Bomb Cyclone and its Effects on Harvard - 5

A Novella

5

If it were the stars that struck me, when at home, then it was the sound of Noise - with a great capital “N” in front of it - that resounded in my brain, stolen from a line in CS Lewis' Screwtape Letters. The great Noise directs us in ways that are at least devious - and sometimes worse. Great souvenirs of a time yet lost.

Even though it was the end of Christmas, there were still a large number of bodies. All of them talked as fast as they could, and most of them were of the college age. They were sitting at thick wooden tables, which were covered with American food - that is large, unproportion, and greasy - why could not we eat the way the French do – delicately and richly? There were some who were still pursuing their baccalaureate, and some who were older - including some men who had started to lose their hair - who were pursuing degrees with much more advanced features. All of them were well-dressed, or in that completely slovenly way that said they did not mind being dressed down - because at home they still had immaculate suits or dresses when the time came for them to be used. One could see that a great fraction of the people were white, or oriental, or some flavor of Indian - with only a few who were from African-American or African lines of dissent. Even here, there was a dividing line - which said that the white was the predominant racial group. The Civil War? Did not happen, at least as far as one could see from the plenipotentiary view of the world. The predominant line was between jeans and khakis - obviously, there was some dividing line in which men went into 1 of these 2 categories. (Though older sets would call them chinos, from Chinese pants.) I could see that the jeans were more scientific and the khakis more along the lines of law - but there were sufficiently obvious paradoxes that could not be what divided them.

A hand caressed my face and pulled me in to look at the features of my pseudo-date, it was clear he did not want me to pay any attention to anyone but him. This, however, was not what I was here for, but it was obvious that I needed to make some pretense of being a real date, and at least pretend to look interested in him. The problem was the more I stared at him, the more it was completely obvious, that his look just simply would not do. What at 1st looked to be “wiry”, was a form of “coarse” - it was not that he was this misshapen, few of us are at our age, but rather that he was pulled, by some unmentionable force. His skull, his arms, his fingers all had the same elongation - and I am sure was sure that his legs and feet were the same way.

But then he opened his mouth – and music came from the spheres – a sonorous chorus of Angelorem, but it seemed only a few could recognize them. It was a gift that was worth all of the traipsing around, and the noise the noise the noise which semblance my inner cerebrum. (Though truthfully, was not a mind, because I could not think with it.)

“Do not you agree, that solitude is the best society, at least when in this company?”

At the time, not reading Milton as yet, the lines that came from Lucifer seemed to me a fortunate case of brilliance - though I should have suspected they were purloined from a greater mind than his own - because Good Will Hunting was among my favorite films, it was even on Netflix from time to time.

“Oh, yes – so why did you assent to coming here?”

“Because shows in their worst lights but all is not lost...”

Then from across the table, Charles intoned: “All is not lost, the unconquerable will, and study of revenge, immortal hate, and the courage never to submit or yield.” They both went out of the same book - which I had not read.

It was at this point Lily piped up: “Which book are you quoting from?”

At this point, my pseudo-date laughed: “Paradise Lost.” Suddenly, it all came crashing down. Instead of a fluid imagination, it was merely a good memory. Je crains l'homme de un seul livre. And there are hundreds of memories in the world, even if they had been trained to memorize the best of what had been written in the past. The future, the endless expanse of what is not part of yet. Then what would it want from me? My prose is execrable, and my poetry is nonexistent. For me to be part of that future - some reimagining to occur.

It was at this point that my attention started to wander - clearly, we were with some B+ students, and it seemed obvious that better possible. But where? How to find them missed all of this pretentious nonsense, assuming for a moment that we could reach a higher plane to talk with them? “All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players;” And we are players before such stars as can be illumed, from this gaudy age. It is, as has been said many times, to weep had our frail sustenance for such giants of nature - of which our dates are not qualified, at least in my opinion. Milton, grrr. So so much for my suitor - back at hand to my original pursuit - finding out made Charles tick - and obviously to explain to Lily that she could better.

