Imaginary Dinner Party, Part Fourteen
Oversharing
By Lynn Crawford
Some people could look at a mud puddle and see an ocean with ships.
–Zora Neal Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God, 1937
I don’t see what takes place a few meters from me: I don’t notice, for example, that cars are parking.
–Georges Perec, Species of Spaces and Other Pieces, 1974
I’m not a woman, but the light that falls on this gate, on this ground.
–Virginia Woolf, The Waves, 1931
Home(s)
Karl built a ladder for us to enter and exit the (previously mentioned) home he built for me in the trees with floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with some of my books. He made a second ladder and (much smaller) dwelling in a neighboring tree. All four of the walls in that single room are windows. From them, I see trees, sky, and, in the right position, directly into the larger space I call home. This second, one-room structure holds nothing but a chair and table (for the water or apple I might bring), a rug, several (different-sized) pillows, as well as a telescope for viewing the landscape and, when adjusted, the shelved books in my home. This allows me to peruse them (at least their spines which, depending on the design, includes titles) from a distance. The pillows are for decoration and for me to hold or to sit or rest my head on.
Water
The sea at the edge of (our) town is mysteriously pristine from the shore to a few miles out, where it gets dirty. Past that region, conditions once again return to sparkling. Yesterday, Karl and I passed through the in-between area, stinking of petrol, filled with plastic, floating logs, decaying sea life, and a metal chest, which we considered pulling in—even opening—until Karl realized it might be a coffin and we agreed to just let it be.
Vessels and Pirates
While sailing, we regularly encounter boats that (we guess) carry secret cargo. Some are sleek, speedy, navigated by helmsmen in silk neck scarves and high-end protective eyewear. Others, brightly painted, blast pre-recorded piano and trumpet music, evoking time travel, cheerful dolphins, and pretty mermaids. Another might be motorless, sail-reliant, led by a moody captain who teaches his crew ways to battle storms and robbers while keeping the ship on course to deliver the cargo. Then there is the long, low vessel, whose crew prowls for bodies to steal, confine, and sell.
Combat
Some captains train their crew in weaponry for attack and defense. Karl and I took this as a tip in preparation for our sea missions and are so grateful we did. Recently I was lassoed by someone not on a boat but in a helicopter. It happened so quickly. At first I thought it might be a friend having one on because I was sitting on the bow, looking up at the sky rather than where we were going, and Karl was occupied with a tiller malfunction. I was wrong, but thanks to our training I responded in a way that was effective and did not—in fact, still does not—make me feel terrible. Here is that scene:
After I looked up at the helicopter, thinking it may be a visiting friend, some thing hit my head, just as some other thing tugged my torso. Looking down, I saw and caught a rope that was fast making its way up to my shoulders. Just before it reached my neck I tugged hard enough to loosen and remove it from my body, then lassoed and destabilized the perpetrator now on our boat, who was facing me and about to move us into the long boat waiting to take off. Effectively harnessed, I steered him toward our boat’s edge and briefly dangled him over the water (known for shark infestation), just long enough to hear him gasp before pulling him back on board, putting my hands on his shoulders, looking into his eyes, and saying Stop.
Home(s)
I wanted, and am happy with, the second, one-room space with a telescope to view my books at home. Having it makes no sense, yet I remain appreciative of and amazed at the abundance it brings me.
For some, inspiration is surfing, or hiking through mountains, smelling an alpine forest, or watching a solar eclipse. I agree, but the very best, for me, emerges when viewing my shelved, organized volumes at home or through the telescope in the one-room space Karl made for me. I am not reading the books or even touching book bindings or pages; just seeing their spines, revisiting the ones I have read, wondering which volume to visit next. I make sure to have at least one uninterrupted block of time with them daily. Sometimes, I am so happy to sit and revisit their landscapes, romances, rhythms, and our history. For example, once, as a child, I was listening to adults speak at our parents’ dinner table and heard an old family friend say, “Reading in no way obliges us to understand.”1 That line, I am pretty sure, accounts for me falling in love with books and, later, Karl. The first time we met he spoke about fishing, which he did regularly, thankfully, happily, and that he never, once has eaten or would eat fish, adding, “If I had a choice between dying or eating fish I’d choose death.” I knew we had bonded although I did not yet know how deeply.
1. Jacques Lacan, On Feminine Sexuality, the Limits of Love and Knowledge: The Seminar of Jacques Lacan, Book XX: Encore. Translated by Bruce Fink. W. W. Norton & Company; First Edition, 1999.
Lynn Crawford’s books include Simply Separate People (2002), Fortification Resort (2005), Shankus & Kitto: A Saga (2016), and Paula Regossy (2020). She is currently working on her next novel, Closely Touched Things. An excerpt from that book, Take Away From the Total, was published in issue no. one of Three Fold.