StudyMe
Well
Researched, too well researched…
Jane
shut the heavy tome with a sigh,
falling back into the comfortable chair. Exhaustion
plagued her eyes,
leaking backwards into her brain, causing the room to unfocus. It
had
been almost two days now; she hadn?t been able to put it down.
It was gripping,
positively fascinating. Shed never come across
anything like it, at least not since
graduate school. Was it twelfth
century Italian? Jennifer, the student intern, was
supposed to see to
that, but she hadn?t answered her calls, hadn?t shown up to
work
for a week… Jane supposed she had dropped out like most
interns did, when they
realized that work out in the real world
without pay was no fun. ?fun?? she remembered
a
conversation with her aging mother, alone in a tiny cramped hospital
bed. ?why, i
cant seem to remember fun…? sure, she had
been senile, but, like certain children?s
truths, disturbingly
accurate.
The phone rang; it
was late. Who could
be calling at this hour? Her agent?s voice rang in her
ear,
wanting to know when he could expect another chapter. A violent
insomniac.
But, that was part of what made him one of the best.
?look, Jerry, i told you,
i?m going as fast as i can…?
she protested, listening to his squawking
insistence?s. It
wasn?t all his fault for being such a nag; the research seemed
to
have spread, taken on a life of its own. But the scholar in her
was louder than his
threats of abandonment: it wouldn?t let her
cut, it wouldn?t let her outline or
summarize. Perhaps it had
been stupid to attempt such a generalized topic. But
historical
revisionism was an important phenomena, she thought, possibly one of
the
most important for the twentieth century.
Reaching a
temporary truce, she hung up,
returning to the book. It was a kind of early medical
text, a
precursor to modern psychology. There were many occult references,
typical
of the time period. The interesting thing was that it dealt
with various forms of
psychosis. It was one thing for an
anthropologist to dig up old, dead bones but
another world entirely
for the anthropologist of culture. Psychology certainly had a
close
relationship with historical reclamation movements, especially in the
sixties
when leading feminists turned to Freud and Jung as
methodologists for a
quasi-empirical activist reclamation of a
historical minority. But the archaic
language of this text dealt with
astrological terms, and alchemical transformations…
it was
important not to interpret them too metaphorically. Rubbing her eyes,
she
glanced at the clock and yawned. Carefully storing the valuable
book in her locked
drawer, she turned the lights off. Her vision
played tricks on her, a ghost image of
the room floated in the
blackness. She blinked, annoyed, but it wouldn?t go away
until
she was in the bright hallway. She bid goodnight to the guard and
walked out
into the cool night air.
The light wind chilled her
as she
walked, looking for a taxi. She shivered, pulling her coat tighter
around
her. The words and images of the old Italian tome whirled in
her tired brain. She
frowned, annoyed. Why couldn?t she find a
taxi?? they were usually swarming around…
she checked her watch
again, she had forgotten how late it was.
CLASS="first-line-indent">She started to walk home, since it was
in the direction of
one of the main avenues. Even in a city of three
million people, there were still side
streets which lay deserted and
calm, left behind by the main flow of traffic. A
strangely dressed
man huddled atop a vent, trying to sleep. She increased her
pace.
Something from the book popped into her mind, one of the passages
of
alchemical interpretation. She wondered if she had translated it
correctly…
the distraction of the senses, or was it diffusion?
CLASS="first-line-indent">The idea that historical revisionism
could somehow be linked
to early theories of mass hallucination
rituals was very interesting to her. It might
even be a good way to
organize the scheme of the book, though she winced, imagining
how the
critics might also have a field day with it… perhaps it was too
risky…
if she could track down at least some more relevant
material. Damn, she swore to
herself, remembering. If Jennifer was
this flaky, she?d have to find another intern.
She watched the
deadline receding into the future. Turning at the corner of
Broadway,
she came up short with a small yelp.
?Scuse me, ma?am, dint mean
to scare ya..? a tall
rag-dressed man spoke, sending a cloud of alcohol fumes at her.
She
said nothing, but calmly moved to step past him, when he moved in
front of her,
leering with a toothless grin. Damn him, she thought,
he was playing with me. Turning,
she surveyed the empty streets for
any signs of life or cars… nothing.
?I
aint gonta hurtcha ma?am, i was jus wonderin if you
could spare some change for a poor
bum like me, out on the streets on
sucha cold night…? he said, making a puppydog
face. It looked
more like an experiment gone wrong, Jane thought, his crooked,
gapped
teeth and raw weathered face. She took a step back, searching in her
purse.
?thank you very much, ma?am,? he bowed as she
dropped a quarter in his grimy palm. ?it
wont be forgotten.?
she walked past him, turning to look for cars… but he
wasn?t
there. Confused, she looked around… the nearest building was a good
twenty
feet away. Shaking her head, she continued walking, keeping an
ear peeled for traffic.
It was surprisingly deserted out.
When she was in
graduate school, shed
volunteered a at a homeless shelter, helping out with the soup
and
paperwork. It had been an important time in her life, dealing with
all the
problems of a non-profit organization… large corporations
all seemed to have
incredibly complex criteria for giving away
pennies to charity. And dealing with a
group of paranoid, troubled
people was no easy task in itself. Each case was
different, each
person had their own variety of troubles, which seemed to build
and
coalesce into a living, writhing impenetrable mass. The politics of
difference
which had arisen had many of the same problems as
mid-century existentialist
humanism… the difficulty was in getting
everyone to work towards a common human
goal, while stressing the
equal importance of maintaining a variety of such goals.
Only in a
perfectly organized situation could the task be attempted, and,
she
smiled wryly to herself, remembering her past, that was playing right
into the
hands of the very power structures she was working to
change.
CLASS="first-line-indent">Lost in her thoughts, she realized she
was almost home.
There was something nice about walking so late, she
thought, although it wasn?t a
habit she wanted to keep. It was
far too dangerous in the city. Eventually, she made
it to her bed,
collapsing, welcoming the sleep.
to be continued!