Tuesday, September 05, 2006

And What's Your Excuse This Time?

A small group of people, perhaps four or five -- though it's difficult to tell exactly how many, as they jostle for position -- cluster around what seems to be a hole in the ground.

"What's he doing down there?" a woman asks.

Nobody says anything for a moment, then a man tentatively offers this: "I think he's sleeping. Try poking him with something."

This elicits a brief flurry of activity, as a pole or stick long enough to reach down to the prone figure is sought. "I can't find anything," says the man whose idea all of this was in the first place. "Well, except for this chair. We could drop a chair on him. Gently."

"You can't gently drop a chair on someone," pouts a little girl, sitting at the edge of the hole and peering down. "That's dumb."

"Well, do you have any better ideas?"

"HEY MISTER!" shouts the little girl, as loud as she can; which, truth be told, isn't all that loud. "ARE YOU SLEEPING? OR ARE YOU DEAD?"

Everyone seems impressed with this new tactic, although privately the little girl realizes that her second question would be difficult to answer, in some circumstances. The figure at the bottom of the hole, which seems to be male, doesn't respond. In fact, he doesn't move at all, and hasn't moved at all in quite some time. The little girl reasons that if he were actually alive, he would vigorously defend his state of not being dead, so as to avoid any confusion. But he vigorously defends nothing. In fact, he isn't doing anything vigorous at all, except remaining completely still. Having reviewed the evidence thus presented, the little girl makes her determination: "He's dead," she declares. "You can totally tell."

An indulgent chuckle sweeps through the assembled group. Ah, kids, they think, and then suddenly wonder if she might not be right after all. Kids are known for being prescient, and this guy does show most of the signs. The correct answer, as everyone knows, is usually the simplest and most obvious. "She's right," says another woman, who until now has been silent. "There's really no question. This man is dead."

Now a murmur of assent sweeps the other way through the group, like a ripple bouncing off the edge of a pond. The little girl's eyes widen, as she realizes she's looking at an honest-to-God dead man. She's never seen one before. She holds her breath and tries to be dead, too.

"I still say we should poke him with a stick," says the man.

"What for?" asks the first woman. "He's dead! You don't go poking dead people with sticks. It's disrespectful."

"Yes, dear." Apparently these two know each other.

The ripple which began its journey as bemusement, and reflected back as agreement, now reflects again as something too indeterminate to identify. It diffuses and dissappears, leaving the group in silence, looking at the hole. The little girl gives up trying to be dead, and lets her breath out with a woosh, her cheeks deflating and posture sagging. The dead guy is boring.

She picks up a pebble, lying at the edge of the hole, and chucks it at the dead guy, beaning him on the head.

"OW!" Says the dead guy. "Cut that out!"

Immediately, a lot of opinions are revised, and everybody quickly distances themselves from the initial diagnosis of not being alive.

"I never believed he was dead," points out the woman who said there was really no question about his being dead. "I was just trying to reinforce the child's self-esteem. You can't do that too often, you know. Personally, if anyone had actually asked me what I thought, I thought he was filled with life, and really incredibly virile, and I was about to ask him if he was single. If only I had been able to get him to speak, I'm sure we could have had a wonderful future together."

"Whose child is this, anyway?" asks the other woman. "Obviously her parents have brought her up without a proper respect for the miracle of life."

The man is seized with a realization, and brightens suddenly. "NOW can I poke him with a stick?" he asks.

Meanwhile, down in the hole, the formerly dead man is slowly getting to his feet and peering up at the crowd above. Two women, a man, and a little girl. Which, admittedly, is only a 'crowd' in the loosest sense of the word; it's really more like a coincidence of proximity. The first woman is standing a bit to the side, and appears to be winking at him suggestively. The other woman stands next to the man, and all of them stand apart from the little girl, who is sitting at the edge of the hole with her feet dangling over.

The girl has a look of shock on her face, not knowing quite what to make of this new turn of events. She considers the matter carefully, and then slowly raises her hand and points at the man. "He threw the rock, I saw him."

"I never threw a rock! I did NOT!"

The little girl crosses her arms defiantly and looks back down at the guy who wasn't dead. "What are you doing down in that dumb hole anyway," she says in a withering tone. "Nobody hangs out in holes."

The guy had to admit she had a point, so he did. "I have to admit, you have a point. I never intended to be stuck in a hole. It just sort of happened. One day I was sitting there, and then what with work, and being tired, and not feeling like typing a lot, I just stopped typing. And calling, and writing, and everything else. And then this hole was here, and I was down at the bottom of it."

"So, it's symbolic, then, this hole." The little girl was sharp.

"Yes, purely psychological. The problem is, I have no idea how to get out of it."

"Hey, wait," says the man, who has by now given up all hope of ever poking anything with a stick. "If that hole is a creaky old literary device, then what are we?"

"Oh, you're devices too," the formerly dead guy assures him. "You're here so I can bounce thoughts off you, so this isn't purely a monologue, which isn't really very interesting."

"Who says this is interesting?"

"Well, okay. It's more interesting. Not saying it's going to be everyone's cup of tea. Can we stop being all postmodern and self-referential now? That is SO trendy."

"Fine, sorry."

"So. The question remains. How do I get out of this hole?"

"Well," says the little girl, in that hesitant tone of voice which suggests that her idea may be SO obvious that it's impossible, and she just hasn't worked out why yet, "you could use that ladder."

"That ladder."

"Yes, that one right there."

"Was that there before?"

"Yes."

"Huh."

"And maybe write more," says the little girl.

"Yeah, that would be good, wouldn't it?"

"Well, I'm not saying I'd read it. Frankly, a lot of your stuff is kind of out there. But you wouldn't be in that hole anymore, and that's something."

"Well, okay. I just climb out of the hole myself, then. Should have thought of that before." He looks up at the rim of the hole, at the faces looking down at him, at the ladder.

The guy who had till now been dead stretches slowly; each vertebrae cracking in order, like a roll call, like waking up after a long sleep. He takes a deep breath, and lets it out.

He climbs the ladder.


1:48:25 PM    comment []