The server came – first to drop off two customers, and then to turn to us: “Are you ready to order?” There were glances all around, with Charles nodding in the affirmative. The men had “the usual” and it was obvious what that meant because the server noted something down – it was clear they were “regulars.” Then the server’s attention turned to me - to which, a quick reply: “Farmer's market salad, and coffee.” Coffee was not allowed at my house for me, which made the thing du jour to order. Then the server turned to Lily, but she ordered the same thing - though the reason remained obscure.

Now to interject me into Charles and Lily's conversation. Screwing my mouth into some sort of response - but nothing came out. It is not very often that this happens - the gift of gab is natural to me - so I sat there with my mouth open, then closed it. It was embarrassing - even humiliating and demeaning, one could even say, antagonistically malignant in its opprobrium. (There I have used up at least a few words out of the [actually an internet] thesaurus - all to avoid using the abominable “very” with its touch that says “newb”.)

But then a miracle happened - to use the phrase from Amadeus, a fantastic picture if you have not seen it yet, especially in the Director's Cut - next to us were the two customers who had been seated by our server. Not noticing anything about them - even their sex, or should I say gender, had been obscured to me - one of them realized that I was busy making a fool out of myself. So he made a quip in our direction:

“Watch out, she is working on a book about our Chief Prevaricator (with Capital Letters), even more, revealing than Michael Wolff's salacious to-me.” With a double entendre, after the nitwit-in-chief's favorite words, “to me.” Me, Me, Me. ME!

All 4 of us looked over at him, either to quip back or at least find out the interloper who was trying to intrude on our conversation. For myself, having the spotlight on somebody else was a fine thing. Because the quip was not that good, and so the male members were happy to rip him a proverbial new one.

What we saw, was a young man - certainly not over 30 - of either Indian or Pakistani persuasion. The words out of his mouth conveyed that English was not his primary language - but he was more than fluent in it. His face was round, and there was a stumble of a beard, but no more than that. He too, wore glasses - but they were not the kind which enlarges the eyes to the point of distending. Broad and with a bit of a paunch, that indicated he was not engaged in any formal sort of physical activity – or any sort. It was clear that he wore jeans and a remarkably worn pair at that. Midway between Charles and Lukas in height, but more towards Charles' girth - but what was interesting was that he was affable, and ready to take on all 4 of us in a duel of wits. At least the confidence was there, but it remained to be seen that the skill was. Again, while the barb was taking the attention off of me - objectively, further jibs would have to be better than his 1st lame attempt - on almost might say, considerably so. The clauses were out.

It was Charles who queried 1st: “What do you think is wrong with the President?” both Lily and myself winced because that was a flat opening remark - and he had better have something planned, or else our Trespasser would find him an easy mark - at least it was doing my job of explaining why Charles is not a good fit for anyone of above average intelligence.

“Since we do not have a democracy, nothing - after all, if you wanted democracy, you voted for it.”

At this point, Lukas interjected - “ What you mean we do not have a democracy?”

“In a democracy, the winner is the person who has the most votes - and that was not the man who sits in the White House. One can no more be a sunshine democrat, than a sunshine patriot.”

“Would you have corrupt Hillary Clinton?”

“Given the choice of Hillary Clinton or Donald Trump - Trump is easily the most corrupt person we have ever elected. What is more, he does not play to a large audience, which is worse than a crime, it is a mistake - to quote Talleyrand. Can you imagine what would happen if they started arresting marijuana smokers in Massachusetts? The only thing stopping a riot is that stoners do not move quickly.” He imitated, with a tilted head, a bonged-out stoner.

Charles lambasted him: “Marijuana is against federal law.”

“But he is the president, so where one being against federal law asks the question: should it be? I do not think that you will find many health papers that would support the 'yes' position.”

“It does not matter as is against the law.” Responded Lukas.

“The weakest argument in all of politics is the attempt to equate law with morality, or morality with law. Last year detecting SALT taxes was legal, now it has sharply defined limitations. So what is legal is not the correct question to ask – because it can be changed. Man in the White House wants marijuana to be illegal - and this question is, why does he want it to be illegal? ”

“Because it is dangerous.”

“How, exactly?”

