“Late as always”
“And good afternoon to you too.”
The man in black sat. The man in white pointed to the menu. “I didn’t take the liberty of ordering yet,” he said.
“How kind.”
“Why here?”
“It’s a change from the norm. Too many of your lot up there, anyway. It’s good to come down to earth once in a while. Makes you feel human.”
“So what did you want?”
“Pleasure before business, please. I suppose I’m buying?”
“It is your turn.”
The man in black perused the menu options which covered both sides. “You see, this is the fundamental problem,” he said.
“What is?”
“Too much choice. It brings out the worst in mankind.”
“But if man has no ability to choose what would be the point?”
“I didn’t say no choice, I said too much choice. Choice is good but keep it simple.”
“It was that way in the beginning, or don’t you recall?”
“Vividly,” the man in black said with a smile. “And he chose poorly.”
“With your help.”
The man in black ignored the other’s remark. “But with that choice a new mix of colour came into being, one with many shades. Something your lot still has difficulty seeing.”
“Grey?”
“Precisely. Choice suddenly became a lot more difficult with the introduction of grey. The conscience has trouble negotiating it. Take, for example, the fine diners surrounding us.”
He nodded to the table at the window.
“Exhibit A: Martha and Kyle Jackson. Early thirties, five children, two of whom have a different father. Never worked a day in their lives. They sit at home with their feet raised, flicking through an endless cycle of channels. Both venture out only to collect their handouts and spend them foolishly.”
“It seems like a clear case of sloth to me. How does that relate to having too much choice?”
“But, my brother, therein lies their problem. With so many avenues to choose from, they have decided to take none. At the crossroads of life, they have sat by the verge, confused and fearful. Is that being idle or merely being cautious?”
“It is cowardice.”
“Cowards they may be but fools rush in where angels fear to tread.”
The man in white considered this before speaking. “What about the others?”
“Exhibit B: The hot-rod executive, Reg Rollins. Works in the city making his fortune from those less fortunate. Clocks up eighty hours a week and the rest he spends in a club called ‘Spanky’. Reg has a coke habit to match any Hollywood celebrity and drinks malt whiskey for breakfast.”
“And I suppose you are going to defend his lifestyle choices?”
“Certainly not. He’s a greedy, selfish and utterly contemptuous beast.”
“Those are qualities you usually admire.”
“And I do but I won’t defend them.”
“So explain why Mr Rollins is a victim of too much choice.”
“Simple. Charity.”
“Charity?”
“Poor Reg looks at the world around him and sees the wretched souls in so much abject poverty. He watches the news as another earthquake strikes, a tsunami breaks, a contagious disease is unearthed. Within minutes a deluge of appeals flash on the screen. An insurmountable sea of voices begging, no, demanding that he dial the number or download the app to donate, donate, donate!”
“Surely he should share what he has with those in need?”
“And he wants to, he truly does. But where to begin? Which charity should he choose? The loudest? The saddest? The little child in poverty or the elderly woman with no food to eat? His heart is in turmoil. So much need. Too much need.”
“You honestly believe he should renege on his divinely appointed duty to care? The man has so much, cannot he spread his wealth?”
“And it would spread too thin. Whom then would it benefit?”
“Pick one then.”
“And that is my point. Why should someone prosper while millions flounder? Is it fair, is it right? And if he chose then afterward regretted it his conscience would be in a worse state than if he had given nothing.”
Just then a waitress approached. The name on her apron read ‘Dee’. “Good morning,” she said. “Are you ready to order?”
The man in black looked her up then down.
“Dee, my colleague and I were just debating the problem of choice. What to choose to drink, for example. Do you find in your life that there are just too many choices?”
“Mmm, you may be right. I have difficulty deciding what colour to paint my nails in the morning,” she said and laughed. The man in black took her hand in his.
“Dee, you have the most exquisite nails.”
“Th … thank you,” she stammered.
“What would influence you to choose this particular colour and brand?”
“God, I don’t know. I guess advertising on television. And magazines.”
“How many brands are there, Dee?”
“Hundreds, but I can only afford the cheaper ones.”
“And in those adverts, those beautiful celebrities, with their perfect skin and manicured hands, do they vie for your custom?”
“You mean do they make me want to buy their products? I guess they do.”
“So what you are telling me, Dee, is that you are constantly bombarded by those who are clamouring for your custom. At times, I wager, you feel overwhelmed by the onslaught on your purse leading you to one understandable conclusion – the desire to have it all. Why should you not have what others flaunt?”
“If I won the lottery then sure, I’d probably buy anything I wanted. I wouldn’t need to choose then, I could have it all.”
The man in white interrupted. “Envy, greed, lust, avarice – they are all part of man’s makeup. That these sins are proudly promoted is no surprise and does not give weight to your argument,” he said.
“But you have just admitted as much! Dee has shared with us how difficult it is to break free from the snare of consumerism. Its wide net has entrapped anyone with eyes to see or ears to listen. Their senses have become dulled to the errors you have just mentioned. They are now blind and deaf to their own moral plight and too much choice is to blame.”
Dee gave a tiny cough.
“I apologize,” the man in black said. “Dee, I would like a café con leche, but hold the milk.”
“Black coffee. And you, sir?”
“A latte, please.”
“One black coffee, one latte. Be a few minutes.”
“Thanks, Dee.” The man in black watched the waitress as she left a little too long.
“Lust. You cannot say that too much choice leads to lust,” the man in white said.
“Too much choice is at the very root of lust. For if a man had only one woman to choose from then his passions would not become aroused at the variety of flesh on display. Take our next exhibit: Harold Kimble.”
