Autumn 2026 – Hugo wolters – Vigil

It is when you dozed off that I entered your room through the backwall. On the coffee table next to your seat lay George Saunders’ Vigil, of which memories still twirl through your head. I need to act fast. The TV is turned on, showing a bleak news fragment: a possible new leak at neglected oil fields in the Gulf of Mexico. It would be the second leak this year by the same state-owned company, Pemex, Reuters reports. The weatherman takes over and tells you that August has never been this warm before. As you raise your head to look for the remote, you see me. You startle, then ask whether or not I’m real. “In this world, yes, I am,” I tell you, and: “I’m here to comfort the dying. We don’t have long, so let’s quickly begin. Let me explain to you who Boone was, and why oil burns.”

I reach for your memories, looking past your confusions, searching for those of K. J. Boone. K.J. Boone was an oil tycoon, an allegory for greed. On his deathbed, he was visited by spirits like me. One such spirit, named Jill “Doll” Blaine, whose self-imposed purpose is to comfort people soon to pass, immediately got rejected and belittled. When the spirit of a Frenchman visited, formerly the inventor of the combustion engine, the two argued about how to treat Boone. Their arguing continued for the remainder of Boone’s life: Jill wanted to comfort Boone, whilst the Frenchman wanted to make Boone repent for his sins, as he was the sole cause for the devastating climate change. It was when Boone died that, though usually oil burns, this time nothing happened. Hence my visitation.

You look at me dazed, then mutter: “Why your visitation? Am I dying?” “You might be,” I reply, “I’m here to show you your two ways forward. I understand your confusion, so allow me to start from the beginning. At the base of it all stands Boone. How is one able to justify the mess Boone left behind?” You reply: “I’d say, try to understand how he became the way he did? If I recall correctly, he started with nothing, and he worked himself all the way up to the top.”

All that power, all that money, all those massed experiences gazing up at him, awaiting his words. […] So they turned to him, trusted him, feared him, even. Only a handful of people in all of history had ever known that kind of power. Presidents, maybe, depending on the era; kings, sure, but their kingdoms were not worldwide; movie stars and such, but that was all superficial crap. He spoke and markets moved; called a king and the king picked up.

“Indeed,” I say, “he was a hard worker. He came from nothing and became one of the wealthiest. One of his key justifications for why he got to ruin this earth on the scale that he did. Even in this room you can smell the oil. Being self-made kept his resolve unmoved. He further justified his actions by arguing that he helped build the modern world.”

You know one thing you rarely heard about in the good old U.S.A. anymore? […] A young fellow dying of appendicitis. At twenty-eight. Like Grandpa’s brother had. Because a road got washed out. And the horse-drawn cart couldn’t make it through. Imagine you go back in time and drop that young guy into the backseat of a big old SUV, fly him over a perfect four-lane to some gleaming modern hospital, save his life.

“It is quite spectacular, no? A face given to all environmental disaster, all that neglected oil infrastructure? An allegory for greed? Though Boone deals with guilt by abstracting his influence, the Frenchman tried to make him understand his actions. One way the Frenchman did so was by inviting Bhuti, the spirit of an Indian man. He told the story of how he and his family died due to severe heat. They were powerless as they died one after another. Boone fiercely dismissed Bhuti and the Frenchman, however.”

You frown, still confused. “True, he wasn’t innocent. But he was painted as the sole perpetrator for today’s environmental collapse. Isn’t that an exaggeration? Climate change is an institutional problem, with many millions of culprits. Nonetheless, we all wanted to point at someone to blame. Yet, at the same time, it was shown to us how inadequate that person was.”

“He made himself an allegory for greed. Do you remember the news articles right after his death? Boone deceived the world by funding think tanks aligned with climate change –denial, producing false, misleading evidence. Solutions for renewable energy stalled.”

You think about it for a second, still not sure what to make of this situation. I continue: “And why do you think it was reported that way? It invited one to reflect on guilt regarding climate change. But only after his death. In life, Boone’s defence for his actions symbolises that of the oil lobby. His reasoning was based on abstractions, company speak, where everything is interpreted in technical progress and monetary value. The function of the visiting spirits like the Frenchman is to get rid of the abstractions. Make one truly understand what damage one has caused. A noble cause, if I may say so. However, the examples with which the spirits came forward were abstractions, too. The Frenchman, for instance, wanted to show Boone how disastrous Boone’s company had been for the world’s bird population. He did so by making species of bird appear, one specimen for each species, then noting the environmental catastrophe that caused the extinction of said species, followed by the bird dying.”

