Wysteria, p.16
Wysteria, page 16
Will stared back at him, now thoroughly confused. “. . . What?” he said.
Emily unsuccessfully tried to stifle a giggle. “I think he’s talking about the Naiad,” she said, in a low voice.
“Who else would I be talking about?” Jeremy asked, crossing his arms on his chest.
“I thought . . . , well, never mind,” said Will. “No – I don’t know her name.”
“You saw her, then?” Emily asked him.
“Saw her . . . and heard her song,” Jeremy answered. “Quite alluring . . . . A song I have never heard, and yet, remember.”
“And you believe the girl is a ‘Water Nymph’?” she said.
“You may call her what you like,” he replied. “She is what she is.” Then, addressing Will, he added, “You really must learn her name.”
“How exactly should I do that?” he asked.
“You must . . .” Jeremy paused and stared vacantly at the floor. After several seconds, he shrugged his shoulders, looked Will in the eye, and said, “. . . Ask her.”
Will almost began to laugh. But he stopped himself, for Jeremy didn’t appear to be joking. “Ok,” he said. “I’ll do that.”
“Good. . . . Learn her name,” said Jeremy, absently. Then a smile crept across his lips. “. . . Perhaps it is ‘Charlotte’. The Universe enjoys irony.”
“. . . What about her middle name?” Emily chimed in.
“Yes, Will,” he said, “if she doesn’t have a last name, then ask her for her middle name.”
There was a moment of silence. Then, Jeremy and Emily both broke into laughter.
Will stood there, out-of-step – as though he’d been thrust onto the stage in the middle of an Absurdist play, knowing neither the plot, nor his lines.
“So, you weren’t amused,” said Jeremy.
“No,” replied Will. “I mean, yes – that was funny.”
“And yet you didn’t laugh.”
“I’m sorry. I just —”
“Never apologize,” said Jeremy, cutting him off sharply. “Not in your World. Not to anyone – not for anything.
“. . . Of course, it’s your World,” he continued, after a pause, “. . . so do as you please. Apologize as much as you want, I suppose.”
Jeremy stepped back inside, glanced around the room, then motioned to the sitting area in front of the fireplace. “Shall we?” he said.
Jeremy took a seat on one of the comfortable stuffed chairs, while Will and Emily sat down next to each other on the small loveseat facing him.
“I’m glad you came,” said Emily. “We both have many questions.”
“. . . And you believe I have answers,” Jeremy replied.
“I hoped you might,” she said.
Jeremy tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. “. . . We can talk, and I will do my best to address your questions,” he said. “Let’s begin . . . with a joke. . . . From Will.”
“. . . You want me to tell a joke?” Will asked.
“I’m curious to know what amuses you,” Jeremy explained. “. . . It will allow our minds to get acquainted.”
Though not in any frame of mind to tell jokes, Will saw no polite way to deny his guest’s simple request. He began searching his memory for a good one. For if this would be how their “minds met”, it should be funny and clever. . . . Unfortunately, however, his mind was now a blank. He couldn’t think of any joke.
“. . . No?” said Jeremy, waiting for a response.
“I’m trying to think,” he said. “. . . I’m just stuck.”
“The purpose is not to entertain me,” Jeremy told him. “Rather than the story, try to remember your laughter.”
Will then chuckled. And a joke came to mind – a strange joke. Hearing it, he had laughed quite hard. But he’d told it only once, for the response was awkward silence and confused looks.
“. . . Ok, I’ve got it,” he said.
Then taking a deep breath and clearing his throat, Will began:
One day, a man went to visit an old friend. He knocked on his door, and heard his friend call ‘Come in!’
He entered the house, walked into the living room, and found his friend sitting in a chair – with a big, round, orange head.
Shocked, the man asked what had happened to him.
“Well,” said his friend, “a few days ago I was digging in the garden and found an old, brass lamp. I started to rub the dirt off of it, and – just like in the stories – a Genie appeared, thanked me for releasing him, and granted me three wishes.
