The Unknown Man There was a man who was not known. That is to say, in the building in which he worked, he went to great lengths to ensure that others should not know him.

He worked in a building with 26 levels.

Allow me to describe this building for you, for it was quite interesting in the fact that it was utterly mundane. It was a non-descript squarish block that offered no concessions whatsoever to aesthetics, only functionality. It was not very big, yet not very small; not very old, yet not very new. It had windows, I suppose, but they were never opened. Little rectangular air-conditioning coolers clung like strange parasites to its grey stone exterior. Inside, the air-conditioning was often far too cold, and the air smelt damp and stale.

We will not go too much into the man's profession, only assume that it was dreary beyond words and that he had the slight greenish tinge of a person who is bathed in the hard glare of florescent lights for weeks at a time.

You may wonder why any body should choose both an environment and occupation quite so depressing, but the truth was that when he entered the building of his workplace, he felt that all the distinguishing features of himself - his name, his secret longings and fears - were stripped away. From being some one, he transformed into no one at all (except to himself), and this condition was very agreeable to him.

Now, it might seem as if I have painted a portrait of a rather unhappy person, perhaps suicidal, perhaps abnormal. But really, he was quite happy. He read books, went to the theater, was interested in wine, swimming, golf. True, his social life was somewhat sparse, but it did exist. The anonymity of not being known was refreshing to him. He felt he did his best thinking whilst he was at work.

Then one day, a woman came to work in the building. She was not particularly beautiful. She was however, quite animated and spoke a great deal of her interests, her likes and dislikes. She fancied beach holidays, she said. She claimed she was quite spiritual and was reading a book on Buddhism.

Also, she wore a most alluring scent. It was one of those abstract oriental varieties, that are usually better carried off by an older person.

She being new, she worked on the first level. He was somewhere in the middle.

The man who was not known avoided her.

She however, seemed intent on pursuing an aquaintance with him.

'I shall give her a lie', said the man who was not known to himself, 'and then I shall be safe'. For he did like her, and he thought her figure very attractive. He was not driven by moral compulsions to be truthful.

And so the man and woman became close. He invented a persona of himself for her. He made it charming and thoughtful, considerate and kind. He made her quite happy, except for the disturbing fact that whenever he entered into the building with the 26 levels (which was every day, except sunday), he ignored her completely. He did not do it any coarse manner, for he was never violent towards her, whither in word or action. He simply pretended that she did not exist.

The woman was eager to please, and so she did not complain. But inside she seethed. For every woman wishes to be acknowledged that she is superior in a man's thoughts at all times of the day. She may know this is physically impossible, but she will still wish to be told of it as a certain fact.

Then one day a little while later, as they were walking side by side to the building of their workplace, she muttered, quite out of the blue: 'I know you, you are the man who is not known'.

The man who was not known was caught in a most awkward position. The glass doors to the entrance of the building had just slid open and he had taken a step through. He turned and stared the woman in astonishment. He felt as though he had experienced his death by her naming of him, and she was the figure of death who stretches out its hand to those who have no more time left to live.

For her part the woman was quite shocked to see that her chance shot had hit home. And then of course she felt not a little self-satisfied, for it was the first time she had seen this particular expression on his face.

The woman opened her mouth to say something simultaneously witty and conciliatory, but the man had turned and was striding away from her into the building. He entered the elevator and closed the doors without waiting for her.

He sat at his desk and immediately began methodically to work. But although he was in the building, he was now known as the man who is not known. The name haunted him from morning until sunset.

At sunset, he climbed to the roof of the 26th level of the building of his workplace. The last rays of the sun soaked his skin in a warmth that was unbearable to him. He could not find it in himself to look for another building in which he would not be known. The city spoke his name, and he whispered it back to the orange disc that hung low above it in the sky. He then flung himself from the roof of the building into the air and his own death, which he had recognized in the woman the moment he saw her.

Labels: men

  ¶ 7:50 PM