Farewell. Fly thee well. Naman. Alvida. Gone. Another one. But you too? Must you have? Let us not take names, oh how many names must we take? Men of Gold cut down by men of Tin. Gold holds, tin is tin, eventually it cuts or gets cut. There are differences. Understand differences. Understand too that in this benighted time it is tin cutting down gold.

But how many should we count here? That’ll take much time, there’s other more important work to do. I am not in mourning. Far from it. I am only keeping count of the gone, and those who will soon go. I must keep count. That is also the job. I am a responsible man, I see to it that what needs to be done gets done. You wouldn’t know all about what the job entails, you aren’t meant to. In any case, I am not about to tell. I took that oath you may have seen me take, the oath of secrecy.

There is a thing about secrets, and that is that they are best kept in dark places. That may well be the reason why they say “dark secret” when they are referring to a secret that is no ordinary secret. I may be wrong, I am never sure; I may be right, I am sure of that even less. But I am telling you about secrets and where they are best kept. In places as dark as my heart. And as cold too. Secrets need cold-chain maintenance so they may remain preserved; else they begin to give, and a secret that has begun to give is no secret at all. You know I always talk sense. May not be good sense, but it is sense. What is a secret that is not preserved as one?

But to get back to my cold and dark heart. It is so because it needs to keep secrets. I have, I may inform you, a very large heart as well. And that largeness too has a purpose. That largeness serves the purposes of the size of things that require to be secured in it. In the cold. In the darkness. My heart is such a place. It beats, and it keeps count. One. Two. Three. Four. And so on and on. It is where an elementary sort of arithmetic plays out, and the count is coldly taken. Do not mind, but when one goes, or another, and the count of the gone mounts, so does the count of what has not gone. Understand? No. That is why I say I have commerce in my veins. You need commerce in your veins to understand the algebra of this arithmetic.

Here’s how it is. I opened a fund. I said you give to the fund. Because the fund will eventually give to you. How the fund will give to you and when, leave it to me. Give. Then leave it to me. When one of you is gone, there is more for each one of you. Simple. There are fewer to divide the fund amongst. Understood? So it is not such a bad thing you are being reduced, going under or evaporating. Rejoice! The fewer you are, the more the allocation of the fund to each.

You can see the fund, there, that fat sporran. The more you give the more it shall fatten. And the more that goes, the greater your unit share. You see the sporran leaking from the bottom? Hush!! It’s a secret not everyone can be told.

That’s the thing about secrets. The fund is giving to another fund, a secret fund. Each time one of you goes under, a bit of the fund goes under. And thus, in the process of loss it actually gains. Do not tell anyone, keep it between me and you, that is the surreal secret of this fund — the more we lose, the more we gain. Actually, the more of you that go, the more it serves the national interest, because more is left for the rest. You can see it for yourself, get the arithmetic right. A sum divided among fewer is always a larger sum, and it is a larger sum that I am forever after. For your sake, in your interest. So go die, perish, let is be one less so the fund can be one more.

It’s dripping. It’s all dripping down. Bit by bit. Ting. Ting. Ting. One after another. Gold. And also Gurneys. Thud. Thud. Thud.

What’s going under isn’t only you

Look, there’s coins more than a fair few

Just give me all your money

And forget about the rest, honey.