the world while achieving perfection within our system. As far as prison goes, you’ve got to be kidding me. Remember, when I failed to achieve perfection it’s not like I missed by a mile and invited a total disaster. I didn’t lose the case for crying out loud! I wasn’t able to achieve what I wanted, true, but I still effectively guaranteed myself success from a conventional standpoint. In a worst case scenario the same thing would happen here.”