by Simon Okotie
What he had on file relating to Isobel Absalon’s mind was that she was an intelligent woman. He had somehow accrued information suggesting that Isobel Absalon was quick witted, granted that the wit that could so speedily be employed was often of a somewhat mordant flavour, but nonetheless she wasn’t the opposite, which is to say that he knew that Isobel Absalon was not dull-witted. Hers was a vivacity that would translate quickly into action and this knowledge of Harold Absalon’s wife also fed into the conclusion that Isobel Absalon would not cut in front of or behind him to answer the phone (as before) and this final, he thought, expression of the conditions upon which this conclusion was based coincided with him passing Isobel Absalon, a physical action that made it highly unlikely for different reasons that Isobel Absalon would cut in front of him whilst making it more likely, were she to want to answer the telephone (etc), that she would cut or, given sufficient elapsed time, simply walk behind him to the telephone table to answer the phone in the usual way, and he hoped that these reasons were sufficiently obvious not to warrant a separate branch of inquiry on his part.
But how long would the telephone ring for, he now wondered? A lesser sleuth might conclude that, given the number of storeys in the building, as observed previously from the exterior, that the telephone would ring for some considerable amount of time before the answerphone cut in, as it is known, this to allow sufficient time for one of the residents of the house in question, such as Isobel Absalon, to descend the stairs in the mundane fashion previously described, to answer the telephone, assuming they wished to do so, before the answerphone cut in (as before), although he knew that there were no other residents of that particular dwelling. Furthermore, in another example of what set him apart from more run-of-the-mill investigators, as they are known, he had information to suggest that the telephone would not ring more than four times before the answerphone cut in. The information that he had at his disposal was that a second telephone existed in that property, a telephone, moreover, that was on the same line such that it would be ringing at the same time as the telephone just to his left at that moment. This drastically reduced the ringing time required since it reduced the distance of travel necessary for the resident answerer: there would be a telephone less distant than this ground-floor one when Isobel Absalon or Richard Knox were in the upper storeys of the house. In a further revelation of his investigative prowess, he knew that this telephone happened to be located in the first-floor bedroom to which he was headed with, he hoped, Isobel Absalon. All of these factors synthesised in his mind as he continued, in the moments between the second and third rings of the telephone, to move towards the foot (etc) of the stairs leading, he hoped, to the conclusion of his investigation.
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Note that in the case where the household in question had two phones on the same number, that one still only ever heard the phone ring, never the phones ring. Someone might ask, if they were in a part of the house where they could only just hear those phones ringing ‘is that the phone?’ – it would always be in the singular, in other words, rather than the plural, even if that person knew that in that household there were two phones (or more, if it was a very large household). Similarly, if, say, the father was in the bath or smoking a cigarette on the loo (he couldn’t very well do both at the same time) and the child (assuming there is one in the scenario that we have just entered) should be answering the phone then it would have been absurd for the father to shout out ‘Answer the telephones Nathaniel!’ (assuming, for the time being, that Nathaniel is the child’s name). The reasons that it would be absurd for the father to shout this were numerous but the main reason related to the difference between (how to put it?) physiology and audiology. One could quite easily hear the two (or more) telephones in the household if one were positioned say, mid-way between them, but just because one could be in a position to hear them both didn’t mean that one was in a position to answer them both, at least not at the same time, and given the scenario under consideration here – that of two (etc) telephones being in the same household and on the same number, then there was little value in doing so at all, because all you would hear at the other end of the line (it actually must be a series of lines, when one thinks about it) was the same voice asking to speak to your father or mother or whoever they would be wanting to speak to.
Coming back to the question of physiological versus audiological constraints: there was, on reflection, no physiological constraint to answering two telephones at the same time per se, regardless of whether they were on the same number of not. There was a physiological constraint, he thought, to answering more than two telephones at the same time, but not in answering one or, at a push, two telephones at the same time. Now, if the two telephones were on different numbers (which in the scenario currently under investigation we have established they are not, i.e. they are on the same number) then there might be a cognitive constraint to answering them both at the same time. In fact, even in this situation there wouldn’t even be a cognitive constraint to answering them both at the same time. Indeed (he now realised, as his left hand plunged, with the keys – both conventional and electronic – into his left-hand trouser pocket) there would be no physiological, audiological or cognitive constraint to answering two or, indeed, more telephones at the same time. He elaborated on his position in this way. Imagine a bedroom with a shiny pink eiderdown and with a line of, let’s say, ten telephones lined up against the wall. All of them are a deep green colour; all have what would now be considered as the ‘old fashioned’ dialling mechanism. They all ring at the same time; in fact, it is a feature of phones that are on the same number that they ring synchronously (that’s what he thinks, although he hasn’t tested it under laboratory conditions); even if they’re not on the same number then imagine they all ring at the same time, whether precisely synchronously or not. What the son or daughter does is this: as quickly as possible s/he lifts all of the receivers and places them, mouthpiece facing towards him- or herself, on an empty (up until that point at least) telephone table in front of them; then, quite simply, s/he, in their best and loudest telephone voice says ‘Hello?’ or ‘21419’ or whatever else they normally say in answering the telephone. Now – and we may have got this point only on a technicality – the son or daughter would, in acting thus, have answered all of the telephones at the same time. Granted he or she would not then be able to maintain a conversation, especially not if the telephones were all on different numbers, or five were on one number and five on another, or four were on one number, three on another and three on another, or two were on one number, two on another, two on another, two on another and two on another or one was on one number, three were on another and the remaining six on another, or four were on one number, three on another, one on another, one on another and the final one on another number, or seven of the telephones were on one number and the remaining three were each on different numbers or, to leave it at that for the time being, any other combination you care to think of. Technically they would have been answered.
