The Ugly Truth

 

Deep in the heart of the forest a great storm roared through the darkness of winter.  An old man who lived alone was stoking his fire with an air of boredom when there came a sudden knocking on his door.  Muttering to himself in annoyance, he approached the door confounded by who it could have been, for he hadn't received anyone's company in many days.  When he opened it, a beautiful young woman stood heaving on the porch, soaked by the rain. 

“Mister, please help me.  I've gotten lost and I've nowhere to go." 

A split second was all it took for the man to decide if he should let her in, which struck even faster than the lightning that illuminated the woman's face in skeleton white. 

"Yes child, come come now.  Get yourself in from the cold.  Phew!  It's a real beastly one, this storm." 

The girl breathed a sigh of relief, thanking the man as he took her hand.  Inside the home, the aroma of tea was retained by bulbous stone walls that had domestic vines growing on them.  Books were everywhere; on bookshelves, tables, and stacked up in piles on the floor where there wasn't any space left.  To the left stood a cozy hearth where the old man liked to sit and read, smoking his pipe.  On the right there was a messy bed that also had books on it. 

"Oh dear, so many books.  Doesn't anyone else live here?", she asked. 

"Say what?  Nobody else has lived here since the big wind of '87.  Or was it '78?  Never mind.  Yep, I've been cooped up in here all alone, but the company has been infinitely pleasing...  You look confused.  The books are my companions, you see.  Every time I read one, I get to know the thoughts of a Professor Hardwigg, or the feelings of a Catherine Earnshaw.  Would you like some tea?" 

He'd been digging through his old clothes as he spoke, looking for something that might fit her.  When he found something, he handed it to her and had her undress while he milled about in the kitchen. 

"I don't mean to be rude, sir, but you'd do well to have a lady about the house.  There are certain things even a book can't do." 

"Ah, but you're wrong, my sweet.  You could say I'm married to them, but I don't want to give you the wrong idea." 

She laughed quietly to herself, already feeling warmer now that she had on new clothes and freshly brewed tea was coming.  The man introduced himself as Marlin and hung her clothes up to dry over the fire.  Then he lay a blanket next to the fire and had her sit on it, so she could warm up.  Then he took to reading in his chair, without muttering a word for several minutes.  The awkward silence would have normally bothered the young woman, but seeing as he was nothing but an old hermit who was used to prolonged periods of silence, she rather liked it. 

"I'm Tanya," she said. 

Marlin nodded his head in acknowledgement, scarcely aware that she'd said anything.  She thought it must have been a really good book he was reading, because any other man would have been more interested in her company than in a silly old wad of paper, regardless of their age.  She wanted to ask what book he was reading but didn't want to interrupt his engagement with it.  So, she stood up, wandered over to the bookshelf, and looked for something to read herself. 

Many great and wonderful classics lined the shelves of Marlin's library.  Wrinkles of usage made them look like they'd been well read, as if whoever had gotten their paws on them had gripped them tightly for long periods of time.  She settled on a little volume of Virginia Woolf's, and as she went back to sit on the blanket, the old man glanced casually at the cover of the book, eyeballing the famous title of Mrs. Dalloway. 

"What are you doing with that?", he asked. 

"I'm going to read it, of course." 

He puffed from his pipe and stared at her, ruminating about how unusual it was for a young and pleasant looking woman to be reading a challenging author such as Virginia Woolf.  Rolling his eyes, he went back to reading, telling himself she'd eventually get bored of the book and look for something else.  But it never happened.  She read and read, seemingly becoming more absorbed with it every minute.  The prospect was entirely distracting to the old man, and he found that he could no longer gather the attention needed to continue his reading.  It was too interesting; he had to know why she liked the book. 

"Of course, you couldn't really be reading that," he interrupted.  "Why, a woman such as yourself should be off charming the goons, not reading scholarly novels with an old fogey like me.  More likely, you are only pretending to enjoy it for the sake of hospitality." 

Tanya gave him a look of death as he smiled at her smugly.  "Sir, how can I be off 'charming', as you put it, in a state like this?  Have you already forgotten I got lost in the storm?" 

"Never mind all that.  What made you pick that book in particular?  You could have picked one more suitable to your state, such as The Old Curiosity Shop." 

"But I'm not even an orphan", she said bewilderingly.  Marlin laughed out loud, pleased with the fact that she'd known that Little Nell, despite being a lovely, innocent youth, had been an orphan instead of a castaway lost in a storm. 

"No no, certainly not.  I'm just having a little fun with you." 

Her wide eyes went back to the pages but were soon interrupted again by the old man's despairing voice. 

"Mrs. Dalloway, Mrs. Dalloway.  If you find more things in common with her, you must have great expectations in life.  Poor child." 

"I suppose I do, " she said, unaware that he'd made another reference to Dickens.  "And why shouldn't I strive to make life the best that it can be?  Plenty of people only put in just what they need to get by, but it's the overachievers who get ahead in this world.  If you work hard enough on something, it will come out just the way you envisioned it." 

"Like Mrs. Dalloway's party?" 

