The Irresistible Nihilist: A Novel

By Peter Spiros

Vaclav Havel, the first president of the Czech Republic, was quoted as saying, The problem with modern man is not that he knows less and less about the meaning of his own life, but that it bothers him less and less.

Those who agree with the premise of his statement are then left to wonder why and, ultimately, to ponder the consequences.

The Irresistible Nihilist begins at a caf in Paris on the day the Nazis marched into the city and tells the story of a modern-day search through the rubble with hope that all is not lost.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 16, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546241508

Peter Spiros

Peter Spiros is a native Chicagoan. He is now retired, however his endeavors over a thirty-year period allowed for extensive travel throughout Europe. Much insight was gleaned from his time abroad, as well as the ability to ask for the check in seven languages.

Book preview

PART ONE

… from Versailles to Vichy.

1) If one took liberty, it could have been Paris— It was just after dawn on a day in late spring; one of those days when the air at sunrise is so clear and utterly still, the cityscape takes on a surreal almost dreamlike aura to those who have an eye for such things. The streets would soon come alive, but in the last few moments of peaceful tranquility, the only sign of life was an elderly man sitting in a park, alone with his thoughts and a flock of pigeons. He looked to them as they roamed without purpose, and tossed out some breadcrumbs along with a few words, "the day will come when the past is all you’ll have." Well, they scattered chaotically, as pigeons will do, and just as a young man came along the path. He stopped and allowed them to settle but was visibly discomfited for intruding on what was clearly a private moment. The old man glanced up and their eyes met.

I’m sure they don’t listen to me, he said with a shrug, they just want to eat. After brushing the last few crumbs from the table, he glanced up once more with a look of amusement, hoping to make light of the intrusion for the young man’s sake. There was a moment of awkward silence until he stood with a smile and offered his hand. Bonjour Monsieur, he said, my name is Christopher, and the young man smiled in return.

Well good morning to you too, sir… they call me Tommy.

The two men engaged in a hearty handshake.

Won’t you join me, asked Christopher while gesturing to an empty chair.

I was just going for some coffee, would you like a cup?

You’re very kind Tommy, yes… just a bit of cream please.

Tommy went off with a bounce in his step, for the fair weather assured a busy day in the park.

The park was located in the Gold Coast neighborhood of Chicago, near Lake Michigan and not far from the loop. Although they called it a park, it was really nothing more than a cobblestone surface inlaid around a dozen tall trees within a triangle formed by the convergence of three streets. There were some tables and chairs along with a small weathered pavilion from where refreshments were offered, and a large old fountain stood prominent in the center. On its own, it was easy to overlook. Yet when taken together with the surrounding cafes, their cane chairs at the sidewalk tables, lined with flowers and draped in white linen, a lively piazza emerged that served as a gathering spot for the locals, and a fair number of tourists during the season.

Tommy glanced back at the table while awaiting their coffee. He had never seen Christopher in the park before and by his accent thought he may be a tourist. In any event, he liked the friendly glow of the old man’s face, and was struck by the fastidious manner with which he sat adjusting the blazer draped over his shoulders, deciding in the end to slip into the coat. Finally, after the slight tweak of his pocket square, he folded his hands and looked straight on with dignified patience, as if waiting to receive an important guest. Tommy looked forward to a chat with him, sensing that it might be interesting, as one might a book after the quick glance at a clever title. While returning with their coffee in hand, he took another scan of this elegant man from his wavy gray hair down to what appeared to be very expensive shoes. Tommy was certain that a little time with him would be time well spent.

Thank you so much, said Christopher. He took a moment to examine the plastic-foam cup and frowned with a shake of his head. You know, I have never become accustomed to drinking coffee from one of these… I believe it ruins the taste, don’t you?

Tommy shrugged.

Christopher then retrieved a small silver flask from his coat’s inner pocket. This will fix it. He poured a touch into his coffee and sipped. Ah yes, much better. Cognac Tommy… may I improve your coffee as well?

