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3. IN THE RIVER OF TIME
Home
no longer felt like home but like a place empty of life. Moving in a world I no
longer cared about, I began to see myself as a robot programmed to function the
same way for years to come.
Seeking
excitement outside the house, after school I started hanging out with a new set
of friends. It was a rougher crowd. Every other word was a curse when putting
down the adults in our lives we made fun of what they thought and how they
lived. These kids were ready to experiment with everything, including drugs and
sex. My parents said little, yet their anxious glances disturbed me. I never
doubted that they loved me or that I loved my mom and dad. That was
established, but no longer enough to keep me tied to home. There was a world
out there to be explored, experiences to be had and shared, so much to
investigate and learn. To start thinking for myself I had to distance myself
from my parents.
One
evening after a downpour I was walking home from a friend's house, my gaze
fixed on the water running in the gutter, when suddenly I saw myself in a river
as wide as life itself. The here and now was no longer a chain of perpetual
blinks but one continuous flow that moved everything on earth in the same
direction, from the past into the future.
A
bewitching dusk hung over the River of Time. In it I was pushed and pummeled and kicked
by all in whose way I happened to drift. The stronger were pushing the weaker
out of their way, climbing over their heads, some clinging to others, others
struggling to break loose. Every person was fighting tooth and nail to stay
afloat, the river indifferent, swift and unruffled by what went on inside it.
Wanting
no part of it, appalled by what I saw, I gave in to a current and was carried
to the fringes of the river where the helpless and the hopeless floated like
flotsam. In these crowded backwaters, hushed wailings and faint screams stifled
the air. When the long arm of an undertow reached for me and started pulling me
under, I thought it was the end, and the thought enveloped me like a warm
blanket. But when someone kicked me in the face, I grabbed the foot and, now
kicking myself, was towed into a swiftly moving mid-stream current.
I did
not fare much better there either, for I was yelled at and battered by those
whose progress I obstructed. In this river the laws of the mob prevailed, and
though all the people were facing the same predicament, each struggled
separately. Seeing how cruel people are to each other when survival is at
stake, faint with exhaustion I was about to give in and go under when someone
took hold of my hand.
Facing
me was a woman with a deep olive complexion and graying hair. "You must be
new here," she said.
"I
am... I've never seen people this mean, this rude. How can anybody survive such
horrors? Is there a way out of here?"
"There
is. Some people make it and some don't. Most don't even look for other ways of
living, for people stay in this river because they don't know any better."
In
spite of what was going on around us, the woman looked calm and composed.
"Have
you been in here long?" I asked.
"I
actually came back to look for my daughter. We haven't heard from her in
several years..." After a pause she added, "You reminded me of her...
the way she was when she left home."
"Why
would anyone want to stay here?"
"Sooner
or later everyone falls into the River of Time and gets stuck in it. Here
things are at the mercy of change, its nimble fingers altering each thing
separately, change pushing all to oblivion."
I
looked at the people around me, shoving and hitting each other. "But how
do they survive this?"
"By
staying out of harm's way. Those who learn the rules of the game learn how to
secure a position in these treacherous waters."
"Secure
a position? Here?"
"Have
you noticed that at the moment you are less battered than when you first fell
into the river?"
I
nodded.
"It's
because I am looking for my daughter, have a clear-cut objective to guide me.
I'm not beating those who bump into us, nor pushing aside the ones who come too
close. In these waters it is wise to keep to yourself, and if you leave people
alone, they'll leave you alone. We're proceeding smoothly because I aim for the
empty spaces, swim in the gaps unoccupied by others. You must have noticed that
everyone here cares only for himself and the rest be damned. That's what life
comes down to when people are looking for some kind of a stronghold to ease
their struggle."
"Stronghold?"
"Look
and you'll see what I mean."
Raising
my head I looked around, but what I saw was a river filled with people in water
up to their chins, heads bobbing on the surface up and down. Some were by
themselves, some held together as if by threads, others clustering in awkward
positions, their arms and legs entwined. Further down a mass of people led by a
man borne on their shoulders was ruthlessly plowing through the thick of
humanity.
