L woke up as he always did at 6:24 AM. There was no clock next to the bed and his pocket watch was face down on the dresser against the opposite wall. He began flexing the toes in his right foot, working his way up his right side until he wiggled his right ear. Next, L wrinkled his forehead and scalp, moved over to his left ear, working his way down his left side, and finished by flexing the toes in his left foot. The next day he would start on his left side.

 

Every morning as he completed this journey around his body, he permitted himself a small smile, knowing that when he sat up and walked to the dresser it would be exactly 6:31. His eyes twinkled when the pocket watch, a gift from his father, confirmed that he was on time.

 

Inevitably he sat down at the kitchen table at 7:03, having first poured a cup of coffee from the programmed espresso machine that stopped gurgling at 7:01. His friends grudgingly admitted that he was précis. He corrected them, “Non, mon ami, très, très, précis!”

 

L was like that: precise. “I am as precise as an expensive Swiss timepiece.” And if he was questioned, he’d gently pull the gold chain in his vest, removing the vintage Patek Philippe watch from its pocket. “Precise as this watch that my father gave me on my 21st Birthday.”

 

And today it was again 7:04 when he sipped from his cup. He closed his eyes and noticed a strange tingling in his arm. He returned the cup to the table and let his hands rest in his lap. Tomorrow maybe different but today will be the same. And so it was.

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The next morning, he woke as usual – 6:24. But just as he started to flex the toes in his left foot, he had a strange thought. I shall not use personal pronouns from now on and going forward! L worried for a moment that some people, never a friend, would suggest this wasn’t wise, indeed was silly, but he decided that it would be liberating. Imagine I would no longer use “I.”

 

L giggled as he lay in bed. If Margie called and asked when I’d be ready for dinner, I would have to answer, “L will be ready at 6 precisely.” L would sound like an English butler.

 

At 7:05 L put down his coffee to concentrate on a rhyme. By 7:06 he was ready and opened his arms wide as if receiving an ovation. He declaimed:

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I, you, she, and me of these I’ll now be free.

Him, her, us, and it – not one little bit.

They, them, me, and he – I’ll also let them be!

 

He got up and refilled his cup, deciding he would stay in this morning as he felt exceptionally creative. L wrapped his hands around the warm cup. He closed his eyes, thought for a moment of his days at the University. My German Professor, Herr Professor Klitsch, lectured about a novel by the Austrian writer Robert Musil, Der Mann ohne Eigenschaften – The Man Without Qualities. Herr Professor Klitsch had stepped in front of the lectern, anchored his thumbs in the fob pockets of his vest, and pronounced that this was truly a monumental work of literature, one that was never completed. In three volumes it is over 1700 pages. “I myself have read it three times, front to back, and often reread sections for inspiration.”

 

L tapped the rim of his cup. Perhaps therein was planted the seed of removing parts of myself – the I, me, him, and he – I just rhymed. He smiled and, placing his thumbs in imaginary fob pockets, pronounced, “Ich werde das noch besser machen.” And since his cup didn’t speak German, he repeated himself, “I will do this even better.” Uhrich was the protagonist of the novel Musil struggled with for more than thirty years, always writing, rewriting, writing. Uhrich never became a man without any qualities or characteristics. But I shall need only this week!

 

L, realizing that he always thought better moving, decided a quick walk around the block would warm both his body and mind. He stopped briefly in the bathroom, chose a heavy sweater from his armoire, and went to the side door of his craftsman home. His walking sneakers were under the bench against the wall. After removing the key from the rack, he unbolted the door and stepped into the driveway. L looked left and right. Neither cars nor bears commeth this way.

 

Deliberately, he marched to the sidewalk and turned right. Ah, already it’s clear that removing characteristics must be deliberate else one must certainly fail. L reached the corner and turned right. A true and straight path is required. He picked up the pace. Momentum will surely come. Once again, he turned right at the corner. He was getting warm and pushed up the sleeves of his sweater. Reward will come with hard work. By the time he’d reached the third corner he was sweating, and his breath was labored. He stopped and removed his sweater, looping the sleeves around his waist. The home stretch and dogleg were still waiting. He was tempted to run but remembered his resolve to be deliberate.     

 

L puffed out his chest, smiled, and set out lifting one foot high after the other. One is most comfortable without things, things like this sweater. One more turn and then the five-hundred feet of the dogleg. His was the fourth house in from the corner. L pushed on ahead as hard as he could, a strange mixture of hopping, skipping, and running. He threw off his sweater as he passed the first house. No need, no need. Now he was panting. One needs nothing. Ha!

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He felt a stitch in his side, a pain in his chest. L was unaccustomed to exercise. Fifty years ago, in church with his mother, Father Brown had brought down a lesson from Ecclesiastics: Vanity, vanity. All is vanity. Yes, I do need nothing.

 

L wasn’t thinking clearly and forgot to stop at his house. He was almost at the next corner when he felt his arm become numb. I don’t need my arm and having a house is silly. They can all go. I’ll be free then. I’ll be…

 

L staggered on for two more steps wondering if he should return home but then collapsed. He struggled unsuccessfully to remove his pocket watch. People walking or driving by assumed he was just a runner stretching on the warm spring grass. It was the mailperson who stopped and realized that the body on the ground was dead. Later the medical examiner estimated the time of death as “between 9 and 9:30 AM.”

 

L was not pleased. He complained, “It was precisely at 8:27 AM.” But then he had his doubts. Stress, yes stress can disturb one’s sense of time. He contemplated his current situation. I was right. It didn’t take me even a week to accomplish what Uhrich failed to do in thirty years. Here, in a little more time than it takes to go around the block, I am dead. Truly, a man with no qualities!