Imagine if the stranger on whom Arthur has fallen asleep should turn out to be useful.
This occurs to Arthur as well.
He dreams that the stranger shakes him by the shoulder and says: My name is Radu. Come with me, and I will show you bizarre new species of spiders, scorpions, woodlice and centipedes living on a strange floating mat of bacteria.......
Arthur wakes up, feeling itchy.
As though he has been floating on a strange mat of bacteria.
And the stranger, on whom he has rested his head for an hour, says: Do I know you?
Turns out, the stranger has an interest in cycling.
They exchange bike talk, about the Tour de France, Froomey, and aluminium versus carbon fibre bike frames.
What are you doing in Bucharest? asks Radu.
Passing through, says Arthur. On my way to an underground cave in a barren featureless plain. Don't suppose you know where there might be a dive shop?
No, I don't, sorry, says Radu.
And this is where dreams differ unhelpfully from reality.
For if Arthur had fallen asleep in the other direction ( toppled right onto Nicolae instead of left onto Radu, for example), he would have fallen asleep on Nicolae, who knows the whereabouts of a dive shop, the Scuba Diver Centre on Soseaua Stefan Cel Mare, which supplies scuba equipment for lake and cave diving which is something they do a lot of, in Romania.
But Nicolae has left the night club already.
Eleven am. Gaius and Proust are sitting outside at the Café Van Gogh.
Gaius is drinking a glass of tap water. Proust is sipping a fresh lemonade sweetened with honey.
This cave, says Gaius. Have you considered it might be sealed off?
I have considered it, says Proust. In that case I shall make use of my contacts.
Shouldn't you make use of them now? says Gaius. While we're in civilisation?
No, I view this enterprise as a challenge. I'm already surprised by my tenacity, says Proust, coughing delicately, and wiping his lips with an aloe vera impregnated paper tissue, of which he has an endless supply in his pocket.
A fleeting thought visits Gaius. Why would a microbiologist be surprised by his own tenacity?
Arthur appears. The fleeting thought flits away.
Arthur! Well done. On time I see, says Gaius. Did you have a good night? You young people....
Arthur sits down, looking peaky.
Have a bite to eat, says Proust. The Italian burger with wedges looks nice.
Thank you, says Arthur.
Proust is taken aback. Does this mean Arthur thinks HE will fork out for an Italian burger with wedges?
Rather than look like a person who has made a basic social error of this kind, he orders and pays for Arthur's breakfast, proving that he, like an Italian burger, although in quite different circumstances, can also be nice.
And have you had time to organise our breathing apparatus? asks Proust.
Getting there, says Arthur.
What's this for? asks Gaius.
For diving in the murky waters of the lake, says Proust. To explore the rest of the cave, we must dive into the lake and follow the narrow underwater passageways, squeeze ourselves through tiny gaps where getting stuck could be lethal......
Right, says Gaius.
A word which does not adequately cover all he is thinking.
Sunday, July 31, 2016
Saturday, July 30, 2016
Plan For Remaining Alive Under Water
The plane has landed in Bucharest.
Proust, Gaius and Arthur take a bus to the Old Town.
I prefer the Old Town in any city, says Proust.
Provided there is an Old Town, says Gaius.
Of course there is, says Proust. We are going to it.
I mean, says Gaius, that not every city has one.
That goes without saying, says Proust.
Bored with the level of conversation, Arthur gazes out of the window.
He wonders if Proust had meant him to obtain three sets of breathing apparatus, or if he was joking.
After all, Proust had trained as a clown.
As the city lights flash past the window, Arthur imagines the imminent future:
He spends the night in the Old Town. He meets lots of cool people. Next morning he catches a train to a poisonous cave. If breathing apparatus is needed, he will obtain it at that point. Someone's bound to have left some equipment lying about.....
Arthur has already forgotten the reason he is here in the first place.
But he is about to be reminded.
His phone rings. It's Sweezus.
Hey, how's it going? asks Sweezus.
Good, says Arthur. We're in Bucharest, the Old Town.
What's Proust like? asks Sweezus. Are you taking notes?
Course I am, says Arthur, (who has not taken any). He's just said he prefers the Old Town in any city.
Awesome, says Sweezus. Have you written that down?
I don't need to, says Arthur. I've just told you. Why don't you write it down directly.
I just have, says Sweezus, but it's still better if........crackle....
Arthur has run out of battery.
The bus stops in the Old Town.
The Old Town is buzzing with bars, nightclubs, cafés. Electronic dance music pumps through the walls in sync with the heartbeats of students and expats.
See you in the morning, says Arthur.
Wait! says Proust. We need to make an arrangement to meet somewhere. Let's meet at the Van Gogh Café at nine...... no ten...... no make that eleven in the morning. I like to sleep in.