Thanks no, maybe later. Tommy sat silently sipping his coffee, intrigued by the old man’s deliberate nature. He observed as Christopher took an inordinate amount of care to simply stow the flask. He first resealed it with unwarranted precision by slowly turning the cap to a tight completion, and then noticing a smudge on the silver, produced a handkerchief to gently wipe down the entire surface. Finally, after returning the flask to the inner pocket, he tapped it from the outside as if to assure its safekeeping and that all was in order. The old man noticed his young companion’s observance and simply smiled.

I don’t recall ever seeing you here, said Tommy, are you just visiting us?

I am, yes. I live in Paris…in town for a family gathering, he pointed off in the distance, you will see me again while I’m here.

Feeding the pigeons?

He laughed and nodded. Yes, I share my daily bread with them, Tommy, and I like to think they are at least grateful for my efforts.

I’m certain they are.

Oh, I don’t know. He shrugged. They quickly pick up the crumbs with absolutely no regard for their fellow pigeons, and then scamper off in all directions without so much as a glance my way. He shook his head. They’re no different than those back home. I feed them too, even though they pay me no mind.

Tommy grinned while Christopher pulled a small gold case from the side pocket of his coat and gestured to Tommy. Will you have a cigarette?

No thank you… I don’t smoke.

Good boy. Do you mind?

Not at all.

I am old and French, he said, while lighting up, it’s what we do.

Tommy chuckled.

They both sat back for a moment with Christopher inhaling deeply before exhaling with a smile of satisfaction. Of course I know I shouldn’t, he said, with a casual shrug. In fact my niece gave me a horrible time about it just this morning. But you know I said to her, Nichole, my dear, now that I have reached an age when my passing can no longer be deemed untimely, I am glad to have not given up all those years of pleasure for the chance at a few more days. I have enjoyed every cigarette, I told her…every single one!

Tommy chuckled. He’d heard this sentiment before from some of the park regulars, but never expressed in quite the same way.

Well, it was clear by her expression that she just didn’t understand, and so I tried to further explain. I asked her to recall an old movie…any one of the many in black and white with a scene in an elegant club where a gentleman sits at a table, appropriately attired, and enjoys a cigarette along with his coffee and brandy after a fine meal. He took another puff. You’ve seen such a movie?

Tommy nodded with an inquisitive expression, and had no idea where he was going with this.

Well sir, he continued, she had a look on her face very similar to yours Tommy, and I said, that’s me in that movie, Nichole… this is who I am!

Tommy laughed. And what did she say?

She said, ‘well uncle this is not an elegant club, and we now live in color, so I will thank you to enjoy them outside!’ With that, Christopher joined him in laughter. Ah Tommy, he said, with continued amusement, in many ways I long for the simple days of life in black and white.

The two seemed to take a genuine liking to one another. Tommy’s initial instincts had proved correct. He liked meeting new people and Christopher was just the kind of man with whom he enjoyed spending some time; a man from whom he might learn a thing or two. For his part, Christopher took an instant liking to young Tom Vincent, although this was not unusual for most everyone did. Tommy was a tall, good-looking young man just this side of thirty. He had a welcoming smile and a cheery disposition, perhaps stemming from the fact that life had been good to him thus far. Things always seemed to go his way, sometimes by his own hand, sometimes not. In any case, he was fully aware of his good fortune, and most were immediately taken with him.

How long will you be with us, Christopher?

Until they ask me to leave,’ he replied. You know, when I arrived from Paris yesterday, the official at the immigration control asked me why I had come to America. Christopher leaned forward. Why? Because I love it, I told him, that’s why! He laughed. The official grinned and passed me on through."

Tommy joined Christopher in laughter. They were clearly enjoying one another’s company as if old friends.

"It’s true, I do love America, but you know Tommy, this area here is particularly special. My niece lives on Orchard Street, not thirty minutes away on foot, and very early this morning, I decided to take a walk. She pointed me in this direction and in no time I ended up here. Well, I was stunned, Tommy… un nouveau Place De Saint Germaine. He then methodically scanned the area. "Look there, Tommy, the Café de Flore, and there, the one with the green awnings that wrap around the building, the cane chairs… the flowers."

