Pompous Asses
We were on our way to the restaurant while Joe treated us to the inevitable post-debate lecture. He was well launched into his topic and arguing away. My brother looked upon him with a face filled with admiration. Church barely hid a smirk of satisfaction that he’d been right about two things. The first was that Joe would disagree with the debaters and the second was the lecture we were enduring.
I shouldn’t say ‘enduring’ because of the negative connotation. Joe has the capacity to be insufferable, but this was not one of those times. He spoke with passion like a man who possesses full knowledge of his subject matter. I didn’t know enough about art history to agree or disagree with anything he said, but he made an excellent case for his opinion.
“It’s called the fallacy of a binary choice.” He enthused all around the rear of the car. “One man says the impressionist movement sprang fully formed from the palettes of the artists who were freed to express themselves by the dissolution of the old political system. The other says the movement was already burgeoning during Pravus’ reign. He even points to specific works by ancient masters and calls them the seeds of the movement, as if a movement could be limited to a single seed. Preposterous!”
I asked that he tie-in his original statement. “What’s that got to do with the fallacy you mentioned?”
“Oh! I got distracted and ran past the point I was trying to make. Each of these men, the historian and the still-life artist think their opinion is right and the only opposition it faces is from the opinion of the other man. They don’t realize that there are many more possibilities. The fallacy is that the choice is not merely one or the other. It’s one, the other, the other, the other, over and over again. Neither of them realizes that they’re addressing the matter from the wrong end. No movement has ever been driven by the artists. They are all driven by the consumer.”
“What do you mean?”
He shifted in his jump seat and angled his whole body toward me to make his point. “Take films for instance. The film industry is diverse. All kinds of filmmakers make all kinds of films all the time. Let’s say that suddenly, action movies start doing very well. The filmgoing public can’t get enough of them. Like typical capitalists, the industry gives the people what they want. All the studios start to make action movies along with their other offerings. The public devours action films and ignores the other offerings. This goes on to the point of saturation. There reaches a point where the public revolts. They seem to all cry out at once, ‘no more action movies! Give us a romantic comedy, or a drama, or true crime, or anything but these wretched action movies!’
“The industry has no choice but to respond. They dust off their other offerings and flood the marketplace with variety until the public decides what the new fad will be. The point I’m making is, both of the debaters presented cases where the artists created the movement, but that’s never been the case. The artists did what all capitalists do, they offered as much variety as they were able until the public decided what they wanted. The public drove the movement, like the public drives all movements. That’s how it works. Art needs to be consumed to be art. Art that isn’t consumed is merely an expensive hobby.”
I admitted that I’d never thought of the public as a driver of culture. I thought like most people did; the creators create and their innovation drives culture. According to Joe, the creators create and the public decides what has value and what doesn’t. It was a fascinating opinion.
Church’s emotions shifted. I felt him get ready to instigate trouble. “Those men were both professionals in the industry, or whatever you call art. It’s their discipline. Their arguments must be right. One of them has to be right, anyway. Who are you to contradict them?”
Joe bristled, which was what Church wanted. “I’m a student of the field! I’ve studied extensively, read firsthand accounts, news articles from the time, critical reviews, gallery exhibits, scholarly works. I’ve accumulated knowledge about a subject I love, that’s how I know I’m right and they’re wrong.”
Church shrugged dismissively. “I hear you, but how do you account for their opinions? You’re an amateur historian. You work in the industry, but that doesn’t make you an expert on its history. The debaters are accredited professionals. The historian is a professor. He teaches this stuff.”
Joe’s temper flared. “I don’t need letters after my name to know what’s right and what’s wrong. Besides, just because he teaches, doesn’t mean he teaches correctly. I could teach this stuff! I’ve had offers. Three separate universities have made overtures. They’d be thrilled to have me!”
Primis leapt at the new information. “Joseph! Is that true?”
“It’s true, but it never mattered because we’ve never been in one place long enough for me to have a regular job.”
“Would you want to teach?”
