Chapter 4: The Messenger

The mysterious stranger had such beautiful eyes. He stared at me, and it became awkward. The fact that this was a supernatural occurrence did not make it any less so.

”Hi, how are ya?” I said.

”Hi, I’m fine, And you?"

"I’m fine too. Sorry, I guess I should have said ‘who are you?‘"

"Oh, that’s easy. I am the messenger."

"Nice to meet you, messenger. Do you have a name?” I asked.

”No, I don’t believe I do. I just came into existence and I was not given one yet. Frankly, if I may be frank, I don’t think I need one."

"You can be Frank, if you want,” I said, as a joke.

”No, I don’t need a name,” he understood I meant the name Frank, but he did not find my joke funny.

”Why not? Will you stop existing soon?"

"Not sure. However, I do not serve any purpose."

"You don’t?"

"I don’t,” he said.

”But aren’t you the messenger?"

"I am a messenger,” he nodded, “And I have already delivered my one message."

"Who to?” I said.

”To whom,” he corrected.

”Oh,” I paused, “How come you know how to speak?"

"I knew how to speak from the beginning."

"Which was when?” I asked.

”Which was just now. I just came into existence. Haven’t I said that already."

"I’m not sure,” I said.

”But I have."

"And you just delivered your message."

"Yes."

"To whom?” I asked correctly.

”To you."

"Oh. Was that it? The vision I just had, was that your message?"

"I cannot really say,” he replied, “The message was never revealed to me. I just carried it. In fact, I am not allowed to know."

"What if I told you,” I asked.

”You wouldn’t do that."

"You wanna bet?"

"No. As a matter of fact, I don’t really know you, so I am sure you know better than I do what you would do and what you would not."

"Wow, that’s a pretty complex sentence for somebody who only just learned to speak."

"I did not learn to speak. I was born with the skill."

"Oh,” I said. “And why did they give you the skill to speak English instead of my native language? If your sole purpose was to pass the message on to me."

"I am not sure, but the message was not in English. The message was something else."

"Right,” I said. So who created you?"

"I don’t know,” he said simply.

”What do you know?"

"Not much. I know what I am, I know my message was within me and now it’s gone. I don’t really know what will happen to me next. I don’t know what to do."

"Well, it’s kind of like being born for real, only you don’t really know when you’ve delivered your message."

"I was born for real,” he said.

”I’m sorry, I did not mean to offend you. I meant being born a child and growing up. You don’t know what to do next. School gives you a sense of fulfillment by giving you grades. Hey, you passed this test, congratulations. Another milestone accomplished. Same thing happens when you work for a living, or play video games."

"I’m sorry,” he said, “But most of that went over my head. I do not have these concepts of school and work, and video games. I know the words, but they are empty to me. They lead to other words, but I lack the experience to use them correctly. School, chalkboard, principal’s office, bully, hooligan, friends, classmates, love, betrayal, growing up, books, wonder, knowledge, grades. I know these words, but the notion of fulfillment that comes from them is alien to me."

"Oh my,” I said, “That’s a lot of words, Frank."

"You are bent on calling me Frank, aren’t you? Continuing the joke."

"Yes,” I said, “I am."

"So be it. If I need a name, then Frank will work just fine. Even if it’s only for however long I’m going to exist."

"Actually,” I said, “This conversation is quite enjoyable to me."

"I’m glad to hear it."

"Some of these supernatural phenomena are not that polite or eloquent. One time, I was cornered by a giant… frog monster. It was hideous, and I guess all I learned from it was not to follow strange noises in the middle of the night."

"That sounds quite traumatic,” said Frank, “Was it childhood trauma?"

"Not really, I was seventeen."

"Well, that’s still in your teens."

"I was still pretty childish at the time, if I am to be honest. I felt mature, but now I know I was just deluding myself."

"’Self delusion keeps us from growing mad as we strive for greatness,’ I believe were the words of Seneca,” he said.

