The devil

From the moment I saw him, I knew there was something different about him. I might be stupid, but eyes don’t lie—much less ideas.

—Every mind is a universe—he used to say to justify his rather unreasonable way of thinking.

I won’t say his real name, but let’s say his name is Adam. This character is older than me; we study the same major and attend almost all our classes at the same time. Adam is a peculiar subject, yet fascinating. My friends tell me to ignore him, not to pay much attention to what he says, not to laugh at his untimely comments in class—but… it’s inevitable.

—Professor, schizophrenics are going to dominate the state—Adam says calmly.

Everyone in the classroom laughs at his comment, and yet I’m left with a doubt.

Why would he say something like that?

One day, after classes ended, I approached Adam (who was quite absorbed) and asked him if he wanted to smoke a cigarette in front of the university. Adam agreed, and that’s where the truly fun part began. Honestly, I was only talking to him because I wanted to see how far what he said was “coherent”—within his own system of coherence. I needed to understand him in order to understand something about myself. It was simply ego and curiosity keeping me there; when those two come together, it’s hard to separate them. So after classes ended, we went outside and bought some cigarettes. Adam said to me:

—Did you know that God and the devil exist physically?

—I suppose so—I replied, playing along. I couldn’t really find any logic in it, but I still wanted to see how far his belief system went.

—God always tells me to look at the sky, to look at the sun, and it will give me the answers. I even saw COVID before it existed.

Surprised, I asked him:

—If God predicted the existence of COVID to you, then why didn’t you say anything? You could have saved many lives.

Naturally, I said it to test his morality, not because I truly felt that way.

He replied:

—Those are secrets I can’t tell you. If I did, the world would be different.

—Alright, I won’t ask any more questions about it—I said, feeling moderately satisfied.

After talking for a while longer, exclusively about God, I can say—oh my God—the conversation was painfully boring. I realized I was at a dead end. I was smoking cigarettes with an almost dogmatic religious fanatic. What I thought this guy had that was “special” was really just my mind making a false prediction. However, I did manage to get something out of him: I shut his mouth with actions. Nowadays, I consider that words no longer have any meaning, and that facts themselves are even questionable—perhaps hidden within something else to make them appear as tangible facts and coherent meanings. Still, what I did gave Adam a lot to think about.

—You and I can control our death; we can always decide when to die—Adam said enthusiastically.

—Alright, so I have control over my death?—I asked skeptically.

—Of course—Adam replied.

At that moment, I saw a motorcycle approaching from a distance, and I threw myself toward it. The driver managed to react and swerved away with reflexes worthy of admiration. Then I turned to Adam and said, almost theatrically:

—What a shame. According to your premise, I have control over my death. Yet I just threw myself at a motorcycle and it avoided me. That was no longer under my control, so no… my death does not depend solely on me.

I smiled and said goodbye.

Adam didn’t say anything else. I simply left and continued on my way home. The next day, Adam and I saw each other at the university, and he said to me:

—You made me change my perspective with what you did yesterday. Thank you.

—You’re welcome, I guess.