Joe said he would. “Someone with real knowledge should. That pretend historian is convincing young artists that they create culture. He’s setting an impossible task. It’s not fair to burden young people with impossible demands.”
Primis made a desperate plea for his hopes and dreams. “Marry me, Joseph! Marry me and settle down to a quiet life near a university. Teach what you know is right. I’ll open a little office close by for my financial work. If we plan well and can find the right place, we could even have our lunches together. In a few years when we’re properly settled, we can have our own children. Wouldn’t that be perfect?”
Joe admitted that the idea sounded idyllic, but he didn’t commit to anything more than they’d talk about it.
* * * *
We had a great time with our brothers; more fun than we’ve had in a while. Joe engaged in lively conversation and didn’t seem to condescend with everything he said. Primis was content that a glimmer of the life he wanted had finally sparkled through the mire of his current situation. We talked of all kinds of things; art and culture and life and dreams and hopes. It was a grand and stimulating evening.
The café we went to for dinner was busy enough to feel the energy of the people around us, but quiet enough to have conversation without shouting. We had a few drinks each, just enough to lubricate the conversation and keep things lively. I was in such a good mood that I didn’t even dread the return to my father’s home.
That changed when we pulled into the drive and waited for the guards to clear the area before we opened the doors. My father’s butler, Brosus, hurried down the steps and came to the side of the car. Church put the window down to see what he wanted. He opened with an apology.
“Master Church, the master of the house bade me to convey that you are no longer welcome under his roof.”
Church got angry, but he maintained his composure. “We’ve never been welcome. What’s your point?”
“I’ve been instructed to bar you from entering. My instructions extend to Master Shawn, Master Primis, and Master Joseph. I’ve packed your belongings. Your suitcases are in the foyer. I shall bring them out.”
Primis was visibly shocked. “Me and Joseph aren’t allowed in either?”
Brosus shook his head. “My apologies, Master Primis.”
My brother had more to say, but Church talked over him. “How do you plan to enforce your master’s wishes?”
He tilted his head down in confusion. “Sir?”
Church explained. “I don’t know if you’re aware of the situation, but I own this house and everything in it with the possible exception of Verpa’s personal belongings. The money that runs this household is also mine. I pay your salary. You may follow Verpa’s orders, but you effectively work for me. I am the head of Summas Limited. You’ve probably seen that name.”
He nodded. “I see it ever week when I draw my pay. That’s also the name on the account I use to pay the household bills.”
“That’s the name of the holding company I created to manage your master’s expenses.”
Brosus considered the information but remained firm. “I’m sorry, sir, but I still report to Master Verpa. I must take my orders from him.”
Church’s temper flared. I felt his increasing anger through our sympathetic link. I was sure he was going to force his way into the house and have a scene with my father. I couldn’t bear it. I grabbed his arm to try to stop the ugliness I knew would follow. “Let’s just go.”
His anger changed to worry. “Is that what you want? If you want to leave, we’ll leave. That won’t be the end of this. It has to be dealt with.”
I whispered my answer because I couldn’t find the energy to shout. “I never wanted to come here in the first place. Our stay has ended the way I feared it would, the way I knew it would. I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of being here and feeling his disdain every minute. I’m tired of the specters of my lonely childhood that menace me from every dark corner of this miserable house. I want to have done with it. May I ask you to settle it? Not now, but sometime when I don’t have to endure the pain? Please, Love.”
He relented the way I knew he would. He asked Brosus to step back from the car so he could get out. I didn’t release him because I worried what he would do. “Where are you going?”
He took my hand and held it. “I just need to have a word with Ancil to find us a bed to sleep in. I promise not to do anything tonight. It’s probably best I don’t do anything right now. I’m so fucking mad, if I did anything, it would be drastic.”
He got out of the car and closed the door behind. Ancil joined him and entered conversation with him and Brosus. Our sympathetic link severed as he shut the three of them in a box of his magic. Whatever he was saying, he didn’t want me to hear.