A
corpse floated by face down. No one paid attention.
The
woman pulled me closer. "See that small cluster of people, children on
shoulders of grownups riding above the water? It's a family, the kids observing
how the parents maneuver, all moving along nicely. The parents' stronghold is
in the future of their children, for if their children do well, the parents
will have it that much easier."
"See
the group in back of them turning round and round? They are infighting, as if
arguments could prevent them from going under. Every member knows what needs to
be done to keep the group afloat, yet everyone wants the other to take the
responsibility, all blaming each other for the misery they suffer. Since no one
is watching the stream that carries them, they drift unaware of where they are
or where they are heading."
"And
those two, over there, see the one holding the other's arm, and that one
struggling to pull herself free? Sooner or later the pull and tear will wear
them both down."
"And
who are they?" I asked pointing to the massive cluster of people pushing
everyone out of their way.
"Hangers-on.
See the man riding on their shoulders? Those who have raised him to this
position have no vision of their own and follow the personal vision of the
appointed leader. Having entrusted their lives to him they will cater to all
his whims as long as he pleases the many. Look!"
And
as she spoke we saw the man get pulled down from on high. "See the mass
crumbling, infighting, dispersing? That's what happens to hangers on. Not used
to thinking for themselves, they will flounder aimlessly until they'll find
someone to lead them. You pay dearly for letting others take the responsibility
for your life and suffer endless indignation for it. There are no free rides
here. As a matter of fact, no free rides anywhere."
"Is
competition the key to survival?"
"Not
really. Anyway, not in the River of Time where nothing stands still and change
affects everybody in one way or another. Those who compete may gain a
short-lived advantage here and there, but never enough to lead them out of
here. To survive in this river you need to have a goal to aim for and to guide
you, or you are doomed to flounder in this soup of humanity merely responding
to what goes on right under your nose."
After
a pause she added, "You are too young to know what you want out of life.
You haven't seen enough of the world to form a vision of your own to chart your
future by. Be patient, it will come."
I
caught sight of a man on some kind of floating devise paddling against the
current and shouting. "And who is he?"
"That
fellow has lost all sense of direction. Paddling upstream he actually stays in
the same place all the time. What keeps him going are the slogans he shouts,
'People stand up!' 'Fight for your rights!' 'You are the future!' His
contraption is guaranteed to sink the minute he stops shouting." Then she
added, "And yet in times when the hangers-on take up most of the space,
people like him cut open channels through which many slip by unnoticed."
Another
corpse floated by. Pockets full of air and silence.
"You
said there is a way out of here?" I ventured to remind the good woman.
"See
these fast swimmers moving through the thick of it as if nothing stood in their
way? Knowing how to swim helps, but even the best swimmers may not make it out
of here. Watch the one on the left. I can tell already that he's not going far
because with furtive glances he keeps measuring his progress against those who
swim beside him. Were he to lift his head, he'd see that others are overtaking
them. It's what you compare yourself to that determines your own progress. Life
is not a race, it is a chance given to all, and unless you know the basics of
the game your chances are slim."
"Can
you tell who might go the distance?"
"See
the one swimming off center at a pace most suitable to her? She is not
distracted by what goes on her right or left, or in front of or behind her, but
swims steadily ahead unwavering in her path. This happens only to those who
have a steadfast aim fixed in their minds. Their vision is their
stronghold."
"Is
their struggle over when they reach the aim?"
"You
mean, once they are outside the usual grind and hustle of survival? Though the
common stresses and discomforts the rest of us suffer are no longer on their
minds, they still have to protect what they have, whether it is the position
they hold or the vision itself. They are not free of hassles, for the peace of
mind they enjoy needs to be tended to and guarded from day to day, which
imposes a new set of restrictions on them."
"Is
there anything left for them to wish for?"
"Everyone
wishes for happiness, and when the set-up seems just right, many find that
pursuits of happiness are just as finicky and short-lived as anything else in
life. Having spent their lives in securing the basic necessities, they are apt
to discover a gnawing spiritual unrest that upsets the good life, and once the
suspicion creeps in that they might have missed or overlooked something in
life..."
