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There's a Man in the Habit of Hitting Me in the Head with an Umbrella
It's exactly five years today
that he's been hitting me on the head
with his umbrella.
At first, I couldn't stand it.
Now, I'm used to it.
I was sitting on a bench, in a park,
reading the newspaper.
Suddenly,
I felt something touch my head.
There was a man,
average in appearance,
wearing a grey suit, greying at the temples,
and with a common face.
He was whacking me,
mechanically and impassively,
with an umbrella.
On that occasion,
I turned around filled with indignation.
Excuse me!
I believe that's my head
you're hitting with your umbrella.
Excuse me, are you insane?
I said stop!
It was unbelieveble!
His face was completely neutral.
I didn't know what else to do.
I thought showing up at the police station
and saying "Officer, this man is hitting me on the head with an umbrella!"
I would have certainly been an unprecedated case.
Nevertheless, I thought it best to return home.
From that time on,
he has continued to hit me on the head with his umbrella.
As far as I can tell,
he has never either slept
or eaten anything.
His sole activity consists of hitting me.
He is with me in everything I do.
Even in my most...
intimate activities.
Many times I have let him have it
with punches, kicks and even, God forgive me, umbrella blows.
He would meekly accept the blows.
He would accept them as though they were part of his job.
Despite his lack of phisiological needs,
I know that when I hit him
he feels pain.
I know that he's week.
I know that he's mortal.
I know that I could be rid of him with a single bullet.
What I don't know
is if it would be better for that bullet to kill him
or to kill me.
Neither do I know
if when the two of us are dead
he might not continue to hit me on the head with his umbrella
In any event, this reasonig is pointless.
I recognise that I would never dare to kill him
or kill myself.
On the other hand,
I have recently come to the realisation
that I couldn't live without those blows.
Now, more and more frequently,
a certain foreboding overcomes me.
A new anxiety is eating at my soul.
The anxiety stemming from the thought
that this man,
perhaps when I need him most,
will depart
and I will no longer feel those umbrella taps
that helped me sleep so soundly.