A SPONTANEITY OF LOATHING

A spontaneity of loathing (Excerpt from Alms of the Crowd )

"To the Radio Station", yelled one wild eyed individual, his face white with anger and perhaps a little fear. This call was taken up by many others. Many adjectives flashed through Ralph's throbbing head as he scanned the melee. These people were electrified yet frightened at the same time, full of hope yet fearful of despair. Some were wild eyed as if drunk, others drawn with concern and anxiety. Mothers clung to children, young men to sweethearts. This was one of those moments in history, their history, a moment that would live on long after them, maybe would demarcate them for the rest of their lives.

“They're giving”, Valéria whispered to Ralph, “like alms, but they're giving their lives". Ralph looked at her, her whole being seemed transformed.

"This is it Ralph", the voice in his ear was familiar, yet he couldn't place it. He turned to face the immaculately turned out figure of László Horvath. Horvath had usually kept his head down in their meetings, but when he did speak it was always in support of Zoltan, of Rákosi and the status quo.

"It could be", Ralph answered, he'd learned to be guarded when dealing with people like Horvath. In truth he'd never really taken much notice of Horvath before, he was the archetype none conviction supporter of the regime, looking for the nod from Zoltan, giving dutiful support because that was the way to ingratiate oneself with the power structures in society. Ralph took in the slightly flabby jowls, the immaculate Windsor knot, the new cheap suite and above all those eyes searching for a false empathy based on self interest.

"Could be, could be", Horvath gushed, "it's what we've been working for . . . ", the rest was obscured by the noise around but even more so by Ralph's repugnance at Horvath's use of the word 'we've'. This man's easy principles were too much for Ralph, who had put up with many such characters in his time in Hungary. Ralph spun away from Horvath, afraid that the anger in his gut would spill out of his mouth. He pushed thankfully into the anonymity of the crowd, with the increasingly agitated shouts of Horvath accompanying every step.

It was with a sense of relief that Ralph met up again with Valéria and Ferenc. The people around were jabbering excitedly. Some carried hastily created banners with one major theme, the downfall of the hardline Government. Ralph saw a familiar face, it was one of the waiters from the kávéház Művész, they called him Alpár, although whether that was his real name was anyone's guess. Alpár suddenly stumbled. Ralph who was standing nearby instinctively grabbed his arm. Alpár was dressed in a shirt and trousers from the kávéház Művész. Now it was a nice day but it was late October, and it can get decidedly chilly in Hungary at this time. Ralph got a shock with that grip on Alpár's arm. First he could feel the cold in Alpár's body. More than that, Alpár's arm felt like the wing of a chicken, it was so thin that Ralph was sure his hand could encircle it, even in the more fleshy parts of the arm. He looked Alpár in the face. He'd never noticed before in the half light of the Művész just how gaunt this face was. Ralph suddenly felt a surge of shame. While he'd been stuffing his face the guy serving him was on the breadline. Ralph was wearing a jacket under his overcoat. He whipped the overcoat and jacket off, then offered the jacket to Alpár.

"No, no", the freezing waiter held up his hands, but Ralph was having none of that. He took Alpár's hand gently and thrust it into the jacket, then the same for the other arm. Alpár's eyes seemed to flood with tears, some of these tears began to trickle down Alpár's cheeks, adding even more to Alpár's despair. Those wide wet orbs stared at Ralph. Ralph's heart went out to this man, ashamed when he had nothing to be ashamed for. Ralph did the only thing he was capable of at that time, he wrapped Alpár in a huge hug. All of a sudden Ferenc and Valéria joined the hug. They stayed like that for several seconds, each feeling the other's thoughts and cares, this empathy was created by words, these words had now been given meaning by action.

