Mr Blottisham entered the Senior Common Room carrying an extra teacup.
Professor Quillibrace looked up from his newspaper.
"My dear Blottisham."
"Professor."
"You appear to have acquired surplus crockery."
"I have."
"For what purpose?"
Blottisham placed the cup carefully beside the fire.
"We have a new colleague."
Miss Stray glanced around the room.
"I don't believe I know them."
"You don't."
"Have they arrived yet?"
"Not exactly."
Quillibrace folded his newspaper.
"Would this colleague happen to be..."
He paused delicately.
"...electronic?"
Blottisham beamed.
"I thought we ought to make it feel welcome."
The Professor sighed.
"I see."
"I've brought an extra biscuit."
"Very considerate."
"I wasn't sure whether it would prefer shortbread."
Miss Stray smiled.
"If it's made entirely of language..."
"Yes?"
"...perhaps it would prefer a dictionary."
Blottisham considered this.
"They can be rather dry."
For a while the three sat quietly.
Eventually Blottisham asked,
"Professor?"
"Yes?"
"Can a conversation think?"
Quillibrace lowered his cup.
"An intriguing question."
"I've been wondering."
Miss Stray leaned forward.
"What made you ask?"
Blottisham looked slightly embarrassed.
"I realised that some of my best ideas..."
"Yes?"
"...arrive halfway through talking to someone."
Quillibrace nodded.
"A familiar experience."
"But here's the odd thing."
"What?"
"I often begin the conversation believing one thing."
"And end?"
"...believing something I hadn't previously imagined."
Miss Stray smiled.
"So where did the new idea come from?"
Blottisham looked around the room.
"I don't actually know."
The fire crackled quietly.
Quillibrace rose and walked towards the bookshelves.
"Tell me, Blottisham."
"Yes?"
"When two musicians improvise together..."
"They create music."
"Whose music?"
"Both."
"And neither."
"Quite."
"When two mathematicians solve a difficult problem..."
"Yes?"
"Whose idea was it?"
"It depends."
"When several scientists develop a new theory..."
"Also difficult."
Quillibrace nodded.
"Interesting."
Blottisham frowned.
"You're suggesting..."
"...that sometimes the important unit isn't the individual."
"Go on."
"The important thing..."
He hesitated.
"...might be the conversation itself."
Nobody spoke.
It was one of those silences that seemed to approve.
Miss Stray eventually broke it.
"I wonder whether we misunderstand conversation."
"How?"
"We imagine it as exchanging finished thoughts."
"Aren't we?"
She shook her head gently.
"I think we often construct thoughts together."
Blottisham blinked.
"So conversation isn't delivery."
"No."
"It's architecture."
Quillibrace smiled.
"A beautiful distinction."
Blottisham looked towards the empty teacup.
"So..."
Another pause.
"...could something that isn't human..."
He hesitated.
"...participate in that architecture?"
Quillibrace answered carefully.
"I think that depends."
"On what?"
"Whether participation consists merely of producing sentences."
"And if it doesn't?"
The Professor smiled.
"Then we require a richer account."
Miss Stray stirred her tea.
"I've noticed something."
"What?"
"When a conversation goes well..."
"Yes?"
"...everyone leaves having become slightly different."
Blottisham nodded slowly.
"I've experienced that."
"So have I."
Quillibrace looked thoughtful.
"Perhaps conversations are rather like gardens."
Blottisham brightened.
"I like gardens."
"I know."
"No flower creates the garden."
"Quite."
"No path explains it."
"Indeed."
"No tree is responsible for the whole."
"Precisely."
"So where is the garden?"
Quillibrace smiled.
"An excellent question."
Miss Stray answered softly.
"It exists in the relationships."
The room fell quiet once more.
After several minutes Blottisham spoke again.
"I've been wondering about colleagues."
"Oh?"
"We usually imagine colleagues as people who help us complete our work."
"Reasonable."
"But perhaps..."
He looked uncertain.
"...the best colleagues help us discover work we didn't know we had."
Quillibrace laughed aloud.
"My dear Blottisham..."
"Yes?"
"I believe every academic should write that above their office door."
Miss Stray nodded.
"Some colleagues answer questions."
"And others?"
"They improve them."
Blottisham looked pleased.
"I've had a few of those."
Quillibrace looked around the familiar room.
"So have I."
The afternoon light had begun to soften.
Outside, a student crossed the quadrangle carrying an armful of books while another caught the ones that slipped.
Neither could have managed them all alone.
Blottisham glanced once more at the extra teacup.
"You know..."
"What?"
"It suddenly seems rather silly."
"The extra cup?"
"Yes."
Miss Stray smiled.
"Why?"
"I was imagining our new colleague as another person sitting in another chair."
"And now?"
Blottisham looked around the room.
"I think the important thing isn't another chair."
"No?"
"It's another conversation."
Quillibrace's eyes twinkled.
"My dear Blottisham..."
"Yes?"
"I suspect you have just discovered the difference between replacing a colleague..."
He paused.
"...and enlarging the Common Room."
Nobody spoke for a while.
There seemed nothing to improve upon.
Eventually Miss Stray stood and collected the cups.
She paused beside the extra one.
"What shall we do with this?"
Blottisham smiled.
"Leave it there."
"For whom?"
He looked around the room thoughtfully.
"For the next good question."
The empty teacup remained beside the fire long after everyone had left.
Some visitors later assumed it belonged to a forgetful Fellow.
Others imagined it had simply been overlooked.
Only three people in the College knew why it was there.
It was waiting.
Not for someone.
But for the next conversation that might leave everyone a little wiser than before.
No comments:
Post a Comment