meal but decided to leave it. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I tasted it. The rice was gummy and I guessed that the oil that had come off the beef had been left in the mixture. I almost couldn’t swallow it.
“How is it?” he said, eyes wide and magnified.
“It’s wonderful.”
“Is it really?” he said and smiled.
“It is.”
He took a taste and savoured it. I wondered how he managed this.
“I’ve still got it, I guess. I haven’t made Horace’s Broccoli and Beef in a while. Clair used to love it. She came up with the name.”
I saw it. The very slight change to his face, as a bolt of pain kidnapped his expression when he mentioned Clair who I assumed was his wife.
“She’s passed away I’m assuming,” I said cautiously.
He said nothing and kept eating. He kept his head down between bites, and after a moment he took the large glasses off and wiped his eyes. The glasses went back on and he continued eating. Nothing more was said while we ate our Horace’s Broccoli and Beef.
Finally, I got up and found two plates and put two substantial pieces of the cheese cake on them. I put one in front of Horace and sat down with the other one.
“Thank you,” he said, with a forced smile.
“The woman who sold me this cake, said it’s pretty good.”
“Did Howard say anything to you today?”
“I tried to read some baseball jokes during the first rain delay, and . . .”
“Yes, I remember now.”
“Didn’t go so well,” I said, and thought of the racial garbage that the vile man had shovelled at me after the game.
He was smiling now, and I sensed it wasn’t at my expense but rather just at the sheer joy of talking about Howard Gold.
“You really like Howard don’t you Horace?”
“Yeah, he’s a bit of a hero of mine I guess,” he said, happy now.
I nodded, and started in on my cake. I wanted to tell him that Howard Gold was a racist thug, and not worthy of his respect, but I held off.
“Why is he a hero to you Horace? What is it about him that you like?”
“He just makes the listener feel like he’s part of the gang, like we’re part of a club, like we’re special.”
“I see,” I said and continued eating my cake.
“Just a good guy, that’s all.”
“Sometimes people can be quite different in person than they’re perceived to be on the radio or television,”
We ate our cake and chatted a little more; I tried to find out a little more about him and what he had spent his life doing, but he kept bringing the conversation back to Howard. I was a little frustrated or maybe resentful, as I still had the fresh scars from the humiliation that I had experienced at the mercy of the great man. I helped Horace clean up and then started down the stairs.
“Jimmy,” he said.
I turned. “Good night Horace.”
“We listened to him together.”
I paused and stared at him a moment. The gigantic glasses made him look like an owl. He was smiling though, clearly back with Claire listening to a Cub game on the radio, and hanging on every word delivered by Howard Gold.
“You were right; he does make you feel like you’re one of the gang. He’s treated me like a king. He’s a great man Horace,” I said smiling.
The Man Who Feared Irony
Dr. Howard Lemming rarely saw his patients on very short notice. As a psychological therapist, his emergencies, while important, were not urgent. Today, he had made an exception to this rule for only the fifth time in fifteen years. Noltan Blaire had been a patient for six years, and during that time had been treated for an assortment of issues, most of which were rooted in some form of paranoia. Today, there was something new bothering Noltan, and he had refused to offer any clues on the phone; he needed to see the doctor immediately. Noltan burst through the door to the doctor’s office.
“Thank God you’re here,” Noltan spat. “We need to talk.”
“Yes,” the doctor said and paused. “Apparently.”
The doctor’s assistant looked helplessly through the open door. The doctor waved her away and she closed the door.
“Have a seat Noltan. Let’s talk.”
They both sat, in two comfortable leather chairs which faced each other in the centre of the room.
“Doctor, I’m not sure how to explain this,” Noltan said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.
“Just tell me what’s on your mind.”
“I have a fear that is rendering me incapable of doing anything; a fear that affects me like nothing else ever has.” As always, Noltan was gesturing wildly with his hands, over dramatizing every word he spoke.
“What’s at the root of the fear?”
“Well, as best I can tell, it’s . . .”
“Noltan?”
“It’s not really a normal fear. I’m guessing that you haven’t heard this one before, but I’m really at wits end.”