I looked across the back of the car to where Primis sat stunned. Joe held his hand. Both wore similar expressions of consternation. I apologized to them. “I’m sorry for our role in this upset. We never should have come here. If we hadn’t, your relationship with father would be intact.”
To my surprise, Joe was the one who offered comfort. “Nonsense. Your father’s actions are his responsibility. Preem told me what happened between you before our dinner last night. He was trying to figure out why your father treats you the way he does. I’m as confused as he is. Verpa has always been kind and welcoming to me. That’s why we come here as often as we do. I wish I understood why he seems to hate you and Church, but I don’t. I’m even more confused as to why he would ruin our relationship with him over the disagreement you had last night. He doesn’t know many people. Our visits seem to be his main social outlet. Why is he biting his nose to spite his face?”
I lifted my hands and let them drop in a gesture of helplessness. “I no longer care why. I will never come here again. I will never put myself in a position to be hurt again. Never. If the Lord decided to destroy Solum with a flood the way he once destroyed the Earth, and my father was Noah, I would take my chances with the rising waters rather than join him on the ark.”
Church’s emotions returned to my psyche. He finished his conversation and dropped the magic which kept us apart. He must have made arrangements because he was very calm and settled. He got back in the car while Brosus went to get our bags from the house. Ancil was making calls and pacing back and forth along the side of the car. Church put his arm around me and pulled me against his body. “It’ll be alright, Love. I’ll make it alright.”
“I trust you.”
“I know you do.” He explained to Joe and Primis. “We have a secure suite at The Grande Hotel in Epistylium. We’re going there. I don’t know if Bem’s stress test on Josephine’s security detail is finished yet and even if it is, I don’t want to barge in on them unannounced. It’s a twenty-five-minute drive to the airport and an hour flight. We can land right at the hotel.
“Our suite has several bedrooms and a common living space. You’re welcome to join us until you figure out what you want to do next. If you don’t want to go with us to the capital, you can have the car take you anywhere you like after it drops us at the airport. If you want to go somewhere farther than the car can take you, you can use the plane after it leaves us at the hotel. I’m sorry our presence cost you your happy place here.”
Joe waved Church’s apology away. “I was just telling Shawn that Verpa’s actions are his responsibility. You don’t owe us anything for the choices he made. If you’ll have us, we’ll go with you. I’m enjoying our time together and I don’t want it to end so soon.”
Church nodded. “I hoped you’d say that. Ancil is making the arrangements. We’ll be on our way soon. I don’t want to be rude, but my husband is upset and I need to comfort him. I’m going to close us in together for a while.”
Joe waved the words away again. “Do what you need to do.”
Primis spoke before Church’s magic activated. “Shawn, you didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t blame you for anything. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better older brother when we were kids.”
I thanked him. The ambient noise around us disappeared behind a wall of Church’s power. He manhandled me into his lap and held me against his body. I straddled his legs with my knees on the seat and rested my head against his chest. He hugged me so tightly, it felt like he was trying to pull me inside his body. His magic filled me and joined my overwrought mind to his glacially calm one. I rested my head on his chest and wept.
* * * *
I calmed down by the time we were on the plane to the capital. Joe and Primis were in the main cabin of our big jet while Church, Ancil, and me retired to one of the cabins at the rear. It was furnished like a living room except it had a curved ceiling. The windows were darkened and there was a flat wall that served as a screen for entertainment. I left it dark because I was in no mood for scripted drama. My life held too much unscripted drama for me to want to see other people deal with theirs.
Church went to the other cabin to make some telephone calls, the main one was to Bem. He wanted to inform our friend that we left the area and would be at the capital until we could go to Josephine’s. Ancil stayed nearby to keep me company and to take care of whatever I might need in my husband’s absence. He’d been the picture of stoic dignity since we were unceremoniously ejected from my father’s home.
I patted the seat next to me and asked that he remove his butler’s mask and be my friend. He sat to offer the support of his proximity. I asked for his story again. He didn’t think the moment was appropriate for his tale. I begged. “Please, my friend. I’m tired of the story I’m living through. Tell me yours so I can escape it for a little while.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Where did you come from? How did you come to be in our service? What happened to you that made you the way that you were when we met?”
