Source: Goose Lane Editions
08 June 1917
A Gypsy confronted me today, and I was in the mood for a bit of sport. Her age was difficult to tell – certainly a decade older than me. In her swirl of shawls and dangling jewellery, heavy make-up on her face, she could almost have been in disguise. She peered at me with an intense sigh, attempting – I am sure – to penetrate my own disguise.
“You are a Jew,” she said.
“And you a Gypsy,” I replied.
She seemed pleased with my response, for her professional smile became real.
“You state the obvious,” she said. “As becomes a Doktor of Laws,”
I replied. “But to your eyes, do you not state the obvious?”
“Are you going to banter with a poor old Gypsy woman, instead of barter? That would make you suspiciously like one of us.” She said this with a growl in her throat.
“The Gypsy and the Jew,” I said, feeling the challenge which I so miss. “Perhaps an opera – but I think it’s been done to death.”
“They will try to do us all unto death,” she said harshly, and turned away.
I had the fear she was going to leave me without another word, but what she did was to spit fulsomely onto the street.
“They can’t kill us all,” I said, but I knew she heard the doubt in my voice.
She slowly faced me again.
“So. Even a Doktor of Laws can have hope. That is refreshing – but foolish.” She took my hand and felt my palm roughly with her thumb, although all the while her eyes never left my face. “You are going to travel.”
“Travel is a vague word. One can go on many types of voyage.”
“And reach many destinations,” she added, still holding my hand. “If you take away my vagueness, you take away my trade.”
“Then let me pay you for your services right now.”
This transaction would make her loose my hand, which is what I wanted most of all. She had frightened me, for her eyes and face were full of truth. I know the truth. I know it when it presents itself, stark and unobscured. I search out truth endlessly, yet still can flee at its approach. As in her eyes. But she gripped me more fiercely, and pulled my hand up.
“The coin, Herr Doktor.” Her voice was now soft. “The coin can wait.”
She at last lowered her eyes and looked closely at my palm. She rubbed the lines and whorls of my skin. She touched her finger to her lips, and spread the moisture along my hand.
“Your lifeline, Herr Doktor,” she took a quick look in my eyes, “of Laws. You deceive with the youth upon your face. Is that not so?”
“If your eyes stop at the mask, then no, the years have not etched themselves deeply.”
“Not on your face, Herr Doktor of Laws.” Her grip was intense. “But on your palm…” She hissed. “You will soon embark upon that final voyage.”
She released my hand, rubbed her fingers across her sleeve.
“But you will not go in haste. There will be many stops along the way.”
Suddenly her face was full of the most beautiful smile, and her laughter was genuine.
“I see you do not complain of vagueness now.” She held out her hand. “The coin, Herr Doktor of Laws. This time I have truly earned it.”
I dug deeply into my pocket, and feared that I may have overpaid her. But, perhaps, that is not possible.
DE
(image) http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SDayP1IJD0M/TVrspG3I5oI/AAAAAAAAGko/RjODxg1C_WI/s1600/gypsyWoman.jpg
An Elephant in search of answers.
Source: Goose Lane Editions
Please, Ladies and Gentlemen, I think it’s time to
– please, if you don’t mind – it really is time to begin our –
thank you, that’s much better – time for our meeting to start.
As you can see by looking around, this gathering is exclusively for Department heads. There will be no minutes taken. These projections are for your ears only. Not only would we not wish another company to get them, but there is a chance the general public may become concerned, little realising the economics of our endeavours. A brief history of colours, dyes and artificial essences will give us a place to start. Run the strawberry jam, please.
As you can see, Ladies and Gentlemen, the colours on the slide are excellent. The rich red hue of the strawberries is exactly the colour you’ll find in the jar. We spent years developing that dye. Also, the years that went into getting the artificial taste and smell to adhere to the colour is something that most people would not imagine.
Of course, even with our best efforts, there has always been a problem with that cloying, rather heavy sensation on the tongue. That has been offset by the addition of more sugar. We had complaints when the product was first introduced, but it appears these have now disappeared with new generations who know nothing different. People just accept that strawberries, strawberry ice cream, and strawberry jam all have their own tastes. Next slide, please.
Oh, yes – well, we’ll pass over this slide quickly. I just put that in to show you we finally managed to get rid of the strawberries altogether. As you can see on the close-up, the red glob is really made from compressed fibres – as one of our chemists said, more straw than berry. Even the seeds are produced and added with a gum mixture. We have found that bone meal seems to last best of all.
Now, this next lot we are very proud of. Bronson, these should be of particular interest to you, since they deal with our fast food chain. The buns are made of very porous fibre, almost like real dough. The brown colouring gives them a nice toasted look. The meat patty is still half real – we can’t seem to budge the government on that. Still, being able to advertise 100% all beef helps – as long as the fat, bone, guts etc that goes into it all comes from a cow, we’re home free. Notice the use of the black lines of dye, to make it appear the meat has just come off the grill.