Eleven! says Gaius.
Proust ignores the implied criticism of his sleeping habits. He wonders whether he should remind Arthur of his task in regard to obtaining three sets of breathing apparatus but by the time he has got to the end of his wondering, Arthur has gone.
Which is a pity, because he had come to the following conclusion: He probably should have.
Let's find a backpackers' hostel, says Gaius. I could do with an early night.
First, a restaurant, says Proust. La Mama is said to be good.
Proust and Gaius are soon in La Mama eating delicious ciorba de burta (tripe soup), followed by tigaie picanta (hot pan).
Arthur is in a night club, meeting cool people. The cool people tell Arthur he should have been in Bucharest last night, when Iron Maiden was playing at the Constitution Piata.
Too bad.
The cool people buy Arthur a drink, and take him to another night club where Spitalul de Urgenta is playing Romanian music and hard edged rock.
The band sings Long Live The Beer. And another song which mentions green leaves and a tulip.
Good times.
Yes, his battery is flat. Yes, he has not written written any notes on Proust. No, he has no plan for remaining alive under water.....
But what does it matter. He closes his eyes and falls sleep on a stranger.
Proust, Gaius and Arthur take a bus to the Old Town.
I prefer the Old Town in any city, says Proust.
Provided there is an Old Town, says Gaius.
Of course there is, says Proust. We are going to it.
I mean, says Gaius, that not every city has one.
That goes without saying, says Proust.
Bored with the level of conversation, Arthur gazes out of the window.
He wonders if Proust had meant him to obtain three sets of breathing apparatus, or if he was joking.
After all, Proust had trained as a clown.
As the city lights flash past the window, Arthur imagines the imminent future:
He spends the night in the Old Town. He meets lots of cool people. Next morning he catches a train to a poisonous cave. If breathing apparatus is needed, he will obtain it at that point. Someone's bound to have left some equipment lying about.....
Arthur has already forgotten the reason he is here in the first place.
But he is about to be reminded.
His phone rings. It's Sweezus.
Hey, how's it going? asks Sweezus.
Good, says Arthur. We're in Bucharest, the Old Town.
What's Proust like? asks Sweezus. Are you taking notes?
Course I am, says Arthur, (who has not taken any). He's just said he prefers the Old Town in any city.
Awesome, says Sweezus. Have you written that down?
I don't need to, says Arthur. I've just told you. Why don't you write it down directly.
I just have, says Sweezus, but it's still better if........crackle....
Arthur has run out of battery.
The bus stops in the Old Town.
The Old Town is buzzing with bars, nightclubs, cafés. Electronic dance music pumps through the walls in sync with the heartbeats of students and expats.
See you in the morning, says Arthur.
Wait! says Proust. We need to make an arrangement to meet somewhere. Let's meet at the Van Gogh Café at nine...... no ten...... no make that eleven in the morning. I like to sleep in.
Eleven! says Gaius.
Proust ignores the implied criticism of his sleeping habits. He wonders whether he should remind Arthur of his task in regard to obtaining three sets of breathing apparatus but by the time he has got to the end of his wondering, Arthur has gone.
Which is a pity, because he had come to the following conclusion: He probably should have.
Let's find a backpackers' hostel, says Gaius. I could do with an early night.
First, a restaurant, says Proust. La Mama is said to be good.
Proust and Gaius are soon in La Mama eating delicious ciorba de burta (tripe soup), followed by tigaie picanta (hot pan).
Arthur is in a night club, meeting cool people. The cool people tell Arthur he should have been in Bucharest last night, when Iron Maiden was playing at the Constitution Piata.
Too bad.
The cool people buy Arthur a drink, and take him to another night club where Spitalul de Urgenta is playing Romanian music and hard edged rock.
The band sings Long Live The Beer. And another song which mentions green leaves and a tulip.
Good times.
Yes, his battery is flat. Yes, he has not written written any notes on Proust. No, he has no plan for remaining alive under water.....
But what does it matter. He closes his eyes and falls sleep on a stranger.
Friday, July 29, 2016
The Irritations Of Sugar
Two hours into the three hour Wizz Air flight to Bucharest, Gaius is snoozing.
And missing crucial information, since Proust has never stopped talking.
The main points may be summarised as follows:
1. Proust would never eat donuts.
2. Therefore not being granted one was unimportant.
3. In fact it served to prove his point in one way.
4. That he had asked for a donut simply to have the satisfaction of not being satisfied in that way.
Gaius fell asleep at point four. He is not accustomed to Proustian ramblings, but they do have a soporific rhythm (which sadly is lost in the summary).
Proust's musings, continued:
5: Proust would like some water.
