“The Templars were an international military order formed in 1118, during the Crusades,” I said.
Harry’s eyes stuck on mine.
“How old are you?”
“Fourteen.”
“A boy with an education! Wonderful! That’s what the criminal class lacks! A bit of goddamn smarts.”
“I’m just here for moral support. Crime is Terry’s thing.”
“Ah, a pity, a pity. Well, you make sure your brother gets educated. We don’t need any more empty heads running around the industry, that’s for sure. Terry, listen to your brother, OK?”
“OK.”
“This is just fine. It’s a good thing you boys came to me. Anyone else would’ve told you a bunch of rehashed crap that would get you dead or in here with me.”
“Time’s up!” a guard shouted from the hallway.
“Well, this looks like the end of class for today. Come back next week and I’ll tell you how to obtain and maintain loyalty from the cops.”
“I said time’s up!” the guard shouted. Now he was standing at the door, blinking irritably.
“OK, boys, you heard the man. Get out of here. Come back, though, I’ve got lots more stuff. And you never know, maybe we can work together one day. Just because I’m in here for life doesn’t mean I won’t be out one day. Life doesn’t really mean life. It’s just a figure of speech. It means an eternity which is actually shorter than life, if you know what I mean.”
Harry was still talking when we were escorted out of the room.
Bruno and Dave thought Harry’s advice was rubbish. An anonymous underworld figure? A democratic cooperative of crime? What was that shit? Of course their names were going to echo through eternity! Infamy was high on their to-do lists. No, the only part of Harry’s monologue appealing to Bruno and Dave was his reference to the accumulation and hiding of guns. “We’re nothing without guns. We need to move up to the next level,” Bruno sang. I shook at the thought of what that level involved, and I didn’t know how to reason with them, particularly because I was the one who had suggested they see Harry. I couldn’t get my brother out of a life of violence either. It was like trying to persuade a short man to be taller. I knew Terry wasn’t cruel, however, only reckless. He wasn’t concerned for his own physical well-being, and he extended that indifference to the bodies of others.
He visited Harry once a month, always alone. As much as he wanted me to, and as much as the inmate’s rants often seemed to make sense, I refused to return to the prison. I thought Harry was a dangerous maniac and/or an unendurable idiot. I could do without listening to him ever again.
That said, about six months after the original visit I went back up to the prison, this time without Terry. Why? Harry had requested my attendance. I reluctantly agreed because Terry had pleaded with me to go, and when Harry limped into the visiting room, I noticed he had fresh cuts and bruises on his face.
“You should see the other guy. He looks pretty good, actually,” Harry said, lowering himself into a chair. He stared at me curiously. I stared back at him impatiently. Our stares were totally different in character.
“Well, Martin, do you know what I see when I look at you? I see a kid who wants to remain hidden. Look. You’ve covered part of your hand with your sleeve. You’re slouching down. Here, I think, is a kid who wishes to be invisible.”
“Is this why you wanted to see me?”
“Terry talks about you a lot. He’s told me everything about you. You’ve started to intrigue me.”
“That’s nice.”
“He told me how you don’t have any friends.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
“Look at the way you’re scrunching up your face! It’s very slight. Almost nothing. Just in the eyes. You’re judging me, aren’t you? Well, go ahead, my little misanthrope. Fairly obviously I’ve been judged before, judged and tried and sentenced! God, I’ve never met such a disturbed thing in its infancy before. Quite premature, aren’t you?”
“What do you want?” I said. “I already told you I’m not interested in crime.”
“But I’m interested in you. I want to see how you’re managing out there in the big bad world. Certainly not like your brother. He’s a chameleon, remarkably adaptable, and a dog, very loyal, happy as a lark. Wonderful disposition your brother’s got, even though…” Harry leaned forward and said, “There’s something unstable about him. You’ve noticed it, of course.”
I had.
“Not much gets past you, I’ll bet. No, I won’t use that hackneyed phrase that you remind me of myself when I was a boy, because, frankly, you don’t. You remind me of myself now, as a man, in jail, and it’s pretty frightening for me to be able to make that comparison, Martin, don’t you think? Considering, well, you’re just a kid.”
I could see his point, but I pretended I didn’t.
“You and your brother are unique. You are not, either of you, influenced in any significant way by those around you. You don’t try to imitate them. You stand apart, even from each other. That kind of fierce individualistic streak is rare. You are both born leaders, you know.”
“Terry might be.”
“You too, Marty! Problem is, mate, you’re in the fucking sticks! The type of followers you might have had just don’t grow here. Tell me something- you don’t like people very much, do you?”
“They’re OK.”
“Do you think you’re superior to them?”
“No.”
“Then why don’t you like them?”
I wondered if I should open up to this lunatic. It occurred to me that nobody had ever taken an interest in what I thought or felt before. Nobody had ever taken an interest in me.
“Well, for one,” I said, “I’m jealous of their happiness. And second, it infuriates me that they seem to have made up their minds without thinking first.”
“Go on.”
“It seems that they’re just keeping themselves busy at any and every task that distracts them from the impulse of thinking about their own existence. Why else would they smash the heads of their neighbors together over different football teams, if it didn’t serve the purpose of helping them avoid the thought of their own impending deaths?”
“You know what you’re doing?”
“No.”
“You’re philosophizing.”
“No I’m not.”
“Yes you are. You’re a philosopher.”
“No I’m not!” I shouted. I didn’t want to be a philosopher. All they do is sit around and think. They grow fat. They don’t know how to do anything practical like weed their own gardens.
“Yes, Martin, you are. I’m not saying you’re a good one, just that you’re a natural one. It’s not an insult, Marty. Listen. I’ve been labeled many times a criminal- an anarchist, a rebel, sometimes human garbage, but never a philosopher, which is a pity because that’s what I am. I chose a life apart from the common flow, not only because the common flow makes me sick but because I question the logic of the flow, and not only that- I don’t even know if the flow exists! Why should I chain myself to the wheel when the wheel itself might be a construct, an invention, a common dream to enslave us?” Harry leaned forward and I could smell his stale cigarette breath. “You’ve felt it too, Marty. As you say, you don’t know why people act without thinking. You ask why. That’s an important question for you. Now I ask you- why the why?”