An Untold Story

by Liza Corr

I am not green; in fact, I don’t even turn you green when I hold you. And I am busy. Each day, more people find more things to need me for. I find myself spending my time in business meetings, malls, in government offices, divorce courts, and sitting around the conference tables of major logging and oil companies.

To clarify, I do not spend- not time, not anything. I do not give. I accumulate, acquire and amass. In my (un)spare(able) time, I hoard.

I am one of seven sisters and we are deadly. We are your vices and your sins. We cannot be ignored. I am strongest and hold the most power. I am the one who waits restlessly until you have wanted for too long. I am Greed.

I often intertwine myself with lust and envy and together we encompass those too meek and weak to resist us. Together, we carry them to their destiny. It is in our arms that the meek shall inherit the earth.

Don’t be so quick to hate me. I can, quite easily, give you a list of people who may speak of me fondly. Mr. Charles Darwin may tell you that I am a key part of the evolutionary spirit- that, without me, you would be nowhere. A Mr. Adam Smith, a Scottish philosopher who advocated quite feverously for the free market might tell you of how he needed me; how he based every idea he had around me. And if you do not wish to call upon the dead, you may talk to almost any modern politician. They may not admit it outright and will most likely try to talk you in circles but if you listen closely they will tell you of the faith they have in me. All I can hope is that if you so stubbornly refuse to call my references, you remember that you have welcomed me into your mind and body. With that, I would like to introduce myself as your friend or maybe as something much more.

Entice and engulf. That’s what I do. I try not to linger. I try not to take interest in each person, the persons around them or, quite obviously, the object of their attention. But most times, I slip up and find myself enthralled, fascinated and I want to know more. I try to stay away, but too often, I fall in love. I cannot help myself. I fall in love thousands of times in a day. Some affairs are eternal and some are fleeting. I am, I admit, a hard lover to shake. The kind that will follow you home and call too many times. For if you are stolen from me by generosity or benevolence I find myself inseparably locked with jealousy. This story, like almost everything else these days, tells the tale of a passionate romance.

He sought me out early and often. When he was young he lusted over crayons and Halloween candy. As he grew into his teenage years he sought after drugs and only stopped using because he started selling and his want for money was stronger. He bought clothes. Lots of clothes. He kept all of them for fear that if he threw some away, someone else might pick them up. As a young adult he stole oxygen and blank space as he spoke relentlessly. When money wasn’t enough he thirsted for power. He rose high in the ranks of American government. And with his power, he found himself wanting publicity. He needed the world to know of his power, of his capital and of his ruthless success. And so, I held him tighter. For so long we were inseparable. But unfortunately, spring brings new life.

May 2, 2009. Birds sang, children played and lovers strolled. My man hardly noticed, my wonderful, loyal man never noticed. From his balcony one could see the entire city and glittering water if one ever took the time to look. But looking required seeing and seeing would require feelings of gratitude or appreciation- two emotions my man had never felt. Instead, with his blinds shut and a fluorescent light on he reviewed bank statements. He delighted in finding new ways of cutting costs. He smiled at the obvious loophole in minimum wage as he sent his companies abroad. Like always, it was he and I, together. I loved him and he loved me. I don’t say that just to convince you though I hear women do that. “He loved me!” they scream. I do not yell to make things true. That is not me. I am loved by and dance with all at some point in their lives. He was more dedicated than most and he truly loved me. I was all that he needed.

The phone rang and, unwilling to miss a deal, he jumped to answer it.

“I am looking for a Mr. Angus, to whom am I speaking?” He could hear beeps and shouts and rushing from the other end of the telephone. He could tell by the calm happiness and informality in the women’s voice that she wasn’t someone he wanted to talk to.

“This is he, but I am a busy man and don’t have time to discuss the Alaska oil drills with some liberally educated do-gooder,” The only soft speaking women who called always turned out to be telemarketers looking for some sort of donation. “Take me off your list—“ She chuckled.

“No, no sir. I am not from a nonprofit. I’m a nurse and I was calling you to notify you and congratulate you on the birth of your daughter! You are a father.”

I watched her. From my place tangled around her coworker’s knees I watched her. She clicked her acrylic nails on the grey counter. She didn’t like my man. She judged him for missing his daughter’s birth. What she doesn’t know is that he has had many sons and daughters by me and unlike human babies, mine do not spit up, cry, eat food, nor do they require clothing or education. No, my children provide for him. They bring him money and power. What pleasures, what success could this little human infant bring him?

So, she clicked away at the counter and judged a man she didn’t know.

“A whaaatttt? I think I misheard you, you said I was a what?

“A father!” She explained with clearly forced excitement. “Sir, in any case, I’m going to have to ask you to come down to the hospital. There are papers to sign and if you would like us to do a blood test to be sure, we will.”