Yeah, my favorite.

"Mine too, before the Nazis… that’s Café Les Deux Magots, said Christopher. Do you see that table right there? He pointed to a table at the corner’s peak. It was on, June 14th, seventy-five years ago tomorrow, that I sat at that table with my cousin and our lady friends as the Germans came marching down the Boulevard, and it has not changed a bit. He sighed. It was a dreary day unlike today, and our mood was much like the weather. He paused with a sheepish grin, now please understand, I am not senile or insane I assure you. I have all my faculties. I know that pigeons never listen—"

Tommy simply smiled while doing a quick calculation in his mind, the war? He looked closely, trying to determine his age. Christopher was one who made it difficult, one that you must look to events, or to the age of children in order to make a determination. He had initially guessed maybe seventy-five, after all, along with a full head of hair came a rather handsome face, wrinkle free and nicely tanned. He was curious. I hope you don’t mind my asking Christopher, but how old are you?

I was born in 1920, the beginning of an era that came to be known as ‘the crazy years’ in Paris, the years when young writers and artists from the world over descended upon us hoping for inspiration. I came of age, as they say, in the thirties.

Did you fight in the war?

I was about to go into the army, but France was out of it officially rather quickly as I’m sure you know. He paused in thought. It was on the 3rd of June when the bombs first fell on the suburbs of Paris, by the 22nd the official armistice was signed. We saw the newsreels. We saw what they had done to others. They were destroying cities, Tommy, targeting civilians for the sole purpose of terrorizing them into submission. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his brow, obviously upset. Yes, to answer your question, eventually I joined with the Free French Forces and did my part. He lit another cigarette and took a nip of cognac directly from his flask. But I will never forget the feeling that came over me while sitting at that table—a peaceful man suddenly ready to kill. He put his head down for several moments before coming alive again. Let’s remain happy Tommy, he continued, while holding out his flask. Tommy nodded and passed his cup. Christopher poured and again took the time to stow it properly.

They sat back while quietly admiring the surrounding area. The neighborhood was classically urban in make up. Although there were blocks of vintage townhouses nearby, most residents lived in one of the many doorman buildings that dot the area. Further, it was perhaps the only section of the city where one could easily negotiate their daily life within walking distance from home, and where a park would serve as the community’s front stoop.

It was still early and although the park was relatively empty, there was a flurry of activity in the area. Trucks that service the cafes were coming and going, delivering bread, wine and the like. The tables were being set, and people were rushing about doing what needed to be done to prepare for the busy summer-like day ahead.

Look at them all, Tommy, still in the game… how I envy them.

You’re retired, of course?

Yes, yes, many years, replied Christopher. And it was a difficult adjustment at first. After I sold my business, I thought myself nothing but a useless lay-about. I was in a state of despair. It’s important to keep going, you know, to remain interested. I needed to find something to get my juices flowing again.

And did you?

"Well first I must tell you that I lived in a very quiet area of Paris, mostly elderly couples with children who had long since moved on. So I sold the home where I lived for most of my life, and moved to a more lively part of the city. I even sold all my possessions, after all, I thought at this stage in life what need is there to own the bed where I lay my head. Anyway, I settled into a two-room suit at a small hotel in Montmartre and began to look for a furnished flat in the area. That was twenty years ago and I’m still in the same suite."

Tommy laughed.

You laugh Tommy, but it’s not a bad way to live for a man who has no one. You see, you are never really alone… you meet and talk with people from all over the world, and when you want dinner, you simply call the kitchen and they send it up… it’s quite convenient really. He shrugged.

So what did you do?

