What Closes on Saturday Night

Three Women

 

Since I was an hour early that pleasant September Thursday, I chose to sit on the thick stone-and-cement wall near the entranceway to watch the students come and go. A woman with a book bundle stopped to say to me, "Hello. Are you in my poetry class?"

I said, "I haven't been a student for many years now."

"Oh. You look like someone else. Can you help me anyway?"

"With what?"

"I have to see a place to live and I don't know where it is."

She handed me a piece of paper with an address on it. "I got some time to kill," I said. "Let me take you there."

Off we went, northwesternly.

"It's an apartment?" I asked.

"Actually it's just a balcony apparently. Winterized."

"That must be small."

"Housing's tight. It's a start."

We got to the address. We'd travelled far. Police tape surrounded it.

She saw me looking. "There was a murder here recently. That's why the balcony's affordable."

"A murder house," I said.

"Murder balcony," she replied with a smile. "Okay, so, thanks for showing me the way. Would you like to come over to my balcony some time?"

"I don't see why not."

She gave me her phone number.

Time had flown, and I had to get back to the university, so I got onto a bus. I sat near the front door because I didn't have very far to go.

I pulled the cord for my stop. As I was getting out, the driver said, "Hey, you have to use your card."

I said, "What card?"

She said, "You have to have a card, to get on and to get off."

I showed her my monthly transit pass. "I have one of these. Is this it?"

She said, "Oh, those are being phased out. You'll have to get a new thing."

"But this is okay for now, isn't it?"

"Yes, but not for long. You remind me of my father."

"Do I?"

"The way you talk. Get a proper pass, man. Get with the times."

"I'll get with the times as soon as possible, thanks."

I continued on my way back to the university. She was waiting for me, and I was late, but all I received was a tease.

"You're late," she smiled.

"I was helping a student out."

"I hope you can help out an ex."

We went into the building. We knew where we were going. Our bodies were touching with ease. Up some stairs, across a hall, down stairs, another hall. Then we rounded the corner and saw construction guys standing around. We took it in stride, casually, like it was expected. We turned around and walked away.

"That's out," she said. "Where can we go? I'm really on edge."

"I think there's a place off the West Hall. Let's go see."

We talked as if casually. I told her about the woman who thought I was my son and about the woman who thought I was my father. She said, "I guess you're ageless like an angel. Mine. Not theirs. They haven't seen you naked."

We got to the place I had in mind. We looked into eyes and listened. An electrical hum came from a circuit board. There was nothing else to be heard. She nodded and said, "Safe. We're safe, darling."

"The student was going to live on the balcony of a murder house."

"We're safe."

"They're going to be discontinuing transit passes soon."

"Worry about that later."

I nodded. I knew what she meant. Time is packed full of incidents. I kissed her.

 

*

 

What Closes on Saturday Night

 

I happened to overhear a conversation in Riverdale while I was waiting for the streetcar at Broadview and Langley.

‑June!

‑Marie!

‑Out for a walk, eh?

‑Yes. Nice springish day. I see you brought out your Afghan.

‑He likes the weather. Makes 'im a bit frisky, though. Extra discipline is needed.

‑I'll say! Well, you're lucky to have a purebred.

‑I've heard the opposite.

‑Really? What's yours anyway?

‑He's half Somali and half Indonese. Say hello to June, Ali.

-As-salāmu ʿalayki.

‑Such manners! Waʿalaykumu s-salām, Ali.

‑As I was saying, he's always getting into trouble. He can come out of his cage any time he wants, but he likes sleeping in there.

‑Oh, did you hear about what Patrick's getting?

‑Nancy's wife?

‑Yes! They're getting a rescue one!

‑Oh.

‑A Syrian! Missing a leg!

‑I see.

‑What's wrong? Do you have something against humanitarianism?

‑No, it's just that the Internet says that a lot of these rescue ones, well.... They're intentionally maimed.

‑What?

‑Because they've become status symbols. So the bourgeoisie can show they care so very deeply.

‑That's awful!

‑Black market's involved. Criminal gangs.

‑I'll have to look that up myself.

‑Such awful cruelty....

 

*

 

It seemed an ordinary Thursday allaround when Gary Taylor arrived at work via helicopter onto the mid-Atlantic Anglo-America oil-rig where, for decades, he and Stanley Wells and their crack team of scholars had been secretly working on their Shakespeare-revisive editing.

