Insanity is such a beautiful word. A word so powerful and alluring that it becomes a reality for those who obsess about it. It’s almost like God. If you brood on it long enough, you’re bound to find it. And once you find it, everything changes. I like this word more than sanity- even though their meanings aren’t that different, because longer words are prettier. It feels unfair to contain such a grave reality in mere six letters.
You must be thinking how can insanity and sanity be any similar? They are literally opposite to each other. But are they? By definition, yes.
And by definition men and women are opposites too. But are we? In spite of the childish war of the sexes that we have been fighting since that unfortunate incident with the forbidden fruit, aren’t we all the same? Two miserable forms of existence that strive to be a whole. To make some sense out of everything. How can we be opposites? We are more like complements. We concatenate so seamlessly, like sanity and insanity. Yin to the Yang. Who are you to decide the boundary anyway? Where exactly do you set the circumference that separates your sanity from the endless ocean that surrounds it? And more importantly, how do you know where you’re standing, on the island or on the ocean like a clueless Christ?
You are here because you are curious about what I am going to tell you today. Or maybe you are reading this because I asked you to. Either way you are wondering if this is worth your time. Your precious time. You are reading this and you are gauging my sanity. You think I am insane because I don’t see any difference between sanity and insanity.
But I do.
You think I am insane because I think I am God. But I am no God. And yet you are here, reading this. You are doing this because I made you do this. I am no God, but still – you, this cemetery, this entire world – you are all just stray thoughts in my head. A bunch of thoughts I am trying to weave together to make a story. A story that I am creating in my head to tell somebody. A story that’s also being created in every head that is reading this now. I literally am creating your thoughts now. Just like I created you. I’m your God. But how can I be a God if everything I create exists only inside my head? I can’t even tell what’s in my head and what’s not.
What if even I exist only in my God’s head? What if God is not a person, but a pyramid. An endless nested loop reaching up to the heavens.
Take a break from evaluating my sanity and tell me what you think about this little boy here, smeared in mud a few feet from me. He’s digging a pit. He’s looking for something with which he could give his mother a scare. Like most kids, he likes frightening his mom without any reason in particular. Walking back into his home with his hands covered with mud this late at night should be enough for that. No need to even mention that he got all that dirt from a cemetery.
He’s seven, that’s what he told me. About the same age as my daughter was, when I saw her the last time. His name is Simon. And he’s a charming boy.
“Let’s scare her with blood.” He suddenly turns back at us, his eyes shining with excitement. His eyes stay on me just for a moment and I give a noncommittal shrug. Then he looks at the only other person here. A tall lean man in an impressive black suit. He’s looking at the boy with the eyes of a doting father. His name is Louis. That’s what Simon told me. Simon is waiting eagerly for a response.
“How are you planning to scare her?” He asks him.
“I will leave bloody hand prints all over her room.” He says enthusiastically.
I can’t help but smile. He’s quite imaginative for a seven year old.
“That’s a good idea. Waking up to see small bloody hand prints on your walls. That’s scary. Nice work, Simon.” His eyes shimmering with delight.
“And maybe we can write something on the wall too. With blood.” His little eyebrows converge as he thinks of ways to elaborate his evil prank.
“And what do you want to write?” Louis asks.
“You know, something scary. Like YOUR SON IS DEAD.” He can’t stop giggling as he imagines the horror that his prank would create.
“That’s good, Simon. But you must know that there are far scarier things than death.” Saying this, Louis grins at me. That’s a jab at me, obviously. He knows a lot about me. That’s not surprising.
“But there’s a problem.” I try to change the topic. “The hand prints and the writing, they won’t take much blood. A human body has around 5 liters of blood. What are you going to do with the rest of it?”
“Hmmm.” Simon looks at the pit in front of him. It’s getting filled with the blood that’s slowly flowing through channels in the ground created by his tiny hands. “I will keep thinking. We shouldn’t waste all this blood.” He looks at the body that’s lying next to him. The deep cut on its throat is not bleeding anymore. Simon crawled on his knees towards the corpse and squeezes its neck to trickle out a little more blood. It’s too pulpy. Obviously he doesn’t want to waste any blood.
