ZOMBIE NIGHTS: THE FINALE
Wherein our hero meets political philosophers beyond all imagining and says farewell to Zombie
--
Was I ever on a roll! My performance as the Weenie Man in Aristophanes Knights was a terrific hit. The critics were ecstatic. and the offers came rolling in for roles on stage and in film. SNL not only started accepting my satirical sketches; they asked me for a guest appearance! Someone even liked one of my Facebook posts – a first. Even better, my bet with the on line bookies paid off, big time, as more and more people started calling Trump a demagogue, not a populist.
Well, actually, all this hasn’t happened yet. But it will, soon; I’m sure.
Best of all, Friday night had come, when I was to meet Zombie for our “working vacation.” Was I ever ready for that! I shaved real carefully, rubbed myself all over with my AXE Iced Musk and Ginger Deodorant Stick, a premium ($4.99 but it’s worth it!) quality product , invigorating , with 24 hour protection, just like the ads promise. Then I went to the laundry pile and picked out some items that really weren’t very dirty at all. I dressed. then packed a knapsack with some items that might come in handy, including a notepad, ball pen and a copy of New Politicians of Fifth Century Athens, the book we were going to chop to pieces and rewrite, if Zombie was really serious about the working part of our working vacation getaway.
I was on time for once, right at midnight at the gate to Rock Creek Cemetery here in D.C.. Zombie was already there, greeted me with a kiss – Wow! off to a good start! -, and the broke the bad news.
“Dumbo, I’ve been reassigned. I have to go to Germany.”
“Oh no! When?”
“Tonight. Soon.”
“Tonight? Like, you’re leaving tonight? What about our working vacation? I’m really up for it. I can’t tell you how much I have been looking forward to it. Can’t you just stay over the weekend with me in that McKim, Mead & White mausoleum you reserved for us?”
“I’m afraid it’s urgent. The powers that be are not going to give me an extension. The election is coming right up.“
“What will you do in Germany? Is there someone else?”
“Don’t worry. There’s no one besides you, Dumbo. But we have to get ahead registering voters in cemeteries all over Germany. Remember that if we had just got a hundred thousand more dead people to the polls, we could have turned around the U.S. election. We’ve got to do everything we can to keep Angela Merkel in office. “
“So you’re leaving tonight?”
“Real soon. I’m sorry, Dumbo; the order just came in a few hours ago and I wanted to tell you face to face. I’m going to miss you, but here’s some good news: even on such short notice some friends put together a farewell party for me. We’ll go down to it right now and I will introduce you to some amazing people, some of the best political philosophers in American history.”
What is a political philosopher, I wondered. No clue. I’d be way in over my head at such a gathering. I tried to name one. Couldn’t. Then I got an idea and blurted out,
“Like Ayn Rand?”
“No, not Ayn Rand, most definitely not. Hannah Arendt maybe, or Leo Strauss, but certainly not Ayn Rand. But here we are. “
Bright lights were hung from mausoleum to mausoleum. A bar was set up between two tomb stones. It must be a costume party, I thought, since so many people were milling about, dressed in old fashioned clothes.
“Let me introduce you to Sandy,” Zombie said leading me over to a guy with a frock coat, lace around his neck, and wearing a pair of tight fitting breeches :that must have been made out of spandex,! They’d show off every muscle, contour, bulge or surge. And to top it off he was holding a walking stick . What a fop!
“Sandy, this is Dumbo, a very perceptive observer of the contemporary political scene. Dumbo, this is Sandy. You two have a lot in common.” At that Zombie went to schmooze with other guests.
“I’m sorry,” I said to the tightly fitted Sandy, ”You look very familiar, but I can’t seem to place you. Where have I seen you before?”
“Perhaps on a ten dollar bill?” He affected a ridiculous Scotch accent with a Caribbean lilt to it. . More foppery!
“I haven’t seen many of them. What did you say your name was?”
“Hamilton, Alexander or Alex. My close friends call me Sandy. Surname is Hamilton.”.
“Oh wow! The Alexander Hamilton?”
“I rather think so..”
“Like, the real Alexander Hamilton, the famous one?”
“Indeed.”
“I am so honored. So pleased to meet you in person.”
“Thank you very much.”
“What a hit that play has been! Everyone is talking about it. I would love to see it, but I couldn’t afford a tickets. Not enough ten dollar bills. Ha ha ha.” I laughed at my own joke . He didn’t.
“Perhaps there has been a misunderstanding. I am the Wall Street Alexander Hamilton, not the Broadway one.”
“Ohhhh, I am so sorry..” Then, thinking that might have been a faux pas, I added, “That’s OK. Don’t feel bad about it. I bet you could still introduce me to Lin-Manuel Miranda; I really want an audition for that musical. You see, I ca act and sing, and lead a Conga line ....”
“Perhaps,” he interrupted, ”but first I need to ask you about your politics.”
Bad news! If he wanted to get personal after the first minute of conversation, he could ask about my sex life. An answer to that would take no time at all. But politics? I always have trouble explaining to my friends why I had voted for Trump. What was I going to say to this guy?
