“So, how do you know Lucia?” Lucius asked. I glanced up, checking for any signs of wariness or jealousy on his part—was I encroaching on his territory? But no, judging from his tone of voice and demeanor, he was just making light chitchat, asking as a friend.
“I’m her student. She’s teaching me Czech.”
Lucius made a show of mock surprise. “Well what do you know! There’s a first time for everything. Normally Lucia never brings her students here.”
“Well, I wanted to see Kafka’s grave today, so she was kind enough to act as my guide, to help me find it. We were out and about anyway, so here we are, I guess.”
“Kafka’s grave, huh? Right opposite the metro station? Pretty tough to find, I imagine?”
Was he testing me? My guard went up. Still, better to try and deflect any suspicion or hostility rather than tackle it head on.
“Yeah, boy did I feel a fool. Still, better safe than sorry.” I grinned broadly. The quintessential clownish American tourist. Lucius smiled too—my story seemed to be washing.
“So, how do you like our humble little joint? Paying your way with real money and no tedious ID checks.”
“It’s great! Is this pretty normal for the Czech Republic?”
Lucius laughed and shook his head. “Hardly. The government isn’t too keen on this sort of place. We’re black sheep, too far under the radar for their liking. Not that they can do anything to us legally. I expect they’ve got a few plainclothes public safety officers mixed in with the rest of my clientele to try and keep the peace. As if we’re going to have any trouble when the beer’s so good!”
“Well, this is certainly new to me—there are no places like this left in the States.”
“Yep, Europe does have its advantages. The US might be the home of the free, but these days there’s probably more you can get away with on this side of the Atlantic,” Lucius said. He caught the bartender’s eye and ordered a dry Cinzano on the rocks.
“Necessary sacrifices in the war against terror, I suppose. You have to admire the European sangfroid, though, losing Sarajevo like that and still being as liberal as this when it comes to freedom.”
“Freedom always involves choices, though, doesn’t it?” Lucius replied, lifting his glass of vermouth to his lips the moment it arrived. “Like the worker who voluntarily submits himself to losing his individual liberty while he labors but in exchange gains the freedoms that his salary affords him. He can now buy things. No longer is he tied down to having to till his own fields and reap his own harvest and hunt for his own meat. He can pay farmers to do all that for him and enjoy the benefits of fresh vegetables delivered to his doorstep, meat that’s already been painstakingly butchered and deboned, even have his entire meals prepared for him. Is he a wage slave or a freedom fighter?”
“Like in the States, how the citizen has voluntarily given up a portion of his privacy in order to be free from the threat of terrorism?” I added.
Lucius thought about that for a moment. “Yes, I think you’re right. It’s a continuum, and Europe is just a couple of steps further down the spectrum toward individual freedoms. That said, there’s not exactly a whole lot in it. This sort of joint here is about as far as we go.”
“So do you see yourself as running this place to protect your freedoms?”
Lucius’s eyes flickered, as if he were searching for an answer. “I don’t think I’d go quite that far. I guess I’m just trying to articulate a feeling that, say, the kids on the dance floor over there don’t understand. The fact that you only become aware of the trade-offs you make for freedom when you’re already having it eroded from all sides.” He turned to face the young people gyrating over the abyss. “Many of the young people over there believe in freedom as something that’s pure and absolute. It’s a phase they have to go through, this idealized notion of liberty. That way, when they finally grow up and are put in the position of actually having to make real decisions, they appreciate ‘real’ freedom—the fruits of their own choices—all the more.”
“You sound like you see yourself as a guidance counselor,” I said.
“I guess I do. Well, I like to think of myself as enlightened, at least, and I’m always happy to spread the love.” With that, Lucius lapsed into silence as he surveyed the room in a deliberate, calm manner. I could see what Lucia had meant when she described him as introspective. He was contemplative, a philosopher. Even his conversation had been carefully chosen; we had touched on some deep topics, but he had given very little away. This was definitely a man who liked to think before he spoke.
I decided to push the conversation a little further. “Well, the Enlightenment was a European movement after all. Not so easy for us simple Americans to relate to.”
“I’d hardly say that. Isn’t the US always instrumental in exporting its freedom and democracy around the world? Your own unique brand of Enlightenment?”
“Hey, there’s no need to go all sarcastic on me.”
“No sarcasm intended,” Lucius said with a straight face. “Think about how much the cost of modern warfare has skyrocketed, even compared to just a few decades ago. The huge costs associated with the latest high-tech weaponry, the increased personnel costs, the opportunity cost. War just isn’t profitable anymore, no matter how much oil might be at stake. And yet America still soldiers on, policing the world. Why? Even going to the trouble and massive expense of hiring private contractors around the world to put out fires that have nothing to do with the US. Sure, there are those who criticize your actions as Team America trying to impose their righteousness on the whole world, but I see it differently. Given that it’s the US who’s picking up the tab, I see America’s wars as a new form of Enlightenment, where war is no longer an extension of diplomacy—diplomacy is now an extension of war.”
“War … as Enlightenment?”
“Whether or not Americans see it that way, yes. I’d argue that their military actions are exactly that. The so-called war against terror is an extremely principled war, devoted, even, to certain ideologies: humanity, altruism, the Golden Rule. The US is not the only country who acts this way—most modern democracies support this way of thinking, to a greater or lesser extent—but America’s the leader of the pack.”
“Uh, thank you, I think …” I managed to say.
“No,” Lucius said bluntly. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m neither praising nor condemning US foreign policy. I’m just calling it like I see it. After all, who says Enlightenment is always a good thing? What might seem like progress to one person might be a self-righteous imposition of values to another.”
I didn’t really know what to say to this man. Was he really just a club owner? I decided to ask him straight up.
Lucius laughed. “Am I ‘just’ a club owner? I guess so, in the sense that Eric Hoffer was ‘just’ a longshoreman, or your dear friend Kafka was ‘just’ a petty bureaucrat. The Japanese have a saying that all honest trades are equally honorable. And I think it was Joseph Conrad who said that thought is no respecter of persons.”
“Lucius, what are you two talking about?” I turned around—Lucia was back.
“Not much. Just how freedom is a currency we spend, and how war is Enlightenment …”
“Just the usual idle chitchat then?” Lucia laughed.
Lucius smiled. “Actually, there aren’t too many people who I can talk to like Mr. Bishop here. Sadly, though, I’m going to have to call it a day and retire to the office. My stevedoring duties call, as it were. But it was interesting talking to you, Mr. Bishop, and I do hope you’ll come by again sometime so we can pick up where we left off.”
“I’d like that,” I said.
Lucia and I watched Lucius as he disappeared into the back office.
What was it about the disappearing figure that made me feel nervous?