Louis sat down next to me. His pristine suit is now daubed with dirt. Apparently you don’t care much about suits when you are the Lord of this world. I shifted a bit to make space for him. And distance myself from him. I hate him, even though he is arguably my only friend now. Even though I have met him only once before, he’s my only friend and my only enemy.
“He’s quite something, isn’t he?” He asks me, nodding at Simon.
I remain silent. What am I supposed to say anyway. I have known him only for past couple of hours. But yes, Simon is interesting.
“I’m very fond of him. You know, he calls me his guardian angel.” Louis laughs at his joke. I smile too. It is kind of funny. In a sick ironic way.
“I don’t suppose you are fond of a lot of people. So that’s something.”
He just laughs at my statement. Maybe it’s too obvious to solicit an acknowledgement. I don’t know what I was expecting to hear anyway.
The boy is still digging. Trying to make a blood reservoir, probably. Soon he’ll find out that soil absorbs blood and the pit will dry out. Then he’ll probably start crying. Stupid kids.
Three – that’s too many living people in this cemetery right now, especially for a midnight. It was so quiet till just an hour ago. And then this boy wandered into my humble abode.
What kind of seven year old walks into a rundown graveyard in the middle of the night searching for a friend? His yelling attracted all kinds of attention here. He was calling out for someone named Louis. Being the most humane of all the inhabitants here, naturally it I had to do something.
“What are you doing here?” I barked at him in my scariest voice.
He was scared for a moment but then he found his voice. “Do you know Louis?” He asked me.
“I don’t know any Louis. Now get out of here before I swallow you.” I know, it sounds stupid. But in my defense, I had never tried to scare a toddler before.
“But your mouth is not that big. You can’t swallow me.” He said in a tone that was almost scornful. He saw that I’m losing my patience now. “I’m looking for a man named Louis Sipher. He told me he lives here.” He added quickly.
“Nobody lives here, child. This is a cemetery.”
“But you do.” This kid is so cheeky.
“Yes I do. But no one else. There’s no one named Louis here. Now you should go back to your home.”
“I can’t go back to my home.”
“Why?”
“Because today’s Friday.”
What in the hell! What’s that supposed to mean? There’s something off about this kid, I thought. He looks like a normal boy. Brown eyes and dark hair. Freckled nose. And a long tongue in a big mouth. But it’s his way of talking that’s odd. He’s not afraid. Sure, he is a bit scared. But he’s scared only of the possibility of some bodily harm. He looks scared when I threaten him. But there’s another kind of fear that’s entirely absent in him. The kind of fear that is inherent in every child and adult. The fear of the unknown. He walks into a cemetery alone in the middle of the night and is talking to a stranger. To me. Anyone in his place should be scared shitless now.
“Why can’t you go back to home on Friday?” I asked, trying to find a little more patience to deal with this annoying imp.
“Because Fridays are the worst.” He said matter-of-factly.
I had enough of his games. I grabbed his wrist and pulled him. He winced. My grip wasn’t that tight. Then I saw the countless bruises on his arm. I took my hand off him. Then he told me why Fridays are the worst.
Both his parents drank. Two months ago his dad graduated from a wife-beater to a child-beater. He got bored of hitting his wife who used to be responsive but now is numb once she started drinking. So he needed a new punching bag. Naturally, it became Simon. At first he was careless. His bruises raised many questions at school and the hospital. So the loving dad worked out a schedule. Mondays and Tuesdays he had to work late, so his wife and son got to rest on those days. Wednesdays were spent out with his friends. On Thursdays he tries hard to control himself since Simon has to go to school the next day. So just normal abuses and an occasional slap.
But Fridays are when he gets to play. There’s no school on the weekend so Simon gets two days to heal his bruises. Weekends he drank himself to sleep till around four in the afternoon. But Fridays meant business. First with his belt. He’d go to his room and drag Simon out of his bed and beat him with his leather belt. If he cries, a slap for every sound he makes. If he tries to block the door, at least one of his bones will double. The little boy learnt to quietly receive his father’s knuckles on his stomach and jaw. That’s the only way. He was afraid that soon he might end up with angels in the heaven. He wasn’t scared of death, he just didn’t want to die. And one day, he saw an angel.
