Open Your Heart

Story 24: Baggio's Story

Story by Charlie Fish

I would like to be a philosopher.

     Well, anyone who has said the word 'Why' can argue that he is a philosopher, so I want to be more than that. I want to be remembered as a philosopher.

     One day soon I will be dead. People will look back at my life, and they might say I was a martial artist; for I have earned a seventh dan black belt (in both karate and judo). They might say I was a musician; for I have composed successful operas (in three different languages). They might say I was a footballer; for I used to represent Italy (and scored twenty-seven goals for my country during my career).

     But above all, they will say, he was a great philosopher.

     The difference between a hobby and greatness is total immersion, to the sacrifice of all else. I must devote my entire life to this pursuit; I must give up absolutely everything for this cause.

     I assumed that giving up my material wealth would be the easiest part of this quest, but it is proving not to be straightforward.

     Yesterday, I hired a removal van and packed it with all of my possessions, leaving my house utterly bare. I drove out to the public common and unpacked the van there, laying every item out upon the grass.

     I labelled my bank cards with the relevant pin numbers. I labelled my bicycle lock with its code. I labelled my house keys with their address, and my car keys with instructions to find the car. I abandoned the rented van, for liabilities are also proprietary.

     Finally, I stripped the clothes off my back and folded them into a neat pile. And I walked away.

     It was late by then, and cold. I decided to forestall the next part of my mission until the morning. So I wandered the streets, looking for a warm place to sleep for a few hours.

     No haven was forthcoming. The few warm corners I did find were barred to me by people that I suppose took issue with my nakedness.

     I ended up walking aimlessly all night, to keep from freezing. As the sun rose and the pre-dawn chill passed, I found myself approaching the common again - my subconscious mind had guided me in a large circle back to where I started. The soft, dewy grass soothed my aching feet.

     I walked up to the pile of my belongings. There were a few people staring at it as they passed, mostly early morning joggers and peripatetic tramps.

     To my surprise, not a single item was missing.

     Ashamed as I am to admit it, my first reaction was to feel hurt that nobody had valued my possessions enough to claim them; but of course I did not indulge my misplaced pride.

     I waved down a passing cyclist and asked him why he had not stopped to take something.

     'This stuff is yours?' he asked.

     'Not anymore,' I replied, 'I wish to give it all away. Would you like to take something? Perhaps this stylish Armani duffle coat? It is a cold morning, after all.'

     He looked at me, and then glanced all around him as if looking for a candid camera. 'No thanks,' he frowned, and cycled away.

     I noticed a vagrant inspecting the pile of goods, and I approached him. 'Would you like some help carrying a few items away?' I asked.

     'Jumble sale, is it?' he mumbled, his eyes still casting over the assortment of household wares.

     'If you like,' I remarked, 'except that every item is free of charge.'