To Know and Know Not

"Whence is that knocking?
How is't with me, when every noise appalls me?
What hands are here? ha! they pluck out mine eyes.
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather
The multitudinous seas incarnadine,
Making the green one red."
-MACBETH

A Clever Man he was. Not clever with conceit as so many fatally are, but rather a cleverness that answered to the god of Objectivity, removing oneself from the equation - a path down which no self-serving soul can traverse. The Clever Man's only opponents were those who also served this god. But he was safe even from them for in his art he had achieved perfection. Dig as you might, no trace could be found; no strokes of vanity, no careless deeds, no fickle fate left to intervene. No, the murder had been a perfect one, for not even a crime was suspect.

And crime does pay for the clever. In a world that so prides itself on infallibility, success is a perennial virtue. He loved the unsuspecting morality associated with his wealth. The eager to please auto dealer, the smiling face of the banker and the snobbish warmth of his tailor each lauded this "good man". No apparent fault. The seed money from the killing afforded him an honest manner of living well. He had become as perfect as his crime.

Except that he knew. The power of it was exhilarating, an unknown fact to lord over the world. A mystery man with a cheshire grin, reveling in the ignorance of his fellow man. He cheated the world and was rewarded. He knew society's dirty little secret: it too was all a lie. Nothing makes you feel safer when you're a fraud than the absence of honest men. Fellow frauds don't ask questions. And yet he himself had fallen for the Original Lie, the snake that's never been silenced, the siren's call of one little phrase: "...but no one will know."

In time, Clever Man came to realize his prison. Could he have an honest family and not confess his crime? Or have an honest friend? He rationalized the futility of going to the police as a pointless waste of life. This was a world only concerned with inflicting pain, not healing it. In the end, there was no way out. The Clever Man was steadfastly locked into the life he created - and locked out of redemption. He was left with only the bitter cold god of worshipping the perfectness of his crime.

On the the 29th floor of the most elite address in the city, Clever Man strolled confidently from his office after chatting amiably with two men from the cleaning crew. He loved those sort of chats, appearing no doubt as a god to these men; a successful man who'd made it on his own terms. Surely they had seen none like him before.

"Something not right about that guy," said the man with a trash can in his hand.

"Whatcha mean?" asked the one holding open a bag.

"That guy - he never comes clean. Know what I mean?"

"Yeah...see what you mean. Not what you call transparent."

"That's it! He's hiding something. He's done something wrong and can't never confess it. And it's sumthin' big."

"Ya think so?"

"Yup, he's done killed somebody. Maybe that's how he got his money. Now he's fucked."

"Killed someone?? Nah, can't be that."

"I can feel it. No honest guy acts like him. He's guilty - and he's got no idea it even shows."