She
froze in mid-sentence, eyes riveted on a group to the left of us.
"The
redhead! She looks like... my daughter!" Before letting go of my hand, she
said, "Good luck!" And diving ahead, vanished in the mass of bobbing
heads.
Taking
a cue from her, paying no attention to others I aimed straight for the opposite
bank of the river and reached solid ground in no time. As I climbed out of the
water, I felt something bumping about my ankles—the bundle of memories had
washed up beside me.
After
climbing the steep, slippery bank, I looked around. Before me lay a lush green,
wide-open meadow, gentle breezes combing the tall grasses, a procession of
clouds drifting in a predestined direction, the song of a lark stitching heaven
and earth together. Moved by the simplicity of things untouched by human hands,
I entered the meadow ready to embrace the world anew.
I had
taken only a few steps when my foot slipped, the ground under the cover of
grasses uneven. Several steps further I stumbled again, then fell into a dark
and narrow shaft, too deep for me to climb out. Keeping watch over the opening
high above me, I listened for signs of life but only grasses rustled in the
wind.
"Help!"
I shouted timidly, echoes of my voice fading into silence.
Sitting
at the bottom of the shaft, my gaze fixed on the green-streaked patch of blue
above me, I heard water rushing underground, ominous sounds pulsing in
the dirt walls around me. Lost to the world, I held the bundle of memories
close to me, my past all I had to hold on to.
Hearing
footsteps, I called out again, and stood up in time to see a young man spread
the grasses and look over the edge.
"You
called for help?" he asked.
"
I did! Can you get me out of here?" I shouted.
"Let
me see... You picked yourself a deep hole to fall into. Don't worry, you're not
alone, the meadow is full of pit holes and many are trapped in them. In a
situation like this you should not be alone." said the stranger,
positioning himself to jump in.
"Oh
no! Don't jump!" I begged him, "Get help, do something! Please!"
Seeing his determination I slumped to the ground.
"
I'll keep you company," he said and jumped in, sitting down across from
me, knees touching.
He
introduced himself. "I'm Jimmy. Welcome to our territory!"
"I'm
Alya. I didn't know the meadow was full of treacherous holes. I could have
broken my leg."
"Complaining
already?" he asked, eyes keenly prying as if he were a student of
important matters. "The meadow looked so luscious, so inviting, you could
not resist the temptation, right?"
Rumbling
sounds locked our eyes.
"What
was that?"
"It's
the River of Time. Here it runs underground, no one knows how deep below the
surface. When it rumbles like that, it's best to ignore it. Once in a while
you'll hear water rushing, but it's usually silent. And that's even worse,
because this invisible river is more treacherous than the one above the ground.
Here you don't see the dangers coming at you, they simply creep up on you
unnoticed." Jimmy's voice hushed, as if he were telling me a secret.
"Is
there a way out of this hole?" I asked also whispering.
Brushing
dirt off his pants he changed the subject, "So you crossed the Big River
alright. Isn't it something what people are willing to put up with? Nothing on
earth is more stupid, more ignorant, and more selfishly hell-bound than
humankind. Altogether I find this business of living very disagreeable."
"How
did you get here?"
"Alone
in the Big River, I was about to go under when I bumped into what felt like a
sturdy root, and figuring I was near the shore, I grabbed it and climbed
out—" A thunderous rumble made him stop. His eyes steady on my face, Jimmy
continued, "—only to wallow in mud for a long time. When I finally made it
to firm ground and escaped the dredges of humanity, I too saw the meadow, and
the spread looked promising. But like you, I also fell into a pit. At first I
was disappointed, as you must be now, but nowadays I'd rather talk to someone
like you than take part in those morbid struggles above the ground!"
Sounds
of water falling and churning filled the pit. They prompted me to say
something, and raising my voice, I said, "Then you see no purpose in
this?"
"Purpose!
Does misery have a purpose? Misery is the same everywhere—why look for it? Why
suffer endless humiliation or put up with struggles that only sap your energy
and drag you down? No thanks. I'm a fast learner," he said loudly,
brushing the dirt off his sleeve.
