177 - You've worked long and hard for this

To: the Chevengani Mental State Assessment Committee

From: Linasika Aramichiya, Servant of Michalere

atakina 64, Y. 1556

Dear Sib Members of the Committee:

I do not know and yet it seems possible that the incident I am about to report to you is relevant to your mandate, and the law therefore obliges me to report it. This morning Fourth Chevenga Shae-Arano-e visited me in my office. By the oath of the scrivener, on my crystal: his words are rendered, as best I am able, verbatim.

He asked if he could speak with me, and I welcomed him in, surprised though I was. By both the expression on and the pallor of his face, he seemed distraught. “There is something I must say to you,” he said. I asked him if he was all right, and he said, “No, but you know that, as you’ve been arguing it.”

I said, “You seem distraught.”

He said, “I’m going to resign.”

I could not help but express my surprise and disbelief, asking him if this was indeed true.

He said, “Yes. I thought the first person I should tell should be the person it will please the most, and that is you. You’ve worked long and hard for this; you deserve it.” Then he told me he would not announce it quite yet, and asked if I would please remain circumspect for now, and I agreed.

Then, on my crystal and All-Spirit be witness, he said: “Linasika, you are right about me; I owe it to you to tell you that, too. I did wrong, and I did wrong knowing I was doing wrong. When I was thirteen, when I first learned the laws, I was already in love with the position; I was already in love with my life as I’d been taught it would be. I wanted to do nothing but make those who I loved happy, and their lives the best, and it was so much. As semanakraseye, I’d be able to do so much for so many, the love I gave, I’d be able to spread so wide.” He began shedding tears as he said this. “But then I realized what the law required. I wanted to do the right thing; I wanted to do the best thing; I didn’t know which was.”

I interceded to say, “You should have told us.”

“But then I’d never have been approved!” he said.

“You could have fought Arko just as chakrachaseye,” I said. “Artira would have appointed you in a moment.”

“But then I’d never have been able to gain the allies, I’d never have been to get the Brahvnikian money, I’d never have been able to go to Kranaj and Astalaz and Segiddis and the Aniah speakers and fully represent Yeola-e, I’d never have been able to do all those things and they were all necessary for the war! If it were so simple, Linasika, if it was just ‘I should tell them,’ I’d have done it!”

I couldn’t get in a word. “All I wanted was semana kra, was to live semana kra, that was enough for me, it would be enough for anyone,” he said, his voice breaking. “Linasika, there’s nothing so beautiful in the world! I’m sorry, I know it bothers you, it seems like I’m crowing or gloating but it’s just the truth, there is nothing so good. I have been so lucky; I’ve been so blessed, just to be able to do it as long as I have. I never wanted to hurt anyone, I never wanted to take away anyone’s choices, I just wanted to live semana kra until I died, that’s all, and how it could all turn out so wrong is beyond me to understand. Call it madness… I guess if I understood, then I’d be worthy to keep the position.”

I asked him, “You never had ambitions for more power?

“Linasika, for the love of All-Spirit,” he answered, “I said that under truth-drug, if you don’t believe me when I’m under truth-drug, what’s the point of me saying it now, why would you believe me now? You think of me as a power-monger, you should try being with real power-mongers, you should have met Kurkas, or Astalaz, or Ranion, or been to an Arkan Aitzas party where every open word is about who has to suck whose dick, and every hidden word about stabbing someone in the back, and you’d see what power-mongering really looks like! You’re afraid of me, you said you’re afraid of me, you and however many other Yeolis you speak for, why the [Arkan obscenity] are you afraid of me, I can’t stand it that you’re afraid of me, that any Yeoli is, I can’t bear it!”

He threw himself to his knees then, and seized my hands. “I beg you, please don’t be afraid of me, please! I never wanted to hurt any of my own people that much, and it’s like a blade through me, slashing me apart!” He pressed his tear-soaked face into the back of my hands, and I felt he was trembling all over. “I know,” he said, “I know: I can’t ask someone else to change how he feels, I have to act myself. That’s why I’m resigning. The problem will be solved. Your minds will all be put at rest.”

I tried to address him but again he wouldn’t let me. “I’m sorry,” he said, still gripping my hands. “I just want to say I’m sorry, to everyone, to all Yeola-e, to the whole world; I’m sorry, I did my best, I’m sorry it wasn’t better, I’m sorry for the whole thing, for everything I’ve done, for everything I am, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

I interceded in his apologizing to say, “Chevenga, you’ve done some magnificent things.”

“For all the rest, then, I’m sorry,” he said. “For staining the good that I’ve done with the evil, I’m sorry, for corrupting the life with the death, I’m sorry.”

I said to him, “Chevenga, I don’t think you should resign.”

He looked up at me and cried, “What the [Arkan obscenity] are you talking about, you don’t think I should resign, are you crazy, you’ve been pushing so hard for it and now you’re telling me I shouldn’t!!?”

I said, “Semana kra, Chevenga. Leave it to the will of the people. Leave it to the Committee, to Assembly.” I told him I knew I’d always argued my position very definitely, but I also knew that not everyone agreed with me, and they might be in the minority. I told him, “I can’t know that isn’t so, and neither can you.”

He looked both astonished, and angry. “Curse it, Linasika,” he said, “I’ve just made up my mind to do the hardest thing in the world for me, the thing that tears out my heart, because once I go asa kraiya I am no longer warrior or general either so I will be nothing—nothing!—and now you, you of all people, are trying to talk me out of it!!?”

I just told him again, “Semana kra. Leave it to the people, to judge you. Whatever else I’ve said about you, you are most definitely not nothing.”

He sank almost to the floor then, crying without words, and one of his hands touched my foot. I leaned down to put one hand on his shoulder, which startled him.

“You don’t think I should,” he said, in a bare whisper.

“I think you should leave it to the will of the people,” I reiterated. “And I think—I hope—that whatever must happen to bring an end to your pain happens soon.”

What else could I say? I have never seen him so humble, or so obviously suffering. Incredible as it might seem, my heart went out to him.

He whispered, “Semana kra.”

I said, “Semana kra. I think, in the end, whatever else you and I disagree on, we hold that in common.”

He lay still for a while, his sobs gradually subsiding, one hand lying limp on my foot. Finally he slowly lifted himself up, and took my hands again. “Semana kra,” he said. “You’re right. I’ll leave it to the will of the people. Linasika… for the kind words, thank you. I wouldn’t have expected them, I’m sorry, thank you.”

I suggested that maybe he should go to his healer. “Maybe,” he said. “I’ll get out of your office, anyway.” And we told each other, go with All-Spirit, and he went.

Your eyes do not deceive you, sib members of the Committee. Fourth Chevenga Shae-Arano-e came into my office to say he would resign, and I persuaded him not to. I have recounted this to your Committee with respect to his mental state, but I wonder whether a second Committee should be struck to assess mine.

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