The Inquiry

A man sits on the opposite side of my table, his hands chained to the desk. Professionals of all sorts flank me on my right side, armed police officers on my left. I allow the man’s restlessness and worry to grow. A minute passes before I speak. 

“Your full name?” 

He startles at the sound of my voice, like I’m a car alarm blaring at a robber.

“Kennington Peabody Arelsing.”

“Angelina Maria Brown.”

Her dark eyes bore into me, fiery and fearless. I don’t need to exert much energy to make my face look oblivious and unimpressed.

“Thank you. I’m going to say a word. You have half a second to name the first thing that comes to mind. Understand?”

A spiteful nod.

“Iron.”

“Forges.”

“Cats.”

“Ugly.”

“Fly.”

“Canada.”

Scientists furiously jot down notes. She gives them a death glare. My questions now come at a rapid pace.

“Joy.”

“Skiing.”

“Princess.”

“Annabelle.” 

“Why?”

“Question.”

“No. Why did you react to ‘princess’ with ‘Annabelle’?”

He shrugs. “It sounds like a princess name.” 

I can tell that there is something deeper to his answer. But I don’t think too much about it. It’s the words he speaks that we require, not the memories lying beneath them.

“Good job.” I say plainly. Her chains rattle as she attempts to stand. 

“We’re not done?” Her voice is filled with hate.

“If we were finished, you would be unlocked and I would be gone. Sit back down.”

She glances sharply at the police officers guarding her.

“Answer to the best of your ability.” 

He has been much more obedient than her. I hope the scientists make note that his emotional reaction to this interrogation is fear, while hers is loathing and anger.

“What came first; the chicken or the egg?” I aim to raise my voice a little bit at the correct answer. He either ignores the hint or doesn’t notice it at all.

“Chicken.”

“Explain.”

“How else would the egg have been laid? It’s got to have come from somewhere, and birds are the only creatures that lay eggs today. Maybe a dinosaur had a chicken baby, and that’s how the first chicken came to be? And then it laid an egg? I don’t know. . .”

Scientists scribble.

“Egg.” As if sensing my next command, she adds “because animals evolved. The first chicken came from an egg laid by chicken-like creatures, who didn’t share enough of the same DNA with chickens to be classified as chickens. Then they laid an egg, and the first chicken was brought into existence. Happy?”

I smile. “Very.”

“My maker doesn’t want me. My buyer doesn’t use me. My user doesn’t feel me. What am I?”

“Coffin.” He says with utmost certainty. “The maker doesn’t want me, he wants to sell me. The buyer doesn’t use me, because the buyer is alive. The user is a dead person, so of course he can’t feel me!”

I raise my brows.

“What? My daughter and I used to tell each other riddles all the time.” He grins sadly. 

Sharing feelings.

At least one of them has warmed up to us.

“I die if you don’t feed me. I destroy if you don’t house me. I can shrivel at a drop of water. What am I?” 

She thinks about it for a long time before giving me her answer. I tilt my head curiously at her dark, angry face, wondering what she’ll say.

“Your sense of humor.”

I sigh.

“This is the last segment. Bear with me and I promise to make it as enjoyable as possible. Deal?”

She leans forward menacingly, barely managing to control her fury. “You chain me up. You take away my family. You force me to answer questions that not only violate my dignity, but my thought process.” Her voice lowers to a whisper. “And you want me to make a deal with you?”

“Are you ready for the last segment?” 

He bolts straight upright in his seat.

“Yes, ma’am!”

The strangest thing is that he’s not being sarcastic. He genuinely wants this to be over with. And I understand that–this past week he’s been treated like a. . . rich prisoner. Locked up in a cell the size of a bedroom, three meals a day of soup, a sheepskin and quilt to sleep on. It’s not easy, even I understand. The only reason I’m supporting this study is because I know what it’s for.

“Great. Now, tell me what you think. There is no right or wrong answer.”

Gray lighting deepens the creases in both of our faces, makes our skin appear colorless and pallid.

“Why is it so hard for us, as humans, to embody compassion?”

“We’re animals. It’s our instinct to fend for ourselves. You don’t see parrots or lizards or earthworms sympathizing with others. Bees bring honey to their injured because they’re pack animals, they need one another to survive. Wolves work as a team to hunt so their pack doesn’t starve and they die. But the only reason they do this is because there is personal gain. We are built the same way. That’s why it’s so extraordinary when a person acts with kindness.”

“Some of us aren’t raised the right way. If a person is raised believing that it’s dog-eat-dog, every man for himself, kill or be killed, then of course they won’t care for others. But if the same person is raised in a household where empathy, sensitivity, etc, etc, are valued and believed to be the best qualities a person can have, then naturally that person is going to be more caring. It’s the nurture that counts. It’s all in how someone is raised.”

“Is there anything truly unforgivable, or can time and context heal any action?”

“There is only one thing that is truly unforgivable: killing.”

“Okay. What if it’s self-defense? Would you still consider it completely unforgivable?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. But to me, there is nothing that can ever make killing seem better.”

“Killing bugs? Killing pigs for meat? Killing trees for wood, killing a bear for fur. What about humane euthanasia? That too?”

She looks at me with her uncanny dark eyes. And for the first time, I think I see something else in them other than ire. Sadness.

“Everything can be forgivable. Like, say you curse the world. Never gonna happen, of course, but say it does. Everyone might hate you. But there is a way–there is always a way–to convince them to forgive you. See, in my opinion, forgiveness is a state of mind. You just need to bring people into it. At the same time, some things can actually be forgiven, no convincing needed. Another gnarly example: you lock up a couple hundred people in cells, starve them half to death, and ask them questions against their will. Sound familiar? But anyway, even that can be forgiven. Like, if you were using their answers to solve a world problem . .”

Oh, if he knew how close he was coming to the truth. But my expressionless face gives nothing away.

“Yeah. I didn’t think so.”

“This is the last question. Are you ready, Angelina Maria Brown?”

“Yes.”

“This is the last question. Are you ready, Kennington Peabody Arelsing?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you think we’ve brought you here? Why do you think we’ve brought the four hundred ninety-eight before you?”

Both of them give the exact same answer.

“You need something from us.”

Yes.

They may not know it now.

They may not know it ever.

But we have what we need.

We’re ready to change the world.