“Why do you ask that specifically?”
I explained. “My husband was a broken man when I met him. He was very overweight, he drank, and he smoked cigarettes, a lot of them. A cigarette is a small paper tube that contains dried tobacco, which is the leaf of a plant found on Earth. To smoke, one ignites the end of the tube and inhales the smoke that’s given off as the tobacco smolders. The smoke provides a chemical known as nicotine. It’s similar to caffeine and is very addictive. Smoking is very harmful to the smoker, but it feels good so many people on Earth do it, or at least they did at the time. With any luck it’s illegal or abolished by now.”
I shook my head at my dissertation on smoking and tried to come to the point. “He was sad and he masked his sadness with consumption. Church once said there are no happy alcoholics and no happy fat people. Something is broken inside them and that thing drives them to their habits. You said you liked to show off, you liked to master women. You talked about those things like Church talks about his former addictions. I wondered if you might have something locked inside that hurt you.”
I realized what I was asking and tried to withdraw the question. “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business.”
“No, it’s alright. I think I see what you’re saying. Unhappy people seek pleasure wherever they can find it. Some eat, or drink, and people on Earth smoke. I took pleasure in sex and in the mastery of others. No matter how much I got, it was never enough. That’s why I always needed money, because I spent lavishly to make my partners desire me. I spoiled the women I pursued because I wanted them beholden to me.
“I was attracted to men, but men don’t have the same motivations as women. Men seek mutual engagement. Some will submit, but they are rarer. I never bottomed for a man before I was impotent. I refused to give anything away. What I had was mine and I kept it. I always paid the tabs so others would give themselves to me. When a man takes a woman to bed, she will always submit to him because the physical realities demand it. I never wanted the question of roles to come up, so I never sought pleasure with men.”
I understood his premise, but not the reason for it. “Why did you need to be the master?”
He thought for a long time before he could answer. I guessed that no one had ever asked the question before. He’d certainly thought about it, but he likely never had to articulate it. It took him a few moments to find a place to start.
“I grew up poor. My father moved us here, to Oppidum I mean, when I was an infant. My mother didn’t come with us from wherever they were before. She left him because he wasn’t a good provider. I don’t remember her at all. My father loved me and was a great dad. I want you to understand that. He loved me, but I wasn’t his first priority. Money was his first love. He wanted to be rich, so he brought us to Oppidum because of the mine. He didn’t want to work in the mine or in any of the support jobs around the town. He just wanted to be rich. My dad was a dreamer. He always talked about how rich we’d be one day, as soon as he managed to make his fortune.
“He tried all kinds of stuff; real estate speculation, pyramid schemes, all the regular stuff. He got caught up with the police after getting involved with a shady real estate broker and almost went to jail. Some people lost their savings and he felt bad. He wanted money, but he didn’t want to hurt anyone to get it. He shifted his focus onto minerals and prospecting. He heard about the plains near Oppidum, how big they were and how nothing grows there and how the land was worthless. It fascinated him.”
I didn’t understand why a great, big, empty place would interest anyone.
He explained. “My dad didn’t believe that any place as big as the plains could be worthless. He thought if he could find water, or maybe a hot spring, or precious gems or something, he could buy the land up cheap and make a fortune exploiting it. He worked as little as he could at a regular job and the rest of the time he prospected. The government allowed it because they hoped someone would find something useful even though tons of people tried and no one ever did.
“He would go miles from town and dig holes. When he could afford to, he’d rent a drilling rig and bore. He’d come home late at night, dusty and exhausted and tell me about all the money he’d make once he found the right spot to drill. He never lost hope, but he never found anything, either.”
Ancil leaned forward to put his elbows on his knees. The tension in the room increased as his story was about to shift. “One night, he didn’t come home at all. I was twelve. I got one of his friends to drive out to where he was supposed to be drilling. We found him. The rig he rented was junk. That’s why it was cheap enough for him to rent. The drill-bit hit bedrock and jammed. The stress broke the frame of the rig and the whole thing collapsed. His friend said that he didn’t suffer, he was ‘killed instantly’ when the rig fell on him. I don’t know if that’s true, or if it was just something he said so I wouldn’t have to imagine my dad out there all alone, dying in pain. I hope it was quick.”