“Well, you see, all the smart people said he didn’t’ have a chance, so I thought, ‘What the hell; I can express my general frustration with ... .’ ”
“Please,” he interrupted again, ”I did not ask about thy politics; I used the plural, to inquire about the state of politics in your United States.”
“Oh, whew, well, sure. We’ve got a demagogue right now, but he’ll fade away after another term or two. No big problem.”
“I wouldn’t be so confident. I fear all those who start as “commercial demagogues and end up as tyrants.”
“You mean the system you guys designed could turn into a military dictatorship?”
“Not necessarily. A tyrant just needs the people to be passive, to roll over on their backs, and go along with whatever he says. You can read all about this danger in Federalist Paper One, and, of course in Plato Republic Eight. You do know your Plato, don’t you?”
“Oh sure, of course. I mean, like, he was the teacher of Socrates wasn’t he? The one who had to drink hemlock all the time because he “corrupted” him after class one day. Dirty old man. But I didn’t know he was a Republican. ”
At that moment, mercifully, Zombie appeared and got me off the hook by taking my arm and saying, “Now Sandy, you mustn’t monopolize our guest from the world of the living. I want him to meet Jamey.”
“About that introduction...” But it was too late. Zombie led me over to a short guy dressed in the same silly way, spandex and all, but with a knock-out signet ring on his right hand.
“Jamey, you will enjoy talking to Mr. Dumbo,...”
Before the sentence finished Jamey broke in, “What, pray tell, is the state of the Enlightenment among you?”
“Pretty good, I guess. I keep meeting Buddhists all the time.”
“I intended the intellectual movement that undergirded all our efforts to establish a novus ordo seclorum.”
Wow, I thought. This guy really knows his Greek. But what was this Enlightenment thing he was so worried about? I tried to remember Professor Hoidgkins course “Hypocrisy and Repression: The Delusions of the Pre-Post-Modernist World.” where we had spent a whole day on the Enlightenment. before getting down to serious business with Walter Benjamin. But when was it exactly? And when? It must have come right after the Dark Ages, which we weren’t supposed to call the Dark Ages because they looked back in some nifty ways to really ancient times. And it must come before the period we weren’t supposed to call the Renaissance because that sounded as if they looked backward to antiquity rather than forward to whatever came next. I tried rea hard to remember what Prof. Hodgkins had said about it. All I could remember was that it was pre-post-modern and so pretty bad. Then the post-modern LED light went off in my brain:
“The Enlightenment was a delusion based on the repressive idea of “reason,” which doesn’t exist because all that really exists are power relationships. That’s what Professor Hodgkins explained to us. I got a B plus in her course.”
At this point Jamey flashed his nifty signet ring at me and asked. “How’s your Latin?”
“Great!” I assured him. ”I’m really good at languages provided they are safely dead. The modern ones have a way of jumping up and biting you. That’s what I learned in my Necromancy major.”
“Translate this, then,” and he showed me the inscription on the signet ring.
“Whoa,” I burst out, “I saw this ring on Antiques Road Show not lonmg ago. Same inscription!. It belonged to – wait a minute! -, are you James Madison?”
“The same. But, prithee, translate the inscription. It is quite instructive – Veritas non verba magistri..”
“Easy! The first part of veritas is like English every. The second part is like Proto-Germanic *dagaz, meaning day, or Old High German Tag as I am sure you know. So it begins “Every day..” Then comes. non. Piece of cake. Th word is the same as Old English non, meaning noon or in the afternoon. So, “Every day after noon...” Then things gets tricky, but I know an imperative when I see one. Verba is the second person singular, present imperative of the verb verb(er)are, meaning to whip, or lash or beat with a baseball bat. And magistri is the plural of the word for teacher.”
“So put it all together, if you please. What does it mean?”
“Give your teachers a whipping every day after lunch time. Right?”
“Close enough. You see, it asks, Wwhat do you think, Mr. Dombo, not what did Prof. Hodgkins tell you to think. That is the basis of all reasoning and all sound politics.”
That idea was totally new to me. What do you accumulate thousands of dollars of student loans unless you are going to learn enough solid post-modernist doctrine to last you the rest of your life? Crazy idea. Jamey! But I’ll keep thinking about it, on my own,
--
As Zombie and I walked hand in hand to the limo, I kept trying to tell myself it was all for the best. After all, you can’t spend the rest of your life having sex with a zombie, now can you? So, as Zombie stepped into the limo I tried to be cool and affectionate at the same time:
“Look, Zombie, it’s not always been smooth sailing between us, but I have really enjoyed our time together, and I’ve learned a lot. I’m going to miss you..”
Good, huh?
“Then fly over to Europe. I can get a weekend off and we can spend it in Paris. I know a good place to stay there, “Chez Catacombes” it is called. It’s about as central as you can get inn that city.”
“I’d love to, but, look, you know a lot about me - my stupidities and ineptness - but I still don’t feel I know anything about you. I mean, Who are you, Zombie? Are you young or old, white or black? Are you male or female? Gay or straight? What’s your real name? Are you Life in Death or Death in Life? I need to know.”
“You already know. I am who you want me to be.” With that the chauffeur closed the door and drove off. I stood there watching the back lights disappear in the gloom.
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