I heard a woman there say: Human beings could not have done this. That’s silly. I mean, I think I know what she was getting at, but it’s still silly. I mean, who else is there? Is there an evil out there beyond the human kind? Calling them monsters won’t help either. They called Hitler a monster too, but remember: One monster does not a massacre make. I’m sure they had ample volunteers lining up outside beer halls in Munich, each with the name of their own personal jew stitched into the lining of their lederhosen, on the slight chance of a sudden influx of amnesia, or any disturbing signs of decency that may have suddenly arisen. No, listen to me. Humans did this. We always do this. It’s one of the ways in which we make our mark. One of the many ridiculous ways of trying to achieve an immortality project. And now we’ve reached the stage where it’s all stations go. We find ourselves destroying a train full of morning commuters and schoolchildren. It has become part of the parcel. I just happened to be there, that’s all. I was about to pass over the bridge, I mean, I was coming up to it, approaching it, I was close, but not too close, otherwise I wouldn’t be here now. Then it was as if the earth tore itself open from the inside. What use is democracy, one woman wailed, what is the point? I had no response to such an outcry. I admit, I almost laughed. I had to turn away. Then everything seemed to stop. I went about my day. Afterwards, they said I was a great help. I did what had to be done, that’s all. And I don’t want to talk about it anymore. There’s nothing I can say. All I know is that one moment I’m watching the police standing guard by the wreckage, the rescue crews toiling away under the sun, and then it’s night and they’re hauling away huge blocks of rubble with the aid of chains and cranes and consistent cooperation.
Posts
Comments