One Friday night his father was doing his usual business. Simon’s head was pinned to the cold floor and a large fist was pummeling on his back. It was then he saw with his teary eyes that a man was standing at the corner of his room. At first he hoped that the mysterious stranger will intervene. That he would save him from this hell. But that man did not move. He was just standing there, observing indifferently. At that moment he hated him more than his father. He was still there when his father left. Apparently, the man is invisible to his dad. He just stood there, at the corner of his room. All night. And he was gone in the morning.
This happened again on the next Friday. This time, Simon felt a bit glad that he was there. He didn’t want his torture to go completely unnoticed by the entire world. At least someone knew. Someone saw it. He kept his eyes fixed on the man in the dark suit at the corner of his room as he bit down his screams trying to escape from deep inside. That night after his dad left, he talked to the stranger for the first time.
“Why are you here?” Simon asked him.
He didn’t say anything, He just came two steps closer to his bed.
“Are you here to kill me?”
The man shook his head slightly.
“You come here just to watch me?”
The man came closer. He stood at the edge of his bed. Simon saw his face in the moonlight from the window. He was a handsome man with kind eyes.
“I come here to watch over you, child.” His voice was calm, yet intense.
“What are you? Some kind of guardian angel?”
“Yeah you can say that. Some kind of angel.” He replied with a smile.
Then they didn’t speak again for a long time. Simon watched him with growing curiosity as he sat on the floor near his bed. He knew that this stranger was not going to save him from his suffering, yet he somehow felt safe in his presence.
“Why don’t you do anything, when my dad is in the room?”
“Because I am not allowed to. Everything has to run its course. Also, I know you will survive. It is only making you stronger.” He said calmly.
“I don’t feel strong.”
That brought a smile on his otherwise poker face. “What do you feel? Sadness? Helplessness?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you feel that you’re being treated unfairly?”
“I think it has nothing to do with fairness.” He said after some thought. “He does this to me because he can. I cannot do anything to him. Not now, at least.”
“And what if you were in his place? When you are stronger than him, would you do the same?”
“Oh I would do more!” He said excitedly. Then he looked at that man’s face, wondering whether he should have said that.
“I thought so.” In a strange way, the man looked proud to hear that. “Then you’ll be ready when you are strong. Always remember this, what doesn’t kill you doesn’t necessarily make you stronger, but it will prepare you for the time when you’re strong.”
“What’s your name?”
“Mr. Sipher.” He said gently. “But you can call me Louis.”
“Where do you live?”
“Anywhere I like. I travel a lot. But you can find me in the cemetery next block, if you ever need me.”
They didn’t speak again that night. Simon fell into a sound sleep for the first time in what felt like centuries. Louis was gone when he woke up next morning.
Louis visited him on every Friday night. Like clockwork. Except tonight. He didn’t show up. Simon was completely zoned out while his father thrashed him. He was wondering the entire time why Louis didn’t show up. When his dad left the room after doing his thing, Simon sneaked out of his home looking for Louis. He had never been in a cemetery before, but that didn’t scare him at all.
He didn’t find Mr Louis here, but he found me. The good Cemetarian.
As he was telling his story in an apathetic tone, as if it didn’t concern him at all, we were interrupted by another visitor. A shabby balding man with bloodshot eyes. Simon’s dad. This is going to be interesting, I thought.
The man was visibly scared out of his mind. His wobbly steps were a clear indication that he’s too drunk to the point that he can barely walk. Yet something wasn’t right. His face didn’t show any mark of the cruelty or violence I was expecting. It was mostly fear there. And a tad bit of concern. Could it be for Simon?
“Wh-who are you?” He gulped.
“What are you doing here?” My voice sounded almost like a snarl. And it had the desired effect on him. He was nothing like his son.
He turned around in a hurry but stumbled on something in the darkness. Something glistened near his neck in the moonlight. A quick slash across the throat and he slumped down to the ground with blood gushing out of his neck. He fell so silently, without even a tiny whimper. And a man slowly walked into the moonlight from the darkness. A pale handsome man in a dark suit.
Everything was so still. The leaves were motionless. The sky was missing its usual cacophony of crickets and owls. As if the heavens had hushed the earth to be silent. As if the time has been stopped. I know who this is. I have met him before. The first and the last time, when he came to me to make a deal. The ultimate charmer and deceiver. The angel of the darkness. The devil.
