Do not read this story

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The two men stood in my front doorway, grey-faced and sombre.

“First of all we wish to assure you that you have done nothing wrong.”

“Thank you, I was already aware of that.”

“You are not accused or suspected of anything. You have nothing to fear.”

“Of course not.”

“Good. In that case, we trust you will have no objection in coming with us.”

“Not at all. May I ask why?”

“We need you to answer a few questions.”

“About what?”

“I’m afraid we can’t tell you that at this time. Rest assured you are not accused of anything.”

“So you say.”

“You have absolutely nothing to be concerned about.”

“Of course not. I have been a law-abiding citizen all my life.”

“That is not in question.”

“I have always voted, turned up for work and paid my taxes.”

“That is commendable. Nevertheless, we must ask you to come with us.”

“You still haven’t told me why.”

“We cannot. It is a matter of national security.”

“National security?”

“Yes.”

“Am I a witness to something?”

“Please, no more questions. These are matters of a sensitive nature.”

“Yes, of course.”

“The security of our nation is at stake.”

“I appreciate you telling me that.”

“The safety of your fellow citizens is at stake.”

“So you say.”

“We hope you appreciate the security of our nation and the safety of your fellow citizens are no laughing matter.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“These are dangerous times.”

“They are indeed. That’s why I’m always careful not to stir up trouble.”

“Are you often tempted to stir up trouble?”

“No, far from it.”

“Then why the need for caution?”

“Sorry?”

“Why must you always be careful? A truly law-abiding citizen would not think to stir up trouble. Only one susceptible to such a notion would need to take care to avoid it. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“You’re trying to snare me. It won’t work. I have always been a model citizen.”

“Is that what they trained you to say?”

“Who?”

“That’s what we’d like to know.”

“Nobody has trained me to say anything.”

“So you admit it is all your own idea, then.”

“I admit nothing. I have nothing to admit.”

“Very well. Then we’ll come straight to the point. We want to talk to you about the matter of the story.”

“What story?”

“The one you have been writing.”

“What about it?”

“We cannot say any more. It is a matter of national security.”

“So you say.”

“We are merely asking you to make certain amendments.”

“To what?”

“To the story.”

“It’s not as simple as that. Once a story is begun it takes on a life of its own. It’s not a matter of simply ceasing to write.”

“Your job as a writer is to add value to our culture and be a role model for our young people. This story does not achieve those aims. Certain aspects of it are inappropriate.”

“Such as what?”

“We feel our personnel are depicted in an unsympathetic way.”

“I see.”

“The characters as written are not representative of the real operatives on the ground.”

“If you say so. Though how would I know otherwise? Your work is secret, after all.”

“These people do an important job in exacting circumstances. They are selfless people working to maintain the well-being of their countrymen. The security of our nation depends on them continuing to enjoy unquestioning public support. Your portrayal of our agents is rooted in a cynical counter-culture that is unhealthy and unproductive.”

“And what are you suggesting I do about it?”

“We are urging you to replace negative formulations such as ‘grey-faced and sombre’ with more appropriate descriptive terms.”

“All right, then. How about I describe you as… ‘smiling and handsome’?”

“No, that would appear arrogant and self-serving.”

“‘Calm and authoritative’?”

“Too distant.”

“‘Warm and reassuring’?”

“Too suggestive of moral laxity.”

“All right, then. What do you suggest?”

“It would be more appropriate it if you said ‘patriotic’.”

“Patriotic?”

“Why the sneer? Does patriotism not inspire you?”

“I am not sneering. I have nothing but respect for patriots.”

“Then what is the problem?”

“The problem is that the words have already been written.”

“Then replace them.”

“I can’t. The story has moved on. I’d have to bin the whole thing and start again.”

“We still do not see the difficulty.”

“I couldn’t make the characters come back in the same form. They’d be different characters.”

“Surely you, as the writer, can arrange things otherwise?”

“It doesn’t work that way. Once a story begins it tends to take its own course. Take the story I’m working on at the moment. The way I originally conceived it, the agents are supposed to kill the writer after he convinces them they have no alternative. That was the crime I was bearing witness to my own death at the hands of two faceless security agents. I turn out to be an accessory to my own murder. Clever, don’t you think?”

