RICH MAN, POOR MAN    

 

February 10, 1977

 

     I’m writing this on the shore of Lake Manyara, consumed again by worldly worries in the midst of unearthly beauty.  Coming back to life does present its problems.  Foreseeing my intended termination, I had parted with most of my wealth.  By the time Africa is through with me, I would return to Canada a very poor man. 

     “I’ll pay you a million dollars if you would sell me a lung, a kidney, half your liver, and take a dose of HIV while at it,” offered Raminothna.  

     “No, thanks,” I said.

     “How about this.  I’ll pay you ten million dollars for all your scientific knowledge, on the condition that you could never reacquire it, because you simply wouldn’t want to.  You can keep your linguistic skills if you wish.”

     “Without my scientific knowledge, what would that make me?”

     “Oh, you could still go back to selling real estate, and teach Sunday school as a business move with impunity.  Your clients would never know the difference.”

     “Definitely not.”

     “How about this, then.  I’ll pay you a hundred million dollars if you will become a full-bore Creationist, or better yet, a Fundamentalist TV preacher.  You can make a lot more money doing that.”

     “No bloody way!”

     “Alright.  Here is my final offer.  I’ll pay you one billion dollar, if you would sell me your empathy, your kind-heartedness, your conscience, your compassion, you altruism, your love, and become an unadulterated evil person.”

     “Forget it.  Not for sale.”

     “Then, consider yourself a very rich man,” said Raminothna.