Ah!
This interesting experiment has been done with some of our ever-thick milk shakes. We wanted to see how long the latex used to keep it together would hold up under the combined attacks of various strawberry, chocolate, etc. dyes, the fats and gums of the milk mixture, and the acids from the artificial flavours. You’ll be pleased to know that some of them still were thick after four months of refrigeration. It is easy to see how latex based paints can last for so many years. We are now experimenting with making our french fries out of pulped wood chips. Texture, flavour and colour have all been overcome, but there still seems to be some unfortunate reactions to the hot fat.
DE
Dear Eustice:
My mind confronts so many intangible truths that you sometimes seem – or is it just hope on my part – to be my only peg of reality. Have you noticed that whenever we finally believe we know the reason for something which happens, it often occurs that the real reasons are exactly the opposite of what we supposed. Everything walks a line – as narrow as those upon this page – between profound revelation and mindless absurdity. As I look through my window, the shadows cast through the trees on the next building, take the shape of a French poodle carrying a parasol. Is even Nature absurd?
Yours,
Margot
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dear Margot:
Nature is nothing but reality, only the intangible can be absurd. As I’ve said too many times (and why do I repeat myself yet again) you spend too much effort – and wasted effort, for how can it be other – on futile quest and query. The only truth to be found is in sour milk or pleasant fornication – these things are real, these things exist. Absurdity is kittens playing or the Prime Minister’s latest speech. These things we look at with amusement or contempt – we know not to expect much from either. Quit you silly endeavours and join the world which surrounds you, not the one which your head surrounds. All important answers can be found between someones legs.
Yours,
Eustice
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dear Eustice:
Ideas and questions are what make us more than the rutting animals you seem to exemplify. I do not claim that I shall ever reach Plato’s perfect bed, but neither would I wish to remain in your oft-used and no doubt soiled one. We are meant (I am quite certain of this) to strive to new understanding, new revelations about ourselves and our place in this world. The sole function of our body is to be a vehicle for transporting our mind, and keeping it alive. My `quest and query’ as you put it (and, by the way, did you steal that phrase – it sounds like the title of one of those pretentious little magazines you read) is both proper and noble. I really do wish you would utilize the gifts given you, and not waste so much time in idle and – it must be said – repetitious pursuits.
Yours,
Margot
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dear Margot:
One of life’s meaner tricks is to allow us all a different set of beliefs. Cows, cats and dragonflies are content with their uniform outlook on life. Their needs are simple (if keeping alive can be called simple), and they eat, drink, keep warm, and yes, cheerfully reproduce with little thought of anything else. If you wish to assume there are greater endevours in this existence, then you should also assume that only saints and angels can fathom them, and not spend so much time on a chore for which you are not equipped. Grand thoughts may be fine for the likes of Plato, but my perfect bed will have three beautiful partners in it, who are completely willing to whatever I suggest. I think if you study our bodies more closely, you will see what it really is their function to produce. You could do with stimulation to more than just your mind.
Yours,
Eustice.
P.S. Moira sends her love
DE
(image) http://www.nzeldes.com/Miscellany/images/WW1Postcards02.jpg
(image) http://images.wisegeek.com/green-lit-numbers.jpg
Green flash – nine dash – dark green in dark room, four flash – minus dash – three flash – six dash – eight then tight then eight. The operator shoves his chair back in fear, things happen too quickly to be surprised. Red left light followed by yellow left light glow beside the numbers, reflect the band of a wristwatch. Eight flash two race one plus one point – decimal moving across the board, hunting.
Fingers, hand, wristwatch reach for the never used phone.
Second and third red left lights glow off the face of the Operator as his lips open before the mouthpiece.
“Get the General and the Director down here fast.”
“But they’re both asleep.” A thin voice in his ear.
“No time – no time. Hurry.”
His hand replaces the phone, but his eyes never leave the wild numbers, doubling and now tripling. Four two flash seven one three dash six six six pause blank plus plus racing decimal three three three three. He takes a fast look around the dim room to see yellow and red lights glimmering from every corner, and the flashing green of disappearing numbers.
His eyes return to his own board. There is a constant series of tiny clicks as the green numbers race from right to left, bottom to top. He moves a sweaty palm across his leg and gapes. Minus minus minus eight zero four three eight zero four three pause eight pause plus pause zero four three three click click click click.
Quadrupoling now, simultaneous right to left and bottom to top, green numbers racing click click click click. The sound of the flicking numbers makes him think of chicken claws scratching in gravel. He notices his hands shaking.
He dimly remembers one lecture where the odds were given of such a thing happening, the smug humour of his instructor. Six six 44 flash two seven 55 click nine two 77 plus 333 point 2864 flash minus flash minus eight seven three three zero.
“My God, they’re in fives now.”