"Aren't
you curious about what life has to offer?" I shouted to be heard.
"You've
got to be kidding!" Jimmy shouted back. "Life has nothing more to
offer than more of the same struggle, and what's the purpose in that?"
The
wall of dirt by Jimmy's shoulder started crumbling, and soon a hand appeared
groping the air.
"Is
that you Auntie?" Jimmy sounded relieved.
"You
here already?" asked a high-pitched cracking voice, and the head of a
woman emerged, dirt caking her face. "What's up? What's the underground
rumbling about? "
"Auntie,
meet Alya!" And turning to me, Jimmy said, "Down here we get around,
the place is riddled with tunnels connecting pit to pit. Life underground is
not as dull as you might think!"
By
then Auntie had dug through, and in the dim light of the pit I was taken aback
by her leathery face fixed in an unpleasant grin.
"Hi!
Welcome to our world!" she said, her eyes examining me intently as she
wiggled in between us.
"I
do not intend to stay—" I began to say but Auntie's hardened face leaning
into mine, stopped me short.
"Let
me tell you, none of us did at first." The underground river grumbling
insistently, Auntie raised her fists and shouted, "Oh, shut up, let me
talk to this creature, haven't seen one so young for years!"
To my
surprise, the river did shut up, but now an iron-hard stillness encased us.
Auntie looked up and down, sized up the pit, sized up me, and broke the
silence. "You picked yourself a beauty to fall into, wouldn't you say so,
my friend?"
"Beginner's
luck!" Jimmy answered, and they both burst out laughing. I was not amused.
"Do
people dig these pits themselves?" I hardly dared to ask.
"Of
course they do," whispered Jimmy, as if afraid to be overheard, "and
some of the pits are ancient, dug deeper and deeper by generations of people.
The truly desperate are the best at it, and also the most obsessed, for they
are convinced that if they dig deep enough they will reach the river and then
all will be well again. But it never works, for as you dig deeper, you reach a
point where the dirt you throw out starts falling back onto your head, and
that's the end of digging. That is, unless you want to bury yourself
alive!" The two burst out laughing again.
"It
happens, it certainly happens," said Auntie, and turning to Jimmy, she
said, "The place is riddled with the best intentions, right?"
Jimmy
nodded and his voice took on an edge. "Right. And there are plenty of good
intentions to go around. Down here the mind is truly inventive, imagination
crackles and sparks non-stop, cranking out most elaborate ways to escape the
drudgeries of life. Our way of living is by far the best—above the ground they
put you on a merry-go-round until the machinery breaks down!" he said,
vigorously brushing his other sleeve.
Auntie
sighed, "A conveyer belt, that's what it is up there. The merciless
progression of changes is what grinds you to a pulp. Up there, if you manage to
stand still, changes pile up around you so high that you are buried alive. If
you resist the onslaught of changes, the fight is upstream all the way, and
instead of getting anywhere you simply reach exhaustion. Drift along, and you
risk being pulled under. And yet the world goes on as if there were nothing to
it. Right?"
"Right,"
agreed our studious companion leaning back. "You see, down here we avoid
the crunch by distancing ourselves from it all. Who says one has to take part
in this grim bottomless struggle? Down here we don't put up with the
injustices, indignations, and indifferences of life because we have found a way
to beat the system. Let them be, I say, retreat, and you're in a different
ballpark altogether. Let those who enjoy clawing at each other's gut do their
dirty work. Here at last we're free to live as we please."
Auntie
looked at me sternly. "When you think about it, you'll see that only
dimwits take this monstrous river seriously."
"But
how do you survive in this underground darkness, this isolation?" I asked,
already thinking that their kind of life was no better than the one in the
river above the ground.
"We
feed off each other," said Auntie, and leaning into my face again she
asked, "Admit it, our presence is comforting, no?"
I
drew back, "It's not comfort I am looking for... I want to get out of
here, I must go on."
"She
must go on!" The two were in stitches again.
To
escape their mockery I looked up, and there was a face staring down at us.
"Need
help?" the stranger asked.
"Yes!
Please! Get us out of here!" I shouted, standing up.
