Omlettes

OMELETTES

IN THE SPRING of 1963, years before demonstrations against the war in Viet-Nam had become newsworthy, the Buddhist monk Humpty Dumpty attempted to set himself afire in a Saigon marketplace to protest the Catholic leadership of this predominantly Buddhist country. His hard eggshell exterior would not ignite--not even with the dousing of gasoline he had given himself. The crowd of people who had gathered to watch the event soon drifted off when they realized that there would be no death in the town square that afternoon.
The following day, however, the monk Humpty Dumpty again made plans to protest the country's corrupt leadership. He climbed the wall in the village square and began shouting obscenities at "Yankee imperialism," "capitalistic materialism," and the domino theory--each and all symptoms of what he saw as existential fear and despair, yet another example of Western decadence invading and attempting to take over his country. The crowd of shoppers who had stopped to watch dismissed him as a lunatic. Humpty Dumpty heard their mocking tones and set his teeth.
Then leaped.
. . . on the way down, he wondered if it was, indeed, all in vain--what would it matter--in the end--years hence? We're all gonna die, he thought--today, 20 years from now, 40. The point is: we're all mortal; (and the ground, he saw--now in alarm--rushing upward at such a tremendous, frightening speed only confirmed his dread.) It all seemed so stupid, such a waste. Why, he could have. . .
He hit with a splat. Egg yoke and white shot outward and upward--literally in every direction. Passers-by were soaked. They'd never seen such a thing.
The authorities--on horseback--arrived and tried in vain to revive him: to put his broken body back together again. But there was nothing, really, anyone could have done. He was dead the second he hit the pavement.