An Eastern European guy I know (but perhaps shouldn’t) told me he'd texted his beautiful 13-year-old daughter in the middle of the previous night saying 'good-bye' and informing her that he
was about to kill himself. For some reason he didn't live up to his promise and was now bothering me.
A couple of days earlier, I learnt, he'd messed up his situation - his life has been messed up for ages - in a most idiotic way: he beat up a close pal of his, both of them stoned into complete idiocy, got kicked out of where he was staying and ended up sleeping rough (again) until I decided to put him up. It wasn't an obvious decision: I'd written the man off a good while ago and most of the time I was deeply convinced that he was as good as condemned, a conviction I accpted with some sadness, but also with unsettling calm. Now I was going to play a Christian again.
(Funny how a small practical gestrue can trigger off a fundamental existential rethinking: as soon as I'd made my offer, I opened the door not only to him but also to a hope that he may, somehow, avoid Hell; I can't rule out that it was more about me than him: I didn't want to be thinking I was wasting a good deed on a hopeless case).
When he turned up, one day later than agreed (owing to a tenner I'd lent him, which he spent on some cheap cider, which in turn made it of no significance to him whether it was a patch of grass or a mattress that he was sleeping on) I set him a condition: he had to text his daughter that he was O.K. and sorry and that he loved her, which - who knows - might even be true. He agreed and.... I got to send the message: there was no credit left on his mobile and his fingers were too big and clumsy to tackle my BlackBerry’s tiny keys.
A couple of days earlier, I learnt, he'd messed up his situation - his life has been messed up for ages - in a most idiotic way: he beat up a close pal of his, both of them stoned into complete idiocy, got kicked out of where he was staying and ended up sleeping rough (again) until I decided to put him up. It wasn't an obvious decision: I'd written the man off a good while ago and most of the time I was deeply convinced that he was as good as condemned, a conviction I accpted with some sadness, but also with unsettling calm. Now I was going to play a Christian again.
(Funny how a small practical gestrue can trigger off a fundamental existential rethinking: as soon as I'd made my offer, I opened the door not only to him but also to a hope that he may, somehow, avoid Hell; I can't rule out that it was more about me than him: I didn't want to be thinking I was wasting a good deed on a hopeless case).
When he turned up, one day later than agreed (owing to a tenner I'd lent him, which he spent on some cheap cider, which in turn made it of no significance to him whether it was a patch of grass or a mattress that he was sleeping on) I set him a condition: he had to text his daughter that he was O.K. and sorry and that he loved her, which - who knows - might even be true. He agreed and.... I got to send the message: there was no credit left on his mobile and his fingers were too big and clumsy to tackle my BlackBerry’s tiny keys.
Immediately after I'd typed in her name, 'sorry', 'love', 'Daddy' and a few other words in a language that was foreign to me , I realised what a pathetically inadequate do-gooder I was: what if this idiot* (who’s sitting now on my sofa even as I
write this) goes and hangs himself after all? He had tried that before, but a
technical glitch spoiled his plans. What if the girl has somehow accepted and understood her
dad’s – and her own – fate, and now I’m just messing her up? What if I have to
text her tomorrow: “Your dad's body is dangling from a local bridge, and he's on his way to
hell, if you ask me”and sign it: “A bloody naïve fool that put it in his head that you can mend
things on the cheap, whereas in real life someone has to die”?
*yes, yes: a brother too; but unfortunately I
can’t see how one rules out the other. Additionaly, I feel encouraged to use describe him in harsh terms becasuse - after some adjustements regarding social class, style and type of drink - his story is quite similar to mine. Well, except the suicidal bit. (He's just shown me a piece of black string that he carries in his pocket and instructed me how to do it on a door handle... blimey! I hope he won't do it here).
