Agent Cybele Reporting, Part 5

Remember, a goose can be trained to lead the sheep. Think twice in the midst of a "leader" then think again . . .


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
Cybele: You and Matthew are friends, aren't you?
Marcus: He's more of a funny sidekick, really. It's a Batman-Robin kind of thing. He owes me
a million dollars for freeing his mind. (Pausing then chuckling) That cheap bastard.
Cybele: Matthew seems pretty self-assured to me, Marcus. You freed his mind?
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Marcus: He's a good parrot. He's good at stealing ideas and claiming them as his own. I'm the
originator, and he's the counterfitter, you see. And his novel? Pure plagiarism. Matthew is in-
capable of conjuring up any originality from that wet brain of his. He drinks. I think.
Cybele: Really? He speaks so well of you, and you just make fun of him?
Marcus: He amuses me when I get bored, but I'll give him some credit. He's the only other per-
son I know who doesn't watch TV. That was his idea, the only zinger he didn't steal.
Cybele: Have you read his writings?
Marcus: A dollup or two of the dung mountain. There's too much. I don't have time.
Cybele: Matthew thinks the world can be changed, that we can recapture Eden by throwing
off our chains and going back to tribal primitivism. He thinks that you and he are laying the
intellectual groundwork for such change, that a hundredth-monkey type threshold will be
crossed after enough human beings have decided to think for themselves, and dismiss the
present system and its self-proclaimed leaders as irrelevent to their happiness and growth.
Marcus: (Cackling like a schoolgirl, whinnying like a horse) Matthew is crazy.
Cybele: Crazy?
Marcus: If he were serious about changing the world he'd change himself. He'd stop mastur-
bating all day, and sticking toys up his butt. (Pausing to smile) I wanna thank you, Cybele.
Cybele: Why's that?
Marcus: I'm a pretty gloomy guy, but you make me happy. You like to talk and think and read.
(Rolling a cigarette now) Wanna get a drink tonight? (Looking up at me, dreamy-eyed)
Cybele: Thanks for the compliment, Marcus, but I'm busy tonight and have to get going
soon. Mind if I ask one more question?
Marcus: (Deflated) Fire away, sweetheart.
Cybele: How would you go about changing the world?
Marcus: By doing absolutely nothing. The fat bitch which is civilization will sink soon enough
under its own weight, due to its own gluttony. The earth itself is alive and well, and in no dan-
ger from us. It uses us to get the oil out of its arteries, and when it's done with us, when we're
of no further use to this living planet it will blot us out from the book of life as it did the trilo-
bites and dinosaurs and wholly mammoths and dodo birds. We serve mother Earth, and moth-
er Earth serves only herself. Matthew wants to do something, and be something. I say do
nothing, and let the apocalypse unfold naturally.
Cybele: Do you think Matthew is capable of stirring people up?
Marcus: That might be entertaining, but no--I don't think he's a leader of men. (Holds aloft a
perfectly-rolled cigarette, admiring the handiwork) I should know. He slept on my couch for
a year, just drinking and scribbling nonsense, drinking and scribbling nonsense. A sad man.
So there you have it, my lord. The Marcus-Matthew relationship is not one of mutual respect.
They strike me as sad figures, angry loners who have no one to talk to but each other. It is not a
friendship. It's miserable and loveless. Codependent in their shared kookiness, Matthew's and Marcus's
only common ground is poking fun at normal human beings, whose only sin is working hard to better
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themselves and their families. Dale is the shining role model at the coffee shop. Who else would put up
with the stinking presence of these miscreants, but he, the family man, the army veteran, the hard worker,
the man who daily says, yes, to civilization's consensual reality and its necessary labors? Marcus's
assessment of Matthew's non-leadership qualities rang true to my discerning ears, my lord. Dare I say
(Cybele paused for a moment before continuing--Here it goes, I cross the point of no return: God help
me; Matthew help me! She deleted the words, "Dare I say," and started again): I mean no disrespect in
stating the following, my lord, but maybe we're barking up the wrong tree here. Maybe Matthew is not
the ringleader of the Portland resistance. Marcus, to the best of my discernment, is an honest to
goodness slacker, a type-B castaway intellectual, a man we can't bring back to the fold, true, but neither
is he a man who is likely to cause trouble. He doesn't like people enough to try to free their minds. To
justify his "non-servium" stance he needs people to remain sheep-like and shallow. True, Matthew is
writing a book, but I agree with Marcus again: it's derivitive, and unpublishable, over-brimming with
perversities, and offensive to anyone, regardless of political bent. True, Matthew may have rabble-
rousing pretentions, but his character flaws, grave and deep character flaws, seem preventative enough
without our wasting valuable time on him. Neither man seems capable of inspiring others, of winning
anyone, however desperate, over to their views. In conclusion, Matthew and Marcus seem capable of
rousing only themselves to impotent anger. Though this is my present opinion, my lord, I assure you it's
not final. I meet Matthew Primeau at the Refuge in two hours. I will utilize every punch and jab and
dick-kick in my arsenal to extract information about others he's talked to. If he's a true player in the game
against us, I will know it by the end of this evening. Your feedback is appreciated as always, my lord,
and this is Agent Cybele reporting.
Cybele reread the email thrice while chain smoking and sipping Popov vodka. "Fuck it," she
mumbled aloud, and hit "enter." Nothing for a few seconds. Maybe Lord Zorac is away from--Oh fuck!
Maybe you need some re-training, Agent! This is taking too long. Many friends of our organi-
zation died gathering information on this scourge to order and reason. The information is not wrong.
Matthew, as people know him, is not long for this world--that is a certainty! Either you find out whom
he's infected, or someone else will. Tonight is your last chance. Marcus hit a bull's eye with his
"farm" analogy. Isn't that enough for you to be suspicious, child? Have you considered the possibility
that Marcus and Matthew are on to you? that Marcus's demeaning comments on Matthew were
carefully designed to deceive you? Think! Child! Think! Your job from birth was to drive stakes through
the hearts of the unyielding. You've always done it well till now, and now I wonder why. Get back to
work, Agent! I anxiously await tonight's report.
August 10, 2007. 5:15 pm.
Dear diary:
Just a few rushed inchoate thoughts, O beloved diary. As Matthew promised Marcus is
a haughty, self-isolating individual of a most disgusting, faux-intellectual sort. In his mentally- and
spiritually-diseased presence, even the sweetest wine would taste bitter. Enough of him! Marcus
is a petty, jealous man. Enough of him! I need not see him again. I've played my hand against Zorac
and the Round Table, and I'm afraid it's a loser. Everything hinges on tonight. I must tell Matthew
what the deal is. I must bare my soul to another for the first time in my wounded life. Strangely, I feel
peace about this. Just typing it out makes it manifest, makes it real, and my soul is hushed and whole
before the inevitable. I will tell Matthew what I know, and hopefully my sacrifice will do some good for
him and his cause. Hopefully, my sacrifice will be remembered in ages hence. In the end I was saved.
I can't believe it! Zorac's threats are a laugh to me now! How could I turn against my Savior? I will not.