Necklace-throated dayhawk! the Frenchman called. A bird with an iridescent blue neck ridge left its perch and merrily circled the room. Catastrophic wildfires during breeding season, three years in a row! Said the Frenchman. Overcome by smoke, the dayhawk dropped to the carpet, bounced, lay still.

“Numbers abstract the suffering: one bird representing the whole of a species does not convey the meaning well enough. The same goes for Bhuti. Having one man represent all the victims suffering from the heat does not convey the trauma it tries to represent.”

In your eyes I see I start to make sense, as you lean forward. I ramble on, trying to get to my final argument sooner: “People like Boone acting out harm would normally be able to exclude themselves from conversations with their victims, therefore avoiding the consequences. Inviting the dead to join the discussion gives the possibility for new interesting insights. However, any attempt at this falls flat. Since the harm is so substantial, the pathetic attempts by the spirits are inadequate. Boone learned nothing new: Boone was aware of the damage he and his company caused, and continued to hide behind abstractions until his death. Boone’s refusal to repent illustrates the discrepancy between comprehension and emotional response. Only after his death Boone switches completely. Right before he is dragged out by the spirits of two former colleagues, who want to enforce punishment on him, Boone pleads that he can fix his wrongdoings.”

His exit from his body had lessened his reflexive defensiveness. The magnitude of his sins was now painfully clear to him. […] However: The thing can yet be fixed (was the gist). It can. And I know just how.

“It shows character,” you say, “it shows people can change.”

I look toward the TV. “Switch to any channel and you will find a natural catastrophe developing. Along with humans, eagerly facilitating them. As long as it is profitable, that is. Meanwhile, we’re told that only in death harmful CEOs can change their thoughts. Why? To tell us that the power imbalance is unfair? What an epiphany.” You lean back in your chair again. “Even worse is the reaction Jill has,” I continue, “she goes on thinking how everyone lives a predetermined life, therefore making all actions inevitable. And if all actions of a person are inevitable, then one cannot pass judgments on them. She then frees Boone from his former colleagues, allowing him to join the Frenchman in making other wrongdoing people repent. It is only then that she realises that her intervening is going against the inevitable actions of the two former colleagues of Boone, too.” I sigh. “Almost as if humans can change their ways. So we wait for the CEOs of current hazardous companies to die, meanwhile, we cannot pass judgment on their actions. Even if they facilitate production of false evidence and whatnot.”

I look at my watch, inquire how much time I have left. It is probably time to break the illusion now.

“Saunders mentioned in conversation with The Interview: ‘He [Chekhov] says a work of art doesn’t have to solve a problem — it just has to formulate it correctly. So in this book there are two characters who embody that question, and I think they’re both right.’ On that assumption, his book is about whether or not punishment is useful, even if the perpetrator can no longer atone.” I see a flicker of recognition in your eyes, slowly realising the state in which you’re in. I take a step toward you, trying to retain your attention. “No, punishment after the fact would not be productive. However, we must all abide by the same laws, which includes the law that we must not cause harm to one another. Those that break these laws should at the very least be subject to criticism. We should not give them a break because ‘they only acted out their nature.’. Humans are humans for they can change, no?”

You hesitantly nod, slowly becoming more aware.

“So now comes the point where you choose. Do you want to stay here, in this spirit-filled wonderland that Saunders created, or wake up to the TV blaring on about another hurricane hitting the Caribbeans? More wildfires in Portugal?”

I see it clicking in your brain.

“Over there, oil burns. Here, it is only extracted. Hours upon hours, making the rigs, ‘creating characters,’, placing the rigs, ‘building the scenes,’, pumping the oil, ‘setting up plot points.’. To fill our houses with, just like yours. All of it culminated, waiting for that final spark.”

The oil swells underneath my feet as I take another step.

“But in this wonderland, there are no sparks. It is never ignited. Because here, we are implored to ask whether or not blackening the sea for profit is a bad thing or not. Whether or not those perpetrators should be punished. Right before a spirit comes by, telling us it was inevitable.”

Your breath picks up, eyes open wider.

“Here we are, sitting between two realities. One of Saunders, dormant, and one burning. One asks whether or not punishment is effective, the other one states no punishment is ineffective.”

I stand next to you, giving you a pat on the back.

“Well, to get to my point. Oil burns because you ignite it. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

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