Oblivion

I had spent a few weeks on remote trekking in the Alps. When I came back to Milan, everything was the same. Almost. There were a lot more signs all over the place. "To open the door, turn the handle", and "please pay your bill before you leave the restaurant" and such things.

I did not think about it until later in the afternoon, when I looked at television sets in a shop. They had the news channel on. The announcer seemed agitated, and I switched the sound on, to hear what was happening.

"Reports from Turkey of horrible atmospheric cataclysms are now confirmed from Greece as well. The sun has gone below the horizon and shows no signs of coming back. The countries have gone dark, apart from lamps that for some reason light up the streets and houses. The streets are full of panicking people. The prime ministers of these and apparently many other countries have gone out with public announcements asking everyone to stay calm. The opposition in Greece asks the government to resign, as it clearly is not up to the task to handle this big crisis..."

It was the normal news hour and an announcer I had seen plenty of times before. He was one of the most boring persons I knew, and yet, he participated in this strange joke.

"Could you explain that to me?" I asked the shop keeper.

"It is a mystery, isn't it? Why would the sun go under the horizon? Poor people! I really hope nothing like that will happen here."

"What do you mean 'will happen here'? The sun sets every day. It set yesterday, and it will set today and tomorrow again."

"How do you know?"

"How do I know? I saw it happening. Do you mean you never saw a sunset?"

"I do not remember. Yesterday? It was a very long time ago, wasn't it?"

"Are you nuts?"

"I do not know. What was the question again? The impedance in the loudspeakers? Let's check the catalogue. I keep forgetting that kind of things."


Exasperated I left the shop and sat down at a café to have an espresso. It was already getting darker, and people around me looked increasingly nervous and looked at the sky. More and more of them took out their cell phones and called each other. The man at the table next to mine called his wife:

"Are you listening to the news? What is happening? Why is everything turning dark? They should call in the army to fight this thing!"

And he left without paying, presumably rushing home, even though I saw him run back and forth three times before he took up a map, which apparently told him where he lived, because he ran off into a small street and did not come back.

More and more people ran around panicking, and I was soon the only person calmly sitting down. Even the waiters left the bar screaming.

Most people ran around haphazardly in all directions, but an elderly lady came running straight at me.

"Do you remember?" she shouted.

"Remember what?"

"Yesterday!"

"Yes, of course I remember yesterday."

"Thank heaven! There is at least one sane person in the city."

"What is going on here?"

"I thought you remembered yesterday?"

"Well, yes. Yesterday I was crossing a mountain from Switzerland, where I spent most of last week."

"Oh", she said. "Alone?"

"Yes...?"

"I see. That's why you have not been affected."

"Affected by what?"

"Oblivion."

"Oblivion?"

"Yes. And don't say you have forgotten what that word means."

"No, no. But oblivion is a state. It is not a decease, is it?"

"I should probably explain. Last week oblivion started spreading like a decease. People started forgetting virtually everything. It spread as quickly as Ebola, but whereas Ebola limits its expansion as it kills off everyone who gets it, this oblivion never killed anyone. It just slowly crept up on people, who saw it coming to friends and neighbours, so a large number of reminder notices were written. Those pieces of paper are what keeps civilisation running right now. However, no one apparently thought it was noteworthy to write down that the sun sets every day, so people panic every day. It is nothing to worry about of course. They will soon get tired and sleep, and when they wake up tomorrow, they will have forgotten that it ever was dark."

"How come you are not affected?"

"I got stuck with a tricky sudoku in my apartment, so I stayed alone for several days. When I got out the contamination had affected everyone else, but the incubation period had apparently passed."

"Ah, that explains it."

"Explains what?"

"Sorry, what are you talking about?"

Therapy needed

"Bob, could you come to my office for a minute?"

Bob approached the chief editor's office without much enthusiasm but with plenty of confidence. He knew that he had written more articles than most of his colleagues the last few months, and he knew that they usually were more accurate than the other articles. Still, the chief editor had a way of giving bad feedback much more often than good feedback, so he felt something was going on.

"Bob", the c.e. began, as soon as the door was closed and they both had sat down in the comfy sofa which usually was reserved for customers and information sources which had a high risk of going to jail for their disclosures.

"Bob", he continued, because he wanted to be sure that this part of the message came through. He was not trying to keep any distance to his employees, but addressed them by their first name - at least when other people were listening. As no one else was listening here, it was clear that he really meant "Bob" when he said so. He looked at Bob and thought about saying the name a third time, but he suddenly felt unsure if Bob preferred Robert or Bob, and decided against it.

"Not everything is perfect. I think you know that."

"Definitely. Just look at the weather."

Bob's attempt at a joke fell rather flat, as the weather indeed was perfect that particular day, with a clear sun that gave a beautiful spring light without any excessive heat.

"Yes... no... I was not thinking about that."

Bob remained quiet. So did the chief editor unfortunately, so there was an awkward pause.

"Bob, I have read your political column for quite some time now. It is very lucid."

"Thank you."

"Ehm... for what?"

"For saying that it was lucid."

"That was not meant to sound good."

"It was not?"

"Of course not. Who wants lucid opinions? You argue so convincingly and clearly, that no one can disagree."

"And...?"

"If no one disagrees, there won't be any debate."

"Ah..."

"Without debate, we will not have long article series where people throw insults at each other. People want insults. Not that they say so, of course. No one would admit it. But if there are insults, there is interest. People will raise as one man, and shout different opinions on the subject as a choir of ad revenue generating angels."

"Oh..."

"You just tell the truth. It is so incredibly boring with truth."

"My wife says the column is very well written."

"And she is bloody well right. Why on earth do you stick to so elegant prose?"

"Eh...?"

"People want to feel superior. They want to laugh at us journalists and our miserable prose. That makes them feel good."

"Oh...."

"Don't oh, eh and ah me, young man! I mean Robert. Eh.. Bob! Or Robert."

"Bob is fine. That is my real name."

"There we are again! 'Real name'! Try to be interesting! Lie a little to keep me interested, to start a discussion, a debate, an argument. Please, say something I can disagree with!"

"I am sorry, but I have a hard time to think of anything."

"I know you have, but why do you admit it? Spice it up. Pretend you have something. Oh, this is futile. You will go on a therapy from next week."

"Why? What kind of therapy?"

"There is a company that has specialised in removing perspicacity and lucidity from the minds of people. After a few sessions, you will lose most of your common sense, and soon you will be able to write outrageously interesting articles again."

"You must be joking."

"I am not, Bob. I hope you appreciate it."

"Oh, sod it!"

"Thank, you Bob."