Anosmia

A multicoloured array of blankets lay sprawled across the grassy field, with folding chairs standing at intervals, unoccupied except by the sweaters and jackets of those whom caution or prudence had driven to heed the weather forecast and bring protection against the colder and wetter conditions which had not yet arrived. Many of those who had attended the church picnic, for that is indeed the setting in which we find ourselves, were playing a pick-up game of baseball. The distinctive sound of the ball being struck by the bat, which we are accustomed to describing with a word, crack, could be heard from an adjacent field, that word, adjacent, being used in this case to describe the location of the diamond-shaped field in relation to the array of blankets and folding chairs and barbeques. Under different circumstances it might have been the area occupied by the chairs and barbeques that would have been described as adjacent to the diamond-shaped baseball field, but the demands of our narrative require that the blanket, chair and barbeque area be treated as the centre of the scene, for it is there, among the handful of persons who remained in that area, that the first significant plot development will unfold. Of those who were not involved in the baseball game, nor engaged in that activity which has become for us a euphemism for undemanding activity of all kinds, a walk in the park, there was a group of elderly women, the sort ubiquitous in church congregations of the region, seated upon folding chairs, speaking in animated tones and taking grudging turns at listening, and at a distance a similarly ubiquitous circle of elderly men, speaking less often with lower animation, an environment that would facilitate listening should it come to pass that someone would have something to say, and again at a distance a younger man, who we can identify by the size of his nose, it being noticeably larger than average. The man with the large nose was looking at a book which he held in his hands, most likely a work of fiction, and sitting cross-legged, his back toward the barbeques, that is to say, less conventionally, his front away from the barbeques, it might at this point be told that these barbeques were under his supervision. There were three barbeques, though one was larger than the others, being used on this occasion to cook burgers and hot dogs, those being the most orthodox choices for an outdoor gathering in the middle of summertime, and what group more appropriate than a church to select the orthodox choices, if not to our religious institutions then to whom do we turn to oppose change, which while necessary must be met with some degree of challenge lest we find ourselves in a state of constant and uncontested flux. The meat had been placed on the grill some minutes prior, and had been flipped by the man with the large nose, who was now thoroughly engrossed in the book which was resting on his left knee, he turned another page at the precise moment that an elderly man from the ubiquitous circle, dressed in a green sweater came running over to the barbeques, and spoke to the younger man with some degree of alarm, The meat is burning, What, It smells like the meat is burning, the man with the large nose set aside the book, now drawn from his reading material and whatever images it evoked, by his duty as barbeque attendant which he seemed to be in danger of failing, he ascended to his feet rapidly, in a manner which might have reminded the man with the green sweater, or any other observer, of the coiled metallic objects used to store and convey elastic energy in many tools and mattresses, and inspected the claim of the man with the green sweater, its veracity was confirmed by the black appearance of many of the burgers and hot dogs, not so burned as to be inedible but enough to impart an unpleasant charcoal taste, after a moment the man with the green sweater spoke to the large-nosed man, Most of these are still good, I wasn’t paying attention, Didn’t you notice they were burning, I was too engrossed in my book, But didn’t you smell them, we could smell them burning way over there, the man with the green sweater said, pointing at the ubiquitous circle of elderly men over twenty-five yards away. The younger man replied, No, and narrowed his eyes in a manner that gave his expression a sense of puzzlement, he took a burnt hot dog up with the tongs and held it to his nose and sniffed deliberately, paused and repeated the action, he turned to look at the elderly man as the expression in his face changed from narrow-eyed perplexity to wide-eyed realization and fear, I am anosmic.

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What can I say, I finished Blindness not to long ago, and I had a bit of free time. More to come, possibly.

Anosmia

Jose Saramago