Nectar Fragments

            "O! Rumpdledee, rumpdledee, rumpdledoodledoo! Sit down, father, sit down, it was good of you to come. What can I offer you? A beer? Gin? Rumpdledee - wait, a better idea: how about some Japanese sake? Courtesy of young Peter''s roommate, the Zen priest in embryo. Bryo. Yo. Hm! Majoring in commerce, meanwhile. Go figure. He might drop by later, in which case you can ask him yourself. But tell me first, how did you find me? I mean, it''s not like I''m in the phone book or anything! On the other hand, your profession being what it is, I guess you''ve tracked down shadowier people than me, eh? ''Shadowier'' - ha ha!"

            "What''s this ''rumpledeedee'' business?"

            "No business. Song. Stuck to my brain like a fly to flypaper. Can''t dislodge it, though I''ve torn out a goodly portion of my remaining hair trying. Believe me, it''s not there at my invitation!"

            "Sounds like Jingle Bells."

            "Yes indeed."

            "A little out of season, no?"

            "Rumpdledee, rumpdledee... Out of season? I don''t know - what season is it? You lose track, in this flat Vancouver climate where every season is spring. Sounds ideal, but in fact... in fact... hm!"

            "In fact?"

            "You must be cold. I''m all bundled up in this thick woolen sweater, while you... hm."

            "It is a little chilly. Don''t you have heat?"

            "Only at night."

            "But what are you doing here? What prompted you to move into a... a place like this?"

            "A dive, a hole you meant to say. Oh, I don''t know. What prompts us to do what we do? I kinda like it, actually. It''s life stripped of all the superfluities, life stripped down to the bare essentials, you might say - eh? Mightn''t you? But you''re right, it''s hardly suitable for entertaining visitors. My only excuse is that I wasn''t expecting visitors. This sweater, by the way. You''ll never guess who knitted it for me."

            "Your mother?"

            "Right-o! I said you''d never guess, and... it just goes to show. Doesn''t it? Dad, look at me. Tell me the truth. Am I insane?"

            "No."

            Saul''s eyes met his father''s. His expression softened. His lower lip trembled slightly. He lowered his eyes. "Thanks. In all sincerity, thanks. I knew of course you''d say no, but I expected a millisecond''s hesitation. But no, you really mean it, you''re not just being tactful. You''re right, I''m not insane. I''ve never been more lucid in my life, never seen more clearly the fog that envelops us, the fog that before was obscured by insane clarity. Do you know who I''ve been reading lately? You''ll never guess. Go ahead. Try."

            "Give me a hint."

            "Starts with a T."

            "Tolstoy."

            "Thomas Aquinas. The angelic doctor, the