cool. He was in a band. Nothing ordinary. The music he made wasn’t commercial. Commercial was crap.
While the noodles boiled, Ryan drifted into the living room and came back holding a book. “What’s this about?”
“What is it?”
“It’s called
“It’s a compilation of essays on that Greek saying.”
“What Greek saying?”
“A fragment of a verse from an ancient Greek poet:
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, I suppose you could say it’s a way to categorize human beings. They’re either foxes or hedgehogs. They either know one central important thing that guides their lives, or they know lots of smaller things.” I paused. “Which do you think you are?”
No hesitation. “A fox.”
“Why?”
“’Cause foxes are cool. Did you know that back in, like, the twelfth century, people were terrified of foxes because they thought that if you looked deep into a fox’s eyes, it could, like, hypnotize you and then drag you back into the forest?” He stepped over to the stove, stirred the spaghetti sauce, then turned it down. “But actually, I think I’m a more of a hedgehog. I know one big thing.”
“And what’s that?”
His expression sobered. “That you gotta take care of yourself, because nobody else will.”
It was such a bitter, cynical comment for such a young person to make, and yet with what he’d told me about his life, I wasn’t surprised.
“What are you?” Ryan asked. “Fox or hedgehog?”
“I think I’m a fox.”
“So what do you know that’s so important?”
“Well,” I said, feeling like I was being forced to take an exam I hadn’t studied for, “for one thing, I think it makes you feel good when you help people.”
His eyes rose to the ceiling. “Yeah. Okay. What else?”
“That it’s important to love people. We’re not complete unless we do.”
“Shit, man. You sound like a fortune cookie.” He seemed angry. I was about to respond when the phone rang.
Ryan handed me the receiver. “Hello?” I said, easing both of my elbows onto the kitchen table, turning away from him.
“Dad?”
It was my daughter. “What’s up, honey?”
“Do you own a tux?”
“Me? No.”
“Well, if you’re going to walk me down the aisle in two months, you’re going to need one.”
“Oh. Sure.”
“I made an appointment for you tomorrow night at Nelson’s Tuxedo Rentals. I’ll pick you up at 6 and we can head over to Southdale. Maybe have dinner somewhere first. That work for you?”
“Fine, sweetheart. I’ll look forward to it.” I turned in my chair. Glancing up, I fumbled with the phone, nearly dropping it. Ryan was standing in the middle of the kitchen, arms stretched out in front of him, holding the gun in both hands—the barrel pointed at my chest.
“Holy shit!”
“What did you say, Dad?”
I tried to cover, to stop my voice from betraying my shock. “I just mean…the wedding’s getting so close.”
“I gotta run, okay?”
“Sure, honey.” The dark glasses hid the fear in my eyes, but I was afraid Ryan had picked up on it. Maybe I should have told my daughter to send the police. Except, by the time they got to the apartment, I could have been dead. I had to play this carefully.
“See you tomorrow night at 6,” Cary said.
“See yah,” I replied weakly, clicking the phone off. I was vibrating internally, but trying to hold it together. Sensing that my hands were shaking, I crossed my arms over my chest. “That was my daughter.”
He didn’t respond.
“So,” I said, sucking in a deep breath, “where were we?”
“You were giving me your happy lecture.”
“I was?”
“Tell me something real, man. Don’t you have any, like, dark truths? Stuff about the evil side of life?” He held the gun steady.
My stomach vanished. “Does that seem more real to you than positive thoughts?”
“Hell yes.”
I said the first thing that came into my head. “My parents thought evil was Auschwitz. Concentration camps. You know what they are?”
“I’m not stupid.”
“I didn’t say you were.” I tried to regroup mentally and start again. “Truthfully, Ryan, I’ve spent a lot of my life thinking about evil.”
“And?”
“Well, people today talk about it like everyone knows what it is. Like it’s the weather. Everybody knows about the weather, right?” I paused, hoping for a response. When I didn’t get one, I continued, “See, we play with the word. Evil is bad, but bad means good sometimes, right? Evil is rebellious, irreverent, sexy. It’s what’s forbidden. And what’s forbidden is a mystery, and mysteries are cool. It’s the uptight assholes, usually our parents or teachers, who tell us what’s right and wrong, and what the hell do they know?”
He grunted at that one.
“For a long time, Ryan, maybe I thought a little like you. I saw evil as something that was darkly grand in a grotesque Third Reich sort of way. I liked to talk about evil in the rhetoric of Milton, of
“What?”
How did I explain this to him when most of the time I couldn’t explain it to myself? I gave it a second, then said, “See, Vietnam taught my generation a different lesson from the one World War II taught my parents. It showed us not the evil of others—but the evil of us. And that’s when I started thinking that evil wasn’t grand and epic and biblical; it was shallow and messy, grimy and stupid. Why do people hurt each other, Ryan?” I gave him some time to respond. When he just stood there belligerently, I continued, “Because they can. Because they feel like it. Because they want something and they have the power to take it. That’s it. Nothing grand or cool.”
The gun lowered a few notches. He was finally listening. “Go on.”
“I think we should stop talking about evil geniuses and instead talk about evil morons. And here’s the bottom line. Being a victim—being somebody who’s been hurt—is the world class excuse, the Mount Everest of self- justification.
He stared at me. A long moment passed. And then he lowered the gun and stuffed it in his pocket.
“You’re weird.”
