The Australian soap opera,
Friendly Neighbours,
babbled away on the television and Gallie was
glued to it. She seemed to have a Siamese twin-like
relationship with soaps. Howard wandered if
he himself could rival its appeal. She was the
locus of his awe and affection, but only soaps
- and Dominic - riveted her. He sighed bitterly.
'Hiiii, Howard!' she said, fleetingly uncoupling
her eyes from the screen.
Gallie sat at one end of the sofa, Howard at
the other. He contemplated scornfully that,
for all intents and purposes, she was not next
to him on the sofa but
there, assimilated
within the make-believe Australia on the television.
She was reclining with the sun-drenched actors
in the cushy, sunny suburb of Melbourne. Howard
found
himself longing for the beach-dominated
soap lifestyle: an infinitely preferable existence
to being student in rain-torn Redater. Gallie
lit a cigarette and blew the new smoke in an
upward jet.
As the soap expired for another day, Greg and
Karen arrived. Greg told feisty stories about
the night before and then settled back happily
into his armchair.
'That's nothing! Actually, me and Steve went
to the
fabbest party ever last night,'
gushed Karen, 'Steve was dressed oh so
posily!
Everybody had
so much fun, and they,
like, relished our company, actually. We had
a wicked time! All the in-crowd were there,
it was the trendiest place to be in the world,
and - as an rebellious individual who doesn't
give a shit - I relate to that, really I do.'
'Super! Soooo did you stay the night?' said
Gallie, suggestively.
'Yes, at Steve's place of course. I woke up
this morning with my eyes stuck closed and a
foul taste in my mouth, actually, but I was
extremely oblivious to that because Steve's
tongue was, like, between my legs.'
Howard sprayed his mouthful of tea over the
carpet.
Karen ignored him.
'Steve's always in, you know,
fantastic form
first thing in the morning and actually I like
to exploit that. And the fab thing is, sex
first thing always puts an attractive sparkle
in my eye. My Steve is my Prince Charming! He's
my Prince Charming and then he'll be my fab
King Charming and I will be his adored
Queen Charming!'
Howard, in his desolation at losing Gallie's
favour, became emboldened and combative in temper.
'So, you'll be Steve's
Queen Charming
will you? The aristocracy always marry for convenience
and they save the real hanky panky for their
bit on the side!'
'That's
not true actually! Just look
at Princess Di! She is so fab, so brill, so
beautiful that Charles could not possibly
ever
wish for anyone else! There is no woman more
totally beautiful than Princess Di. So, quite
frankly, you're talking total bollocks actually!'
'It's simple,' persisted Howard, 'princes marry
foreign princesses. Why? Because foreign princesses
are beautiful? Smarter? No! It's because the
princess's dad will hesitate before trying to
invade the prince's country, in case darling
daughter has her pretty head separated from
her pretty shoulders. It is a matter of trading
hostages of blood to protect ones kingdom.
That is the purpose of traditional royal marriage,
to use one woman to make your children - your
heirs - and you use another, prettier woman
for wanton fucking. The royals are not as stupid
as they look: they have money and they have
mistresses.'
Karen looked surprised at Howard's assault.
'Well, actually the sanctity of marriage is,
like,
absolute!'
'What a strange statement, for a rebellious
student of art!'
'When you really, totally love someone like
I really, totally love Steve, you know it will
last forever!'
Howard, who had seen Steve kissing the dark-haired
woman in the corridors of Donovan Hall, felt
a sense of superiority.
'If I may say something,' he said, 'in
my
subject, astronomy, we learn something that
is very poetic, very touching. We learn that
nothing stays the same. Statistical mechanics,
thermodynamics and the laws of entropy are the
first laws of nature. Nature abhors things
that
last. Life becomes dust. Planets
become as embers. Stars run out of fuel and
explode. All matter will end up gobbled by
black holes. All black holes will decay into
radiation. Radiation will grow infinitely feeble
as the Universe expands forever, or everything
will disappear in a Big Crunch, like a Big Bang
in reverse.
Nothing can last forever.
Eternity is accessible to nothing.'
'Awwwww, but, Howie, that is really awful!'
said Gallie in a high-pitched whimper of despair.
'But it's how things are. Look at religion.
Religious people reckon the soul lasts for eternity
but there is no soul in the first place. Only
death is forever. Surely life is more
precious if it is so ephemeral. When we mourn
a death that has no afterlife then it's more
profound. To religious people, a funeral is
nothing more than some sort of divine departure
lounge to paradise. But the paradise is a mirage,
a deception. If we know a thing won't last then
it becomes more precious.'
'Actually a diamond lasts forever -
and
it's more precious. Not that I care about such
shallow, material things as precious stones.'
'A diamond might be hard but eventually it'll
spontaneously combust into dust. A diamond
not only is not forever but it won't even last
as long as graphite.' Howard made a gesture
of blowing dust from his hand.
'Shit, I'm going to sell Steve's friendship
ring quick!' said Karen.
'Save yourself the bleeding trouble,' said Greg,
'it's a fucking fake anyway.'
***
*****
***
The next day Howard met his reluctant lab partner,
Jacintha, to finish their cryogenics experiment.