The café door opened and in walked a man of middle age. He wore a sports jacket, a gold chain drooped around his neck, and his few remaining hairs were gelled back against his scalp.
“Harold Kimble has hit the milestone of forty-five. At this age, a man’s mortality is seriously considered, possibly for the first time. He has done all that has been expected of him. He has found then won a woman. He has given her children, a home, financial security. But what does he get in return? A continuous nagging that only accentuates the growing uneasiness in his heart. At least half his life has vanished and what really has he achieved?
“His wife is repelled at the shell of the man her husband has become. She yearns to be courted once more, to be cherished and pursued. He no longer is interested in her, their marriage bed has cooled. Does she deserve this after bearing and raising his three sons?”
“Discontent and apathy are a natural part of life,” the man in white said. “They do not reflect that too much choice can lead to lust.”
“But they can both unite to ensure it occurs. Harold Kimble has opened his eyes for the first time in many years and has seen what he has been missing. He now realizes he does not need to be bored with his life or that the fear of loneliness should not hold him to ransom anymore. With a press of a button he can contact untold thousands of willing women, all of whom want what he wants – pleasure.
“It is unavoidable. Society has accepted the inevitable and permitted the advocacy of promiscuity as simply a need to be fulfilled. Demand is high and now so is supply. History records this as well you know for what is one of the oldest professions? That has grown exponentially so that the temptation to lust is only outstripped by the ease to satisfy it.”
Harold Kimble sat next to a woman he had only introduced himself to a minute before. They began to chat and flirt.
“Ah, the temptress herself,” the man in black said, “and my next exhibit. May I present to you Ms Carla Cervantos.”
The men watched as Carla and Harold shamelessly petted each other, both in word and touch. She let out a shrill shriek at his feeble joke.
“If the roles were reversed in the Garden Carla would have surely lured the serpent to do her bidding.”
“You jest,” the man in white said.
“Ms Cervantos is a Black Widow. She flits her eyelids at any male attention, puffing the man up with pride. But when she is done they are cast upon the burning rubbish heap to reap the hellfire they so richly deserve. It is an irony then that it is Ms Carla Cervantos’s ego that has slashed their pride to make them crumble before her. She towers above them gloating at the ruin they have become and marks another notch on her bedpost.”
“Once again I do not see how her pride relates to too much choice,” the man in white said. “She seems a solitary creature who is able to take her time to discern her victims and not be bombarded by an influx of suitors.”
“No doubt this woman has the power of patience, yet such is her self-desire that the array of hapless males tempts her only further. Her sense of ego must continually be fed, like the queen bee high amongst her drones who labour to make her honey. Never satisfied, she desires only that which pays homage to her beauty. With so much on offer that cycle will only stop at her decree.”
A few children passed by their table. They waddled to the counter where fresh pastries were displayed.
“I suppose there is no point commenting on the effects of choice as a catalyst for gluttony,” the man in white said. “That particular sin seems to thrive on selection.”
“Excess breeds excess. Man always wants what is within his reach. But for those young unfortunates what is to blame – the choice of food or their parents’ inability to teach self-restraint?”
“You have revealed a hole in your whole line of reasoning! You have consistently said that too much choice leads to a variety of sins but now you are even questioning that!”
“Such black and white thinking justifies my original statement regarding you and your people. Cannot sin have multiple sources? Many poor decisions can lead a man, woman or child to fall which does not negate my point but strengthens it. Even if a child can resist the pies, desserts, and candy what of the influence of their gluttonous parents? Combining the choices before them with a family lineage of choosing to wrong their bodies guarantees failure. That their parents advocate an unhealthy lifestyle daily only curses them further.”
“Then there is no hope for them?”
“Hope does not concern me.”
“And never did,” the man in white said.
They drank in silence. Customers came and went. The man in black sat down his mug and wiped his mouth with a napkin.
“This has been an enjoyable morning,” he said. “I am afraid I must be leaving. Lot’s to be getting on with.”
The man in white raised a single finger which made the other man pause.
“Don’t take flight just yet. There is one last transgression to discuss.”
“There is?”
The man in white nodded. “Wrath.”
At the mention of this word, the man in black shifted in his seat.
“No ready argument? Then perhaps I should begin. Man’s wrath is based solely on his sense of justice. His conscience, unwittingly won when he fell, is a righteous trait. It provides discernment against wrong and right, in all their guises. The conscience plows through the many shades of grey dividing the light from the night. It is an instinct that evaluates reality and truth and rings with alarm when either becomes crooked, for the paths of truth are straight and narrow. There are many who attempt to twist and contort, trying to even say that white is black and black is white.
“The conscience will show the stain on both a man and his kind if they veer from reality. A truth is always a truth no matter how much he tries to perceive it differently. Any deviation is seen as an injustice and the conscience demands order be restored; it has no choice. Whether it be one alteration or one thousand a man’s conscience is pricked and always seeks restitution.”
“So what is wrath?” the man in black said.
“Righteous outrage gone too far.”
“But how far is too far?”
The man in white considered this then replied, “The true conscience will know.”
“With such uncertainty man’s conscience may become muddled at the many degrees of seeking justice, would it not?”
The man in white was stumped. He finished his drink, stood to his feet, and reached into his pocket. Some notes were placed on the table.
“That will cover us both and the tip,” he said. “I suppose you wish to meet again?”
“As ever.”
“Where will the rendezvous take place?”
The man in black looked up to the man in white with a smile. “I’ll let you choose.”
Lee Harding