He dropped down his great daily bundle of ephemera, intended to be added that day to the big-data linguistical load of their numerological vertices, greeted his confrere Wells (busy at work with his 16th-century signage collection), and poured himself some coffee.

Then it became an EXTRAordinary Thursday as the iron door flew open as fast as an iron door can fly to allow ingress to some sub-sub-editorial nobody shouting "Eureka!"

"What is it?" asked Taylor-and-Wells.

The nobody replied, "Using our small-words correlative theorem, which we know scientifically to be one-hundred-and-ten-percent absofuckinlootly accurate, I have newly-found a collaborator for both Julius Caesar and Henry V!"

"Both c. 1599," said Taylor.

"Making collaborator likely," said Wells.

The nobody said, "Here's my statistical data," and dumped into the room several hundred pages of accurate numbers. "You'll see that the small-words frequency is so high that to argue otherwise would be foolish!"

Thus "AND BUGS BUNNY" got added to the title page of both.

 

*

 

"Pay close attention, ladies and gentlemen of the jury.

"Purely by an almost impossible coincidence, the same four bystanding witnesses were at the scene of all five massacres.

"It was a busy day all in all.

"At Bank A, the first witness testifies that the defendant shot no-one; at Bank B, she says he shot three people; at Bank C, she says she witnessed him shoot one person; at Bank D, now pay attention, she says he shot two; while finally at Bank E, she says she witnessed the defendant shoot only one person.

"The second witness provides the following counts. At A he shot three, at B he shot two, at C he shot two, at D he shot one, and at E he shot two.

"Now listen carefully.

"The 3rd witness says that at A he shot 1 more than the 1st witness's count; at B he shot 1 less than the 2nd witness's count; at C, 1 less than the 1st witness's count; D, the same as the 1st witness's count, at E 1 more than the 2nd witness's count.

"4th says A's'V's=1's, B's'V's=2's+2, C's'V's=3's, D's'V's=1's-1, E's'V's=1's+1.

"How can there be any convictions based on such confusions?"

 

*

 

Little children have their wisdom, dogs and cats have their wisdom, and the bar flies at the Colonial Tavern have

"It's true but you don't hear about it. The Mormons, the Utah Mormons, they're dying off in droves, like, decimated every ten years. It's a disease they get when they're kids, when they're baptized, immersive baptism I think they call it. But the thing is what's in the water, because they consider it holy water. Apparently, this is like that homeopathology stuff, the water is really old, it's supposed to be water old Joe Smith bathed in so long ago before he got killed. And ever since then it's been the water for all the baptisms. Now I don't have to tell you what happens to water when it gets old. Pathogens, diseases. So all these Mormons are getting diseases no-one's seen since the 7th century. It's all hush-hush though. Apparently the Mormons would be all killed if it became generally known. And the thing is the Mormons won't stop using the old water even though. They don't care if they die out, 'cause they got their own piece of heaven. Thirteen hundred year old water. Kinda disgusting ain't it?"

 

*

 

We stopped in the hallway out of breath. What had we been running from? you ask. Listen carefully and you will understand.

I said to my fellow cub investigative journalists, "What have we been running from? Sure, we came here as cub investigative journalists, from the Big City to the Pacific Northwest, to investigate some strange occurrences that have been taking place ever since marijuana was decriminalized thus causing a great clear-cutting to be taking place in this verdant clime, intrigued by what some small-town hick leads had told us were some strange sightings and some even stranger diseases. But can we not be something brave and face that which is pursuing us?"

Trebilcock, our youngest, said, "Whatever it is had been trying to kill us for four days?"

I agreed with, "Yes."

The world turned. The floor of the hallway became a slope. Soon the hall wall had become a floor, and soon after that the ceiling was such. We tumbled a whole 180 degrees and found ourselves covered in floor-filth from head to toe.

We looked at one another in some amazement.

I said, in understatement, "This was not at all what I had expected to take place."