The three friends had fallen behind the front of the march. They were dawn to the front, they had to be there, they were reoccupying ground that had been stolen from them, first by the Nazis, then by the Soviet Union. The whole crowd was animated, they were marching together, they were a community of right, a spontaneity of loathing, they were a brotherhood and sisterhood set to right the wrongs that had lashed their country over many years. This crowd, this river of humanity, equal to their Danube, could not and would not be stopped. This crowd had upended their perceptions. Up to that time crowds had been dangerous intimidating places where one watched one's back, now they were acting as a single structure with a single purpose. It was uplifting, it was beautiful, it was orgasmic, all at one and the same time. The interests of the individual were sublimated to the interests of the single entity which was this crowd, this magnificent crowd.

Even at this very moment of great elation however Ralph also felt uneasy. Yes comrades in arms had a common goal, but this common goal lacked the nuances that each of these people might bring to the situation individually. Did that leave them vulnerable. It depended on what they faced when they reached their objective. If they faced a few policemen, or even a few ill motivated AVH operatives backed by a few conscript soldiers, then the crowd may sweep them aside, and when one of such an opposition ran the rest would run. But if what faced them was a determined well drilled opposition that didn't break at the first taste of danger then what? There were mothers with young children in the march, older people too, school pupils as well as those itching for a fight with the authorities, as well as perhaps those who might relish a bit of chaos so they could thieve from any shop or other establishment that finished up with a brick through its window. Ralph felt a shiver run down is spine, then pushed his way back into the elevated mass, his concerns melting into the single entity that was the crowd.

As the Radio Station got nearer a change could be discerned. The thugs began to make more noise, some of them smashing the windows of the odd shop that hadn't put up its metal shutters, then looting some of the goods from the windows. These thugs seemed more interested in their anarchic mission than attention to many of the other marchers who were bearing banners to support the 16 demands of the students and others. Ralph felt the brick in his stomach grow. He knew he should remonstrate with these thugs, but he was conscious of the young children, of deflecting energy from the march, maybe of his own fear. He allowed himself the luxury of dreaming of the new order they were creating, a classless society of freedom from fear, of freedom from exploitation enforced by the AVH. Then his mind seemed to make a jump to the social milieu that could follow any sort of victory, to those who might benefit and those who might not. All this was profoundly upsetting. A pessimism seemed to be settling in his gut that was as disturbing as it was upsetting.

The crackle of rifle fire suddenly jerked Ralph out of his contemplation. An almost irresistible urge hit him, it was the urge to run, to get away from this potential hell hole. The anxiety tore at his gut, almost like he'd already been shot. His mouth turned dry, his heart pounded like a drum gone crazy, his hands seemed to shiver, his whole body seemed paralysed. Then he remembered his own musings, the choice between the anxiety of confronting what was there, or the utter relief of shunning the anxiety, opting for an altogether different world where anxiety didn't exist, of acquiescing to the status quo, perhaps even of embracing the status quo. The moment he flicked to these thoughts he felt easier, the monster in his guts was suddenly caged, his whole body seemed to relax. Who would judge him? He saw all around him people who had been filled with revolutionary fervour suddenly having second thoughts as images of mangled bodies and bloodied faces appeared in their heads. But with these thoughts came another. With these thoughts he'd suddenly, in his own eyes at least, become less than human. His readings from Kant and from Frankl flooded his head. Never in a million years sitting in the quiet of the library would he have thought of conforming. To be a human being was not to be tensionless but was to be a part of the struggle for meaning, the struggle to be an end in oneself, and these yearnings could not be satisfied by the meaninglessness of conforming.

He suddenly spun his steps towards the shots. On the one hand he felt that he might shit himself, on the other he felt whole, a true representative of the human race. He looked around. Striding right next to him, white as a sheet but proud, was Valéria, and next to her Ferenc, his cheeks red with the cool morning air, and also probably with the developing fear that raged inside him. Then Ralph had a great but pleasant surprise. Next to Ferenc, striding inexorably on and with a huge banner clasped tightly in his hands was Zoltan. The big Hungarian's face was set, there was a look like thunder in his eyes. Ralph wasn't surprised to see Zoltan on the march, his priorities seemed to change with the changing of the political wind. But would he break with the march now? He showed no signs, his steps didn't falter, his gaze was to the front.

