Oh hell. Not only was it C.W. who walked in, he happened to
choose one of his favorite adolescent forms. I call it “Curious Carl.” He
plopped down beside me, rested a pair of dirty sneakers on the freshly cleaned
coffee table and said, “Hey Big Dope. Whatcha doing?” as if the earphones I wore failed to
provide a sufficient clue.
I raised one earphone partly above my ear. “Listening to
music.”
“Oh. What?”
“Gustav Mahler.”
“You were listening to him yesterday.”
I drew a deep breath. “That was Symphony Number Two. This is
Number Three.”
“He wrote more than one?”
“He completed nine.”
“Just like that German guy.”
“Just like Beethoven.”
He said, “Why?”
“Why did they write nine each?”
“No. Why did you choose this one?”
“I’ve decided to listen to all nine in order. One day at a
time.”
“Why?”
“It gives me a break from your questions. That is nice in
itself.”
“Why?”
“Don’t you have something to do?”
“Have they ever used music to kill people?”
That startled me. “Why of course not.” I stopped. “At least
I don’t’ think so.”
“Do they use it to torture people?”
Now that one started me thinking. Before I could answer,
however, he broke in. “I mean the way Mrs. Big Dope uses ‘ZZ The Highest or Uppermost
Point’ on you.”
“I like ‘ZZ Top,’ I said, “just not always while I’m eating
breakfast.” I’m sure I sounded a bit defensive. “And perhaps at other times.” I
let it go at that. “Besides, I thought you got your Galactic Universal
Translator adjusted.”
“Let’s leave my GUT out of this,” he said. “What else does
your species use music for?”
“To promote love,”
“That’s nice.”
“To relax and comfort.”
“Commendable.”
“To inspire and elevate.”
“Very good,” he said. “Now let me ask this … is it ever used
to promote procreation?”
“Not that I know of,” I started, but then thought better of
it. “Maybe some have argued that it does.”
“How about,” he said, “to promote war?”
That stopped me cold. “Well I have heard that if you gave an
army the right music, it would set off to conquer the world.”
“Those people,” he said, “the ones who wore the belt buckles
that said, ‘Gott mit uns,’ the ones
who didn’t like the Jews, did they play music when they marched them to the gas
chambers?”
“I never read where they did.”
“Those Spanish Conquistadors, the ones who would dash the
heads of Indian babies against stone walls so they would die in a ‘State Of Grace,’
did they do it to musical accompaniment?”
“As far as I know, they did not.”
“Did Torquemada use music as background when he, on behalf
of the Church, tortured his enemies during the Spanish Inquisition?”
“You are ruining what started out to be a wonderful moment,”
I said. “Why don’t we just listen to music?” I offered to disconnect the
earphones.
“Who is performing this musical masterpiece?"
“The Vienna Philharmonic conducted by Leonard Bernstein.”
 |
| What a marvelous picture of joy and grace. Wait. What was her sexual orientation? Isn't that important? - C.W. |
“Oh,” he said. “Wasn’t he what you call lighthearted and
carefree?”
“What difference would it make if he were gay?”
“I couldn’t listen, that’s all,” he said. “It’s against my religion
to participate in anything involving … involving … uh, those people.”
“C.W.,” I said. “You don’t have any religion.”
“Oh but,” he said, “I’m scheduled to give it a try so I can
report about it.” He nodded his head defiantly and swung his feet from table. “So
I need to start practicing. Hate doesn’t come naturally to Falloonians, you
know.”
The symphony used a succession of ephemeral chords to
briefly resolve into a mood of peace before the woodwinds broke into what
almost sounded like a jig.
I groaned.
Click an ad, Mrs. Big Dope needs the latest ZZ Top album.
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