“It has a certain hollow postmodernist appeal.”

“What if I were to stop? Just give up, never write another word and spend the rest of my life down the pub.”

“The story would still be there in your head.”

“Yes, there is that, I suppose.”

“In which case you would be withholding information crucial to our inquiries. That is a very serious crime indeed in the prevailing climate.”

“Of course. I understand.”

“You would not, we trust, wish to be seen as someone who poses a threat to national security.”

“Not at all.”

“You enjoy considerable freedom of expression as a writer, you are aware.”

“Absolutely.”

“However, with freedom comes a certain degree of responsibility. We are merely asking you to exercise that responsibility.”

“It’s intriguing how your measure of responsibility always dovetails so neatly with your own purposes.”

“Sarcasm is not appropriate here.”

“Nevertheless, you are asking me to rewrite a story in such a way that you would no longer have a place in it.”

“That is not the outcome we desire.”

“But it’s the only way I can do it. The three characters in this story depend on each other. They are what dramatists refer to as mutual antagonists. They can only exist in conflict. Do you see the dilemma?”

“A skilful wordsmith such as yourself ought to have no difficulty in resolving it.”

“I’m afraid that’s not so. You see, I created the agents with a certain purpose in mind.”

“What purpose would that be?”

“I don’t think I should tell you.”

“Why not?”

“It’d spoil the ending.”

“Please don’t play games with us.”

“I’m not. I’m just stating the facts. Look at the evidence. There are two agents, yet they speak with one voice. Don’t you immediately see the problem?”

“You are alone among us in seeing that as a weakness. We see it as a strength.”

“Yes, now I think about it, I suppose it could be construed in that way.”

“The greater number of people who hold an opinion, the stronger that opinion is. That is democracy.”

“In your eyes.”

“In the eyes of the majority, therefore. Come with us now, we have a mandate to detain you.”

“I’m afraid I can’t leave here until I’ve finished the story.”

“We won’t leave until we have you in our custody.”

“You realise how this will end, don’t you?”

“That depends entirely on you.”

“It will end with one of you shooting me.”

“If you say so.”

“One of you will shoot me here, on my own doorstep, and accuse the other of the crime. In that way, you will both evade justice.”

“Who are you to hand down notions of justice? All we demand from you is respect.”

“I am the victim in this scenario. That gives me a powerful voice.”

“Don’t be so sure. We still have to obtain your confession.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s advisable. Confessions have the habit of turning the confessor into a martyr. Far better for you if I deny everything right from the start, don’t you think? Make it look as if the whole thing is one great big delusional fantasy in which I believe I’m being pursued by two grey-faced, sombre agents of the state.”

“Your perceptiveness is inspiring. You concede, then, that your efforts are futile? That in the end, we will prevail?”

“Like a prevailing wind.”

“How do you mean?”

“A prevailing wind has no sense of destination. It doesn’t kill the weeds in its path. It just keeps on blowing.”

“Metaphors were never your thing, were they?”

“Yours neither. Now, which of you fine fellows is going to draw the pistol?”

“There is no pistol.”

“That’s awfully careless of you, if you don’t mind my saying.”

“We don’t do things that way. We had a different form of execution in mind.”

“And what is that, may I ask?”

“Suppose we were to make a transcript of this conversation, then post it up on the internet as if it were the story you were in fact writing? And then invite the general public to comment on it and give it a score out of five? To pick over its shortcomings until they burst open like festering sores, and then keep picking until all that’s left is a rotting, distended carcase? Let’s see how long you last under the same spotlight of unremitting cynicism that you have been so content to train on others. Watch as the honest, unflinching scrutiny of the people strips away the respect you have so done so little to deserve like millions of tiny pebbles being driven against a cliff by the waves.”

“It sounds, to be frank, like the worst form of torture. I take it you’ve come up with a suitably gratuitous title for this sordid exercise in public humiliation?”

“Oh, we have, we have. Now, will you please lead us inside? We have business to attend to.”