To Marlon Brando, Doris Day, Henry IV, George Herbert, Washington Irving, happy birthday. Dante has found himself lost in the Dark Wood. Napoleon is occupying Rome. In Palm Springs, college students are rioting. Passover began at sunset. The Pony Express commences mail service today between Sacramento and St. J______, Missouri. James Earl Ray is appealing his 99-year sentence. “U.N.” troops are pushing the Chinese back across the 38th Parallel in Korea. The U.S. has opened warfare against Chief Black Hawk to drive the Fox and Sac Indians across the Mississippi. The Vietnamese peace talks have resumed in Paris: no progress. And you Failed Again to Complete your Suicide, well begun in 1953 and repromised in your Letter of March 6.
Scriptotherapy.
Since that letter, the
“Why alphabetical priority, Horner?” the Doctor asked you at your Annual Interview in the Progress and Advice Room. This was March 17th last, eighteenth anniversary of your First Such Session, and of other things. “When you used to be Unable to Make Choices, I gave you
He knows you have Forgotten Nothing of those semesters in Wicomico. You Repeated the principles of Sinistrality and Antecedence: if alternatives are side by side, choose the one on the left; if they’re consecutive in time, choose the earlier; if neither of these applies, choose the alternative whose name begins with the earlier letter of the alphabet.
“But I’d often Have Trouble Choosing which principle to Use,” you Told him. “In the order you first gave them to me — Sinistrality, Antecedence, Alphabetical Priority — Sinistrality is farthest left and earliest read, but not alphabetically prior. If I Put Antecedence first, it’s both antecedent and sinistral but ditto. Then when I Started my Hornbook and Got in the Habit of Listing Things Alphabetically, I Remarked that in the series Alphabetical Priority, Antecedence, Sinistrality, Alphabetical Priority is alphabetically prior, as well as both antecedent and sinistral. So that’s the one I Use.”
“Jacob Horner: you are a Fool.”
Knee to knee in the Progress and Advice Room, you both Regarded your Cigars.
“You are Forty-Six,” the Doctor said.
“As of yesterday.”
“Though we speak here only once a year now, and you are Virtually in Charge of Administering the Farm since Mrs. Dockey’s death, you Still Regard yourself as My Patient?”
You Smiled Ruefully. “I’m Afraid So.”