In reaching this conclusion he had moved through a number of manifestations of the physiological limitations of answering more than one telephone. Initially he pictured the perhaps typical scenario in a suburban or rural homestead (one that contains two phones on the same number, coming back to the original scenario under discussion): that in which one phone is, say, downstairs in the hallway and another is upstairs, say, in the bedroom. This would be a not untypical situation given the conditions of time (epoch) and geography (nothing to add) that we have established. The very fact that the purpose of having two phones was to be able to answer one of them, the one that was closest, without having to go a long distance, or such a long distance, meant that it was very unlikely that one would locate the phones next to each other, or at least not very close to each other – that would defeat the object (which is ease of answering). Given these circumstances, the initial thought in his mind was this: given the average reach of human beings, that is, t
heir arm span; and given the fact that those human arms, whether at full stretch or otherwise, did not have the power to see or, in fact, hear, to locate a ringing phone (what he is picturing here is the son or daughter, having been called by the incommoded father, running obediently to the phone in the parents’ bedroom, it being the nearest one to the room (his or her own bedroom) from whence s/he came, and then, wishing to follow the instructions faithfully (i.e. ‘answer the telephones!’), with one hand poised on the bedroom phone, reaching out with the other hand to try and answer the downstairs phone). It is apparent, even to the stupidest person, that it just can’t be done. Those are the physiological constraints that he had been thinking about in the first place. Even if one had an arm (or two) that could extend and stretch downstairs to try to answer the downstairs phone (and what a circus act that would be) then by the time that that arm had groped around trying to find the phone (the arm having no sense other than that of touch) then the person on the other end of the line (or, more accurately, lines) would surely have hung up (as it’s known). Someone whose neck also stretches so that they could leave one hand on the upstairs phone then look around the corner whilst they reached down to pick up the downstairs phone, you say? That would be utterly daft, beyond all belief. Even so, if the call had ended by the time the father had again pulled up his pants, zipped up and exited the bathroom then there would be no way that he would know whether the child had answered the telephones in this way. He would just have no way of really knowing whether, miraculously, the child had performed the task that he had set them, probably.
Our investigator had moved from this typical (to his mind at least) scenario to whether there was anything essential in the situation that prevented one from answering the two (only) phones at the same time. His conclusion here, as you may have followed, was that, no, actually there was nothing in the situation per se that prevented one from answering two telephones at the same time. Perhaps, for some reason, the cohabiting married couple liked having the phones next to each other on the (perhaps slightly larger than normal) telephone table downstairs: perhaps they were still in the early stages of their marriage and they couldn’t bear to be out of one another’s sight; perhaps, in other words, they had had two phones purposefully installed side by side so that they could answer them at precisely the same time; perhaps they wanted to speak to their friends and family together whilst also being able to gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes; you can’t deny it was a possibility, although it was unlikely to be the most usual arrangement. In that scenario it was possible that the child, obeying the father (who was in the loo) and helping the mother (who was, say, in the kitchen with the radio on, preparing that evening’s meal), could have rushed downstairs and, with one hand on one telephone and the other hand on the other, could have picked up the receivers, put one to each ear, and answered in the way traditional to that household or to themselves – there was nothing to prevent that, was there? The only fly in this particular ointment, which may have already been spotted, was the presence of the child themselves. It was only really plausible that this dual-phone scenario could be imagined as taking place in the very early years of marriage, before the resentments and inevitable recriminations had set in and the cohabiting married couple had started hating the sight of one another. It was one of those ideas, then, that, at the time, in the great flush of young love, would have made perfect sense but which, as time went on would have seemed more and more eccentric – crazy even. Would a cohabiting newly married couple in this scenario (i.e. having two phones side by side so that they could gaze away and play footsie with each other as they chewed the fat) really have a child of an age that could run downstairs and answer the telephones? Although he thought this highly unlikely given the social constraints of the time he could not completely rule it out. Perhaps the child was from a previous marriage – but even then surely the divorcee (or is it divorcée?) would know that two phones, side by side, spoke of temporary infatuation cooling to, at best, a mild indifference and, on that basis, would surely have suggested that the more traditional form of one up one down would have been much more acceptable, given their experience in that first marriage, however short-lived. It could have been a terrible scenario in which mother or father in that marriage had been killed in some way – say killed in childbirth (this would apply to the mother only) just as the full