Contemporary Interpretations of Minute Mysteries
By Carl S. Plumer

I. THE TEXT

The scenery went by like charcoal. His eyes were zippers. He swayed as if he were on some train bound for some place. No! He was on some train bound for some place. The scenery continued to go by like charcoal, only gritty, tough, like a Hollywood starlet aching for a part. His eyes continued to be zippers, reflecting nothing.

The train hopped along like a jack rabbit with a sound like a hairy hand jiggling loose change in the pocket of a tweed pair of trousers. The sun was a cavity in a toothless mouth. He saw that the scenery continued to go by like charcoal, like Siamese twins, like croutons.

Beside him sat the woman. She wore a perfume that assaulted his nose like an alarm clock. Her eyes were painted a speculative gold, her lips a hesitant red. She withdrew from her purse a note pad and a pen. He looked out the window like a sea urchin as she wrote. The train whistled at a crossroads sounding like oranges being whipped with a rubber hose. The scenery went by like numbers in a phone book, like so many broken hearts, like yesterday's breakfast.

She finished her note and folded it into a precise package. She hailed the conductor. He took the note. (He noticed that the note had been taken. He made a note of it. His eyes continued to be zippers.) The conductor left. She turned her head to look out the window. He saw her ear. It had the look of an urgent telegram. He read it. It told him nothing.

The mysterious stranger in front of them poked his head over the seat like a commercial interruption. He said nothing. The conductor returned. He held another note in his hand. He gave him the note. He took it. He still said nothing. An old woman walked by acting suspicious. She carried a loaded question. He saw it was still smoking. She looked back from the window. He went away. She kept walking. He handed her the note. He sat back, still saying nothing. He looked up. She backed down. He remained neutral. The conductor returned for a tip. He tipped him, but too far. The woman wet her lips. Her tongue was a cobra ready to strike. Her head was a basket. She dried her lips. The conductor was swept to sea. She returned and discharged her duty, point blank. He butted in to add his two cents. It came to two cents. He butted out.

His eyes were still zippers. They spoke volumes. He turned it up. She was startled. She looked at him as if he were a sponge. The Yanomamo Indians of Yoknapatawpha County came in and yelled for yellow Jello.

1. It's yellow.
2. Jello.
3. And.
4. We like it.

"Not so fast!" he said.

How did he know?

II. NOTES

Many things happen at once. Then for awhile, things cease to happen. Then, suddenly, things happen again.

III. SAMPLE ESSAY QUESTIONS

1. It has been said that the final line, "Not so fast!" encapsulates Everyman's struggle in our modern society. What is the contemporary of this? Why or why not? Says who?
2. Some critics have complained that the metaphors and similes in "Contemporary Interpretations of Minute Mysteries" are uncalled-for. Do you agree or disagree? Why? What makes you an authority?
3. Define croutons. How does the author mean you to see them? How would Freud see them? Jung? The young Freud?
4. Compare this plot with that in James' Portrait of a Lady is a Tramp. What would Ol' Blue Eyes have to say about it? Why or why not? What color were James' eyes? His back? Use examples.

——

Carl Plumer is a graduate of the Masters Writing Program at Stony Brook University. His stories have appeared or are forthcoming in Blink | Ink, Black Lantern, Static Movement, Pulpsmith and elsewhere. Carl lives with his beautiful wife and four extraordinary children somewhere in the Midwest, sleeplessly plotting his return to New York City.

This piece first appeared in Pulpsmith magazine.

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