The melting floor trick, most recent and most lingeringly visceral of offenses, is a gimmee. To omit it would be to slam the door shut on whatever this conversation is. But Jude does manage to name it; and naming it suggests that, even if he doesn’t sincerely believe it was wrong and worth apologizing for, at least he can recognize that Near might think it is. So that’s … something. Kind of. A glimmer of empathy, if not compassion. He fails to mention waving a knife around in Near’s kitchen, but that may be included in the melting floor package. Or maybe, not having drawn blood, he can’t grasp why that might merit a mea culpa at all.
Part two comes out of left field: breaking you and your boyfriend up. Near’s face flickers briefly toward an expression of surprise, but he doesn’t say anything until he’s sure that’s the end of it.
And no, he is not happy or satisfied with the results of his experiment. Yes, he is still waiting for any acknowledgment that the shittiest thing Jude ever did to him was to disappear in the forest, but that seems not to exist anywhere on Jude’s radar, and even Near knows when he’s pushing his luck. Could he tack on a snide What else? to see if there’s anything more he can shake out? Sure. But diminishing returns, etc.
“Fine,” he says. “All is forgiven. Go in peace.” He makes a little flicking gesture in the air that vaguely approximates some notion of a priest absolving his least favorite parishioner of all his transgressions. “Let me ask you: were you trying to piss Guthrie off? Like actively? I swear to god I can never tell if you’re being malicious or just … socially inept …” Because he has already heaped the lion’s share of the blame squarely on Guthrie’s shoulders and demoted Jude to a hapless vector of disaster. Not that the slippery San Francisco startup ‘something going on’ bullshit hadn’t played a part, but said breakup was already there, waiting for something to set it off.
Part two comes out of left field: breaking you and your boyfriend up. Near’s face flickers briefly toward an expression of surprise, but he doesn’t say anything until he’s sure that’s the end of it.
And no, he is not happy or satisfied with the results of his experiment. Yes, he is still waiting for any acknowledgment that the shittiest thing Jude ever did to him was to disappear in the forest, but that seems not to exist anywhere on Jude’s radar, and even Near knows when he’s pushing his luck. Could he tack on a snide What else? to see if there’s anything more he can shake out? Sure. But diminishing returns, etc.
“Fine,” he says. “All is forgiven. Go in peace.” He makes a little flicking gesture in the air that vaguely approximates some notion of a priest absolving his least favorite parishioner of all his transgressions. “Let me ask you: were you trying to piss Guthrie off? Like actively? I swear to god I can never tell if you’re being malicious or just … socially inept …” Because he has already heaped the lion’s share of the blame squarely on Guthrie’s shoulders and demoted Jude to a hapless vector of disaster. Not that the slippery San Francisco startup ‘something going on’ bullshit hadn’t played a part, but said breakup was already there, waiting for something to set it off.