photo by Jane Bell Goldstein
A Quantum Fable
by Allen Wilson
1.
He arrived home late, ate a light supper, read the newspaper. Tired from the long day, he showered and settled into bed, picked up a copy of Borges’s Ficciones from the nightstand and began reading: “On the night of March 14, 1939, in an apartment on the Zelternergasse in Prague . . . .”
2.
He awoke the next morning about 6:00, the book beside him on the bed and the nightstand lamp still burning. He had every intention of eating breakfast and taking a brisk walk, but he skipped both, dressed and stepped out the door just as the sun began peeking between buildings. He wasn’t sure where he was going, or why, and if he knew he wasn’t aware. In what seemed like no time, perhaps less, though definitely longer, he was downtown. He couldn’t remember taking more than three, possibly four, strides before arriving at Market Street and stepping into Dresden, 1945. Every building in all directions had been leveled. Debris was everywhere. Weeds three and four feet tall sprouted from exposed earth and under brick and rock. The trolley tracks were intact but nearly buried by weeds. There wasn’t another soul in sight.
3.
The stairs leading to the subway were still intact and he quickly bounded down six, eight, ten, twelve, finally fourteen landings, to the platform. He didn’t worry which train was coming. He just knew it would be the right one. A train pulled up, aligning itself perfectly with the mark. The door opened and there she was, smiling as if she expected him. He wasn’t sure who she was, he just knew she’d be there.
4.
To feel like seeing a friend is to tend to go physically near them . . . . It is therefore clearly a mistake to regard this relationship as a psychological relationship without interconnection between physical bodies. However its psychological moment may be contained, the physical bodies still draw themselves to each other and are interconnected. It is neither simply a physical relationship nor a psychological nor the simple conjunction of the two.[1]
5.
He didn’t know her name or even who she was though he’d loved her all his life.
6.
In a few steps they were on the street, walking in silence in strangely familiar surroundings. Every few steps he turned to look at her face as if to prove she were there. He’d memorized her face before they met and with the wind ruffling her hair she was more beautiful than ever.
7.
But who was she? He’d known her all his life, yet just met her. She might’ve been the one he dreamed lived up the street when he was seven, the one for whom he rushed through breakfast and brushed at his teeth before exploding out the door to where he knew she’d be waiting. And off they’d go, laughing, to see what the day would unfold. And when they got hungry, her mother would have sandwiches and lemonade waiting.
Then it would be back outside to explore the neighborhood, it being everything within a traversable radius of their starting point. Suppers were late, after the day had cooled and activity digested. Following dinner it was time for a bath, a story, then sleep. What did you do today? his mother asked awkwardly, not sure about whom or what she was inquiring.
They had gone over to the old house on the corner, the one with boarded doors and windows, and searched for a way to get in but couldn’t find one so they went to catch pollywogs in the creek below Dennis’s house and caught a jar full and almost a frog too, but it hopped away. They stung themselves on nettles and it burned and itched and made them cry and they saw each other’s tears and started to laugh and laughed so hard they almost spilled the pollywogs. They climbed back up to the street and ran dancing through sprinklers back to his house. They climbed the Gingko tree in front and sat on the highest branches and giggled softly as people walked below, looking around to see who was laughing but, seeing no one, went on scratching their heads. They climbed down and glided on the swing hanging from the second branch. They walked along the rail of Mr. Miller’s fence, where his mother told him not to, and he didn’t fall like she said he would and when they got to the fig tree they stopped and ate figs like Mr. Miller asked him to because he was old and alone and couldn’t eat them all himself. They ran over to the school and hopped all the hopscotches there and on the sidewalks wherever they found them. They put on their skates and skated over the bumpy granite pavement on Rigg Street and they fell and she skinned her knee and he skinned his elbow but they didn’t cry and they got up and skated some more. They looked at her knee and his elbow and remembered the time they shared a rose and pricked their fingers, how they looked at the blood and without a word pressed their fingers together to make a second.
