The Man in the Street

You should be pleased, I said. I made you look as though you understood the meaning right away.

What are you talking about? said Pliny.

I made it seem as though you quickly got the pun, I said.

The pun being? asked Pliny.

The pun being a Chinese sort of pun, I said. The words painted on the wall were words meaning bright, and they were on a wall in Brighton, facing out to sea.

It wasn't all that good a pun, said Pliny.

It probably was in Chinese, I said. Anyway, in the poem, you got it. I thought you were into puns?

What makes you think that? asked Pliny.

I'm reading your Natural History at the moment, I said, and just this morning you made a frivolous pun.

Remind me, said Pliny.

"Cato thought that eating hare induced sleep", I quoted, " and the man in the street believes it gives a person charm for nine days".

Oh yes, laughed Pliny. It is a frivolous pun. Of course it only works in Latin.

Yes lucky Professor Healy put in footnotes I said. Lepos means hare, lepus means charm. Was that Cato's pun or yours?

I believe it was the man in the street's, said Pliny.

Oh well, I said, you follow it up with a joke of your own. Do you remember what it is?

Yes, said Pliny, I say that a cast-off horse shoe can be a cure for hiccups, for those who remember where they have put it!

So funny, I said.

Thank you, said Pliny. I try my best.

Pliny's Riddle

Next morning when I opened my copy of Natural History, a piece of paper fell out.

There was something written on it, in pencil, and it looked like Pliny's writing.

Here is a riddle just for you
Hair of gold and eyes of blue
Where's my lunch?

That didn't seem like much of a riddle. I'd been busy all day yesterday and hadn't had time to leave him any lunch, but there was plenty of bread and ham. Lazy old Roman.

I went looking for him.

Pliny, I said. Couldn't you have made your own lunch?

I did, said Pliny. What are you talking about?

The riddle, I replied.

Oh, the riddle, said Pliny. It wasn't finished. I was distracted by having to construct a sandwich. It isn't easy to do.

A riddle or a sandwich? I asked.

Both, he answered. But I meant the sandwich.

What about the riddle? I asked. Have you finished it yet?

Yes, he said, but it's probably too late now. Have you read page 68?

No, not yet. So what's the riddle?

Pliny recited:

Here is a riddle just for you
Hair of gold and eyes of blue....

He stopped. What do you think of the rhyme? he asked. We ancient Romans aren't used to rhyming.

You and blue? I said. An excellent rhyme, but do go on.

Taller than the average height
Generally keeping out of sight
A harsh voice too
Who am I?

I don't know, I said. Swedish people?

No! Pliny laughed, in a manner that seemed a bit forced.

It's a comical riddle, he explained. So the answer is what you would least expect.

Chinese people? I asked.

Pliny looked disappointed.

Taprobane

Pliny the Elder was home alone. It was hot. He wandered about the house idly looking for something to read.

His eye fell upon my copy of his Natural History.

I wonder where she's up to? he muttered to himself. I'll just open it up at the bookmark and see.

He opened the book at the bookmark, which was at page 68.

Taprobane! he said, his eyes misting over with pleasure. She'll like this section. This is where I introduce the Chinese.

He skimmed over the familiar lines.

They weren't as familiar as he remembered. Oh dear! he said to himself. I got that a bit wrong. She'll be needling me about it tomorrow. What can I do to prevent it?

He thought for a while.

I know, he said. I'll make up a comical riddle.

He sat down at a table with his fish-topped pencil, and began to compose.

Here is a riddle just for you
My hair is gold, my eyes are blue

A good rhyme, he said. That is a very good start. I think I'll have something to eat now, then finish it off after lunch.

Hyperboreans

So that's the end of Wittgenstein and Saint Nicholas? said Pliny the Elder.

Yes, I suppose so, I said.

Good, said Pliny.

Why? I asked. I've grown to like them. I could probably keep on writing about them for ever.

I'm certain you could, said Pliny. And it was all very well during the holiday period, but there are more serious things to write about than philosophy, icecreams and paintball.

What do you have in mind? I asked.

Well, said Pliny. I'm glad that you've asked. I couldn't help noticing that you received a copy of my Natural History for Christmas. How are you liking it so far?

I think Professor Healy has done a good job, I said. I expected he would have chosen to present only the most interesting parts of your work, but he's given us quite a lot of the tedious stuff as well.

What tedious stuff? asked Pliny.

Geography, I said, for example. And it's all wrong.

It may be all wrong now, said Pliny, but it was all right at the time. Where are you up to?

The Hyperboreans, I replied. I'm enjoying reading about them. "Death does not come until they have had their fill of life. Setting a banquet, they greet their old age with luxury, and then leap into the sea from a certain rock. This method of burial is the most serene." It's all in the way that you tell it, of course.

Thank you , said Pliny. I'm aware of that.

What Pliny Would Rather Not Know

I see you have a new book, said Pliny the Elder. What is it called?

The People of the Book, by Geraldine Brooks, I replied, but it was my second choice.

How so? asked Pliny.

I was looking for your book.

My book?

Your book, Natural History of Pliny, in Penguin Classics.

My book! said Pliny. I didn't know it was in print.

Well it is, I said, but I haven't been able to lay my hand on a copy. You can buy it through Amazon Books but they charge a lot for postage.

I am not surprised, said Pliny. It must be quite a size.

No, it isn't . It's just a little paperback.

Pliny turned a funny shade of purple.

A little paperback! he spluttered. But I wrote thirty seven books !

I know. This is a selection of the most interesting bits.

Tch! said Pliny, crossly. I fail to see the value in a selection of the interesting bits. It is meant to be a collection of all knowledge. And who is to say which are the interesting bits? I shall write to Penguin Classics and complain.

No, don't complain. Just ask them to send you a copy. I'm sure you must be entitled to one. Then we can see which bits they think are interesting. And then you can complain.

No, said Pliny. You just want a free book. I am going to complain.