6: He is even prepared to pay for it.
Proust pays for a bottle of Evian.
7: Drinking the Evian, Proust is reminded of springs.
8: He recalls at great length certain natural springs he has visited, the scent of plants growing nearby.
9: The memory of plant smells linked to water reminds him of where he is going, and why.
Now he is nearing the point in his monologue which would be of interest to Gaius, could he but hear it.
10: The descent to the cave will be dangerous.
11: It will be pitch dark, with a temperature around 29 degrees.
12: Proust does not like the dark much.
13: Nor does he like being hot.
14: The warm sulphidic water will stink of rotten eggs and burnt rubber.
15: High concentrations of carbon dioxide and hydrogen sulphide; only ten percent oxygen.
16: They will each need a breathing apparatus.
17: To the provision of which he has failed to give much attention.
How quickly the final hour passes. The crew is getting the aircraft ready for landing.
Gaius wakes up and heads off to the toilet.
Arthur sits down in Gaius's seat, smelling faintly of donuts.
Tiny crystals of confectioner's sugar glisten on his chin and the tip of his nose.
Proust would like to reach out and brush away the crystals of sugar, which annoy him for two reasons.
Instead he says: Have you visited Bucharest before?
No, I haven't, says Arthur
It is said to be like a 'little Paris'. They even have an Arcul de Triumf. And lively night clubs. And quite possibly.....
He reaches out..... he can't help himself..... flicks Arthur's nose, but gently.
What? says Arthur.
Somewhere one might obtain three sets of breathing apparatus, says Proust.
Good. It feels like a fait accompli.
And missing crucial information, since Proust has never stopped talking.
The main points may be summarised as follows:
1. Proust would never eat donuts.
2. Therefore not being granted one was unimportant.
3. In fact it served to prove his point in one way.
4. That he had asked for a donut simply to have the satisfaction of not being satisfied in that way.
Gaius fell asleep at point four. He is not accustomed to Proustian ramblings, but they do have a soporific rhythm (which sadly is lost in the summary).
Proust's musings, continued:
5: Proust would like some water.
6: He is even prepared to pay for it.
Proust pays for a bottle of Evian.
7: Drinking the Evian, Proust is reminded of springs.
8: He recalls at great length certain natural springs he has visited, the scent of plants growing nearby.
9: The memory of plant smells linked to water reminds him of where he is going, and why.
Now he is nearing the point in his monologue which would be of interest to Gaius, could he but hear it.
10: The descent to the cave will be dangerous.
11: It will be pitch dark, with a temperature around 29 degrees.
12: Proust does not like the dark much.
13: Nor does he like being hot.
14: The warm sulphidic water will stink of rotten eggs and burnt rubber.
15: High concentrations of carbon dioxide and hydrogen sulphide; only ten percent oxygen.
16: They will each need a breathing apparatus.
17: To the provision of which he has failed to give much attention.
How quickly the final hour passes. The crew is getting the aircraft ready for landing.
Gaius wakes up and heads off to the toilet.
Arthur sits down in Gaius's seat, smelling faintly of donuts.
Tiny crystals of confectioner's sugar glisten on his chin and the tip of his nose.
Proust would like to reach out and brush away the crystals of sugar, which annoy him for two reasons.
Instead he says: Have you visited Bucharest before?
No, I haven't, says Arthur
It is said to be like a 'little Paris'. They even have an Arcul de Triumf. And lively night clubs. And quite possibly.....
He reaches out..... he can't help himself..... flicks Arthur's nose, but gently.
What? says Arthur.
Somewhere one might obtain three sets of breathing apparatus, says Proust.
Good. It feels like a fait accompli.
Thursday, July 28, 2016
Angel In Exile
What a lovely plane, says Belle, looking out onto the tarmac. Pink and purple! Look, Arthur.
But Arthur is looking at Proust.
Eyelids like egg shells, dark eyebrows, hair parted almost in the middle, a stray black curl escaping.
From under eggshell eyelids Proust evaluates Arthur.
Pale blue eyes, shot with dark blue, unruly hair, scabby knees, dirty shorts with deep saggy pockets.
An angel in exile.
I'm coming with you to Bucharest, says Arthur.
But you don't have a ticket, says Gaius. Or do you?
I do, says Arthur. A stand-by.
Proust is impressed.
He would be less impressed to know how Arthur came by it.
Last call!
Bye now! says Belle. Have a lovely time in your poisonous cave!
The three adventurers board the Wizz Air Flight to Bucharest. One has no luggage.
The flight attendants love passengers who board without luggage.
Arthur is upgraded. And offered a complimentary drink.
Gaius and Proust sit in narrow seats with inadequate legroom.
