"Notice things. What was that just went by the window?"
* * * * * * * * * *
Still the most remarkable part of this interaction between Lew and Nate is that Nate noticed a guy who notices things using no evidence. But I guess that's why he's the boss of White City Investigations!
"What?"
* * * * * * * * * *
"What?"?! You're telling me Lew's got a visual photographic memory but he has an inability to comprehend conversations? What is he confused about?! Here's how the conversation went:
"How many cigars are in that box?"
"Seventeen."
"Not many people can do that?"
"What?"
No, no. I'm being too cynical! I suppose Lew could have meant, "What? Count?" or "What? Recognize cigars?" or "What? Perform tricks at the request of strangers?" I suppose the "What?" is supposed to indicate that Lew's visual memory is such an ingrained part of him that he doesn't realize what he just did was unique or special.
"You know not everybody can do that."
* * * * * * * * * *
Not everybody can tell how many cigars are in a box after a quick glance. Know something else not everybody can do? Recognize a person who can tell how many cigars are in a box after a quick glance after a quick glance.
"Seventeen," said Lew without any hesitation the other man could detect.
* * * * * * * * * *
"Seventeen. There's seventeen, George. Tell me about the cigars, George. How many are we going to have? Say 'Seventeen, Lenny.' Right, George? And we can roll them and humidify them and smoke them?"
*BLAM*
He watched Lew for a while, just short of staring, before asking, with a nod at the display, "That box on the bottom shelf—how many colorado-claros left in it? Without looking, I mean."
* * * * * * * * * *
What kind of super observation skills does it take for a person to observe that another person has super observation skills? This guy just ran into Lew and he's asking him to perform Rainman tricks on fatter, juicier versions of toothpicks? Why would he suspect that Lew knew how many cigars were left in a box after having glanced at the box briefly? And if you have super observation skills like that, why would you need somebody else with the same skills?
Oh wait! I know the answer to that question! In fact, I knew the answer to that question long before I rhetorically asked it! If you're running a detective agency, you need as many people with super observation skills as possible. I don't know if this is Nate Privett because I don't remember if he's plump and dapper but I'm sure he's, at least, a business associate. We're finally getting to the story about how Lew Basnight found himself working for White City Investigations.
A plump and dapper individual was in buying domestic cheroots.
* * * * * * * * * *
How dapper can he be if he's buying "domestic cheroots"? That's like calling a guy who just popped in to the convenience store to pick up a six pack of Budweiser "fancy."
Whenever I hear/read the word dapper, I think of this: "To speak of it is not too dapper; it was invented by a man named Crapper" from Scavenger Hunt. It's probably why my initial reaction to the word is to think it has to do with attitude and demeanor rather than dress. Which you already knew after reading my initial comment on the line while probably thinking, "A guy can buy cheap cigars and still look nice while doing so, you stupid twat." And to that, I must say, "Touché! I am, in fact, a stupid twat!"
Anyway, it's 1893 and this guy can afford a cigar, even if it's a cheap one. Isn't everybody in that position sort of required by social contract in the 1800s to look "dapper"? How horrified would the people of the 19th century be to see the bullshit clothing modern people wear to walk around in public? And almost everybody sans hat! The shock! The horror!
It was that early hour in cigar stores all over town when boys are fetching in bricks that have been soaking all night in buckets of water, to be put into the display cases to keep the inventory humidified.
* * * * * * * * * *
Is this a morning wood joke? Maybe combined with a wet dream joke? Boys soaking in "water" all night? The early hour at the cigar store. Keeping the "inventory" "humidified."
Ha ha! I'm laughing so hard! It's just like my penis's teenage years!
Hmm. Now I'm doubting myself. What if this wasn't a metaphor for morning boners and wet dreams? What if it's just Pynchon not wanting the 1800s cigar store research he did go to waste? I suppose it could be both if you're desperate enough to read as large a percentage of Pynchon as you can get away with as penis jokes.