They ate sour grass and laughed. Steven said it’s sour because dogs pee on it and they were eating dog pee and it tasted good. They went up the hill to the caves and went inside and pretended they were lost and lay down like they were asleep like when children get lost and their parents call and call and look and look and when they find them they’re asleep. They slid down the hill behind the high school on sleds fashioned from flattened cardboard boxes. Their butts were sore but it was fun and the older kids laughed at them when they bounced on roots and rolled down the hill, but they didn’t care. On the way home, they pretended they were older and held hands but their hands were sticky and it wasn’t much fun and so they crossed the street into a yard of the large house by the alley and washed their hands with the hose and wondered why people hold hands. Then they saw children jumping rope and got in line and jumped but it was getting dark so they went home. What are you going to do tomorrow?, his mother asked. He didn’t know how to answer he just knew she would always be there.
Then it would be back outside to explore the neighborhood, it being everything within a traversable radius of their starting point. Suppers were late, after the day had cooled and activity digested. Following dinner it was time for a bath, a story, then sleep. What did you do today? his mother asked awkwardly, not sure about whom or what she was inquiring.
They had gone over to the old house on the corner, the one with boarded doors and windows, and searched for a way to get in but couldn’t find one so they went to catch pollywogs in the creek below Dennis’s house and caught a jar full and almost a frog too, but it hopped away. They stung themselves on nettles and it burned and itched and made them cry and they saw each other’s tears and started to laugh and laughed so hard they almost spilled the pollywogs. They climbed back up to the street and ran dancing through sprinklers back to his house. They climbed the Gingko tree in front and sat on the highest branches and giggled softly as people walked below, looking around to see who was laughing but, seeing no one, went on scratching their heads. They climbed down and glided on the swing hanging from the second branch. They walked along the rail of Mr. Miller’s fence, where his mother told him not to, and he didn’t fall like she said he would and when they got to the fig tree they stopped and ate figs like Mr. Miller asked him to because he was old and alone and couldn’t eat them all himself. They ran over to the school and hopped all the hopscotches there and on the sidewalks wherever they found them. They put on their skates and skated over the bumpy granite pavement on Rigg Street and they fell and she skinned her knee and he skinned his elbow but they didn’t cry and they got up and skated some more. They looked at her knee and his elbow and remembered the time they shared a rose and pricked their fingers, how they looked at the blood and without a word pressed their fingers together to make a second.
They ate sour grass and laughed. Steven said it’s sour because dogs pee on it and they were eating dog pee and it tasted good. They went up the hill to the caves and went inside and pretended they were lost and lay down like they were asleep like when children get lost and their parents call and call and look and look and when they find them they’re asleep. They slid down the hill behind the high school on sleds fashioned from flattened cardboard boxes. Their butts were sore but it was fun and the older kids laughed at them when they bounced on roots and rolled down the hill, but they didn’t care. On the way home, they pretended they were older and held hands but their hands were sticky and it wasn’t much fun and so they crossed the street into a yard of the large house by the alley and washed their hands with the hose and wondered why people hold hands. Then they saw children jumping rope and got in line and jumped but it was getting dark so they went home. What are you going to do tomorrow?, his mother asked. He didn’t know how to answer he just knew she would always be there.
8.
He felt something tapping on his chest. She was trying to get his attention. He turned but she was gone and the tapping grew firmer, more insistent, a pounding. Like in a nightmare, he decided to wake up.
9.
A paramedic stood over a lifeless body on a bed, a book on the floor near his feet. Gathering his equipment, placing it carefully in its case, he begins mentally composing his report: Subject, white male, late 60s, went into cardiac arrest approximately 06:00. Attempts to resuscitate failed; pronounced dead at 06:22.
[1] Tetsurō Watsuji, cited in Saul Frampton When I am Playing with My Cat, How do I know that She is not Playing with Me? P. 208. (New York, Pantheon 2011).