“Yes! A blood test! And who did you say was the mother?”

“One moment please.” Papers rustled. “A Ms. Annie Clay”

“Shit.” He hung up and fixed his perfectly tailored suit. God, did he look good. He called down to have his car pulled around and he swore as he got in. He didn’t stop. He swore as he turned the keys. He swore as he shifted gears. He swore when he stopped at the red light. He swore when walked into a hospital room and saw Annie sound asleep in her hospital bed.

He had known she was pregnant. That’s why he stopped sleeping with her. It wasn’t that he thought she was taken or that he minded that she now carried a heavy responsibility. No, it wasn’t that. He just found her much less fun and much less appealing as she put on weight.

He never imagined the child could be and would be his.

He walked quickly down the hall. He wanted to see this money drain of a mistake for himself. As he looked around at all the newborns, he swore. Useless. When his eyes fell on his own his mouth opened and shut. He was quiet.

She was beautiful. Her head was too big and while she slept her lower lip stuck out too far but she was beautiful. He asked the nurse if he could hold her. He didn’t say please and I half smiled. Still, the question came out more softly and unobtrusively than I would have liked. He had never respected silence like that before.

The nurse nodded and as he held her, he was careful to support her head and neck. With his free hand he pulled the blankets away from her face and just looked at her. He rocked slowly, his gaze fixed on her puffy, round face. He was in a trance. As he rocked, he shook me and I began to lose my grip. I let go of his chest but gripped tightly to the back of his head, his hair, his neck, his back, his waist, his legs and his feet. I did not grip his heart. I did not hold his eyes. This was the farthest and longest we had been apart. I could see myself lose him from all angles. I could see myself lose him from my seat on the nurse’s shoulder, from under a doctor’s arms, from my place every on person walking by, from those crows outside on the telephone line.

That’s the thing about being greed. I see things I don’t want to see from about 10 billion points of view. And though most things lie safely in my arms I obsess over those creatures I lose. I want them all. Everyone. Everything. I am forever restless.

She needed her rest or at least that’s what the nurse told him. For the first time he felt guilty. He was keeping her from her sleep. He put her down gently and slowly. He wanted to hold her but what she needed came first. It was such a little gesture but it slapped me. It screamed at me. It insulted me. He smiled at the nurse and thanked her. He wanted her to take good care of his daughter. His daughter. The idea swirled in his head. His thoughts felt soft and vulnerable against his skull- a contrast to his normally forceful thoughts of conquest and thievery that pounded, pulsed, and sometimes slithered through his mind. Finally he spoke it. “My daughter.” He whispered. “My daughter…”

With that determined stride he was known for he returned to… what was her name? Annie? Annie’s room. She lay there. He could feel her exhaustion. Her held fell to one side and residue sweat stuck to her hairline.

“ACHEM.” He asserted his presence. She opened her eyes slowly and turned her head towards him just a bit. She was horrified but he couldn’t tell. Of course not, remember that would involve both looking and caring- neither of which he did. She had bore his child and unlike fairy tales he wouldn’t love her and she’d be left with a daughter she didn’t want and couldn’t care for. She closed her eyes again and imagined her struggle. She saw the weight of her child holding her down and leaving her forever clawing at survival.

It turns out, she was only half right. He would not love her. Not even close. His only connection to her lay in what she gave him and he would make sure she knew that but he would not leave her with alone with the girl. His girl would have everything: the love of her parents (though her father’s appeared stronger) and any shoe or dress or book or food or gift or house or opportunity she could ask for. She would have more than just that. She would also be showered in snobbery, her mother’s resentment, scary stories of her father that she couldn’t make sense of, and detachment. She would lack only perspective, peace of mind, humility and friendship. As she grew older I latched on to her and I watched the man I once owned through the eyes of the girl who stole him from me.

It was the stories that confused her and it was the excess that ruined her. It was the fight between wanting things and knowing how she got them that taught her not to think. She saw the news. And when her father got caught for some of his greater and more blatantly illegal crimes, she couldn’t hide from them. Blaring TVs and newspaper headlines were everywhere. Camera crews stood salivating, perpetually at her gate. Her dad was a crook- a greedy crook. She saw the poverty-stricken lives her father forced on to the people who worked for him. She saw the tragedy of the people he stole from. Her father, her father who would do anything for her would do anything for himself also. And what about the things, the houses, the clothes that came of it all? She still loved them. She still wanted them.

What about him? He saw young girls just like his own suffering from the things he did. Then he looked at his own daughter and saw that she too was suffering.

And so, my man, Mr. Angus suffered.

If you get involved with me you suffer. And they suffer. Everyone and everything you touch. So be careful and if you become involved with me don’t leave me because while I’m with you I shield you. Stay away. And with this warning I come after you.