“I knew this was an incredible opportunity, and I didn’t want to do anything foolish. So I tried to be very careful about how I worded my requests. Otherwise, I might end up regretting what I wished for.”
“Like asking for eternal life, without stipulating eternal youth,” the man struck in.
“Exactly,” his friend replied.
“So, what was your first wish?” he asked, trying not to stare at his friend’s big, round, orange head.
“I asked for great wealth,” said his friend. “I was worried that there might be some legal problems with suddenly coming into a fortune and having no way to explain it. But I hired lawyers, and everything’s fine. I’m now a very rich man”
“Great! . . . What about your second wish?” the man asked him.
“I asked for love – that’s something money can’t buy,” he replied. “Again, I was concerned it might back-fire – perhaps I’d have dozens of ‘less-than-appealing’ women stalking me day and night. However, it worked out perfectly. I met a wonderful woman, and we’re very much in love. In fact, we’re going to be married next month.”
“Congratulations!” the man said. “. . . And your third wish?”
“For my third wish,” said his friend, “. . . I asked for a big, round, orange head.”
There was dead silence. Then Emily snorted and put her hand to her mouth, as if trying to keep from spitting out food, clearly caught off-guard by the “punch line”. She gasped for air between alternating fits of coughing and laughter. Jeremy, too, began to laugh, at first quietly, but soon heartily.
Will smiled, relieved that his joke had gone over so well.
“Excellent!” said Jeremy, collecting himself. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled with a long sigh. “Yes – a fine joke. And well chosen, for it illustrates an important Truth.”
“That joke?” said Emily, sounding dubious.
“Indeed,” he replied. “The unavoidable Truth: You receive what you ask for.”
“Well, I suppose you deserve a big orange head if you’re foolish enough to ask for one,” she said.
“It has nothing to do with ‘deserving’ what you ask for,” Jeremy shot back, correcting her. “And unfortunately, people routinely ask for things that are far more foolish. The proof is in their misery. . . . The Gods hear – and are more than happy to oblige. But they neither reward, nor punish. They merely . . . fulfill.”
“Fulfill . . . our prayers?” Will asked tentatively, remembering what Emily had said about Jeremy’s reluctance to discuss theology.
“Our prayers? To them? . . . Sometimes,” he answered. “But there is always a price for a prayer. It may seem like a shortcut, but it is not – for there are none. There is no escape from what you ask for. That is the Law.”
“The Law?”
“Perhaps ‘Law’ is the wrong term, or at least a misleading one,” said Jeremy. “It can refer to two very different things: ‘rules’ . . . , and ‘Truths’.
“. . . Rules must be made – they do not create themselves. And, by definition, rules can be broken – otherwise, there would be no reason to make them. A ‘Truth’, however, cannot be otherwise. . . . It always was, and will forever be, what it is.”
Jeremy then reached into his jacket and pulled out a wooden pipe, along with a small, drawstring pouch. “Do you mind?” he asked.
“Not at all,” said Will.
Jeremy opened the pouch and filled the polished bowl of his pipe with tobacco. He then fished through his pockets until he found a small box of wooden matches. After shaking the box and hearing the rattle within, he withdrew a single match and struck it against the upturned sole of his shoe.
“. . . This ‘Law’ – this Truth – needs no enforcement by any being, for it cannot be disobeyed,” he said, lifting the pipe to his lips with one hand, and the flame to the bowl with the other.
“You mean, ‘Laws of Nature’, then,” said Will. “Like the Laws of Chemistry or Physics.”
“. . . Yes,” Jeremy replied, after thinking for a moment. “These are not merely ‘rules’ – they are ‘Truths of Nature’.
“However, claiming something is a Truth does not make it so, and ‘Truths’ often turn out to be quite false. This is not disobedience on the part of Nature, though. It is, rather, a matter of misidentification – a misunderstanding, or ignorance – on our part.”
“So . . . , are you saying that the Gods must answer our prayers?” Will asked him. “That, since it’s a Law of Nature, the Gods have no choice?”