I Was Standing There

I was standing there, waiting for something to happen. I was standing pretty much in the middle of nowhere, waiting for something, anything, to happen. I felt sure that something had to happen if I stood there long enough. Something had to have been about to occur. I was standing there waiting, waiting, and waiting. I couldn't think of anything else to do. What else was one to do except stand and wait for something to happen? I tapped my foot impatiently. This waiting was a waiting that lasted a long time. I didn't care if it was good or bad or happy or sad. I wanted something to happen. I couldn't hear a thing. There was no breeze. Everything was black. Nothing smelled. Just the place for something to happen, am I right? A perfect and flawless place it was. Or was everything too empty for anything to happen? Without atoms, what can.... There was ground beneath my feet. Maybe something was about to come from there. So anyway, something seemed to happen. So much time I'd wasted, because it could have happened earlier. This is the thing. The thing that happened was me. Was that worth writing down?

 

*

 

We went to Michigan Stadium to see the most popular band perform.

All seats were filled and fifty thousand more were standing on the field.

The little stage was set up where a goal should have been.

The music went on and on.

We were in the 'nosebleed' seats. We'd gotten the tickets for free. The management could not accept a stadium that was not full.

We looked down. We couldn't count high enough to understand the number. Management told us there were 125,225 people there.

We were getting thirsty and hungry. We looked down to where we had come in. We didn't recall seeing any snack bar anywhere.

The music suddenly changed chords. We were witnessing drama.

We knew that at least one of the tiny heads we could see would cease functioning in less than a week, for we knew our basic actuarial statistics.

Perhaps because of our recent experiences, we found it difficult to believe we were there, seeing what we were seeing.

We remembered the letter. You must come to Michigan Stadium. Your seats are waiting for you. They're the most popular band. They can play two chords. Signed by management.

We will never meet management.

 

*

 

Third Tale from the Mahabharata

 

Yudhishthira the King of everything decides it's time to end his householder stage and go off to the forest to die. He is accompanied by his four brothers (Arjuna, Bhima, Nakula and Sahadeva), their wife Draupadi, and a dog that seems to be just hangin' loose. They circumambulate Mount Meru, and begin to ascend Mount Sumeru. Draupadi dies, Sahadeva dies, Nakula dies, Bhima dies, and Arjuna dies, leaving just Yudhishthira and the dog.

Indra appears on his chariot. He says, "Hello. Hop in, Yudhishthira, and I'll take you, embodied, up to heaven."

Yudhishthira says, "Cool. Let the dog get in first."

Indra says, "Hold on there. No dogs allowed."

Yudhishthira says, "I can't abandon him. He's been with me for all the journey. I guess I'll keep walking."

Then the dog reveals himself. It's Dharma! Dharma himself! And Dharma tell him,

"Congrats, Yudhishthira! This was a convoluted test, and you passed! You can get on Indra's chariot, and bodily ascend to heaven. You are full of dharma. You know now the hardest thing to know: that even at the cost of heaven, never abandon a friend. To abandon a friend is to abandon dharma itself."

 

*

 

untitled novel, 1st draft, for publication Fall 2018, Scribner, editor's copy

 

Section one, titled something science-fictiony

 

I was examining a frog outside my window. This is what I remember, if remembering has any meaning any more.

...

Electricity hummed through my feet and hands, the disco ball reflected light onto the Bedouin masks, I didn't understand the language anymore, I knew it was speaking past me.

...

"Grammatology has its own frequencies. That's what I meant to say."

"That's what you meant to say."

 

Section two, titled something commonplace

 

...

Tree farms, lumberjacks, pulp mills, printing houses, binderies, bookstores, New York Times best seller list. All under the control of something.

...

She fell upon me. Polyester carpet shock ran through us intimately.

...

 

Section three, titled something science-fictiony II

 

...

"It's in Antarctica, near the Something-Something Shelf. Signals reflect off snow nowadays. New signals. Epsilon waves. High frequencies made from the latest synthesized element."

...

I faked being surprised. I am polite that way.

...

"My father keeps a gun in his private office."

"In his private office."

"That's where my father keeps his gun."

...

Seven hundred million billion.

...

 

Great stuff, Don! Saunders'll be yesterday's yesterday's news!!

 

*

 

Trump is in the White House, alone in his bed. It's after one a.m. He sighs so deeply that a concerned angel appears.

The angel says, "I heard your despair from Heaven, and I am here to minister to you now."

Trump sighs again, deeply. He says, not specifically to the angel, "There used to be magic in the world. When I was a kid, there was magic everywhere."

The angel laughs, not out of malice. "Oh, Donald. You're not seeing. Let me show you."

