blog/enigma

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

7:03 PM

Malediction is an old word for a curse, by the way. That's what I found out during my two hours in the library today. I lugged The Right Word and my Longman Dictionary to the TP library at about 2 something. Then I started going through the words, and the very first word I couldn't even find in my dictionary.

(From dictionary.reference.com)
Homeric:
–adjective

1.	of, pertaining to, or suggestive of Homer or his poetry.

2.	of heroic dimensions; grand; imposing: Homeric feats of exploration.

That's why The Internet is always superior.

Anyway I couldn't find a lot of words after that so I skimmed through the dictionary (really nerdish, but hey it's fun) and found some nice words for my next composition. But how would I remember them? I compose! Yes I shall write an essay and put as many cheem words in it as possible. Cheem words are bold.

Hmmmm. I shall call this story 'Samuel's Trousers'. (This part is optional to read, of course.)

Since young, Samuel has always been a loquacious child. Mrs. Falls thought her son to be extremely precocious, until his vocabulary for some outre reason warped Bacchanalian and even the child turned lubricious in his nature. Mothers of his playhood friends were often horrified to find little Samuel sprouting innuendos and blatant expletives while the rest of the children looked on innocently, playing with their sand castles and spades.

When Samuel's mother discovered such foul language spoken by her mere 5-year old son, she felt dismal and baffled at the same time. It was impossible that he had picked the vulgarities from his family - their's was a strict Christian family which went for Sabbath religiously and always held their faith strong. There was no strong language in the household. How could their son acquire such a capacious caliber for shocking words? Troubled, she pulled her husband away in the kitchen after dinner.

"What is it?" Mr. Falls asked, slightly confused.

Mrs. Falls loaded the dishes and detergent into the dish-washer. With a flip of her fingers, she switched on the washer. Mr. Falls eyed the washer suspiciously. Even though he was a clerical worker, and dealt with computers often, he was also a Luddite who didn't approach technology unless it was absolutely necessary.

"Today Mrs. Kinderman spoke to me. She said Samuel was teaching the rest of the children at the sand pit bad words," Mrs. Falls wanted to solve the issue straightaway.

"Bad words?" Ronan Falls was distracted by the whirring of the machine.

Rachel Falls eyed him. She glanced at the kitchen door to make sure it was closed and gave an example.

That seemed to wake her husband from his reverie. He jolted up, a little wildly, then got a grip of the situation and said, "Oh."

"So what are we going to do? I'm quite sure he didn't pick it up from us. There's no one in the family who says anything like that. I did tell my parents to be careful when they visit. So had you, I expect," Mrs. Falls said, giving the slightest hint that her husband was to blame.

Mr. Fall didn't catch that hint. He dismissed, "Children learn things from each other all the time. It could be some other kids who were teaching. It could even be Kinderman's. You never know." It was true; children were fond of the secret forbidden knowledge that they knew would anger their parents. Vulgarities percolate like ripples on a lake. Mrs. Falls concluded the conversation saying that she would talk to Samuel and very soon she did.

That night, as she tucked Samuel into bed, she was wary of how to start. Samuel had always been percipient, and he could pick up all kinds of signs that sometimes even adults couldn't tell. It was convenient when Samuel detected an embarrassing moment and ceased to talk about the topic, but it was also precluded lying. Not that the family encouraged lying or lied often.

Mrs. Falls decided to approach the topic primly. She called, "Samuel.."

Samuel looked up from Great Expectations that he just picked up. He took a bookmark from his bedside desk and gingerly put it in his book, all without haste. After closing the volume, he put the book down and looked expectantly at his mother. Mrs. Falls briefly marveled at her son's ravenous appetite for classic literature before settling her thoughts on how to begin.

"Mom? You have something to tell me, right? I'm ready." Samuel blinked his grey-blue eyes. Mrs. Falls was internally surprised, once again, at her son's prudence so rarely found even in people of her own years. At her own cubicle, she tolerated the gossips and never participated in the often poisonous banter. When her own name was brought up, she went about with her own business and ignored those prone to rumor-spreading. Her only shield was to play ignorance, and as often as it had protected her against revealing her inner emotions, it still hurt her to brave the politics abound in the common Class C offices. And now she had to talk to her son about his use of language that she had too much experience with.

"Mom?" Samuel's voice brought her back to reality. She pushed her painted fingers through her blond hair.

"Sorry. I was just thinking."

"Are you torpid, Mom? Maybe you might want to retire to bed."

"What? Gotta look that word up, eh. Torpid. Nah, I need to talk to you about something." Samuel always had a proclivity to pedantry. But the issue at hand was bigger.

"I heard today, from Mrs. Kinderman that you taught the children a couple of things. What did you teach them?" Mrs. Falls noticed with some alarm that Samuel's eyes suddenly darkened at the mention of Kinderman.

"Nothing. I was only engaging them in some verbal entertainment. Those who were in close propinquity chose to listen." Samuel seemed to be nonchalant.

"What exactly did you tell them?"

Samuel seemed reluctant to answer. He insisted, "Nothing, Mother. It was just words,"
Mrs. Fall knew that every time Samuel referred to her as Mother instead of Mom meant that he was being defensive. He started the habit ever since the accident two years ago.

There was once when the three of them had went for pizza. Mr. Falls had forgotten where he put his keys, and thinking that he might have left it in the car, had quickly ran back to the Honda to check. Meanwhile, Mrs. Falls had ordered pizza, coffee for the two adults and a hot chocolate for Samuel. It was then when Samuel, still a toddler, had muttered strange words: "Dad is crying."

Later it was found that Mr. Falls was involved in a minor accident as he ran across the road to his car and his toes was run over by a car. The police statement included the following line, "Mr. Ronan Falls was found to be in deep pain and weeping at the side of the road, with the driver consulting his injury." Although it was a small episode, Mrs. Falls did not forget how Samuel had uttered such words, when it was impossible that he could have known of his father's agony. After a round of gentle prodding, Samuel seemed to have realized his mother's suspicions, and since then used Mother to show his displeasure at such coercion of knowledge that somehow he was secretly happy to have. Incidentally, Samuel's penchant for sophisticated language also developed soon after.

Mrs. Falls later felt sorry to have questioned her son like that but she could not shake the feeling of something extraordinary was in process. She did propitiate her son with treats but Samuel waved it away and the issue was overran by the prosaic aspects of their simple life.

"Words?" The monosyllabic question echoed in her ears. Rachel knew she must throw some illumination into her son's penumbra of confused concepts.

"Sam, you know that there are certain words that society forbids, and is taboo. You should know what I mean, right?"

Samuel nodded in acknowledgment.

"I know you would look it up on the computer. And I am going to tell you: do not use those words, anywhere, anytime. You should never use them. Even if you feel like using them because saying them makes you feel special, or 'cool', you should not. It will make you sound and look rude. If people listen to you, they wouldn't think of you as the clever sensitive boy I know you are. They will think of you as a rude boy whose parents had taught you nothing about manners."

Mrs. Fall monologued in a steady and lucid stream, always checking if Samuel was paying attention. He was. He took in every word. Then those sea-gray pupils cleared, and he replied, "I understand, Mom. I wish to slumber now. Good night," and with that he turned into bed and pulled up the covers.

"Good night," Mrs. Fall said. And that was the end of the matter.

To be continued

signed, jiasheng