Look at that, says Gaius. The lad leads a charmed existence. I wonder though, why he's coming?
I should like to think that he's coming in order to get to know me better, says Proust, but that cannot be the case as he had purchased his stand-by ticket before he laid eyes on me, eyes which I must admit are inscrutable.
That was a very long sentence, says Gaius.
Point taken, says Proust. No doubt he's coming to be of assistance to you.
Hmm. I usually have to persuade him, says Gaius.
The Wizz Air flight takes off. The snacks trolley comes round. You have to pay for everything, even the water.
No thanks, says Gaius. Too much water, and I might feel a pressing need to go to the toilet.
Very wise, says Proust. I believe once a Wizz Air passenger was told they could not go to the toilet.
How do you know this? asked Gaius. Were you on board yourself? Were you also prevented?
Trip Advisor, says Proust.
Ah, says Gaius. Have you made this trip often?
Never, says Proust.
I was under the impression that you knew about this cave from experience, says Gaius.
Wikipedia, says Proust. You would be surprised how much information is available at the tip of one's fingers as one lies comfortably in bed eating asparagus and beef-in-jelly.
I imagine I would be, says Gaius.
What I know about this cave, says Proust, would fill volumes.
Do go on, as I know very little, says Gaius.
In 1986, says Proust, a group of communist workers were checking out a barren plain not far from the Black Sea coast, to see if it would be suitable for a power plant, when they stumbled on the cave.
How fortuitous, says Gaius. Or maybe not, if it meant no power plant.
No doubt the power plant ended up somewhere, says Proust. So, the first person to make the dangerous descent was the Romanian scientist Cristian Lascu. Since then it has been sealed by the authorities and less than one hundred people have been allowed down there.
And you have permission! says Gaius. How did you manage it?
I don't have permission, says Proust. Not yet. But I can be very persuasive. Watch this. Steward!
A flight attendant stops on her way to the front of the plane with a tray of hot donuts.
I don't suppose, says Proust, opening wide his eggshell-like eyelids, that I could have one of those donuts, in exchange for a card trick? I am a trained clown.
Sorry, smiles the flight attendant. These are for the lovely young man up the front there...
But Arthur is looking at Proust.
Eyelids like egg shells, dark eyebrows, hair parted almost in the middle, a stray black curl escaping.
From under eggshell eyelids Proust evaluates Arthur.
Pale blue eyes, shot with dark blue, unruly hair, scabby knees, dirty shorts with deep saggy pockets.
An angel in exile.
I'm coming with you to Bucharest, says Arthur.
But you don't have a ticket, says Gaius. Or do you?
I do, says Arthur. A stand-by.
Proust is impressed.
He would be less impressed to know how Arthur came by it.
Last call!
Bye now! says Belle. Have a lovely time in your poisonous cave!
The three adventurers board the Wizz Air Flight to Bucharest. One has no luggage.
The flight attendants love passengers who board without luggage.
Arthur is upgraded. And offered a complimentary drink.
Gaius and Proust sit in narrow seats with inadequate legroom.
Look at that, says Gaius. The lad leads a charmed existence. I wonder though, why he's coming?
I should like to think that he's coming in order to get to know me better, says Proust, but that cannot be the case as he had purchased his stand-by ticket before he laid eyes on me, eyes which I must admit are inscrutable.
That was a very long sentence, says Gaius.
Point taken, says Proust. No doubt he's coming to be of assistance to you.
Hmm. I usually have to persuade him, says Gaius.
The Wizz Air flight takes off. The snacks trolley comes round. You have to pay for everything, even the water.
No thanks, says Gaius. Too much water, and I might feel a pressing need to go to the toilet.
Very wise, says Proust. I believe once a Wizz Air passenger was told they could not go to the toilet.
How do you know this? asked Gaius. Were you on board yourself? Were you also prevented?
Trip Advisor, says Proust.
Ah, says Gaius. Have you made this trip often?
Never, says Proust.
I was under the impression that you knew about this cave from experience, says Gaius.
Wikipedia, says Proust. You would be surprised how much information is available at the tip of one's fingers as one lies comfortably in bed eating asparagus and beef-in-jelly.
I imagine I would be, says Gaius.
What I know about this cave, says Proust, would fill volumes.
Do go on, as I know very little, says Gaius.
In 1986, says Proust, a group of communist workers were checking out a barren plain not far from the Black Sea coast, to see if it would be suitable for a power plant, when they stumbled on the cave.
How fortuitous, says Gaius. Or maybe not, if it meant no power plant.
No doubt the power plant ended up somewhere, says Proust. So, the first person to make the dangerous descent was the Romanian scientist Cristian Lascu. Since then it has been sealed by the authorities and less than one hundred people have been allowed down there.
