Elliot had already heard part of Erica’s story from the neighbor. The first couple of times he returned home through the front door, he’d noticed the neighbor’s curtains move. Then one day, the neighbor lady came out onto the porch as Elliot came up the front steps, introduced herself, and offered him a spoon of fig preserves. She was quite old and spoke with such a heavy accent that Elliot couldn’t make out her name. So she became the FigLady in his mind. She’d come to America as a young girl in the nineteen (twenties?), eventually married a man from the old country, and seldom saw her grown children and grandchildren who were scattered across the Land of the Free. Over the course of several of these impromptu front porch conversations, each time accompanied with an offer of figs, Elliot had connected a few strands of the rather complicated knot of relationships that tied Erica, Maggie, and the Garfield Street house together.
Many years ago when the FigLady was still a newlywed, the previous Garfield Street House residents had a baby girl; the couple’s only child. Erica – a lovely child who grew to be a charming young woman. The father was an English journalist and had met his wife in Germany after the Great War. They’d set up their household in the Nation’s Capital and seemed very happy. But he died suddenly when Erica was still young and the wife remarried after a year or so. When the mother and daughter moved away to be with the new husband, the wife’s older brother, Otto, moved into the home. He seemed a little odd at first; very quiet and private. On the rare occasions when he exchanged a word or two with the FigLady, he revealed his strong German accent.
It struck the neighbor as peculiar was that some time later, the daughter returned to the home to live with her Uncle Otto. The mother came to visit her brother and daughter periodically, but didn’t stay long and didn’t want to speak to any of her former neighbors as if she was embarrassed about the situation and didn’t want to talk about it. Despite the circumstances, Erica seemed very happy, friendly, and well-adjusted. While she was studying at the university, the uncle (who was very rich, it was said) moved into a big house overlooking the Rock Creek Park in nearby Kalorama neighborhood. Erica found a roommate – Maggie – to share the Garfield Street House and expenses. They made a great pair, and were a pleasure as neighbors. No wild parties or seedy visitors. Very prim and proper, just the way the neighborhood liked it.
The FigLady was suspicious and disapproving of Benny when he first began to call. Once Benny and Maggie were properly married, though, it was all put right. Erica had moved away to continue her studies abroad by then.
(As the two men continued their chess game, Benny picked up on Erica’s Story where the FigLady left off.)
Maggie and Erica been roommates and friends during their college days. After Benny and Maggie met, he became a regular and enthusiastic visitor to the house. Erica would graciously entertain him while Maggie was getting ready. So they’d gotten to know each other pretty well chatting and playing chess on a magnificent hand-carved chess set that decorated the coffee table in the living room at the front of the house.
After a while, and at Benny’s probing, Erica shared a bit about her graduate thesis that she’d been struggling with. She’d become fascinated with Anthropology and the writings of (Joseph Campbell or his mentor) … But the specific topic had become something of a moving target. It started as one thing, then changed into something else, and it continued to shift and evolve. Her thesis kept growing and changing direction. Her original question had been relatively straight-forward: why do some cultures settle disputes peacefully and others resort to violence? But one question led to another, and then to another, and so on. So the questions themselves grew faster than she could find answers for, and the sources that did exist were ripe with contradictory opinions on the subject.
Elliot could imagine that the conversation might have gone something like this:
“No wonder your topic keeps changing given the scope of your project,” Benny said. “I wouldn’t have guessed that there were enough exceptions to the rule to even mount a study upon.”
“The rule?”
“Sure. Kill or be killed.”
“There’s another rule that governs community life: live and let live.”
“Touché,” said Benny, gently touching her shoulder with his finger in a mock stab. “I suppose it’s true that different people live by different rules. But aren’t you attempting a hopeless challenge to understand human nature?”
Erica laughed and said, “I hope the completion of my thesis isn’t hopeless! But, yes, perhaps the subject matter is more daunting than I’d originally thought.”
In an optimistic vein, Benny added, “I’m sure it will be fine. Maybe you could reduce the scope somewhat.”
“I’m afraid I’ve just about exhausted the tolerance of my professors. If I don’t make some adjustments, I’m afraid this could go on forever.”
“Adapt or die, as I always say.”
“Good policy,” Erica had agreed back then on their first meeting so many years ago.
Benny had mixed feelings about Erica’s world travels. It was obvious to anyone that the two roommates got along well. On one hand, he was sorry to see her leave for her so-called one-year world-wide student sabbatical that had, by the time of his telling, stretched into decades. But on the other hand, Erica’s departure for the Four Corners of the world paved the way for Benny to spend more time at the Garfield Street house without feeling an imposition. Occasional overnight stays grew more frequent, eventually becoming a joint tenancy, then a marriage and shared life.
Over time, contact between the women had grown so increasingly infrequent that it could have been ten years or more since Maggie last heard from Erica. A letter had come from Africa. Erica was about to leave for another project in another corner of the world and she didn’t know her forwarding address. So if Maggie wanted to write, she could send letters to Erica’s Uncle who lived nearby and he would probably know how to reach her. Maggie had written letters, but after her second went unanswered, she stopped.
Now this letter from Erica had shown up out of the blue.
thermodynamics of ideas 