Short Story: The Appeal Of Sisyphus

Short Story: The Appeal Of Sisyphus

I heard this from an old fellow down the pub, and the longer I ponder on this story, the more I have to agree that the events described do seem possible.

He intercepted me on my quest to the bar, introducing himself as Robert O’Hanlon, and hoping I wouldn’t take offence at his unaccustomed forwardness, ask if he could share a few words with an educated man such as myself. He didn’t seem your normal sort of lunatic, apart from his insistence on conversation, to which I acquiesced in return for a double gin and tonic. He was of wiry build and togged out in a well-pressed grey suit and tie. I gathered he’d recently retired from an obscure legal firm in the environs of Glasgow and wanted to share the high spot of his career. He promised that however dull I might find his tale, it would not be a waste of my time. As it was a quietish evening down at the Grouse and Spittle, and having some experience of the workings of the law myself, I spared him half an hour. This is what he told me.

“Do you remember the bold Sisyphus, scion of Greek royalty, and pure evil, through and through? It was about five thousand years ago when his case first came up. You’ll not remember all the details, unless you are abnormally fond of the classics. Well, he amused himself by robbing and murdering travellers at first. Then he committed the big one. Do you recall him at all?”

I had to confess my memory was unreliable on that count.

“Well, he graduated from traveller murdering to chaining up the god of Death, Hades as he was known, which had the effect of preventing the dear departed from reaching the underworld. You can imagine the kerfuffle what with cartloads of souls backed up with nowhere to go, from the seventh circle of hell to cloud nine, or wherever it was they used to head for in those days. Mebbe you'll mind he was sentenced to hard labour for all eternity.”

The affair rang a distant bell with me now.

“Well, his case came up on appeal not so long ago and - would you believe - yours truly was asked to join the trans-European legal team.”

I agreed it must have been a great honour.

“First time round it was Hades himself in the judge’s hot seat and was he hopping mad? Told yon Sisyphus he was to push a boulder up a big steep hill. Of course once he got it to the top there was no way of keeping it there, so down it rolls to the bottom again. So Sisyphus has to go down after it and push it all the way up again. And the same thing happens again, and again and again, no let up, no tea breaks,” he shook his head slowly in wonder. “I don't know how he took his meals.”

I asked him to kindly keep to the point.

“Anyways, that's only the background. You won't have read anything about the case in the papers. They kept the whole thing under wraps because there was meant to be no parole, no remission. Eternity meant eternity in those days, and there's those who'd think our great leaders a bit light on law and order for giving him a hearing so soon into his sentence. But with Greece wanting to join the European Community and all that, it was a politic motive to get it out of the way, you know in case it blew up in their faces later on.”

I commented on this unusual forethought from our governing classes.

“Anyways, Sisyphus was brought into the dock, shackled in irons. All string and bone he was, with long wild hair and a mean, sour face, hidden mostly by a long beard. I expect you or I wouldn’t look too good either after that long pushing a hefty rock.” I nodded with slight impatience and signalled him to continue. “He didn't have much to say for himself and didn't seem to really understand the proceedings, though I'm sure he was pleased to be sitting down for a change. Well, he was defended by Cherie Booth, one of her earliest cases I believe. She gave a good account of herself and won him the deal. Of course Hades himself didn't make a personal appearance though he sent his envoy, the Reverend Ian Paisley. Yon Peter Stringfellow was there to represent the undead, the original victims. They didn’t bother with the travellers. I won't bore you with all the legal details. Enough to say there was a lot of blather about Human Rights from the defence and a load of raked over grievances from the gods and the undead. Some folk can bear a grudge for an awful long time.”

I concurred.

“Anyways, to cut a long story short, Sisyphus was granted his remission. Not total remission of course, not for such a heinous crime. But the deal is that he gets eight out of every twenty-four hours to rest and catch up with his correspondence, heh heh heh, wash his hair or whatever, as long as the shortfall is made good by the rest of us. That was after much talk and some hard bargaining I can tell you. Ian Paisley can shout awful loud, and that Stringfellow could whinge the hind leg off a donkey. I was roped in to help divvy up the eight hours among humanity - that is those of us that live hereabouts. Even Hades had to accept there are limits to his jurisdiction and that other parts of the earth have different gods to please.”

Intrigued now, I encouraged him to continue.

“I have to say we weren't at all keen on the proposal to start with, though once it was plain there would be no actual pushing of rocks involved… I mean, the main objective was that the activity has to be difficult and pointless. Once we had that fact grasped we realised we were already more than halfway there. What with housework and DIY, dieting and the quest for eternal youth, some of us positively embraced the task. So this is how we figured it out. You’ve got to remember, we're talking up unpleasant and pointless as benefits here.”

His breathing quickened as he recalled his moment of glory.

“First and foremost we agreed there must be more pubs with cheaper drink and longer opening hours. This helps the police and everybody in the health service fill their quota. Of course the drunks themselves can hardly remember the half of it and have the same conversations night after night. Double points! The next idea was call centres. There are gains for everyone involved here.”

His wee thin-lipped mouth broke into a wide smile when I acknowledged the truth of this, and he became even more animated.

“Now this one I liked for the subtlety - expanding choice from everything from your washing powder, your energy supplier to your pension plan - they’re building on it all the time in case we go into deficit. There were a few minor diversions, like the paperless office, though Microsoft turned out to be an unexpected bonus. I’ve not noticed any less paperwork anywhere, have you?”

I had to admit he had a valid point.

“Well if it ever gets you down you can feel a rosy glow knowing you’re helping to give Sisyphus a break,” he rested back in his seat almost crowing with triumph.

Draining his pint, he left me to mull over his story while he visited the gents, promising to regale me on his return with the inside dope on Hercules, the Augean Stables and Shergar’s disappearance. I never did get to hear about that as he got involved with a drunk at the urinal who headbutted him rather harshly, accusing him of ogling his privates. As the wail of the ambulance siren grew distant I considered that on the whole he should be pleased to have notched up some playtime for the old boulder pusher.

ends