Well, there is a park, very similar to this just steps from my hotel where I would go and converse with people. There are many young people in this area, and it was such a pleasure to speak with them. I would have a table full at times, and they seemed very interested in what I had to say. It gave me a sense of fulfillment, as if in some small way, I was helping to get their juices flowing. Soon it would be their time, and a vibrant society needs its young to strive for a successful life in whatever endeavor they choose. He sighed, but that was long ago. The numbers dwindled through the years, and although I remained interested, no one seemed interested in me any longer. He gave Tommy a forced smile. It is a sad day when one comes to realize that they’re in the midst of their final chapter.

Tommy felt that the old man was lonely, and this business about a hotel being a convenient place to live was simply a way to mask it. Of course he was lonely he thought, the man talks to pigeons. He had many questions at this point, but decided to hold off for now and press on.

So what business were you in?

"I was a bookseller. My family owned a small shop for several generations near the Champs Elysées. It was eventually passed on to me, but finally it got to be too much, and with no heirs, I sold out. He paused. In the beginning, I sold books from a kiosk down by the Seine, and I enjoyed it very much, but as time went by, and my father began to age, I had to spend my days in the shop and concern myself with the business end of the book selling business. Well, I was driven and we grew over time… eventually we had three locations. He became saddened. But my life was nothing like what I had imagined as a young man. I wanted to study literature, to eventually teach, but by the time I came home after the war, I felt I was too old to return to the university and went to work for my father. A moment passed and he became animated again. Do you read literature, Tommy?" Christopher liked nothing more than a lively discussion of a great book, and hoped that he and Tommy shared a title or two in common.

Tommy thought for a moment. He could not recall reading a work of fiction that wasn’t a classroom assignment, and those were skipped through quickly only to satisfy the requirement. There was no joy involved. It was a terrible misuse of time, after all why should he care about Don Quixote or Lady Macbeth? Never been one to read fiction, he replied, not a big fan.

Oh, such a pity, replied Christopher with an air of disappointment, you miss out on so much.

I guess I’m a realist, Christopher.

Well okay, the stories are fictional to be sure, but there is so much more that is very real, he replied seriously, but you must look deeper, beyond the story.

Christopher could see by Tommy’s expression that he wasn’t getting through. He then smiled and continued. Look, when you read a novel, especially one of the classics, not only can you enjoy an interesting story beautifully written, but you get a feel for the era in which the author lived through his characters… and not just the major characters, but all of them. You read a history book for facts, but literature gives you a perspective beyond date-certain events. You acquire an intimacy with the people in a time other than your own, and you become aware of their attitudes, the mores of their day, both good and bad, that the author unwittingly provides. Words written yesterday can aid in your understanding of the world today, Tommy, they breath life into the past and allow a greater appreciation for that which has stood the test of time, and perhaps you’ll not be so quick to cast aside something worth saving.

I never looked at it that way.

Well we must rely on the writers of past eras to get a real feel for their times. How else? And many of them used their imagination and simply wrote stories… but there is an abundance of truth within them.

Tommy nodded with a smile as Christopher added a touch more Cognac to his coffee. He took a quick sip, and immediately put the cup down as a final thought came to mind. And then there’s the added joy of a well written passage, Tommy… familiar words arranged in such a way that they jump off the page before your very eyes… and you realize that you are richer for having read them… they’re worth holding on to for their wisdom, or simply their beauty, and you mark the passage so you can find those familiar words in that exact same order again. Christopher realized he was going on and chuckled. I’m sorry… I seemed to have drifted off on a tangent this morning.

Quite all right, Christopher, you’re a pretty smart guy, and I’ll take your advice. Any suggestions?

Christopher thought for a moment. Well, everyone has their own tastes, Tommy, but I noticed a bookstore down the street. Perhaps some afternoon we can take a walk through and have look around. He paused again as if struck by an idea. "But to begin with I might suggest THE RAZOR’S EDGE, by W. Somerset Maugham only because it will give you a better feel for that time in Paris I spoke of earlier… the crazy years. Maugham was born in Paris of English parents and so his prose is not lost in translation. It’s the story of a young man from Chicago who returns to Paris to begin a search for the meaning of life after his experiences as a pilot during the First World War. Many returning soldiers read the book when it came out shortly after the Second. I finally came across it a few years later. It’s a great character study… interesting characters… quite good. Anyway, sorry for going on and on, now tell me about you. What is it that you do?"

