Yashoda Sampath
Oscar Wilde
Last
night I went to sleep, and when I woke up I was amazed to discover Oscar Wilde
lying beside me, looking rather
handsome. I guess my first thought ought to have been, Òwhat on earth is Oscar
Wilde doing in my bedroom?Ó I suppose
I was too tired to think that coherently.
After all, the previous night was spent with my being a little, shall we
say, inebriated? My goodness, I
barely even remember where I was.
I suppose thatÕs pretty strange, considering how aware I usually am of
my surroundings.
But
regarding Oscar, I do remember thinking that he ought to have a word with his
fashion designer, because that rather odd hat may not exactly have been the
greatest accessory. Besides, what
did he need a hat in bed for anyway? The skirt certainly didnÕt help
either. But I suppose I
shouldnÕt say anything, tempting as it is to tease. I figure he got enough of that at Oxford.
I
tried to sneak a look at myself in the mirror as he started speechifying. Sometimes I just feel that as long as I
have that mirror, I can never grow old.
But I digress.[2]
He
requested that I show him an exciting time around this great city of Austin,
Texas. Oh great, I thought, I have
to show a guy I donÕt even know a good time, and I didnÕt even get prior
notice! Then I remembered! There was some kind of lame protest by
the Young Conservatives. Old Oscar
was sort of a hippie back in his day.
I figured heÕd get a kick out of it.
We jumped off the bus and made our long trek up 21st street. I realized something rather odd. When youÕre in a hurry to get somewhere, like when youÕre running late for class, the journey seems absolutely interminable. But when one just strolls along, without having to worry quite as much about the passage of time, itÕs just not as bad.
Eventually, after crossing over a
hoard of sleeping students in the grassy field we students refer to as Òthe
six-pack,Ó we passed by a bunch of kids playing frisbee in the lawn square
between Battle Hall and the Tower.
I grew tired of the silence between us. After all, how often does one get to enjoy a nice walk with a famous writer? It would be an opportunity for me to create new memories, memories that would be tied specifically to this place of learning. After all, I had to try and make up for the complete loss of memory of whatever occurred the previous night.
ÒDonÕt you suppose that they should be in class or something?Ó I asked Oscar.
ÒYoung lady, it would do you well to remember that schooling isnÕt everything. If you donÕt stop every now and then to enjoy a beautiful day, youÕll simply go mad! IÕm not interested in classroom tomfoolery anyways;, I had enough of that at Oxford. What I desire is to take in the culture, and yours specifically. ÔAnd it would be well to remember from time to time that nothing that is worth knowing can be taught.Õ[3]Ó
I looked at him and shook my head. ÒWhatever dude.Ó We continued our trek into the lionÕs den.
ÒCome one, come all, and welcome to the YCT straight pride event!,Ó ItÕs always rather amusing when you realize that you hear the voice before you can see its owner. I glanced at Oscar, and saw that he was less than amused with the announcement. Who could blame him really? He suffered through a horrible term in a musty jail cell for no reason other than his Òdeviant actions,Ó meaning of course his bisexuality.
ÒMy God, why do they even let these jackasses even exist, let alone be heard,Ó I wondered aloud.
ÒThe
world is a stage, but the play is badly cast,Ó[4]
mumbled Oscar in response.
ÒNo,
thatÕs not good enough. Do you
have any idea of the history of this place? Back in the day they had, like, major protests and stuff. Protests of things that mattered, like
the Vietnam War, and ThatÕs why they have those planters everywhere: to stop
large gatherings.[5] Though I guess we won in the end. Now we just have the major protests at
the South Mall instead!Ó
ÒSo
now the West Mall has become irrelevant?Ó questioned Oscar.
ÒNot
irrelevant, but it doesnÕt have the same capacity for crowds that it once
did. But itÕs still a hub for
activity around here, cause tons of students have to go the library over there,
and even more eat at the Union every day.
