The Nihilist: A Novel by Keijo Kangur

Author:Keijo Kangur [Kangur, Keijo]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-08-15T04:00:00+00:00

20

After eating lunch at a greasy Chinese fast-food joint, I strolled around the city for a bit, smoking cigarettes.

Eventually, I found myself in Rotermann Quarter. It was a recently reconstructed district in the Tallinn city center with a bit of a retro sci-fi vibe due to its mix of old limestone buildings and new glass and metal architecture with colorful LED illumination.

I had come to this part of town because I had once stumbled upon a strange bar there called Disremember—an apt name for a bar if there ever was one. Its colorful and contrasting décor had consisted of Russian icons and modern art and I had met plenty of unusual patrons there.

For you see, I was still on my never-ending quest to find someone worth talking to. Someone who’d listen. Even if all I had found so far were faceless NPCs who I scared away the minute I began talking about my worldviews. Views which were perfectly reasonable after all, if not a little bleak. But then life was a little bleak. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t make it. I wouldn’t have wanted to. If a god made this world, as Schopenhauer said, then I would not want to be its god—its misery and despair would break my heart.

However, when I arrived at the spot where the bar was supposed to be, there was nothing there. I was certain that there had been a bar there once. I even circled around the place, making sure I hadn’t misremembered the exact spot where it was supposed to be, yet it could have only been at one spot. And on that spot, there was nothing. There wasn’t even any sign that there had ever been a bar there.

I lit a cigarette. Strange, I thought. Very strange.

For lack of any better ideas, I decided to head to Scarlet Emperor again, which was nearby. As I was walking there, the sun came out for a change.

The walk took me through Kanut garden where there was a statue of Dostoevsky. His Notes from the Underground was one of the finest novellas I had ever read on account of its stark and honest portrayal of human pettiness, humiliation, and misery. I stopped in front of the monument. It was covered in bird shit. Even when you were dead, they still shat on you.

Although Scarlet Emperor often hosted an assortment of various weirdoes, when I got there, I saw that the place was rather empty. I guess that was not surprising, considering it was Tuesday.

The same goth bartender was behind the counter as the last time I had been there. I ordered a house beer. After she finished pouring the drink, I paid for it with my card and asked, “So where is everybody?”

“Beats me.”

“Who does?”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.” I took a big sip of beer. Continuing with my chit-chat, I asked, “Do you like working here?”

“It’s okay,” she said with no emotion.

“I see. By the way, what’s behind that door?” I pointed towards a door to the right of the counter which had, “Fuck off, staff only,” written on it.

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