A Conversation

“What kind of peanuts are you looking for, my dear?” asked the old gentlemen wearing a white hat.
“I do not know what peanuts are,” replied the little girl in a yellow dress.
“Hadn’t you ought to know what you are looking for?”
“Oh, but I am much too afraid to ask, for the other children are sure to make fun.”
“What a shame, that such a fear should hold you back from the full knowledge of such delights as freshly ground peanut butter and, of course, my favorite - peanut ice cream with little marshmallows on top!”
“What are marshmallows?”
“They are soft bundles of heavenly goodness, my dear.”
“And what are peanuts?”
“Ah – as for that – I cannot tell you.”
“And why not?”
“Do you see this piece of stone?”
Elsie nods.
“Do read the inscription.”
“It says ‘Benjamin Richardson: loving father, devoted husband. Born Aug. 1, 1826, died Dec 10 1897.”
“Ah.”
“Well?”
“Well what do we now know about this Benjamin Richardson – except that his relatives had terrible taste in grave markers?”
“He was a loving father and devoted husband.”
“And?”
“And he died at age --71.”
“My my, a quick little mind for the young one. And yes, he seems to have stayed around for a good bit of time. But as for being a loving father and devoted husband – well, my dear, he may very well not have been a loving father--nor a father at all for that matter.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let us say that his --five --no--six children were all of them from different sires…” (leaning forward) “all with different spots of hair – gold, chestnut, berry red, orange, purple! ---heavens, how the man never knew. And his poor wife ---beside herself with grief from his abuse, would go back and forth like a little metronome ---tick-tock-tick-tock---from man ---tick--to man--tock---to man, seeking what I, my dear, call nothing more than coupling.”
“Sir, how could you say such things? You know nothing of ---(glancing at the stone) ---Mr. Benjamin Richardson. He may very well have been---“
“Possibilities, my dear. You mistake the possible for the definite ---a logical leap that might send one crashing into the most tragic, and might I add, otherwise avoidable circumstances in life!” (Leaning forward) “Careful!”
“Well then sir, what is the use of these possibilities, then? I may just as well say that (glancing at the stone) this Benjamin Richardson man was the king of all gracious fathers and good husbands, and that your--- if I may say so, sir,---rattle, sir, is mere ---bullyworst.”
“Bullyworst?”
“Bullyworst.”
“Ah yes, now you, my dear girl, are catching on quite deliciously. Possibilities---opinions---they are, all of them, synonymous. For I very well may tell you that peanuts are big and square and the most delightful shade of fluorescent pink imaginable, but all this comes down to---what was the word you used?---ah yes, bullyworst.
“But peanuts are peanuts and, surely sir, there must be some consensus on what they look, taste, or feel like.”
“Ah, I do agree with Thompson ---it is delightful to teach the young idea how to shoot---but in order to come to this accord, my dear, I myself must have somehow crossed the said delight, you see. Good opinions, even wrong opinions, are bred from experience my dear. I despise nothing more than the flibbertigibbets who go galavanting on with their half-prattle opinions without the slightest knowledge of actuality.”
“Well sir, then must we only know that which we have lived?”
“Nonsense! Is Asia to the right or left of Europe?”
“Well, it depends on which way one is facing, I suppose.”
“And how do you know?”
“I’ve see maps at school, sir.”
“Precisely, my dear.”
“Well then, I suppose I could say that peanuts are like purple balls of clay.”
“Do you believe this to be true?”
“Well, no sir.”
“Ah.”
“Well, what are peanuts then?”
“What are peanuts?”
“Yes what are peanuts?!”
“Well, don’t trouble yourself too much, my dear. Unless, of course, you really would like to know.”
“Sir, but you do forget one thing---“
“Not surprising at my age, my dear, but do tell.”
“You sir, are a hypocrite.”
“Delightful! And why is that, my dear?”
“Because you told me what a marshmallows were – you said that they were lovely bundles of heavenly goodness---“
“Soft bundles of heavenly goodness, my dear, soft bundles. Why, if all things soft were also lovely---“ (shuddering as he grasps a handful of a protruding belly)--“Marshmallows and peanuts are entirely different things. Though you shouldn’t take my word for it. But suppose I am a hypocrite.”
“Suppose you are.”
“Ah, the cry of any great protester. And yet my dear, I cannot help but wonder if this very fair description of my character may render my words nonetheless true.”