And you have permission! says Gaius. How did you manage it?
I don't have permission, says Proust. Not yet. But I can be very persuasive. Watch this. Steward!
A flight attendant stops on her way to the front of the plane with a tray of hot donuts.
I don't suppose, says Proust, opening wide his eggshell-like eyelids, that I could have one of those donuts, in exchange for a card trick? I am a trained clown.
Sorry, smiles the flight attendant. These are for the lovely young man up the front there...
The Reliable Sausage Poem Inspirer
Gaius has gone back with Proust to his apartment.
While Proust packs a small bag, Gaius looks round the apartment.
It is very untidy. Scraps of paper and broken pencils litter the floor.
Wizz Air is very strict on baggage allowance, says Proust, discarding grey boxers and socks.
No bother, says Gaius. I'll leave my bike here. How far to the airport?
Eighty eight point nine kilometres, says Proust. We could take a taxi. It costs one hundred and thirty euros.
Waste of money, says Gaius. I won't leave my bike after all. Do you have one?
Only a trick monocycle, says Proust. It really won't do for that distance.
Never mind, says Gaius. You can perch on my back wheel.
But what will we do with the bike when we get there? asks Proust.
I'll call Arthur, says Gaius.
He calls Arthur.
Arthur is in Café George V with Belle and Sweezus, when his phone rings.
Da-da-da-DAH!
Yes? says Arthur. When? Where? Beauvais? Okay.
Was that Gaius? asks Sweezus. I thought he might ring you.
He just wants me to pick up his bike, says Arthur. He's flying somewhere.
To Romania, says Belle. With that clown, Marcel Proust.
Yeah, says Sweezus. Clown, literary giant and microbiologist. Who knew?
Romania? says Arthur. What's he going there for?
There's this poisonous underground cave in Constanta, says Belle. Full of horrid creepy crawlies.
New species of creepy crawlies, says Sweezus. That's why I thought he'd ask you.
Well, he didn't, says Arthur.
He still might, says Sweezus. If you get to the airport before they fly out. Are you going?
No, says Arthur. Why would I want to?
I would, says Sweezus. Travelling with Proust. You might get some tips.
I don't need tips, says Arthur. Why don't you go?
Broken collar bone, says Sweezus.
So, nobody goes.
Proust and Gaius arrive at Beauvais airport three hours before take off.
Wizz Air ground staff grimly measure their bags.
Gaius's bag is one centimetre too long lengthways, and five grams too heavy.
They insist that he takes something out.
Outrageous! says Gaius, eyeing his contents, all of which are essential.
In the end, he discards the fish glue. He can always make more.
They wait for Arthur.
This Arthur, is he reliable? asks Proust.
Oh, yes, says Gaius. Most reliable. If ever I mislay anything, a knife or a pencil, for example, as I do quite often, Arthur can be relied upon to replace it. Quite miraculously, in some cases.
What a gem, says Proust. Is this the Arthur Rimbaud who rides with Team Condor?
Yes, says Gaius. It is he. A competent rider, and a talented poet, along with his friend and fellow poet Pablo Neruda. In fact, Arthur was the inspiration for Pablo's Sausage Poem, which caused such a stir in the final stage of the Tour. Did you happen to hear it?
No I didn't, says Proust. How did it go?
I'm not good at these things, says Gaius, but it went something like this: swallow me fast, and...um... something about a moist tip inside... of course it was about a sausage, nothing saucy.
Proust is not convinced that the Sausage Poem is not saucy.
Time for boarding, and the reliable Sausage Poem inspirer has not yet appeared.
Last call for passengers for Wizz Air.....
Proust stands up. Gaius leans his bicycle against a wall. Is this goodbye to his relatively expensive road racer....?
But then.
Arthur and Belle appear in the departure lounge.
Gaius is relieved.
Belle takes charge of the bicycle.
Proust eyes off Arthur.
While Proust packs a small bag, Gaius looks round the apartment.
It is very untidy. Scraps of paper and broken pencils litter the floor.
Wizz Air is very strict on baggage allowance, says Proust, discarding grey boxers and socks.
No bother, says Gaius. I'll leave my bike here. How far to the airport?
Eighty eight point nine kilometres, says Proust. We could take a taxi. It costs one hundred and thirty euros.
Waste of money, says Gaius. I won't leave my bike after all. Do you have one?
Only a trick monocycle, says Proust. It really won't do for that distance.
Never mind, says Gaius. You can perch on my back wheel.
But what will we do with the bike when we get there? asks Proust.
I'll call Arthur, says Gaius.
He calls Arthur.
Arthur is in Café George V with Belle and Sweezus, when his phone rings.
Da-da-da-DAH!
