SWIM
Come on
in, because it's not so cold once you're there. You'll be all in silk all over
your body, like you're the queen of the rivers and the lakes. It will hold you
up so long as you breathe, in that it's 100& spirits, to keep you high (so
long as you don't slurp too much of it down and drown), and it's the very aqua
vitae. It's like a living thing, this deep bowl of an environment, with life
through it all, with millions of organisms in each single drop of it, and under
the water there's a riches of life sleeping in its bed. Be among it, not as an
interloper but as a distant relative returning to the motherland and comparing
what physical features you know with the physical features you don't. Fall
under the surface, to feel your hair like seaweed ebb and flow in the tiniest
current, to see your flesh brightened to the translucency of a jellyfish, and
to hear the waters of your lifeblood pulsing loudly through your streams. Think
of the drowned, as they bloat and fall to pieces, fully aware of where they are
and where they have been.
*
PEARLS
We were
told it'd be just a gig: we had to go to a particular seasonal flea market on a
particular day, visit a particular knick-knack antiquities stall, and ask if we
could take away a particular object for our own appraisers. Sounded simple
enough, and it would have been, if not for the pearls.
We found
the antiquities stall. We asked to see the Dead Sea Scrolls. The vendor, a
young woman with tattoos, brought them forth and set them on the counter. They
were old things, seven of them, all tied up in a piece of brown string. I
asked: "Can I take them away, to be appraised independently?"
"Certainly!"
We started on some paperwork.
While we
were crossing the is and dotting the ts,
two Nigerian women shoved against me. They started molesting the scrolls,
obviously intending to take them away. I cried: "Excuse me, those aren't
yours."
One
produced a small square of burlap cloth and handed it to me. On one side was
painted a bare-breasted woman in profile; the other side had stitched in a
cotton tag reading: THE GIRL WITH TWO PEARL EARRINGS.
For a
while we argued, one idiolect against another.
*
HEGEL?
Down at
the Intellectual Cheese Factory University, as a team-building exercise, each
day a randomly-chosen employee gets to exchange the meanings of two particular
words. The two can have nothing at all to do with one another; an adjective and
a verb can change places, a participle with a noun. We put no limits on how
language can change, and we must keep the two meanings switched forever.
There's no going back to the way things used to be; once two words have been
switched, that's it. We've been doing this for six years now, and today I have
been chosen to make a switch.
I wrote
down some possibilities; what should be the words? I settled on one short and
one long word, five letters versus eight. Trash, and creative.
I said:
"Three a finishing natural, from likely patch driving trash, trouble
excellent my anxiously creative."
My boss
replied: "Pianist after but uncommonly! Six, to attachment joy, became if
sir trash bed creative."
We went
back to work.
Our
biggest problem is the problem of scale. What institutions can we spread our
system to? We have to expand! Do we have any low-hanging fruit out there? Any
recommendations?
*
EXTRA
I happened
to be in Singapore recently. Early one evening, having little to do, I went for
a stroll. I ran into a comely lass whom I thought I knew from times before, but
I was not sure; thus, I communicated.
I made a
stretching gesture away from my nose, pointed to her, and waved three fingers
over my head.
She
nodded, lifted up her left knee with her ankle arched in such a manner as I
could see it, and made a gagging sound.
I clapped
my hands three times, jumped-and-turned-around, and imitated Jimmy Durante
begging for applause.
This
seemed to have done the trick, for she pulled on her earlobes, knocked her
knees together soundly, then pointed to the sky.
In reply,
I covered my eyes and made my mouth a big O, blinked in a crude manner, and
failed to achieve a handstand.
She made
herself peg-straight like a wooden soldier and marched three right and three
left, slapped herself on the head, and pulled down her lower eyelids.
I bent
over in silent laughter, then returned to normal, looking at her.
She said:
"That can be arranged, but it'll cost you an extra hundred dollars."
*
PIANO
Certainty:
the fingers know the touch demanded.
Don't
underestimate a lateral digit move.
Everybody
loves a piano player, be brief!
Fifty-dollar
keyboard I bought, for playing:
Gave it a
couple months, gave it up, an
Awful
disappointment, my fingers were numb
Before a
half-hour at it. No note-stave epic
Could ever
I compose, I could understand.
Don't you
like it, that C over C over C note?
Every time
I play, I catch it on the clef,
Feel it
through the hammers heavily hammering
Good
feelings, what they call a plethora
And/or an
exploding tree, each tender limb
Becoming
vertical, then horizontal, a manic
Catastrophe
(literally!) that's made of wood.
Didn't I
look at my hands? I had the evidence.
