The Courtship Hour initiative had first started about 10 years earlier when Archimedes-5 first arrived at the facility. A behavioral scientist and researcher in a former life, Archimedes had proposed this initiative to the administration as a means of limiting aggression between inmates and weakening the factions, after years of performing research on Land Eels. Land Eel communities, which were generally prone to aggression between males who sought dominance over one another, were shown to have fewer violent confrontations when the leadership roles of the Alpha Males were decentralized further and dispersed throughout the community. The dissemination of these roles required a level of intimacy between members of the community that had previously been unheard of amongst the Land Eels. Thus, sexual favors became encouraged as a means of expressing obligation and appreciation between individual members to the logical extreme that, within a matter of months, Free Love would become rampant in communities in which this technique of establishing communion had been employed. As a result, the Land Eels became an incestuous bunch, sworn to protect one another and co-exist cooperatively, minimizing any need for competition or confrontation. Obligation, thereupon, became the context by which social debts could be manifested and transferred between individuals.
It was this necessity for transferring obligation between one another that troubled Bunnu greatly. He saw it as a burden, not just to be obligated, but even to have someone obligated to him and, as such, saw no great need to partake. Nonetheless, before coming to know of the legendary status he had come to take on in the minds of the other inmates, a less cautious Bunnu had been approached on numerous occasions by an inmate by the name of Makhan Singh, who sought to establish a rapport, seemingly, by bearing gifts that Bunnu was left with no choice but to accept.
“Some lotion for yon diaper rash, fair inmate,” Makhan Singh had said chivalrously on one such occasion, as he presented a tube of blue cream to Bunnu on one knee. The man was short, stubby-legged and stout in physique. In spite of this, he had disproportionately lanky arms that projected down from his awkward bony shoulders, jutted diagonally to pointed elbows, angled acutely back inward to the forearms, which thereupon narrowed dramatically like two ends of a carrot to wrists and hands, similar in diameter and size to those of a baby.
Bunnu frowned and said nothing at Makhan’s advance. He had already determined this man’s classification. He was a classic B-21. There could be no doubt. And so, this man’s appeals to him could only serve to waste precious time, better spent on other time-killing activities. However, the gentleman caller was a hard one to shake as he implored, “Really, I must insist!”
He wasn’t looking Bunnu in his eye, but instead at his crotch and he appeared to be licking his lips. “I am greatly indebted, as you are the only one amongst the inmates who has been willing to hear me out. For this, you have my deepest and sincerest gratitude, for what is a man without true friends? A man, who is not to be trusted, that’s who! But you, fair inmate, have gained my favor.”
Bunnu sighed and took the bottle of lotion, nodding in feigned appreciation.
“You do me a great service, kind sir. You do the world a great service!” Makhan marveled with excitement, prompting a shrug from Bunnu. “You see, I believe that the world would benefit greatly from the severity of my humble opinions. And yet, I am a Nobody. Surely, no one whose opinion is worth listening to. The problem, I imagine, is one of credibility. I am not skilled at logical reasoning, nor am I any good at emotional appeals, and so I am left to rely upon whatever little rhetorical and ethical authority I possess on the topic at hand. And yet, I lack a firm base of knowledge and experience to declare my points valid and my wisdom intact, thus many are reluctant to deem my assertions plausible, for my claims are often subject to misinformation and contradiction. I wish to be an authority on all areas of interest to mankind. Yet, how does one become an authority on any one topic, much less on any range of topics? One might say that it would first be necessary to seek education on these topics, but in doing so, does one not cede his own knowledge to the views of an external authority, who himself may have achieved his academic prestige through illusory and unfounded means? All I seek is to be that authority: I do not wish to be deemed anyone’s intellectual inferior in the process of achieving it. I understand that acquiring a sense of ethical authority is a long and arduous process of learning, unlearning and relearning, but at what point does one realize that he has achieved that elusive sense of credibility that he has so fervently sought? And how does one