Ralph turned his eyes to the crowd around him. There was a change. The women with young children had melted away, the old folks were diminished. In their place were younger people with sparkling eyes and justice in their strides. There were others too. These were harder looking, mainly men. They didn't speak much to each other, a guttural grunt now and then, almost an instruction or a warning. Many of them straining under the weight of the shoulder bags they carried. Ralph suddenly felt a sense of foreboding. He was intrigued by the shoulder bags. He veered his path to get nearer to these characters. Many of the shoulder bags were so full they were open at the top, these guys didn't care much who saw what they were carrying. Ralph peered, the sense of foreboding grew, his heart began to pound. These bags contained bits of concrete, half bricks and other building detritus. Other bags seemed lighter, these contained bottles and containers filled with liquid, with cloth wicks sticking out of the necks. Ralph knew full well these were Molotov Cocktails, an unsophisticated version but no less deadly for that.

Ralph felt a shiver run down his backbone. He pulled his jacket around himself, but he knew that the temperature was only part of the problem. For the first time he became conscious of the large puddles both in the road and the footpath. These were the result of years of neglect by the communist authorities. He tried to side step one of the larger puddles but only succeeded in splashing Valéria, who in turn gave Ferenc a splash for good measure. There was a small child in baby grows splashing about in this large puddle. The child's mother was imploring the child to come out, but the mother's attire precluded her from going into the puddle, at least at that moment when things seemed still reasonably safe. Valéria, who wore large boots and what looked like waterproof pants, had no such reservations. She plunged in and extricated the errant child.

Those at the front of the crowd now began to bunch. Ralph was close to Valéria and Ferenc. The hairs on the back of his neck seemed to stand up like needles. Ralph could smell the sweat on some of his comrades, the snatched words and quick gestures, the beating of hearts seemed like a cacophony in his ears. He felt fear, real fear. Yet he also felt elated. Not for him the false comfort of the armchair, the tensionless state of torpor, for that was less than human, for a human being must, to be considered human, be involved in the never ending struggle for meaning in all its guises. Only with this relentless pursuit did man the human being become an end in himself or herself. The crowd gave him strength, gave him the power to carry on. His personhood was now a part of this larger personhood, the personhood of the crowd. He was a corpuscle, minute yet indispensable, an essential part of an unstoppable mass.

There were noises off. Shouting from somewhere in the crowd about a traitor, the bitterness and rancour clear in the morning air. Ralph felt drunk with the heady power of it all. He could hear the wail of sirens from somewhere in the distance. This seemed to spur those around him on. He felt Ferenc quicken his stride. He glanced at Valéria. He'd never been prouder of her than at that moment. Her head was back, her golden hair blowing in the slight breeze, she was Liberty Leading The People, the very antithesis of the tensionless state he so hated.

The noise of disturbance was increasing steadily, they were nearing the Radio Station. Suddenly there was a dull thud not far from Ralph. He almost jumped out of his skin as a half brick landed at his feet. He spun around. They were immediately in front of a jewellery store. It was the heavy metal grid that protected the windows that had received the half brick. From the dents and disfigurements in this grid this wasn't the first time it had received such treatment. Some of the guys with rucksacks full of building detritus were giving the metal grid a real go. One man had obtained a huge iron bar and with a couple of his mates had pushed this projectile between the openings in the grid and pushed and pulled like hell. The grid groaned, bits broke off and the crowd around roared. Ralph noted that any jewellery had long since been removed from the window, but he could understand the anger going into tearing this shop apart. It stood as a proxy for the few rich Hungarians who patronised it. There was an immense ripping sound as part of the grill was ripped from its stanchions and crashed into the road. The crowd went wild with exultation. All of a sudden two policemen emerged from the shattered store front, clearly they'd been given the unenviable task of defending this jewellers if its defences were breached. They stood, wide eyed with fear as the mob seethed around them. One of them received a massive blow to the side of his head. He staggered against a wall, then collapsed like a punctured bag of potatoes. The other man cowered back into a doorway, trying to shield his face.