She took a moment to gather her reply.  "You are being a quite a nuisance!  I haven't even finished the story, and I'm enjoying it immensely.  Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to finish it."  Her eyes went back to the page, as steady as a comet's trajectory. 

"It took me a long time to realize that I was a perfectionist", interrupted Marlin.  "Imagine my surprise when it dawned on me that a great portion of my misery had been caused by having unreasonable expectations of myself.  More unfortunate types will complain that it was their parents whose expectations were too high, or the pressure put on them by a high-ranking official.  But I had no such problems.  My tremendous suffering was a construct of my own psyche, and I blamed others for it in order to rationalize the hatred I felt for myself.  It was a hatred so severe that it crippled my development, shoving me into a grave dug by the soldiers of pride.  You see, it was pride itself that had to rationalize my delusions, making it seem like there was nothing wrong with me; that my moodiness had been caused by feeling victimized when really I was in full control of my emotions.  This perceived lack of control was so untamed that it brought me to the brink of suicide, and for that I am more ashamed than anything. 

"The root of it was perfectionism though.  Every time I looked in the mirror and something was amiss, I'd feel deflated and extremely self-conscious about my appearance.  Even when there was nothing wrong, I'd still feel the same way, because my perception was that any mistake people saw me making would make them think I was an idiot and they'd want nothing to do with me.  In an ironic twist, the whole idea backfired; it was the narrow-mindedness that accompanies perfectionism that sealed me off from everyone else, causing them to want nothing to do with me anyway.  People that don't make any mistakes are boring, because they never take the type of risks that funny, interesting people take.  For me those risks only came about once I got to know people well enough to the point where I felt like I could say anything around them, and they wouldn't judge me for it. 

"Additionally, the high expectations I had of myself translated into expecting the same from others, putting my friends at a disadvantage.  I expected them to have the same kind of courtesy and consideration that I had towards them.  From a logical standpoint there is nothing wrong with that; if I had to suffer for their ignorance and insensitivity, why shouldn't they have had to suffer from my expectations?  You will say that a true friend accepts people for who they are, however, I always believed in the power of people to change.  That's what I wanted from my friends- to be the best they could be for me, as I tried to be the best I could be for them.  Changing myself for others always came easy, so why was it so hard for them? 

“I could blame my stepfather and say that his severe criticism about every mistake I made in my early youth made me hyper-sensitive to doing everything correctly; that the fear of failure in my childhood has carried over into adulthood, and that I was socially and financially stagnant because he would hit me just for dropping a cookie on the floor.  That would be the easy way out.  The truth is that I should have been above all that; better in all the ways I wanted to be, free of anyone's disappointing opinions and judgements about someone like me, with my kind of thinking, which, let's face it, can be over-the-top at times- strange to some and incomprehensible to others.  I could also take the easy way out by saying everyone's too stupid to keep up with me in conversations that I've instigated, which was what my father liked to do.  But that wouldn't be true either.  The ugly truth is that I was a self-absorbed perfectionist, forever worried about what others thought of me in a world of appearances.  

"My mother used to say I had an old soul, but she was wrong.  My soul is young, inexperienced, and far too sensitive to criticism.  My sensitivity to criticism and failure halted every step I could have taken in the right direction; from getting frustrated about grades to approaching women I liked.  It was only the mask that covered my insecurities that made me seem older than I really was, for the mask has worked wonders for me despite intimidating others.  It wasn't just the mask, but having a great mind that also made me appear mature.  Few would deny that I'd been blessed with a good head, even if I wasn't always right.  Though my insight may have been deep, I was just like everyone else: seeking growth where it fails to be recognized.  I will grow, yes, I will grow, and in the ages of sages I will be reborn." 

The glint of the fire illuminated his hollow face and died away just as he said those final words.  Tanya looked at him admiringly, in amazement of his honesty and wisdom.  She went to the shelf and put the book back, somehow knowing that she couldn't possibly realize its essence in her young age, or afraid that she would now that he'd told her some of his darkest secrets.  A gust of wind howled like a ghoul, and suddenly she became frightened for her life, as if a great transformation threatened to end the person she'd grown into. 

"You know, for a cooped-up fogey, you sure do talk a lot," she said, trying her best to smile through the smoke. 

"Goodness, where are my manners!?  I do apologize for getting carried away." 

"No need, sir.  All these years of living alone must have bottled you up from talking about those things.  It's true that the world can be cruel to those who make mistakes, but we can't let it deny us what we want.  We must learn from those mistakes so that success becomes easier to obtain the second time around.  Then the world will look upon us in a more positive light." 

"You poor child.  The disappointment of cumulative failure and cynicism has yet to rot your soul.   In this day and age, the odds of the world thinking highly of an individual are close to nil because there are so many of us competing for the same things.  And even if we do make the headlines, one slip-up can turn us into a laughingstock, thanks to the power the media has now.  Such a cruel, cruel world..." 

