My dear Fiona,
Professor Friedrich Icklebohm (Part III)
The Consolation of Thought
Evening had settled. The lamps burned low, their amber glow mellowing the sharp corners of the room. Outside, the wind moved softly through the birches, whispering against the windowpanes like the murmur of an old language. Between them, on the low table, stood a bottle of whiskey and two heavy tumblers — each half-filled, each slightly clouded by the room’s warmth.
Professor Friedrich Icklebohm lived in a small cottage behind a white wooden fence not far from the village monument. His father and his grandfather had lived there before him; and soon, or so the Professor suspected, his own name would be added to the list of ancestors denoted on the brass plaque mounted by the front door. For the present though he lived predominantly in the moment, preferring to ignore what, by frank account, was an inevitable and impending reality, unfriendly as it is unpredictable.
Once again today it was impossible to wallow beneath the duvet. The blue sky and yellow sunshine were already appearing brightly behind the window coverings. The magic of another perfect day beaconed. Before eight o’clock this morning I was stationed in the shower and subsequently performed my customary ablutions at the bathroom counter.
It’s after noon, another refreshingly cool and brilliantly sunny late summer day. The water glistens upon the river! The fields of dry cornstalks are broad strokes of mottled brown upon the canvass. We have been blessed with fine weather for the past week – and perhaps we shall be again for the next! The hour hand of my brass carriage clock precisely approaches Roman numeral III on its white enamel face and already this is a rewarding day!
Once again today we’ve had to endure the rustling cornstalks in a cool breeze, an absolutely cloudless blue sky, a vast and distinctly perceptible horizon, diminished commercial traffic, barely traveled roadways, accommodating drivers, honking geese upon the rippled river, and the soothing burden of fresh, dry air. By all accounts this immeasurable weather is forecast to continue for the next week. This is truly the most favourable recollection I have of a so-called “Indian Summer”, a pleasantness which I particularly recall from my youth.
The concepts of infinity and eternity, no beginning and no end, are among the disturbing and illusive concepts often associated with a discussion of god or the creator of it all (including the even more toxic contemplation of who created god). Competing with these unfathomable topics are the investigations and proofs of science though I don’t believe science has yet explained the evolution of self-generation and perpetuation (or what we commonly call life). The sobering question of it all is, What came before nothing?
An intriguing account was related to me earlier this morning by a young woman (with whom I am dealing professionally) in response to my enquiry, “What’s the news?” She said she was going to travel to Belize in January for a holiday. If you, dear Reader, like I, have a moderate geographic knowledge only, it may help to recall that the former name (until 1973) was British Honduras. It is a country on the Caribbean coast of Central America; population 359,000; languages, English (official), Creole, Spanish; capital, Belmopan. Apparently, like so many other products of colonialism, Belize was “proclaimed” a British Crown Colony in 1862. Belize became an independent Commonwealth state in 1981. Guatemala, which bounds it on the west and south, has always claimed the territory on the basis of old Spanish treaties, although in 1992 it agreed to recognize the existence of Belize.
I began looking up the word Antiqua to ensure I had spelled it correctly. My spelling is not good (I respond to words more phonetically than literally). Anyway here’s what I discovered by chance:
With only a day remaining in the month of September, the weather forecast for the next week is a combination of superb and ideal – sunshine and, for a third of the time, above average temperatures. Ornamented by the honking geese and the huge flocks of them landing upon the river, plus the fully grown fields of yellow corn stalks, the environment is a spectacle of sunshine and blue sky. The deep balmy wind carries within its nutritious scope a limitless imagination.