38. History will tell

It had been three weeks since I'd first arrived at Asanor Manor, and our days had been relatively carefree, until one morning, the day after the forfeits, we heard that a civil war had broken out in Unica.

We had no access to the internet, high society tried not to talk about the deteriorating situation in the country, and if there were any worrying statements, they were quickly hushed up. So it came as a complete surprise to learn at breakfast that a state of emergency had been declared. In the north and east, the rebels had seized large swathes of territory and several regions had lost all communication.

“Now you will definitely remain president for a third term, no one will care about the election now,” Gisborne commented on the news, giving his son a mischievous look.

Rizor Circul just sighed and looked down at his plate of untouched oatmeal. He couldn't bring himself to take a bite. Neither could anyone else; everyone at the table was in a dejected mood, and I was the only one enjoying the toast with cherry jam.

I didn't care about the fate of the country. The only thought that pleased me was that its ruler would soon be gone by my hand.

After breakfast, in the living room, sitting on the sofas, Gisborne and I brought up the subject of the war again. Grant stared blankly out of the window, enjoying his morning tea, while Grandfather Asanor and I discussed politics.

The most acute problems of Unica's society had not been solved for decades, and although there was no government violence in the country, many ‘ridiculous’ laws, reforms and ever-increasing taxes angered the people. The streets were abuzz with talk of eternal confrontation between the head of state and the people, and there were even pathetic attempts to organise a few coups, but they failed miserably; the people were not ready.

But the closure of Virtul was the last straw.

War has come to our country.

“Be thankful they haven't taken away your internet. A mere Virtul is a small price to pay,” Gisborne looked at me gently, but there was no sympathy in his gaze or smile.

“But Virtul was the only game that somehow managed to keep us alive. The game was our only escape from reality, from the oligarchs who only wanted more slaves.”

“Slaves, Siri? Weren't half the country already slaves to the virtual world?”

“Where would we go?” I asked with hatred in my voice, remembering my desperation when I was looking for a job. “After graduating from university, I worked in many places... In cafes, in shops, in cheap restaurants. And you know what? After a month, all the employees were fired without being paid. The managers made up unfair comments, fined us and sent us away. And no court could get compensation from them. And we were replaced by others who, out of desperation, fled to the capital and took the first job they could find.”

“Why not work in your speciality?”

I chuckled.

“Wages there were even lower. The subsistence minimum is twelve thousand roans, the government writes that the average salary in the country is twenty-seven, but in reality employers pay fifteen thousand. ‘Why do you need so much money? The minimum wage is enough, you just have to pay for food. And buy yourself a cake to celebrate that you have survived on your miserable salary. And some white slippers, in case there is a shortage in the future’. That's exactly what I can read in the eyes of today's officials,” I blew away a strand of hair that had fallen on my forehead, growing increasingly angry. “We had a neighbour down the road, he was a good doctor, he had three degrees, but he was sacked three months ago because the head of the ward needed extra money to pay for her daughter's eye operation. By cutting him, she solved that problem. The doctor has five children, whom he is raising without a wife. Under the conditions in the capital, he needed to earn at least forty to fifty thousand roans a month, and the job centre offered him vacancies that paid four to five thousand.”

I got up from my chair and walked to the window, clenching my fists, trying to forget the image of the grey, overcast morning and the black hearse with our neighbour's body inside. As they said later, his heart had failed... but his children had seen the scattered pills on his bedroom floor.

And I hoped they'd never follow in his footsteps. Even though I wanted to do what my mother had done.

“To let your subjects live like this is to mock them, to make a mockery of common sense. And I know exactly who is to blame,” I said to Gisborne. “It's your son. As one writer said, ‘A normal person does not want power, therefore abnormal people always have power’. The oligarchs led by Rizor Cirkul are greedy and oblivious to the situation, and their actions have brought the country to the brink of civil war. They have never lived for the people, only for themselves, and in their eyes only the thirst for power and wealth burns.”

“Siri,” said Gisborne sadly, “I have worked hard to rise from the poor to my present position. I confess my business methods were not always clean, but I cheated the same liars and cheats who stole from the people. My son also worked hard, I did not help him at all, I believed he should rise on his own feet. After the death of our last president, you probably don't remember, but it was a scary time. No other country in the world had as many corrupt officials as we did, with tax money flowing into the government's pockets. There was a merry-go-round of contract killings, prices were rising, salaries were not being paid, planes and rockets were falling, houses were exploding, mine accidents were happening almost every month, terrorists were terrorising the big cities, bandits were rampant, people were being kidnapped. All this was inherited by Rizor, the new president. I realised that the power in my son's hands was a great burden, he could fly to the skies or break his neck. There were many people around him who ruled the former head of the country, indulging his weaknesses and taking advantage of his incompetence in many matters. Rizor had to deal with great figures who had long remained in the shadows.”

“But why did he close Virtul?”

“He had his reasons.”

“He hadn't even said it!” I almost screamed. Anger roared wildly through my soul.

Grant cautiously sat closer, emitting a quiet emotion.

“Isn't this an abuse of power? His latest laws are worse than the last. How can a country be run that way?”

“Siri, what would you do if you were president?” Asanor raised an eyebrow in question.

“The first thing I'd do is lift the last moratorium on executions. And immediately commit the crime for which I would be executed first.”

“Why?” Gisborne grinned in surprise.

“To set an example. Something tells me that there will be no honesty and justice in our country until the last ‘honest and fair’ official in power is executed.”

“In essence, any death penalty is seen as state-legalised murder. In this sense, the state is no different from a criminal who commits an illegal act. After all, what is the point of doing it? Basically, what right does Unica have, how can it kill a person when life is a gift from above? It is easier to keep such a dangerous criminal away from society. The Constitution itself gives priority to the correction of the criminal, not his destruction. And execution simply takes a person's life without giving them a chance to reform.”

“And yet... Power is the right to control people. I think you can be killed for abusing that right.”

“Siri, I understand your discontent, but you should also understand that every democracy leads to oligarchy, which leads to authoritarian rule. It will be much worse if the power goes to the people, then the collapse of our country will not pass. So let my son have bad power, as you say, because bad power is better than powerlessness,” said Asanor.

“What should we do? Wait and watch life fade into the sunset?”

Gisborne nodded and spoke with a slightly sad smile, “We must only submit to the authorities and believe that better times will soon come.”

I sighed. A baby is born, learns to walk and talk, goes to school, goes to university, then faces the incomprehensible problems of adulthood, and finally its rose-coloured glasses, dreams and optimism are shattered by the cruel reality.

“Huh, and what's left for the average person who wants to be happy and enjoy their work and life?” I lifted my eyes to the sky and pitied myself and my innocent contemporaries.

“To submit to authority and believe that better times will soon come,” Grant repeated ironically.

I grinned.

“Loyalty and submission are beautiful when we submit to wisdom and justice. But a worthy person will not tolerate an oppressive authority that acts unjustly and ruthlessly for its own benefit and despises the weak and helpless,” I said quietly.

“There is no right or wrong, Siri. There is no best and most balanced option. Everyone wants to live for themselves, and as long as selfishness flourishes in our hearts, the world will never change for the better. And even if it does... There will always be the poor and the rich, the empowered and the disempowered, the blessed and the cursed. Life is always unfair – that is its fundamental characteristic, without which there can be no life itself.”

I looked at Gisborne again, my heart whimpering with hopelessness and sadness.

“Is this the way it has to be? Can't we change things?”

“I don't know, Siri. I don't know. Only posterity will know where time will lead. History will tell.”