Pinball, 1973

dense fog or during a typhoon warning, but very few vessels ever availed themselves of the beacon any more. And even if they did, there was only an outside

“Then you don’t have any to lose.” While she gave that some more thought, I polished off the rest of the spaghetti. “Little meaning is there to the things one loses. The glory of things meant to be lost is not true glory. Or so they say.”

“Like the song says, rainy days and Mondays always get ya down.”

“People go through changes, sure. But up to now, I never did get what those changes were supposed to mean.” The Rat bit his lip and looked down at the table pensively. “Then it came to me. Whatever step forward, whatever the change, it’s really only a stage of decay. Does that sound so off target?”

You see, whatever I’ve wanted I’ve always been able to get. But whenever I get that something, I manage to spoil something else. You know what I mean?”

“Kind of.”

“Nobody believes me, but it’s true. I only realized it myself three years ago. That’s when I thought, better just not want anything any more.”

She nodded. “And so that’s how you plan to spend the rest of your life?”

“Probably. At least I won’t be bothering anybody.”

“If you really feel that way,” she said, “why not live in a shoe box?”

A charming idea.

“Me, I’ve seen forty-five years, and I’ve only figured out one thing. That’s this: if a person would just make the effort, there’s something to be learned from everything. From even the most ordinary, commonplace things, there’s always something you can learn. I read somewhere that they say there’s even different philosophies in razors. Fact is, if it weren’t for that, nobody’d survive.”

“The obligation of philosophy,” I drew on my Kant, “is to eradicate illusions born of misunderstanding. Oh, switch-panel! Rest ye at the bottom of the reservoir.”

“If you look at things from a distance,” I said as I swallowed some lobster, “most anything looks beautiful.”

It’s not your fault, she said. To which I only kept shaking my head. You’re not to blame, you gave it your all, didn’t you?

52

No way, said I. Left flipper, top transfer, ninth target. Not even close. I didn’t get a single thing right. I hardly moved a finger. But I could have, if I’d been on the ball. There’s only so much a person can do, she said.

Maybe so, said I, but that doesn’t change a thing

Twenty-five years just to come to this, and for what? the Rat asked himself. Don’t know.
Good question, but no answer. Good questions never have answers.