Beatrice and Virgil - Yann Martel [41]
A howl, a black cat, words and occasional silence, a hand gesture, shirts with one arm missing, a prayer, a set speech at the start of every parliamentary session, a song, a food dish, a float in a parade, commemorative porcelain shoes for the people, tennis lessons, plain truth common nouns, onelongword, lists, empty good cheer expressed in extremis, witness words, rituals and pilgrimages, private and public acts of justice and homage, a facial expression, a second hand gesture, a verbal expression, [ sic ] dramas, 68 Nowolipki Street, games for Gustav, a tattoo, an object designated for a year, aukitz.
It was mumbo jumbo. Heard but not read, and heard only once, the words vanishing into silence before he could seize their meaning, Henry retained hardly anything and understood even less. He didn't know how to react, so he said nothing. But the taxidermist wasn't saying anything either.
"I didn't get the last one," Henry said, at length.
"Aukitz, a-u-k-i-t-z."
"It sounds like German, but I don't recognize the word."
"No, it's not. It's a kind of onelongword."
"It doesn't seem that long to me, only six letters."
"No, that's not it."
The taxidermist turned the page and pointed with his finger at a word in the middle of it: onelongword.
"What does it mean?"
"It's one of Beatrice's ideas."
He searched and found:
"A scene follows where they think they've been found, but they're wrong. They're still safe. They come back to onelongword."
"Say that one again," Henry said.
The taxidermist nodded, acknowledging that Beatrice and Henry had the same opinion of Virgil's onelongword.
"Aukitz is a variation on a onelongword. Beatrice proposes that the word be printed in every book, magazine and newspaper, in a spot conspicuous or discreet, depending on the wishes of the author or publisher, to indicate that the language within is knowing of the Horrors."
"And all the other items in the list, this sewing kit for the Shirt, have the same purpose, to make things knowing?"
"Yes, exactly."
"Can I see the list, please?"
The taxidermist hesitated, but then passed it to Henry.
"Thank you," Henry said, managing to check any outward sign of surprise. He could barely believe it. He was certain the taxidermist would snatch the page back before he had time to read it. Finally he would stop the flow of the taxidermist's words and have them before his eyes, fixed and immobile, like one of his mounted animals. The words were lightly indented into the page, creating a Braille-like embossment on the reverse side, the result of being mechanically typed.
The list was laid out in a column:
A Horrors' Sewing Kit
a howl,
a black cat,
words and occasional silence,
a hand gesture,
shirts with one arm missing,
a prayer,
a set speech at the start of every parliamentary session,
a song,
a food dish,
a float in a parade,
commemorative porcelain shoes for the people,
tennis lessons,
plain truth common nouns,
onelongword,
lists,
empty good cheer expressed in extremis,
witness words,
rituals and pilgrimages,
private and public acts of justice and homage,
a facial expression,
a second hand gesture,
a verbal expression, [sic] dramas,
68 Nowolipki Street,
games for Gustav,
a tattoo,
an object designated for a year,
aukitz.
The full stop after the last item had perforated the page. The list had a curious poetry to it, an anti-poetry of the odd and the oddly juxtaposed, of the familiar and the strange. Henry's eyes stopped for a moment on an item towards the end of the list: 68 Nowolipki Street. The address tugged at his memory, but he couldn't tell why. He moved on. Clearly the taxidermist felt very strongly about this list and Henry was expected to ask questions about it. But he sighed inwardly. To tell a story through a list . It wouldn't be any more killing to an audience if he sat on a stage and started reading from the phone book. Henry arbitrarily picked an item.
"What are 'plain truth common nouns'?" he asked.
"They're judgments that