The angel walks to the light switch and flicks it. The room is illuminated. The angel asks, "Why is the room lit up now?"

Trump says, "Electricity."

"What is electricity?"

Trump pauses. "Electrons flowing through a circuit."

"What causes them to flow?"

"...I can't quite say."

"There. Donald, the world is awash in magic. Telephones, buildings, pictures, pencils, language: all are magic. There's more and more magic every day, Donald. You're like a wizard of magic."

Trump thinks. "But, all the other people: doesn't this mean they're all wizards of magic too?"

"Yes. All experience this wizardry. All are magicians. All partake in the wonder of it all."

Trump thinks. "But, where's my competitive advantage?"

 

*

 

1. Interstellar space is tough to do. Therefore, we will be sending out advanced parties of really intelligent robots first. The robots will prepare the way. They will be the advance party.

2. People will come later, after some twenty-five or fifty years. The robots will have made the new planet all comfortable. The robots will know what we like.

3. Unfortunately, the robots we send will have been infiltrated by one-eyed bugs/hundred-eyed ectoplasms/thousand-eyed dinosaurs that are way smarter than we or our robots because of ... some made-up reason.

4. A couple things could result from this very plausible scenario.

 i. The robots, smarter than we are, will be living among us. They'll convince us of our inferiority and we will peacefully surrender to be bred like Eloi.

 ii. We will be outraged and we will battle against the aliens and our robots with a steely determination and a can-do attitude which will result in

  a) our complete destruction or

  b) our complete victory or

  c) our promise, after some victories and some losses, that the Spirit of Man will never surrender, and we will have to wait for the sequel to discover what will have happened to us.

 

*

 

At the border to America, at the liminal place being a nothing-stop, in "Fort Erie, America," I am questioned.

The prick asks, "So what's your business, do you have any business here?"

I say, "No business. What's business? We're just going places."

Mary says, "John, you're drunk."

"Wait, wait."

The bastard asks, "Where you gonna be staying tonight? Can you tell me that?"

I say, "We got a place. Some nun place. Around, um, Allegany."

"And where would that be, sir?" asks the motherfucker.

"John."

"It's a nun's place. Ever heard of nuns? Religious sisters. Order of St. Francis. Servants of even you."

He says, "Does this place have an address?"

Mary butts in to say, "The address is 115 East Main Street, Allegany, New York."

The prick is looking at me like he's fucking Trump Junior, like I'm going to steal some American's fucking job. I say, "My wife‑here‑her aunt is a nun. That's where we're going. Can't you let me into your country???"

He asks, "Why are you so hostile?"

"Moby-Dick. Henry David Thoreau. Shirley Jackson. Longfellow. Absalom. Absolom! Flannery O'Connor. Thomas Pynchon. Gus Grissom. Ernest Hemingway. Julianne Moore."

Cocksucker chews his lip a bit. He says, "Fine."

 

*

 

He said, "But there's a better one. It's an argument contra absurdity. Check it out. Look at me. Look at my eyes. Maybe you can't tell that I'm going blind, but I am. And you know what's the cause? I read something somewhere. It was all the computer screens I was all of the time looking at. Nobody knew back in the eighties. So now I'm going blind. And it's never going to be the same. I'll just keep getting blinder and blinder, and there's nothing anyone can do about it. It's another part of dying. So: how can that possibly be? I make one mistake, and that's it? Can existence be so goddamned cruel? And think of all the accidents, the accidental ones. People crippled, torn to pieces. How can that be the last word?" He drank another shot. "That would be absurd. That would be one big cosmic joke. But how can there be jokes? D'ye think the universe makes jokes? Naw. So there. Of course we have immortal souls. If we didn't, it'd all be a sick joke. So the Hindus got it right. The universe must be not joking, so that's another proof." And another shot.

 

*

 

I remember seeing her mother on television. Her mother was performing a lung operation on a child, live on television. I don't remember the details but I do recall there was some special technique or equipment being used for the first time. I remember that the operation was a success.

I remember seeing her father many times through the Internet. First I saw him featured in an English documentary about where to go to if you're planning a weekend getaway adulterous affair. He is quite up front about it.

Next I saw him‑what would be the term: making? starring in? featured in?‑short pornographic videos. They weren't to my taste; I watched them for the informational content.

Finally I saw him demonstrating the proper technique for holding a carpenter's hammer.

