And what about all the people that died in that recent tsunami? Men, women, children, how many, a hundred thousand? You’re telling me a hundred thousand people all created that reality for themselves? You think they’re all sitting there, thousands of miles apart, unconsciously working together to create a natural disaster?
These are different questions—
They’re the same fucking question! Different scale of magnitude, but the same question. The way you have it, all these people created their own deaths. Even the children. Even the babies, for God’s sake.
He is pouring the slop into two wide-brimmed bowls from the best set, like it was cordon bleu or something.
When you see death only as a tragedy—
It is a fucking tragedy. You’re telling me Flora’s death wasn’t a tragedy?
The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. He pauses. The saucepan is frozen at an angle in his hand. Then the wooden spoon moves again, and the serving is complete.
We just don’t have the full picture, he says, placing the pan on the trivet, bringing over the bowls. Say we’re all in a play, and Flora has a part for a while, but then she moves on to another production. I can’t see her any more, and I miss her, but she’s just somewhere else. And when I’m done in this play, I’ll see her again. He goes to the cupboard, gets out two glasses, fills them from the filter. Maybe the tsunami is like – every theatre in Asia simultaneously closing down. But not everyone dies, do they, in these disasters. You get survivors. And you get people who would have been there, but something stopped them. We call these things miracles and flukes, but maybe they’re just in line with what the person was creating for themselves, unconsciously. He places one glass by her wine, puts his hand on her forehead and holds it there for a moment. Your head is hurting, he says. You should have some water.
She looks at him. She knows he is a good man. And however much she doesn’t understand what has happened to him, and she doesn’t agree with him, isn’t this better than before?
You know you sound like a nutter, she says.
Only to you, he says.
Only to me and half the country.
Half the country can think what they like, he says. He raises his water to her wine. And so can you.