Words&Dirt

“‘Humans are in love with the idea of persisting,’ he said.  ‘We fetishize it, really.  Our retirement funds, our genealogies.  Our so-called ideas for the ages.’

‘I really hate this.  What you’re saying.  Just so you know.’

‘Sorry.  I am a doctor of natural systems.  And this looks terminal to me.’

In the branches over their heads, small bursts of butterflies exploded into the sun like soundless fireworks.  The beauty was irresistible.  ‘I just can’t see it being all that bad,’ she said.  ‘I’d say most people wouldn’t.’

He nodded slowly.  ‘Do you know, scientists had a devil of a time convincing people that birds flew south in winter?  The Europeans used to believe they burrowed into muddy riverbanks to hibernate.  They would see the swallows gathering along the rivers in autumn, and then disappearing.  Africa was an abstraction to these people.  The notion of birds flying there, for unknown reasons, they found laughable.’

‘Well,’ she said, ‘I guess seeing is believing.’

‘Refusing to look at the evidence, this is also popular.’

‘It’s not that we’re all just lazy-minded.  Maybe you think so.’  She struggled to articulate her defense.  On first sight, she’d taken these butterflies for fire and magic.  Monarchs were nowhere in her mind.  Probably he wouldn’t believe that.  ‘People can only see things they already recognize,’ she said.  ‘They’ll see it if they know it.’

‘They use inference systems,’ he said.

‘Okay.  That.’

‘And how do they see the end of the world?’ Ovid asked.  ‘In real-world terms, as you put it.’

She considered this for a long time.  ‘They know it’s impossible.’

He nodded, surprised.  ‘Golly.  I think you are right.’

She took the plastic cup from his hands and wrapped it in the cellophane that had held her sandwich.  She could feel where her fingertips had brushed his.  ‘I don’t know how a person could even get through the day, knowing what you know,’ she said.

‘So.  What gets Dellarobia through her day?’

Flying from pillar to post, she thought.  Strange words.  ‘Meeting the bus on time,’ she answered.  ‘Getting the kids to eat supper, getting teeth brushed.  No cavities next time.  Little hopes, you know?  There’s just not room at our house for the end of the world.  Sorry to be a doubting Thomas.’

‘Well, you’re hardly the first,’ he said.  ‘People always want the full predicament revealed and proven in sixty seconds or less.  You may have noticed I avoid cameras.’

‘You did well, though,’ she insisted.  ‘Explaining it to me.  I’m not saying I don’t believe you, I’m saying I can’t.’

‘You underestimate yourself.  You have a talent for this endeavor, Dellarobia.  I see how you take it.  But choose your path carefully.  For scientists, reality is not optional.’

‘Are we at least allowed to hope the butterflies will make it through this winter?’

He leaned forward, peering up at the sky.  ‘That is not a little hope,’ he said.”

––Flight Behavior, by Barbara Kingsolver, pg. 282-3