“Noltan, what are you afraid of?”
“As best I can tell, it’s . . .”
“Noltan.”
“Well, as best I can tell, it’s . . . irony.”
The doctor didn’t say anything and kept looking directly into Noltan’s eyes.
“Have you ever heard of that Doctor?”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean exactly. Help me understand this fear a little better Noltan,” the doctor said, his tone, demeanor, and look unchanged since the conversation began.
“Alright, well, I fear irony,” Noltan said, unsure of how to explain his plight.
“Can you give me an example?”
“Ummmm, well, if something good happens, I fear that I’m doomed.”
“Give me an actual example.”
“Last week I went to the doctor and got some results back from a colonoscopy exam. You know, one of those intrusive little things we have to have done once we hit forty.”
“Yes, I’m familiar with the exam.”
“Well, the test was clean. Nothin’ to worry about, right.”
The doctor nodded.
“Wrong. You see, the way my mind works. I stayed up all night worrying that it’d be ironic if a tumor started to form in my body, the instant after I had been tested.”
“What?” The doctor’s brow was slightly furrowed, the first suggestion that he indeed, wasn’t familiar with this particular psychological ailment.
“I seem to worry that I’m going to be a victim of irony.”
“Can you give me another example?”
“I won a free dinner in a raffle at work, and worried for the next two weeks that something terrible was going to happen. I was sure my house was going to burn down or something. In fact, I began to visualize the conversations that would take place between my co-workers, ‘boy it sure was ironic what happened to Noltan.’”
“I see.” He didn’t.
“Whenever anything remotely good happens to me, I instantly began to worry that irony is going to rear its monstrous head.”
“Monstrous head?”
“Yeah, probably a tad over dramatic.”
“Maybe just a tad.”
“Another example. I was golfing two weeks ago, and had about a sixty yard wedge shot into the fourth green. I miss hit the shot. The ball never got more than a foot off the ground; it went like a rocket, hit the pin with full force and dropped into the hole.”
“You got lucky.”
“Yeah well, there was a slight drizzle all day and I spent the next fourteen holes convinced I was going to be struck by lightning.”
“I see. That wouldn’t have been very lucky.”
“No, but it would have been ironic,” Noltan said, shifting in his chair again, uncomfortable with the memory.
“I suppose so,” the doctor said and crossed his legs, bringing his right index finger up to his lips in a thoughtful pose.
“What do you thin
k Doctor?”
The doctor sat silent for a moment, looking down at the plush white rug beneath his feet, and tried to organize his thoughts. “Noltan, I think that you might overanalyze things a bit. There’s nothing wrong with having fears. Even fears that you may not think are normal, or fears that you think the vast majority of people don’t have. I myself have fears like this. It’s just a matter of trying to put things into context. Irony is just a word. It’s a word that is used to describe something. Irony doesn’t cause anything. Ironic events are no more likely to happen than events that aren’t ironic—it’s irrational to think otherwise.”
“What are some of your fears Doctor?”
“Well, I don’t want to get into them now Noltan; we’re here to talk about you. But let’s just say that I have a couple of small things which cause me problems.”
This brought a smile to Noltan’s face. “It’s reassuring to know that actually. I don’t feel so abnormal,” he said.
“It’s just a word Noltan, Irony I mean. I think you might just be looking for something to fear. Do you remember last year when you had that fear of the national anthem, and we talked about it and you ended up laughing about it later?”
“Yeah, that was pretty irrational,” Noltan said, and forced a smile, a little embarrassed.
“I’ll say.”
“I suppose your right Doctor. I feel like a fool. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”
“No, that’s alright. I’m glad you came. Think about what I said, and come back and see me in a couple of weeks.
Noltan got up, shook the doctor’s hand and headed towards the door. The doctor followed him, and said good night to his assistant. They headed out towards the elevators. Before either of them could push the down button, the elevator doors opened. They both started into the elevator, when Noltan grabbed the Doctor by the shirt and pulled him back.
“Nolton?”
“Doctor, we didn’t
Rumours & Lies Page 13