Thinklets

Regret

My feet are going numb again. I double my blanket, so it is now barely large enough to cover my curled-up body. My coughing must have awakened Peter, lying on the upper bunk, because he begins to taunt me, singing in a high, quavering voice, "Oh, say can you see, by the dawn’s early light, what so proudly we hailed..."

I used to rail against him, but now I only weep. The minutes tick by, and between coughing, cramps, and shivers, come tear-dampened memories of my mother.

I vividly remember her scarred but powerful hands the day that she extended the yellowed, wrinkled paper as if it was a precious jewel. "This is your heritage, your freedom, brought to you at great cost," she told me.

"Freedom?" I asked.

"To speak your mind, to make your own mistakes, to worship from your heart, and to bring your talents, hard work, and ingenuity to the marketplace." Tears stained the weather-beaten face, but her gaze was clear and steady. "Your forebears counted no cost to preserve this gift. You must pass on their example and honor their sacrifice."

"I know more than those old folks," I told her and walked away.

I turn over. The blanket is scratchy around my neck but doesn’t make me warm. I had never known cold in those days when Mother stood, arms crossed and resolute, defending the weak against freedom-robbers who had murdered and enslaved millions.

"You are bad, and I am good," I hollered at her from my comfortable spot, feeling very noble. "You love war, and I love peace."

"There is a shadow slowly covering the earth," she replied. "We must drive it back. You’re a man now. Help me stop the freedom-robbers."

I didn’t move. "I’d rather be a slave than dead," I said.

From then on, Mother fought on two fronts. She battled my enemies even as she warded off my blows.

I called her a warmonger when she drove back those who would steal my heritage. I called her a thief when she generously gave to the poor, sick, hungry, and enslaved. I called her a despotic imperialist when she released imprisoned peoples and helped them set up free democratic governments. I proclaimed her to be cruel, ignorant, and oppressive, even as children all over the world clamored to be adopted into our family.

I did everything I could to undermine her efforts to protect me.

I even visited the freedom-robbers and told them I was ashamed that Mother stopped them from gobbling up their neighbors. I laughed and posed for photos when they showed me the big guns designed to kill and imprison my brothers and sisters.

I gave the freedom-robbers new hope and the resolve to fight harder.

When my mother asked me why, I showed her the paper. "It is my heritage to speak as I choose, and I choose to tell the entire world how much I hate you."

No one had used the paper for that purpose before, and the world gasped as my once-invincible mother faltered, swayed, then dropped to her knees. I jeered and spit on her as she abandoned her post and slowly crawled home. Then the invaders poured into the vacuum, leaving a trail of blood in their wake.

She recovered eventually, though, with new large, ugly scars, and she became as sinewy, strong, and resolute as ever.

Then, one terrible day freedom-robbers sneaked past Mother and attacked her children, killing thousands in our own home.

Mother stormed into their lands, threw the freedom-robbers out, and set up new democratic governments. She captured and killed many freedom-robbers, and the rest of them cowered and hid, burying themselves in holes in the ground, only popping up occasionally to make defiant statements before running away.

When mother caught some ringleaders, she held them upside-down and dumped water on their heads until they told her their plans to blow up airplanes, skyscrapers, and bridges in our homeland.

She locked up the others on an island, with food, shelter, and exercise, so they couldn’t kill any more of her children as she scoured the earth for their fellow conspirators.

I was so horrified by her treatment of the poor freedom robbers, that I proclaimed to the entire world that Mother was a savage torturer.

Then I demanded that she give the murderers of our family the privileges that my forebears sacrificed so much to bring to me -- the freedoms listed on the piece of paper.

Then I announced that the freedom-robbers’ slaughter of our family was just vengeance for Mother’s evil deeds throughout the world.

"We are losing, and the freedom-robbers are winning," I said over and over. "We are losing, losing, losing."

Once again, I gave the freedom-robbers new hope and the resolve to fight harder.

I blow my nose loudly on my shirt sleeve, causing Peter to rouse and resume singing in reedy, heavily-accented English, "Oh say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave, o’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?"

