Chapter 4
It was a day that was turning out to be like the rest. Tarquin didn’t know if he was going or coming, or whether he had even started out. Of late, he had become more than ever unsure of whether or not anything was as it seemed. He had been reading a book he had come across in the Oxfam that claimed to make philosophy simple, although it was proving to be anything but.
Be that as it may, and not being one unafraid to have a bad idea and to act on it, Tarquin had lately taken to the streets to ask miserable-seeming people if they were truly miserable or if it was merely a pose to make them look cool. He was putting their responses into an Excel spreadsheet for analysis at a yet to be determined date. To say that he saw himself following in the questioning footsteps of Socrates would be pushing it more than a little, but he was annoying a lot of people, so it’s not as big a stretch as it might at first appear.
In ‘The Toastie’ cafe, he sat opposite Candice, who when she was not looking at her phone looked at Tarquin, although he couldn’t be sure if she was looking at him or through him at the wall. Indeed, he couldn’t be sure if it was really Candice looking at him or something that was nothing but a conglomeration of tiny particles assembled to resemble an almost human. Tarquin, in spite of himself, permitted himself an inward smile, for that described Candice more or less perfectly, except that her particles were probably larger than the average. Even she did not deny that she is a big girl.
Candice, said Tarquin, may I ask you a question?
Without looking up from her phone, Candice grunted.
Are you, he asked, as miserable as you seem? Because from where I’m sitting you look as miserable as father used to look when my mother dished up what she called shepherds’ pie, when it was something to which no shepherd worthy of the name would have given the time of day. No offence intended, either to you, or to my mother. Well, perhaps just a teeny bit to my mother..
Without looking up from her phone, Candice grunted again.
Is there any chance I can get a Yes or a No, said Tarquin. Or perhaps something more expansive? I’m putting all the replies I get to this question on to an Excel spreadsheet, but I don’t know how to record a grunt, unless I just put GRUNT. I suppose I could do that.
Without looking up from her phone, Candice said that were her grief to be thoroughly weighed, and her calamities laid together in the balances, they would be heavier than the sand of the sea, because the arrows of the Almighty were within her, and their poisons were drinking up her spirit. The terrors of God are setting themselves in array against me, she added.
Crikey, said Tarquin. Things sound a bit rough.
You betcha they are, said Candice, without looking up from her phone. Does the donkey bray when it has plenty of grass? Does the cow low when he’s having his lunch?
Sorry, you’ve lost me there, said Tarquin.
I mean, Candice went on, without looking up from her phone, can the unsavoury be eaten without salt? Does the white of an egg taste of anything, anything at all? My so-called brethren have dealt deceitfully as a brook, and as the stream of brooks they pass away. I ask you, is there iniquity in my tongue? Cannot my taste discern perverse things? I’m very pissed off, to be honest.
Oh, sorry to hear that, said Tarquin. Is there anything I can do?
You could get me another coffee, said Candice, without looking up from her phone.
Okay, said Tarquin, and went off to the counter, wondering if Excel was going to be up to the job. He might have to check and see if there was any other more sophisticated software he could use. But it would have to be free. Or he could just not include Candice in his survey results. That was probably the easiest option.
Conrad Titmuss
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