Yes? says Arthur. When? Where? Beauvais? Okay.
Was that Gaius? asks Sweezus. I thought he might ring you.
He just wants me to pick up his bike, says Arthur. He's flying somewhere.
To Romania, says Belle. With that clown, Marcel Proust.
Yeah, says Sweezus. Clown, literary giant and microbiologist. Who knew?
Romania? says Arthur. What's he going there for?
There's this poisonous underground cave in Constanta, says Belle. Full of horrid creepy crawlies.
New species of creepy crawlies, says Sweezus. That's why I thought he'd ask you.
Well, he didn't, says Arthur.
He still might, says Sweezus. If you get to the airport before they fly out. Are you going?
No, says Arthur. Why would I want to?
I would, says Sweezus. Travelling with Proust. You might get some tips.
I don't need tips, says Arthur. Why don't you go?
Broken collar bone, says Sweezus.
So, nobody goes.
Proust and Gaius arrive at Beauvais airport three hours before take off.
Wizz Air ground staff grimly measure their bags.
Gaius's bag is one centimetre too long lengthways, and five grams too heavy.
They insist that he takes something out.
Outrageous! says Gaius, eyeing his contents, all of which are essential.
In the end, he discards the fish glue. He can always make more.
They wait for Arthur.
This Arthur, is he reliable? asks Proust.
Oh, yes, says Gaius. Most reliable. If ever I mislay anything, a knife or a pencil, for example, as I do quite often, Arthur can be relied upon to replace it. Quite miraculously, in some cases.
What a gem, says Proust. Is this the Arthur Rimbaud who rides with Team Condor?
Yes, says Gaius. It is he. A competent rider, and a talented poet, along with his friend and fellow poet Pablo Neruda. In fact, Arthur was the inspiration for Pablo's Sausage Poem, which caused such a stir in the final stage of the Tour. Did you happen to hear it?
No I didn't, says Proust. How did it go?
I'm not good at these things, says Gaius, but it went something like this: swallow me fast, and...um... something about a moist tip inside... of course it was about a sausage, nothing saucy.
Proust is not convinced that the Sausage Poem is not saucy.
Time for boarding, and the reliable Sausage Poem inspirer has not yet appeared.
Last call for passengers for Wizz Air.....
Proust stands up. Gaius leans his bicycle against a wall. Is this goodbye to his relatively expensive road racer....?
But then.
Arthur and Belle appear in the departure lounge.
Gaius is relieved.
Belle takes charge of the bicycle.
Proust eyes off Arthur.
Tuesday, July 26, 2016
Before You Can Properly Suck It
Marcel Proust takes Gaius to Le Café Triomphe.
They sit at a table outside. Marcel beckons a waiter.
L'habituel? asks the waiter.
D'accord, says Marcel.
The waiter brings lime blossom tea, and a small plate of madeleines.
Now tell me.... begins Gaius.
No wait, says Marcel. First, I must do this.
He picks up a madeleine, and dips it in his hot tea.
The tip of the madeleine becomes soggy and drops to the bottom of the teacup where lime blossoms are slowly unfurling.
Merde! says Marcel. The modern madeleine is too fresh, and the end drops off when dipped in the tea before you can properly suck it.
Let me try, says Gaius. He dips a tiny shell-shaped biscuit into his lime blossom tea, whips it expertly up to his mouth, and sucks it loudly.
Shwuuurp!
Marcel winces.
Does sucking it bring back any memories? he asks Gaius.
No, says Gaius. But next time it's bound to.
What do you mean? asks Marcel. How can it be that .... oh I see. You are having a joke with me to distract me from my disappointment and at the same time providing me with a gentle lesson, that if I try again, perhaps when the biscuit is older and staler, or the tea is cooler, I may yet recapture the memory...
I didn't mean that, says Gaius. I meant it will remind me of your long-windedness, with the result that.... jumping Jupiter, it's catching!
Sorry, says Marcel. What if I revert to clown mode?
Please do, says Gaius. And while you're in clown mode, perhaps you'll explain something to me.
What? asks Marcel. (Note: he has asked it briefly)
What was so funny about 'What a nice jester?' asks Gaius (because typically, he had failed to get it).
It sounds like 'What a nice gesture', says Marcel. Now do you get it?
A nice gesture? says Gaius. Your gesture, so-called, was to invite me to sit on a ball which was non-existent. Had I done so, I could have hurt myself badly. I had just ridden all the way from Chantilly, and had not yet warmed down.
Yes, and for that I am sorry, says Marcel. Let us put the past behind us and look to the future.
Agreed, says Gaius. Tell me more about this poisonous cave. How do we get there?
We fly to Bucharest, says Marcel. As you use the term 'we', I take it you're coming?
