“…and when you talk about happiness, well I look to the fool on the
hill
“Why” no longer mattered. I had given up conscious search for the answers
to questions that had plagued me in days gone by. There was something different
in the air that morning, though I couldn’t quite place it. I had no destination
in mind as I walked down the lonely stretch of beach. It was an aimlessness
I had always claimed to want, though it seemed a frightening concept to
others. For them, to have no destination or goal in life was unthinkable,
as it seemed to negate life itself. I however, had long concluded that
it was but a stop on my journey to the much-glorified quest for peace of
mind. Yet it would be a lie to say that I thought the search for serenity
easy. I was afraid, largely of discovering that the search was infinitely
more enjoyable than the find. Today, I was just happy walking.
After walking alone a while, I came upon the first semblance of civilisation.
A young man crossed me on his daily run, smiling politely as he caught
my eye. A child further down the beach busied herself in the judicious
construction of a sandcastle I feared would remain unfinished by the turning
of the tide. Strains of music wafted by, riding on the wind which blew through my hair. Humanity never comes in small doses, I mused. Occasional visits,
however, were necessary, and admittedly not an entirely unpleasant prescription.
Solitary confinement, voluntary as mine may be, did get mundane sometimes.
The waves broke softer as my feet walked me toward the music. ‘The Banana
Boat’ was my favourite shack. It was far enough from the conglomeration
of others on the beach to attract none but the wandering loners and the
occasional adventurous family. Admittedly, its location did not speak much
of the proprietor’s business acumen; yet, the food and music were much
to my taste. More often than not, on days when my books and poetry did
not succeed in dissuading me from venturing out, I would satisfy myself
with a quiet meal here. The library of an odd hundred books or so still
succeeded in coming up with novel surprises. It was kept updated by the
more frequent diners who would exchange their own books for any that interested
them in the small collection here. Not much attention though was paid to
consistency of subject matter. So much so in fact that I had once considered
enrolling in a correspondence course in French to get myself acquainted
with the astonishingly fast moving section of books in the language, many
of which were by familiar authors translations of whose works I had read.
I sat down at my favourite table and bided my time between Emanuel’s
sincere ‘G’morn’ and his finding time off staring at his toes to amble
over and take my order. In my initial visits, I thought him rather obtuse,
till I realised he was simply shy and took as much time making acquaintances
as he did with the few other things he cared to. He was in actuality quite
intelligent and kept himself occupied with the books in the library. On
one of my rare evening jaunts, I discovered that apart from being an avid
reader, he was also an expert surfer. Surfing was one of many skills possessed
by a majority of the locals which I had sadly never found the desire to
muster up enough of an inclination to pursuing as a hobby.
This morning, with my Apple Pie and honey, Emanuel chose to serve, in
a highball glass, a concoction he claimed was his own creation and happily
decided that I must be the first to try. He called his experiment ‘No Man’s
Cocktail’ and was willing to disclose that it contained “two parts Bailey's
Irish Cream, one part Frangelico, half a banana and half part cream over
crushed ice”. With a wide grin on his tanned face and in a comically hushed
tone, he spoke also of a secret ingredient, which I suspected strongly
was simply peanut butter.
As I delighted my taste buds with the apple pie and cocktail, I allowed
myself to admit that this was undoubtedly Emanuel’s best creation so far.
I revoked also the decision to no longer be his guinea pig, which I had
made last Friday when he thought he had discovered ‘Foster’s Beer Flambé’.
The music was undoubtedly another reason I enjoyed my visits here. As I
consumed the last crumbs of pie, a track I recognised from old as the soundtrack
to M*A*S*H began playing on the contraption Emanuel delighted in calling
a stereo system. I mulled over the words,
By the time I allowed myself to get up for a dip in the ocean after
what was assuredly my best meal in memory, the song was drawing to a close. The waves slapped me higher as I waded deeper into the waters mirroring
the sky above. A strange combination of the reflection and the clear water
made it difficult to ascertain the horizon as I swum towards it. Beyond
the waves now, I could hear the surf break on the beach as I lay back and
contemplated again questions I had not asked in the many years since I
had chosen to become a philosopher’s disgrace. A glimpse of some undiscovered
reality bubbled a thought in my mind as a cloud passed overhead. The bubble burst and I dived into the ocean within.
Who is picking flowers, blowing bubbles, rolling ‘round with Jill
You see, I am no finagler, but the concept's gone awry
And I see much too much redemption in my slice of American pie
I walked barefoot by an ocean and a snail said to me,
"If I was a human being, then would I have quality?
I said, "I do not know the answers, and I just don't know what's
right,
And I may only have the questions, I may never see the light…"
I am no siddhartha, but my soul has gone awry
And I may never reach nirvana in my state of American pie.”
‘Through early morning fog I see,
Visions of the things to be,
The pains that are withheld for me,
I realize and I can see...’
‘A brave man once requested me,
To answer questions that are key.
Is it to be or not to be?
And I replied 'Oh why ask me?'
'Cause suicide is painless.
It brings on many changes.
And I can take or leave it if I please.
...And you can do the same thing if you choose.’