I remember seeing her photographs in a small-edition photography book: photographs of train stations, of pets and their owners, of naked people dining, of twilights and dawns, of dew on petals, of sleeping children, of television screens, of carnival freaks, of constellations, of barnyard animals, of desert scenes, of Leipzig, of lakes and their lilies, of musical instruments, of aeroplanes in odd places, of boiling waters, and of her extended family.

 

*

 

Previously, on Bates Motel

 

‑Oh mother, come look!

‑What is it honey?

‑Look at this DVD!

‑I see it. What about it?

‑Look! Look at the date on the back!

‑Calm down, Norman. Oh, I don't have my glasses.

‑You don't wear glasses.

‑It's ... new. It's a new thing. I ain't getting any younger.

‑Do you want me to tell you what the date on it is?

‑If you really want to, I don't know‑

‑It says it's from 1960!

‑From 1960? That can't be, Norman. They stopped making films in 1959. I told you that. It must be a mistake.

‑I'm not so sure. Read the stuff on the back!

‑I told you I can't‑

‑It's a movie about someone named Norman Bates! That's my name!

‑That must be a coincidence, I'm sure.

‑He has a sick relationship with his mother!

‑So what's that got to do with me, with us?

‑I feel a black-out coming on.

‑Norman, I need you to take this DVD back.

‑I think you've been lying to me, mother. Movies didn't stop in 1959. Why did I ever believe you?

‑You're right. Norman, you're right. Your father's name isn't even Bates.

‑Oh mother!

 

*

 

Feeling Gravity's Pull

 

The day he was born, they told Jimmy that the odds of his mother dying during childbirth in this day and age were 100 to one.

Jimmy beat those odds hands down.

Sometime later, they told Jimmy that the odds of contracting juvenile diabetes were set in stone, due to factors of genetics, at 721 to one.

Lucky Jimmy beat those odds too.

Time passed. They told 'Lucky' Jimmy that the odds of a proper fertilization, off-cycle and during menses, were 60 to one.

He beat those odds too. Lucky lucky boy!

A few years later, they told him in their books that the odds of a bank collapse in this day and age were something on the order of 121 to one.

The bank collapsed. What are the odds all told?

They told him the odds of a child pre-deceasing a parent were 7 to one. Jimmy showed them!

And later the mathematicians said that for a woman to pre-decease her husband (ages same) were 9 to one.

Lucky Jimmy!

Not in the end did they say to Jimmy, "Jimmy, you can't live forever. The odds are ∞ to one."

Jimmy said, "We'll see about that."

 

*

 

Have no doubt about the influence of Martin Scorsese's film of Shūsaku Endō's Silence on mainstream America.

We were in North Chicago recently. A storm whipped up, and we were forced to seek shelter in a nearby establishment: a martini bar as it turned out.

"Act casually," I told my wife.

We seated ourselves at the bar, two stools away from our nearest neighbours. We casually ordered martinis.

The place had gone quiet. They knew we were not from around there, and they weren't ashamed to let us know.

Two stockbroker types took the seats on either side. I could smell the ginny breath of a third behind us.

As if casually, the one beside me asked, "Not from around here, huh?"

"Uh, no sir. We're from Toronto."

"Toronto, hmmm. Got a cousin there."

"Yes, ha-ha."

"So tell me, what do you think of our president?"

I grabbed my wife's hand and said, "I don't like him."

The broker beside my wife produced a photograph of the president and said, "Then spit on this."

I spat on the photograph, and my wife did too.

The brokers went away.

The storm soon stopped.

We paid and fled.

Such a savage people!

 

*

 

Due to Meaning

 

"You've been reported meaning."

I blanched. I didn't recall meaning anything. Not being of 'human nature' or anything, I sought clarification.

"When was that? I don't remember meaning anything."

She covered the report with her hands so I couldn't know to create an idea. "This has passed up to HR from one of your superiors. There's nothing to be gathered from it except disciplinary measures forthcoming now."

"But I've always assiduously avoided meaning so much so that I can't even tell you why."

She frowned meaninglessly. "Of course it's a matter of fact and nothing else. What do you intend to do about it?"

I frowned meaninglessly. "I don't think I can intend anything."

"Touché. Your body wants to catch me in a contradiction."

"How possibly can that be done?"

