Saturday, April 13, 2002
Listen
(GK: Garrison Keillor; FN: Fred Newman; SS: Sue Scott: TR: Tim Russell)
GK: … after a word about English from the Professional Organization of English Majors.
(CAFÉ INTERIOR)
TR: What do you mean, I don't understand you? Of course I understand you. Waiter???
SS: Leonard, we need to talk.
TR: I'm tired of talking. Waiter! Check!
SS: How can one ever tire of communication, Leonard?
GK: You wish your check, sir, the young waiter asked as he approached the couple at the table in the corner whom he could see had been arguing over their untouched salmon and basmati rice with a touch of sage and cardamom tinged with fresh lemon.
TR: Yes. The check.
GK: Came the brusque reply of the aging financier.
TR: Aging financier?? Where do you get off?
GK: The waiter only smiled. Years of studying the American novel had made him wise beyond his years in matters of the human heart.
TR: What's this on the bill? Seventy-five dollars for narration? What is this?
GK: He looked up at the waiter whose startlingly handsome features had an effect on the woman that threatened the very core of Leonard's manhood.
TR: "The core of his manhood" ---- what are you talking about?
SS: Talk to me, Leonard. The real me.
GK: But which was the real Stephanie? The one who wanted the material comforts that the man of finance could provide? Or the one who longed for beauty and meaning that only the waiter slash English major could offer? (BEAT) The eerie silence was broken only by their measured breathing. (SS and TR BREATHING) Leonard reached for a cigarette.
TR: I don't smoke.
GK: Leonard reached for a ballpoint pen.
SS: I ordered the narration, Leonard.
GK: She said firmly.
SS: I felt we needed it.
GK: She regarded him with an expression of fey amusement.
TR: I didn't come to a restaurant to have my manhood commented upon by some geek in horn-rim glasses. Here---- my credit card. And hurry.
GK: He thrust the credit card toward the waiter.
TR: Just do your job, if you don't mind.
GK: I can't "just do my job," sir. I am an English major. I can't shut off my sensibility, as if it were some sort of food processor, said the waiter in a low voice that thrilled her to the very core of her womanhood.
TR: I'll show you something about sensibility----
GK: The unprepossessing financier rose unsteadily to his feet and lunged toward the writer and as he did, the young wordsmith threw a left hook that connected with Leonard's flaccid jaw and he crumpled to the floor like a heap of pajamas. (TR FALL)
SS: You're so strong.
GK: She sighed, drawn toward him, a man of literature, soon to be a published author.
SS: What are you thinking?
GK: I think you know, he said quietly, looking out the window at the kaleidoscope of city lights.
SS: Hold me.
GK: She said.
SS: Hold me close. And never let me go. (MUSIC)
GK: English. It's the language we dream in. If you find yourself filled with inexpressible thoughts and yearnings, maybe you should think about majoring in English.
TR: Wish I had, darn it.
GK: A message from the Professional Organization of English Majors.
(MUSIC OUT)
© Garrison Keillor 2002