Each
finger was useless for ivory in itself
For they
could not agree where each was going.
Give it
away, I thought: forget this drama
About
yourself; so what; you're figurally
dumb!
But still I couldn't give away that plastic
Contraption
to anyone, so I decided.
Doesn't
everyone leave many things unmade,
Eventually
never back to where left off?
Found
out one day I'm going,
Got no
technicolored vivid orchestra
Able to
play a song upon my tomb:
"Basic."
*
MISSION
I remember
he came into the classroom, full in his spacesuit with helmet and everything.
"Kids," he said: "NASA needs astronauts for a mission to Mars,
departure year 1990. That gives us just thirteen years to train our stellar
mariners. How many of you are interested?"
Everyone
raised hands, including me, though reluctantly. Maybe I knew more about Mars
than the other kids did.
The
astronaut continued: "Training begins today! Let's get out onto the
field!"
For the
next five years we trained for the mission. (I was still
going-along-to-get-along, but the training has proved useful for me in my
insurance industry.) Hill-climbing, whirly-gigs galore, and underwater
breath-holding.
Only six
of my cohort remained viable according to NASA. That's when I gave up. I didn't
want to go to Mars. I'd never seen the appeal.
The
astronaut was disappointed. "I had hopes in you," he said.
In 1991,
the rocket took off for Mars with a crew of one hundred. No-one in my school
had made the final cut.
Weeks
later, Earth lost contact with the rocket. We called the mission a failure, and
said there were 'casualties.'
But still:
I could have gone to Mars. Isn't that amazing?
*
COUSIN
Thursday:
Jimmy's family's brought along a cousin on our
holiday. I said hello to her today down by the lake.
Friday: I
found her fishing today. "Catch anything?" "Not yet, but I know
I will!" And she did.
Saturday:
They all went off for an intimate family dinner somewhere and I was left alone.
However, she smiled at me before they went.
Sunday:
She found a jigsaw puzzle somewhere, and we did some of it together. She
smelled like lavender and sweet sweat.
Monday:
Nice day, so everyone went swimming. I tried to get close to her, but I failed
half the time.
Tuesday:
Someone had to go to the nearest store for a shoelace. She and I went. We
spotted a strange creature along the way. It was large, hairy, and segmented,
and with a near-human face. It was looking for a place to sleep. It managed to
stuff itself into an old washing machine. We bought shoelaces.
Wednesday:
We were up late. She touched my arm when we parted. I think she wanted to kiss
me.
Thursday:
We were almost alone. I accidentally saw her naked. She said nothing.
Friday: I
awoke, with tears in my eyes.
*
CAR
"You
know where I'm taking you, don't you? You know I'm taking you to the wrecking
yard, and I'm taking you there because I'm so sick and tired of you. It's been
ten years, and I've gotten so tired of you."
My car
didn't reply.
I
continued: "Before you, I was happy. I could actually get around. I could
see where I was and I could see the sky; my God how I miss seeing the sky
directly overhead! I would beam down on the top of my head! It was so
nice!"
My car
didn't reply.
I
continued: "I had little pieces of magic, back then, before you. I was a
foreigner to stinking gas stations, and I was much happier never to know about
them. My financial advisor asked me if I had any assets, and I asked: 'Like
what?' And she said: 'Like a car.' And I laughed out loud!"
My car
didn't respond to this obvious insult.
I
continued: "I'm walking home, away from you. I'm going to walk on the
grass. I want to forget about you. I want to forget all the words that describe
you. All the words!"
My car
didn't respond.
*
SHIRTS
The one
who looked wise told me that what mattered was the colour of my shirt.
This
wasn't some ordinary one who looked wise: this was one who looked wise who was
also something of a politician.
"Different
colours decree your status. Such has it always been. Each colour means
something different to our genetics and our culture. People have definitely
been killed because of the colour of their shirts. You have to tread lightly.
Be careful with all colours at low frequencies, say, 500 terahertz and lower.
The high frequencies, 700 terahertz and higher, those are dangerous too.
Between 500 and 700, you will be invisible, anonymous, since all ordinary hues
fall between."
He
certainly looked wise, at least to me. This information I took into
consideration. "When I change my shirt, I change my properties."
Bloody and
torn, I sought out the one who looked wise a few days later. "I got beat
up," I told him.
He
thought, politically perhaps. "It might be your collar. Textures and
shapes have heritages all their own. Ruffed, starched, open, turtleneck: all
have different status. Depending on the setting, you can either stand out
or...."
The
dialogue continued for months.
*
DISAPPEARED
As far as
anyone could ever tell, the man disappeared in late August, on the 28th or so.