Jeremy chuckled, muttered something to himself, then began puffing on his pipe, drawing in deeply, then exhaling long, slender streams of smoke.
“. . . I once had a discussion with someone, long ago, about smoking – the reason we take pleasure in it,” he said, apparently changing the subject (as Emily had warned Will he was prone to do). “Yes, there is the . . . chemical effect on the body, but this is a side-effect – an added incentive. At least, it’s a different issue, for tobacco can be ingested (as some do), which would seem to be the most natural way – the most intuitive way – to introduce the substance into our bodies. Why would it even occur to us to smoke it?
“. . . What is it about the smoke itself that we enjoy so much? The feel of the warm bowl nestled cozily in the palm of the hand; the sound of the ember crackling with each inhale; the sweet, musty aroma; the rich, acrid taste of the smoke as it rolls across the tongue? All of these are pleasures in themselves, unique to the act of smoking, distinct from the effects of nicotine.
“However, I believe there is another attraction, more fundamental – primordial, perhaps.” Jeremy took another mouthful of smoke and blew a series of undulating rings, which he watched intently until they dissipated. “I think we enjoy . . . seeing our breath.
“. . . Breath – the vital exchange between us and the world, the shared spirit, the shared life. As we breathe out, the world breathes in . . . , back and forth.
“Though we exchange life with the world in other forms, we can go weeks without food, days without water, but only minutes without breath. We can voluntarily deny ourselves food and drink, even to the point of death, but no one can commit suicide by holding their breath. It cannot be done – the urge to inhale is too strong, the pressure too intense. Why? . . . It is the force of the world exhaling, the force of life itself. And we cannot resist.
“. . It is the ‘Spiritus Sanctus’ – for I have always believed that ‘Sacred Breath’ is a more profound and more accurate translation than ‘Holy Ghost’. It is our most direct contact with God.”
Though he’d forgotten much of the vocabulary, Will had taken some Latin in High School and did remember that ‘Spiritus’ could indeed be translated as ‘Breath’. He’d never thought about it in a religious context, however.
“. . . And I think I see your confusion,” said Jeremy.
“About . . . ?” Will replied. (There were so many possibilities at this point.)
“You asked if the Gods must answer our prayers – by Law. The answer . . . .” Jeremy paused and stared straight ahead, deep in thought, as if searching for the right word. He seemed about to speak, but then his expression changed, and he merely shrugged his shoulders and turned his attention to his pipe.
“. . . Well, that certainly clears everything up,” Will was tempted to reply. He said nothing, though, fearing his sarcasm might offend Jeremy and change his loquacious mood. He had to be patient and simply accept that this was Jeremy’s train of thought, while he was just a passenger, along for the ride.
“. . . We can summon Gods into our lives, just as we can summon men,” Jeremy resumed. “They – Gods and men and everything in-between – can grant us favors that are within their power; but they can deny those requests, if they choose. There is no Law (rule, or Truth) that compels them to ‘obey’ us. . . . And ultimately, they cannot do anything for us (or to us) unless it is something we have asked for . . . , in some sense.
“Any and all of the beings that live above, below, or alongside us – live within the Law. They do not make the Law, nor can they break it. They are players, just as we are. They are not . . . God.”
“Then, does God make this kind of Law?” asked Will. “Is that what makes it a ‘Truth’, rather than just a ‘rule’ – the fact that it was made by God?”
Jeremy paused for a few seconds, then smiled. “. . . Well reasoned,” he said. “Close, perhaps . . . , but no. It’s probably more accurate to say that it is the Will of God. However, a Truth is not made by God – it is God. To say it is ‘made’ by God implies that God could have chosen to do otherwise; and God cannot be other than what It is, or else It would not be God.”
“It?” said Emily. “So, God is a . . . thing – not a ‘being’?”
“There is nothing that God is not,” he replied. “I refer to God as ‘It’, rather than ‘He’ or ‘She’, because using either the masculine or feminine implies the lack of the other; and God, by definition, cannot lack anything, cannot be incomplete.
