certain institutions in the French Quarter, guarantee that … gentlemen … I am convinced I express your own most dearly held convictions when … when … when …’ The speaker lost his fluency and fixed me with a bewildered, glassy stare. I helped him out of the embarrassing situation by taking my leave with bows and expressions of thanks. It all left me with no very high opinion of the Archive. I never disturbed its peace and quiet again.
This experience was something that only happened to new arrivals. Following that route you would never get anywhere. Extremely urgent requests were sent back for the most trivial error in filling out the form. With absolute certainty you could count on that body thwarting your plans. Thus I did receive my ticket for an audience; the next day it was followed by a letter notifying me that it was invalid.
This administration was merely a facade. Take it away and things would have been no better and no worse in the Dream Realm. The bulging files, bought in from all over the world, had nothing at all to do with the Dream state. The truth was that its dry-as-dust atmosphere was needed to cultivate one particular species, homo officialis , which contributed to the diversity of the whole.
The real government was elsewhere. After these experiences I gave up the idea of visiting Patera for the time being. Anyway, I had other matters to occupy my attention.
V
In my mind’s eye I can still see the house where we lived, as clearly as if it were only a few weeks ago. On the ground floor was the barber’s shop. He was a blond, very well read young man, a bachelor, with a gold pince-nez and a passion for philosophy. He pursued it by giving his ideas free rein to romp around to their heart’s content. His knowledge was profuse and he didn’t hold back with it. ‘There are things I could tell you!’ he would say with a piercing look.
God knows what he thought I was, but at the beginning I enjoyed his confidence. ‘Kant, that’s the big mistake! Ha! You can’t sail round the thing-in-itself just like that. The world is above all an ethical problem and no one’s going to persuade me otherwise. Space courts time, you see; and the point of union, the present, is death, or something else you could just as well posit in its place–the deity, if you like. And right in the middle, the great miracle of the incarnation: the object. Which is nothing but the exterior of the subject. Those, my dear sir, are fundamental propositions. There you have my whole theory.’
‘Ali yes, but then, you’re a thinker’, I would generally say in acknowledgment.
He spent all day, every day, in these rarefied spheres and the barber’s shop would have suffered badly had it not been for Giovanni Battista. He was only a monkey, but what a monkey! He was an uncommonly gifted and ambitious beast. With an assistant like that you could quite happily devote yourself to the problems of ethics. Giovanni had started working in the shop on the lowest rung. His talent had been revealed one day when he had worked up a lather without having to be shown. The barber found him a willing learner and exploited his skill. His swift and sure hand with the razor was famous throughout the district. On Wednesdays and Saturdays he even made home visits to private clients. We often used to see him, bag in hand, going down Long Street in his earnest, businesslike shuffle. More honest and reliable than any man in the world, he was the soul of the hairdressing establishment. There was only one thing that pained his master: he had no interest in philosophy.
‘You’re a Stoic!’ the barber would shout after giving him a long lecture. He still secretly hoped to lead him to higher things.
I must admit that whenever I think back to my first year in the Dream Realm I am overcome with sadness. Mostly things went well, I had some of my best times during that year. With the stimulation of all the new experiences, my work simply flowed. At
This experience was something that only happened to new arrivals. Following that route you would never get anywhere. Extremely urgent requests were sent back for the most trivial error in filling out the form. With absolute certainty you could count on that body thwarting your plans. Thus I did receive my ticket for an audience; the next day it was followed by a letter notifying me that it was invalid.
This administration was merely a facade. Take it away and things would have been no better and no worse in the Dream Realm. The bulging files, bought in from all over the world, had nothing at all to do with the Dream state. The truth was that its dry-as-dust atmosphere was needed to cultivate one particular species, homo officialis , which contributed to the diversity of the whole.
The real government was elsewhere. After these experiences I gave up the idea of visiting Patera for the time being. Anyway, I had other matters to occupy my attention.
V
In my mind’s eye I can still see the house where we lived, as clearly as if it were only a few weeks ago. On the ground floor was the barber’s shop. He was a blond, very well read young man, a bachelor, with a gold pince-nez and a passion for philosophy. He pursued it by giving his ideas free rein to romp around to their heart’s content. His knowledge was profuse and he didn’t hold back with it. ‘There are things I could tell you!’ he would say with a piercing look.
God knows what he thought I was, but at the beginning I enjoyed his confidence. ‘Kant, that’s the big mistake! Ha! You can’t sail round the thing-in-itself just like that. The world is above all an ethical problem and no one’s going to persuade me otherwise. Space courts time, you see; and the point of union, the present, is death, or something else you could just as well posit in its place–the deity, if you like. And right in the middle, the great miracle of the incarnation: the object. Which is nothing but the exterior of the subject. Those, my dear sir, are fundamental propositions. There you have my whole theory.’
‘Ali yes, but then, you’re a thinker’, I would generally say in acknowledgment.
He spent all day, every day, in these rarefied spheres and the barber’s shop would have suffered badly had it not been for Giovanni Battista. He was only a monkey, but what a monkey! He was an uncommonly gifted and ambitious beast. With an assistant like that you could quite happily devote yourself to the problems of ethics. Giovanni had started working in the shop on the lowest rung. His talent had been revealed one day when he had worked up a lather without having to be shown. The barber found him a willing learner and exploited his skill. His swift and sure hand with the razor was famous throughout the district. On Wednesdays and Saturdays he even made home visits to private clients. We often used to see him, bag in hand, going down Long Street in his earnest, businesslike shuffle. More honest and reliable than any man in the world, he was the soul of the hairdressing establishment. There was only one thing that pained his master: he had no interest in philosophy.
‘You’re a Stoic!’ the barber would shout after giving him a long lecture. He still secretly hoped to lead him to higher things.
I must admit that whenever I think back to my first year in the Dream Realm I am overcome with sadness. Mostly things went well, I had some of my best times during that year. With the stimulation of all the new experiences, my work simply flowed. At
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