The Good of the Many

by Daniel Pond

I wonder what you'll think when these pages are read. How will you react to the story I have to tell? Will you feel revulsion? No, you can no longer feel anything as negative as that. Instead, you will believe me, you know not how to mistrust, and you will feel the endless compassion of your kind.

Unfortunately, your eternal euphoria cannot touch me. I alone have never found solace under the sheltering tree of kindness. Left alone amidst Suffering's tempests, I have struggled on for almost forty years. I have watched all six billion of you shed hostility, suspicion, and fear. I have seen all of my world's problems melt away as snow off a spring valley. I am all that remains of humanity's winter, but only for a few more hours. Soon, I will be free.

Since childhood, I saw medicine as the sword with which I could slay the dragon of human suffering. The only thing I came to realize in medical school, however, was the invincibility of dragon scale. My medical sabre fared little better than a match stick against it. Soon, noble obsession turned to debilitating helplessness. I felt drowned in humanity's endless waves of pain, vice, and death.

Eventually, even my wife, Samantha, Love's dearest child, could not console me, and I took to solitary walks along the coast. I saw death in every nighttime shadow, helplessness in every crash of the waves. Though I didn't realize it, my spirit was being eroded as surely as the ocean was eroding the sand. It was on one such stretch of beach that I met Miro.

"Hard truths to accept, aren't they." I spun around at these words, spoken in a voice like the grinding of gravel under a tire. I had not heard anyone approaching, and could find no sign of anyone now. Turning to resume my walk, I found the speaker directly in front of me. My confusion was compounded by the realization that I had never spoken aloud.

He surveyed me with eyes so concealed in shadow that they seemed empty holes. From leather boots and worn trench coat, to his unshaven jaw and black fedora, everything about him spoke of darkness. This man was more a part of the night than the shadows were.

"If you would care to join me, I know a place where we may converse in more hospitable surroundings." I heard my mouth, as if its own master, accept the invitation. "Good," he whispered. "It is not far. Follow me."

The stranger turned and started climbing the beach, his long strides bearing him swiftly away. Far sooner than I expected, we arrived at a small cafe. The night was warm and clear, so he chose a table outside.

"My name is Miro. Yours is William, is it not?" I said it was, although I did not remember mentioning my name. "You seem encumbered by the heaviest of weights, William. I think I may be able to help you."

My small, twenty-five year old frame shivered as each dry syllable hit my ears. Even so, I found myself telling him everything; things I hadn't even told Samantha came pouring out like blood from a long-festering wound. At the end of my lamentations, when I thought my spirit could dig itself no deeper into despair, I said, "So, you see, the only way you could help me is by ridding the world of evil.

"Then, I can help you."

Apparently, he took my stunned silence for the disbelief it was. His eyes caught mine, then, and held my attention as securely as the earth holds a root. "I'll prove it to you."

Then, we were no longer sitting at our table, but standing in a hospital emergency room. Miro moved from table to table; each person he touched rose from their beds, cured of all affliction.

Next, we arrived in the middle of a gang battle. Before my eyes, bloody wounds healed, assailants dropped their weapons, and enemies shed anger and violence like a snake sheds old skin. Scenes like these were repeated over a dozen times before we returned to the cafe.

"Feats like this tire me, William. But there is a way the entire world could be cured of diseases, both physical and mental. I would need you to do something for me."

Miro did not appear fatigued to me, but I had learned not to doubt his word. "What can I do?" I asked.

Miro fixed me with that powerful gaze as he said, "You would have to take all of these sins upon yourself, William. You must commit an act of such evil and violence that your suffering would replace that of the entire world. With such a receptacle, I could heal all humanity.

"William, you must murder your wife."

Miro left me at the cafe with one day to consider his offer. I would be required to kill Samantha, making sure she was fully aware of what I was doing to her. I could not explain it to her, I could not say good-bye, I could not kill myself afterward.

Now, you must understand Samantha. We had been married six years earlier, but had known each other all our lives. Ours was a love of complete innocence, a dove of purest white. Only in the haven of her presence was I ever able to escape Suffering's shadow. She was life, love, and all things good personified. The beauty of her spirit served as my ideal for the world.

The last day I ever spent with Samantha, the day I considered Miro's proposal, was a day of soul-wrenching agony. With her golden hair, liquid-crystal eyes, and grace and peace spoken in every movement, she was humankind's highest perfection. To think of harming her was like planning to burn the Garden of Eden to cinders.

Still, all I could see when I looked into those serene, dark eyes was her paradise given up for all the world to experience convinced myself that she would want to sacrifice herself for humanity; I do not know to this day if I was right.

That night, when I returned to the cafe, Miro was already seated at an outside table. "There is no need to speak it, William. I know what you have decided." He produced a silver dagger, seemingly out of nothing, and said, "You must use this. For it to work properly, you must do nothing to ease her suffering, explain the reasons for your actions, or bid her farewell. Be sure she is fully aware of what is happening." With those words, he vanished. Who or whatever he was, I have not seen Miro since.

Looking down, I studied the ornate weapon. A silver snake wound itself around the handle with its mouth clasped over the crossguard. Oddly, it was not cold to the touch, but seemed to writhe in my grasp.

All the way home, I stared at the dagger. I began to mutter to myself, "I'm doing the right thing, I'm doing the right thing, I'm doing the right thing." It became a mantra to me; I focused on those words to the exclusion of all else. As I approached my door, the ringing of a church bell grazed my awareness. It was already midnight, so Samantha would be asleep.

Finally, upon entering our bedroom, my wall of determination cracked. It was her beauty that broke it. In sleep, her features were even more picturesque than in motion. Every curve, every contour, every soft strand of hair brought a thousand memories: summer days spent together as children, our first kiss as teenagers, our wedding night. I wept for each day, each kiss, and each time she had said, "I love you." Now, my soul was lost in a different torment, the torment that would bring salvation to the world.

It was a tear that woke her. "Will? What's wrong?" Suddenly, Miro's words returned to me. Be sure she is fully aware of what is happening. As she sent her eyes into my soul, I sent the dagger into her chest.

Somehow, she did not die. Her eyes, halted in their searching, stared at me in confusion. I stabbed her again, and confusion turned to horror. A third time, and horror became betrayal. As I stabbed her again and again, each blow drove my betrayal home. She died with that expression twisting her face into a mockery of beauty. I felt as if I had taken the dove in my hands and mutilated it beyond recognition.

Unable to say anything, I wept over her body all night. My tears, though they flowed like a river, could not wash the blood away. In the morning, when I awoke, she was gone.

That day, all that Miro promised came to pass. Diseases were swept away by a wave of miracle healing. Centuries old blood feuds were forgotten, replaced by the love of one's neighbor. Somehow, there was suddenly enough wealth, food, and space for everyone. People are still different, but such differences no longer cause scorn or conflict. Anger, sin, and needless death are but fairy tales from a long ago era.

I alone experience pain, and there is no escape. I have wanted to die every day for the last forty years, but I know I cannot take my own life. Now, the time has come to take evil with me into the grave. My death means the end of the old world, and the final breaking of humanity's oldest shackles. I have given the lives of two for the good of the many.