I’m in software development.

Christopher leaned back in his chair. Oh my goodness, that other world, he said with a hearty laugh. I have no idea what software is or why there is need to develop it.

Well it’s…

No, no… please Tommy, you go ahead and keep developing… this old man does not need his mind cluttered anymore than it already is. I suppose you carry one of those little gadgets with you at all times?

A cell? Of course, don’t you?

Christopher simply smiled at the question.

The area then began to come alive. The park was filling up, and the cafes were seating their first patrons of the day. Christopher’s eyes drifted across the street and Tommy’s followed. They settled on a petite young lady watering the flower boxes that lined the outdoor seating area of his Les Deux Magots. She seemed to be floating on air as her bright yellow sundress danced in the breeze. Christopher was captivated. She was a pretty girl, more pretty than beautiful, but with a sweet smile that made good on the difference. The men said not a word to one another as the moments passed.

Finally, Tommy looked to Christopher and could see he was mesmerized while continuing to gaze her way. Well, what do you think? He asked.

Christopher remained transfixed on the young lady as he rose slowly from the table with a broad smile. Angelic, he softly replied, "her name is Geneviève… we were to be married. He turned to Tommy. I must have lunch at Les Deux Magots… please, won’t you join me?"

I’d love to, but it’s a little early.

I meant later on… in a few hours perhaps, say one o’clock?

Okay, I’ll make a reservation.

Fine… and please Tommy, arrange for us to sit at the corner table will you?

Sure thing!

Christopher smiled with a bow of his head, and slowly made his way through the park. He had thoroughly enjoyed the time spent speaking with Tommy.

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Tommy wasn’t alone for long when James Pandellis stood before him. Mr. Pandellis, everyone called him Pan, was one of the older regulars and among Tommy’s favorites. Pan was in his late sixties and recently retired. He lived in the area as well, and now spent most of his waking hours in the park or at one of the nearby cafes. He was of medium height and reasonably attractive in an older man sort of way, but his face, when at rest, had a no-nonsense look that could be intimidating to strangers. Once familiar, most found him to be an agreeable chap, and knowing this, and with no wish to intimidate, he engaged with all in the neighborhood including many of the doormen at the area hotels and apartment buildings. He seemed to know everyone, and everyone seemed to know him. He saw to it.

Need some coffee, Tommy… anything?

All set Pan, thanks.

Tommy again turned his attention once more to the young lady across the street at Christopher’s Café Les Deux Magots. He knew all along that her name was Audrey, but saw no need to disturb Christopher’s little daydream.

Pan returned with his coffee, lit a cigarette and joined Tommy in devoted observation. Suddenly Martha, another park regular, stood over them. She and Pan were contemporaries. Martha was an ample woman, the matronly type who treated everyone as if they were in her charge, and was always stirring up gossip. She meant no harm, but could be exasperating at times for she had a rough, bossy edge about her, along with a strong sense of right and wrong that she passed along indiscriminately. Originally from the former Czechoslovakia, Martha spent her early years living under the Communist yolk. Pan always assumed her childhood back home was not very pleasant and thus overlooked her disagreeable side. Still, he wondered at times if mentally she remained on the other side of the wall that once separated East from West. He found similar traits in the other regulars of his age from the East. There was a hardened wisdom about them, and a subtle bleakness would emerge from time to time that he felt stemmed from spending their formative years in a country without a Disneyland. Tommy never gave Martha much thought; the two were from different planets; he merely thought she was mean.

What do you look at, Pan, asked Martha, with the sternness and tone of a third grade teacher disappointed in the unruly behavior of little Billy.

I still have an eye for beauty, Martha, he replied matter-of-factly while continuing to gaze at the young lady dutifully watering the flowers.