I normally travel by bicycle, says Gaius. Flights are expensive.
I get cheap flights with Wizz Air, says Marcel. A Hungarian airline. Only thirty euro per person.
That's very reasonable, says Gaius. And.... when we get there?
Marcel leans forward.
We travel to a barren featureless plain, below which lies the Morvine Cave, with its poisonous gases. We lower ourselves down a narrow shaft by means of a rope. The only light will be the light on our helmets......
He pauses.
The gleam in Proust's eye intercepts the gleam in the eye of Gaius Plinius Secundus.
Go on, says Gaius.
Proust picks up his tea cup.
We climb through narrow limestone tunnels, coated in ochre clay and emerge into a central cavern containing a lake which smells strongly of.........faugh! Waiter!
He has swallowed a mouthful of lime blossom tea-soaked fragments of madeleine biscuit.
How very unpleasant.
They sit at a table outside. Marcel beckons a waiter.
L'habituel? asks the waiter.
D'accord, says Marcel.
The waiter brings lime blossom tea, and a small plate of madeleines.
Now tell me.... begins Gaius.
No wait, says Marcel. First, I must do this.
He picks up a madeleine, and dips it in his hot tea.
The tip of the madeleine becomes soggy and drops to the bottom of the teacup where lime blossoms are slowly unfurling.
Merde! says Marcel. The modern madeleine is too fresh, and the end drops off when dipped in the tea before you can properly suck it.
Let me try, says Gaius. He dips a tiny shell-shaped biscuit into his lime blossom tea, whips it expertly up to his mouth, and sucks it loudly.
Shwuuurp!
Marcel winces.
Does sucking it bring back any memories? he asks Gaius.
No, says Gaius. But next time it's bound to.
What do you mean? asks Marcel. How can it be that .... oh I see. You are having a joke with me to distract me from my disappointment and at the same time providing me with a gentle lesson, that if I try again, perhaps when the biscuit is older and staler, or the tea is cooler, I may yet recapture the memory...
I didn't mean that, says Gaius. I meant it will remind me of your long-windedness, with the result that.... jumping Jupiter, it's catching!
Sorry, says Marcel. What if I revert to clown mode?
Please do, says Gaius. And while you're in clown mode, perhaps you'll explain something to me.
What? asks Marcel. (Note: he has asked it briefly)
What was so funny about 'What a nice jester?' asks Gaius (because typically, he had failed to get it).
It sounds like 'What a nice gesture', says Marcel. Now do you get it?
A nice gesture? says Gaius. Your gesture, so-called, was to invite me to sit on a ball which was non-existent. Had I done so, I could have hurt myself badly. I had just ridden all the way from Chantilly, and had not yet warmed down.
Yes, and for that I am sorry, says Marcel. Let us put the past behind us and look to the future.
Agreed, says Gaius. Tell me more about this poisonous cave. How do we get there?
We fly to Bucharest, says Marcel. As you use the term 'we', I take it you're coming?
I normally travel by bicycle, says Gaius. Flights are expensive.
I get cheap flights with Wizz Air, says Marcel. A Hungarian airline. Only thirty euro per person.
That's very reasonable, says Gaius. And.... when we get there?
Marcel leans forward.
We travel to a barren featureless plain, below which lies the Morvine Cave, with its poisonous gases. We lower ourselves down a narrow shaft by means of a rope. The only light will be the light on our helmets......
He pauses.
The gleam in Proust's eye intercepts the gleam in the eye of Gaius Plinius Secundus.
Go on, says Gaius.
Proust picks up his tea cup.
We climb through narrow limestone tunnels, coated in ochre clay and emerge into a central cavern containing a lake which smells strongly of.........faugh! Waiter!
He has swallowed a mouthful of lime blossom tea-soaked fragments of madeleine biscuit.
How very unpleasant.
Monday, July 25, 2016
Tour de France: Washup - Bizarre Creatures
It is yesterday, and still the final day of the grand Tour de France.
André Greipel has won the stage, and looks happy.
He brushes past the spectators, looking for someone to hug.
Team Sky rolls over the finish line, linked together like a grinning black caterpillar with a bright yellow Froome in the middle.
Look at them, says Sweezus. Lucky fucks.
Never mind them, says Belle. We need to find out what happened.
The clown is preparing to leave.
Gaius crosses the finish line, and comes over to see them. He stops on the clown's toe.
The clown grimaces.
Sorry, says Gaius. I have ridden a long way, and have spots before my eyes.
Bravo, says the clown. Let me take your bicycle. Sit down on this ball.
Gaius looks for the ball.
The clown is miming the shape of a ball.
A second clown comes over.