And of course there are
wannabe musicians out with their bongos and acoustic guitars, waiting to be
told that theyÕre the next great thing.Ó
I paused as I viewed the mob scene itself, and dreaded the inevitable
attacks of pamphleteers and loads of student organizations each trying to
convince you why its the best to be a part of: why its the coolest, hippest
place to be since Woodstock. ÒI
confess, the west mall has definitely become a place that I try to avoid as
much as possible.Ó
ÒI donÕt blame you. No one ever willingly enters into conflict, no matter how much bravado they may display. I too would stay away from such a place as this.Ó
I became silent, knowing what he went through in his day. At least now people didnÕt necessarily have to go to jail for harboring same-sex feelings.
ÒAlthough, dear girl, I wouldnÕt mind visiting one of those major protests of which you speak,Ó he said cheerfully, clearly trying to interrupt my slightly downward turn of thought. I guess he should know how to cheer up melancholy youth. He did publish a group of maxims for the young at one point, which he called Phrases and Philosophies for the Use of the Young.[7]
ÒWell hey, I figure this has to be some sort of dream or something, right? So if it is, then we should be able to time travel in my memory. After all, places are found in memory as well, right? IÕll take you back there after weÕre done with these jerks.Ó
ÒAlright Oscar, see that concentrated mob over there! Those are the YCT guys. Think you can handle seeing this?Ó
With a sigh he replied, ÒI suppose so. Even if it is philistines such as they who are responsible for my stay in prison. People like them are the ones responsible for separating me from my dearest loved ones. I completely lost my sense of place, my sense of identity. Have you any idea what it is for a writer to be separated from his home, from the places he knows, from his fonts of inspiration?
ÒOf course I do. Leaving for college has pretty jarring effects on your sense of place as well.Ó
ÒSorry, of course thatÕs true.Ó Oscar looked pensive for a moment. ÒThough, I must confess, that time in prison did help me to produce some of the finest letters I have written. I remember one line in particular, to dear Alfred, that seems quite apropos at this juncture: ÔOur love was always beautiful and noble, and if I have been the butt of a terrible tragedy, it is because the nature of that love has not been understood.Õ[8] And I was mainly referring to my father. It seems like the persecuted here have a whole lot more to contend with than just irate family members.Ó
We both glanced at the smirking YCT members with disgust in our eyes.
ÒConsidering my own personal experiences, Yashoda, I think I couldnÕt bear to spend much more time here. You promised me some sort of war protest?Ó
ÒI did, I did! I suppose IÕve already told you about the South Mall, and IÕll have to take you to the Tower sometime, but for now, we need to go to the Capitol.Ó We began our trek over there, and I wondered if, once I got there, my dreaming would indeed carry us back to that fateful spring of 2003. ÒOh, and how the hell did you know my name?Ó
ÒItÕs quite simple, young lady. I am a figment of your imagination.Ó
ÒOh. Well in that caseÉÓ I stopped, smiling brightly
ÒWell, old man, this is it.Ó I looked up at the capitol, amazed that such a beautiful classical-style piece of architecture was kept at such close access to UT students. ÒIsnÕt it nice? Austin is generally such a laid-back place, and I love that, but at the same time itÕs nice to have something venerable in sight, just to keep things in perspective. ItÕs nice to have monuments of the cityÕs past kept so near the university, which is basically a breeding ground for thinkers of the future. We, as people, have made journeys in our lives. ItÕs nice to recognize that the places we live in have themselves made journeys too, just in a different way. ItÕs good to see the path the city has taken to become what it is today.Ó
ÒJust imagine, if you just go a few blocks in any direction, you run into frat houses, bars, nightclubs, and wild parties. And yet here we have a site that tends to inspire such reverence.Ó
ÒReverence? Is this reverence universal, or personal to you?Ó
ÒWell I imagine that it is for everyone, to a certain extent. It tricks us into believing that we have an actual history in this place, even with our relatively young age. A monument like this helps give the place a little character, because otherwise Austin might just be another modernized Texas city. But of course thereÕs a personal dimension as well. IÕve already mentioned the antiwar protests that took place here. Additionally, I am a student of political science, and in Texas this place is the hub of political activity. Whether or not I approve of what goes on inside these hallowed halls, the past and present of this building are indelibly linked to my own future. Who knows, twenty years down the line I may become just another part of it, and people will be blaming me for everything. Though thatÕs not preferable, of course.Ó I let out a little smile at the thought.
