The Fatalist

Fate. John Holland had wondered about that word, maybe for too long.

He did not think himself a fatalist. He believed he could mould his future according to the choices he made everyday. No matter how big or small the choices were, he felt he had control over his life insofar he could make choices. He believed firmly that life was nothing more than a series of choices and the skill lay in the faculty to discern between making a good choice and making a bad choice. And, now, he had a choice to make.

In a book of Buddhist Philosophy he had recently read about how making choices was part of life-learning and how making the right choice can lead you to spiritual enlightenment and ultimate happiness. He recalled it was an easy book to read, but as always putting words into practice was the difficult step. How do you make the right choice when there may be so many variables? So many consequences? Then there is the responsibility of the choice and the awareness of the responsibility, and its possible ricochet effect on other people.

He was sitting in the kitchen of his tiny flat in north London, thinking about the choice he had to make. The clock on the wall over the cooker was an audible reminder of the inexorability of Time. And he knew, there was very little time left to decide.

He stood and walked over to the window. A soft sun shone in the late afternoon and the city sky was dull yellow. He saw the continuous stream of pedestrians walking up and down the street below like so many souls, jumbled together in the turmoil of life. It was the rush hour when London never ceased to rest. He heard the rumbling traffic and he wondered if she would ever come back to him.

Making a choice can be so difficult if you give into the conflict. The Buddhist had said, "listen to your heart". Your heart supersedes rational thought because it is a holistic part of the Universal Intelligence. Be aware of your feelings. Does the choice make you feel comfortable or does it make you feel uncomfortable? Does the choice make people around  you happy or does it incur misery and sadness? And what about you? Are you acting selfishly or are you acting unselfishly in the choice you are making?

Like saying, "am I a saint or am I a bastard?" he mused to himself. He was sitting back at the table and had lit a cigarette. He had tried to quit smoking, but at this moment in his life, cigarettes had become part of the entire choice making process.

In his flat-soled slippers, he shuffled into the bathroom, lifted the toilet seat and urinated. He stood in front of the sink mirror and his pale face stared back blankly.

The doorbell rang abruptly disturbing his thoughts. He knew it was Michelle. The bell rang again, more insistently. He continued looking at his reflection in the mirror. The bell stopped ringing and a silence settled in. The clock ticked loudly and forlornly. Suddenly she was banging on the door with her fists, frantically and pleadingly.

"I know you're in there! Open the door!" and her sobbing voice pervaded the small flat, and seemed to climb the walls and hang up side down on the ceiling like a gheko. And John Holland knew her presence was part of his life.

Like the fetus she bore in her womb.

He left the bathroom and halted in the corridor. Now all was silent again.

They stood on either side of the front door. So silent now, they could almost hear  each other's heavy breathing. Through the spy hole John Holland saw her dyed red hair that made the pallor of her face seem so ghostly. He saw the smudged make up from her crying and he saw the plaintiveness in her waiting.

Waiting for him to open the door. He opened the door.