But so young! Martha shook her head from side to side feigning disgust.

Young! She’s a child Martha, can’t be much over twenty, he said, while turning to her with a roll of his eyes, and the very idea of what you’re suggesting is so preposterous that it’s even beyond the realm of a fantasy.

So why you look?

He sighed. Look over there Martha, it’s a work of art, and she’s part of it. He paused for a sip of coffee. I don’t own a Monet, never have and never will, but whenever I see one, I enjoy it none-the-less.

She ignored him and turned to Tommy. Good morning, she said, finally acknowledging his presence.

Tommy simply smiled politely without words.

Martha then turned back to Pan. This is a girl for Tommy, you old goat! She gave the young lady another glance.

Martha mumbled something under her breath and went on her way still shaking her head. She sat at a table at the far end of the park, a table soon to be filled with some of the female regulars. Pan and Tommy looked on, silently approving of the distance between them. Although the women regulars were pleasant enough, and never denied a seat at their table, when the two groups mixed the conversation was adapted to accommodate. Not only in subject matter, but language as well. The salty tongues were held mostly at bay, and for a few it took quite some effort. There were a couple of ladies who held their own at the men’s table. Perhaps as the result of a rough and tumble sibling or two, who knows, but generally speaking the men preferred to simply exchange pleasantries and maintain the freewheeling, uncensored atmosphere of a men’s club. They felt there were times when a salty tongue was necessary; nothing less could make a point. Of course when on rare occasion a pretty young lady asked to join them, they couldn’t offer a chair fast enough, even knowing that it was Tommy or one of the other young men that provided the lure. Also, the topic of family seldom came up when the men were alone. They felt, without saying it that such private matters were not conducive to an open forum beyond a tidbit now and then. They all knew one another’s circumstances, but no one much cared for details beyond.

Aren’t you working today, Tommy?

It’s Saturday.

Is it?

Yes! Tommy laughed. Have you lost track of the days?

I find no need to track the days any longer, Tommy.

Tommy went on to tell Pan in great detail about the dapper old man from France. At first Pan showed amusement that the old man had words for the ungrateful pigeons, however he changed his tone after sensing that Tommy seemed eager to discuss it further.

Is that all he said?

Yes, at least that’s all I heard—‘the day will come when the past is all you’ll have.’

Pan thought for a moment. Okay, so he’s an old guy and the past is all he has left. I know the feeling, and it’s frustrating… you’re in the fourth quarter, but can’t see the clock.

Tommy laughed.

But what do you suppose he meant by the past, Tommy?

What do you mean?

Well was he thinking in terms of his own personal glories, or did he mean something else by it?

Like what?

Tradition, perhaps?

Tommy considered the possibility and shrugged. Good question… I don’t know.

Pan lit another cigarette and took a sip of coffee, preparing to discuss the matter in further detail. However he glanced at Tommy who was given to staring across the street once again, and sensed that now he was no longer in the mood. Pan was at a stage in life that allowed time to ponder things that would have been of little importance to him as a younger man, and with this in mind, was sensitive to the age of those with whom he conversed at length knowing attention spans differed. Suddenly the young lady took notice of Tommy and smiled while waving. Tommy returned the gesture.

Oh, you know her?

Yes, that’s Audrey.

I’ve never seen her before.

She’s been there a short time, and just started working the outside… nice girl, from Nebraska. Oh, that reminds me, I need to reserve the corner table for later… give me a second.

Tommy crossed the street, and Pan smiled while observing the casual familiarity between the two as they conversed with light laughter for several minutes. Tommy had a way with the young ladies. Whether it was his sandy blond hair or boyish good looks, initial approaches were seldom rebuffed, allowing the time for his other qualities to show through. Tommy returned.

All set.

Okay Tommy, enough deep talk for today… now you can tell me all about Audrey if you like. You seem to know her pretty well.

"I do, yes, she worked at one of our clients for awhile… we