know that it’s real and not imagined—not illusory and not unfounded? Is there a loud bell that rings, some kind of certificate, or a special ceremony by which one can get his rhetorical and ethical authority conferred upon him? And, if so, who confers it? Better yet, who decides whether he gets it in the first place? Someone else who could be said to be an authority? But how did that person get his? From someone preceding even him with a recognized air of authority, I imagine…but does that mean that there is an infinite regression of authority, or is there some point at which authority originated organically and external to humanity, rather than as an instinctual sense of esteem conferred upon others by those already in possession of it. And if it is, in fact, external and organic, I suppose one might even call it a sense of enlightenment. Anyway, as you have, no doubt, gathered, I know so very few things that any opinion that I might have that seems worth expressing ends up getting quashed by my lack of assurance before it even reaches my mouth. You see, I used to be brainwashed and—oh, but you knew that already. I told you yesterday, didn’t I? My apologies…I don’t mean to harp on the same old thing over and over again. It must be terribly boring for you. That just goes back to what I was saying before. I’m a nobody! I have nothing substantial to say capable of substantiating my ideas. In fact, in the grand scheme of things, I’m simply a microbe. I’m like this microbe who doesn’t know how to be…uh… micro! You see? I’m not even good at speaking metaphorically! Or was that a simile? To be honest, I don’t know the difference between a simile and a metaphor, yet I have opinions nonetheless. Is that wrong?”
Bunnu, unsure of how to respond, simply shrugged again. He wondered why this man had chosen him out of everyone and then thought there could be no other choice as none were as willing as he to remain silent through this mindless jabbering. And so, in a way, without intending to, he had truly done the man a favor by not voicing any outright objections to his advances. It was from this breed of inactivity that Makhan’s perceived sense of obligation to him had been forged. And the only way to cancel it out now was to give him a chance to reciprocate. Thus, Bunnu silently hoped that by accepting the diaper lotion, these distractions would end neatly then and there.
Makhan Singh, however, seemed to view the situation differently.
“I have to say,” Makhan continued with his eyes watering and lips trembling, “I would hesitate to proclaim myself worthy of your affections, such that they are…” He smiled winsomely and his eyes looked down at Bunnu’s emaciated frame, “Though, I must confess that I find that nappy chest hair of yours irresistible. Is it alright if I touch-?” He started to reach out with his tiny hands when Bunnu, suddenly, struck him with a right hook.
The man stumbled back in a daze, stunned by the punch, as Bunnu—who was equally surprised—froze and stared in astonishment at his own fist. The act of punching him hadn’t been conscious, nor had it been any attempt on his part to assert some kind of masculinity or homophobia, but had been a kind of knee-jerk response to the encroachment of another upon his chest hair. After wavering for another moment, Makhan Singh fell to the ground and proceeded to rub his cheek, which was now beginning to swell. “You have a rather dainty punch,” he remarked whimsically, “I find it difficult to describe, but there’s something about your follow-through that infuses your technique with this delicate air.” He rose to his feet and swiped the diaper rash lotion from Bunnu’s hands. “My dear sir, you have managed to charm me greatly.
I bid you adieu, Fair Bunnu!” And he walked away.
Bunnu sighed in relief, for he had averted successfully an attempt from Makhan Singh to extract obligation from him. This, of course, would not be the last, as this self-deprecating suitor seemed tireless in his persistence. In fact, the very next day, he responded to Bunnu’s apparent disapprobation by attempting an elaborate mating dance—which coordinated hand claps and imitation bird calls with one foot hops and rhythmic head-bobs—for an inmate adjacent to Bunnu, presumably in an attempt to arouse envy. However, when Bunnu merely yawned in response, Makhan Singh lost his composure, burst into tears, and—overcome by the more primal of his tendencies—proceeded to beat the man half to death with his tiny fists of precision. The victim, a self-proclaimed rival of Bunnu’s—though Bunnu could scarcely understand why—barely survived the incident and was transferred to the intensive care unit of the facility. And the administration, left with no recourse, but to take whatever action they could on this, called Bunnu and Makhan Singh in to see the Warden so that he might investigate the matter in greater depth.
The Warden