The Happy Gene --Part I--

When he was a child, he wanted to kill himself. Because, you see, Marc was born a freak.

He remembers his mother telling him about his birth. 'You didn't even cry. The doctors thought you were dead!' A couple of days after he was born, Marc became the hospital's phenomenon. He was the most visited baby in the nursery ward. 'His eyes are so empty. Unhappy, even.', the nurses used to say in wonder. After much research, the doctors sent the new born home, telling his parents they were very much puzzled and did not know what, if anything, was wrong with the infant.
Just like any other baby, young Marc spent his days eating, sleeping and enjoying in many other functions of the body. He has never been curious and, amazingly, did not cry at all. His parents were happy.
The first time Marc realized he was not quite like other people was in kindergarten. They were talking about their favorite colors and he simply answered, his little voice trembling: 'I don't like colors. I don't like anything.' His teacher looked at him in a way one looks at a beggar who's shouting the world is coming to an end tomorrow.
After that day, Marc spent years in therapy. 'I cannot help you my boy.', the words echoed in his head. So he continued living his life, day after day, month after month. Marc had no hope. After all, he had no feelings. Even during his adolescence, he never felt anything towards the beautiful women's (or men’s, for that matter) bodies he could see all around.
Marc tried to occupy his time as much as possible. Since there was nothing to distract him, everything he did, he did perfectly. By the age of 32, he was a successful young man, on his way to the top. He was praised and awarded, but none he accepted. Marc lived a very monotonous life. He would wake up, go to work, enjoy his many hobbies, and fall asleep again. Month after month, year after year. He never gave up on seeing psychiatrists, though. It was a part of his life for as long as he could remember.
-'What seems to be the problem today, young man?'
-'Nothing. Absolutely nothing.'
Puzzled, the doctor answered: 'Well, why are you here then? If you feel content, happy even, you have no reason to step into my parlor.', he chuckled. Dr Martin referred to his office as 'the parlor' because, as every parlor, he served tea there,a room with leather sofas and chairs, filled with old dusty books. In fact, 'the parlor' was the only reason Marc decided to be treated by Dr Martin.
-'That's the problem. I'm not. I'm not happy. I'm not content.'
-'But, from what I hear, you have quite a successful life.'
-'Yes. I know.', he said, mumbling almost incoherently.
They sat some time in silence. Doctor trying to understand, Marc, as empty as a glass of water in front of him.
-'What are you thinking about, Marc?', he asked with a confused frown all over his face.
-'Lines.'
-'Lines?'
-'The lines. They're on your face.', the doctor found this answer amusing.
-'But, Marc, everybody has them. They're our simple scars of life.'
The doctor felt uncomfortable with Marc gazing into his pores as if he were a sort of painting. He coughed, nervously, as Marc took pills out of his pocket. The yellow plastic glistened on his palm.
-‘How old do you think I am? Doctor.’, he said and popped one pill in his mouth, swallowing it without any water. He was too used to them.
-‘Well, you’re 32, aren’t you, Marc?’
-‘That’s not what I meant. How old do I look?’
-‘If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were in your mid-twenties.’, dr Martin smiled more comfortably keen to know what exactly Marc was thinking.
-‘Right. I don’t have any lines on my face. I wish a were older. Tell me about your lines, doctor. What’s your favorite one?’
-‘Interesting question, Marc. I am intrigued. And impressed.’
-‘Answer me, doctor.’, with no expression on his face he demanded.
-‘Each and every line is a memory of mine. I love them equally. You see, if I hadn’t felt everything I lived through, I wouldn’t be the man I am now. Even if the feeling lasted no more than a fraction of a second, like happiness, for example.’
-‘So, you’re saying everyone has this inability to feel happy? Like me. It’s not a gene, is it? I’m not a freak?’
-‘Unfortunately, Marc, you are indeed born with a lack of the so-called ‘Happy Gene’. But your pills grant you the illusion of emotion.’