flourishing of their love was taking place. What if the husband in that situation then (well, a few years later) married the woman’s identical twin who, up until that point had been left on the shelf, belying the widespread myth that identical twins always get married at the same time, in the same chapel, other place of worship, registry office or other place registered to administer such wedding ceremonies, and always to a pair (what else could it be?) of identical twins although (generally) of the opposite sex? Couldn’t it then be imagined that that first flush of love, which had been temporarily interrupted by grieving and loneliness, would suddenly be reignited in the identical form of the twin sister? Wouldn’t it then make perfect sense, in a way, to have identical phones downstairs, as a celebration of that still new (but redirected) love and also as a symbol of, and memorial to, twin sisters who had loved each other, despite one of them having, unconventionally, been left on the shelf when the first got married? Wouldn’t that simple image of two telephones side by side then speak so much of the lack of bitterness felt by the second twin having been left on the shelf, and of her love for her new husband and child, who would, by this stage, be at least four or five years old and would therefore be able to answer the telephones in the fast-approaching reiteration of the previously mentioned scenario? It would communicate volumes on the recovery of the widower husband and of his love for his new bride, identical to the previous incarnation. And no-one could accuse him of trading the first one in for a younger model. The post mortem (or autopsy if you prefer) would be clear: natural causes. In fact, it could be that the telephones had already been installed by the husband, perhaps as a coming home gift to the mother of his child after she had delivered, so that they could transmit the happy news in tandem, a gift that she was never destined to see.
With these rumblings we satisfy ourselves, perhaps, that there is nothing inherently difficult about answering two telephones in the same household at the same time, whether or not they were on the same number or on different numbers; in other words there were no inherent physiological constraints to doing so – most of us at least had two arms to pick up two receivers and two ears to listen to them with; and, with two mouthpieces aimed at our mouth (singular), there was nothing to stop us from answering these two telephones at the same time. Really it just depended on where the two phones were located when they rang, synchronously.
There would be a cognitive constraint, he felt, if the two phones were on different numbers because the two people at the end of the line(s) would almost certainly embark on different (although perhaps only subtly, to start with) conversations which the brain couldn’t process in a parallel way. It was possible, of course, that there was only one person at the end of the line(s) who had telephoned both numbers at the same time, perhaps as some sort of strange practical joke, and would then proceed to speak into their two mouthpieces at the same time; in this scenario there wouldn’t be any real cognitive problem in answering both phones at the same time since the same information would be transmitted to both receivers. That would be quite unusual, though, he felt.
He had also reached the conclusion, then, that the act of answering the phone can be interpreted quite narrowly: the simple act of picking up the receiver and saying ‘Hello’ with a questioning tone of voice was sufficient to his mind. This was what had led, in his mind, to the situation that amply demonstrated the point – that memorable scene of the ten telephones in the bedroom. The move was from thinking that since one only had two ears (most of us) that one could answer a maximum of two phones at any one time (taking the other physiological caveats as read) to realising that the constraint, i
n answering the phone, was on being heard rather than on oneself hearing; in other words the numerical limitation on number of ears was no limitation at all – the only real limitation was to do with having a voice loud enough to be heard by all of the different receivers at the same time (alongside the practical issue of picking up those receivers and answering in sufficient time for the person or people on the other end of the phone not to have hung up in frustration or confusion at the delay in answering their call). That, in essence, was how his thinking had developed on this issue, nay, flourished.
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He found that his posture, having passed Isobel Absalon, was one of simultaneously reaching in a number of different directions, and that this reaching could be taken both literally and metaphorically: he found himself continuing to reach towards the banister with his right hand whilst his right foot started passing through the air towards the foot or bottom (etc) of the stairs alongside which the banister ran, so to speak; his left ear, especially, but not, of course, exclusively, was reaching out, as it were, towards the ringing telephone to his left so as not to miss the critical moment when the answerphone would cut or click in whilst his left hand had entered his left-hand trouser pocket to deposit the keys – both conventional and electronic – in that pocket; and the gaze from his eyes – the right, particularly, but not exclusively (as before) – passed behind Isobel Absalon, now that their juxtaposition allowed for this to happen, and through, note, an open door, the presence of which had only recently become apparent to him, an open door which led, moreover, into what looked like a sitting room or lounge, which he noticed, despite the dimness with which that room was shrouded, contained a number of items which he would no doubt come on to describe in due course.