ÒHmmph. Then people might be protesting you. Anyhow, I wonder what my dear father would say about this place. He fancied himself a critic of architecture, you know. Not that his opinion ever mattered particularly to me, of course. After all, if I let all his words get to me he would have ground me down into a tiny nub barely leaving an impression above the ground.Ó
I myself focused on the ground in profound discomfort. What do you say to someone with that kind of home life? ItÕs a little hard to relate to for someone like me. So much of who I am stems from a strong family situation. So much of who he is stems from an emotionally distant family who never quite understood him. I think Oscar sensed my discomfort and changed the subject.
ÒSo do you come here often?,Ó asked Oscar.
ÒItÕs funny, ya know. ItÕs such a beautiful building. But you know my most concrete memory of this place apart from the antiwar protests? A group of friends and I played a huge game of capture-the-flag here. And as strange as it seems, thereÕs really no better way to get a sense of layout, and a sense of whatÕs around you.Ó I hoped to God that I didnÕt just sound completely ridiculous. HeÕs a venerable writer, and here I am talking about the survey potential of a game of capture-the-flag.
ÒItÕs a funny thing, Yashoda. You see, when we played capture the flag in my time, it involved actual guns and death.Ó Almost as soon as he uttered the words Òguns and deathsÓ we began to spin around, as if we were trapped in some mad whirlpool of air. The whooshing stopped almost as soon as it started, and I found myself standing in the same spot I stood back in another time.
ÒI remember this time. Though really how could I forget. ItÕs a rare convergence of time and place where both seem to have stuck in my mind equally, as each bears its own significance. Perhaps thatÕs why itÕs so easy to return here. To the shouting, and to the anger. But itÕs strange, Oscar. The anger only enhanced our sense of community.Ó All the warmth I felt the first time around returned to me so easily. It was one of the times I really become aware of how ÒplaceÓ can mean Òpeople.Ó
We turned around to take in the view behind us. The sea of signs and faces seemed almost endless.
ÒThis is quite an amazing scene Yashoda. But I am forced to wonder, what type of person is it that attends these events with such passion?Ó
ÒHa, youÕre thinking about your words
right? That Ômost men and women are forced to perform parts
for which they have no qualification.Õ[12]Ó
ÒGoodness
IÕm impressed that you know that.Ó
ÒOh
itÕs nothing. But as to your
question, I cannot say for sure that every one of these people would
necessarily be qualified to make national security decisions. But I can tell you something. TheyÕre here because of what they
believe in. They believe in
freedom, for themselves and for others.
They believe in art, and the power it producesÉthey believe inÉÓ
ÒÔArt
is the only serious thing in the world.Õ[13] I am after all one of the leading
proponents of art for artÕs sake.
But I fail to see how this has anything to do with art, unless of course
you consider the simply grotesque fact that eleven thousand people are standing
around and shouting repetetive rhymes in search for solidarity.Ó
ÒLook
Oscar, these are people like you.
People who once upon a time couldnÕt fit in anywhere, but now maybe
could find kindred souls. You look
down on the solidarity of the masses, but for some of us that solidarity is
everything. When youÕre in a
losing minority, itÕs really all that you have. ThereÕs nothing else you can really claim as your own.Ó
ÒI
have to disagree with you here.
Truth is truth. You do not
need affirmation from others in order to make it truer. If anything, you lose a piece of
something that you might have been able to claim all to yourself.Ó
ÒMaybe
thatÕs whatÕs hard for you to understand here. As much as these people treasure their individuality, theyÕd
always trade it in for a sense of real belonging. So basically theyÕre getting what they want. And isnÕt getting what you want a good
thing? IsnÕt that what makes life
worth living, provided that your demands are reasonable?Ó
ÒI
believe I still have much to learn about your culture, young lady. You have to realize, that in my time,
obligation was key. Obligation to
others, that is, never to oneself.
You must understand that the latter is a relatively alien concept to
me. I only ask that you at least
give me some time to digest, so that I may have better discourse with youÉ.Ó
The
sound of his voice seemed to fade away as he spoke, causing me great
confusion. And then I woke
up. ÒPhew. Thank god that was all just a dream. I mean, what a drag, lugging along some
whiny dude from the 19th
century. Yikes.Ó
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