Ha ha. "Humidified." So true!
He must have descended to the sidewalk and entered a cigar store.
* * * * * * * * * *
Oh! Oh! Cigars are phalluses! It's been too long since we've had a good Pynchon penis pun! Did I just say in my last post that we live too long? Well, I lived just the right amount! I hope Pynchon doesn't disappoint me! I'm like an athlete on a Grecian urn right now!
But before we get to whatever boner joke Pynchon has up his sleeve, I should probably think about this line. I guess what it's saying is that in Lew's moment of clarity, in those seconds of reverie of the strange light and the odd feeling of revelation that descended upon him, Lew had a moment of highway hypnosis. But as a pedestrian and not as a driver and/or passenger on public transportation. He sort of sleep walked off the carriage/bus/"L" train or whatever and wandered into the cigar store. Is it because he's found his way back into his furrow and the cigar store is his destiny? Or is this just more of his delirium?
He understood that things were exactly what they were. It seemed more than he could bear.
* * * * * * * * * *
Occasionally I'll break my "One Line at a Time" rule because the lines need to remain together. A semicolon would have been nice here, Pynchon! Maybe think of bloggers who will eventually get sued into taking down their blog because it's reprinting your whole book one line at a time when you write your next novel, okay?!
Lew's moment of clarity, written simply, and heartbreakingly familiar.
There's a feeling I've been having lately, at 49, that I truly never expected to feel: humans live too long. My entire life was always plagued by the idea that our lifespans are so short. And yet, lately, it seems like all the color has worn off my surroundings. It's like being in a library where every book has been read. And it's realizing that a large percentage of the other humans on this planet are selfish, violent bullies stripped of empathy and compassion.
I re-watched The Hobbit: Battle of the Five Armies last night and was gutted by the elves going to war. Before one of them even died, I was heartbroken by the fact one of them might. How does one justify the sacrifice of immortality for a brief and bloody conflict? I absolutely didn't judge Thranduil when he was ready to walk away from the war. A man is sacrificing maybe twenty or thirty years; an elf is gambling eternity. Sure, a life is a life. But Thranduil is fucking right when he asks what the difference is if a dwarf dies today or in ten years or in a hundred. I was on his side so hard even though he was meant to be seen as a selfish isolationist not willing to do what was needed to save the world.
I had a dream once where an old woman was asking me about my cat, Judas. Eventually she asked if I'd kill my pet to save the world. And I easily and quickly answered, "No." I told that dream to my cousin and, years later, she asked me if I remembered that dream I had. And I said, "Yes, of course." She said, "You were right." She hadn't thought so at the time. But she eventually came to realize the truth of it. There is only so much we can give for this world; some times we are asked too much. Not only would I not have killed Judas to save the world; I would have given my life to save my best friend.
I miss him so Goddamned much.
Maybe it's not that we live too long. Maybe 49 isn't the problem. Maybe it's that my grief over a damn cat simply overwhelmed me and stole the colors from my world. Maybe Tauriel's grief of Kili, and the loss of love, and the need to have love taken from her, affected me more than I want to admit. Maybe immortality is too much to bear when heartbreak and loss exist. Of course, that's part of the reason Thranduil decides to abandon the battle. He's not an unfeeling king. Tauriel has lost one dwarf she recently fell in love with and it's too much to bear; how much then is Thranduil suffering upon looking at his friends lying mutilated all across the battlefield?
Heartbreak is too much to bear and yet, at the same time, it's entirely worth it. Because it's inevitable when one allows themselves to love so much.
"It seemed more than he could bear." Such a simple sentence full of power. What a great description of life and everything in it.
Sorry for rambling.
Lew, having his moment of clarity, seeming almost like a mystical revelation, actually winds up doing the opposite: he sees through the veil of hope and magic and possibility to stare the mundane world directly in the face. This is it, Lew. This is life. Troth is gone. Live with it. And he thinks, "I don't know if I can."
