Yugalov’s Tale

              “There’s nothing better to practice than poverty.” I recall a priest telling me that and although the circumstance escapes me, don’t take that as an indication that my intellect is fading for my mind is sharp in destitution. I’ll explain everything! On the streets of Petersburg, I was on my way to a client’s arraignment, I am an esteemed graduate of the academy, you see, I (walking with vigor and a clear destination) fumbled and fell over a vulgar, inebriated man who was sprawled carelessly on the sidewalk, muddying my garments. They were quite expensive garments you see and so I was very angry. I scolded the man thoroughly, making quite the scene. I gave a grand oration about the classlessness of such mongrels. With such exaltation did I present my oration that a crowd had gathered, most of whom were also well dressed, and they cheered me on with glowing eyes. The man said nothing. He rose humiliated, as was my intention, and meandered to another dark crevice. Being in such a rush, but of course not so much as to pass up giving a good oration, I hurried away forgetting the incident almost entirely. The day flew by without a worry in the world, that is until such a solitary moment as one faces when lying down before bed. The man’s face returned to me and could not be dismissed. I fell asleep with his face swirling in my brain and thus dreamed of him. The dire incident was repeated, except in my dream the man wept and I wept with him. “Come brother,” I said, “No brother of mine shall live worse than I.” The crowd wept as well. I awoke, and aware of a business-related endeavor I pushed the dream as far out of my mind as possible. It did, I admit, return to me frequently and accompanied by pangs of agony. Each quiet moment in the day that one normally pays no attention to was highlighted with such expressions of terror. I proclaim that these inescapable moments are numerable to each individual and rightfully the sinful man is buried by guilt. I have heard that alcohol can remedy such distress, but my history with attempting such a method of alleviation never yielded the desired result. My past despairs, if left unsettled, would have required around the clock inebriation and a stunning display of discipline to ensure that said shame remain unearthed within me. I have been called obsessive you see and am cursed to follow through on all dimensions of any conviction I may obtain.

              The memory of the previous day’s incident haunted me, and each vivid remembrance produced a lingering effect and soon the muddled visions spun behind my eyes. I left my engagement as quickly as possible and rushed to the spot where the man had been. There he was, clear as day. Layers upon layers, each filthier than the next. Mud coated his skin and rooted him to the ground, his tattered rags made him indistinguishable from the scenery around, all save his pale blue eyes. They were cold but life remained in them. A vibrant life. This man was my brother, all men are my brothers. Yes, I say I saw him clear as day, yet he was not there. It was merely the agonizing image burned so heartily and feverishly in my mind. I was out all night looking for him, for my brother. I checked every shithole I could think of (it’s not an attack on his character or an insult, you see, simply a realistic analysis of his potential location). I could not find him. I began to think deeply, yes of my brother. My heart ached for him. I saw a man in rags similar to my brother, this man was my brother too! I decided. I took off my coat and gave it to the man. I knelt on the dirt so that my knees would be muddied, they must be muddied I decided, they must be ruined. The man rejoiced, for it was a nice coat and the weather was harsh. I said nothing, I just rose and returned home. There I slept and there I dreamed.

              The scene was similar to the first, I stood coatless before my oldest brother with his pale blue eyes as he lay in his dirt. “Yes, you’ve muddied your knees, but how many coats have you? How cruel you are to give a man warmth while his brothers freeze!”

              “I am his brother too, all men are my brothers.”

              “And you’ve given them muddied knees and a coat? No sir, you’ve taken more than you’ve given. How many times have you walked past your brother? You gave what you had to give, you gave what you deemed spareable. Oh what a selfish charlatan you are. Tell me, why did you muddy your knees? Ah yes, a memento. ‘All who look upon me shall see my disregard!’ Yes, that is what you thought! ‘I have muddied my knees for my brother’, Well sir you are no brother of mine.”

              I woke up in a sweat. Again I pushed the object of my dream out of my mind, knowing full well that it would haunt me periodically through the day. Opening my closet to see a plethora of similar coats especially disturbed me, but I had not yet thought of a plan and so I continued as normal. My day passed uneventfully, although I was late for several appointments due to my insistence on taking alternative routes to avoid my brothers who’d banished me the night before. Completing my work for the day I rushed home and began thinking. I obviously too, did not want to confront my brother, as I had the previous two nights with nothing substantial to show and therefore I did not sleep. I would first have a plan. Since I did not, I continued my daily duties as normal (with the subtraction of sleep), again avoiding my kin and again rushing home. The conclusion I came to was quite profound and with its scope I looked at my previous action, where I muddied my knees, with a new found condescension. You see, it is not what man gives but what one has to give. I gave one coat of many. With such a conclusion, I reconciled to a more meaningful act, loading every coat into my carriage for the next day, then I slept but was denied the praise of my brother. The next day, after my law work was done, I gave the coats away, six in total, leaving none for me. You see, if I kept even one it would lose all impact. I see it all clearly now. The next day was especially cold and I had to make due, I wore three extra layers. The wind cut through them almost instantly and I began to shiver. I walked slowly through the streets, as I was in genuine pain from the frost, until a man draped me from behind with a warm coat over my shoulders. I wept “This man is my brother!” I shouted, and things again became more clear. It’s the father who is the receiver you see. One who gives warmth receives a place in the family so long as the obtainer of warmth deems it heartfelt. Once warmth is given it is gone, “here my son, a coat,” or “here my brother, warmth.” It is up to me, or the son, or the brother to say “thank you father,” or “thank you brother.” An individual would be well within their right to say “thank you my enemy,” while retaining his spoils. One can survive for their brothers and sisters and thus accept the “charity” of an enemy if they be so kind to give it.

