Page 88 - NyghtVision Magazine Volume 3 #2

Although I haven't known him long, I learned that invites me to disclose a similar or parallel
quickly that conversations with him are nev- experience. And if I don't have one, then the
er linear. They resemble three or four balls of point of contrast becomes the next focal point,
multi-colored yarn, twisted together in a rath- the next step in the dance.
er random way. One woven thread of the con-
versation leads to another of a different color, However this time, the question never came.
and that one in turn leads to yet another, which He simply filled his cup with more tea and add-
might eventually return to the initial color. En- ed some cream, occasionally looking up at me
gaging him in conversation requires a certain as he did so. Then, he took a sip.
amount of internal discipline—lest I drift away
or lose track of which color thread currently Still, I waited.
binds our conversation.
I resorted to doing as he did—I added tea to my
So, with a logic only he possessed, in true wave- cup, added some sugar, and brought it to my
like form, he made a connection between his lips. He brought the teacup to his lips again,
history with women and his wandering. His looking over its edge to catch my eye as I filled
point being—I am guessing—that for some rea- my cup for a second time. "Come on," his eyes
son, when he selected his wife from the pool of said. "I don't need to ask the obvious. You know
all the women he was dating, he no longer felt what I want to know, and still you wait for me to
the need to wander. As I learned early on with ask. But some questions don't need to be asked,
him, I just let whatever logic bound his story to- shouldn’t have to be asked…"
gether speak to me.
Not a shadow stirs beneath the darkness.
And then it happened. In the moment I didn’t I have been forgiven, it seems.

see it coming, but as I relive the conversation I
feel I should have, because it was as obvious as Thoth is deeply asleep. He purrs as he lies
the intrusion of the waiter bringing fresh pots curled into a ball upon my lap. Earlier, upon
of tea. My friend stopped talking and focused my return home, he had chided me from a safe
his attention on the cup of oolong tea that sat distance as he ran across my study to the black
on the table in front of him. leather couch where I usually sit and work. He
was upset enough to chide me but he'd missed
I knew what he was going to ask me. Really, I me enough to let me know he wanted to curl up
did. I knew it as surely as I know that one day, on my lap.
I shall die. In the Dance of Conversation, it
was the only question he could ask—unless, of Instead of setting to work, however, I elected to
course, he decided to spin the yarn of our dis- go to the kitchen to brew a pot of tea. I do that,
course in another, all together different, direc- it seems, when I need time to settle in, time to
tion. But, he wasn't about to do that. I know him "gather my thoughts." (A curious metaphor I’ve
well enough to know he wasn't going to pick up never really understood since it implies a ran-
another thread. And so, I waited for him to ask domness that doesn’t characterize how I think.)
"The Question," because this is what he does. There is something about the ritual of brewing
(And after all, we were still in that stage of The tea, I suppose, some part of the process that
Dance where we are comparing notes about our calms my restlessness. Although nothing, not
lives, laying out our personal histories.) It’s typ- even a steaming pot of Lapsang Souchong, can
ical, really. At the end of one of the notes about still it. On cool nyghts, I am given to watching
his life, he asks a question, the kind of question the curly darkness rise in front of me as I cra-

88 | the heart is a restless wanderer