"You'll never get anywhere if you're afraid-" 

"Look at us, we destroyers of creation," he interrupted through the smoke.  Lightning struck again; he started stroking his beard.  "Every few hundred thousand years there comes a mass extinction, and we're in the midst of one now.  But this extinction will mark the first time in history that a single species caused it.  Global warming, the invention of plastic, genetically modified food.  We are affecting the environment in all the wrong ways, and nothing can be done to stop it.  We are like the asteroid that wiped out the dinosaurs, along with 95% of the other species; or like the first oxygen-producing critters that destroyed all anaerobic life some 540 million years ago.  In the next biological age, plastic will become the new oxygen.  Species will depend on it for their survival.  Think about it: an unnatural creation serving as an evolutionary catalyst.  Mankind points a gun at the face of nature, and from her eyes fall tears of acid." 

"Why, you're nothing but a terribly unhappy misanthrope!" 

He didn't seem to hear her. 

"They're wrong, you know.  The people who think human population will continue to grow exponentially; that we'll inhabit other planets due to a lack of natural resources; or worse, suffocate on our own consumption.  The population has peaked, and soon it will fall abruptly.  Not because of any global catastrophe, but because the largest developing countries have declining birth rates that will keep falling.  It happens every time a country catches up with the modern world.  China, India, Brazil; all of them will soon reach birth rates like ours.  It's already happened in Europe, where several countries now have declining birth rates.  The world will never have as much people as it does now.  You and I, Tanya, we're just two lost souls scavenging the depths for any parcel of light; for a single ounce of recognition in an endless sea of faces.  To become a well-known figure in a time like this is as improbable as finding sunlight at the bottom of the sea.  But there are those special few who can rise just enough to see the light.  If you become one of those special few, it would be a remarkable thing for you.  Good heavens, I haven't even asked yet; what do you plan to do?" 

Tanya had been caught off-guard by the power of his words.  She had an idea about what she wanted to do, which others had found preposterous, but for some reason she didn't think a guy like Marlin would find it strange.  "I'm inventing a language that merges all the world's major languages.  English, Spanish, French, German, Hindi, Mandarin: all rolled up into one.  It's going to revolutionize the way we communicate, making it easier for businesses to operate overseas." 

Marlin wasn't surprised by her ambition, yet he knew what he had to say would upset her.  He thought of keeping it to himself, but she pressed him for his opinion about it.  "I've got bad news for you; it's already been done with Esperanto.  Even though it's the most successful constructed language ever conceived, it still isn't nearly as important as English has become.  Thanks to the power of the Internet, and our exceptional educational opportunities, English has become a force all its own, infiltrating every other language with its words unlike any that ever came before it." 

“That's just the point.  Esperanto was more of a Latin-based construction.  It was designed for the old world when news didn't travel as fast.  Mine is more English-based and suited to the modern world of computing.  Because of the Internet's power, everyone in the world could be speaking the same language.  It may as well be mine!" 

"My dear child, think of all the translators who will lose their jobs because of you; do you really want that on your conscience?  Besides, it can't be done.  Language is like a wild animal that can't be controlled." 

"What do you mean?" 

"It breaks out and expands to new territory.  It incorporates new forms that get mutated in translation.  Languages are like living, breathing organisms that evolve into others; like the way animals change after they adapt to new environments.  When languages travel and breed with other languages, they morph into new ones.  English itself is a language made of a conglomerate of others, not the least among them being German, French, and Latin.  I'm afraid your world-language would only serve the purpose of creating others, as all languages have before it." 

Tanya was silent.  He seemed to pick her world apart and dismantle everything worth doing.  She knew that if she went on sharing things with him, he would bleach all her other dreams with the dogma of the dead.  There was only one thing left to do; give his own world a little spin. 

"I was never really lost, you know.  I knew what I was doing when I came here.  This house has always made me curious, and so has the old man living inside it.  I just had to see what he was like, since he never came out and talked to anyone.  Now I can see why.  Nobody likes what he has to say, so he stays inside, where his thoughts can't contaminate anyone.  It's a noble thing you've done, sheltering all that cynicism.   But where has it gotten you?  What have you brought to the world?" 

His surprise was brief, giving way to despair instead.  He showed her the book he was reading.  It was an old copy of I, Claudius, which raised her curiosity once again.  "You see this book?  It's a short synopsis of the grand scheme of the world.  We treat each other like dirt, even our own families.  We trick them and poison them and tear each other’s heads off for fleeting pleasures like power.  Tell me child, why would I want to contribute anything to a world like that?  A world that will never change no matter how much positive influence I could have brought to it?" 

"I don't know... I don't know.  You gave up on it; there's no telling how much you could have changed it." 

He watched her get up and put her coat on.  The sound of the wind had stopped, and rain no longer fell on the roof.  She headed for the door, but he asked her to stop.  "Will you come back next week, please?  You can keep the book you were reading.  And if you come back and talk books with me, I'll let you pick another one to keep.  You can keep coming back every week and take a book home with you each time, until my entire library is gone.  I'll have nobody else to give them to when I pass away.  Everyone I knew is already gone, but it's never too late to make new friends." 

For the first time he looked vulnerable.  It was then that she knew her plan had worked. 

"I'd like that", she smiled.