That's That

Victor introduced Gaius to some of the Field Geologists.

They were impressed to learn that he was the famous Gaius Plinius Secundus, better known as Pliny the Elder.

Perhaps you would do us the honour of addressing one of our future meetings, said the club president.

Better than that, said Gaius. I shall treat you all to an impromptu lecture right now. In honour of the heroic Sir Douglas Mawson, I shall first speak of rock crystals.

And Gaius launched straight into his talk on rock crystals.

Rock crystals, he said, are found only where winter snows freeze solid, and are undoubtedly a kind of ice.....

Hang on, said the president. Did you say ICE?

Please don't interrupt, said Gaius. There will be plenty of time for questions later.

The president looked at his watch. The VeloDrone and Le Bon David looked uncomfortable. Victor showed a degree of consternation.

Rock crystal must therefore be a product of moisture from the sky in the form of pure snow, continued Gaius. For this reason it cannot stand heat, and can only be used for cold drinks.....

Excuse me, Gaius, said the president, but it seems your geological knowledge is a little out of date.

Well, of course it is, said Gaius. Do you want me to continue or not?

It's just that it's getting rather late, said the president. Perhaps you would care to join us for our annual picnic next weekend at Marino Rocks? We can continue listening to some of your fascinating....err... insights from former times while we look at the geology and afterwards eat chickens and icecreams.

Oh, said Gaius. Yes, I suppose that would be rather pleasant. What about my friends The VeloDrone and Le Bon David? Are they invited?

Are they Field Geologists? asked the president doubtfully.

No we aren't, said The VeloDrone. So that's that.

Yes, said Le Bon David. Very sorry, but that's that.

The Knowledgeable Fisherman

It was starting to get dark on the jetty. The lights had not yet come on. Baby Pierre hummed his Ballad to himself, and waited for something to happen.

He heard footsteps coming up behind him.

Hello, who have we here? said a voice.

Baby Pierre looked up and saw a fisherman, in a windcheater and a black beanie.

Are you the Knowledgeable Fisherman? asked Baby Pierre.

I have been called that, among other things, said the fisherman. Some people know me as Pliny the Elder, others call me Gaius.

Gaius! said Baby Pierre. Are you the Gaius who rode in the Tour de France?

I am, said Gaius. Of course, I didn't do very well, he added modestly.

You came fifth in the team time trials, said Baby Pierre.

Yes, but there were only six of us in the team, said Gaius.

But your time was the time that was counted, said Baby Pierre..

That's how it is, said Gaius. I was proud, though it meant very little.

And you must know Sweezus! said Baby Pierre. I hoped Sweezus would win.

So did he, said Gaius. But he didn't try hard enough. A nice enough chap. Funny name, don't you think?

He got that name from me, said Baby Pierre. I'm in a blog that he reads. One day I said "Sweezus!", to my friend Frog. Sweezus liked it and decided to use it as his Twitter name.

So you're Baby Pierre! said Gaius. I'm very pleased to meet you.

Likewise, said Baby Pierre.

I see you have the famous Mark of the Lobster Claw on your head, said Gaius.

Baby Pierre was ecstatic. At last! Someone who didn't think it was a tulip.

Would you like to stay and watch me fish? asked Gaius. I could do with some company.

Would I! said Baby Pierre.

Enter Gustave Flaubert

He is a friend of mine, said Pliny.

Who is, Flaubert?

Yes, Flaubert. As luck would have it he is in town at present for the Cabaret Festival. Would you like to meet him?

I would, Pliny, I said. Why don't you invite him round.

Certainly, said Pliny. I'll give him a call.

So it was that later that evening there came a knock at the door.

Knock! Knock!

Pliny opened it.

Ho ho! Come in old friend, he said.

A portly man with a walrus moustache came in.

Ah, it is good to see you again, mon cher ami, he said to Pliny. Good evening, madame, he added, glancing in my direction. May I ask why you are staring at me in that fashion?

Oh, I said, forgive me Monsieur Flaubert, but I was expecting you to have a beard, either pointed or fringed.

No, no, said Flaubert, I have never grown a pointed or a fringed beard. I take it you have been reading my Sentimental Education?

I have, I said. Am I right then in assuming that the character with whom you most associate is the moustached Frederic?

Indeed, said Flaubert, puffing out his chest and twiddling his moustache. Frederic, c'est moi. As a younger man, of course.

He's a bit of a drip, you know, I said. He's passionate, but he never follows anything up.

I know, said Flaubert. I blame it on his mother.

Blackberries and a Fig

Blackberries! said Pliny he Elder. Where did you get those?

We got them from the hills, I said. Picked only half an hour ago. They're really fresh.

That reminds me of a story, said Pliny.

Is it about blackberries? I asked.

No, he said. It's about Cato the Elder, and a fig.

I am intrigued, I said. Go on.

Cato, said Pliny, is a hero of mine. He was a soldier farmer, and he rose to become a consul, and a censor, although he was a plebeian. He represented the old Roman values of simplicity and hard work.

And cruelty, I said. I've heard of him.

Nonsense, said Pliny. He was not cruel. But he was somewhat obsessed with the necessity of destroying Carthage.

Carthago Delenda Est! I cried, happily remembering my Latin.

Yes. He used to say it at the end of every speech he made.

Like pollies do today. Stop the Boats!

Something like that. But Cato did succeed in persuading the Romans to embark upon the third Punic War. And he did it by means of a fig.

A fig?

A fig. He brought a fresh fig into the forum one day and showed it around. How old do you think this fig is? he asked. Everyone agreed it looked very fresh. It was picked two days ago, said Cato. IN CARTHAGE!