He leaned back and dusted his hands off as if the grit of that day remained upon them. “I finished growing up. People were very kind. They took care of me. A few thought they should find my mother, but she hadn’t wanted me badly enough to keep me when she left my father, and I didn’t want to force myself on her now that I was alone.
“I was a lot like my dad. I wanted to be rich, but I didn’t want to work even as hard as he did. When you built your estate and advertised for domestic help, I came running. You had money and I wanted it. I figured I’d find a way to get my hands on some if I stayed close. In the meantime, I pretended I was already rich with anyone who would spend the night with me. That’s why, when the woman who worked for Domus the gangster offered money for what seemed like harmless information about your household, I gave it to her. You know what happened after that.”
His story made sense, but something was missing. “What does any of that have to do with your penis?”
“What?”
I elaborated on my question. “You made yourself impotent because you said everything you did was in service of your troublemaker. You just told your story and none of it had anything to do with your penis. I don’t understand how your impotence made you a better person.”
He tugged at the lapels of his jacket, a sure sign that my question struck a nerve. “I lied to myself. I didn’t want to believe that I was at fault for the things I did, so I blamed my cock. I made myself impotent and cleaned up my life and my habits. I learned to be satisfied with a regular job and regular pay and a regular life. I lived very well in your household; better than I would have if I worked anywhere else. I was surrounded by wealth even if it didn’t belong to me. Things were good.
“I couldn’t have sex with women anymore, so I tried with men. I discovered I liked giving them pleasure. I liked them because they appreciated what I did and they didn’t want anything from me. My encounters allowed me to continue to blame my cock for all the trouble that came before.
“Things were great until that night when I protected your kids from the group who wanted to kidnap them from the estate. I gained your trust and my first thought was how to use it to gain some of your wealth. When I reflected on how automatic my greed was, I realized the trouble wasn’t between my legs, it was inside me. I thought about that constantly. I read books on psychology. I worked on myself because I was ashamed of how quickly I reverted to the old version of me as soon as I had your trust.
“I figured out a lot of stuff from the books and from watching you and Church raise your kids. I learned how parents are supposed to act and how kids are supposed to be taught. I saw the flaws in myself and worked to fix them. I stayed impotent because it had become part of my journey from greedy user to devoted contributor. I learned to function very well. I didn’t see any reason to undo my impotence and add another layer of confusion to the work I was doing on myself. Does that make sense?”
I agreed that it did. “You’re a better man than I thought you were, Ancil.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You fought against everything you ever knew to make yourself into what you are, and you did it with no help.”
He corrected me. “I had help. I had Cellarius who believed in me, and you who gave me a chance, and the Boss who I admired. I know what he overcame to be who he is. I know you helped, but I know how hard he worked. I know how hard he still works. A long time ago, he showed me that picture on his phone, the one from Earth when he was still his old self. He’s giving the finger to Master Joseph. I could hardly believe that fat, angry, miserable man was him. I thought if he could do it, then so could I.”
“And you did.”
He grinned with genuine pleasure. “And I did.”
I hugged him. “Good for you, my friend.”
Church picked that moment to return to the cabin from making his calls. “Everything alright?”
I released Ancil and said that it was. Ancil sprang to his feet. “Sorry, Boss. Uh, we weren’t…anything. Can I get you anything? Coffee maybe?”
Church sat beside me. “Coffee would be great. Thank you, Ancil. And, you can hug if you want. You don’t have to worry about…whatever you might’ve been worried about.”
He nodded. “Thanks, Boss. I’ll get the coffee.”
Church didn’t ask about what happened between us. He wrapped his arm around me and pulled me in close. “How you feeling?”
“Not too bad.”
“I’m glad.”
We settled in for the rest of the flight.
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