He swivels around with a start, and sees the Director peering over one shoulder, the General standing behind him.
“How long has this been happening?”
“I … I don’t know.” He is frightened and confused. “Five or six minutes – no more than ten. I called you as soon as – ”
“It’s happening with all of them,” said the General. “It’s not a mistake.” As he speaks he looks at the screen, fumbles to straighten his tie. Nine one four two four flash nine one four two 5 pause nine one four two 6 minus flash click click click.
They move like green waves across a dark sea, sextupleting in a rush from the base of the screen. Seven two 2941 flash four one 3384 pause nine zero 7766 click click minus three four 0827.
“More warning lights are on now, Sir.”
“It’s the same with every terminal,” said the Director as he looks over to the General.
“I presume you activated the breaking system.”
“Yes, Sir.” The operator does not look behind him as he answers. “When the triples started. All it did was blow out the switch lights.” His face – like the others – is bathed in a confused glow of green, yellow and red.
“The last warning lights just came on.”
“We can see that!” snapped the Director.
The room has never had so much light in it, yet the green numbers do not seem subdued. Four two 8601, nine five 7350, one one 4499 plus flash four eight 1632 click click.
Green flash, red light and yellow, number after number, 472210 flash 992136 pause 886221 race pause flash green 220011 flash click click click.
“Sounds like hens scratching,” says the General.
The Director took in his breath with a groan. “They’re turning octal,” he said.
The green numbers moved constantly now, covering the whole face of the screen. Click click flash plus 12345678 flash 87654321 pause 20199465 click minus flash 22446688 race click 11335577 green 88990011 click.
“They’re grouping,” said the Operator. “They’re forming patterns.” His voice was no longer scared, but resigned.
The red and yellow warning lights began to shatter, small pops of sound followed by falling glass. Green flickers raced 11223344 slight pause 55667788 flash green wave 99001122 minus flash 33445566 click click
“It’s turning cyclical,” said the Director.
click flash green rush 77889900 pause plus click 00000000 minus flash flash click 00000000 click click 00000000
“What a way to end,” mumbled the General.
DE
I had been away for the weekend and returned late. There was a phone message. I would do nothing about it at that hour but . . . I listened to it anyway. It was a garble of words just out of reach, with sounds as if through water. The backdrop to a horror movie or an opaque dream. It kept on and on and I hung up before the end.
Next day I had many things to do, so I did not listen to the message until late afternoon. My interpretation was no different. It consisted of sounds heard behind a door in a dream. I probably would have just ignored and deleted, but it went on and on. The phone number of the caller meant nothing to me (other than it was localized to the two immediate provinces). So, from curiosity and a touch of concern, I phoned back.
A woman answered. She was as confused as I would be, if I was hearing the message I now delivered. She even said that she did not understand. I repeated my predicament. Then she checked the phone number I was calling from.
“That number is from Chelsea, a friend of my daughter,” said she.
Although this added to the confusion, it also started to make some connections. I had been getting phone calls for “Chelsea”, on and off, for months.
“But Chelsea has moved.” The woman also started to make a connection. “But I still have her on my speed dial. You must now have her number. I must have hit it somehow when it was in my pocket or my purse. I’ll erase it.”
Two mysteries solved.
I listened to the message a bit longer before I deleted it. There was a portion where I could make out the CBC National News on television. Probably from a pocket but, it still sounded as if it was more from a fish tank.
DE
(image)
Make this red onion jam recipe using red onions, sugar, bay leaves, and cinnamon. Find the condiment recipe at PBS Food.
Source: Red Onion Jam
There is a very long pier at one of the container terminals in Halifax. It seems to go out a quarter of the way into the harbour. It offers the best view of the mouth of the harbour and some (now) unique views back into the harbour itself.
As I was standing at the end, jutting into the harbour and watching the passing traffic (hello, cruise ship), I noticed a man with a fishing pole, casting away. He did not seem too successful, but did toss the occasional fish (mackerel) into a large pail. So I watched my ships and he cast away. Sometimes his fish leaped from the pail and flopped about on the pier. He did not seem concerned, though I rather hoped one of them would slide under the fence and return to the water far below.
I stayed about an hour and was preparing to leave. So was the fisherman. He called to me if I wanted any fish. I did have some interest, but, in addition to transporting fish on a bus, and also having to gut and clean them, I declined. It was then he offered the grandest of shows.
He reached into his pail and started tossing the fish over the high, barbwire-topped fence which enclosed the container terminal. On the other side was a vast platform, upon which waited a flock of seagulls. As each mackerel sailed over the fence and slid across the cement, the gulls descended. I anticipated many bird fights. I was surprised to see that each gull which reached a fish first, just swallowed the mackerel whole. Gulp. Slide into gullet. Fly away gull. The other gulls just turned their attention to the next flying fish.
It was quite the entertainment.
Screaming Seagull by Vera Kratochvil
DE
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