Man and Master

As I am a homeless man, but not unsophisticated in the least, I prefer to spend my days in the public library, doing research on the computer. It isn’t important what I research, but I can assure you, it is all quite necessary to my own well-being and, more importantly, the well-being of the society I live in. For, considering what I have been through in my life, I could very well be a raging maniac. Thus, it is necessary for me to keep my mind sharp and well systematized. My days spent in this way are usually peaceful and uneventful—at least they are uneventful outside of my own researching ventures. However, one day a while back, I found myself put out of comfort in the most unusual way.

I was seated at my usual spot in the library, doing my research on one of the many computers they have there, when a gigantic man sat down at the computer next to me. Normally, I don’t pay any heed to the people around me. Being homeless, I am used to strange people and I have no qualms about their eccentricities or foibles, so long as they leave me in peace. But as soon as this man sat down I felt there was something wrong. For one, he smelled like old cheese. The smell, though awful, I felt I could tolerate. But then, I noticed he was muttering to himself. I had my headphones on, so I do not know what he was saying. It was starting to get under my skin, but again, as a homeless man, I felt that I should tolerate this foible. He probably had a mental illness of some kind, and as a man of the times, I feel it is only right that we should put up with behaviors that seem inappropriate if they are coming from people who are actually sick. And yet, what happened next I could simply not tolerate. The man turned to me, smiled goofily, and…licked my cheek. I took off my headphones and then…he licked my nose. I stood up. He was still smiling the same goofy smile.

“What is the matter with you?” I asked him, though I was certain I knew already that he was insane.

“Can’t a dog lick his master?” he said.

I glared at him. I stood for a moment, utterly baffled, then turned around and went to the security desk to report him. He followed me.

I told the security officer, a big, burly man with a crew cut, what had happened. He looked at the fat man, who was still smiling. “Is this true?” the security officer asked him. His mouth wide open, his tongue sticking out, he started panting and nodded his head several times.

“He’s my master,” he said.

The security officer looked at me as if to confirm what the man said. Then he looked back at the man, who was still smiling. The security officer picked up his phone. “We have an emergency,” he said…

The man was taken away, not without a struggle. He kept calling out to me: “Master! Master! Don’t let them take me!” I watched, stupefied, as he was dragged by security outside and into the ambulance.

About a month later, I saw the man on the street. He passed me and narrowed his eyes at me in bitterness, as if resentful. I still see the man often, sometimes on the street and sometimes in the library. He now lowers his head when he sees me, and avoids me to what seems to be the best of his ability. It actually makes me sad. Perhaps this man really thought he was a dog, and that I was his master. Or maybe it was all a very sick game he was playing just to get under my skin. Perhaps, even, he had been envious of me all along from afar. Anyway, he failed at taking vengeance. And perhaps even now he is planning an even more extreme form of vengeance, not just toward me, but toward everyone, or, at least everyone that has a master they needn’t cower from.