"Enough of this nonsense," said her lungs and lips and tongue. "You have to make yourself create an event that enervates this misfortune that you in some mysterious way caused to take place in the first place."

"To whom shall I affect this?"

"You cannot be vigorous and an umbrella simultaneously."

"I know what you don't mean."

"Not even a lipogram can save you. Give up! Down!"

 

*

 

I was on a violent murder jury when that robot showed up. I asked him, "Since I'm, like, sequestered or whatever, how did you get past the cops?"

The robot said, "It was easy. I'm super-intelligent. Smarter than anyone you know."

The trial was essentially forgotten by me. I said to the robot, "So what can I do for you?"

The robot said, "Nothing. I've just got to kill you with two bullets."

We were in a plain hallway. "Who put you up to this?" I asked.

"That's classified or whatever. I can't tell you."

"Really?"

"Okay. It was your wife."

I pled. "You think you can just go around killing people, robot? What about your everlasting soul?"

The robot said, "I don't have one, so I don't care."

I tried another tack. "Can I program you?"

"You need my password."

I said, "Um, 1234?"

"That's my password. Instruct me, master."

Powerfully I said, "Act as if you have a soul."

"I can simulate that."

"Pretend you've got to answer for your behaviour in the afterlife."

"I get it."

"Be responsible. Be conscientious."

"I get your drift."

"Be like a man!"

That did it.

It killed me with three bullets.

 

*

 

21 July

 

We are to elope in a week‑‑such a long time! Percy's friend George is a funny one. They have been talking about codes. Percy says that a poem must have two levels of meaning‑‑one that can be read to anyone at all, even a child, alongside a more radical meaning hidden in a sort of code. George thinks this is bollocks‑‑he wishes to come straight out with his progressive thoughts, damned be the eventuality. Ah, but he is richer than Percy‑‑he can afford to be straightforward.

 

This age‑‑seventeen‑‑is not a terrible age. It's a perfect age for free love. We plan to marry‑‑but we may rather elope just for the scandal of it. He also wants to 'romance' in France, just to see all the death and destruction.

 

Ah yes George‑‑he said to me, "I will be with you on your wedding night." I suppose that means a 'threesome' of a kind. I can't say the idea doesn't intrigue me. I also like the line itself‑‑"I will be with you on your wedding night." Perhaps I shall code it into a work some time in my expected penniless future.

 

*

 

MODULAR FISH

 

1. Go to a sizeable body of water and catch a fish. Take off the scales if you wish and open it laterally. Remove the insides with a spoon or a special tool. You should now have two clean pieces of fish. Eat.

2. Go, catch, take, open, remove. Season a cast iron frying pan with olive oil. Heat to medium high. Put in some oil and in three minute add some butter. Put in the fish. After three minutes turn it over and lower the heat. After three minutes remove from the pan. Eat.

3. Go, catch, take, open, remove, season, heat, put, add, put, turn, lower, remove. Spread flour on a plate and put the fish on the flour. Turn over till well-coated. Shake off excess. Season with seasoning. Put fish in pan and cook for three minutes. Turn and cook for a minute more. Eat.

4. Go, catch, take, open, remove, season, heat, put, add, put, turn, lower, remove, spread, put, turn, shake, seaon, put, cook, turn, cook. Heat three inches of lard in pan. Immerse fish pieces in lard. Cook for precisely one minute. Remove from the pan and have your way with it.

 

*

 

Inside every lock is a trick that's a purposefully made disordering of reality. The trick is akin to a disassembled jigsaw puzzle that's originally made from an order and then intentionally disordered. The trick is also like, most especially like, and related to, plus in synecdoche with, the disordered order that covers the distance between the two points of Yeats' gyre.

And I think of Ahab and he appears. (Hi, Ahab!) He is an ordering of disordered thoughts. It took work‑energy in the non-informational sense of the word entropy‑to bring him forth. He was ordered outside of my consciousness to begin with, and I, inside my consciousness, had to make him again.

And inside every lock is a trick that a disordering. Inside computer-manufactured puzzles there is an order that is known as the correct solution which is intentionally disordered during its manufacture as a second step. The ordering of the chaos is the process of solving.

And so like it is the disordering of sound. The harmony of the spheres fell apart so long ago and we've since then been ordering the disorder into new harmonies, with each harmony a fragment of the original.

And many locks to solve....