“I concede that using ‘It’ might sound pejorative and, therefore, disrespectful – for we tend to rank a ‘he’ or a ‘she’ above an ‘it’. But since ‘he’ and ‘she’ are clearly inappropriate in the case of God, what other choice is there? . . . Perhaps . . . ‘We’.
“. . . Words always fail us when we speak of God. . . . Still, we try . . . and inevitably miss the mark.”
Jeremy then sucked on his pipe, but exhaled no smoke, only his now-invisible breath. He took the stem from his mouth and peered into the bowl. “Dead,” he said quietly, setting the warm corpse on the small table beside his chair.
“. . . Now, my dear Emily, before you two must return to your beds, I would like to speak to Will about . . . certain matters. So if you don’t mind . . . .”
“Certain matters?” she said, with a smile. “Boy stuff?”
Jeremy chuckled. “Yes,” he replied. “I suppose you could say that.”
Will started to object, not wanting to see Emily leave so soon (and somewhat apprehensive about being left alone with Jeremy).
“It’s ok, Will,” said Emily, squelching his protest. “I’m feeling tired already, and it will be good for you two to talk.” She patted his hand and started to stand up, but then sat back down.
“. . . Before I go,” she said, addressing Jeremy, “could I ask you something?”
“A question?” he replied. “. . . I don’t recall you telling a joke.”
“Knock-knock!” she quickly countered.
Jeremy smiled and winked. “What is it that you want to ask, Emily?”
“Actually,” she said, “it’s about something that happened to Will – something that he did. . . . I think it could be some form of Traveling.”
“. . . Go on,” said Jeremy.
Emily turned to Will. “Tell him how you found me today.”
Will then described the experience, while Jeremy listened intently.
“What intrigued me,” said Emily, when he’d finished, “was the ‘darkness’ that he went into and came out of before re-materializing near me.”
Jeremy stared at the floor with thoughtful eyes, a vague smile on his lips . . . , but said nothing.
“. . . Is it, or could it be . . . , the Emptiness?” she asked him.
Jeremy maintained his silence and his stare.
“. . . If it is . . . ,” she continued, trying to elicit an answer, “do you think Will might be able to Travel? Maybe with my help?”
Jeremy lifted his gaze and looked first at Will, then at Emily, and finally spoke, saying only, “I will think on this matter.” He then stood up, indicating that the subject was now closed and giving Emily a polite cue that it was time for her to leave.
As she and Will stood, Emily thanked him, trying to sound grateful, rather than disappointed.
“I will come again tomorrow,” said Jeremy. He then looked at Will, adding deferentially, “. . . If I may.”
“Of course,” Will replied.
“Then I will see you tomorrow, Emily – here. Yes?”
“Yes,” she said, now more cheerful.
Emily then faced Will to say goodbye. He took both her hands, and the two stared at each other for a moment, hesitating, feeling self-conscious with Jeremy standing there watching them.
Jeremy obviously sensed their awkwardness, for with a knowing grin and a polite nod, he excused himself and retreated onto the balcony.
“What a day!” said Emily, once they were alone.
“Indeed,” Will replied.
“I can’t believe how talkative he is,” she said. “It’s the most coherent conversation I’ve ever had with him.”
“I wonder why he wants to talk with me privately,” said Will.
“I don’t know, but I’d consider it a privilege.” Emily glanced in the direction of the balcony. “Ok – I better go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Following a farewell kiss, they stepped apart. Then, Will watched Emily disappear, leaving him alone with Jeremy.
Taking a steadying breath, Will walked out onto the balcony to join his guest, who stood near the railing, facing west.
“. . . A clever trick,” said Jeremy, staring at the horizon.
“Trick? What do you mean?” Will asked.
“An ambiguous term, I suppose,” he replied. “You attempted no deceit. . . . An ‘accomplishment’, then. A fine accomplishment, Will.”
“. . . I’m still not sure . . .”
“The sun,” said Jeremy. “The clock. . . . Time.”
“Ah,” said Will, recalling their first, brief conversation together. “In the garden, when you mentioned the sundial – you knew. . . . How?”