-‘They don’t work.’, Marc closed his eyes in a desperate attempt to calm down. None of his previous doctors understood what he was going through and he was afraid dr Martin would be no different. With a strong, almost aggressive irritation jumping out of his eyes, clawing it’s way to dr Martins ears, Marc continued.
-‘Say what you wish, but you know, doctor, as well as I do, that what leads us through life is the general emotion of numbness. And that’s exactly what the pills are for.’, he expected to be given a prescription for a higher dose of drugs, accompanied be a slightly frightened look in his doctor’s eyes.
Dr Martin had something else in mind.
-‘When you take your drugs, what happens?’, he asked with a frown on his face.
Marc sighed. This whole situation bored him.
-‘I usually sleep.’
-‘Ah!’, doctor grinned in realization, ‘There’s your problem! Marc, you spent your life working, chasing whatever you could chase, be it money, success or power. You miss out on all the affects of your drugs because your eyes are constantly shut.’
-‘With all due respect, doctor, you’re not making any sense.’
-‘Listen to me, Marc!’, doctor Martin was ecstatic, now walking back and forth in his parlor.
-‘Your pills grant you the illusion of emotion. But still, you refuse to take advantage of it. Marc. Look out the window. Tell me what you see.’
Marc stood up, confused, and slowly walked towards the window. It was early spring, the snow had just melted so the tiny leaves shyly searched for light and warmth. Snow still covered some parts of the garden outside, hiding flowers Marc could not name. The garden oozed serenity and a sort of a comforting, home-like warmth (which was exactly doctor Martin’s intention), but nonetheless, Marc saw nothing but chaos.
-‘So?’, doctor said, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
Marc shrugged his shoulders. –‘I don’t know. Angles, insects, colours,...my biology lessons come to mind...physics as well...’
-‘Nothing but facts, Marc. You see nothing but facts. You are missing out on so much, even though you just took you pill and kept you eyes wide open.’, they stood there, beside the open window, some time in uncomfortable silence. A gentle breeze moved the curtains. With it came a butterfly.
The blues and reds on it’s wings mixed into a very light purple as it landed on a rose petal. The rose, so red it almost looked black, was still covered with crystal like snowflakes..
-‘Look.’, doctor Martin whispered in fear of scaring the butterfly away.
Both Marc and dr Martin could clearly see one perfect tiny snowflake seated on the very edge of one of the rose’s petals. It sparkled differently then her other sisters, like she was the one crying or maybe sobbing silently. The butterfly was right beside her listening carefully. They could see how the butterfly picked the snowflake up with it’s almost transparent wings and placed it right it the center of the rose. It seemed to have said goodbye, and went back on it’s way, carried by the wind.
-‘Now doesn’t that make you smile, Marc?’
-‘No. It’s just an insect.’
Dr Martin shook his head in sorrow.
-‘It’s all about the little things, Marc. They’re like protons and electrons. They’re invisible to our eyes, but without them atoms would not exist. And without atoms, as you know, nothing would be here. That’s the big secret.’
-‘I’m afraid I don’t understand.’
-‘As I mentioned earlier, happiness lasts no more than a fraction of a second. The true art is the ability to notice, find, if you will, these fragile moments.’
Doctor Martin’s eyes were filled with hope that Marc will understand what he was talking about. Alas, Marc’s gaze was blank. In fact, Marc didn’t know what to think. This was new to him.
-‘Marc’, doctor sighed, ‘I’ll try to explain. Now, listen carefully. Concentrate, my boy, or, better yet, let your mind wonder freely through Fields of Spirit.’ Marc quietly floundered back to his seat. His eyes followed every move dr Martin made with a certain hollowness. He was unsure of what the doctor was saying. ‘What nonsense! This man is madder than I am! And, technically, I’m not even mentally imbalanced.’, he thought whispering in his mind, as if dr Martin could hear him.
-‘I believe you’ve heard of the saying ‘L’art pour l’art’, am I right?’
-‘Of course. Art for art’s sake. The motto of 18th century literature.’
-‘Yes, well, life can also be summarized in that one simple sentence. Life for life’s sake. Are you getting this, Marc?’
-‘No.’, he answered mechanically.