Incest: Callow Postulation In The Cave

The boys were sitting around that evening in an apartment that they referred to as “the cave” because it was a converted basement that had no windows and a very low ceiling. Being young, they were comfortable enough in it, though, and were talking—sometimes laconically, sometimes excitedly—about sex and The World. The usual sort of late-night talk among young men smoking pot. The subject turned to incest and a couple of them started saying they thought it might be perfectly natural for a man to want to introduce his own daughter to sex.

“He'd certainly be kinder about it than most young men would be, don't you think?” George postulated.

Dogger nodded, but Roddy turned serious and his face turned red.

“Oh come on, guys, that's repugnant!” Roddy said with an air of quiet disgust. “I bet you two will sing a different tune about all that when you're older.”

“That may be,” George laughed, “but if so, it may be because we lost ourselves rather than because we found some sense.”

“You have no way of judging that in advance, though!” Roddy told him pointedly. “You don't know all that, you're just guessing!”

“We all are, aren't we?” George smirked. “About all of it.”

“Well, if you know you're guessing, why do you try to sound so sure of yourself then?” Roddy's voice was quiet, but clearly he had become almost uncontrollably disturbed by their talk of incest as something that might be natural. It didn't matter to him how long he'd grown his hair or how many drugs he'd taken; he refused to think about sex with his daughter, not even one he didn't have yet!

“We're just postulating about the possible, Roddy,” George said in a conciliatory voice. “Just talking aloud about what might be true now, or what could be true in the future. Sounding “sure” when we talk about it is just another way of testing how good the theories sound.”

“I think you're postulating about the horrible!”

“Well, okay then, the horrible possibility!” George grinned.

“I think you're nuts!” Roddy said.

“I've never denied it,” George grinned back.

“It's not that we're less moral than you are, Roddy,” Dogger said, who in fact couldn’t even imagine having a daughter, much less having sex with her. “But it’s just that we're determined not to be intimidated by what we think about. Being afraid to think about things is like all those straights you ordinarily despise who shit a brick every time they hear somebody say “shit”, much less mention a terrible societal taboo like incest. Or who want to ban all the dirty books that they’ve never read. They're hung up on words and afraid of words, which is only another way of being afraid of communication. Communication is never a bad thing, I think; not even arguments, for that means that at least you're not fighting yet!”

“Yes, but—” Roddy muttered.

Somebody knocked at the door just then and their conversation ended. It was Andrew, just in from his place in the country. Soon George, Roddy, and Andrew were smoking another j and arguing about the importance of the lyrics on the new Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young record.

“Goofy bastards,” Dogger thought. He was more inclined toward the Doors, if he was going to worry about “important” lyrics. He was goofy, too, of course.

THE END

Current draft: 02/10/07
©1989 Ronald C. Southern