Where
She Was
by John Leary
Initially, we
are all in agreement. We agree that we must find her.
We agree that precision is important (though we avoid
an uneasy discussion about the attainability of precision
by busily loading our pipes). We agree that there
are difficulties inherent in locating her, but we
also agree with Parr's statement that there are difficulties
inherent in ordering a cup of coffee. Our consensus
engenders confidence, reinforcing our conviction that
we can find her by pointing to a point (or a set of
points composing a "place") that directly corresponds
to the meaning of her most recent actions as they
exist in our memory.
Her departing words undoubtedly
have some utility in this regard. Mutz has reported,
and we accept as fact for this purpose, that she remarked
upon leaving, "I'm feeling romantic."
Carrill understands this to mean
that she was feeling amorous, that she set off in
search of an emotional/physical encounter from which
"love" might eventually bloom. Therefore, he maintains,
she can be found at the Lonely Bone, our local
establishment which encourages liaisons of this type.
Any discussion of Sherman's comment that her statement,
if interpreted in Carrill's terms constitutes an indictment
of our "inadequacy" is not relevant, except as it
pertains to the validity of Carrill's contention.
Any further discussion of the statement, as to whether
we are in fact inadequate, would only cloud matters.
Carrill asserts that his interpretation
renders the "case closed." There is a moment of thoughtful
smoking followed by a cacophony of disagreement. Parr
is the most vehement, insisting that it is his words
that must be used to clarify hers.
Klink states his belief that she
desired "romantic" to convey her intention to "shake
out the muse," a point supported by Mutz's observation
that she was carrying a rebec, commonly understood
to be an ancient three stringed bowed musical instrument.
But Delaney has his own comprehension of "romantic,"
which he declares to be more closely aligned with
hers.
You can already perceive that we
are in a quandary of sorts. The rest of her statement
aside, the term "romantic" has as many understandings
linked to it as she has flowers on the sundress that
Mutz said she was wearing. But I intend to return
to the sundress later, hopefully before our coffee
grows cold and we run out of matches to light our
thoughtful pipes.
As a brief aside, please understand
that if I were to digress purporting to explain the
reason why we seek her would be a Sisyphean
endeavor, as difficult as explaining to a child why
one enjoys the taste of coffee. Answers lead to more
questions. To say she cleans a pipe better than anyone
else, or to recount how she neatly cuts the red parts
from the lettuce when composing her salade sangfroide
does not convey the notion of her laughter like a
flight of pigeons or the perfect beauty of her elbows.
Also, that would not even begin to elucidate her other
qualities, such as her even-keeledness. That is something
we especially love about her, which can only be experienced
a priori. But enough discursiveness-- the question
of "why?" is not germane to the question at hand,
which is the question of "where?" In fact, for reasons
that shall remain our own, we would prefer if you
did not understand or even sham a pretense at understanding
the "why."
We continue debating the proper
significance to attach to "romantic." Ordinarily one
might conclude that if "romantic" was our sole signpost
we would break our pipes in frustration, filling the
room with fragrant litter of awkward shapes. But we
assure ourselves that it is all we need; we are fully
equipped to provide the proper interpretation which
will logically correspond to a precise location. We
have observed some of her habits, her moods, and while
the former are not as consistent as we might hope,
the later are not as serendipitous as one might suppose.
The debate escalates, and as words
teeter towards slurs Sherman calls for order. He says
debate has utility in the realm of fact, but not in
the realm of speculation. Our purpose would be best
served, he continues, if we recognize our hypotheses
for what they are, disallowing our pride to cloak
them as fact. Blinking into the headlights of reason,
we abashedly agree.
We discuss the possibilities. "Romantic"
could indicate a predilection towards a heart flutter,
as Carrill reminds us. It could also indicate a preference
for the wild and untamed, a point which in light of
the Delaney's voicing of our shared observation of
her regular strolls in the copse-laden sector west
of the brewery, bears noting. Mutz says that an interpretation
of "romantic" as a preference for ideas over objects
would lead to another possible explanation, were it
not for the fact that the tangible representation
of "place" is by definition separate from an idea
of a place, (assuming that that was even the type
of idea she was suggesting a preference for).
We continue in the analogical mode
("romantic" is to its opposite as x is to y), discussing
the possibility that she may have been pronouncing
her own personal triumph of emotion over logic, or
possibly even of art over science.
Note at this point, it you haven't
already, the great leap that we have made. We have
leapt from the precipice of doubt to the grassy knoll
of confidence that her statement "I'm feeling romantic"
was a statement not only of attitude but an indicia
of destination. Sherman is the last to make the leap,
and upon his sudden drop and roll after what we all
agreed was a most ungainly flight we celebrate by
sharing the thin mint girl scout cookies Delaney has
in his knapsack. We agree that the mint kills the
aftertaste of the poor quality pipe tobacco we share
a penurious affinity for, and munch contentedly.
Braced by the cookies and an unspoken
feeling of confidence we proceed to analyze our analogies.