Peter’s father had been thrown in prison for teaching him that song, and now he uses it as a tool to show his hatred for me.

They all hate me. Because Mother had been their last hope.

And now that hope is gone, because I killed her.

Bedtime Story

Once upon a time there was a little boy named Samuel. Samuel’s family had settled on rough, rocky uncultivated land. Now that land was plowed, planted, irrigated, and fertilized, and Samuel’s family was famous for their large, juicy, sweet oranges.

Samuel once had a friend named Hassan. Hassan’s family herded sheep and cattle near Samuel’s home. After school when they had finished their chores, Samuel and Hassan would play ball together.

Samuel’s and Hassan’s families didn’t own their farms. Nobody in their entire region owned their own land. They were all tenants of a very old man who owned a large part of the world.

One day the old man died, and the other landowners formed a council to discuss what would become of his land. Samuel and Hassan’s families attended the meetings as well as all the other tenants.

Finally they reached a decision. The old man’s legacy would be divided among the tenants. Samuel’s family would inherit their farm, Hassan’s family would inherit their farm, and all the other families would inherit their farms.

The other tenants were happy with their portions, but they decided that Samuel’s family should not receive theirs.

That was because of the ancient books. Samuel’s family had a different book than all the other tenants. That made them infidels.

The book of the other tenants promised that Samuel’s family would never own their farm. Samuel’s family’s book promised that one day they would own their farm.

Everyone knew that only one book could be true.

Immediately after the council of landowners gave each family the deed to their property, the other tenants met with Hassan’s family.

"Move out of your farm for a little while," they told them. "We’re going to drive Samuel’s family into the Mediterranean. They might fight back, though, and we don’t want you to get caught in the crossfire. We must prove that our book is the true one."

So Hassan’s family left their farm and took refuge in a little camp near the other tenant’s farms, and the tenants joined together to drive Samuel’s family into the Mediterranean Sea.

Instead, Samuel’s family drove them back to their own farms.

When it was all over, Hassan’s family called to Samuel’s family from their little camp. "Give us back our farm!"

"No!" They replied. "We can no longer trust you. You might try to drive us into the Mediterranean again."

So Hassan’s family turned to the other tenants. "Let us come and live with you," they asked.

"You’re fine where you are," they replied. "We’ll soon drive the infidels out, and you will have their farm as well as yours."

Years and decades passed. They tried and tried but nobody could defeat Samuel’s family.

With each defeat, Hassan’s family became more embittered, angry, and filled with hatred. They taught their children that Samuel and his family were apes and pigs who would murder them and grind their bodies into their bread.

As their rage and hatred festered they became devious, prone to cowardly sneak attacks against the most defenseless and weak members of Samuel’s family, blowing their bodies to pieces.

Samuel’s family became adept at defending themselves from the attackers. They put up fences to keep Hassan’s family from blowing up their children. They trained the most vigilant watchmen in the world, who manned check points, inspected and interrogated Hassan’s family, but they couldn’t stop every murderer from getting in.

Yet Hassan’s family complained bitterly to the world that Samuel’s family had stolen their farm and that they were oppressing Hassan’s family with the fences and checkpoints.

The world said they must negotiate. So Samuel’s family told Hassan’s family that they would give them back their farm if they would admit they had a right to exist and promised to stop blowing up their children.

Hassan’s family said Samuel’s family did not have a right to exist. They had to prove that their book was the true.

Some of the other landowners were friends with Samuel and his family. They grieved when his little sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles and grandmothers were blown to pieces. They knew that Samuel’s family had a right to a share of the old man’s legacy.

As their bitterness and hatred grew, some of the other tenants began to plan cowardly sneak attacks against the friends of Samuel’s family, blowing up defenseless citizens of those lands.

As they became more and more obsessed with proving their book was true, they required that their own citizens dress and behave as if they were living in the time when the ancient book was first written.

They stoned and beheaded men who didn’t grow the correct style of beard or women who didn’t swath their entire head and body in flowing black garments.

They now look beyond Samuel’s farm and vow they will not stop murdering until every infidel on earth either proclaims their book to be true or is killed.

They know that in order to achieve that, they will need a bigger bomb.