”That is quite impressive. You quoting Seneca."

"I have a feeling this quote was planted in my head as a joke,” he said. “I believe Seneca might have never said it.”

I googled it on my phone. He was right, as far as I could tell. “You’re right, as far as I can tell."

"Though it is possible,” he said, “That Seneca said it, but it was never written down,” he said.

”Stranger things have happened,” I said.

”Stranger things have happened,” he repeated knowingly. “I have a feeling my origin is in a place where all Seneca quotes are known. Although, the author of my memory might have been a garden-variety…"

"Troll?” I asked.

”Yes, this word fits, though I cannot imagine it refers to the mythical monster known as troll."

"Probably not,” I said, “But do trolls actually exist?"

"I don’t think so, do you?"

"I don’t think so either,” I said.

I got up from the couch. “Let me put some music on."

"Indeed,” he said, but I guess he was just being polite and reacting to an unknown with composure and good nature. When the first notes of a cool jazz recording filled the air, he opened his mouth wide. He was visibly shocked. “This is truly remarkable. Wow. I am at a loss for words. Words cannot describe. I was not built for this.” His eyes began to water.

”Why don’t you sit down,” I said, and from the kitchen, “Would you like a beer?"

"Yes, please,” he said, sitting on the couch.

I came back with two bottles, handed one to him. He was smiling and there were tears dripping down his cheeks. The touch of the bottle surprised him too, he almost dropped it. Then he sat there smiling, holding the bottle in one hand and petting the couch with the other.

I took a sit from the bottle, he followed my example. He was really surprised, and held the liquid in his mouth for a long while.

”Swallow it,” I said.

He did. “Wow. Beer is great,” he said and began to laugh very loudly. “Laughter is great too,” he shouted, “And so is shouting,” he shouted even more.

I sat in a comfy chair in front of him. “I’m glad you are enjoying yourself."

"Yes, I am,” he said. “This is quite a party, and you are quite the host. Oh, and thank you for the towel, it is very pretty."

"Normally, it is not considered garment,” I said.

”I know,” he nodded, “Nevertheless, it is the first towel I have ever seen and I must say I like it. It is all a towel should be. It’s nice and soft and it smells nice. And it’s dry."

"So you know the concept of a towel and all the words connected with it. The concepts connected with it?"

"That is correct."

"How do you know them?” I asked.

”I assume you do not mean ‘how did you come buy them,’ because I have already answered this question. You probably mean ‘what is the quality of you knowing them,’ is that right?”

I nodded, though I was not able to follow all of what he said.

”Well, I guess it’s like in that cave analogy. A person is born facing the wall and shackled in place. The person can only see shadows of things on the wall and the person assumes those things are real. But they are in fact badly made copies of real things. For Plato, ideas are real. Like the idea of towel is more noble than the manifestation of towel. A towel is something mundane and partial. Like, a particular towel could be rough, but then again there exists an idea of a rough towel. Only it is a separate idea. A specific thing. So I guess what I am saying is, ideas do not exist without the subjective self. For some the rough towel is the default, for other a soft towel is the default. For me, manifestations of things are much nobler than ideas. Ideas lack the sensation and the fulfillment of these sensations.”

I nodded slowly. “So you quote Plato, too. I’m not gonna google that one. I am not sure how I would do that."

"But,” he continued, “I am beginning to understand what you said about fulfillment in school, work, and video games. Ideas of success, mission, reward, dedication, sacrifice, they are nothing without the experience of these things. Just like I was nothing without hearing the music, feeling the cold bottle in my hand, and tasting the beer. Thank you for showing it to me, friend."

"Hey, you’re welcome, Frank."

"And thank you giving me a name. I now know how it feels to have a name."

"You’re welcome."

"At the same time, I am beginning to feel finding meaning is going to be easy for me. Finding purpose."