At this point, both Charles and Lukas that quoting Narconon, or other such tripe, was not a good answer. It is one thing to argue about the hypothetical without any support among friends - but quoting institutions that profit from locking people up, is the not way to go in a scholarly debate. And it was clear that their opponent was ready for that.

“Studies have shown that marijuana produces loss of memory and concentration.”

“Which are lower than those produced by alcohol and tobacco – the same studies show that regulation is necessary, but banning them, as we do heroin, is not supported by the findings. Or do you disagree?” There was a raise of his right eyebrow.

Charles fixed his gaze on him: “What is your name by the way?” And tried to ameliorate his features as best he could, while sticking out his hand (or should I say paw). He realized that making this a friendly conversation was much better than making it an argument.

“Sai - why did you introduce your companions as well.” A short round of introductions followed - only 1st names.

This was, to my mind, Dreadfully Dull - sparks were supposed to fly - the earth should move, instead, it was almost like listening to a lecture - a very bad lecture. Fortunately, our dishes arrived, and with a moderate amount of apologies, we gobbled down the main course - which by the way “the usual” turned out to be pulled pork and some flask of beer - not having been into beer, it was not important what kind. In passing, it seemed unlikely that that was always the case.

“So, Sai – what do you do, here?” There was not quite the connotation, “at Harvard”, but the implication was almost implied - almost.

It was at this point that Sai picked himself up - I am just one of several graduate students, over at the physics laboratory, I used to be working for the man who developed C* for thinking machines, but there seemed to be much, and their way of a future in its future. I am nothing important - finishing research papers, and doing the grunt work for my professor. What do you do?”

A question welled up in my diaphragm - “Don't you mean c#?” - my disappointment in his allocution left a bitter pill, that wanted revenge. There were 3 men here, and none of them were funny - and since he would be going, it was against him that my retaliation was set against 1st. I wanted to show him, if not what it should be like - at least show him that to impress the young ladies here, he should be thoughtful, or witty, or both.

“No - I do mean c*, It has several additions to the c programming language - primarily to handle how Thinking Machines did its complications.”

An old adage from the Royal Academy of Ballet wafted into my consciousness: “When in doubt, bourrée out”, meeting if you overstep, flutter gracefully out of the audience's consciousness. It was taught to me by a very ancient man who danced with that illustrious group and learned from the masters and mistresses the style of Sir Frederick Ashton - who I was told was one of the modern choreographers along with Balanchine. I bit my lip and silently reproved myself for having the gall to make a fool of myself. It was not quite chutzpah – the difference being that unmitigated gall merely pisses into the keyhole of the police station - whereas, chutzpah then kicks the door open, and asked how far it went. Unfortunately, it was appropriate to my situation, which was rampant humiliation - and there was a lesson to be learned - but that does not mean it would be learned. This was part of a pattern that needed to be squelched if there was to be hope. But hope was elusive, and a foreboding that this lesson would be repeated until it was relearned.

What was disconcerting - is that he did not look at me, but instead at the two boys. It was almost as if I was superfluous, a decoration - that would be fair reading. For quite a few minutes, the plate grabbed all my attention and stabbed the lettuce and other things. It might have hidden a few tears as well, but no one else knew that. And that, at least, was good - humiliation wants to be alone.

Then it occurred to me that Charles and Lukas were true “boys”, having tumbled down from equals to students, in a heartbeat. Gradually succumbing to a spell that Sai was casting, and finally, it drew my face up, to watch the festivities. Sai was confident, whereas the two others were not - the pause, used “umm” and other things that made it clear that they were searching for the correct answer. It was almost as if there was the professor, and the 2 students were trying to impress him. And not doing a very good job.

Throughout the meal, I could feel that Charles and Lukas were put in their place, and very suddenly Sai looked down at his expensive watch, with a gold interlocking chain, and announced that he had to go. It was only then that I realized that his companion had not spoken a word after introducing himself - and I did not know what his name was.

We bid him adieu - but no conversation occurred after he left, it was very clear that he had made an impression on all of us - and silence was the only phrase that we could manage. Gone were the days. Quickly comes the night - when golden enshrouded the visages, in cold winter darkness. And unlike the Truman Show, there was only: good night, good night, good night.