Klink comments that the triumph of emotion over logic
would in some individuals necessitate a visit to a
therapist, but such a visit would not necessarily
comport with a categorization of "romantic." This
summation is greeted with nods of agreement and a
general tapping of pipes.
Mutz opines that an understanding
of "romantic" meaning that one prefers art to science
obviously indicates an excursion to our local museum,
but Carrill quiets him with the reminder that the
museum is currently exhibiting Ruminatt's "Screaming
Bishop" series, which he categorizes as "romantic
as acid rain." Klink alerts us to the fact that we
must conclude she was privy to the nature of the exhibit,
given the museum's flyer taped to our refrigerator.
Sherman offers that perhaps "art over science" could
be interpreted to mean that she has lost faith in
conventional medicine, and is visiting a spiritual
healer because she has a disease which can not be
conventionally cured, but this thought is too dreadful
for us to consider, and the room fills with nervous
smoke.
Parr breaks the silence by offering
us a different tack. He suggests an interpretation
in terms of association. He says that most people
associate certain cultures with the "romantic", specifically
those cultures of France and Italy. And what is the
manifestation of those cultures which most closely
approximates a conventional understanding of "romantic"
in these terms? He pauses and lights his pipe while
we offer suggestions: Pasta? Edith Piaf? The Concorde?
Venice? Existentialism? Soccer? Unfiltered Gitanes?
Parr shakes his head then slowly says: coffee. We
nod, immediately grasping the connection.
Then Sherman, slow to recognize
our consensus, interjects the interrobang, "cinema!"
and we are confused. Which is it, coffee or cinema?
Parr insists he meant coffee. Delaney seizes Parr's
possibility and offers his scenario: perhaps she was
influenced by a nefarious advertisement campaign and
concluded that what her life lacked was the not so
subtle amalgamation of coffee and spice labeled with
a name incorporating a European city, and finding
our larder bereft, set forth towards the nearest supermarket
to purchase it.
No, no, Parr insists, he meant Illyan
coffee, in a cafe. We fall into disorder for a moment
until we arrive at a consensus as to her general inclinations
and tendencies (her disdain for instant coffee, her
speech last August concerning "coffee ambience").
We conclude that it would be more likely that she
sallied towards her favorite cafe. After further debate
we agree that the Cafe Checci currently finds itself
in such a lofty position. Parr is smug.
Delaney reminds us that we have
concluded nothing when he mumbles something about
a rejection of neoclassicism. Mutz parlays this idea
into the suggestion that she has ridden the electric
bus into the Wretched Quarter, in the hope that through
the voice of her rebec she might elevate the sensibilities
of, or maybe momentarily mitigate the traumatic squalor
of, its denizens.
But Klink asserts that "romantic"
should not be understood in such a sense. He declares
that it should be understood as he has often, though
context and usage, understood her understanding of
its meaning-- that is, as a connotation of vision
or imagination. He contends that she was voicing an
intention to engage in musical composition, and would
most likely do so in her private acoustic vault in
the conservatory basement.
Suddenly the notion of sarcasm enters
the room and Sherman drops his pipe, shattering it.
Ashen faced, he offers that she may have been kidding.
We turn to Mutz, who witnessed her departure, for
another recounting of the circumstances and details.
He says he saw her moving towards the door, lugging
the rebec, and said, "You off?" then she shrugged
and said, "I'm feeling romantic." Carrill grills him
as to whether the door closed with a click or a slam,
but the rest of us, particularly Sherman, are so pleased
that Mutz included the detail of the shrug that we
pay them no mind. For a shrug, as we all understand
it, conveys a message of self-effacement, often in
the context of sincerity or earnestness, thereby negating
the possibility of sarcasm. We do not dally to consider
that rare beast, the sarcastic shrug, because one
has not been sighted in this climate for years; they
are widely believed to be extinct.
Delaney, noting the disappearance
of the thin mints, claims that he believes she understood
"romantic" to mean "heroic." And what could be more
heroic than a feast? He contends that she is at this
very moment at the Food Bin shopping for a lavish
meal worthy of heroic ballads and verse, a multi course
jamboree of remoulades, ragouts and ratafias. Parr
greets this ratiocination with so much derision that
the two almost come to blows. The rest of us look
at our respective watches.
Sensing an impasse, I suggest we
consider the sundress. But Sherman interrupts. He
pleads that we pause a moment and examine our actions.
He asks us to consider that if we are calling an apple
an orange, is it not in fact an orange?
We immediately grasp the truth of
his words: our consensus is that we have no consensus.
Mutz agrees, our numbers allow us the liberty of inspecting
numerous locations. We stand, eager to pursue our
own logics, to throw a handful of darts and hope that
one sticks.
So they set off, full of confident
hope: Parr to the Cafe Checci, Carrill to the Lonely
Bone, Mutz to the Wretched Quarter, Sherman to the
cinema, Delaney to the outskirts of the brewery and
Klink to the conservatory, keeping in mind that we
only have an indication of where she was-- probably
she has moved by now. I settle into the leather chair
by the phone, pack my pipe and await their reports.
