art by Shannon N. Kelly
Angry Child
Standard gravity: the standard acceleration due to free fall is the nominal acceleration of an object in a vacuum near the surface of the Earth. Approximate value of 9.81 ms-2--symbol g, derived from the law of universal gravitation stated in Sir Isaac Newton's Principia, first published in 1687 AD.
An angry child pushed her father out the window of a tall castle. Her father knew the push was coming, but he failed to take hold of the window-ledge.
Why, he asked himself as he fell, had he failed to take hold of the window-ledge? Exhaustion, stubbornness, perversity, guilt?
He was not a terrible father. He did not hit his children, or at least, not often, or at least, he did not push them out of windows.
He was a better father, admittedly, in the morning.
In the morning, fresh from the dewy weightless caverns of sleep, with nice light poured by the bucket through the diaphanous curtains of their apartments, he would meet tantrums with gentle firmness, and invent distracting finger-puppet games.
But in the evening, after a day of small bureaucratic labors, he would snap at the girl and her brother, he would drag them by their arms. He would nurse petty grievances against them.
These small bureaucratic labors related to the logistical details of the activities in which the authorities occupying the castle were involved. Some of these activities--especially since the commencement of hostilities--were unspeakable. He carried the knowledge of these unspeakable activities in his throat, unable to swallow it.
"If you aren't going to eat your soup properly," he would shout, "then you can't have any at all!"
This he would instantly regret. The soup plate would be in his hand already, the words in the air already, but he would be surprised by them. They seemed to have simply occurred, without anyone's explicit intention. A product of circumstances: just as, he knew, at that moment, a transport was departing, authorized by the standing rule pertaining to transport authorizations. The form pertaining to its departure bore his signature. This signature was not an authorization. He himself had no power to authorize. It was required merely that he attest the functioning of the standing rule.
Could he, he would wonder, simply slip the dish back onto the table? Would everyone then be willing to pretend that he had not spoken? That he had simply found the soup plate in his hand by accident?
But the girl, eyes wide with rage, would be already gathering breath to yell. She was extremely strong-willed; intimidating, in fact, despite being a child. He therefore could not return the dish to the table--not with the girl yelling. It would constitute a submission. An abdication. One must be resolute. An absence of authority is the last thing which we can afford. And so he would have to take the soup away and pour it out the window, and she would have to go to bed hungry, and he would have to stand in the corridor outside her room listening to her cry.
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Perhaps there would have been alternatives. A stern offer of one more chance. Or an absurd, lighthearted remark, just in time to transmute his daughter's incipient yell into a quizzical snort of laughter. So that he could return the dish to the table, as if he had planned this gentle, humorous admonition all along.
In the morning he could think of such things. But not in the evening, with this itch in his throat.
Recently, he had catalogued his small bureaucratic labors along a moral axis. This was a personal activity; personal time was allotted to him during the course of the day. According to his calculations, based on their ultimate effects, 72% were benevolent or neutral, involving such matters as grants of land tenure, public works, reasonable redistributions of wealth, support for the arts, zoning, sanitation, and national security operations of a justifiable nature. The remaining 28% were morally pernicious: unwarranted preferment of certain individuals and groups, violations of the international conventions of war, and some activities which were in fact, as we have said, unspeakable.
It is true that the transport had required his signature, but it was not an authorization, only an attestation of the functioning of the standard rule.
He had begun to consider, in fact, whether a change of employment might be possible.
Now, however, he was falling from a window of a tall castle, and this option was foreclosed to him.
He missed his children, and also his wife, who by now would have returned from her own duties in the castle, and be attending to the aftermath of his having fallen out the window, consoling the children and putting them to bed.
He very much hoped his daughter would not feel too guilty. A small amount of guilt was perhaps appropriate, she did bear some responsibility, after all; but she was not to blame for his having failed to grab the window-ledge. That was entirely his own fault. He wished he could tell her this. There was a small wormy sensation of worry near his heart. It was critical that she not blame herself too much. He hoped that his wife would be able to communicate the proper perspective. He also hoped that she would put them to bed on time. Adequate sleep would be of great help in beginning their new, fatherless life. Sleep is of great importance in maintaining the proper perspective.
The sun had now set; stars could be seen against the gentle, dusky blue. As it happened, he was still holding the soup plate, which he now released, in order to uncramp his fingers. The soup, of course, had long since flown away.
The soup plate, however, did not fly away, but fell beside him, oscillating slightly. They proceeded together thus, man and dish, descending through the twilight, in companionable silence.
The End
This story was first published on Wednesday, February 8th, 2012
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Angry Child by
Benjamin Rosenbaum.
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