He felt just as superfluous to her requirements
as ever. She calibrated instruments with an
efficient flair; measured the electrical attributes
of frozen materials with great efficacy and
wrote notes with avid precision. He was growing
to hate the chemically smell of the cryogenics
lab. He was even bored of dipping everyday objects
into liquid nitrogen. His feeling of futility
was compounded by the fatigue brought on by
the hangover and his lunchtime consumption of
stodgy fast food washed down with a pint. His
sleepiness sapped his ability to keep up to
speed with the experiment even though some will
was there. The three-hour lab session dragged
on interminably. At the long-awaited end of
the three hours Howard's weariness was suddenly
substituted with something even worse: fear.
'Howard! I want my astronomy notes!' demanded
Jacintha.
At this point in time he had given up all hope
of finding them.
I, um, must confess.'
'What? Confess what exactly?'
'Well, I'm afraid that what I'm about to tell
you will cause you great displeasure.'
'
What?'
He admitted the notes were lost.
Jacintha's complexion became ashen. It seemed
to him that if she was dipped into the liquid
nitrogen at that moment, it would be the nitrogen
that would freeze. He was afraid.
If Jacintha had attacked him with a test tube
stand or hurled a voltmeter at him or even assaulted
him with vile language he would have been happier
than the way she took the news. She simply affected
the resigned disposition of one who had suffered
a tragic loss. She seemed not to be able to
breathe.
'What can I do?' pleaded Howard.
He flung his arms wide in a dramatic gesture
of appeal and quizzical resignation. His right
hand struck the polystyrene bucket of liquid
nitrogen, knocking it towards the edge of the
table. There it hovered, hanging precariously
over the edge. Time froze. The bucket wobbled
and fell. Terrified, they leapt into the table.
Jacintha screamed.
***
*****
***
That evening Dominic called to the house to
see Gallie. Whilst Gallie was getting changed,
Dominic pulled out his notepad and began writing.
'What's that?' said Howard shakily. His nerves
were frayed.
'I have been writing an essay,' said Dominic.
'The title of the essay is:
Is This A Question?
I thought,
holy shit! Where do I start?
Anyway, could you read it through, just to make
sure it makes sense?'
Howard accepted the role of reviewer and took
a few pages of lined A4 covered with neat writing
in Dominic's slender hand. The words at the
top of the first page, "
Is This A Question?"
were neatly underlined in pencil.
Very recently, the essay began,
I
participated in a pleasant acquaintance with
a charming lady.
Howard paused with anguish, then continued his
reading.
I asked her a risqué question and she asked,
'what kind of a question is that?' Which brings
one neatly to an interesting and integral point:
Can questions be classified? And if so, into
which category does the question "Can questions
be classified?" belong to? For that matter,
into which category does "And if so, which
category does the question "which category
does the question "Can questions be classified?"
belong to?" belong to?" And so forth,
ad infinitum.
Howard was unable to focus because of the likely
allusion to Gallie in the opening. He flicked
through the essay with a poisonous temper.
After a short while he cast the document down
onto the coffee table with a disrespectful flourish.
'It's totally
shit!'
Dominic's shoulders sagged.
'Pardon me? I mean to say that isn't the section
that disproves the perpetuity of the soul by
way of the lack of integrity of our memories
is worthwhile?'
Howard eyed his downhearted rival with loathing.
'That essay can kiss my arse!'
***
*****
***
With great trepidation, Howard turned up for
the afternoon lab session. He feared that Jacintha's
fury over the liquid nitrogen accident - not
to mention her vanished notes - was still fierce.
Gingerly, he entered a large lab. Students were
scattered about pottering about with apparatus,
one of whom was Jacintha. Working alone, she
was manipulating a dark grey lead bucket with
a yellow radioactive sticker on the side of
it. Next to the bucket was suspended a transparent
crystal. Around the crystal were arrayed two
black cylinders on their sides and a wall of
lead blocks.
Jacintha looked at him. Her face hardened and
her body stiffened. He suspected that she was
highly radioactive herself at this point. His
eyes followed a wire that ran from the end of
one of the black tubes to a tin box fronted
with a counter display. The counter contained
six luminous red numbers. These numbers, counting
the radiation, ascended madly. He reached over
the wall of lead bricks that surrounded the
apparatus towards the wire.
'Ah, there seems to be a loose connection,'
he lied. 'permit me to adjust the-'
'Don't touch that!' she snapped.
He hastily withdrew his hand.
Jacintha despised him. Gallie was oblivious
to him. Greg intimidated him. Dominic had usurped
him. That night the Student Union disco was
a drunken and desolate torture. He had to endure
the sight of Gallie and Dominic dancing together
like manic fools. He felt desolate. He wanted
Gallie. He wanted to pull. He failed to get
Gallie. He failed to pull. Greg pulled.
He
didn't. Karen danced with Steve.
He danced
with no one. Everywhere were people, but company
was nowhere to be found.
 | | | | |
| From: |
JGR | Subject: | 2001-11-21 18:16:12 |
| | | | |
| From: |
MadPole | Subject: | 2001-11-29 18:14:22 |
| | | | |
| From: |
MadPole | Subject: | 2001-11-29 18:56:32 |
| | | | |
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