Why don't you sit down on his ball, says the second one.
I can't, says Gaius.
All the same, what a nice jester, says the second one.
Ha ha, laughs Sweezus. Nice jester! That's a good one.
Were you on the Buffon tour? asks Belle.
Yes, says the second clown. The whole time, we were in stitches!
The first clown laughs at the memory of being in stitches.
And this? asks Belle, pointing to the red spots on the back of Terence's shorts.
Ask ME, says Terence. They stuck PINS in me.
Did you? asks Belle.
Yes, and instantly regretted it, says the first clown. We did not know the child was so hard. Do you know what it feels like to have the fat end of a pin pierce your finger? The fat end?
Woah! says Sweezus. Fully painful.
Nonsense, says Gaius. The fat end is not sharp.
The first clown presents several fingers, pocked with fat-end-of-pin lesions.
Gaius is forced to apologise.
Apology accepted, says the first clown. Well, I must be going.
Do you live here in Paris? asks Gaius.
I do, but I'm off to Romania, says the first clown. There's a poisonous cave in Constanta I wish to explore. It has been sealed for over five million years, and some bizarre creatures have evolved there, although there is no source of food.
Really? says Gaius. Bizarre creatures are also my interest.
Gaius is a natural historian, says Belle. He's famous.
Gaius Plinius Secundus, at your service, says Gaius. And you are?
Marcel Proust, says the clown. These days I am a microbiologist, but in previous times I used to spend a great deal of time tucked up in bed, surrounded by notebooks, dredging up past memories, until I came to realise that there would be, should I not do something worth remembering, precious little worthwhile to remember.
So you took up clowning and microbiology, says Gaius. Very commendable. This cave interests me.
Let us talk further.
All right says Marcel. I know a nice little café where we can have tea and madeleines, the very same madeleines, that in times past my aunt.........
They go off together.
You hear that? says Sweezus.
Proust, says Belle. What a turn up.
What's a turnip? says Terence.
A root vegetable, says the second clown.
(Which is true, and not even funny).
André Greipel has won the stage, and looks happy.
He brushes past the spectators, looking for someone to hug.
Team Sky rolls over the finish line, linked together like a grinning black caterpillar with a bright yellow Froome in the middle.
Look at them, says Sweezus. Lucky fucks.
Never mind them, says Belle. We need to find out what happened.
The clown is preparing to leave.
Gaius crosses the finish line, and comes over to see them. He stops on the clown's toe.
The clown grimaces.
Sorry, says Gaius. I have ridden a long way, and have spots before my eyes.
Bravo, says the clown. Let me take your bicycle. Sit down on this ball.
Gaius looks for the ball.
The clown is miming the shape of a ball.
A second clown comes over.
Why don't you sit down on his ball, says the second one.
I can't, says Gaius.
All the same, what a nice jester, says the second one.
Ha ha, laughs Sweezus. Nice jester! That's a good one.
Were you on the Buffon tour? asks Belle.
Yes, says the second clown. The whole time, we were in stitches!
The first clown laughs at the memory of being in stitches.
And this? asks Belle, pointing to the red spots on the back of Terence's shorts.
Ask ME, says Terence. They stuck PINS in me.
Did you? asks Belle.
Yes, and instantly regretted it, says the first clown. We did not know the child was so hard. Do you know what it feels like to have the fat end of a pin pierce your finger? The fat end?
Woah! says Sweezus. Fully painful.
Nonsense, says Gaius. The fat end is not sharp.
The first clown presents several fingers, pocked with fat-end-of-pin lesions.
Gaius is forced to apologise.
Apology accepted, says the first clown. Well, I must be going.
Do you live here in Paris? asks Gaius.
I do, but I'm off to Romania, says the first clown. There's a poisonous cave in Constanta I wish to explore. It has been sealed for over five million years, and some bizarre creatures have evolved there, although there is no source of food.
Really? says Gaius. Bizarre creatures are also my interest.
Gaius is a natural historian, says Belle. He's famous.
Gaius Plinius Secundus, at your service, says Gaius. And you are?
Marcel Proust, says the clown. These days I am a microbiologist, but in previous times I used to spend a great deal of time tucked up in bed, surrounded by notebooks, dredging up past memories, until I came to realise that there would be, should I not do something worth remembering, precious little worthwhile to remember.
So you took up clowning and microbiology, says Gaius. Very commendable. This cave interests me.
Let us talk further.
All right says Marcel. I know a nice little café where we can have tea and madeleines, the very same madeleines, that in times past my aunt.........
They go off together.
You hear that? says Sweezus.
Proust, says Belle. What a turn up.
What's a turnip? says Terence.
A root vegetable, says the second clown.
(Which is true, and not even funny).
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