"Well, we all gotta do what we gotta do, but help me out,” I said, “About that message from you. What am I supposed to do about it."

"I honestly don’t know,” he said. “But maybe I can help.” He raised his hand in a defensive gesture, “Without telling me what the message is, could you tell me what the implications might be?"

"It’s be hard. I saw three things. No, four. They were hardly connected. There were people there. Different people. But not all of them were people. Nothing is clear about the message, really. There is no words that come freely to mind.”

He snapped his fingers and pointed at me, “It’s like music, isn’t it? Words cannot describe."

"Well, words can describe the events I witnessed. But perhaps you are right. Perhaps they cannot describe the message. It’s like it comes from somebody who does not speak human language and can only approximate what they have to say to somebody like me."

"That is very probable,” said Frank, “Since most of the universe is so different from us humans."

"Could it be a message from God?” I asked.

”Well,” he said, “I am not sure God really exists. As no concept in my head allows me to formulate a definite answer. Can you tell me if he exists?"

"Sorry, Frank, I cannot. I would if I knew. Some say it’s a matter of faith."

"Yes,” he said between sips of beer, “What a curious notion,” and he stared into distance for a little bit.

”But you being a messenger,” I said, “Presupposes a message sender, doesn’t it?"

"Possibly so,” he said, “Most likely. I am unlikely to have come about by accident, though that cannot be ruled out. I can also be the result of some laws of nature that I do not know. Do you know any laws of nature that would lead to my creation and the creation of the message?"

"I do not,” I admitted. We listened to the music for a minute or two. Then I said, “He Frank, if you are here tomorrow, and in the days to come, could you do me a favor?"

"Yes, what is it?"

"Please, do not tell people you are the messenger and that you came about suddenly, knowing Plato and Seneca, and all the prisoner dilemma bullshit, okay? None of that supernatural stuff."

"Okay, I promise I won’t. I hope I can tell which elements of my biography are undesirable. But why?"

"Well, Frank, all these supernatural things, they are kind of my secret. I mean, the world does not approve of people like me and the stories I would have to tell. They would think I was insane and lock me up. Only in this case, they could lock you up. And they would realize you have no ID, and cannot be identified in any way, and you could be locked up for a while. And I don’t know what else might happen, but it could be bad."

"I hear you. So what should I tell everybody?"

"Well, you can make something up. Just nothing weird, okay? Just plain vanilla stuff. No secret agents or anything. And nothing they could verify. Best to be as general as possible."

"Oh, how exciting,” he said. “My first creative task. How very interesting."

"Yeah,” I nodded. I was getting a little sleepy. “Another beer?”

He agreed and I went to the fridge. There were only two beers left and I realized I probably could not afford to buy any more. Not for now, at least. “Hey Frank,” I shouted from the kitchen area, “Do yo happen to have any money?"

"No, I have nothing, as you know. No money, no clothes, no car, no house. No earthly possessions."

"Yeah, I figured,” said, coming back with the beers, “But I thought it couldn’t hurt to ask. Well, neither do I. I mean, I still have more than a lot of people, just not enough money to buy any more beers. These are the last two.”

He accepted the bottle and thought about it for a second. Then raised it with a smile, “Then let’s enjoy them.”

And we drank and talked some more. Meanwhile, the universe continued to revolve, and the people I saw in my visions continued to face their dramas and their own little problems. That is, if they were actually real and not just stories somebody told me. Or stories I told myself.

I don’t even remember going back to bed. Not because of the alcohol, as two beers mean nothing to me, but I guess I was tired from all the intense visions, and then the intense conversation with Frank. I remember dreaming about him covering me with a blanker and offering some more insights into the nature of things. I also remember dreaming about Sarah and the crazy adventures she had on some long and dangerous quest. I woke up several times not knowing where I was or whether it was day or night. I completely forgot that I was supposed to do something very important the next morning. Although, I think my dreams were trying to remind me.

Posted by: Paweł Kowaluk