"I'll
be right back!" said the stranger and disappeared.
Jimmy
and Auntie exchanged glances and, clapping their hands and slapping their
knees, enjoyed another spell of laughter.
"See
what we mean?" said Auntie, catching her breath. "He won't be back.
That's how people are. They promise anything to get you off their back, and
that's the last you hear from them. At least down here we make ourselves useful
by welcoming newcomers like you. Believe me, what people call living up there,
isn't worth the effort."
Voice
drifting, Jimmy said, "I would say that only the grandest dreams are worth
the trouble," he spoke looking downcast, his fingers fixing the
non-existing pleats in his jeans. "But since that's not in the offing, the
best life has to offer is to have someone like you two to talk to—people who
have stared misery in the face, and know how humiliating life can be."
Auntie
chimed in, "And know how to avoid the entanglements life sucks you
into!"
"But
I haven't seen that much misery to feel that hopeless," I said in a low
voice.
"You
must understand," Auntie responded quickly, "it's not hope we are
talking about here. It's about having a mind sharp enough to cut through the
muck dished out on every street corner, intended to tame and harness you for
good, to make a dummy out of you. Don't you understand? It's about seeing what
life is really all about." And again she leaned her face into mine. Seeing
me cringe, Jimmy intervened.
"Pay
attention to what she says—you've got to be really smart to see through it all.
There are no dumb people down here," he added proudly. Then, pointing to
the bundle beside me, he asked, "What do you have there?"
"Some
memories... Glimpses of what I saw... This is only the beginning of my life,
there's so much more to see and to learn." I said, trying to sound
thoughtful. To change the subject, I asked, "Aren't you curious what is
beyond this meadow?"
"Ha!"
Auntie laughed. "Curious, she says? You must be pumped full of those
big-eyed ideas they spread thick to smother the young and kill the slightest
flicker of joy. All they want of you is to push the wheels of change that grind
you to dust, and be proud of it. You pay highly for such extravagant ideas,
though. 'What's beyond the meadow?' she said in a mocking singsong tone.
"And what good is curiosity if the stuff you are curious about doesn't
help you to live?!"
Avoiding
her eyes I looked up and there was the stranger's face again. He threw a
knotted rope down into the pit, and pressing the bundle of memories under my
arm, I grabbed the rope and started climbing up. Near the top the stranger
helped me out of the pit and I thanked him for coming back. While Jimmy and
Auntie were clambering up, I asked, "Do you also live underground?"
"No,
not me. I comb the grasses that cover up the misery of the hopeless."
"Hopeless?
You mean, no one gets out of here?"
"I
wouldn't say never, but very few make up their minds to do so. They like it
here."
I
looked around, but neither Jimmy nor Auntie was to be seen.
"Don't
mind them," said the keeper. "They must have jumped into some other
pit already. The meadow is full of people like them, always in need of someone
to wisecrack with. Commiseration nurtures their gloom and justifies their own
misery."
"And
what keeps you here?"
"I
assist those who want to leave. I make myself useful. That is more than I could
master anywhere else. I have no time to dwell on the bad parts of life. It's
like scratching the wound that itches to be scratched. It never heals."
Hearing
this, I pressed the bundle of memories tightly to my chest and felt it stir.
Not all was lost.
"And
how do you find your way in this meadow," I asked him, "How do you
avoid falling into these pits?"
"I
place one foot in front of the other—like this—and before I shift my weight to
the next step, I test the ground with my toe—like that—and if the ground feels firm,
I shift my weight to the forward-pointing foot, and do this step after step.
Once you get the hang of it, you have all the sky to enjoy, and the luscious
green, and the lark that greets you every morning. Having this sunny meadow to
myself and these unfortunate ones to take care of, what else could I wish
for?"
Whistling
a jolly tune and dancing his funny step-by-step, the keeper led me across the
meadow. Imitating his gait I followed, stopping here and there to explore a
pit, passing on what I had learned. And when I saw dirt flying up and falling
back in, I'd stop to talk to the desperate digger, but they didn't hear what I
had to say. And though my confidence in people and in life itself was shaken, I
had the bundle of memories to hold on to.
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