I dried the corrosive liquid from my lips and prepared to scold the bartender when I realized the obvious.
This was what Eric drank. He was already abusing alcohol. When I ordered a soft drink, the bartender thought it was a joke.
Still bewildered, someone tapped my shoulder. I turned around. There stood a chinchilla.
“Table twenty-three,” he said. “It’s urgent.”
I understood nothing. I said nothing in reply.
“Urgent,” said the chinchilla with irritation. “Get a move on.”
I shook my head. It was pointless to pretend to understand what he expected of me.
“It’s a dog, he’s been winning a good while now,” said the chinchilla in order to acquaint me with the situation. “We’re talking big money. I’ve been looking for you.”
Finally my surprise appeared not to be out of place.
“It was Dove who located you,” said the chinchilla, nodding up toward the ceiling, as if this dove were Magnus Himself.
The chinchilla placed a hand on my shoulder and shoved me away from the bar. I still said nothing. This seemed to make him nervous.
“Dove is watching,” he whispered in my ear at the same time as he continued to push me ahead of him as if I were a plow.
“Stop the dog. Quickly.”
With that we were at what must have been table twenty-three, for the hand on my shoulder was suddenly gone. I turned around. The chinchilla had vanished. In front of me there was a tall table where three animals were playing cards. One of them was a dog, and in front of the dog was a mountain range of chips.
I knew nothing about gambling games, but I wasn’t stupid. I realized that the chips were money; I realized that my—or, rightly stated, my twin brother’s—task was to play against this dog and defeat him.
I sat down at one of the vacant chairs at the table. The rooster who was dealing out cards immediately pushed a few piles of chips over to me. Then he dealt out the cards; we each got two cards.
The player to the right of me nodded, and the rooster set a third card in front of him. I didn’t know what that meant.
“Card?” the rooster said to me.
I nodded.
On the day the green pickup delivers us we are all good. That is my conviction. After that we are exposed to temptations that lead to actions which have consequences which, if we aren’t thoughtful, come to be experienced as evil. We all carry within us the conditions for developing into a Dictator, a Sadist, or even a Psychopath. That is why I live as I do at Lakestead House. Carefully.
This sounds bombastic. I’m not ashamed of that. I have devoted my life to goodness. The consequences became infinitely more extensive than I thought, but I regret nothing.
The walls in my room are light blue. I live a great deal of my life in this room. That wasn’t the idea, but it’s logical.
Evil is found in experiences. Never in intentions.
A classic problem is how evil the evil intention which leads to a good action really is. This line of reasoning can be turned around. It can be asked how good a good intention which has evil consequences really is.
For me this is of no importance. This is the sort of thing Archdeacon Odenrick can figure out. My definition of evil is simple.
Evil is what the victim experiences. Nothing else.
The Dictator, the Sadist, and the Psychopath are not driven by evil intentions. They are out for material gain, emotional gain, or else they’re following an instinct without any intention whatsoever.
Their victims are not interested in intentions. Their victims experience pure evil. If the victim knew about the Dictator’s plan, the Sadist’s bent, or the Psychopath’s childhood, the victim wouldn’t describe what he withstood as evil. He would talk about fate, about bad luck, or explain it by his “getting in the way” of something.
Pure evil is a result, not an intention.
Pure evil must be “unjust” from the victim’s perspective.
Pure evil is an experience.
There was already a six of clubs and a queen of spades in front of me on the table. The rooster gave me the eight of clubs when I asked for one more card. Then that round was over.
My plan had been to figure out the rules during the course of play. That didn’t work. On the other hand, it seemed to me as though the dog was getting rid of more chips than me.