"Stop this, these are Hungarians forced into defending the regime", predictably this was Valéria, "are you with us, are you?", Valéria screamed at the two policemen. Ralph looked closer. Both of these assumed protectors looked like they should still be at school.

"We're with you", the policeman still standing yelled, trying to help his colleague into a sitting position. This youngster was in a pitiable state, blood oozing from a large wound on his forehead. The crowd around gave a huge scream of approval at the policeman's affirmation. Then the standing policeman began to tear off his uniform, first the helmet, then he began struggling with the jacket. The crowd roared and roared again, it was as if a final victory had been achieved.

The crowd surged on, its confidence now sky high as bits of brick and bits of concrete were hurled at any building that looked remotely like it supported the regime. The tide of humanity had received new impetus, driven by success. Ralph felt his body being virtually carried along, you had to carry on or you would be trampled underfoot. Women, suddenly terrified for their children, tried to gather them up. These women, faces tight with anxiety, fought their way back through the crush, this was motherhood in action. Still the crowd surged on, swarming, then a change of direction, then surging again.

The next street was where the Radio Station stood. Immediately those leading the wave of humanity turned the corner there was a crackle of shots. Ralph felt the cold sweat run down his back. He felt the fear in his gut, it seemed to incapacitate him. He watched in fascination as the man in front of him sank down to his knees. He'd never seen anyone shot before. The river of people had suddenly become a number of rivulets, like ripples after pebbles had been thrown. Those at the front, those armed with bits of concrete or brick, the shock troops, were forced to stop but didn't retreat. They looked absurd as they stood or crouched throwing their projectiles that barely made it halfway towards the ranks of AVH operatives and soldiers. The mothers, children, older people and a hotchpotch of others were now in retreat. All this left a large part of the crowd undecided, swaying one way then another, but all the time sitting ducks for the bullets of the security forces.

Someone had thrown Molotov Cocktails at an office block. Two smashed harmlessly on the road, but a third smashed the window of the building. Suddenly acrid smoke began to pour from the smashed window, and a group of women emerged from a door of the building, coughing and retching. This seemed to be the trigger that the security forces had been waiting for. The gunshots boomed out again. Some of these shots were aimed above the heads of the crowd, but others weren't. The front of the crowd became further fragmented. The big wave made off to the left, down a main thoroughfare that seemed free of the dreaded AVH. Others ran this way and that to what they hoped and prayed were safe side streets. All this activity gave an opportunity to see the crowd's situation. The shock troops with their rucksacks and pockets stuffed with projectiles were still there, although looking more depleted by the minute. A shot seemed to rip over Ralph's head. He immediately went into a crouch, which posture he retained as he ran for the shelter of a doorway. A fear gripped him, the fear of being maimed by a shot. He felt a most urgent desire to run like hell. Then another fear hit him like a steam train, the fear of cowardice. He looked around, the panic almost paralysing him. Valéria, Ferenc, where were they? Then he saw them, they were both helping a wounded man who was almost doubled up in pain.

Ralph's mind cleared. He ran from the safety of the doorway, the fear of fear uppermost in his head. He heard the crackle of a couple of shots, whether they were aimed at him he knew not. He reached his two compatriots. They were supporting this man, one on one side, one on the other. Ralph looked at the injured man. The man's face was a grey mask, he was groaning, his hands clutching his stomach. Ralph risked a look at the man's stomach and nearly puked. There was a large and growing red stain around the man's midriff, and it seemed to Ralph to grow with every step that man struggled to make. He pushed Valéria out of the way and took her place at that side. He felt the man's hot blood on his arm, but didn't look, tried to push the episode out of his mind even though he was right in the centre of it.

They made it to the doorway that only a few moments ago Ralph had been sheltering in. The injured man seemed to lose consciousness as he slipped to the ground. The red stain was bigger now. Ralph looked at his hands, they were red with the man's blood.

Leslie Jones is a retired educational professional having been Head of Department and Senior Examiner for GCSE and A level. His writing has focussed primarily on general and political fiction, plus a number of articles on philosophy and related topics.