Alpine Dolphins ,
Blackberry tea ,?*, ..sllllll
with travelers lllllllllli
by the sea
Teachers expect precision. All
the time, with every written or
spoken word, any practicing rheto
rician demands accuracy in word
choice and content.
Sometimes, 1 don’t feel precise
at all.
This is a short and precise story
about imprecision.
♦ ♦ ♦
The cold sea air falling dueled
with the hot steam rising from my
blackberry tea. The steam always
lost. It rose from the depths of the
saucepan strong and wild like a
football-adrenaline monster and
promptly was destroyed like a three
day-old kitten within six or eight
inches. The steam could never win.
I sat beneath a near-petrified log
lean-to and watched my tea steep,
w aiting for the sun to make its way
toward my shelter from behind my
back. It was morning on the West
Coast, somewhere on the Klamath
coastline in Northern California.
This particular stretch of beach was
deserted, prehistoric and beautiful.
Monolithic boulders lay like the
spines of dinosaurs once connected
on a beach rolling on like the
Sahara for a half-mile or so from
where the ocean ended and the
forest began. Or vice versa.
Hither way, if you wandered in
the middle of the dunes and couldn’t
hear the surf break, you’d have
sworn you were in the middle of
the lost Wasteland Desert. Hut then,
if you climbed to the lop of the
knoll on the last dune, you could
sec the ocean, open and mysteri
ous, like a vast letter with no return
address, no postage stamp, though
dog-eared and tattered from travel
ing a blue billion miles Fifteen- to
20-foot waves, post-marked from
the mid-oceanic ridge, broke on
the spines of dinosaurs sending the
mail service every which way.
I |ust sat there with my black
berry lea.
Wandering the coast had been
my habit and occupation, for three
months now. I headed home in a
week to start back to school. My
sojourn was peaceful and produc
tive. Thus far, I’d met many inter
esting travelers, and we’d exchanged
many stories. This is one of them.
I poured a mug of tea. It was hot,
so I let it steep in the mug. I looked
toward the south and saw a thin
man with a bright red moustache
and hair to match. His olive pants
had holes in the knees and he kept
a very odd sort of stride -- he skip
hopped on every fourth step. It
was a kind of I-don’t-care-about
anything-too-seriously-type of walk.
He noticed me and walked to
wards the lean-to.
“Howdy.”
“How-do," he said.
“Care for some tea?”
“Sure. Let me grab my tin.”
I Ic put down his pack and pulled
a mug from one of the side pock
ets; I poured the tea.
“Name’s Shamus,” I said.
“Debel. Sal I). Debel.”
“Where you coming up from
Sal?”
“Why, the tip of South America,
of course. That’s where this body
of land starts anyway. And I’ve
walked the whole way, except for
when I had to swim the Panama
Canal.”
I looked at his boots, they were
only slightly worn.
“Bull-puckcy.”
“No, really! I’ve walked the whole
way. What, you think I did it on
one pair of boots? I bought these
new in San Fran.”
“How long has it taken you?”
“Well, I’ve walked 20 miles a
day for 620 days. You figure it out.”
I looked at him pensively, smiled,
and did not answer.
“12,368,” he said.
"Got a head for math, Eh?"
“What else have I got to think
about all day?”
“Where you walking to then?”
“North Pole.”
"That figures.”
“Well, you know. You want to
make it whole and linear — it’s the
way of the Western world."
“Yes, except that same way of
thinking separates things into parts,
you know: ignore the whole and
specialize.”
“Let them have their wav of
thinking, and I’ll have mine. 1 be
lieve it’s a free planet.”
“Point well-taken.”
“Where are you coming from?”
he inquired.
“Toronto,” 1 said off the lop of
my head.
I actually had not come from
Toronto, but what the hell Any
thing’s fair in story-telling.
“Walk all the way, did you?”
“No. 1 took a couple rides.”
“Wimp.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Why get in a car for Chrissakes?
You miss the convection of the
walk, the subtleties of the land
scape, the smells and the sounds .
>1
“I didn’t — I don’t have 620 days.
I had three months; I have one
month left to go.”
“Go back to where? Toronto?”
“No, Bonn, Germany.”
“No. Really?”
“Ja, wirklich.”
“Huh?”
“That’s German for yes, really.”
He sipped his tea; I stood and
stretched in the sunshine.
"What are you going to do in
Bonn?”
“I make boats. I’ve been learn
ing to build boats and ships since I
was a child, have studied ship
building in Germany and in the
U.S., in Portland.”
wncrc in ucrmauyr i
"In Bonn, of course.” j
"Of course.” \
He sat and thought for a mo
ment. I
"I don’t believe you," he said.
"Why not?”
"Bonn is inland. Ship building
wouldn’t be functional, I’d bet.”
"Yep, you got me. But I got you,
loo.”
"No you don’t.”
"You’re right, I don’t. Have you
really walked all the way up from
South America?”
“No. I was just messing with
your head. 1 have, however, walked
all the way up from San Diego,
which feels like walking up from
the Straits of Magellan some days.
Actually, I’ve only been out a couple
months. I’m taking some time off
from school to travel.”
"Me, too.”
We both laughed.
"You need to work on that story
telling, Shamus. Don’t be so ran
dom The simple key to good story
telling is precision in description, ’
Sal said "Be precise.”
"Yep. I agree with you totally,
Sal, and I have one thing to add, or
divide as it were.” I
"What’s that?” I
"12.368 divided
by 20 rounds
down to 618.”
Cowan is a senior sociology and English |
major and a Diversions columnist. |
■TTiriiiiTrirrnrii-nrwnwinwiiliii w iinii ■mniiiiiiiiiwimiiiiiwiii 'inwiiiii piiiki
TASCAM \ ^
V) ACyfefo *
*
DON’T MISS MIDWEST SOUND & LIGHTINGS
SPRING SALE
MARCH 22, 23, 24
E
I □
n
! I
LJ
PLUS THE WORLD S MOST DANGEROUS STAFF! J
* Late Night With Valentino's - Friday and Saturday from 10 p.m. to Midnite 1
•Valentino’s J
The Pizza Restaurant I
That Didn’t Stop With Pizza
13th & Q • 35th & Holdrege
