Clown

He was just like a cliche clown: funny (at first), sad (after some talk and contemplation), scary (just a little bit, at the very end). An old abandoned church passed for a circus that night. Just for the two of us.

Unlike cliche clowns, he didn’t know he was one. Otherwise, he had quite a lot of self-reflection for an adult, yet it was misguided and misshaped by his past traumas, religion and general lack of critical thinking. For some reason people like that tend to be attracted to me.

We met in a dirty little bar with surprisingly good beer. I was sipping my glass in a comfortable silence, but when he entered, he brought non-stop talking with him. I was sitting somewhat far from the others and so avoided the conversation at first. He probably thought i don’t speak english anyway. But then i ordered another drink and he realized i do.

He pulled me into his conversation, mostly mindless chatter one can hear from “educated” adults. I didn’t resist. I wasn’t really in a mood for spending my time this way, but i wasn’t in a mood to to do anything else either.

He was talking about politics, military, banks. The boring stuff. Then we exchanged a few lines about languages, but although he knew a lot of them he couldn’t tell anything interesting about the subject. He was also too “western” to the point that he refused to learn any non-european languages.

Then my beer was over and i headed out. He wanted to stop me, but apparently wasn’t ready to buy me a beer; he was a greedy, calculating type.

I headed west, deeper into the slums — i’ve already noticed the ruins i could sleep in on my way into the bar. After a few seconds of contemplation, he also left the basement and went after me. To my surprise he managed to catch up with me without losing his breath.

Maybe he wouldn’t have looked harmless to others at that point, but to me he did. People like him don’t tend to carry weapons. I could always cut him up into little pieces.

He stalked me for a while, at times continuing the previous talks and at times just going into praising me. At that point he had said enough for me to make a mental picture of him. He was a lonely sad adult. He was looking for something he would never be able to find. He searched for it in a way most inappropriate for the “task”. He was filling his emptiness with chatter, passions and useless — hilariously complex, but useless — knowledge. And, of course, a useless, complicated religion.

When we arrived at the church, it was already around midnight. I’ve set up my sleeping place, listening to his chatter, sometimes answering his somewhat weird questions. Then, out of nowhere he produced a bottle of whiskey. Or, perhaps, a whiskey-like moonshine; it’s not like i know a lot about these drinks.

I sighed. I didn’t plan to be drinking all night. I just wanted to go to bed after two beers. But i felt enough sympathy and interest in him to not refuse. I could still take another drink without losing vigilance.

Fast forward half an hour, we were deep in analyzing each other. He was telling some religious bullshit about me. I was trying to make him see his inconsistency and dumbness. In vain, apparently. He seemed to appreciate what i was saying, but only as abstract concept that should be approved. He didn’t seem to try applying what i said to himself.

But then what do i know about people, except, maybe, how to cut them up?..

At some point i noticed that the more he talks the more absurdly stupid things he says. He asked me to convert to his god. Then apparently mixed me up with someone else. Then brought up astrology for no reason. Then started inquiring me about my childhood. Then told me a story of how he got drunk and came to in a strange unknown place. Then turned to me again, telling me how good i was..

Then i realized he was probably just too drunk already and probably trying to hit on me. Yeah, i’m slow at realizing these things for it is not that often for people to hit on a girl with her gaze sharper than the sharpest knifes she carries under her skirt.

This was getting boring and repetitive. He was coming up with more “reasons” for me to like him. Making compliments. Sharing “sacred” knowledge. I just wanted to get it over with and sleep. But i still felt some pity towards him.

At the very end, he broke into the “scary clown” territory. He invoked “the devil” and made up a bunch of absurd predictions. He sounded like a truly crazy man. For a second i even started reaching for a knife. Then i just told him to go away.

He turned out to be smart enough to follow the advice. Or too cowardly, perhaps. Or just too nice — he didn’t seem to be an evil person anyway. Now i will never know. He walked away staggering, a not yet empty bottle still in his hand. He never returned and two days later i left that dirty little town.