The married man committing wife-murder has exonerating evidence in the apartment next door, but he fails to peruse it. He showed me heroic intellectual ending his life with poison, convinced that torture at the hand of his enemies -human ones in this case - was the only option. He showed me the married man strangling his wife, convinced that she had wounded his self-love to such a degree that her destruction was warranted. How could it be that the same situation, a marriage, an office, a moment in an elevator, a vacation could be simultaneously the life for one person and the after-life for another? And so he showed me the man perishing from thirst in the desert, choked on his own despair. It was not a physically distant world but as it were an overlay on our own where the souls of the damned would be placed in order to suffer torments.
Once while I was fluttering between wakefulness and slumber the Enemy took me on a tour of the abode of the damned.
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