Elliot woke to the distant roar of devouring beasts. Or was it the mechanical drone of pulsing machinery? He sat up in an unfamiliar bed, disoriented in a morning fuzz, and wrestled with a groggy amnesia wondering, “Who am I? What am I doing here?” A beam of bright morning sun streamed in through a single dirty window onto his clothes tossed over the back of a chair. It was a small sparse room adorned with little more than a bed and small table. Reaching for his wristwatch among his keys and pocket change, he saw the hand-written note he had found the night before taped to the door. He picked it up and read:
Elliot,
Welcome to the Nation’s Capital! It was getting late, so we’ve gone to bed and left the door unlocked. You’ll be staying in the room at the top of the stairs above the kitchen. Please make yourself at home. See you in the morning.
Benny and Maggie
He pulled on his pants and winced as he turned to slip on his shirt. He rubbed the sore spot on his chest where his seat belt had constrained him the night before, probably saving his life. He shuddered and tried to forget the incident that nearly ended his sojourn.
The house was quiet but for a vague drone of rush hour out in the city beyond the walls and windows of the old brick row house. Tip-toeing downstairs in sleepy delirium, he expected to find his hosts in the kitchen over breakfast. Finding none, he recalled the note’s invitation to make himself at home. So he helped himself to a knife and some jam and popped a slice of bread into the toaster.
A small newspaper named the DC Herald lay on the kitchen table with a brown coffee ring where someone had parked a cup at one time. About the only thing Elliot knew of his hosts was that Benny published a small monthly newspaper; the Herald must have been it. Elliot skimmed through to find advertisements and local-interest articles (on local events, activities, and politics.) A chess column on the back page briefly caught his eye before he noticed an adjacent column with the rather odd title of The Thermodynamics of Ideas: Part One. In just the few sentences he read, Elliot couldn’t be sure if the article was serious or satirical. The author seemed to be suggesting that ideas were more than mere metaphors of living entities and, as such, had many attributes in common with animals and people including desire and free will.
After reading a few sentences, Elliot rejected the article as gibberish. Setting the paper aside, he got up and went to the kitchen window to examine a small home-made mobile of colored glass or translucent stones that hung in the morning sun. Quartz, he wondered? The bright pieces dangled on thin threads from the window frame, each affixed with a drop of amber-colored glue.
Elliot was just reaching out to touch one when he smelled his burning toast. “Ow!” he winced, burning his fingers on the smoking bread. He quickly unplugged the errant machine, and fanned it with the newspaper. Too late! The smoke detector erupted with a paralyzing screech. Elliot put his fingers in his ears under the remorseless decibels engulfing the kitchen as he pushed a chair over to where he could reach the alarm. He heard running steps coming down the stairs at the same time an old dog trod into the kitchen, spied the stranger, and started barking crazily.
Elliot was just about to mount the chair, both to get away from the dog and try to reach the buzzer. Before he could, a slim nimble man – older, yet athletic in his boxer shorts and tee-shirt – ran into the kitchen, leaped upon the waiting chair, and skillfully extricated the alarm from the wall and the battery from the back of the device in one smooth, practiced motion. He’d obviously done this before on short notice. Then he hurriedly jumped down, clamped both hands over the dog’s muzzle trying to shut it up, and listened for something as the dog squirmed trying to free itself. The alarm, the dog, the commotion, all suddenly stopped.
Elliot was just about to introduce himself to his presumed host, Benny, when a loud crash and angry pounding came from upstairs. Benny grimaced and hustled the dog through a door leading down to the basement. A woman’s voice shouted angrily from the top of the stairs, “What’s going on down there!” followed by the pounding of legs furiously stomping down the stairs.
Benny turned to Elliot anxiously and said, “Uh … better let me do the talking.” Benny’s panic turned to a patronizing smile as someone appeared in the doorway. “Good morning, dear,” Benny sang melodiously to the figure. “Did you sleep well?”
An angry woman with arms crossed glared menacingly at Elliot as her shocked, wild gray hair stood on end. She demanded acrimoniously, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
Attempting to calm a steaming pressure-cooker, Benny said soothingly, “Now, Maggie, don’t you remember? We talked about Elliot coming to stay with us for a few weeks. Now that we’re all up, why don’t we have some breakfast? Should I make you some tea?”
Maggie’s piercing eyes scowled at Elliot as she repeated louder, “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
The dog started howling and scratching at the basement door. Benny said with continuing calm, “Maggie, Maggie. It’s okay. I’ve already told you that this is Elliot… ”
“I’m not talking to you!” Maggie roared. “I’m talking to … HIM!” pointing at Elliot. “Who are you and what do you think you’re doing here?”
“Luna! Stop it!” shouted Benny, as he kicked at the basement door with a bang. Then to Maggie in his soothing mode, he said, “Maggie, it’s okay. You’ll get to like him, just give him a chance…”
Elliot was so embarrassed, so mortified, that he didn’t know what to say. Finally, he sputtered in clipped tones, “I’m Elliot! Benny said I could stay here for a few weeks.” He walked over to the toaster to find some evidence in his behalf. “I’m so sorry. I burned some toast and I set the smoke alarm off. I didn’t mean to wake you. It won’t happen again. I was just looking for something to eat.”
Maggie took a slow deep breath and let her gaze drift to the table, her fury suddenly expended. She looked a little confused, almost as if waking suddenly to find herself somewhere unexpected. She unfolded her arms and stammered, “I see… breakfast … smoke alarm. That makes sense. Well then, I guess I can go back to bed.”
“Good idea!” said Benny, being very careful to gently guide her back toward the stairs. “You go on back to bed. We’ll be fine here…” He gently prodded her up the stairs as he spoke. “We’ll talk about it later. Bye bye…Bye bye…”
“I think I’ll go back to bed…” she said through a yawn, looking much smaller and sleepier with each word.
Benny continued to encourage her up the stairs. “That’s good. Have a nice rest… Bye bye…” He held up his hand for complete silence as Maggie’s tiny footsteps creaked up the steps and the sound of the bedroom door closed behind her. She was quiet, the dog was quiet, the house was quiet again.
“So… Elliot,” Benny sighed after a second. He held out his hands in a gesture of explanation. “So much for formal introductions,” he said with a little laugh. “I didn’t have a chance to tell you about Maggie. She’s a little … um … unpredictable. She, uh, sort of sleepwalks sometimes. But once you get to know her…”
Elliot interrupted, “No, she’s fine! A very nice lady! I like her already. No problem at all… I’m pretty fuzzy myself in the morning.” He glanced at his burned toast and said, “Look, I’m just going to go out and get some breakfast.”
Benny tried to be accommodating and said, “No, no, no. Don’t be ridiculous! I’ll cook something up here. Don’t you worry about it.” He picked up the toaster and tried to shake the black crusts into the sink.
“Why don’t we both go out,” Elliot said. “Then we can talk over breakfast.”
Benny glanced toward the stairs and said in a low voice. “You know, maybe that’s not a bad idea.”
thermodynamics of ideas 