As is well known, K was a stubborn old buzzard. After he died – which happened not so long ago, really – he was cremated and his ashes submerged in his favorite bottle of tequila and then consumed by citizens of the small New York town where he resided until his death. Or so is said.
Some days ago I stopped into the bar where the famed bottle is said to reside. When I asked the dark haired bartendress about the bottle, she furrowed her brow and narrowed her heavy European eyes. “K!” She spat. “I hated him. There’s no way I would ruin a perfectly good bottle of tequila for that monster. Maybe the bottle of which you speak is at a different bar. Try across the street.” She jammed her finger against the window, leaving a smudge.
I did as she suggested. At this adjacent bar I found the bottle of tequila. To my surprise it was full. The bartender, observing my confusion, interjected, “There is also this bottle. It contains the ashes of one of K’s servants, I think.” He then sauntered off, apparently satisfied with himself.
I examined the small bottle, which was a much lesser tequila. I swished around the liquid and watched the ashes agitate and then settle. So this is the final resting place of K’s famed servant, I thought to myself. The fact that this bottle was smaller and inferior in quality demonstrated to me that K’s servant wished to remain humble toward him even in death. After observing the bottle, I returned home and dusted off my copy of The Life and Times of K, which his servant published posthumously, or so my investigation has concluded. The text has no identifiable author, though I am sure it was penned by K’s servant who, herself, had no name.
To quote from the text:
K had no family. Although there were whispers of relatives stirring and scavenging someplace in the developing world, K never spoke of others in the affectionate manner often reserved for family members. His ascent to wealth and fame was unrivaled in the small town he came to call home and, owing to his modest upbringing, he was never ashamed to showcase his success.
Supposing the source of this information is true, K’s servant certainly idolized him. The book contains one photograph of K, taken before he died. In the photo, despite the terrible events surrounding his loss of sight, he merely looks like a man who has closed his eyes. He appears graceful, philosophic even, kind. As you probably know, K hated having his picture taken and so this may be the only picture of him left in public circulation. It occurs to me that the date stamped in the corner of the photo – January 14, 2018 – was near the date that K’s nameless servant herself became blind. Her last image of K must have been something like this picture. Did she remember him as a benevolent philosopher? Or did she create an image in her mind to counter those vicious rumors regarding his comportment and treatment of those in his stead?
The Life of K goes on to state: Although not much is known about K, it is common knowledge that he lost his eyesight early in life, after which he devoted himself to capitalistic pursuits and the acquisition of material possessions. The book does not mention his eyesight again, and so we are left to speculate on the cause. I have heard, however, that he was blinded by the sun during an eclipse. This doubtful. But I know of no other explanation.
In any case, it need only be noted here that K lost his sight at the prime of his youth. And it was because of this unfortunate incident that he invested himself in the enterprises that eventually made him rich, egotistical, and beyond reproach. Or so is written in his biography. We know, however, that nobody is beyond reproach. K’s favorite servant may be exaggerating here.
K’s servant also writes that it was shortly after his blinding that she came to work for him. Yet as long as she lived, this nameless soul considered herself fortunate not to have seen the light of his eyes. Had K seen her, she may have been thought somehow imperfect – lumpy and pale and reproachful. But thanks to his blindness her features could only have seemed ideal. She could only ever and always be a phantom.
K suffered from terrible class anxiety and felt himself above those of lesser means. As his worth climbed, he brought on more and more servants in order to degrade and ridicule them. His sense of inferiority was no double exacerbated by the loss of his sight. He kept his mansion forever wrapped in the dim twinkle of twilight, just bright enough for the servants to avoid bumping into each other as they traversed the cold, masculine corridors of his space.
One wonders why K took a liking to this particular servant above the others. Perhaps he felt her adoration. Perhaps she was simply an easy target who absorbed every insult like a loyal dog. Spoiled by his success in the markets and embittered by his blindness, he never gave her a moment’s rest.
“Why is he so hard on you,” the others would ask her. But to her credit, she never wavered. Perhaps she took his extreme waywardness as a warped form of flattery.
Not long after she arrived in his estate, she began playing the market, enamored as she was by anything K did. In the dark, she would pour over facts and figures almost by touch alone. K is ever in the dark, she would tell herself, inspired. She was no good at the markets and lost what money she earned from K. The other servants began to whisper. One day, K surprised her by giving her insight into the most reliable stocks to follow. Under his tutelage, she did well and earned herself a small fortune. She remained loyal to K, however, and stayed on as his servant even though she hardly needed to.
But once, she ignored his advice, risked everything, and lost. K was especially severe to her then. “You fool,” he shouted, and struck her across the face. K had never hit any of his servants before; if the book is to be believed, he had never hit anyone from any station before. The rumors, though, always the rumors…they paint a picture of a sadistic figure whose violent hand was but a pretext for perverse sexual games.
Unfortunately, this first time of violence led swiftly to others, and soon enough K would strike his loyal servant with regularity. She would walk to her room crying, earning looks of concern from the other servants who encouraged her to seek other employment. But if K was stubborn, so was this servant and she was always by his side in spite of – or perhaps because of – the verbal and physical assaults. She eventually controlled her tears, which enlivened K. This strange admixture of devotion and violence drew K and his servant closer and their relationship became less of master – servant and more of husband – wife. According to The Life of K, K decided from the time he was a boy that he would never marry. If that were true, then this particular servant softened his heart in an unanticipated way. Always one to eat alone, he began to dine with her. The blind do not dine with others; so this was a large gesture that gave way to others.
The poor girl, she thought all of this fanfare gave her reprieve from her duties. K would ring for her and she would arrive late, if she bothered to arrive at all. “You bitch,” K admonished! “Don’t forget, you belong to me!” Then, according to the text, he hit her badly. I suppose that K’s awareness of his wealth and greed had something to do with the malicious, if not sadistic treatment he administered. That is, because he was known for his cruelty he was forced to become cruel all the more. Gradually, becoming more and more vain, he ended up losing all control.
Given K’s reputation and the foul ways he treated everyone in his estate, it is reasonable to assume that his attacker was one of his servants. One possible perpetrator could be the Korean man he kept in his home as his gardener. After K trampled freshly planted lilies, numerous individuals overheard the Korean make a threat against K’s life. Another incident, one which I personally witnessed, happened with a handsome Puerto Rican. Still, because K had so many enemies it is hard to say who it was who snuck into K’s bedroom one fated night and threw acid on his face.
This is all the book says about the incident: K’s screams filled every floor and every room, and he shooed away all of his attendants except the one he prized most. She tended to him tenderly throughout the rest of the night. The others overheard through the door: “Don’t look at me! I’m hideous”! The servant responded: “My eyes are shut, K. I see nothing. Like you.
The event caused K to retreat further into his mind. He fired all of his servants except this most special one who tended to him with eyes always clamped shut.
“You mustn’t open your eyes,” K implored time and again. “You can never let my appearance now diminish how you used to see me.”
“Fear not,” she responded time and again. Then, one day, the servant moved from K’s side and into the kitchen where she cut her eyes out.
“Where did you go,” K inquired.
She answered: “I am blind now. I will forever see your radiance in this darkness of mine. I shall never see your face again for as long as I live.”
“I am touched, K” said sheepishly. He put a hand on hers and blind lovers embraced.
A local writer of fiction is the only person with intimate knowledge of how these blind lovers spent their remaining days. K stopped accumulating wealth and the two of them rarely ventured beyond the estate walls. Nevertheless, I am told, the couple lived happily until K’s death. The woman supposedly said that even if the gods offered her her sight back she would refuse. But who really knows what to believe?
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