One day he was there, and five days later, he wasn't there.
Inquiries
were made, phone numbers were called, and impromptu search parties were formed,
and yet no progress was made in locating him. The general impression was: He's
gone away somewhere, to be well and truly alone, but some day soon he'll be
back. They always come back.
Two months
later, his place of employment gave up on him. The objects around his desk were
gathered up and put into a cardboard box which was stashed under his desk. A
young lady took the desk, and though her feet touched the box every once in a
while, she never asked what it meant.
Years
passed, and the box remained unclaimed. The young lady left the company; she
was replaced. The newcomer opened the box and made certain objects his own. It
didn't matter to him to whom they'd once belonged.
After a
while, the man who'd disappeared was forgotten completely by all who'd known
him. You see, they all died off, and in time they were forgotten too. 'Tis so.
*
COUSINE
In Bath,
that lovely dump of a town, she fitted herself into a one-piece and proceeded
down to the baths. It was high summer, with no rain for three whole days, and
the sky was almost entirely clear. She settled herself down on a flat rock some
thirty inches below the hard divider between water and air and looked up with
her eyes closed. She could hear only some distant voices in low morning tones.
She took
down first one strap and then the other. After a moment, that turned out to be
not enough. She pulled the one-piece down to her waist and leaned back, her
breasts just breaking the surface while the cold wind over the waters got her
hard. Out of curiosity, she took the suit off altogether and let it float on
the waves, with one finger grasping a strap. She spread her legs a bit, and
wondered what the fishes thought. Fishes are naked, too, of course. They
probably don't think anything's unusual about it, but fabrics are another
matter.
She heard
a cough, and she turned to see me looking at her.
I said:
"Morning, cuz."
(Of
course, none of this ever happened.)
*
WELL
Coming
across a well, when you're eight, in the middle of a field where there's not a
house in sight. A red brick well, not even covered over for safety's sake, its
edges worn away over some time, probably more than ten years. Not to be seen
the bottom of the well, and you're with someone, and that person drops a rock
and three seconds later a hollow splash. Looking at the insides you, a regular
cylinder, nothing to carry down or up anything including oneself, near it looks
like nothing but found is near a piece of a wall, not far away at all in adult
steps. Look she comes a thousand years ago, a teenager little more than rags
with a pail to well. A phantasm lacking solid outlines, idly thinking nothing
with nothing, and the water so deep down there's a pulley now gone. Your friend
at the well dropping another rock in you can't hear the plash, evening's coming
on, the well will be gone next time you cross this way, no, perhaps you dreamed
it all and took it to be true, nothing to prove either way, the time has taken
heart of you.
*
ANTS
We'd been
expecting the ants that summer, for the annals told us they arrived every
twenty-three years. Once the rainy season ended, we doused rings of kerosene
around the village, in three concentric circles, and stationed sentries day and night at the furthest one. It was only a
matter of time.
A distant
sound came to us one morning, awakening us all. It was like distant thunder,
but it wasn't distant thunder: it was the sound of the ants marching our way by
the trillions. The sentries had their torches ready when the trees of the
jungle began to shake, and then they appeared.
The
outermost band of kerosene was lit, and billions of ants marched right into it.
The stink was incredible. The sentries backed to the middle ring, the ants were
still coming, the outermost kerosene burned out, and the middle ring was lit.
Again,
billions incinerated. Still they came!
The
nearest ring was lit, and the ants, what remained of them, marched in and
burned to death. That was the end of the attempted ant invasion.
Half a day
later, we heard a storm. It wasn't a storm. Trillions of wasps, looking for the
juicy ants....
*
FOOTNOTES
1.
Better to rub them the wrong way than never to rub them at all.
2.
The private sector giveth, and the public sector taketh away.
3.
I'm re re re re re re
re reading Romeo and Juliet. Amazing to see what I'd
missed the first, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh times!
4.
No matter how much invective I direct against my employer, I still have to call
the place worthless.
5.
(overheard amongst young people): "When's the last time you watched a
book?"
6.
In the news: "Liz Truss names diverse cabinet." Oh, it's not all just
one person? Bravo!
7.
In a meeting, I mention Prince Charles. Now I'm in deep trouble, for
dead-naming.
8.
It's unfortunate that Queen Elizabeth II never had a chance to meet me.
9.
When a socialist invokes Christian principles, you know it's 'cause he's failed to fill an outside straight.
10.
A couple years ago, I noticed I'd declined so much that my work was suffering.
Now I've declined to the point where I can't notice the decline. Success!
11.
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17.
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