Louis Sipher. I couldn’t help a chuckle. “Never thought you would be into wordplays and puns.”
He didn’t inspire any fear in me. Why should I fear him anyway? What worse can he do to me?
“Hah. I must admit, I use it often. It’s very amusing. Like an inside joke.” His snicker sounded hollow and icy cold, yet captivating.
“I see you haven’t changed much. Immortality is treating you well.” I knew I was being cheeky. To the most feared being in the world. But I couldn’t care less.
“But you have changed a lot since the last time we met, I can see. You’re no more afraid and desperate. You now feel at home here, don’t you?” He said with his eyes looking into where my soul would have been, through my eyes. He never blinks.
I offered no response. Simon was looking at us both, puzzled at first and now annoyed. “Why did you do that?” Simon barked impatiently.
“Why, you didn’t want me to kill him?” Louis asked him, amused.
“No, I wanted to do it myself!” He practically wailed.
“Well, he’s not dead yet.” He dropped his knife on the ground and walked past Simon towards me. Simon grabbed the knife and looked at his father, gasping helplessly for breath.
That was an hour ago. An hour of Simon’s wicked creativity on his father’s body. Amazingly he’s still alive. Barely though. I suspect it has something to do with the one sitting next to me. The taker of lives, relaxing like a normal dad watching his son’s football game. The only thing that’s missing is a can of beer.
“I don’t like beer.” He says with an easy smile.
I am surprised. But not that he can read my mind. The father of everything that’s vile and immoral doesn’t like beer?
“It is nice that there are still things that can surprise you, isn’t it?” He says and takes a sip from a cocktail glass that wasn’t there in his hand till a second ago.
I have had enough of his games. “There are still things I don’t know. The only difference is, I don’t care about anything anymore.”
“Even if it’s about Hannah?”
That felt like a blow to my stomach. Like someone punched out the air from me. It’s been centuries since I’ve heard someone say my daughters name. My Hannah.
And to hear it from his wretched mouth. I can feel rage seething from me.
“You have no right to say her name! You tricked me last time!!” I don’t even try to keep the anger out of my voice.
“You only have yourself to blame for that.” He says coolly, without even the tiniest change of expression.
Simon looks back at the sudden commotion. And then goes back into whatever he’s doing. He’s too engrossed in his artwork.
It took few moments for me to regain my composure. “What were you saying about Hannah?”
“Why? I thought you don’t care about anything any more. You belong here.” The smug bastard.
“I just want to see her once. Is she in heaven? She must be. She’s so innocent and pure.” I am sure I would be crying now if I had tears.
“There are things you should never know. Have you heard the story of Orpheus and Eurydice?”
“I don’t want to hear stories now! Just tell me if I can see my daughter!!” I bellow at the top of my lungs. I know the story. It means there’s still hope. And I am too impatient to hear him beat around the bush.
Suddenly Simon runs towards us. “I don’t want to scare mom anymore. I have an even better idea.”
I want to cut that damn kid off but looking at how lovingly Louis runs his fingers in Simon’s dark hair, I know it’s not my place to say anything.
“Oh yeah, what’s that?” Louis asks him with the enthusiasm of a playmate.
“Let’s kill mommy!” Simon says with the cold innocence that only a child can muster.
“Oooh, that’s a great plan.” Louis’ eyebrows are raised in pretend surprise. I can see his eyes gleaming with pride. “Let’s go then!”
He stands up and walks with the child past the almost dry pit and the dead body. “But what about Hannah?” I ask.
Louis turns around. “All in good time, my friend. But if you know that story, you must also know that it doesn’t have a happy ending.”
I want to ask more but he silences me with a sway of his hand.
They both turn around and start walking away. Simon trots on with his right hand clutching Loius’ arm. Like a happy son going for a walk with his father, hoping that they will probably stop for an icecream on their way back.
“So what happens to Simon now?” I sincerely wanted to know.
“What do you mean what happens to him?” Louis shouts without looking back. “I am his guardian angel. What can happen to him?” And they disappear into the darkness, laughing.
What will happen to Simon now? Literally anything. He might become a serial killer or something. He might very well grow up to become the Antichrist. But I couldn’t care less. The only thing that’s in my mind right now is Hannah. There is still hope.
The Good Cemetarian 