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Goodbye Cadecus
What if the baby grows up deformed?
“...”
I don’t even mean with six eyes or, you know, some kind of pulsing spider baby... which is horrible. God, what if? I’m talking about... are you awake? Wake up.
“What baby?”
Deformed in his soul. Or her soul. I guess it depends doesn’t it? A boy. A girl. Totally unique qualities of deformation.
“What baby are you talking about? What time is it anyway?”
See? You’re worried too. Don’t deny it. And don’t go back to sleep. You can’t sleep this one away. What we have to ask ourselves, sincerely, unflinchingly—just facing the thing—is, what if the child should end up with some abnormality in its... oh, I don’t know... in its moral composition? What if it develops a stunted worldview? And how much could, or should, we then blame ourselves? Right? You take your failings—which are less than mine, God knows—but let’s take the worst of you, mix it all in with my great big mess and you get this... this creature.
“You’re talking about our child?”
Of course our child. Whose child... we can’t be expected to deal with...
“We don’t have any child. We don’t have a kid. This was talked about.”
You say that as if I’m going back on something.
“No children.”
Because I’m not. It’s implicit in our relationship. That we don’t have kids. It is, if you will, the fencing of the whole thing. The keep out no trespassers sign of it all.
“Don’t say it like that.”
Beside the point. I’m only asking if we were completely different people—though with all the exact same faults—and we were lying in wait some night for the baby...
“Which we aren’t going to have.”
No.
“I just have to say.”
Wouldn’t we have an obligation to reconsider the thing? In light of the fact that he or she (but let’s not kid ourselves... probably it) would almost certainly develop into a monster of our co-mingled failings.
“Why failings? We don’t have a single good quality between us we could pass on to prosperity?”
Prosterity. See. Right there. You’ve all but guaranteed a dim academic future for the little beast.
“Don’t be didactic. And anyway isn’t the word...”
Look. We might have a couple of decent qualities knocking about but that’s my point. A few isolated, lonely little virtues just asking to be trampled on and bullied. Christ, you almost couldn’t even blame the kid.
“Goodnight.”
Fine.
“Goodnight then.”
I said fine. But it makes me want to cry. Thinking about the handicap.
“Handicap?”
We’ve crippled it before it ever even had a chance. Your indifference, if you want the unvarnished truth.
“Goodnight.”
*
What does it mean... would you wake up? This is serious. Wake up.
“What does what mean?”
Oh, now you’re awake. Thank you. I see it has to be raining blood for you to crack an eyelid.
“All right, all right. I’m awake.”
No. No, please. Sleep. But I doubt I’ll survive the night. Anyway, how could you possibly know what to do in this situation?
“Tell me about it.”
My extremities are numb.
“Like your arms and stuff?”
Not my whole arm. Arms. My fingers. And toes, I think. Ok, no. Not my toes. Although I think I could feel them starting to get numb.
“And then they stopped?”
You’d like that wouldn’t you?
“Wouldn’t you?”
Don’t be clever.
“Because it doesn’t suit me?”
It’s alarming, in a way. How perfectly you manage to co-opt every crisis as your own.
“This is a crisis?”
Only if you consider creeping paralysis a crisis. Not to mention what’s been going on in my mouth lately.
“Which is?”
I’m not sure how to put it. It’s like every... fourth?... time I brush my teeth my cheeks burn. Inside. Like the lining. The convex part of the inner cheek.
“And it burns?”
Stings.
“See a dentist?”
Right. So he can tell me I’ve got mouth cancer and that I’ve got one week to live? No thank you. I’m not falling for that.
“I doubt you have mouth cancer.”
Was medical school difficult?
“Change toothpaste brands. Don’t brush so hard. I don’t know what to tell you.”
So what you’re saying... let me see if I’ve got this straight... What you’re implying is that there’s a certain toothpaste out there—the one I happen to use—that in certain unfortunate individuals causes mouth cancer? Don’t you think we would have heard of that by now? Don’t you think that might possibly have made the evening news?
“You’re right. I don’t know what to tell you. Goodnight.”
OK. Forget about my mouth. What does it mean when...
“It means you’re going to die. Goodnight.”
*
I just had this bizarre dream. You want me to tell you about this bizarre dream I just had?
“I...”
You weren’t asleep were you? Go back to sleep if you’re sleeping.
“What was the dream?”
OK. First, what does Cadecus mean? Or maybe it was plural... Cadecaux? I can’t remember.
“Isn’t it Greek? A Greek orator or something? Or, no—is it French? For gift?”
No. I was thinking it was that medical symbol.
“You mean that staff thingy with the snakes on it?”
Exactly.
“I don’t think ‘cadecus’ means anything actually.”
Anyway.
“Was this in the dream?”
Yes. Not the staff thingy. Just the words themselves.
“Words? Plural?”
Goodbye Cadecus.
“Hmm?”
That was the dream. Just these two words. Like a title or something. Just lying there behind my eyes. Two white words on a black background.
“Oh.”
Yep.
“You sound weirdly satisfied.”
I am, in a way. You know what I might do? I might write those words down.
“Yeah. You should. Well... goodnight.”
It’s like the title of a story don’t you think? A clever little story. Goodbye Cadecus.
“What about?”
What about what?
“What’s the story about?”
That doesn’t matter. I’m just talking about the title. I’m definitely going to write this story.
“You don’t have a story. You only have a title.”
You really don’t need to castrate me over it. Jesus. It isn’t unheard of, by the way. Someone coming up with a title first. I guarantee you it happens a lot more often than you realize.
“You don’t even know what the word means. Or if it means anything at all.”
Of course it means something. Why would my brain just randomly throw out a meaningless word? Particularly in conjunction with a word that does have meaning? That would be a sign of mental illness.
“...”
Very funny.
“Seriously though, you should write it. But I think it will end up a sad story.”
Why sad? I was thinking funny.
“Sad because the only word that makes any sense is ‘goodbye.’”
Hmm... but then funny because of the nonsense word.
“So you admit...”
I do.
(above text by Brian Curran, photo by Tria Andrews)
Link to this page: http://pequin.org/archives/2008/briancurran/goodbyecadecus.php
