Nephew at Work

Nephew at Work

Either I'll do nothing for a lot of money, my nephew said as we walked
along the rim of an abandoned mine shaft, or I'll do a lot of work for
nothing. Either I'll work for free, he said looking down, or I will be
lazy and rake it in. He said, Either I'm going to skate through life
doing no work and making a heavy profit or, he said proudly, I'm going
to work very hard and become a martyr. I will be known for my work, but
only after I'm dead, he told me. We walked by the old slurry pond. It
was still and green. The dark and empty holes of the mineshafts
appeared above us like stone-hooded ghouls. I kicked a rock into the
water and watched the ringlets grow both larger and flatter. While
listening to his voice I was surprised at how unlike his aunt I felt. I
felt more like his brother. His tone was brotherly, full of brotherly
rites. He said, It's nothing to me to either do or not do. It means
nothing. I am either active or I'm not. The sun suddenly broke free
from the clouds and what seemed like a spring of light bounced down on
us. My nephew said, Either I'm going to become a martyr for my cause,
or I'm not going to work at all and it's certain I'll be rewarded for
it. It is clear that I will receive a reward only for absolutely
meaningless work, for doing nothing. It's clear I will be rewarded. I
will be rewarded for doing nothing. He repeated the words rewarded for
nothing over and over again for several minutes. We walked in silence
after that for almost an hour, in and out of the old mine buildings but
never entering the decaying shafts because of the danger of collapse.
At one point, as he stood some distance from me, he said, It's clear
that the only work that matters is work that is not paid, that you
require yourself to do freely. The only discipline is self-imposed. All
other discipline, he shouted at me, is sheer brutality and violence!
Later, as he ate the onion and mustard sandwich I had prepared for his
lunch, he said, Either I'll be rich for no reason or I'll be poor for
every reason. Either I will kill myself with poverty or I will sleep in
my own filth. At this last comment he seemed satisfied. He leaned
against a stone and smiled at his sandwich. Anyone in between is just
sniffing out trouble, he said. The trouble sniffer, that middle of the
roader, he said, detects the crime of poverty and the crime of wealth.
The trouble sniffer is pure in his motives, my nephew said
emphatically. The trouble sniffer is pure to himself only, and sees the
world as corrupt. He works just enough to be considered a working man,
but not too much to be considered greedy. Everything in moderation, the
trouble sniffer is maniacal about moderation. Never too drunk, but
never too sober. I detest this, my nephew said. From my view, my
nephew's head looked encephalitic and in particular his forehead angled
much too far forward as though he was physically propelled by what he
was saying, physically thrown forward by his words. I've consulted
specialists, he said, leaning in even more intensely and
disconcertingly with his forehead. Work specialists who say that there
are essentially two kinds of work. Either all for nothing or nothing
for all, my nephew said. Either for everything or for nothing. There is
not such this as middling work, he said. Either you work or you don't.
I peered over my own onion and mustard sandwich and asked, Are the
onions sweet? My nephew nodded and then, holding the sandwich near his
ear with his left hand as shot-putter would a shot, he grabbed a stone
with his right and threw the stone into the slurry pond that was now
far below. Either I'm worth something, or I'm worth nothing. Either
life matters or it doesn't. Smiling I said, Either I'm in it for the
money or I'm in it for the glory. My nephew scowled at my interjection.
Either you're nothing or you're everything, he said to me, his face in
shadows, his forehead bulging abnormally.