Five Spice Street

‘‘We can’t abandon Madam X,’’ Dr. A said. ‘‘We can’t abandon any of the things that we don’t understand now. History tells us: the things that can’t be understood are usually the loftiest. I’ve known this a long time. It can’t be wrong. For example, the two somersaults just now: I tape-recorded them. I always think things through thoroughly beforehand. Beginning tomorrow, I’ll play this tape dozens of times a day until it becomes a conditioned reflex. Then I’ll leap from feeling to reason. We made too many mistakes in the past. If everyone adopted my prudent attitude toward the wave of the future, the philistinism we’ve seen today would never appear.’’

After repeatedly saying, ‘‘Philistines,’’ he went home to work on annotations. The room was still noisy. One photographer’s face was black and blue from being shoved by the crowd. The writer couldn’t continue watching. He also shouted, ‘‘Philistines,’’ and went home.

After turning her somersaults, Madam X went back to the snack shop without paying the least attention to the commotion she had caused. As she worked, she was humming ‘‘The Lonesome Little Boat.’’ Just as she dumped a basket of peanuts into a wooden barrel, she suddenly saw two bolts of lightning flash by, kecha kecha. This really frightened her. She set the basket down, jumped back, and asked fiercely, ‘‘Who is it?’’ Hiding outside the door were two photographers. Shrewdly, they didn’t make a sound. Their faces were filled with the joy of adventurers as they waited for Madam X to lose her temper and jump out: they wanted to get two frontal shots. But after asking that question, Madam X seemed to have no thought of jumping out. They waited several hours without getting a chance to photograph that histrionic scene. As their legs were going numb, someone inside said, ‘‘My work is finished now. I can strike a pose, but you have to pay me for it.’’

With reverence and awe, the photographers nodded and immediately aimed their cameras. She had changed her costume: she had a belt tied at her waist, and she held a sword as she stood there. Her ‘‘bearing’’ was absolutely ‘‘heroic.’’ She said humbly, ‘‘It’s too bad I don’t know how to play with this sword. I’ll sit on it for a picture!’’

The photographers thought this was ingenious and agreed. So she laid the sword under her butt. They didn’t take just one photo but ten! Each was special. Although the expression was the same, because of the photographers’ high level of skill, the more you looked at them, the more extraordinary they were. After a few days, Madam X wrote to the photographers asking to be paid. This startled the studio. Such a screwball! Others had brought her to the forefront, but it was as if they owed her something. Her tone was tough: she spoke of current financial difficulties and the work which had been delayed because of the photographs.

At first the photographers’ eyes bulged, and then they began cheering because they remembered the fine outline that Dr. A had published in the newspaper. All their doubts were dispelled. It was reasonable for a wave of the future to act oddly: if her actions were commonplace, they wouldn’t be worth the photographers’ while to photograph her. Now it was clear that they hadn’t been wrong: the odder her actions, the better, for this would have a direct impact on the studio’s reputation. They would also contact the stenographer, who would make a special effort to write something that would describe her peculiar relationship with the studio. As for money, although they couldn’t be completely satisfied with her request (this was at odds with the financial system), they decided to pass the hat, and each dug down to express his regards. They did this willingly. They all felt that they’d become part of the romance.