So? I said, not getting it.

So, said Pliny, That put the wind up the senators, well and truly. To think that the Carthaginians were only as far away from Rome as that! So they agreed to go to war.

Is that true? I asked.

Yes, it is recorded, said Pliny.

That's shocking on so many levels, I said.

That Tricky Pierre

Alas! said Pliny the Elder. Kobo is dead! She was my favorite. Why did you kill her off?

What makes you think she's dead? I asked.

It is here in black and white, said Pliny. Defunct. And she hadn't even finished Humboldt's Gift, he added.

It wasn't me who said she was dead, I replied. It was that tricky Pierre.

Oh, said Pliny. You mean...?

Think about it, Pliny. Kobo is a fossilised clam. How could she die? And you should know the dimensions of the Horrid Hole in our kitchen sink. Would Kobo fit down it? I think not.

Aha, said Pliny. Pierre was lying. Will Ageless find out?

You'll have to wait and see, I said. But I thought it was time for a break.

What about Humboldt's Gift? said Pliny. By the time we come back to these characters Kobo will be reading something else!

Are you interested? I asked. Then you're in luck because I've been reading it too.

I know that, said Pliny. But I'm sure you won't mind me saying that Kobo's opinion of the novels she reads is always far more interesting than yours.

But Kobo didn't understand it, I said. It wasn't just about the Gift. Or rather it was but the gift was more than just the film script. The gift was a lesson in what is important in life besides money. And Humboldt didn't even know he was giving that gift. That's why the book won the Pulitzer Prize. Americans are suckers for that sort of thing. Especially if it's funny at the same time.

It was funny? said Pliny. Kobo never said it was funny.

Well, there you are, I said. She can be quite thick.

No, That's Not It

Is it a sunflower? I asked.

Sunflowers don't have legs, said Pliny.

But it's the sort of thing you say in a riddle, I said. Nutella jars don't have hats.

That's what I thought, said Pliny. That was why I couldn't guess the answer.

So it's not a sunflower then. Don't tell me it's a race of people that stand on one leg?

You're getting close, said Pliny.

And they stare all day at the sun? I said.

Yes, said Pliny.

And they never spit, or get a headache?

Yes, said Pliny.

You haven't learnt, have you, I said. You've just listed their attributes without any riddling. Who are these people?

They are the Indian Gymnosophists, said Pliny. Perhaps you have heard of them. They live in India. They are over seven feet high. They never spit, or get a headache, or a toothache, or a pain in the eyes, or any other part. They are hardened by the heat of the sun. They are called Gymnosophists, or naked philosophers, and they remain standing from sunrise to sunset while looking fixedly at the sun, resting first on one foot, then the other.

Philosophers? I said, surprised. What kind of philosophy is that?

The philosophy of needing nothing, said Pliny. It is a philosophy that I admire. As you know I do not hold with luxury.

Except the luxury of relying on secondary sources, I said, unkindly.

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.

Famous Slit Experiment

I have been thinking about your elderly couple of electrons, entering the lecture theatre via one of two doors, I said to Pliny. And it reminds me of the famous Slit Experiment in Quantum Mechanics.

Ah, said Pliny, I know the experiment you mean. When electrons are fired at a screen through one slit they behave like particles, but when they are fired through two slits they behave like waves.

That is the one, I said. You didn't happen to observe whether the elderly couple came in both doors at once, did you?

No, said Pliny, more's the pity. I wasn't looking at the other door.

What a shame, I said. But of course if you had been you would not have noticed anything untoward. The rest of the famous Slit Experiment involves an observer observing one of the slits. And the amazing thing is that when there is an observer, the particles revert to behaving like particles again.

That is not the amazing thing, said Pliny. The amazing thing is how, when you are not watching, they do not.

True, I said. Did you at any point stop watching?

Almost at once, said Pliny. Because the lecture was so interesting.

What interests me is that if the elderly couple had entered unobserved they could well have entered by both doors, like waves, I said. And then of course they would have been able to occupy multiple seats.

Good heavens, said Pliny. Now that I recall, the lecture theatre did seem to contain an inordinate number of them.

L

Tell me something, began Pliny the Elder this morning.

What? Anything? I asked.

No, he said. You did not wait till I had finished. Upon what principles do you decide whether an insect or an arachnid should live or die, once it manifests itself inside your house?

I know why you're asking, I said. You are thinking of the Huntsman spider that I killed yesterday.

Indeed, the Huntsman spider, said Pliny. The evidence of the savagery with which you killed it is still there upon the wall.

Is it? What evidence?

A large L -shaped smear, said Pliny. A brown horizontal line made by the impact of the broom, and a upward thrusting spurt of red ending in an exclamation mark at the point where the wall meets the ceiling.

If you saw it, I countered, why didn't you clean it off?

Why didn't you clean it off yourself ? asked Pliny.

I didn't see it, I replied. But you obviously did.

I cannot be expected to clean up the remains of your killings, said Pliny.

Why not, I clean up the remains of yours, I said.

Mine? he looked incredulous.

There was a large dead blowfly on the bathroom windowsill this morning, I said accusingly..

Nothing to do with me, said Pliny. It died of its own accord.

Flies don't just die of their own accord, I said.

No, said Pliny. Sometimes they get a little help from you. I saw you step on the one that had been drifting around inside the house for days. You squashed it, and then you picked it up with a tissue, threw it in the wastepaper bin and bent down to examine the underside of your shoe. And yet, I have seen you go to great lengths to save the life of a fly.

Well then, I said crossly.