If Truth Be Told

Everyone has heard of pathological liars. Most have even known one or two. But only a few have ever met a pathological truth-teller. Daniel Pratten was one. He stood on the opposite side of the spectrum from those prone to pseudologia fantastica. He would always tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth — no matter how blunt, offensive or incriminating — so help you God. Some thought he had Asperger's Syndrome, while others believed he was an asshole. In fact, both parties were right — Daniel was an asshole with Asperger's.

We teach our kids to always speak the truth. But do we ever imagine what it would be like? Daniel's parents could boast first-hand experience of raising a kid who just wouldn't bend the truth, not even a tiny bit. But they would never have boasted it. It had been too much of a personal hell for them. Countless times had they been rendered speechless by little Danny telling the neighbours about what he had seen behind their bedroom door. Or how Daddy had told Mommy that Mrs Jenkins was a bitch (Mrs Jenkins, the grumpy old widow next door, enjoyed those revelations almost as much as Danny's blushing parents did). Grandma Zelda's visits would become increasingly infrequent thanks to her only grandson's repeated and unbiased evaluation of the food she cooked and the facial hair she wore. (This was one thing his dad was ready to thank Danny for — he had never been very fond of his meddling mother-in-law anyway.) Solicitors, beggars, and Jehovah's Witnesses would never be told that Danny's parents weren't home. And many a night would his mom cry herself to sleep after a hot debate with her husband over whether their son was just an idiot, or a malicious one. There was absolutely no way of punishing the boy for two obvious reasons: first, he just wouldn't see what he was being punished for, and second, everyone would learn about the punishment afterwards. So he grew, straight as an arrow in the butt, and pretty much as unwelcome.

In high school Daniel discovered girls. But girls just wouldn't let him discover themselves any further — and not because they didn't like him. As a matter of fact, Danny was quite a handsome guy. The thing was, his courtship was totally devoid of any romance whatsoever. He would come up to the girl he fancied, and ask her out with something like, "Kelly, let's go to the movies tonight, then to Starbucks, and after that I'll screw you." Needless to say, Danny didn't get laid too often. He never quite understood why — he was absolutely sure every boy's agenda was exactly like his own. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that girls simply loved being fooled. Well, he couldn't cater for that particular whim, so girls would have to make do without him. And so they did.

His parents had died early (small wonder), so Daniel didn't go to college. He tried the job of a salesperson (you could imagine with how little success), a mailman (more success, no pleasure), a bus driver (more pleasure, but for an unfortunate accident), and finally wound up (surprise!) running for mayor. He decided this could be the easiest way to get money and, maybe, women (old wounds healed slowly). His election campaign slogan was as follows: "I promise to be stealing from you, but not too much." Quite unexpectedly, he won the election, people being sick and tired of lying politicians and feeling grateful to this new guy for finally playing it straight.

No doubt, it would be exciting to find out what Daniel Pratten's mayorship could have been like, but there was another unfortunate bus accident on the night before his inauguration. Daniel was run over by a rookie driver who had replaced him behind the wheel of the same bus he used to drive.

Now Daniel was standing at the Pearly Gates and wondering what had gone wrong.

"Thou shalt not enter. Thou were an asshole," said St Peter, who had been drowsing on a stool with his back to the gate but was now awake and giving Daniel a contemptuous look.

"Yes, but I was an honest one. And honesty must be a highly-valued virtue up here."

"Thy honesty wasn't thy choice. It was a diagnosis," Peter snapped.

"Well, isn't it the same with God?" Daniel retorted.

"Even Lord God would sometimes bend the truth for... the bigger picture. Unlike thee...thou... Shit, I'm getting these all mixed up again!"

"Care to elaborate?" Daniel asked, bemused.

"Well, I'm not as good at Early Modern English as at Aramaic or Ancient Greek..."

"No, I mean, about Lord God bending the truth."

"Ah, got it. Okay. Look. You ever heard the formula: «All stories in the Bible are true, although not all of them really happened»? Well, I say this is one good example of God bending the truth. Also, you'll find record of Jesus telling his brothers he wasn't going to a certain party, and then going there as cool as a cucumber." Peter reclined on his stool and almost toppled over. "Hoshit, I wonder where my promised throne is?! Anyway, there's plenty of folks here who told lies but were saved. Rahab the harlot, for one. She sheltered two Israeli spies and lied to those searching for them. What would you do in a situation like that?"

"I'd tell the truth."

"And get the guys killed? Great job! What if you lived during the Holocaust, and there were Jews under your roof, and the Nazis asked you about them? Would you turn them in?"

"I'd tell the truth."

"You're such an asshole! So, go where you belong! This is no place for the likes of you!" Peter waved his hand, and a dark vortex appeared out of thin air, sucked Daniel in and dragged him down, down, down...

The fall seemed to be going on forever. Daniel started thinking this was his eternal punishment for having aggrieved his parents, Mrs Jenkins, Grandma Zelda, and all the other victims of his adamant honesty. And then, when there wasn't any hope left in him, the spinning stopped, and a huge red face with bloodshot eyes, crooked teeth and ugly black horns emerged from the darkness right in front of Daniel's eyes.

"Ooh! I can smell one big fat asshole here! Yummy thing! I love assholes! Wait... What is this stench? How in the blue fuck did you get here with this truth shit all over you?! What, are they all high as kites up there?! Can't they send us decent food any longer?! I guess it's past time for a good old general strike — we'll see who gets the last laugh!" With these words the demon's face vanished in a puff of smoke, and Daniel's spinning resumed.

He spun and spun and spun for what seemed like millenia, bobbing up and down, down and up. Sometimes the vortex would slow down, and Daniel would overhear scraps of heated arguments, words "asshole" and "honest" being the ones most frequently pronounced by heavenly and infernal voices. Then the spinning would inevitably recommence.

This is where we leave our protagonist — hanging between heaven and hell in a dark vortex, straight as an arrow in the butt, and pretty much as unwelcome. And, if truth be told, we never liked him much anyway.