We waited for Godot
Shortly after I read in the Pearblossom Gazette that a local troupe was putting on a production of Samuel Beckett's "Waiting for Godot" at the Pearblossom Community Playhouse, I realized there was no point in trying to hide my excitement from Robert the Telepathic Gila Monster, and indeed he came scratching at my door within minutes.
Robert: Don't even think about going without me! You know I love Theater of the Absurd!
Me: You are theater of the absurd.
Robert: Come on, Harry, don't be cross. This is important. How often do you get to see a play about absurdity in the middle of a desert?
Me: Every day.
But I knew it was a losing battle. Several times Robert has maneuvered himself into my care and, smuggled into the folds of my jacket, watched movies with me (this would be the first play). These outings had mixed results (keep reading), but I knew there was no stopping him.
Me: Fine, just try not to interrupt the show more than usual.
Robert: I look forward to it! You know, Harry, for all my derision of your species, you do appreciate your own absurdity. It's a joy to see!
And so that very evening Robert and I embarked on the 10 minute drive to the Playhouse. As in the past while waiting in line, I had Robert tucked into my partially zipped windbreaker. Since we're both telepathic, there was no need to vocalize.
Robert: Harry, I've been scanning the playgoers, and I must say you've got a cultured crowd out her in Gila Land!
Me: Yes, various civilization deniers, like me. Some look like retired college professors, or ceramic artists. I see one teenage boy by himself, how sad is that?
Robert: What's sad about it? And might I add, Harry, that in no way are you a "civilization denier."
Me: What do you mean? I'm attending Theater of the Absurd in the desert with a gila monster. That's got to be denying something.
Robert: Maybe, but not civilization.
Me: Meaning what?
Robert Do you not have a can opener in your kitchen?
Me: It's twist-style!
Robert: So? It was developed by human technology, as was the can. No such things exist in nature.
Me: Robert, I can see you're going to be the great companion you've been at our past shared events.
Fast forward 5 minutes and I'm in my seat, looking at the bare stage with the scrawny tree, almost forgetting Robert breathing against my chest. "You might call that tree absurd," I thought.
Robert: Don't forget I'm reading your mind, Harry. Let's take a moment to examine the word "absurd," before you start labelling the poor tree.
Me: Robert, have I ever told you that what you call intellectual discussion is actually you repeatedly correcting me?
Robert: Many times. To the point, "absurd" is from Latin "surdus," meaning "muffled, unclear," then in the 17th Century it became a mathematical term meaning "irrational number."
Me: What's that?
But before Harry could answer the lights dimmed and two lost souls lumbered on stage, joined soon by a philosophical slave driver and his "thinking" slave, the four of them joined by the one rational character, an 8 year old boy who delivers messages from the elusive Godot. Harry's interjections stopped and did not resume until the play was over. He was entirely fascinated by these characters' never-ending search for meaning, barely moving throughout the play, his reptilian mind concentrating on every word. Of course, he lit up like a firecracker during curtain call.
Robert: Harry, OMG, honestly there's no species like yours, I mean, to mock your own absurdity so openly! Any gila who tried this would be mauled to death by the rest of us.
Me: Well, maybe gilas aren't absurd.
Robert: Are you kidding? You know, for clarity it might help if we resume our pre-show conversation and define "absurd."
Me: Be my guest.
As we stepped out into the cool evening, under a black sky with sparkly stars scattered across a possibly absurd universe, Robert continued.
Robert: As noted, "absurd" comes from Latin "surd," meaning, roughly, "hard to see." Then it became a mathematical term meaning "irrational number."
Me [as I placed Robert on the front passenger seat]: And what is that?
Robert: It's a number that can't exist, like the square root of 2. Something is absurd, then, if it can't exist.
Me: That's absurd, Robert. Would you see a play about people who talk about numbers that can't exist? And by the way, all numbers can't exist. They are mental constructs, not real things.
Robert: Harry, you get more absurd every time I talk to you. The point about the people in the play is that the reason, or purpose, or point of their existence is not clear, and is in that sense absurd.
Me: So anything that's not clear is absurd? That's absurd.
Robert: Harry, you turn your own species' great art into a cheap logic puzzle, which, it must be said, is absurd.
As usual, Robert was ruining the post-show glow I should have been feeling after a fine play (performed, FYI, by stellar local talent) like Waiting for Godot. In sheer frustration and desire to change the subject, I turned on the car radio, which was tuned to NPR, and we heard an account of how lame-duck President Biden had, in private (with no reports of agents drugging or hypnotizing him) authorized Ukrainian use of US supplied long-range missiles against Russia.
Robert: If that isn't theater of the absurd I don't know what is.
We drove the rest of the way in silence, the starry sky looking down at us in seeming denial of its absurdity.
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