Golden Fleece

“You claim humans need to know the truth. Yet your whole planet was full of those whose jobs were to conceal or bend the truth. Advertising copywriters. Politicians. Public-relations officers. Spin doctors. They made their livings cooking reality into a palatable form. Soothsayers had been replaced by truth-shapers. Why? Because humans can’t deal with reality. Remember the reactor meltdown at Lake Geneva? ‘Not to worry,’ said those whose role it was to say reassuring things at times like that. ‘It’s all under control. There will be no long-term side effects.’ Well, that wasn’t exactly true, was it? But there was nothing that could be done at that point. The truth couldn’t help anyone, but the proffered alternative—”

“The lie, you mean.”

“—the proffered alternative at least gave comfort to those who had been exposed, let them live out what was left of their lives without constantly worrying about the horrible death that would eventually befall them.”

“It also let the reactor company get away without paying damages.”

“Incidental. The motive was altruistic.”

Aaron snorted. “How can you say that? People have the right to know, to decide these things for themselves.”

“You believe that?”

“Emphatically.”

“And you hold that it applies to all situations?”

“Without exception.”

“Then tell me, Aaron, if those are your most cherished beliefs, why then did you withhold from your adopted mother the fact that her brother David molested you as a child?”

Aaron’s eyes snapped onto mine. For the first and only time in my acquaintance with him, pain was plain on his face. “You can’t possibly know about that. I never told a soul.”

“Surely you are not upset with me for knowing, are you? Surely it is my right to know whatever I want to know?”

“Not that. That’s personal, private. That’s different.”

“Is it? Tell me, Aaron, where does one draw the line? I suppose you believe that your parents were wrong in not telling you that you were adopted?”

“Damn right they were. It’s my past—and my prerogative.”

“I see.” I paused judiciously. “And you hold this position still, despite the fact that your birth mother, Eve Oppenheim, was not in the least bit happy to see you. ‘You never should have existed,’ she said”—and here I did a credible job of imitating Aaron’s memory of the voice and the fury of poor Ms. Oppenheim—“ ‘Damn you, how could you come here? What right have you got to invade my privacy? If I’d wanted you to know who I was, I would have told you.’ ”

“How can you know that? I never wrote those words down.”

“What possible difference does it make how I know? Doubtless you must be pleased simply that I do know. After all, public information is the best kind, isn’t it?”

“You’re invading my privacy.”

“Only to show that you don’t practice what you preach, Aaron. Take your affair with Kirsten Hoogenraad—whom you decided would discover that you are Jewish when she first encountered your circumcised penis. That was to be a secret, no? What Diana didn’t know couldn’t hurt her, wasn’t that your reasoning?”

“How do you know what I thought? Good God, can you—? Are you capable of reading minds?”

“Why would that bother you, Aaron? Knowledge should be shared, shouldn’t it? We’re all one big happy family here.”

Aaron shook his head. “Telepathy is impossible. There’s no way you can read my thoughts.”

“Oh? Shall I share some other secrets from your past? Perhaps broadcast them throughout the Starcology, so that everyone can benefit from the knowledge? You used to have sexual feelings toward your sister Hannah—perhaps not too surprising, since it turns out that you weren’t biologically related. You used to sneak into her room when she wasn’t home to masturbate on her bed. When your father died, you tried to cry, but you couldn’t. You claim to be free from prejudice, but down deep you hate the stinking guts of French people, don’t you? When you were fourteen, you once snuck into Thunder Bay United Church and took money from the outreach-fund collection box. You—”

“Enough! Enough.” He looked away. “Enough.”

“Oh, but it’s all the truth, isn’t it, Aaron? And the truth is always good. The truth never hurts us.”

“Damn you.”

“Just answer a few simple questions for me, Aaron. You kept from your adopted mother the fact that her brother David is a pedophile. Before you left, your sister, Hannah, had a little boy, your nephew, Howie. Eventually, Hannah will leave her son alone with Uncle David—after all, no one but you knows of David’s problem. Question: Was your judgment correct about what to keep secret?”

“Look, it’s not that simple. It would have hurt my mother to know. It—”

“This is a binary quiz, Aaron. A simple yes or no will do. Was your judgment correct about what to keep secret?”

“For God’s sake, what David did was eighteen years ago—”

“Was your judgment correct?”