              My new brother left in a hurry fearing me crazy but his warmth remained. Do you hear me? I was warm again, but much warmer than I’d ever been before. I completed my lawyerly obligations with glee, although I received a few odd looks due to a lack of worldly understanding from my peers. You see, in high society a mismatched coat is a sin. Perhaps I will see myself crucified so that my peers can experience the joy of a mismatched coat! I returned home soon enough and slept.

              “Have I done well?”

              “Yes yes, I cannot deny you now, but let me ask you brother, what now? You’ve no more coats to give.”

              “Brother I do, I received one today.”

              “Indeed, and you shall give it, but you’ve glimpsed a possibility, you’ve seen what can happen haven’t you?”

              “I believe so. You know what I think? So I’m not wrong?”

              “You’re not wrong, brother.”

              I woke up slowly and with a smile on my face. You see, my earlier proclamation that all men were my brothers was not an exaggeration. You see, I am convinced that the boy from Bethlehem, that revered figure of Jesus was haunted by the same dream as I. “You are no brother of mine,” echoed the voice in his head. “Yes you’ve muddied your knees but you take more than you give.” It is our sins he takes, the charlatan. But what makes us ourselves if not our sin? I wish not to be leveled so and ask not of my brothers. And now you see why I proceed with such urgency. I am not on a mission from God but a mission from man, for man. I have seen what can be, the charitable man must live by charity! And all men are charitable, they just do not see it. Let society shift in such a way where the man wearing an expensive coat is questioned thus: “dear sir, who gave you such an expensive coat!? And who created it!? Is it not a waste?” Let them be so far from today that they cannot even entertain the thought of such a coat being purchased. The man regardless of his method of procurement would be so hounded as to destroy the coat and be instantly showered with a new one of his fitting. The first step forward must be a sort of liquidation. Man must realize that charity is more than giving. It is an equation; what one gives in relation to what one has. The man who gives his only coat is more charitable than the man who has two coats and gives just one, but the man who gives all four of his coats is more charitable than the man who gives all three of his. And so society must be organized in such a way where charity is the objective.

              Here my obsessive nature reached its climax. Such frenetic moods have illuminated, periodically, my personal path forward for my entire life. I have such a stern confidence in these frantic periods that I allow them full freedom. It was clear that my current position of employment, although esteemed, was antithetical to my mission. I quit and began anew. I started my own law practice, running it out of nowhere in particular. Each client I either sought after personally or they after me. The charge I demanded was nothing, but as I suspected such a deal was quickly abused, for society was not yet where I wished and so I instilled a rather ingenious stipulation. My representation was free of charge only if my client was found innocent, if found guilty my price was steep. You ask why anyone would retain me? Well I had a perfect record you see. The nature of the contract assured that every single case was won. And now you ask, “surely some guilty souls sought you out?” Yes of course, an absurd amount, and I ever so subtlety, for I could not do it openly, began to sabotage each case in an effort to obtain a guilty verdict. My clients observed my delicacy and would remove me as counsel in an attempt to save the case, an attempt which rarely worked, but allowed me to retain my perfect record as well as a sum of money which I would then donate.

              I had sold my house also. An unwanted but unavoidable transaction. All that money went to charity as well. And so I lived with a former client who I had rightfully secured a “not guilty” verdict for, free of cost. He allowed me to stay in a guest bedroom and allowed me access to all his possessions, food, etc. He was a clever man and was therefore a valuable brother, in fact he developed me further. You see he had a habit of buying and giving me clothing, as I had no money to buy any myself. I would accept graciously of course and give them away the very next moment. Do you know what the clever man did? He said, “here brother” (for he had adopted some of my vernacular) “I lend these clothes to you. They are not yours to do what you please with.” Aha! What a clever man indeed, for I found myself taking extra special care not to devalue them. “These belong to my brother,” I thought. And so I had possessions! (Although they were not mine). This is indeed the path that society must take!

              That is my final lesson, as time is running out it is up to others to develop it further, and so, dearest constables, I’ll move on to the primary reason you are here, with my final wish as a preface. A smaller first step. Give away what little I have on my person and tell my brothers that it was I and say nothing else. Let them speak thusly, “So and so is truly our brother! And where is our brother now?” This is my wish and where it leads will tell much. And finally to speak of the incident which brings you here now. In my long and frantic search, I finally located my brother who spoke to me in my dreams, I found him with his pale blue eyes in a dark alley way. I loved the man, my brother, very much and so I ran with a delirious enthusiasm to hug him… and there he stabbed me so