“I have solved the stone.”
Professor Quillibrace lowered his newspaper.
“You do realise that stones are generally easier to solve than doors?”
“The warm stone.”
“I know which stone.”
Miss Stray looked up from her tea.
“What have you discovered?”
“The nature of experience.”
Quillibrace closed his eyes.
“We've moved quickly.”
“The stone is cold in the morning.”
“Yes.”
“It becomes warm in sunlight.”
“Yes.”
“The girl touches it.”
“Yes.”
“She notices the change.”
“Yes.”
“And therefore the story concerns the relationship between physical reality and perception.”
Stray smiled.
“Does it?”
“Obviously.”
“What is the relationship?”
Blottisham paused.
“The stone is warm.”
“Yes.”
“The girl experiences its warmth.”
“Yes.”
“Therefore warmth exists in the relation between object and observer.”
Quillibrace opened one eye.
“Does the sun have anything to do with it?”
“Of course.”
“Then perhaps we need a third party.”
Blottisham ignored him.
“The girl discovers a property of the stone through touch.”
“She discovers that it is warm,” said Stray.
“Exactly.”
“Did the stone become warm when she touched it?”
“No.”
“Then she didn't create the warmth.”
“Not strictly.”
“Then what exactly has been discovered?”
Blottisham looked irritated.
“The stone's warmth.”
“Which was there before she noticed it.”
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps the story isn't about perception creating reality.”
Blottisham hesitated.
“No.”
“Perhaps it's about noticing something that was already happening.”
“Yes.”
“Then why does the girl keep coming back?”
Blottisham brightened.
“Because she is developing a relation with the stone.”
Quillibrace sighed.
“Of course she is.”
“She observes it each morning.”
“Yes.”
“She learns its changes.”
“Yes.”
“She begins to expect them.”
“Yes.”
“And the stone becomes part of her morning.”
Stray nodded.
“That seems closer.”
Blottisham looked pleased.
“Then we agree.”
“No.”
He frowned.
“What is wrong with it?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you saying no?”
“Because you said you had solved the story.”
“I have.”
“You've described one thing that happens in it.”
“That is what solving means.”
Quillibrace smiled.
“No, Blottisham. That is what description means.”
Blottisham sat back down.
“There is still the final sentence.”
“What about it?” asked Stray.
“The stone is waiting.”
“Yes.”
“Stones don't wait.”
“Probably not.”
“Then the story is anthropomorphising.”
“Yes.”
“Which means the stone is standing for something.”
“Or,” said Stray, “the story is letting us imagine what it would be like if the stone were waiting.”
Blottisham considered this.
“That amounts to the same thing.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because one is an interpretation of the stone and the other is an invitation to imagine.”
Quillibrace nodded.
“An important distinction.”
Blottisham looked at him.
“Between interpretation and imagination?”
“Between claiming what something means and seeing what happens when we imagine it differently.”
There was a pause.
Blottisham glanced towards the window.
“Do you think the stone actually knows the girl is coming?”
“No,” said Quillibrace.
“Do you?”
“No.”
“Miss Stray?”
She smiled.
“I don't think the story asks us to decide.”
Blottisham frowned.
“But surely we must decide something.”
“Why?”
“Because otherwise what are we left with?”
Stray looked at him.
“A girl who keeps visiting a stone.”
Blottisham waited.
“That's all?”
“Perhaps.”
Quillibrace picked up his newspaper.
“Apparently that is sometimes quite a lot.”
Blottisham looked dissatisfied.
Then he smiled.
“I still think the stone is waiting.”
Quillibrace did not look up.
“Of course you do.”
Outside, the sun came out.
Somewhere in the garden, a stone became warm.
Nobody was there to notice.
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